Driving Heat (4 page)

Closing the door, Cynthia turned to Byron. With her client gone, the atmosphere shifted.
Maybe closing the door wasn’t the best idea.

“About yesterday, I’m sorry if I appeared rude. There was a lot on my mind. Still, had I known you were related to one of my clients . . .”

“What? You wouldn’t have dissed me, treated me like a low-level public servant instead of a gainfully employed man who simply paid you a compliment?”

Quickly crossed arms made her defensiveness clear. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, really? How would you describe your funky attitude?”

“That of someone unimpressed with game you probably use on every female rider when”—Cynthia tapped each finger for emphasis—“one, my car had broken down for the very first time; two, Triple A had a waiting time of at least ninety minutes; three, I was in an unfamiliar neighborhood that looked pleasant enough to reside in, but where a murder had occurred, so no taxi would come to pick me up.” Cynthia took a breath. “While on your bus, being threatened with eviction if your rules weren’t obeyed, I was trying to prepare for a very important meeting that I came precariously close to missing. So if I was not as cordial, chatty, or flirtatious as you’d like, you now know why.”

Cynthia watched as Byron’s direct gaze left her face and gave her body a quick perusal. When their gazes locked again his expression was neutral, but not his eyes. Curiosity, appraisal, and appreciation were all conveyed as he digested what she’d said.

“Thanks for the explanation. That indeed sounds like a bad day. Though I have a feeling that had we met under more, say, comfortable circumstances, I still don’t think you’d have given a brother like me the time of day.”

“It’s obvious you have another woman doing that.”

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend, the one with the charming personality sitting in the first seat.”

“Tanya? She’s not my girlfriend. And she’s not the one who won’t give me her time.”

His gaze pierced Cynthia’s soul and dared her to lie. An energy of chemistry—indefinable, undeniable—wafted around them, an invisible cocoon of possibilities that neither expected.

“I’m trying to take time right now and thank you for helping Leah. It’s obvious she respects you and that you or someone has had a talk with her in a way that after your slight encouragement produced results. I’ve also apologized for behavior justifiable considering the circumstances. But it seems you’ve already formed an opinion about people like me, who we do or don’t see, even where we reside so . . . there’s not much more to be said.” Cynthia stepped around him and walked toward the door.

“Have I been wrong about anything?”

Silence as she turned around.

“Do you live on the south side, over by where you caught the bus?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Will you go out with me?”

“Mr. Carter—”

“Byron is fine, since I’d prefer calling you Cynthia and not Ms. Hall.”

“Byron, in light of the fact that I’m counseling your niece, I—”

Byron’s genuine laugh interrupted her. “Oh, the job’s the reason. All right, that’ll work. I appreciate what you’re doing with Leah. I’m sure you know all about why she’s having a hard time. Her brother was her world and when he died, she changed. From what my sister told me, it’s gotten worse. So I’m going to do what I can to help Ava and make sure Leah gets it together. I believe my contact information is already in her file.” He held out his hand. “Hopefully today is going better than the one that landed you on my bus. You take care.”

This time it was Cynthia watching Byron’s back as his long strides quickly ate up the distance to the door.

“What about coffee?”
What are you doing?
She didn’t know. But she kept doing it. “Something quick, early in the day on Saturday maybe, to make amends?”

He turned around. The look in his eyes warmed her heart, and other places. She told herself the feeling was because a professional cordiality was important for Leah.
Liar.

“I’d prefer dinner, but coffee’s all right. Can I have your number, or would you prefer mine?”

“We can do both.”

She reached for her phone. They exchanged numbers and decided on where to meet. Byron held out his hand. Cynthia braced herself, and shook it. “I’ll see you on Saturday, Cynthia. Looking forward to it.”

They joined Leah in the general area just outside Cynthia’s office. Byron stared unabashed as she gave Leah a parting encouragement and a light hug. When she glanced his way, he winked. There was no explanation or excuse for what that single eye action did to her insides. She’d tried and failed to figure it out, but something about his fire did something to her ice. Once again, she was left melting, inside of the mask. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Carter.” Professionalism oozed from every pore. “Good-bye.”

“Ivy, hold my calls for a half hour or so. I need to . . . take care of something.”

“Sure thing, Cynthia.”

Cynthia walked into her office, closed and locked the door, and relieved the pent-up energy due to lack of dictation, the Margo frustration, and this Byron situation by twenty minutes of meditation with Deepak and Oprah.

Later that evening, Byron parked in front of an older, yet well-tended apartment building less than ten minutes from his home. He bounced up the outer stairs to the second level and was barely in the door before conversation began.

“Man, you’re not going to believe the day I’ve had.”

“Uh, and what’s up to you, too, Byron.”

Byron plopped down on the couch and placed his shoed feet on his brother’s coffee table.

Exasperation showed in the eyes that witnessed the blunder. “Are you drunk?”

Byron and his next youngest brother, Douglas, had always been close. Douglas was younger by a year and two months and taller by two inches. When it came to standing up for himself and voicing an opinion, Douglas didn’t hesitate . . . not even with big brother.

Byron slowly removed his feet. “You and your bougie nonsense. I don’t know where you got that, but it wasn’t from Mom and Dad.”

“There’s nothing wrong with owning nice things.” Douglas picked up a bottle of water off the dining room table and joined his brother in the living room.

“But better to put nice things in a home you own, at least that’s how I see it.”

“If anybody gave two cents about your vision, it would matter. Since I don’t, well . . .” He took a long swig of water. “So what happened that brings you over at nine o’clock on a weeknight?”

“I met this chick on the bus yesterday.”

“Breaking news so far.”

“Not just any woman, Douglas. The woman of my dreams! I don’t get many of her type on my bus. Come to think of it, she acted like she’d never been on one before.”

“Man, if you think this is exciting, you need to get out more.”

“Will you just let me tell the story?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No, so I’m talking to her, joking around as usual, and she ignored me.”

Douglas placed his hands on his chest. “Fool, you’re killing me.”

“It gets better. I promise. Her uppity attitude pissed me off, so I gave her the space she wanted. But damn, her body was everything! Plus, she was well put together, had that corporate look going with the suit and the pumps, talking all professional, all proper. Damn that stuff was sexy . . .”

“Sounds like she’s way above your pay grade, bro.”

“You’re probably right. Women like her want to date actors, professional athletes, men with six-figure bank accounts.” Byron rested his head against the back of the couch and locked his hands behind it. “But I still pulled a date.”

“Quit bullshitting.”

“I told you the story would get better.”

“You asked her out, while driving the bus.”

“Turns out she’s Leah’s counselor.”

“Whoa! Real talk?”

“I couldn’t believe it when I stepped into the office and saw her standing there. She was more stunned than me, but I have to give it to her. She kept up that stiff professional veneer. I’d like to . . . relax her a little bit.”

“Ha! From what you’re telling me about her, almost any man would.” Douglas drained the bottle. “I thought you were seeing someone. What’s that girl’s name, the one who went to school with Nelson?”

Nelson was the middle brother out of five, younger than Douglas by 364 days.

“Turns out that behind those designer shades and that luxury car that she probably can’t afford was a thirsty female out for what she could get.”

“Sounds like Tanya.”

“Man, don’t even mention Tanya. That girl’s a trip.”

“What else is new?”

“She’s back to claiming that Ricky is my son.”

Douglas made a sound of disgust. “Again?”

“Yep.”

“Her and big Rick’s on and off relationship must be in the off season.”

“You’re probably right. She was even on my route the other day, just happened to be over there, she said. I asked where her car was. She said a friend was using it. Can you imagine Tanya letting someone use her car while she took the bus?”

“Heck, no.”

“Me neither. She’s up to something.”

“Bottom line, dude? She knows she messed up and wants you back.”

“More like she wants back my paycheck.”

“Yes, that would mean more child support.” Byron shook his head. “Me and Ava tried to tell you how to stop that madness.”

“I know. But when she and Ricky moved in together and they had another baby, I thought that lie was finally put to rest.”

“A woman like Tanya will say anything, and do anything, to get a man. I had a similar conversation earlier with your baby bro.”

“Barry?”

“Who else, fool?”

Byron laughed. “What’s that fool into now?”

“Too many pussies, without protection. I told him his time would be better spent looking for a J-O-B.”

“He still talking that personal trainer nonsense?”

“It wouldn’t be nonsense if he’d get serious and put some real work into getting steady clients who actually needed his services, instead of these size-two sistahs who only want him to practice pushups while they do leg lifts.”

“Ha!”

The two brothers were silent a moment. Out of the five Carter boys, Barry, the youngest, was by far the most spoiled, the only one still at home and the only one who didn’t work full-time.

Douglas stifled a yawn. “When is this date with your fantasy woman?”

“Saturday morning, ten o’clock.”

“Not a lot of time to smooth out the rough edges but enough for you to learn a couple tips from a pro.”

Byron made a big deal of looking around. “Where’s he at?”

The brothers laughed. Douglas teased him about being on a “Carter come up” by going after a woman outside the realm of those he normally dated. Byron headed home feeling a little less nervous about his meeting with Cynthia. But not much.

 

 

Cynthia resisted the urge to squirm and worked to look interested in the speaker’s impassioned endorsement of the national health care system. Not that she disagreed with anything said, but that other matters were vying for attention. And winning.

After another torturous hour, Cynthia made her escape. Halfway home, her cell phone rang. “Lisa?” Cynthia quickly answered the call. It was almost midnight in Chicago. She hoped her friend was all right. “Hello?”

Whispered words, frantic, garbled, played through the car’s speakers. “Lisa?”

“. . . in five minutes.” Cynthia made out through irritating static.

“Do what in five minutes? Lisa, what’s the matter?”

“Call me! In five! I’ll explain later.”

“Where are—”

The line went dead.

What in the world is going on ?
She considered calling Gayle or Dynah, the other women in their four-person posse, but decided to wait the five minutes Lisa requested. If Lisa didn’t answer, the cavalry would be called.

“Is Mercury retrograde?” Ironically it was Lisa who’d told Cynthia about this planetary phenomenon, when the planet appeared to travel backward and communication went crazy. While remaining somewhat skeptical of the planet’s effect on human experiences, in this moment she felt cosmic insanity would explain the odd occurrences of the last two days. Four minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, she tapped the redial button.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

“Excuse me, who is this?”

“Lisa, I am not in the mood for foolishness. Are you all right?”

“Yes, this is Lisa. Oh, hi, I’m sorry, wasn’t expecting to hear from you this late at night. Is the paperwork in order?”

“So . . . I’m supposed to figure this out on my end.”

“Yes, I have that information, but it’s at my house and I’m not there right now.”

The lightbulb flashed.

“Seriously? This is a rescue call from another one of your illicit adventures?”

“Hold on a minute.” Cynthia heard muffled mumbling.
SMH.
“I’m leaving right now. No, no, it’s okay. This is important. I’ll get over there as soon as I can.”

“You do that, heifah,” Cynthia managed between laughing. “Because I have a newsflash, too.”

Byron arrived at the coffee shop early, as he’d planned. Nerves had been replaced with a curious attraction. He wondered if she lived here, Marina Del Rey, where she’d suggested they meet. It was an expensive area. If this was her neighborhood, she was either independently wealthy or her job paid very well.

Douglas had been right about one thing. Cynthia wasn’t the type of woman he usually dated. Byron wasn’t fazed. As an LA native, and a ten-year bus driver, there weren’t many parts of the metropolitan area that he’d not at least driven through or any echelon of individual whom he hadn’t met. Whether five-star or two for five dollars, the surroundings didn’t matter. The kids who’d been raised by retired Sergeant Willie Carter were nothing if not comfortable in their own skin.

“The early bird catches the worm. The smart one eats half and saves some for later.” That mantra from Willie, that Byron had heard from the time he was five, is why he sat scrolling the Internet on his cell phone, sipping a bottle of water, and thinking about his fantasy woman.

Had she been able to read what was on his mind when she entered, there wouldn’t have been the need for coffee to heat her up.

“Good morning, Byron.”

“Hello, pretty lady.” Byron stood to greet her.

Cynthia held out her hand. Byron took it and pulled her close, giving a chaste kiss on the cheek.

They sat. Byron watched as she positioned her purse strap on the chair. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she was a little flustered.
By that little kiss? Naw . . .

“It’s Saturday and you look like you’re headed to work. Do you ever let your guard down, lose the professional look?”

“Slacks and a top hardly qualify as that. But if that was a compliment, thank you.”

“Oh, you look good. There’s no mistaking that. What are we drinking?”

“I’ll take a small mocha, decaf.”

“That’s all?” She nodded. “No roll, croissant, breakfast sandwich?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

An unreadable smile touched his lips and met his eyes. “All right, then. Be right back.”

Within minutes he returned with her drink selection and then went back for his order, a large fruit smoothie and gooey cinnamon bun. He took a large bite and chewed it with appreciative abandon.

“So . . . you’re one of those, huh?” he said while licking his fingers before another bite.

“What?” She’d heard him, but her mother’s voice had been louder. If Anna Marie Hall ever saw Cynthia lick her fingers
anywhere,
she would have gotten popped.

“Bird nibbler.”

“Meaning . . .”

“You know how y’all do. Go on a date and eat like a bird. Be so hungry by the time you get home that you clean out the fridge and empty the cabinets.”

Cynthia laughed out loud. Another Anna Marie public no-no. But she’d been that bird a time or two. “No acting here. I’m an early riser and have already had breakfast. But don’t mind me. Enjoy your food.”

“I intend to.” He finished another bite, wiped his hands, and took a drink. “Do you live around here?”

“Close by, Culver City.”

“Do you like it?”

“It has its pluses and minuses, but overall it’s a nice place to live.”

“I have a few friends in the area. It can get congested down here on the evenings and weekends.”

“It can get congested just about anywhere in Los Angeles.”

“True.”

Silence descended as Byron enjoyed his roll.

“Byron, as I said at the office, I am very pleased Leah has you as a positive male role model. I understand she’s endured hardships and—”

“Whoa, wait a minute.” Byron hurriedly finished his bite and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’ve loved my niece since she took her first breath and will do whatever I can to make her life better. But I did not leave my warm bed and risk missing the March Madness game that comes on in an hour to talk about Leah.”

“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“You.” He lowered his voice in a way that Cynthia imagined had separated many a woman from the clothes she wore. “What’s your story?”

“I never give a specific answer to a general question. What would you like to know?”

“I want to know it
all,
” he said with exaggeration as he made a face. His goofy antics reminded her of Cedric the Entertainer. She laughed again and realized this type of easy joy hadn’t been felt in a while. “For starters, where are you from?”

“I grew up near Minneapolis.”

“Minnesota, huh. Do you know Prince?”

“Oh, sure. We went to school together.”

“That’s what I get when visitors find out I was born in Compton. Do you know Ice Cube or Dr. Dre?”

Cynthia remembered her thoughts as she drove to Ava’s house. She kept them to herself.
“I don’t meet many LA natives.”

“We’re here. Never been to Minnesota, though.”

“You should visit. It’s a beautiful state.”

“I know you’re not married, but do you have kids?”

“What is it with you assuming so much about me? Just because I’m not wearing a ring, doesn’t mean I’m not married. As a man, you should know that’s not true.”

“Are you married?”

“No, but—”

“But what? I just said you’re not married. You’ve agreed that’s true. What’s the problem?”

Cynthia became very interested in the taste of her coffee.

“Look, when you’re interested in people and you have an occupation that has you surrounded by them for over ten years, you develop keen observation skills. It’s not personal.”

“Let’s talk about you.”

“All right. You know my name, Byron Carter. I’m the oldest of five hardheaded boys.”

“What about Ava?”

“She’s the big sis of all of us.”

“You come from a large family.”

“It’s all relative. There are families on the block who had ten, twelve kids. We were raised by two parents married thirty-five years and still together. I’m a single father. My daughter, Tyra, is almost ten years old. And I’m looking for a mama to raise her and give me at least five sons. I’m trying to outdo my parents.” As Cynthia tried to rearrange the look of near-horror his comment brought out, it was Byron’s turn to chuckle. “I’m just kidding with you, girl. Don’t run away.”

“Okay, because I was about to grab my purse and hit the exit!”

They both laughed; the first moment of true camaraderie between them since Cynthia boarded the bus.

“By that statement, I take it you have only one child?”

“Yes, and she’s a handful.”

“You share custody with her mom?”

“I have primary custody. Contrary to popular belief, there are black men who take care of our children.”

“I’m thankful for those who do. More men like you mean fewer children like Leah coming into my office.”

“By the way, that girl hating on you the other day? That’s Tyra’s mother.”

“Oh, I see.”

“No, you don’t. Tanya and I basically grew up together. We never really dated, just messed around. When she got pregnant we tried to make it work but broke up three years later. That was almost seven years ago.”

“Why was she on your bus?”

“The same reason you were on it, to hear her tell it.”

“Sounds like you don’t believe her.”

Byron shrugged.

“It’s really none of my business. I wanted us to meet today to prove I have nothing against you personally. As Leah’s counselor, it can also be beneficial to know a little about her extended family.”

“Leah wasn’t always the person you see. She was a bright, funny kid, full of sunshine. She doted on her big brother and when he died, I think a part of her did, too. But we’re not going to talk about work, remember?”

“We’re not. We’re talking about Leah’s extended family.”

“What about your family? Do you have siblings, kids?”

“I have a younger brother attending law school at NYU—”

“Nice . . .”

“And a son, who just turned eight.”

“Does he like California?”

“Are you kidding? Wonderful theme parks, the beach, neighbors his age, and basketball court and skate board weather all year-round . . . he’ll probably never leave.”

“Where did you live before?”

“Chicago.”

“Ah, that makes sense. I spent a whole winter in Chicago one night.”

Cynthia responded with a tinkling chuckle. Byron immediately decided it was a sound he’d like to hear more often.

“My plane was grounded due to a mechanical problem. The airline put us up for the night and I had the bright idea to check out the city. Stepped outside and oh, man! I’d never experienced wind that could cut through cloth.”

“That’s why it’s called the Windy City.”

“Windy is the air that sways palm leaves or helps a kite float in the air. What I felt that night went way beyond windy.”

“It can get pretty intense.”

“Sounds like your son is a smart young man.”

“I think so.”

“I never appreciated all my parents did until Tyra came to live with me. Raising kids is hard work when two people are doing it. By yourself it’s even more difficult. Add to it the fact that I’m raising a daughter and the responsibility seems overwhelming at times.”

“I have similar feelings when it comes to raising a son.”

“My hats are off to all the single mothers out there who’ve held it down. It’s a labor of love, though. I’d do it all over again, except I’d choose a different mother. Not that I chose this one to tell you the truth.”

“Baby mama drama?”

“You don’t know the half.”

“Actually, I do, except with me it’s less about drama and more about . . . well, it’s about the pitfalls of having a parent missing from a child’s life.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Yes.”

“Sounds like one you don’t care to share.”

“Correct.”

Byron slowly nodded, eyeing her with interest as his curiosity grew. “I can respect that. What is one of your biggest challenges dealing with him? With my daughter, it’s clothes and the styles she wants to wear! Why do they make outfits for ten-year-olds as if they’re eighteen?”

“Unfortunately, fashion is largely driven by a pop culture that pays little attention to the term
age appropriate.
Look at the people singing the music she loves or the shows she enjoys watching on TV. They’re probably the ones she’s emulating, and they’re probably not much older than her.” Cynthia took a sip of coffee. “Jock straps.”

The roll on its way to Byron’s mouth was stopped halfway there. “Excuse me?”

“One of the challenges in being a single mother raising a son. I have no personal knowledge of that particular apparatus.”

Byron’s look was that of a confident man. “It just so happens I’m an apparatus expert. What would you like to know?”

The two continued chatting and getting to know each other. One topic flowed into another without effort and before either of them knew it, two hours had gone by. Cynthia left for her hair appointment. Byron headed over to his parents’ house to watch what remained of the game. Both left having experienced the unexpected. For Byron, it was that Cynthia wasn’t as uppity as he thought she was, and even more beautiful when relaxed and smiling. For Cynthia, it was that they had so much in common, and since he wasn’t her client’s immediate family . . . that she’d agreed to join him for dinner tomorrow night.