Love in a Carry-On Bag (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rich Ma, Poor Ma

Erica knocked her hand
mirror off her desk, and without looking, she knew the glass had split in two. If her Grandma Queeny were alive she would have said, “Honey, prepare yourself for seven days of mishap, ’cause they sure to follow.”

But it was only Monday and Erica couldn’t afford a week of bad luck. Since she had missed the wedding rehearsal on Saturday, Warren’s demeanor was distant and she felt like an ass for not being there for him. But she had to let Claire see that she was capable of filling Edie’s shoes. No matter how much she hated having to choose between her career and her man, her career had to take center stage right now.

But this fact didn’t keep her from longing for Warren in the shower, and daydreaming about him over her morning coffee. Most times, she only pretended to listen to her colleagues in staff meetings and working lunches. She felt unsatisfied and unsettled and wished there was a simple way to have it all. How do other women do it?

Her intercom beeped. It was Claire’s assistant. Claire wanted to see her right away, so she put her personal thoughts aside and walked down the hall.

“’Morning,” Erica lingered in the doorway waiting to be invited in.
She wore a magenta wrap dress, hair loose, and make-up just right.

“I got a call from Goldie Gardner this morning. Harriet Lake wants you to accompany her to Los Angeles for the NAACP Image Awards at the end of the week.” Claire looked up but her fingers were busy.

“This weekend?”

Claire nodded. “She has two tickets and doesn’t want to go alone.”

“Couldn’t we send an escort? I have to go to a wedding on Saturday,” Erica’s stomach tightened.

“Are you kidding? Harriet would have a fit. She asked for you.”

Harriet Lake was a high profile historian who always got her way. She was the daughter of a prominent Civil Rights leader and went around the country telling their family story. Her memoir spent twenty weeks on the
New York Times
bestsellers list, and there was serious talk of Harpo Productions buying the movie rights. Goldie Gardner was Harriet’s editor, and Erica needed to avoid confrontation with her at all cost. Goldie was in Erica’s office when her mother called from jail and she couldn’t afford for that story to surface.

“You’ll be back before Saturday. The awards are on Thursday and Friday. Where’s the wedding?”

“D.C.”

“Fine, take a red-eye to D.C. Just do whatever to keep her happy. The last thing we need is for her to call Genève on this and you know she would.”

Genève Meyers-Sheppard was the Publisher of the company, and if Harriet complained to her than Erica was scorched toast. Translation, this trip was not up for discussion.

Walking back to her office Erica was at least grateful for the red-eye getting her to D.C. before the wedding. Shar had decided to forgo the rehearsal dinner since they had rehearsed a week earlier and was planning to spend the night before with her family in private. So perhaps Warren wouldn’t be as cross with her for coming in the morning on the day of the wedding. It was another band-aid and one she would have to live with, but after two weeks without Warren she needed to see him first. How, she wondered, rounding the bend to her office. D.C. was so far. And then, like the flip of a switch, the plan to meet that evening in Philadelphia hatched in her head. It was a crazy idea, but it was all she had. There was a drought between them, and she was thirsting for the smallest details of Warren. Within seconds she was closing her office door and dialing his number.

Warren answered, “Hey, babe.”

“What’s happening?” After a bit of sweet talk Erica told him her plan.

“What’re you, horny?”

“I just miss you,” she said. “Come on, let’s be spontaneous.”

“Okay.”

“Serious?” She hadn’t expected it to be that easy.

“I have a lot to tell you too,” he said. “Shit is really hitting the fan.”

“What happened?”

“Just wedding stuff, but I’ll tell you in person. Can you be there by eight?”

Erica told him she could.

“Great. I’ll send you an email with the hotel details.”

She loved how her man always took charge.

For the rest of
the morning Erica plowed through her work, conscious of getting out of the office on time. Around lunchtime, the front desk called her.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Your mother is here,” replied Iris, the front desk attendant.

Erica’s mouth dried.

“Should I send her back to your office?”

“No, I’ll be right out,” she said, biting down on the inside of her jaw. The broken hand mirror was turned face up on her desk and Erica picked it up and slammed it into her wastepaper basket.

While walking from her office to the lobby, Erica prayed that her mother was sober. On the other side of the double glass doors, her mother sat in the far left chair. She wore a wool coat two sizes too large, a yellow knit hat and black oval sunglasses.

“Hey, Slim,” she staggered to stand. “Surprised to see me?” Erica dipped her body toward her mother’s for an obligatory hug, backing away before she was smothered.

The receptionist pretended to work, but Erica knew she had an ear cocked toward the exchange.

“I need a favor.”

“Can you take off those sunglasses?” Erica whispered, and when her mother did, she didn’t know which was worse: the dark glasses that made her look like she had something to hide, or seeing her bloodshot eyes, red-rimmed with her breakfast beers.

“Wait here,” Erica instructed and by the time she returned with her coat, her mother had slipped the glasses back on. An unlit cigarette dangled from her knotty fingertips as she shifted from one foot to the next.

“Put that away,” Erica hissed in front of the elevator. Her mother was fiddling with her knock-off purse when the doors chimed open and Claire Downing cruised through. She was the last person Erica wanted her mother to meet and when they all stood face to face Erica prayed that the floor would swallow her whole.

Struggling to stick on her publicist smile, Erica cleared her throat and made the introduction.

Her mother dropped the cigarette in her purse, wiped her hand on the front of her coat, and then extended it to Claire. “Nice meeting you. Erica talks ’bout you all the time.”

“Well, you’ve raised a lovely young lady,” Claire said, shaking her mother’s hand. “She’s the star of our department.”

“That’s my daughter,” her mother sang, breaking into a wide grin. The way she took credit for an accomplishment that she had nothing to do with burned Erica. Claire moved on. Once they were alone inside the elevator her mother mumbled, “I embarrass you.”

“No, Ma.” Erica fumbled with her leather gloves. “What’s the emergency?”

“Doctor says I’ve an inflamed stomach. My Medicaid ain’t working for some reason and I need the prescription today.”

Silence.

“You know I wouldn’t have come to your job if it wasn’t serious.”

Yes she would have. “Next time, call.”

They exited the elevator and crossed the large marble lobby.

When they reached the sidewalk, yellow cabs zipped down the three-lane street. Erica asked her mother if she was hungry.

“Naw, just ate.”

Since she was outside Erica decided to grab her lunch and ushered her mother down the block toward the delicatessen. But she spotted Bonnie’s white Trans Am parked just a few feet away and the sight of the woman in the car took her someplace she’d rather not go.

Erica didn’t quite remember
when Bonnie entered their lives. But once she came on the scene, everything changed. Bonnie was unmarried, unemployed and childless, and her presence caused her parents to argue.

“You so far up Bonnie’s ass, you can’t do shit else,” her father would yell before storming out of their home. When he left for the final time, the two women became inseparable. Her mother’s attention to the household felt like an afterthought.

There was one particular harsh winter Erica would never forget. The gas had been turned off and her mother hadn’t been home for two days. She and her sister were hungry and cold with only a kerosene heater and blankets to keep them warm. Erica knew her mother was at Bonnie’s, but their telephone had been disconnected months before. Tired of waiting, she and her sister scrounged drawers and sofa cushions for loose change. By the time they had gathered enough money, it was dark out. But Erica bundled up her younger sister and they walked the five Newark blocks to the nearest public phone. Bonnie answered, passing the phone over, and just the sound of her mother’s voice caused Erica’s hard shell to crack. What kind of mother would leave her children?

“The gas is off, we’re cold and there’s nothing to eat. Come home now.” Her strong voice had parted into a childish whine, and as the tears stung her cheeks, she hated herself for being so needy.

“You wanna say hello
to Bonnie?” Her mother tucked the crisp bills into the pocket of her pea coat and Erica already regretted giving in to her.

“I know you ’on’t like her, but she’s my only ride.”

“I gotta go,” Erica shifted away from the memory.

“I’ll pay you first of the month.” Her mother extended her arms for another hug, but Erica stepped out of reach. All her mother ever had to offer her was hugs and the pretense of some deep love that Erica never felt.

Since Erica was a girl, all she wanted was for her mother to take her shopping at the mall. It wasn’t a tall request. Every girl she knew went with their moms on Saturday afternoon and Erica would have loved giggling over a malted shake with her mother in the food court. But it never happened. What Erica received instead was promises of money that was supposed to come from faceless men. There were the long lies and endless embarrassment: the Easter Sunday, when she had to tighten the blinds and be still, so that when her friends came to take her to church, they’d think she wasn’t home. The man never came with the Easter clothes money. Or on Christmas, when she would have to invent a list of new things she’d received, when in reality, her mother had sat them down the night before explaining that the tree would be bare. Erica guessed that the Christmas money man never showed up, or if he did, her mother had squandered the cash on her habits. It was frustrating that her mother didn’t have a job like the rest of the women on their block. Even Ms. Precious worked and she was blind in the left eye.

While crossing the street, it dawned on Erica that throughout her life she had been waiting for her mother to have her “Ahhh ha” moment and change into the respectable, available, working-class mother that she wanted. After all of these years she was still hoping.

Her mother shouted after her. “Love you, Slim.”

And as Erica dodged between traffic, she wondered which lie was bigger—her mother paying her back or that she actually loved her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Not Love, but Circumstance

E
rica had no overnight
bag when she arrived at the Wyndham Hotel at Franklin Plaza in downtown Philadelphia. Her leather tote was stuffed with a new pair of panties and a pantsuit she purchased from an inexpensive boutique along Broadway.

Although the reservation was in Warren’s name, she was the first to arrive. Their hotel suite opened into the living area, facing the flat-screen television. The heavy taupe drapery was pushed open, exposing a terrific view of the Philadelphia skyline. The stars looked like crystal droplets suspended against blackness. On the coffee table was a woven basket filled with exotic cheeses, colorful fruits, fancy mixed nuts and tea biscuits tied together with a heart-shaped balloon and the words “I Love You” stenciled in metallic gold. Erica was tickled by the gesture; Warren knew her well.

The plan was for them to meet by eight, spend the night together and wake for work before dawn. But Warren was late, and that made Erica nervous. In the bathroom mirror she checked her reflection several times, fingering through her red hair, adding shiny mascara, dabbing away eye shadow and glossing up the pout of her lips. It had only been nine days since she last saw Warren, but when he finally walked through the door with his cell phone tucked at his ear, cap pulled low on his head, face filled with that crooked smile, brows thick and full, cashmere coat swinging behind him, and his pinstriped suit revealing nothing of his long day, she felt herself lean forward, like a baby who wanted up. It was in his arms that she felt the warmth of his breath and the coolness of his cheek as they tangled themselves around each other. Swaying like driftwood, their bodies moaned sweet nothings to each other through the barrier of unwanted clothing.

Warren made the drinks: Scotch neat for him, red wine swirled for her, and they sipped while catching each other up on the day. “Distant Lover” by Marvin Gaye crooned from the clock radio and Erica held her hand out to Warren for a slow drag. The power of him had already begun gathering between her legs, but she wanted her heat to last until the cry of the morning birds. It had been too long, and even longer if Erica counted when it was good, normal. She needed this. They needed this.

Spinning her and then pulling her close, Warren dipped Erica and hummed the melody in her ear. His voice was hot on her throat and the sensual hard-day-at-work scent drifting from his body made her nipples warm. She wrapped her arms around his waist and tugged on his belt. The moment could have gone on like that forever, but then Warren opened his mouth, and the spell they had created completely shattered.

“Before I forget, my father needs me at the church Friday night. What time are you getting in?”

Erica blinked, not meaning to stutter but did, “F… first thing Saturday morning.”

He dropped his hands and Erica tried explaining. “I have to go to L.A. for the Image Awards, but I’ll be back in time for…” but then Warren shocked her into silence by swiping at the radio, making it crash to the carpet.

“Unfucking believable. So that’s what this is all about. I should have known.” Anger mucked the whites of his eyes.

“What?” she asked, feeling as dumb as the word sounded.
Warren threw back his drink and moved from the bedroom to the living room.

“So you thought you could fuck away missing my father’s wedding.”

“No. What are you talking about?”

“You are such a brilliant bullshit artist. I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Fair? Well what is? It certainly isn’t fair that I no longer fit into your plans.”

“I didn’t say that,” she wrung her hands.

“It’s never in what you say, Erica,” said Warren. The fury in his eyes was palpable.

Over the last few weeks, Warren had been through more than she could even imagine. And when Erica offered to meet him in Philadelphia, it was a relief. She had been his life support for so long, going two weeks without her in the midst of so much chaos made life unbearable. Warren needed Erica. He needed to be close and feel her skin against his if only for a few hours to rejuvenate his soul, so that he could get on with things. Now she wasn’t even real to him. Who was this selfish girl standing in front of him? He could hire a hooker to be more available than Erica, and that was the thought that burst the pimple.

“I can’t do this anymore,” flew from his mouth and he clinched his teeth, choking down the urge to take his words back.

The phrase hung in the air for so long that a few moments passed before Erica really felt the prick from the sting. But when it hit her, it was like a full blast of steamed gas.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She searched for his eyes, but when he wouldn’t give them to her, she dug her fingernails into his arm.

“Stop.” He shook her off.

“You stop. This is bullshit.”

But his chest sank in defeat. “This hasn’t been working.”

“That doesn’t mean we stop trying. I love you. Don’t do this.” She reached for his arm again, but this time he pulled out of the way.

“Stop, Erica. Just stop it.”

But she didn’t, and came at him with a flying fist that he grabbed midair.

“It’s too late. Just stop.”

“The fuck you mean it’s too late.” She was shouting but didn’t seem to care, and before she could come at him again, Warren picked up his briefcase, mumbling that he was sorry it had to end like this.

“
Good luck in L.A. and with the promotion. I really hope you find what you’re looking for,” he offered, and without a second glance closed the door behind him with a soft thud.

Erica had every intention
to run after him but her feet wouldn’t move. It was as if a sudden paralysis had come over her. The patter of his footsteps had died, and the elevator must have chimed half a dozen times, while the “I Love You” balloon rocked from side to side mocking her.

“Warren,” she called finally, surprising herself with the desperation of her voice, and then she opened the door and ran after him. The elevator was moving too slow, and if she wasn’t on the twentieth floor she would have taken the stairs. In the lobby, she searched the restaurant, the bar and every lounge chair scattered throughout the floor.

“Where’s the parking garage?” she asked a bell hop in a red and black uniform. He pointed her to the right. Now she was running
like her life depended on it, with wild tears dampening her cheeks.
Don’t do this Warren
, she repeated over and over again. Opening the door to the parking area, she saw two men dressed in identical uniforms. One had a cigarette behind his ear.

“Did a man come for a red Yukon Denali? Tall guy, brown skin, long coat,” she started describing, not caring that her face was surely blackened with mascara.

“Yes ma’am. Pulled off a few minutes ago,” said Mr. Cigarette, while the other reached into his breast pocket for a tissue. It was then that the cold from the cement registered, and Erica realized that she had left the hotel room in her stocking feet. She asked the man if she could have his cigarette, allowing him to light it. Hugging herself on the metal bench, she inhaled hard as the men rushed back and forth, moving cars.

The scent of motor oil made her think of her father, and just like that she was back in her house on Monroe Street in Newark, standing barefoot on the shiny hardwood floors. Her ten-year-old shoulders pressed against the frosted-glass vestibule door, blocking her father from leaving, and like then, the man she loved with everything still went.