Mama's Boy (17 page)

39

H
er husband was no saint. Gloria had known that from the day he started wooing her when she was in the ninth grade at Baton Rouge High School. He was a senior and she had been smitten. He was a man of faith, even then. And although Gloria grew to despise some of his ways, she loved him enough to overlook his flaws. She was always overlooking things in the name of love.

Gloria had believed in him, blindly believed in him. She believed in him when he said Kayla had seduced him. She believed him when he said how devastated he was and begged for her forgiveness. And she believed him, she told herself, because she didn't want to believe her husband was capable of something so horrible. But with age had come wisdom and Gloria knew better. Even if Kayla had been some type of seductress, he was the adult. He was her spiritual leader. He was supposed to say no.

They fought for weeks after the Matthewses showed up at her doorstep, breaking the news of Kayla's pregnancy. That had been the most difficult time of Gloria's life. The Matthewses hadn't
pressed charges, but they had told the church board, and of course, the rumor mill took it from there. The scandal had cost Elton his church and he sank into a deep depression. That had hurt Gloria's heart and, like Elton, she found herself blaming Kayla. They moved to Lake Charles just to escape the gossip and start over. For months they lived in fear that the Matthewses would change their minds and press charges, but they never heard from Gwen or Robert again—until one day, Gwen called.

“Hello,” Gloria had said, answering her ringing phone.

“First Lady?”

Gloria grimaced. Nobody called her First Lady anymore. Didn't a First Lady require a church? She and Elton had nothing.

“Yes, this is Gloria,” she said.

“It's Gwen. Gwen Matthews.”

Gloria had had to sit down. She wasn't sure if this was the call they had been dreading. The call to let her know the Matthewses would be pressing charges. But instead Gwen simply said, “Kayla had the baby.”

“Okay,” Gloria said, only because she didn't know what else to say. “What did she have?”

“A boy.”

Gloria didn't know why, but she felt something in her stomach. It was almost as if her longing for a child had been reawakened.

“We are at my sister's in Arkansas. We have an agency that is going to take him. He'll be put in foster care. But we need ­Pastor—” Gwen paused—“we need Elton to sign away his rights. The agency won't take the baby without it.”

Gloria didn't know how she was supposed to respond to that. So she was silent for a minute. Then finally, “Okay, I'll let him know.”

“I need to hear back from him today.”

“I'll give him the message.” She took down the number to reach Gwen and then waited for Elton to come back from the store. That's what he spent his days doing now, reading the Bible, praying for redemption, as he said, trying to get back in tune with God, and going to the store. Their savings had been exhausted and both of them took odd jobs just to make ends meet while Elton searched for another church.

“Hey,” Elton said as he walked up the stairs and watched her sitting on the front porch in an old wicker rocking chair. “How are you?”

“I'm fine,” she said. “Got a call.”

Since she'd hung up with Gwen, Gloria had been thinking and thinking. And the longing in her loins had exploded into a full-fledged fire.

“Kayla had the baby.”

Elton looked away, shifting as if he didn't know how to respond.

“Oh,” was all he said.

“They need you to sign some paperwork, giving up your rights to the baby. To your son,” she found herself adding.

“Son?” he said.

“Yes, she had a boy.”

More silence, then finally, “Okay.”

He came up onto the porch and passed her as he headed inside, but just when he reached the screen door, she said, “I've been thinking.”

He turned to her. “About what?”

“We've lost everything,” she said, rocking back and forth. “Maybe this is God's way for us to make it right, to start over. Maybe this baby is your redemption.”

“I don't understand,” he said.

She stood and went to face her husband, “I think we should take the baby.”

“What?” he exclaimed.

“The Matthewses are giving the baby up for adoption. They don't want to have anything to do with the child. They're in Arkansas and planned to leave the child in a foster home there. I think we should take him and raise him as our own.”

“Woman, are you crazy?” he said.

She folded her arms. The idea had just come to her, but now she felt it to the very core of her bones.

“I want the baby,” she said with finality.

“Come on, Gloria. How will this work? Everybody knows you haven't, that you're not pregnant.”

“Then we move. There is nothing keeping us here. We get the baby and we move somewhere else and start over and we raise the child as our own and we redeem ourselves. We can go to Jasper in your father's house.” Elton's father had passed away last year, but Elton was too sentimental to sell his house.

“Gloria, I don't think that's a good idea.”

She glared at her husband. After everything that he'd put her through, this wasn't open for discussion as far as she was concerned. “The number is on the kitchen table,” she said. “Call and let them know what time we'll be by to pick up our son. I'm going to go start packing up our stuff.”

And with that she went inside, leaving him on the front porch. This baby was her consolation prize. The pain that Elton had caused her, she might as well get something out of it, and that something would be the thing she most wanted in the world.

40

S
hut the front door and jump off the roof.” Kay couldn't help but laugh at Camille's cornball saying. Her own laughter was a welcome sound. She'd been so stressed this past week, laughter hadn't dared show up on her doorstep. But that's why she loved the woman sitting in front of her. She silently chastised herself for not spending more time with Camille. Camille always managed to bring laughter into her life, and right about now, Kay needed a whole lot of that. After all, who could take in the news that their best friend had been essentially living a lie and this be their response?

“Hello!” Camille said, snapping her fingers in Kay's face. “You can't drop a bombshell like that, then zone out.”

“Oh, sorry,” Kay replied.

“You're sorry, all right. Keeping some juicy stuff from me all this time.”

Kay leaned into the table, setting down her spicy pineapple margarita. They were at the Cheesecake Factory, where Camille
had all but demanded Kay meet her because she said she could hear in her voice that something was wrong.

“So, let me get this straight,” Camille said. “You got a baby.”

“He's not a baby anymore.”

“Okay, so you
had
a baby. You gave him up for adoption and now he's back as the defendant in a case you're prosecuting and your husband is the defendant's attorney?” Her hand bounced like she was dissecting a sentence.

Kay nodded. “In a nutshell.”

“Chile,” Camille said, taking a sip of the drink, “Lifetime ain't got nothing on you. Shoot, you need to be calling up TVOne, BET, HBO, somebody needs to make this a movie of the week.”

One of the things Kay liked about sharing with Camille was that there was no judgment. Not even a hint. Of course, she was shocked because she called Kay a “Dolly Do Right” who could do no wrong, but outside of her shock, she didn't try to make Kay feel bad.

“You know I'm speechless, right? I mean, I knew something was wrong, but I was expecting you to say you were mad because Phillip left the toilet seat up or something.”

“No, but that's only the beginning.”

“You mean there's more?” Camille barked. “Hold on.” She summoned the waiter and he scurried over. “I'm going to need another one of these, like real fast.” The waiter nodded before taking off. “Okay, what more could there be?”

“Let's see. Shall I begin with the fact that I'm being blackmailed with the fact that Jamal is my son or that I'm thinking I need to step down from the case?”

“Whoa. First things first. Blackmailing? Who's blackmailing you?”

“Marty Simon. Somehow he found out about everything and now he's threatening to expose me if I don't drop out of the mayoral race.”

“Wow,” Camille said. “See, that's why I can't be a politician. I'd be on the news right now for cutting his throat the minute he came at me with this mess.”

Kay smiled. Camille wouldn't have resorted to murder, but she was hot-tempered enough that she wouldn't have taken a blackmail threat lightly.

“Of course, it caught me off guard,” Kay said.

“So, what are you going to do?”

Kay shrugged. “I'm not stepping down. I have too many people that have invested time and effort into my campaign and I really do want to make a difference for the city.”

“Yeah, I get that. And I don't think you should step down. But let's back up. You have so much going on I just can't figure out where to start. How are you going to represent the state in prosecuting your son?”

“I can't,” Kay said, then let out a heavy sigh. “Ethically, I have no choice but to step down. And even if Marty didn't know, I know. What do I look like trying the son I gave birth to? Can I be responsible for putting him on death row? I've already said I was going for the death penalty. How would I look taking it off the table now?”

“Because you know Texas will execute somebody in a New York minute.”

“I know. I can't bear that burden.”

“So, what does Phillip say about all of this?”

Kay bit down on her bottom lip. Camille stared at her, closed her eyes, and shook her head. She picked her glass up and downed
the rest of her drink. She set the empty glass back down, opened her eyes back up, and looked at Kay. “Your husband doesn't know,” she said. It was a fact, not a question.

“No.”

“And you're sitting here with me at the Cheesecake Factory and not at home breaking the news to him?”

“I just don't know how to tell him. I mean, I was on my way to tell him about Jamal, then Marty stopped me.”

Camille leaned into the table. “Tell him like you just told me. Come on, Kay. Phillip is one of the good guys. I'm sure he's going to be mad, but he'll get over it. You can't let him find out about this some other way.”

“I know. I know. It just all came at me so fast.”

Camille picked up her napkin, reached for her purse, then pulled out a pen.

“What are you doing?” Kay asked.

“I'm making you a to-do list.” Camille scribbled away on the napkin.

“A what?”

“To-do,” Camille said as she kept writing. When she was done, she slid the napkin across the table.

Kay picked it up and started reading. “Number one, tell my husband about my secret. Number two, stab Marty Simon in the neck.”

Kay laughed. “I'm not stabbing anyone.”

Camille took the napkin back, scratched through the word
stab
and wrote
maim
. “No?” she said, raising an eyebrow at Kay.

“No,” Kay replied.

“Okay, we'll come back to that one,” Camille said, sliding the napkin back toward her. “Keep reading.”

“Number three,” Kay continued, “find out how Marty got the information to blackmail me.” Kay looked up at her friend. “Well, I think I know that. It has to be Gloria, Jamal's adopted mother. She's a desperate mother fighting for her son's freedom.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” Camille replied. “Why would she give Marty the info to blackmail you? Why would she even care about a mayor's race?”

“I don't know. I can't figure that part out.”

“I don't know about that one. It's just not adding up. I deal with a lot of lowlifes and I don't see what she'd get by working with Marty. It's somebody else behind that.”

“Well, I don't know who else would do it.”

“Well, that's what number three is, find out,” Camille said, tapping the napkin. “Keep reading.”

Kay returned her attention to the paper napkin. “Okay, number four . . .” She was quiet for a moment, then looked at Camille. “Meet my son?”

“Yep. You can't tell me it doesn't bother you. I see it in your eyes. You may have given him up and tried to erase him from your memory. But you can't erase him from your heart.”

Kay looked away. “No, what in the world would I say?”

“Okay, fine. But you will come back to number four. Read number five.”

Kay read the fifth thing on the to-do list and smiled. “Really? Get my hair done?”

Camille nodded and raised an eyebrow as she looked in Kay's direction. “Yeah, girl, your weave is kind of jacked right now.”

“Are you serious?” Kay said. “I can't believe you.”

“You know I'm going to keep it real with you. You can't be representing black women everywhere as mayor with jacked-up hair, and while I'm at it”—she motioned to Kay's outfit, a silk blouse and slacks—“your blacks don't match.” She took the paper, scribbled again. “Number six, fire the wardrobe consultant.”

Kay couldn't help it. She busted out laughing. Yeah, she needed to make more time for her girlfriend because Camille had made her feel better than she'd felt in weeks. Kay was just about to tell her that when she heard someone call her name.

“Kayla?”

Both Kay and Camille turned to the pretty brown-skinned woman dressed in the waitstaff uniform. She looked very familiar, but it wasn't until Kay saw her name tag that she remembered who the woman was.

“Maxine?”

“Wow,” Maxine said, shocked. “It's been, what, eighteen years since I've seen you.”

“Almost,” Kay said, standing and hugging her old childhood friend. After Kayla had turned up pregnant, her family moved from Baton Rouge and she never saw any of the people from her church or school again.

Camille cleared her throat, causing Kay to smile as she turned to her. “Camille, this is an old friend. Maxine Lewis. We knew each other back in Baton Rouge.”

Maxine shook her head like the memories were too painful. “A lifetime ago,” she muttered.

“Maxine, this is my best friend, Camille.” They nodded before Kay said, “I didn't know you were in Houston.”

“Been here about four years,” Maxine said. “You know, trying to find something different.” She motioned to her uniform. “But ended up with the same old thing.”

“Maxine, they're calling for you at table four,” Kay and Camille's waiter said, approaching their table.

“Well, I gotta go. I just saw you over here and came to speak. Maybe we can exchange numbers before you leave.” She paused. “I really have some things I'd like to talk to you about.”

Kay didn't know why, but the tone of Maxine's voice sent shivers up her spine. “Sure,” she said, although she had no intention of ever talking to Maxine again. Maxine reminded her of her past. And anything in her past needed to stay there.

After she was gone and Kay had sat back down at the table, Camille said, “Why do I have the feeling that you'd rather duck out a side door than give that girl your phone number?”

“Because you know me so well,” Kay replied, as she picked up her margarita and downed the rest of it in one gulp.