Sinful (30 page)

“That's
Mrs.
Hutchins,” Dior spat nastily. “Some of us black women do have husbands.”

“We are talking about the woman who was brought here from the Riverdale Clinic?” the receptionist debated to make her point.

“Yeah, and…it's complicated,” Dior snarled.

“I'm sure it is.
Mrs.
Hutchins will be a while so you can take this clipboard and sit over there until it's been filled out.”

“Again with the clipboard,” Dior huffed. “Give it here. Her
husband
is on his way.”

“Her husband is right here,” Marvin grunted, standing directly behind Dior. The way he was grinding his teeth made the white woman giddy inside. He was overwhelmingly upset and she didn't doubt that Dior had something to do with it.

“Hey, Marvin,” Dior greeted him, in a voice so soft she didn't even hear it come out of her mouth.

“Don't
hey Marvin
me. I was breaking my neck to get here when I realized where you said Chandelle was when she passed out. What was my wife doing at an abortion clinic?”

“She—she…I—I,” Dior stuttered to the delight of the eavesdropping receptionist. “It's like this,” she started saying, when a black supervisor thundered over and demanded they keep their voices down.

“Ma'am, I'm just here looking for my wife,” Marvin argued. “Chandelle Hutchins, have you admitted her?”

“Uh-huh, she's in the back with the doctor now,” replied the black woman, with graying temples and attitude to spare. “If you don't want to be escorted out, keep it down.”

“Yes, ma'am,” answered Marvin, scratching his head. “Will somebody please tell me what she was doing at Riverdale?”

“See, I woke up this morning and Chandelle was throwing up. I started telling her how she needed to tell you that she was pregnant and…”

Marvin's chest heaved out when he heard the word
pregnant
. “Chandelle's pregnant?”

“Uh-uh, I told her that everything needed to be out in the open.”

“What else did you tell her, Dior?”

“Nothing about us, I swear.”

The receptionist snickered then. “Maybe y'all need to go into the conference room to discuss what wasn't said. These walls have ears,” she warned.

Marvin took her advice. He pulled Dior into a glassed-in room with a long table and comfortable chairs. “Now, tell it to me slow,” he said. “All of it.”

“I don't know too much because Chandelle doesn't. I promise I don't, Marvin. She's going through it right now. There wasn't going to be an abortion, she just wanted to know how deep in it she was. I swear that's all.”

The expression on Marvin's face could have stopped a clock. The muscles in his jaws flexed mightily. “So, she
did
sleep with him?” he stated in the tone of a resolution.

“You don't know that,” Dior contested, as the voice of reason.

“I know that you made it possible for him to get with her, though. How did it come to this?” Marvin rose to his feet, then turned his back to Dior. He couldn't stand the sight of her. “Chandelle should have told me.”

“She almost lost you once,” Dior reminded him. “Can you blame her?”

“Nah, that's all on you,” Marvin ranted, “you and him.” Dior glanced out of the wall of glass. She saw Dooney leading Tony up to the check-in desk. She wanted to disappear when the receptionist gladly pointed her and Marvin out to them.

“I guess it's on now,” she whispered, about as terrified and ashamed as she could be. “Don't go back to jail, Marvin. I'm not worth doing time over. Whatever the outcome may be, it's my bad.”

“Who you telling,” Marvin agreed, as Dooney marched Tony into the conference room. Tony hesitated when he recognized Chandelle's husband. Dooney shoved him in the back to prod him along.

“Get on in there, dude,” Dooney urged him. He glared at Dior, then nodded hello to Marvin. “Hey, Kinfolk.”

“Dooney,” Marvin answered, staring a hole in Tony. The red bruise on the side of Tony's face implied that he had needed some convincing in order to come with Dooney, but it didn't stop Marvin from wanting to put in work of his own. “Who told you to do that?”

“Mr. Tony did when he insulted my people. I just went down to that Café Bleu of his to talk to the man, but naw, he wanted to loud talk me and holler for his boys. Don't stress, they didn't like the odds.” Dooney raised his jacket, revealing a chrome-plated automatic handgun. “Now we get along just fine. Ain't that right, Mr. Tony?”

There was a light tap at the door. A tall black man pushed it opened and stepped in. “Sorry to interrupt. I'm told that you all are here for Chandelle Hutchins.”

“Yeah, we the family,” answered Dooney, the only visitor who wasn't too overwhelmed to speak.

“Good. Chandelle is doing fine. Her blood sugar is low, but we're giving her an IV to correct that. All I need to do is get this form signed by the co-parent of her child, then you can see her in about an hour.” Initially, no one moved. The doctor looked at Marvin as a suitable candidate, but Marvin looked away in disgust. Next, the doctor appealed to Dooney. “Sir?” he asked, holding out the form for his signature.

“Uh-uh, Doc,” he declined. “Talk to one of them.”

“Sir, then you must be the baby's father,” the doctor assumed, via process of elimination, but Tony shrugged his shoulders.

“Baby?” he shouted. “Don't look at me,” he objected as every eye in the room glinted at his. “What? Is that what all of this is about?”

Dooney sucked his teeth rudely. “I thought you knew, podner.”

“That why Chandelle's been bugging me?” he said, biting his lip angrily.

“Watch your mouth, man. I done told you once already about snapping on my people,” Dooney reminded him. “You might want to think twice.”

After the physician looked at his watch, he realized he'd wasted enough time. “Look, I don't have all day. Are you accepting responsibility as the father or not?”

Tony straightened his jacket and slid both hands inside his pockets. “I can't take responsibility for something I didn't have anything to contribute to. Me and Chandelle didn't hook up that night or any other night since she got married. Yeah, I wanted to, but she was lit and hysterical about her separation. I couldn't take advantage of her after she tried to drown her sorrows with champagne. Besides, she's still in love with him.” Tony tilted his head in Marvin's direction. “Even a fool could see that,” he remarked sarcastically. “The only reason I stayed that night was to look after her. That's it. If I hadn't been so stubborn and had taken her calls this wouldn't have happened, huh?” He stroked the cheek that Dooney had tattooed with a stiff forearm.

“Congratulations, you're going to be a father,” the doctor announced as he handed the document to Marvin for his John Hancock. “Chandelle will be up and running in no time. Just make sure that she keeps on a proper diet.”

Marvin extended his hand to Tony, thanking him for doing right by his wife at her weakest moment. “Man, I…uh, much respect for staying with her. A lesser man would have…” His voice trailed off, merely contemplating the alternative. “I don't know whether to hug your neck or beat you down for being there in the first place.”

“Oh, I'd beat him down,” Dooney chimed in his unsolicited two cents.

“Can I go now?” Tony asked, pandering to Dooney.

“Yeah, man, but the next time a woman calls you, talk to her. As least see what she wants before you dismiss her.”

“Point well taken,” he replied on his way out of the conference room. “Well taken, indeed.”

Dooney was happy to do his part, as usual. When he saw Marvin wiping his eyes and smiling, he frowned at Dior. “What's going on in here? I know why Kinfolk's boo-hooing. He's got an eighteen-year food bill in the oven, but why is your face all torn up?”

“Because I know what I have to do now. Ain't no question about it. Thank you, Dooney, for showing up like always.” Dior hugged her brother for such a long time that he suspected she had gotten in way over her head in some other aspect.

“Dior, you straight?” he asked, using her given name.

“Yeah, thanks to my big brother.” She rubbed her tears away with the back of her hand. “I'd like to call you tomorrow if that's all right. I want to talk to you about Billie.”

“Yeah, okay then,” answered Dooney. “I'm going to see her for Christmas.”

“I know…and it's about time I went with you.”

“Mama would really like that,” he told her, softening his tough-guy bravado.

“I would too.”

S
aturday night, the clouds opened up and rained down a flash flood. Tremendous downpours without warning were common in Texas, but this one rated off the charts. Marvin had continually checked on Chandelle in the master bedroom every half hour since the doctor released her earlier that day. She was panic-stricken after learning that Marvin knew about the abortion clinic, her indecisiveness, and the reluctance to share the news regarding her pregnancy. Marvin refused to discuss any of it and insisted that she rest while he looked for something in the kitchen to prepare for dinner. Chandelle slept so soundly for hours that he made the most of his time alone in the house, her house and his.

The décor in the living room was charming and inviting, the sofa and love seat were made of a tan synthetic material he swore was genuine suede with a contemporary flare. The formal dinner table was redwood, very expensive and carved in the shape of a narrow rectangle to stimulate intimate conversation among future guests. Chandelle's taste seemed to have matured during her spiteful period of anger and ambivalence.

Marvin felt like a stranger in the house, a man whose presence wasn't expected but was welcomed. His first trip up the staircase was an arduous climb. He'd turned the corner in the fully furnished home, then put Chandelle to bed probably in the same manner Tony had, and that jostled him where he stood. The thought of replacing the king sleigh bed with another, free from some other man's fingerprints, occurred to him, but that was a discussion for a different time. He had so much more to think about and be thankful for. His wife was having his baby, Dior wasn't having anyone's child as far as he knew, and he was very close to moving in. The house Chandelle had to have and the one he dreaded paying for had become the perfect size for raising a family, with ample room for a home office he could write off at tax time. All in all, their blessings were falling from the sky in buckets like the rain outside the kitchen window. He thanked God for allowing his marriage to endure the strain of almost certain ruin. It had been tested beyond his wildest imagination and thus far weathered the storm successfully, forging a stronger bond between them.

There was just one other item that needed to be addressed. He felt obliged to tell Chandelle about Dior and the night they slept together. Hopefully, their relationship had grown strong enough to sustain itself afterward. Dior would have to understand his rationale. It was his family he had to protect, and his alone.

Marvin realized that when Chandelle floated down the stairs with a certain glow in her eyes. She rubbed her eyes and dragged her feet like a drowsy adolescent who'd awaked from a long dream that ended the way she wanted. “I'm so tired,” she said, pressing her face against his chest. “Thank you for letting me sleep as long as I needed to. You must have a million questions about the house and about me.”

Marvin kissed her on the forehead tenderly. “Not a one, either way,” he answered sweetly. “You're okay and that means I'm okay. I'm going to be a daddy and that's icing on the cake.”

“You are going to be a daddy, a good one too,” she predicted. “Grace's daughter, Nicole, will have a playmate.”

“Grace, we have to call her,” he suggested. “Her and Wallace, you can't do any better than them as friends. Let's do something nice for them.”

Chandelle nestled her nose against Marvin to warm it. “Hmmm, like what? They've got crazy money.”

“We'll think of something they need, like a lifetime babysitting service for whenever they want a night out on the town. Kim said she has canceled dates because of problems getting a sitter.”

“Now that's another person I need to add to my Christmas list. I've been so wrong about her, Marvin, and she's done nothing but have our back. Will you tell her I'm sorry for the way I acted?”

Marvin chuckled and then kissed Chandelle again. “That apology would mean a lot more coming from you.”

“Yeah, it would at that,” she agreed.

“I know what I'm going to do,” he said assuredly. “Since I owe her more than money could say and good ol' Tony for taking care of my woman in my stead, who knows, Kim might dig him, maybe not, but I'm introducing them the first chance I get.”

“Good ol' Tony,
when did all this happen?” she asked, with a surprised glimmer in her eye.

“I'm just saying that in a strange way, I'm in his debt,” Marvin answered. “He's on my short list of stand-up brothas, a very short list. I'll figure out a way to pull a Dior and take Kim to the restaurant for a bite, and then leave them to figure out what's what.” He laughed when Chandelle opposed the idea.

“Humph, you let good ol' Tony work his own angle. He and Dior…” she began to say before something told her to button up and let it go. “Well, I'm staying out of other grown folk's affairs. That reminds me, I didn't hear Dior upstairs. I thought I'd find her down here trying to tell you how to season meat like she did at the apartment. Let the girl throw together a couple of decent meals and she's Julia Child.”

“Dior probably would be fussing about this and that if she was here, but I haven't seen her since we left the hospital.”

Chandelle loosened her embrace when a wall of worry fell on top of her. “I saw the rental car in the garage when you pulled in. That means she's been here. She does not need to be running the streets in her condition. It's really coming down out there.”

In what condition
? Marvin wanted to ask but dared not.

“I wasn't supposed to say anything but you are my husband and I'm tired of keeping things from you. Dior's pregnant too. She told me this morning.” When Marvin held his comments, Chandelle assumed he didn't want to add insult to injury. “But please don't mention it unless she brings it up.”

Again, Marvin was speechless. He couldn't have said a word if he wanted to. His heart had jumped out of his chest and lodged itself in his throat.

“Thank you, honey, I knew I could count on you to keep a secret. So, what's for dinner?” she asked casually. “Something smells great.”

Marvin told her to have a seat on the sofa while he made her plate. He motored around the kitchen trying to stay out of his own way, but the third time he dropped a dish Chandelle asked if there was anything wrong. He had to come clean. She'd been honest with him and she deserved the same, he kept telling himself. He couldn't shoulder living with the burden of carrying Dior's lie any longer. After dinner, he'd open his mouth and come right out with it. There was no telling when she'd spring it on Chandelle and turn his wife against him, he feared.

Marvin's hands trembled as he set the dinner tray in front of Chandelle. She muted the volume on the television while awaiting Marvin to say grace over the meal. “Dear Lord…Jesus wept. Amen,” he said in short, choppy breaths. Chandelle stared at him for the shortest prayer ever.

“Wow, you've been on the quiet tip every since I told you about Dior having a baby. Don't fret, she is not coming to live with us or raising it here. She said the baby's daddy has a main thing, meaning he's likely married. He'd better have his money right because she's gonna jack his…”

“What?” he asked, hanging on every word. “What did Dior say she was planning to do?”

“Nothing,” she replied in a hushed, bewildered tone. “That's her car on the news. Right there, on the news, that's Dior's car.” Marvin picked up the remote control from the serving tray where Chandelle had placed it. She couldn't move, gazing at a white newsman standing beneath an umbrella on the front lawn of the Jennings's house. “Ohhh no…Dior. I know you didn't go back there after yesterday.” Marvin found the volume button and pressed it.

“As I said a moment ago, this is breaking news from Plano, a Dallas suburb, where the local police are tight-lipped but neighbors have reported a host of strange activity originating in and around this house behind me,” the newsman reported. “They say that as recent as yesterday, two conspicuous females were seen leaving after heated words with the owners. Now, the couple who lives here is going to be charged with homicide. We don't have the name of the victim, but we have confirmation that she is a young black female.” As the Jenningses marched out in handcuffs and perp-walked from their home, the cameraman zoomed in on their faces. “As you can see, Paul and Rosalind Jennings have been taken into custody. The cause of death is sketchy at best, but it is known that a black woman has died inside of their bedroom. There has been sex paraphernalia found at the crime scene and foul play is suspected.”

“Turn it off, Marvin. Marvin, turn it off!” she shouted unnervingly when he didn't respond the first time. “I'm sorry for yelling but I can't listen to any more of it. I told her. I told Dior to stay away from those types of people.”

“Chandelle, it might not be her. Let's call the police. Let me…” his voice trailed off when someone knocked at the door. Reminding his feet to move, Marvin shuffled slowly toward it. He brushed the curtains aside to see out front. “There's a police car,” he said, as if it were death itself parked next to the curb.

Chandelle covered her mouth with her hand as Marvin turned the doorknob. A uniformed police officer removed his hat like they do in the movies, as a prelude to delivering horrible news. Chandelle heard herself gasp when he asked if they were related to Dior Wicker. Marvin nodded with grave distress. The cop turned and motioned to another one still sitting in the car. Chandelle sat her tray down and then stood up from the sofa.

“What happened?” she asked, afraid of the answer. “Where's Dior now?”

“Ma'am, there's been a terrible tragedy,” he said, watching Chandelle fold like paper.

Marvin raced over to hold her up. “Dior is my wife's cousin.” he explained. “They were very close.”

The second policeman appeared, holding a standard black umbrella over someone Marvin presumed to be the department's designated bearer of bad news. As they drew up the walkway, he saw something else. He shook Chandelle softly to get her attention. Sobbing sorrowfully, her eyes found Dior, standing in the doorway shrouded in a yellow police raincoat. She was shivering and soaking wet with streaks of mascara staining her face.

“I'm so sorry,” she cried, her teeth chattering.

“Here's a dry blanket,” the second cop said, removing the raincoat from her shoulders.

Marvin ushered Dior into the house, covering her with the navy blue cloth. He'd never been sorrier for anyone in his whole life after she started rambling uncontrollably.

Chandelle listened intently as her wayward cousin babbled on like a sinner needing to repent. “I had Kevlin take me by there to pick up my car and get my things from yesterday when I saw the police cars,” Dior muttered pitifully, her eyes glassy and red. “The ambulance was taking her away, Chandelle. They killed her.”

She threw her arms around Dior to comfort her. “Who, Dior? They killed who?”

“Isis, my friend,” she answered as if they should have known. “The Jennings killed her. They've been calling me all day, but I wouldn't pick up. Instead, I called my friend. She said she could use the money. Pray for me, Chandelle. I have to change. I have to. I could have died tonight. Now another girl is dead because of me.”

“Don't say another word,” Marvin insisted. “Is Dior under arrest?” The officers explained that she wasn't involved in the actual incident but the DA would be expecting her to come in on her own to give a written statement on Monday morning. Marvin promised them she would appear and cooperate as long as she wasn't being charged as an accessory. He'd learned that tidbit of lawyering from watching countless episodes of
Law & Order.

“Are you her attorney?” the other policeman asked.

“No, I'm her family. Her attorney will be there with her on Monday to make sure she doesn't get dragged into this mess on the back end. Thanks for bringing her home, officers. We'll take it from here.” The cop who escorted Dior from the patrol car handed Marvin a pink plastic bag with Riverdale stenciled on it. He didn't get the meaning but Chandelle did at first glance.

As Marvin closed the door, Chandelle pursed her lips. “When they leave, I need you to do something right away,” she told him, with a determined expression. “I'll get Dior in some dry clothes and off to bed. She can't be left alone, not tonight.” Chandelle helped Dior stay on her feet as they ascended the stairs.

“Ohhh, God, help me!” she clamored miserably. “Pleeease help me! Pray for me, Chandelle. Pray for God to forgive me. I need Him to forgive me.”

“I'll pray for you, Dior…and He'll fix this. He'll fix it. It's not your fault.”

“Isis is dead, Chandelle,” cried Dior. “She ain't coming back. The lead detective said they tied her up and choked her to death. He said the Jennings went too far just like you told me they would.”

“I know. Hush now. I know.”

Marvin felt a chill scale up his back. He wanted to believe it was caused by the draft from having the door open too long but couldn't convince himself of that. He understood what Dior was going through, wading up to his neck in guilt. He was relieved when the officer knocked at the door before the other one brought Dior from the car. He was ashamed to have given her up for dead so easily. Now it was next to impossible to expose his motives to Chandelle and his conscience was kicking him in the stomach.