Two Tears in a Bucket (28 page)

“
Oh my God,” she cried. “I can’t get caught in here. I’m up for a promotion!”

“
Look, just calm down.” Kevin tugged on the drawers of the small oak desk, but they were locked as always. “Give me something…a driver’s license, credit card, anything.”

“
What you gon’ do, Kevin?” Kong asked.

“
I’ma try and get y’all in the lieutenant’s office.”

Officer Newsome yanked off the ID card dangling from her neck. “Will this work?” she asked, on the verge of tears. “It’s like a credit card.”

Kevin snatched the card from her and slid it between the door’s lock and the latch. Within seconds, the lieutenant’s door opened as the distant sound of footsteps grew louder.

“
Go
’head. Get in there,” Kevin ordered. Kong and Officer Newsome disappeared behind the door. “And lock this muthafucka!”

Kevin scanned the office. Nothing appeared out of place, but the sweaty, raunchy smell of sex lingered in the air.

Damn, white women smell different.

Stepping out of his beat-up, state-issued prison boots, Kevin left them in the middle of the floor. They didn’t smell of sex, but they reeked of years of sweat nonetheless. Kevin plopped back behind the desk just as Sergeant Powell opened the door.

“
What’s up?” Kevin greeted coolly, his eyes fixed on the computer screen.

“
Hey, Kennard.” He walked into the office. “Everything okay?”

“
Yeah,” Kevin said. He glanced at Sergeant Powell and noticed his dumbfounded expression as he sniffed the air and frowned.

“
What the fuck is that smell?”

“
Oh, my fault, Sarge.” Kevin jumped from the chair and grabbed his boots. “These things funky and they hurt. You think you can pull some strings for me so I can get another pair? I had these things for years.”

“
Remind me tomorrow. I’ll see about getting you a new pair.” Sergeant Powell headed to the door. “Shit, I feel sorry for your cell buddy.”

● ● ●

Kevin came in from the yard only to find Yolanda lingering around his cell. The sight of her brought a smile to his face. He loved her, but part of him knew it had a lot to do with the loneliness behind the prison walls. Yolanda was there, supplying all the physical benefits of a girlfriend. But if he were home, she would’ve most definitely been a wham bam.

“
Hey,” Kevin said. “You okay?” he asked, noticing her sour mood.

“
Yeah, I just left the lieutenant’s office. I’m being transferred.”

“
Transferred?”

“
Yeah, they sending me to another jail. I think your job is over, too.”

“
Fuck my job. I’m worried ’bout you. What happened?”

“
I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I think they know about us.”

“
Damn,” Kevin sighed. There were too many other guards present for him to reach out and console her the way he wanted to. “So when you leave?”

“
Thirty days.”

“
Shit, so now what?”

“
Well…I bought this for you a few days ago.” Yolanda dug deep inside her pants pocket and pulled out a gold wedding band. “Kevin,” she started, grinning nervously, “I don’t want what we have to end. I love you, and I want to be the one you make a home with when you get out. So,” she said, smiling awkwardly at him, “I want us to get married.”

Kevin stood at a loss for words, staring at the ring.
Damn, she’s proposing
, he thought.

“
Well?” Her timid voice addressed the silence. “What do you say?”

“
Yolanda, c’mon, baby. I can’t let you tie yourself down wit’ a nigga like me. Who knows when I’ll get out?”

“
Kevin, you get parole.”

“
Yeah, but when? Don’t you want a husband you can go on a honeymoon with, one you can touch at night?”

“
Yeah, Kevin, and when you get out, I’ll have that.”

Yolanda’s eyes pleaded with him, killing him. Still, there was no way he could accept her proposal. Beyond their physical bond, they shared nothing. Without an inkling of doubt, she would be the perfect prison wife. Sexing him when the opportunity presented itself and sneaking him tasty treats from the outside. But when his freedom returned, then what? He had hopes and dreams that he’d never shared with her, and most importantly, a daughter to find. Yolanda wanted to settle for less, while Kevin wanted to reach for the moon. He had to make something of his life; he owed that to Mr. Johnson, Beatrice, Jordan, and himself.

Slumping her shoulders, Yolanda sighed and shoved the ring into Kevin’s palm. “Just think about it,” she mumbled. “I gotta go. I don’t want them to catch me back here. I might lose my job altogether.”

Months later, while sitting on his cot, Kevin twirled the wedding band around the tip of his pinky. Yolanda was long gone at a new jail, more than likely loving somebody else. Kevin hadn’t heard from her since she’d left. Women had come and gone in his life, but such was the life in prison. Rhonda had written on occasion and even visited a time or two, each time acting as if there was hope for them when Kevin came home. But he knew better.

Kevin called home the weekend of Rhonda’s last visit. His body tightened when Beatrice’s rage pulsated through the phone. She’d found LeCount pounding Rhonda from the back like the dog she was—in Beatrice’s bed, of all places. Rhonda’s actions were nothing out of the norm. Yet, Kevin’s own brother’s betrayal had gotten to him.

Then, of course, there was old faithful Felicia, who wrote, visited, and sent money like there was nothing else for her to do but focus on Kevin. Gone were the days she spent fucking in crack houses or giving head in the apartments’ laundry rooms. With a handful of strippers, she had stepped up her game and started a so-called escort service. That wasn’t the only surprise she had for Kevin, though.

“
I have something I need to tell you, but I don’t know how you gonna take it,” she said.

Kevin was taken aback and stared at Felicia awkwardly. “Just tell me. I mean, it can’t be that bad,” he said.

“
Okay,” Felicia said, her eyes fixed to the floor. “I got married.”

“
You got married?” He was blown away.

“
Yeah, but it’s only for right now,” she rushed to explain. “Your pictures are still all over my bedroom, and he knows that when you come home, it’s over, because I wanna be—”

“
Hold up, Felicia. Hold up,” Kevin cut her off. He couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “You don’t owe me no explanation. It’s not like that between us anyway. I just never pictured you as somebody’s wife. You know, with your profession and all.”

“
So what the fuck you tryna say? I’ma be your muthafuckin’ wife one day.”

“
Oh yeah?” Kevin said. He wasn’t paying her any mind.

“
Kevin, I’m telling you. When you get out, I’m kicking his ass to the curb, and it’s gonna be me and you.”

“
Felicia, come on. That’s your husband. How you gon’ toss him away just like that?”

“
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love him and everything’, but not like I love you. So, look,” Felicia whispered as she shifted her weight in the plastic seat of the visiting room. “When you come home, I’m divorcing his ass, and then I’ma smash you off a lil’ treat.”

“
What kinda treat?”

“
Somethin’ every muthafucka want—a threesome. You, me, and whichever one of my bitches you select. I got one that look like that green-eyed supermodel chick that was on the cover of
Sports Illustrated
, too. She was going to medical school, but she put that shit on the back burner after I turned her on to that fast money.”

Kevin laughed, nearly falling over in his chair. He had no plans on humping in Felicia. He’d never been that hard up. High, maybe, but not hard up.

“
Felicia, look. I told you we ain’t getting down like that.”

Felicia drew back and sucked her teeth. “Yeah, whatever. You keep sayin’ that dumb shit, but not only am I gonna get the dick, but we gon’ be together. Watch what I tell you. And,” she slurred matter-of-factly, “we gon’ be business partners. You gon’ manage while I recruit.”

Kevin didn’t want any part of Felicia’s upscale prostitution circus any more than he had wanted to be Fat Ed’s hit man years ago. He wanted more than a job in the streets. What he wanted was for the world to hear his songs. Every poem he’d ever written had been dressed with music and transformed into a song. Poetry was no longer a service he offered to the other inmates. He still wrote their love letters, but his poetry was for a greater purpose. At least, he hoped. He just needed someone to push him, to guide him. Someone to take him seriously. To believe and share in his dreams. Yet, he hadn’t met a soul that he could even share his passion with. The world outside the iron gates still saw him as the old thuggish Kevin Kennard.

Back in his cell after Felicia had left, Kevin took the gold band from his pinky and slid it down his ring finger to see if he could simply get a feel for marriage. Jordan’s picture was taped to the wall. Kevin peeled it from the wall and stared at it. Jordan couldn’t have been more than two or three in the photo.

C’mon, Ed. You can get me a picture, but you can’t get me a damn address?

Kevin didn’t understand how Fat Ed could feel torn between him and Simone’s brother Stan, his so-called business partner. Right was right, and keeping Jordan away was wrong. Kevin hadn’t signed away his rights; Beatrice had. He couldn’t blame his mother; she’d done what she thought was right.

Kevin kissed the picture, wondering what his little princess looked like now. Next to chasing his songwriting dreams, Jordan was the one thing he had to look forward to.

Chapter Twenty-Four

1999 - Three years after the wedding

Simone pulled her white S500 Mercedes into the driveway of their seven-thousand square-foot home. The three-car garage was still jammed with junk-filled boxes that she hadn’t found the time to sort through.

As she sat in the driveway, Simone turned off the ignition and stared at the monstrosity she and Andre referred to as home. The dark reddish brick, the four massive pillars, and the manicured lawn all added to the sophisticated elegance of the house, giving it the look of old money.

Five bedrooms, each equipped with its own private bath; a two-story gigantic great room with skylights; a state-of-the-art gourmet kitchen with stainless-steel appliances and black granite counters dazzled with a hint of silvery specks; and a theater room with a booming Bose surround-sound system and plush theater seating were just a few of the home’s wow factors. Decorated like a showcase, the house was impressive from the curb to the baseboards.

Simone loved the place, but for some reason, she couldn’t shake the uneasiness that had settled in her gut the day she and Andre signed on the dotted line. Gone was the house she’d been so proud of, the house she’d purchased on her own. That was the place she’d hoped they’d call home after the wedding. There, Simone felt stable, safe—the way she always did with Thomas. No one could tell her she had to go, not even her own husband. But, Andre despised the house, claiming it symbolized their breakup, the breakup he’d caused.

Initially, Simone tried to drown out Andre’s whining by suggesting home improvement projects. Gallons of paint in warm cappuccino shades had waited to bring the white walls to life. But Andre wasn’t interested in painting or branding the mailbox with his last name. He hated the house and made sure Simone knew it each and every day. Finally, Simone gave in. She rented out her house, and together, she and Andre purchased the massive structure filled with everything—everything but love.

Simone could hear her cell phone vibrating as she grabbed her Gucci purse and briefcase from the backseat and headed up the flagstone walkway.

“
Good gracious,” she mumbled, ignoring the cell. Her clients called on her all hours of the night, but deep down, she didn’t mind at all. Real estate had become her passion. She planted her all into the business, and in no time, the energy and creativity she’d invested flourished, and the harvest was plentiful.

Stuck in traffic, Simone’s six o’clock appointment had called and requested to meet later in the evening.

That means I probably won’t get home till after ten again
, Simone had thought to herself.

The past four days, she’d only seen Kayla, her three-year-old little diva, long enough to kiss her goodnight. Seizing the opportunity, she rescheduled her client for later in the week and headed home to chill with her daughter. But her mouth dropped when she walked in the front door. The house was a complete mess.

Kayla’s shoes, book bag, and jacket were thrown carelessly in the middle of the foyer. Andre’s tie and suit jacket draped the chocolate leather sectional as if it belonged there as opposed to the closet or dry cleaner’s bag. His shoes and the wrappings from the snacks he’d nibbled on were also scattered about.

So much for chillin’
, Simone thought as her heels clickity-clacked along the maple wood floors to the ceramic tiles of the kitchen. Resting her purse on the table, she sighed in frustration at the array of blue and pink envelopes.

Cut-off notices
.

Andre strolled into the room in his socks, gym shorts, and a tight-fitting T-shirt that accented his perfect physique.
What a fucking waste
, she thought. Her husband was the epitome of sexy. However, Simone needed more than a sexy body and a thick ‘Peter,’ and that was all Andre had offered since they’d said ‘I do.’ It was as if aliens had stolen the man she fell in love with and left in his place a sexy, good-for-nothing clone.