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At the same time, Adrienne was wandering around the apartment, wondering where Mel was. If he is at Debra’s house getting drunk, I’m going to tell him to come home, pack his shit, and go hang on to his sister’s skirt tail for good. She called Debra’s house, but there was no answer. She made herself a stiff drink of vodka and orange juice, then rummaged around in the cabinet for some potato chips or crackers. There were none. Back in the bedroom, she put Set It Off in the VCR. Halfway through the movie and after her third drink, Adrienne was wishing that Queen Latifah or Jada Pinkett would lend her one of their weapons so she could blow Mel to kingdom come. If he walks in here and says that he was at his sister’s house, I’ll know his ass is lying, she thought. After what happened at Dan’s house, he probably thinks I’m so stupid that he can just tell me anything.
The movie was over, and she was lying in bed thinking about the evening’s shocking turn of events when she heard Mel’s key turn in the lock. She looked up, and her nonchalant expression turned to alarm when Mel skipped into the bedroom. His face was dripping with sweat, and he was wearing a lime green windbreaker that barely covered his chest. Adrienne had never seen the garment before. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, Mel spoke to her. His tongue was thick. His lips were twisted to the right. His eyes were even bigger and rounder than usual. “Hey, baby,” Mel said. “I just came by to get something . . . can’t stay . . . gotta go back out.”
Adrienne stood up and reached out to touch him. Why is Mel’s mouth so contorted? Has he had a stroke? Can stroke victims have one and not know it? Do they move so fast? Her thoughts came and went in a millisecond.
Mel jumped away from her and ricocheted to his bureau drawer. He spoke with his back to her as he riffled through his underwear, socks, and T-shirts. “I’m lookin’ for my money . . . saved some last paycheck . . . be back later.”
Adrienne’s heart started beating erratically. “Mel, look at me!” she commanded. He did. His mouth smiled, but the eyes did not. He had some bills in one hand.
Adrienne reached toward the phone. “You’re no
t going anywhere, Mel. I’m calling an ambulance and we’re—”
Before she could lift the receiver, Mel sprinted around the bed, snatched the phone from the nightstand, and pulled it so hard that the line was wrenched from the wall jack. Fear and horror lodged in her chest. He ran from the apartment without a backward glance and left the door wide open.
Adrienne ran out into the hallway, calling his name as he thundered down the steps. She watched as Mel barreled out of the building. She ran back into the apartment with her eyes shut, fighting the reality forcing itself into her unwilling mind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Mel had snorted over two hundred dollars’ worth of cocaine that night. He had run out of money and gone home to get cash for more drugs. Now he dragged himself through the inky night. There were lots of people out on the street. Lovers walked hand in hand, kissing and laughing. Knots of teenage boys hung out on the corners enjoying the music that blasted from their big radios. The cafés on Columbus Avenue were crowded, and the people sitting at those tables were conversing; ice tinkled in their drinking glasses, and their knives and forks clinked against their plates.
Mel’s thoughts were exploding in all directions, and he couldn’t focus on any of them. Seeing Adrienne, and her yelling at him as if he were some child really set him off. Lloyd Cooper and Adrienne’s been gittin’ it on, he thought. They gotta be crazy to think I don’t see it. This is God payin’ me back because if Delilah was still livin’, none of this would have happened.
He stumbled forward into traffic, hoping that a car would strike his body, send it soaring toward the top of the buildings and plummeting back to the pavement, where it would explode into a hot, red, sticky, gory mess. No, even that would not be enough to pay Delilah and Adrienne back for what he had done. Better that an eighteen-wheeler come barreling down the avenue and hit him, letting gasoline wash over his body; then a crackhead could saunter by at just that moment and idly toss away a cigarette. The fire at the end of the cigarette would come into contact with the gasoline, and he would go up in flames the way his daughter had.
He stood in the middle of the street, wondering where to turn as car horns blared around him. He walked west until he reached the Hudson River. As he looked down into the deceptively calm waters, a voice in his head told him to jump. Mel backed away from the river. He rushed back to Columbus Avenue and stood on Ninety-third Street feeling incredibly tired of the struggle that was his marriage, and even of life itself. Mel flagged down a gypsy cab. “Take me to 116th Street and Eighth Avenue. Make it quick. I’m in a hurry.” He reached his destination in ten minutes flat.
The apartment was on the first floor, and Mel knew the neighborhood cops had to be on the payroll, because even a child could see that this was a drug den. There was more traffic going in and out of the rear apartment than there was at Grand Central Station. Mel waited until the hallway was empty for a moment, and then knocked. Two men guarded the door with their guns clearly visible while a young woman did the selling at a large kitchen table. The woman was high and trying not to show it. Mel stepped to her.
“Let me get a gram, sweet thing,” he murmured.
“One hundred dollars,” she mumbled without looking up.
Suddenly, there was a commotion. Some dude had made a purchase earlier and had come back to argue about the quality. Mel didn’t turn around, but the angry man was talking fast and loud. Mel heard a click, which meant one of the guards had his piece at the guy’s temple. The girl in front of Mel stood up and bumped against the table as she tried to look over his shoulder to see what was going on. Mel saw a chance to get some free merchandise. He scooped up two plastic bags and then shoved them into his pocket.
“Girl, let me get my shit and get outa here,” he said nervously.
He threw five twenties on the table. She reached into a shoe box and put an envelope into Mel’s outstretched palm. Mel nodded and pushed his way past the door dispute and walked quickly out of the building. He was barely halfway down the block when he heard shouting. A woman’s voice yelled, “Hey! Somebody stop him!” Mel looked back and saw the girl who had sold him the coke, and one of the guards, running in his direction. Mel started running as fast as he could, hoping that the volley of bullets that he knew was coming would kill him quickly and not just leave him paralyzed.
The first bullet hit him in the left shoulder.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
A sobbing Adrienne called Dan as soon as Mel had disappeared.
“I’m coming over.”
“No. If he comes back and finds you here, there will be trouble.”
“If Mel is on drugs, he won’t be back tonight,” Dan said grimly.
Adrienne couldn’t stop crying. “I don’t want to take that chance.”
But Dan insisted on being there for her. As she waited for him to arrive, Adrienne paced the floor and tried to pull herself together. Poor Mel. Her thoughts rambled in all directions. Had he been reaching out to her over the past few weeks? How had she ended up married to a cheating drug addict, anyway?
When Dan arrived, she was still alternating between loving and hating Mel. The only constant emotion she felt was worry. She was sitting on the sofa with her head buried in her hands. The faded T-shirt she wore was wrinkled and tearstained, and she could barely see his expression through her red, puffy eyes. Dan stood and massaged her back.
“Where is Charlene?”
