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“Jesus Christ! What the hell happened?”
“If Leigh knows anything, she’s not saying.” I filled him in on the morning’s events and then weariness overtook me. “Paul, I’m going to grab some manuscripts to read and go home.”
Penelope Aaron called while I was packing to leave.
“Hey, girl, a great proposal came in yesterday. I figured a shout out to you was what time it is.”
Penelope did not know how stupid she sounded and the shock of Annabelle’s death had left me too wiped out to say anything.
“Tell me about it,” I said wearily.
“Is something wrong, Jackie?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to discuss it.”
Penelope and everyone else would find out about the tragedy soon enough.
“Maybe I should holla at you tomorrow.”
“No, go ahead.”
She plunged right in. “It’s called Hell on Wheels and it’s a memoir by an ex-gang leader out of Los Angeles. He really gives up the goods. There is murder, rape, extortion, and shady dealings with the police department. Fascinating stuff. I’m telling you, Jackie, it has best-seller written all over it.”
It was the type of book I hated but Penelope was right about the sales potential. For some reason, tales of Black degradation and depravity usually did extremely well at the cash register and my superiors would chop my head off if I didn’t at least consider it.
“Sure, I’ll take a look.”
“Great! I’ll messenger it right over.”
“Fine.”
“Hang in there, chile.”
“ ’Bye, Penelope.”
It was noon when I stepped out of the building. It seemed strange to see the whole world marching on as though no tragedy had occurred.
To make matters worse, there was an e-mail waiting for me at home. It said
Jackie:
I have my hands full with my girlfriend and career. Thank you for the offer but I’m not looking for THAT.
If you have any business-related requests, I will help you if I can.
Victor
THAT. He had referred to the most precious part of my body as a THAT . . . like it was an old piece of liver, not fit for human consumption. It felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach with a steel-toed boot and, like a fool, I wrote him back and told him so. Now I had no dignity either.
8
BAD NEWS
I tossed and turned all night and woke up feeling exhausted. It was nine o’clock, which meant Richard’s Soul Food Diner was open for breakfast. After a quick shower, I slid into a black knit dress with a cowl neck and knee-length black boots. It was freezing outside and as I turned the corner onto 112th Street, a blast of cold wind hit me in the face, forcing my head down to my chest. The little Spanish man who sold newspapers next to the subway station was doing a brisk business. I paid for The New York Times, the New York Daily News, and the New York Comet.
A smiling photo of Annabelle was on the cover of each.
It was only a two-minute walk from the newspaper guy to Richard’s Soul Food Diner. He was sitting at the counter watching his customers eat and his face lit up when I came through the door. I gave him a quick kiss and climbed onto the next stool.
