after I told them I’d let them divide everything in my apartment that I didn’t want to take with me to the house I had planned to share with Burl.
“Reggie, if I don’t call you back in an hour, come over to Desiree’s house. And bring your cellular phone in case…in case we need to call the cops. I have a funny feeling about going over there getting involved,” I muttered, blinking my burning eyes. There was more than worry in my voice. I was scared.
There was a moment of grim silence before Regina responded. Instead of speaking in her usual quick, loud manner, she spoke in a slow, crisp voice that was disturbing to say the least. “Don’t go over there, Carmen. I know Desiree is your girl and you told her you was comin’ to get her, but this is one time I wish you’d listen to me. Don’t go over there.”
I sat still for a moment, allowing Regina’s words to sink in. In the back of my mind I could still hear Desiree begging me to come pick her up before Chester returned.
“And what if Chester hurts Desiree?” I asked in a low, uncertain voice.
“And what if he hurts you?!” Regina screamed. Her shrill voice pierced the air. I had to hold the telephone away from my face and rub my ear. “You my girl, too,” she added passionately. “And, you know how I feel about funerals.”
“Oh, I am not worried about Chester hurting me,” I replied with confidence. “I’ve known him all my life. He’s just a show-off with a big mouth.” I paused just long enough to catch my breath. “He doesn’t scare me one bit,” I lied.
“Carmen, please—”
Regina didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before I cut her off. “Regina, drop by the liquor store and pick up a bottle on your way over. A real big one. I have a feeling you, Desiree, and me are going to need to take a serious trip to Margaritaville before the night is over. Bring some Advil, too. I don’t want to be too hungover for my own wedding tomorrow.” I looked at the telephone for two minutes, trying to decide whether or not I should take Regina’s advice. I jumped when it rang again. I prayed that it was Desiree telling me things had cooled off between her and Chester and that she didn’t need me to come rescue her. It was Desiree again, and she was more frantic than ever.
“I was just checking to see if you’d left yet,” she wailed.
“I—I’m on my way,” I told her. I was so nervous I dropped the telephone on my bare foot. The pain was indescribable, but I ignored it.
Ten minutes later, I left my apartment, hopping, more concerned about helping Desiree than helping myself.
CHAPTER 2
The drive from my apartment to the house on Carlson Street where Desiree lived with Chester Sheffield normally took about ten minutes. But because of the storm, traffic was heavy and there was an accident at the corner of Carlson and Becker. Stopping to get gas had slowed me down, too. The difficult ride took twenty minutes this time.
The rain, hammering down out of the north, thumped on the windows of my dependable old Nissan like little rocks. Not only had my headache returned, but a knot that felt like it was the size of a melon had formed in my stomach. And it seemed like every other muscle in my body was aching, too. By now the foot I had dropped the telephone on was the only part of my body not throbbing.
By the time I reached my destination, Chester had returned to his house and was standing on his front porch. One hand was in his pants pocket, the other was clutching a bottle of Schlitz Malt Liquor. Chester was a complicated, unpredictable man, but I tolerated him because of Desiree. However, I fed him with a long-handled spoon.
Even with the fierce scowl on his face that he greeted me with, and wearing a long unbuttoned plaid shirt and ripped jeans, Chester Sheffield was the most gorgeous Black man I had ever seen. He was over six feet tall, and from years of weight training he had muscles where some of the men I knew didn’t even have places. He was a warm, evenly toned dark brown like me, and he had small, slanted black eyes that seemed to look right through me. His thick, shiny black hair was naturally wavy and always neat. A neatly trimmed mustache and goatee framed his full lips.
“Evenin’, Miss Taylor,” Chester said casually as I trotted across the well-kept lawn in front of the sprawling white house he lived in rent-free, thanks to his generous daddy. This was the kind of neighborhood where I didn’t want to get loud and ugly outside and attract an audience. Next door to Chester on one side lived a dentist, and on the other side lived a blabbermouth of a deacon from the church Chester, Desiree, and I attended. I had parked my car in Chester’s driveway and left the motor running in case I had to leave in a hurry. Surprisingly, he smiled. This confused me. He was not behaving like a man who was about to kill his girlfriend.
I risked a smile back. I was glad he could not see my legs trembling as I made my way up on the porch, stumbling as if I was drunk. The margarita had done me no good. I was as sober as a trout. Before leaving my apartment, I had slipped on a pair of jeans, a loose T-shirt, and a pair of backless house shoes that had once belonged to Daddy. Even though the storm had been downgraded to a drizzle, I was not concerned about my floppy ponytail getting frizzy. Especially since Regina had agreed to braid my hair later that night. I cleared my throat and said firmly, “Uh…Desiree called me.” My voice betrayed me and cracked. “I’m here…to pick her up.” I stopped in front of Chester and gasped. On both sides of his neck were several sets of bloody teethprints. It looked as if a greedy vampire had got ahold of him. “Did Desiree do all that?” I whispered.
Instead of answering my question he sighed and lowered his head. He took a loud sip from his bottle and then let out a belch that was so loud and aggressive he flinched. “And whose idea was it for you to come pick up Desiree?” he slurred, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. There was another set of teethprints on the side of his hand, and cruel scratches curled around his wrist like a bracelet. He sighed again.
“Well…hers I guess,” I replied cautiously, looking toward the door. I wondered what kinds of wounds Desiree had. Nothing disgusted me more than unnecessary violence. I had never known it to solve anybody’s problems. However, I felt that self-defense was a whole different story. I was curious to hear who had got up in whose face first: Chester or Desiree.
Chester sniffed and tilted his head, frowning as he slowly slid his fingers across the teethprints on his neck. With tears in his eyes he said, “Desiree get hysterical over the least little thing. You know how emotional them Creoles can be. And when Desiree get like that, she say a lot of shit she don’t mean.” He tried to laugh but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Aw, shuck it! You know that woman don’t wanna leave me. She hate bein’ alone more than I do. When you love somebody, you wanna be with ’em. Shit.” He blinked hard, but it wasn’t hard enough to hold back the large tear that slid down the side of his face. I wanted to cry myself. I knew better than Chester and Desiree put together how painful it was to be alone or not to be with the person you loved….
I couldn’t let his discomfort distract me, so I looked away and moved toward the door with him following behind me, sniffling and clearing his throat. “Well, I want her to tell me that,” I said firmly, blinking nervously.
I made my way into the expensively furnished living room with Chester following so close behind me, he stepped on the backs of my well-worn house shoes with his steel-toed black boots.
“Girl,” he continued in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Shouldn’t you be at the beauty parlor gettin’ yourself ready for your big day tomorrow?”
Him reminding me that I was just hours away from marrying a man I did not love made me stumble, but I ignored the comment and kept walking. The thick, maroon carpet on the floor in the living room looked like a crime scene. I had to hop to avoid stepping on large broken plants, a three-legged frying pan, a baseball bat, and a rolling pin. Two large cream-colored lamps had been knocked to the floor, and there was broken glass everywhere else I looked—even on top of the smoked-glass coffee table next to a large Bible and a five-pound steel weight. The light-blue La-Z-Boy that I had given to Desiree and Chester for Christmas was on its