What Goes Around (14 page)

“So are we still meeting up at Carmen's house at seven
to get dressed?” Rhea questioned as the girls waited for the valet to bring around their respective cars.

“That's the plan,” Carmen said as her Land Rover came careening around the corner. She walked over and gave the driver a five-dollar tip. “I'm out of liquid eyeliner; do you guys want to roll with me to the M.A.C. store in Phipps right quick?”

Rhea shrugged her shoulders. “Sure, why not? We still have at least two hours to kill, right?” She turned and looked at Sydney as the drop-top Saab came up next. “Syd?”

“You know what?” Sydney said. “I actually need to run by my stepdad's dealership for a quick minute. I heard a weird noise by my front right tire the other day. And I want to bring it in for a quick check before the weekend,” she said, lying.

Carmen and Rhea looked at her hesitantly but said nothing. They seemed to understand that whatever was on her mind, she wasn't ready to discuss it and there was no point in pushing the issue. “Okay, then,” Carmen said finally. “We'll see you at my house at seven o'clock.”

“Seven o'clock, I promise,” Sydney said as she handed her valet a tip, pulled around Carmen's SUV, and took off.

A really cute African-American couple holding hands was walking around the showroom when Sydney finally walked
through the door. They turned briefly at the sound of her entrance, and Sydney could see the beginnings of a baby bump on the woman. Sydney smiled momentarily before turning to scan the expansive room for her stepfather.

“My prayers have been answered! My long-lost love is here,” a friendly voice called out from behind her left shoulder. Sydney spun around to face one of the dealership's salesmen, Donovan Sinclair. He immediately walked over and greeted Sydney with a hug and kiss on the cheek. “How are you, princess? I haven't seen you in a long time,” the friendly giant of a man greeted Sydney. He stepped back to admire her striking updo and fresh manicure/pedicure. “Wow, don't you look pretty! Did I forget our wedding anniversary or something?” he teased good-naturedly.

“Hey, Mr. Sinclair,” Sydney giggled in response. Donovan's flirty ways helped him remain one of the showroom's most popular salesmen over the course of his career. “How are you, sir?”

“Better, now that you're here. But enough about me, what brings you by today? For some reason, I'm guessing it's not my charming wit,” he inquired kindly.

“Actually, I need to speak to my stepfather, sir,” Sydney said, immediately sobering up.

The jovial look immediately disappeared from Donovan's eyes. “You just missed him, sweetie. He headed
over to his lawyer's office to discuss more of this audit business,” he explained in a lowered tone.

“Oh,” Sydney said simply. “Well, in that case,” she said as she turned toward the door.

“You know, it's really none of my business, but I have to say, I have a lot of respect for that man. And I think what this government is doing is just awful,” Donovan confided as he put his arm around Sydney's shoulders and walked her toward the door. “He gave a chance to a lot of people others might have given up on. Thank God, he's got a good lawyer and a trusty accountant. The three of them have been holed up in his office till almost midnight every single night for the past three months preparing for this one,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “And he's serious about beating all the charges. It takes a confident person to take it to court.”

“Is that so?” Sydney said carefully. “I didn't realize that the audit started three months ago.”

“Not officially, but you know Altimus always has his ear to the ground,” Donovan explained. “So when he heard a lot of the independently owned businesses in the area were getting audited, he started preparing. I'm surprised you didn't notice that he was out of the house a lot.”

“Um, there's been a lot going on at school,” Sydney mumbled. Donovan nodded understandingly as she paused
by the front door. “It's okay, you don't have to walk me out,” Sydney said as she turned to look at the couple who were now circling a hybrid Lexus SUV. “I think you've got some money to make over there.”

Donovan smiled and kissed the top of Sydney's head. “Okay, princess. Let me go work my magic. I'll tell your dad, I mean stepdad, you came by. Take care,” he said with a smile as he headed off to make another sale.

Sydney walked out to her car more confused than ever. From the sound of it, between working at the dealership and meeting with his defense team, Altimus barely had time to sleep over the last three months, let alone plot how to steal from Brookhaven's Sadie Hawkins account.

And if he was trying to fly completely under the radar to avoid getting caught for Rodney's brutal murder, why would he want to take the case with the IRS to trial? Add to that his recent decision to help bail Dice out of jail, and something in the milk just wasn't clean. There was no way her stepfather stole the fifteen thousand dollars. As she opened the driver's-side door of her Saab, an even graver realization hit her like a ton of bricks—maybe, just maybe, Altimus wasn't the one who killed Rodney.

Lauren pushed the tiny post onto the back of her diamond-studded hoop and then leaned into her bathroom mirror for a final check. She forced a smile, but it was a weak one—far from the usual dimple-inducing grin she gave herself when she knew she looked hot. Right about now, the only thing that was making her happy was the flutter her silky, one-shoulder, drape-sleeved top produced when she twirled from the sink to her bathroom door; it was like someone had cued a wind machine—movement that could only be produced by her absolute fave designer, Sonia Rykiel. Indeed, Lauren was absolutely convinced that Sonia was her secret fairy fashion godmother, holed away in a tiny room somewhere, thinking up ways to make Lauren Duke look like an absolute party stunner. For this outfit, Lauren was grateful;
she absolutely had to look like she owned Brookhaven Prep—not just because of the mess with the dance squad, but because of her questionable arm candy: Jermaine. She'd made the mistake of not only turning down his offer of a Friday night dinner and a movie, but of also telling him that she was hitting Sydney's latest Christmas event stag. She could have told him she was going out with her parents, could have told him she was on punishment, could have told him she was planning on sitting in her room and picking her toenails. But no. She just had to go blabbing about how hot the party and the DJ and the spread were going to be, and how all the girls had to invite their dates, and everybody was going to be there. And, of course, he had to go ahead and ask when he should expect his invitation. And she just had to say a really weak, tentative “Uh, okay, um, Jermaine, will you go with me to the dance?”

Needless to say, he didn't really appreciate the tepid response, but that didn't stop him from accepting the invitation anyway. Oh, joy.

Lauren's ponytail swung as she bounced over to her closet and tore through the piles of clothes and shoes looking for her silver Jimmy Choo stiletto sandals. They were nowhere to be found. Bending carefully to avoid splitting her
über
-tight black miniskirt, she checked under her bed, under her dresser, behind her chaise, on the chaise—
everywhere. But they were nowhere to be found. She glanced at her digital alarm clock: The chauffeur was going to be there any minute, and she was still barefoot, she hadn't packed her purse yet, and, most important, Jermaine still hadn't called to let her know if he was home from work yet and ready to go. “Damn it all to hell,” Lauren said, struggling to her feet.

“Um, girls as pretty as you usually don't use those kinds of words—especially in front of their mothers,” Keisha said, appearing in Lauren's doorway. Lauren jumped at the sound of her voice.

“Oh, hey, Mom, I didn't know you were up here,” Lauren said. “Sorry.”

“Uh-huh,” Keisha smirked. “You look nice. What's the problem?”

“I can't find my shoes,” Lauren said simply, putting her hands on her hips while she surveyed the room.

“Well, it's no wonder,” Keisha said. “Your room is a hot mess. It's a wonder you can find the bed. There's only so much Edwina can do to clean it if you don't help her out, you know.”

“Mom, I don't have time to clean my room right now—I just need to find my sandals.”

“You want to be more specific?”

“Well, maybe I can try to pull it together sometime over
the weekend, like Sunday, after church, but really, I have a lot of homework this weekend and Donald wants to go out after church and…”

“I wasn't talking about schedule specifics,” Keisha said. “I was talking about the sandals.”

“Oh!” Lauren giggled. “Right, the sandals. My silver Jimmy Choos. I can't find them anywhere.”

Keisha raised an eyebrow as she glanced around the room again. “And I assume you checked the closet, where expensive shoes should be arranged neatly and categorized by style, color, and…aw, hell, who am I talking to?” Keisha smirked again. “Did you ask your sister?”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “No,” she said firmly.

Keisha folded her arms and wrinkled her brow. “What now?” Keisha asked.

“What?” Lauren asked innocently.

“Don't give me that—I know when my girls are at each other's throats. What's the problem?”

“There's no problem—she's just in her own world right now, and I don't feel like getting snapped at again,” Lauren said. She kept details of the latest skirmish with her sister—the one over Dice—to herself.

“Well, unless you plan on going to the gala barefoot, or that boy you're going with is going to carry you all night, it doesn't seem like you have much of a choice—unless you thought about a backup pair.”

Lauren looked at her mother and then walked past her into Sydney's room, where her sister was furiously stuffing her makeup bag into her oversized Louis Vuitton duffel bag.

“Syd, have you seen my silver Jimmy Choo sandals?” Lauren asked.

“Why would I know where your sandals are?” Sydney snapped.

Lauren took a deep breath and tried her best to keep her voice even-keeled. “I can't find them in my room.”

“And you're surprised by this?” Sydney smirked.

“Look, I didn't come in here for your stank-ass attitude—I want my damn shoes, that's all. Then you can go on about your business, and I can go about mine.”

“Lauren—watch your mouth!” Keisha demanded.

“Ma, I just want my shoes.”

“I swear, you've got to be kidding me,” Sydney shot back. “The last time I walked into that mess of a room of yours, I was on blank stare mode for a week. Why don't you check under the three-week pile of dirty clothes on your floor, or behind your junky couch, or…”

“Wow…just, wow,” Lauren said softly, glaring as she walked over to Sydney's perfectly organized closet. She plucked her sandals off the second shelf.

“Whatever,” Sydney said weakly. “I don't have time for this. I have to get over to Carm's to get dressed, and all this foolishness…”

Lauren shushed Sydney; she heard her phone in the other room—D'Angelo's “You're My Lady” ringtone was blasting. Jermaine. “Later, Syd,” Lauren snapped, rolling her eyes. “Do me a favor, though. Next time you're thinking about wearing my stuff, don't.”

Lauren disappeared into her bedroom and slammed the door before Keisha and Sydney could say another word, then she dove for the phone. “Hey! Where are you?” she demanded.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Jermaine said slowly. “How are you? I'm fine.”

“Come on, don't play with me,” Lauren said, peeking out her window. The car was waiting for her in the circular driveway. “Are you ready?”

“My day was great. How about yours?” Jermaine continued.

“Jermaine!” Lauren yelled. “Now's not the time, seriously. The car is here. Are. You. Ready?”

“Lauren, it's me. Calm down.”

“I am calm,” she said, slipping on her sandals. “I'd be calmer if you gave me an ETA on when you'll be ready to go. I need you waiting outside.”

“Are you at least going to let the car stop or am I going to have to hop on the bumper while you drive by?” Jermaine laughed.

“Blah, blah, blah—just be ready to go when I get there,” Lauren insisted. “Your ex didn't exactly make me feel like I'm welcome in her neighborhood, so…”

“Who, Brandi?” he asked. “What, you think she's just going to be hanging outside my house waiting to see what I'm doing?”

“Who knows what Brandi's doing?” Lauren snapped. “I do know it just seems like she's always around. I hate to bring up old stuff, but…ahem.”

“That's exactly what it is—old,” Jermaine said, sounding annoyed.

“All of this is getting old,” Lauren said. “Look, I'm leaving in the next five minutes. Are you going to be ready or not? Because I can just go by myself and we can hook up another time…”

“I'll be ready,” Jermaine snapped. “Seriously, what's wrong? What's going on, Lauren?”

“Nothing. Nothing's going on,” Lauren said. She saw a shadow beneath the crack of her bedroom door. Keisha, for sure. “I'll see you in a few.”

She didn't bother hearing his response—she just hung up.

“Damn, babe, if I'd have known you were going to look this good, I would have sprung for the disposable camera,”
Jermaine said, giving Lauren the once-over. He put his arm around her shoulder and tried to pull her closer to him, but she stiffly resisted.

“Yeah, um, thanks,” she said, taking in Jermaine's shiny gold Sean John jacket and dark jeans. He was wearing a tie, which Lauren supposed was a good thing, but still, he had on sneakers. If he leaned in a little, he could have felt the fever she was giving him for dressing like he was going to his cousin's prom.

“You look nice, too, Jermaine,” he mocked in a high voice. “I'm so glad to see you.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Lauren said, staring out the window.

“Yo, what's the problem, L?” Jermaine said. “You've been snapping at me all evening. What did I do?”

You actually showed up, and now I have to introduce you to my friends,
Lauren screamed to herself. “Nothing, I just got into a little beef with my sister, is all,” she said to him. “It's no biggie. I just need to be quiet for a minute—get my mind right.”

“O-kaaay, then,” Jermaine said, removing his arm from around Lauren's shoulders. “Well, you looking good, girl, don't sweat it. Besides, your man is here now. I went in to work late just so that I could buy this jacket, and we look good together fo' sho'. I'm ready to have a good time.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Lauren said weakly, leaning into Jermaine in hopes that her action would help mask her reticence.

“Well, do that, and I will love you long time,” Jermaine joked, getting his first genuine giggle from Lauren. He smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek.

Just then, her phone rang; she grabbed it from her clutch to see who was calling, sure it was Donald checking up on her arrival status.

It wasn't Donald.

It was Dara.

“What the hell?” Lauren said, wrinkling her brow. “She can't be serious.”

“Who is it?” Jermaine inquired.

Lauren sucked her teeth. “Nobody,” she said, tapping
IGNORE.
Before she could get it back into her purse, the phone rang again. Lauren looked at the caller ID: Dara, again.

“Man, whoever that is, he sure is blowing up your phone. Should I be jealous?”

“First of all, it's not a 'he' calling me, it's a 'she,'” Lauren said. “And I don't know why she's calling me—she lost that right when she dissed my sister, although I'm starting to wonder why I'm cutting off my friends for her sometimey behind.”

“Alrighty, then, sounds like you got a lot on your hands tonight,” Jermaine said.

“Nothing at all,” Lauren said, making a show of tapping
IGNORE
again and putting her phone on vibrate. Her nerves got worse as the car made its way up the block leading to the mile-long entrance to the school.

“Sir, could you turn on the radio, please?” Lauren called up to the driver. The music would calm her and, perhaps, would give Jermaine the signal to use his ears, not his mouth.

“What station?” he asked.

“107.9 would be great,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am,” the driver said, punching the buttons on his stereo. OutKast blasted through the speakers. Lauren nodded her head to the beat and kept staring out the window, each streetlight on their journey making her more nervous than the last. The school loomed in the distance, the searchlights beckoning them closer to what promised to be the gala of all galas if Sydney had anything to do with it. Lauren wasn't ready.

Her iPhone vibrated. It was Dara, this time, texting.

Lauren read the message once, then again. Now, why on earth would Dara be asking for her help? After everything that had gone down? Lauren frowned; she could feel Jermaine's eyes burning a hot hole into the side of her face.

“Let me call this girl and see what she wants,” Lauren said, speed-dialing her former best friend. “Honestly, I'll put five on it that it's something dumb as hell.”

The phone barely rang once before Dara picked it up. “Lauren?” she said, breathless.

“What's up, Dara?” Lauren said, clearly annoyed.

“Lauren, please, don't hang up,” Dara insisted.

“Dara, why would I hang up on you—I called you, didn't I?” Lauren snipped. “What do you want anyway? I'm almost at the Benefit.”

“I…I…oh, God,” Dara screamed.

Lauren shot up straight. “Dara? Dara! What's going on?” Lauren shouted. Jermaine shifted in Lauren's direction and looked at her quizzically.

“Lauren, please, I need you to come to my house,” Dara cried.

“Dara, what's wrong?” Lauren insisted as the car drew closer to the school. Lauren could make out glittery pockets of partygoers milling about the red-carpet entrance leading down the long stretch from the grassy, parklike island to the decked-out front door.

“Please, Lauren. I tried calling Marcus, but his phone is going straight to voice mail. He won't return my calls,” she said.

The car drew closer. Lauren could make out Meghan and Caroline and Lexi. And there were Sydney and Jason
with Carmen, Rhea, and their respective dates. YRT would be dripping with juice the next morning, for sure.

“Everything okay?” Jermaine asked, reacting to the look on Lauren's face.

“Sir? I need you to keep driving,” Lauren said sternly.

“I'm sorry, ma'am?” the driver said quizzically.

“I said I need you to keep driving.”

“But we're here, I don't underst—” Jermaine began.

“Just—just listen. We're not going to the party,” Lauren insisted. “Keep driving!”

“What do you mean we're not going to the party?” Jermaine said, reeling back. “We're already here! I got dressed, I left work early, and we're here. Lauren, what's going on?”