downstairs, passed by the security that was guarding the elevators without making any eye contact, pretty much blended with all the other moneymakers in the lobby.
She went through the crowd, straight out the front door, headed for the roundabout unseen and unnoticed, went to the window for valet parking and gave them her ticket.
Valet pulled her car around, smiled, and loaded her bag in her trunk for her.
As they opened her car door, she gave the worker a two-dollar tip.
She drove away. Smiling.
As Sade would say, brilliant.
Back at Borders Books and Music.
I was resting fifteen miles from Shutters Hotel, on Howard Hughes Parkway, parked in front of the bookstore, watching Freeman get admired, waiting for Sade to get out of the sedan.
Sade sat in the backseat, staring at that banner. Staring and not saying a word.
Sade said, “The titles of the first three are larger ... much larger than Dawning.”
Her stiff body language told me she wasn’t moving, just staring up at Freeman’s praise.
She said more words, dots and accents in the air, then said, “Unbelievable.”
Felt like I was supposed to talk back. Didn’t know what to say. Just wanted her to get out. I checked my watch, looked up at the banner, said, “Hadn’t heard about the truth book.”
“Was his best book. It went as fast as it came. That was right around Nine-Eleven-Oh-One. Almost a year to the day after we met. We were both taking the same writing class. Had a conversation and got on pretty well. One thing led to another. Seemed like serendipity.”
Lights. Camera. Action. Today L.A. was Freeman’s city. Over five hundred excited people were waiting for him, ninety percent of them anxious women, more of his loyal fans rushing in like they were going to see the resurrection of Jerry Garcia at a Grateful Dead concert.
She said, “His book never made it out of the boxes. Died on the vine.”
My cellular wasn’t ringing. Checked my watch. Needed to hear from Panther. If Lisa had a GPS on her ride then she knew Panther was riding her boys tough. She wouldn’t get too close, just close enough to let them motherfuckers know that two could play this game. Let them know that I was after their asses too. Just like Panther had said about Lisa, I had some personal shit with the bullyboys. Every time I thought about them I wanted to pull out one of these burners and send some heat to the closest one. Shoot him once to hear him scream. Shoot him again to shut his ass up. Then do the same to his friend. What order I got them in didn’t matter.
“I asked my mum what she would say if I brought home a chap they didn’t approve of. She said, ‘Well, as we Yoruba always say, why smell what you won’t eat?’ ”
“I’m sorry. What was that?”
Sade was rambling, letting out the thoughts that were cluttering her mind. My mind was cluttered as well, was back at Shutters on the Asian woman who had made her way upstairs to try and do a B&E and on Panther tracking the lion and jackal.
Sade sighed hard, dug around in her purse, repeated what she had just said.
I cleared my throat, stopped bouncing my leg, said, “I have no idea what that means.”
“My people, they are always using proverbs and stuff.” She laughed. “Mum’s point is if I know that they wouldn’t approve of a guy, why would I date him? So basically, why smell something that you already know you won’t eat.”
I said, “Your peeps don’t approve of the Black Aesthetic.”
“They do not.” Stress weakened her voice. “No, my peeps don’t approve of Marcus.”
“Why not? He’s successful.”
“Because he’s ... Marcus is ... at times ... our ideologies ... we’re from different cultures.”
“Because he’s African-American?”
“To be honest, I prefer the term Black over African-American because ‘African-American’ is misleading.” She had pulled a tiny bottle out of her purse. She’d hit the mini-bar. She struggled, then twisted it open. Sipped her colorless and odorless liquor. Sighed. “A white person who was born in Africa, then moved to America would be an African-American. Charlize Theron, the actress in that movie Monster, is South African; that makes her African-American.”
Sade sipped again, made a soft and sensual sound, like she had what she needed to adjust her attitude, control her angst, calm her nerves. Or maybe that bottle was the only paradise she had in her life right now. Or she had found out that at