appointment, and secretly disappointed that they wouldnât have complete and utter quiet while they enjoyed their massages. Each disrobed in silence, wondering what, exactly, was so damn important that it had to be said over the din of the classical music, which, if the masseuse was worth his or her salt, usually put Lauren to sleep. A nap is what she wanted; Keishaâs voice was not.
âSee, isnât this nice, girls? The three of us here, enjoying one anotherâs company?â Keisha said. If the girls were listening closely, they would have heard the slight hint of sarcasm in her voice.
âYeah, lovely,â Sydney said.
âSwell,â Lauren added.
âCome on, girlsâitâs not often you and your mother get to sit and enjoy one another. Every mother should get to enjoy her daughters, donât you think?â she asked.
âOh, no, youâre right, Mom,â Sydney said as her masseuse rubbed her hands vigorously to warm the oils. âThis is nice.â
âYeah, you know I donât mind spoiling my babies,â Keisha said. âYou may be seventeen and looking grown, but youâre still my babies. And I would do anything for you.â
God, shut up already, Lauren said to herself, wishing she could say it out loud.
âBut I wonât tolerate any disrespect, you know what Iâm saying?â Keisha asked, her voice growing dark. âI was raised to know that children have their placeâyou know, âDonât speak unless spoken toâ? âDo what I sayâ? My personal favorite was âStay outta grown folksâ business.â Lord, my mama sure did believe in that one, hard and strong.â
Laurenâs ears perked up; she knew something wasnât right.
âThatâs why I invited the two of you here today, to give you a review of all the lessons Iâve learned over the yearsâparticularly my favorite one,â Keisha continued, her voice slightly muffled as her massage therapist dug into her shoulders, forcing her head deeper into the pillow cradling her face. âStay outta grown folksâ business. Simple concept. Easy to do. But for some strange reason, yâall act as if it just doesnât apply to you. So Iâm here to set it straight. It does.â
âMommy, what are youââ Sydney began.
âOh, no, sweetie, itâs Mommyâs turn to talk, your turn to l-i-s-t-e-n. Isnât that what Beyoncé and them said? âListen,ââ she sang off-key. âOh, wait, though, my jam was that Keisha Cole song, âLet it go, let it go, let it go,ââ she continued tosing. âYeah, nice strong messages in them there songs. Listen, and let it go. Both of you should try it.â
The smell of ylang-ylang and vanilla wafted into Laurenâs nostrils, a quick reminder that she was not dreaming. Her mother was really in the massage suite at Le Madeleine, bugging the hell out of her and laying down messages about as sinister as an Abu Ghraib CIA interrogation. If the masseuse wasnât pushing down on her back so hard, and she wasnât afraid that her mother would slap it back down, Lauren would have lifted her head to get Sydneyâs attention. Instead, she lay silent. Still, she could hear Sydneyâs breathing over the music.
âYour fatherâAltimus, not the scumbag I had two babies withâhas done nothing but be good to you, love you. Every stitch of clothing you have on your backs, every piece of leather you have on the pretty little feet you use to push the gas pedals in the cars you drive, every expensive handbag you dangle from your dainty little arms? Altimus bought those. Not Dice. Not Lorraine. Not Jermaine. Not any of those bastards. Thatâs all Altimus up in your closets and in your driveway and in your wallets,â she said sweetly. âYou better recognize.â
âMom, what are you talking about?â Sydney said,
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