Brown Eyes Blue Smile Ch 08

Eric did drop his daughter back at the apartment building where she was staying with her mother. Eric had called her before they left the Deli to let her knowing they were coming. He'd left Shanice in the car while he took his daughter up and knocked at the apartment door. It wasn't Tara who came to the door but a young sprug Eric reckoned she had picked up to keep her warm in bed. Tara was so good at finding such type of people.

"Hi there," Oliver waved a hand at him, grinning like a sheepdog. He was wearing jeans and his shirt was open, and was holding the neck of a bottle of beer in his other hand. "You're Tara's former man, ain't you?"

"The name's Eric," he said as he and Gloria entered the room. Gloria, he noticed, didn't say nothing to Oliver. She didn't even indicate that he was standing there next to them. "Is Tara around?"

"Oh yeah, she's in the bedroom taking care of herself. You want me to get you anything, like a beer maybe."

"No, thanks. Just tell her I've brought Gloria back. I'll see her some other time."

He was about turning to make his exit when he heard someone call his name from behind. He turned around and there was Tara, looking young and lovely in a sheer evening robe. Her hair was done in the shape of a honey comb. Gloria went to sit herself on a couch and was turned away from them, watching a program on TV.

"And here comes the lady herself," Oliver crackled.

At that moment, Eric so much wanted to give the young lad a smack or two; the cold look in Tara's eyes told him that she too was probably thinking about doing the same thing.

"Oliver, cover yourself up," she said. "Don't you have better things to do right now?"

Whatever that meant, Eric didn't care to know as Oliver left both of them alone and went and plumped himself on a separate couch, raising the bottle he had in his hand to his mouth. Tara led him out into the corridor, closing the door behind her so they could talk more privately.

"I'm sorry about Oliver, Eric. He can be a bore sometimes."

"You really haven't changed, Tara. Is this your new pet you've been walking around with?"

"Give me a break, will you, Eric. It's not like you're here to keep me company. Besides, you've got your own lady friend, haven't you?"

"Yeah right," he sneered. "The same lady friend you told lies to. Ain't that the one you're referring to?"

Tara blushed. "I know I might have said some things to her that I ought not have, but you can't blame a woman for being jealous sometimes."

"Get this straight, Tara. I don't care what you do with your life—that's your business. But I do care when you try to get involved in mine, and also when you bring your life towards our daughter. For God's sake, how could you be doing what you're doing with Gloria seeing you like this?"

"Don't you lecture me, Eric," Tara snapped. "She's my daughter, and how I raise her is my business, not yours. Oliver is good around her, and I never play around for Gloria to see."

"That's not what she's told me," Eric snapped

back.

Tara sighed. "Look, what are we fighting for anyway? I know you miss her, and she misses you. Don't you get it, Eric? I really want you back."

"Fat chance of that happening. I brought back Gloria as promised, so now you can go back in there and play 'mom' with your young pet. Goodbye."

He turned around and began walking away.

"Don't forget to call next time you want to come spend some time with her," Tara said to him.

Eric stopped at the bank of elevators and pressed a button before turning to reply her. "Get this through your head, Tara. The next time I'm coming back here is getting my daughter off of you.

You're not fit to be her mother; you never where."

As if on cue, the elevator doors eased open right that moment and Eric stepped inside, leaving Tara starry-eyed to think about what he'd just said.

Shanice wasn't in the car waiting for him. When he arrived at the lobby floor, she was there in the foyer, waiting for him.

"I got depressed sitting in the car all by myself," she explained as they walked about of the building and went towards where he'd parked his car. "Besides, I wanted to now if you needed assistance to talk to that bitch of an ex wife of yours."

"I don't think that would be necessary. I told her about coming for Gloria next time I showed up."

"My hero! How did she take it?"

"I didn't wait to find out. But I know she won't be happy about it."

* * * *

Michelle didn't know when she dozed off and she would have kept on sleeping had she not felt a continuous tap on her arm. Her eyes inched open and she saw Lincoln standing beside her, tapping her arm. He was wearing a fresh pair of clothes that she'd left out for him while he'd been asleep, and she couldn't help noticing how refreshed he now looked. She sat up in the chair where she'd fallen asleep, her knitting stuff lay on the floor, no doubt fallen from her lap when she'd dozed off.

"Hey there Mich," Lincoln smiled down at her. "You're still a loud snorer than I am."

Michelle snorted. "Look at who's talking. You have any idea how long you've been passed out? What time is it anyway?" she turned her head to glance out the window, noticing that the sky was turning dark outside.

"It's past five," said Lincoln. "I put some hot water on the stove, thinking I'd make us some tea, if you're interested."

Michelle smiled at him. "I am if you are."

They left the room and headed in the direction of the kitchen. Michelle asked about Monique and Lincoln told her she was asleep in her room. She stopped to look inside her room and smiled at the sight of her daughter dozing. Closing back the door, they went into the kitchen where the kitchen had begun steaming out its spout.

Michelle wanted to set things up but Lincoln told her to sit instead while he got things done. She watched as he looked inside cupboards and drawers till he found the set of mugs and tea bags. He was looking miraculously healthy unlike how he'd been earlier. She didn't know if it was the drugs she'd given him earlier or if this was just the way it often was—a self-deceiving calm before the storm.

"Thanks. How're you feeling right now, Linc?" she asked as he laid her cup of tea before her.

"I bit fine for now. Don't know when the next attack's going to come around, or how it's going to be like, but I'm feeling a bit better right now. I owe it all to you, my love."

"You owe me nothing, Linc."

"One thing I've never forgotten about you is how polite you often are when it comes to taking credit for something."

"Force of habit, I guess."

Lincoln filled his own mug and came and sat beside her. She held his hand while they sipped their tea, neither of them saying anything. Merely taking comfort in the silence and how in each other's presence. When she turned to look at him, she noticed a sad look on his face and he was staring down into his cup, at the swirling sea that was his tea.

"What's wrong, Linc?"

"Nothing serious," he said. "There's something I want you to do for me, Mich."

"What about?"

"It's something I've been thinking about for a while now. I don't know how else to say it to you without you taking it the other way around ... except it's the way it is."

"Whatever it is, Linc, we'll get through it together. We're strong together."

"That's what I need to talk to you about, Mich." He turned to stare at her. "We don't have much time left. Or rather, I don't have much time left. I'm going to be dead weeks or even days from now; the chances of us spending Christmas together is far-fetched, darling."

"What do you want me to do, Linc? Get you some more drugs?"

He shook his head. "All that's never going to stop the clock from ticking, babe. It's nothing you or anyone but God can do to change things. And He's got His hands full to think about saving my black hide."

"Don't blaspheme, Linc. I told you before that it don't matter what, I'm going to be with you through the end of this. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know you aren't, babe. And that's why I wanted us to have this talk before things get worse. The thing is it's alright, Mich. I've accepted what I've got and to live with it through the end. But what I want is for you not to go on killing yourself for me. I want you to live, babe. I want you to keep on being the good woman you are ... the good mother I know you are."

Michelle was unprepared to hearing him say this to her and didn't know how well to take it. She felt hurt inside hearing him talk about himself dying ... and what was most painful about was that it was true. He'd lost a lot of weight and looked emaciated from the disease and knew it was only a matter of time—days or even weeks—when he would be here no more. How was she going to be able to stomach that when the day comes eventually? Nothing she could do about that. All that remained was to stem down the inevitable.

"Please, Linc. I know it's hard for you—it's hard for me, too—but I'm begging you not to give up on me just yet. There's got to be a way to fight this thing." She could feel the tears coming to her eyes and tried fighting it back, but it wouldn't go away. "Please ... don't give up on me just yet. I need you to hang in there for a while. I'll go to the hospital tomorrow and see if I can get in touch with some specialist—"

"It's not going to do any good, Mich!" he said heatedly, making Michelle flinch. Right away he regretted speaking to her like that and apologised for it. "There's nothing either you or doctors, or the so-called specialists you're talking about can do, Mich. This is just the way it is—I've got AIDS, and I'm going to die for it. Simple as that. I just don't want you worrying too much about it anymore."

"Well, what would you expect me to do, Linc," she snapped back. "You want me to just sit back with my arms folded across my chest and watch you have another panic attack and then die? Is that what you want me to do?"

"I didn't say that, Mich. You're helping me to stay alive much longer, and I'm forever grateful to you for it. I just don't want to see you suffering too much anymore. You've been like a mother hen since I got here, and you haven't been sleeping at all. It's taking a toil on you, and I can't have that. I'll bet too that Monique wouldn't want that."

"But this isn't about Monique, Linc. This is about you."

"You're wrong, Mich. It isn't just about me anymore, but rather the three of us. You've got to move on without me. You've been doing that ever since I ran out on you, but then circumstances weren't what they now are. You're going to have to adjust your mind to that again once my time comes."

Michelle looked at him, saw how serious he was, and knew there was no arguing with him anymore. In a way she was already tired of arguing, but was reluctant to throw in the towel so early. She sniffled and wiped off the tears in her eyes.

"Back then, I thought I'd lost you, Linc. Sometimes I actually felt like I'd lost you. That maybe you've gone and found someone else who was taking even better care of you than I was and that I—I mean we, myself and Monique—weren't going to see you again. Whoever would have thought that things would become like this."

Lincoln drew her towards him, holding her head against his chest and patting her shoulder while she emptied out her tears.

"It's alright, babe; it's okay. Everything's going to be just fine."

"How, Linc? How is everything going to be just fine when you're practically on Death's bed right now?"

Lincoln seemed to recoil from that. Michelle saw the hurt look on his face and reached for his arm.

"That was rude of me, I'm sorry. But you're scaring me, Linc. I don't know what my life will be like when you're no longer around."

Lincoln pulled her towards him and embraced her. "You're a strong woman, Mich. You will go on, I know this. I just want you to be ready when it happens."

"Monique is going to miss you more than me, you know that."

"I know. Even now I'm missing her already. Now's the time when you need to be strong ... and happy. I don't want you spending all your waking hours grieving over me. I want you to seriously try and be happy once again. Do you think you can do that for me?"

"I'll try, Linc. I can't give you any promises other than that."

"It'll do for now," he said and kissed her forehead.

* * * *

Trouble was waiting for Shanice and Eric by the time they arrived at Shanice's apartment, and it came in the form of Shanice's ex, Chris.

Chris had spent the last hour waiting outside Shanice's door expecting her to show any minute. Since she no longer too his calls, and he couldn't stop by the Deli where she worked on account of her boss kicking him out last time, this was his only option. He needed to have a serious talk with her. He'd just about had enough of her foolish games and it was time they put an end to it. Stupid bitch just don't know when to quit when told to. But that's no problem; it was high time he taught her some manners to that mouth of hers. Frustrated with sitting outside her stoop under the sun waiting, Chris had done the next best thing—he'd broken into her apartment. He made his way into her den, went into her bedroom and peeked first into her drawers then her closet. He tried to recall the last time he'd been in here how it had been, if she'd made any new changes to her wardrobe or not. Apparently she had. He could only surmise that it was on account of that silly white boy she's been seeing. No problem, he thought. They were going to have themselves a long conversation about that.

He pulled a chair to her bedroom doorway and lounged back to wait.

* * * *

Shanice and Eric arrived at her apartment building twenty-six minutes after Chris had broken inside. They were both in a jolly mood as they'd reconciled with each other, feeling ten-times more relaxed with each other's company than before.

Eric parked his car and together they came up the stairs to her building. Shanice was fumbling in her pocket to unearth her house key when her shoulder brushed against her door. The smile that had been on her face vanished when her door came open before her.

"Eric ..." she indicated her open door to him. He too stopped laughing.

"Stand back," he said to her as he cautiously made his way into her apartment.

They expected to find the place turned out but the opposite was the case—everything was as it was when she'd left in the morning.

"Is anyone in here?" Shanice called out, feeling a bit frightened.

* * * *

"Is anyone in here?"

Chris' eyes came wide open upon hearing what sounded like Shanice. He'd been having himself a light doze while he waited. His attention became alert when he heard Shanice voice call out; he cursed himself for leaving her door open after he'd jimmied the lock. He got up from the chair and came out of the bedroom with the intent of surprise.

He wasn't expecting to meet Shanice with her white boy. Both men's eyes came open as they took in each other.

"Chris?" said Eric.

Shanice too was just as surprised to see him inside her apartment. Eric tried to hold her back but she pushed his arm aside, seething with anger. "Chris, what the hell are you doing in here?"

"We've got some talking to do, Shanice. You and I alone."

"How did you get in, anyway, you bastard?"

"I've got a think for picking locks. And I wouldn't be calling me names if I were you. And I see you're still hanging out with this white boy fool."

"I'd be thinking about clearing your ass out of here if I were you, Chris," said Eric. "Looks like you've worn your welcome a long time ago."

Chris switched his gaze at him, his eyes turned fiery. "I told you before to stop messing with me, didn't I, white boy? Well, I guess it's about time I taught you a lesson or two." He reached behind his jacket and pulled out a switch blade, grinning while he did. "It's been about a while since last time I carved something on a guy's chest."

Shanice made the mistake of approaching him. "Chris, what in God's name are y—"

Chris swung his right fist and caught her across her cheek with his back hand. Shanice cried out from the pain and fell to the floor. Eric saw what was happening a second before he tried stopping Shanice from approaching Chris and watched as she fell on the centre table, nearly banging her head on the glass menagerie that was on it. Chris, seeing he was distracted, passed the switch blade to his right hand and swung it at him. Eric had time to jump backward; the blade tore a flap of his shirt.

"I'm gonna gut you so bad, white boy," Chris grinned as he inched towards him. "When I'm done with your ass, then I'm gonna come back for her."

"I'm going to have to get through me first to do that," said Eric. He was carefully gagging the distance between Chris and his blade. His eyes darted either side, trying to spot anything hard and strong he could use for a weapon.

Chris jumped forward, feigned with his left hand which was curled into a fist, and then sliced the air with his switch blade. Eric saw the feint coming and smartly moved to his left in time as Chris's blade came at him. They circled each other like a pair of combating fighters. Eric glanced at Shanice and saw that she was hugging her face where she'd been smacked. That was a mistake. Chris too saw his eyes move in her direction and saw an opening. He rushed at Eric, holding the switch blade aslant.

The blade tore through the left arm of Eric's shirt, leaving a trail of torn shirt and blood, a second before Chris slammed his body into him. Eric cried from the pain, but that was the least of his worries as he and Chris tumbled to the ground. He drove a knee up Chris's mid-section, making him grunt from the pain, and then concentrated on wrestling the blade from his grip. Both men struggled and fought against each other, their legs and arms entangled as each one tried to overpower the other. Chris punched Eric's wound, making him cry out, while at the same time tried to keep his hold on the blade. Eric brought his right arm over his neck and turned him over with all the strength he could muster. Chris was deflected by this. Eric, seeing his grip on the blade now had lessened, slammed his other arm's elbow on his face. It was Chris's turn to yell from the punch, and the blade in turn fell from his hand next to Eric's ear. Eric gave him another elbow punch before pushing his bulk off him and turned over to reach for the blade's handle.

Chris was quick to recover, getting up to his knee, his hand massaging the spot close to his clavicle bone where Eric's elbow had made repeated contact. At the same time Eric now had the switch blade and was rising to his feet. Chris saw things weren't in his favour anymore but not ready to give up yet, made a flying tackle at his enemy. Once again, both men toppled over the furniture and then fell over it. Shanice came from behind Chris who was struggling to get the switch blade from Eric's grasp, and smashed the glass menagerie over his head. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, sounding like a bomb going off, and the sound of it shattering echoed along with Chris yelling from the pain. Eric raised his hand to protect his face from the flying debris of glass. Somehow the blade got knocked off his hand. Shanice pounced on Chris, scratching her fingers over his face while Eric tried to turn around to find where the blade had gone. Chris pushed Shanice off him, his face was now a bloody mess from the crystal shards of glass that had sliced his skin, and growled as he reached for Eric's leg.

"Get off him, you bastard!" screamed Shanice, who once again jumped on Chris.

Chris was distracted and instead of still holding onto Eric, he turned his attention to Shanice. Eric got hold of the switch blade at the same time that Chris gave Shanice another hard smack at the same time kicked her off him. Eric saw it happen and was enraged at what he saw. He came at Chris and swung a fist at his jaw. The punch connected; Chris's head wobbled from the punch and blood gushed out of his nostrils. Eric held him by the collar of his jacket and ploughed his fist once more at his face a second time ... and then a third. He was screaming while he did it, but was unaware of it. All that was on his mind was beating Chris to a pulp who hurting his woman. Chris fell to the ground and Eric fell on top of his too, still pounding his face. He didn't know when over people came into the apartment and began pulling him. He was still screaming with rage even as they fought to pry him loose from Chris. One of them was yelling into his ear but he wasn't listening. Then someone locked an arm across his neck and held his head in a vice-like grip. Eric's screaming fit turned into mumbled sputtering; he kicked his legs out frantically, trying to squirm free from the hold he was in. Spite filled his mouth and he felt as if he were choking on it ... he felt like he was drowning. He tried to fight the grip that held him but couldn't. His arms were becoming weak. His fear was that somehow Chris's pals had heard him kicking their friend's ass and had come to his rescue. In a second they would be waking Chris up to have a go at him ... and he would succeed this time.