Shake Down the Stars Read online

  “What’s wrong, baby? You seem a little tense.”

  “I think I need another drink.”

  “You don’t need another drink; you need to relax. Why don’t you smile for me? If I see that kilowatt smile of yours, I’ll be able to turn on the magic and you’ll feel good in no time.” He snaps his fingers to a beat only he can hear. “You wanna have a good time, don’t you?” he says, going into his James Brown. “I say, ‘You wanna have a good time?’” When he juts his elbows out and starts bobbing his head, I smile. He actually has a sweet face. Nice long eyelashes. Big brown eyes. Soft lips.

  “There’s that smile.” He grins. He stares down at me and touches my chin with his finger. This time when we kiss, I find myself thinking about a certain activity that would help me relax even more. I turn away so that he can no longer kiss my face. I then push his shoulders, nudging him southward.

  It doesn’t take him long to get the hint, and he begins to wiggle his way under the sheets like an excited seal. He stops just before his head is about to disappear. “I’ve been told I’m the best there is when it comes to certain oral delights.”

  “You certainly talk a lot.”

  He gives me a wink and disappears under the blankets. I’m feeling better and thinking that things just might work out, when there’s a tap at the door followed by Margot bursting into the room without the prerequisite “Come in.”

  I immediately use my thighs as a vise, willing Selwyn not to budge. I then quickly tuck his robe behind my pillow and rearrange the blankets into a huge mound over my knees, clutching a second pillow to my chest for good measure.

  “I can’t believe this weather,” she says. “Why me? Why today?”

  One good thing about narcissism: Margot doesn’t notice my erratic behavior for a second; nor does she notice the pile of blankets. Honestly, she’s just that self-centered.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of waiting for permission before walking into someone’s room?” I give my thighs a firm squeeze and speak loudly enough that Selwyn will get the point—Do not move! He responds by surreptitiously lying flat on the bed and shaping himself into a motionless blob.

  Margot takes long, elegant steps across the room. She spent most of her childhood on the beauty pageant circuit and still moves as though balancing a book on her head. She soaked up every pretty feature from Mom and her father, and now serves as a perfect composite of the two: doe-eyed, high-cheek-boned, worthy of every double take she receives. I, on the other hand, took after my father: long-limbed and angular, with a wide mouth and deep-set eyes. No one has ever mistaken us for sisters—half or not.

  She stands directly next to the bed and peers out the window. “I guess I shouldn’t complain about the weather when I have so much to be grateful for. I must be one of the happiest women alive.”

  “Lucky for the rest of us, your humility remains intact.”

  “Seriously, P, I’m truly grateful. Last night Curtis was so sweet. After kissing me all over my face, he fell down to his knees and kissed my—”

  “Too much information! I keep telling you, I don’t need to know every detail of your sex life.”

  “I was going to say he fell to his knees and kissed my hand, stupid. He proposed all over again.”

  “How many times is the man going to propose?”

  “As many times as he wants, thank you very much. I can’t believe how God has blessed me. He’s handsome. Rich. Kind. What more could a girl want?”

  “Intelligence?”

  She cuts her eyes.

  I feel the troll give my ankle a shake. Message received, I ask, “So, what do you want, anyway? I was about to take a bath.”

  “I wanted to talk. I’m a little down, I guess. I wish Grampy were here is all.”

  She sits next to me on the bed. I worry briefly that she’ll catch on to the fact that there’s a man under the covers, but no surprise, she’s completely oblivious.

  “I keep imagining how happy Grampy would be if he knew I was marrying the one and only Curtis Randolph.”

  Margot’s father raised me from the time I was eleven. His father, Grandpa Wright, or Grampy, died two years ago. My own father, the deadbeat, left when I was barely two months old. He sent Mom money from time to time, but never with a return address. By the time I turned three, he’d disappeared altogether, turning Mom and me into characters from a Dickens novel. Mom worked two jobs, as a waitress and a sales clerk, but money was as elusive as that person you’ve always had a crush on but who never notices you.

  After years of life on the poverty line, Mom met Charles Wright, Margot’s father. Charles was a banker at the time, and, like some kind of economic superhero, swooshed in, married Mom, and moved us three rungs up the socioeconomic ladder. Margot was born a year into the marriage, and suddenly Mom had the life she’d always wanted: a man, a home, a little girl she could afford to spoil rotten. I, meanwhile, gained a sister eleven years my junior. Then, sometime while I was in high school, Charles announced that he’d been called to serve God. He started a church in a small movie theater, and now that same church is some one thousand members strong.

  “I know you miss Grampy, Margot,” I say, “but you should be grateful that your father is alive and present in your life. Try to focus on that.”

  “You’re right,” she says, taking my hand. “You’re right. I wish more than anything that someone else could be here, too.”

  I lower my gaze. “Margot.”

  “Dad is going to say a few words about Grampy, and I’d like him to say a few words about Hailey, too. I think it’s important that they both be remembered tonight.”

  “Margot—”

  “I want tonight to be about family. I think we should honor her.”

  I pull my hand away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Just leave her out of it, okay?”

  “But it’s a blessed event, and we need to have her presence here.”

  “Blessed event? What makes an engagement party a blessed event?”

  “It’s blessed to me. Curtis and I are making a holy promise to each other. Daddy agrees. I think it would be nice if he said a few words. Just a few, that’s all. I want everything to feel spiritual, and I want my niece to be with us.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “This isn’t about Hailey, Margot; it’s about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Look at all the money you’re throwing around, and it’s not even your wedding yet. Everything is out of control.”

  “And so what if it is? Curtis and I have been through a lot, and now we’re tighter than ever. I want this party to represent that.”

  “Been through a lot” meaning Curtis has cheated a lot. Only eight months ago he was caught messing around with a groupie. Margot forgave him, spurred by his tearful apology and the pair of diamond earrings he gave her. The marriage proposal followed soon after.

  I feel the troll’s breath on my thigh, slow and labored. I wonder if he’s passed out under there, but there’s nothing I can do. I need to make sure Margot doesn’t sabotage me. “It’s your engagement party,” I say. “Your marriage, your life. Just whatever you do, please leave Hailey out of it.”

  “She was my niece, you know. I miss her, too. We all miss her. We will always miss her.”

  “I don’t want her mentioned during your party, Margot. I don’t.”

  “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

  “Why do you have to be so selfish? Just leave her out of it, okay?”

  Resigned, she rises from the bed. She glances at the drink on the nightstand, then makes a point of staring at Selwyn’s drink on the opposite table. “You need help, Piper. You really do.”

  “Okay,” I say. “As soon as you leave, I’ll get on it. Thanks. See you later.”

  She saunters to the mirror in response. “I just need one more thing.”


  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “The girls aren’t feeling well. Hélène says it’s a mild fever. I just checked on them, and they seem fine. Anyway, she says she has some family thing she has to go to—a christening or something—and has to fly to LA. She says she told me, but I swear she didn’t. Of course she gave me one of her voodoo stares. I’m certain she’s put a curse on me. That’s why it’s so cloudy today.”

  “You really need to quit with the stereotypes.”

  “I wanted everyone to see the girls in their chiffon dresses, but now I’m not sure.”

  Margot’s ten-year-old twins, Sophia and Little Margot, are the product of her relationship with the hockey player no one speaks of. Like my own father, the hockey player disappeared after he learned he was going to be a father. Unlike my dad, he’s been sending monthly checks since the girls’ birth—enough money that they attend one of the most expensive schools in the Bay Area, have a nanny who may as well be their surrogate mother, and are set through college.

  “Just how sick are they?”

  “Sophia’s been throwing up, and Margot has a mild case of diarrhea.”

  “Margot!”

  “Well.”

  “Did you call the doctor?”

  “Of course I called the doctor. She said to watch them overnight, make sure they get their fluids, and if they’re still under the weather, bring them in on Monday.” She shrugs. “I think they’re making a turn for the better, but I can’t see forcing them to participate. And I can’t ask Mom to watch them—I need her.”

  “So you want me to watch them.”

  “Would you mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Thanks. I knew you’d say yes. I just don’t want you to be upset because you’ll have to miss the ceremony. But I’ve already thought it out. You’ll be able to watch the film version, and it’ll be even better. You can pause and rewind.”

  I imagine fast-forwarding for long stretches.

  I feel a weak hand squeeze my calf and think of all the brain cells Selwyn must have lost by now. “Sounds good. And if that’s all you need, I think I’m going to take a bath now.”

  “We need you upstairs by four o’clock. If I’m not there, tell the voodoo priestess I want her back by Monday morning.”

  Satisfied, she gives a ta-ta wave—“Thanks, Sis!”—and is out the door.

  I wait a few seconds. “All clear.”

  Hearing he’s safe, Selwyn crawls out from beneath the covers like a man recently shipwrecked, clawing at sand and inhaling massive doses of air.

  “Are you okay?”

  His eyes roll upward as he offers a weak nod.

  I get out of bed and lock the door. Selwyn, though, remains on his back, still trying to catch his breath.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  His chest rises up and down in great heaves. He covers his forehead with his arm as he stares into the ceiling. It takes him a while, but then he suddenly jerks his head in my direction. “Hold on now. Wait a second. Your sister is marrying Curtis Randolph?”

  I nod.

  “The Curtis Randolph?”

  I nod again.

  “Curtis Randolph of the Oakland Raiders Curtis Randolph?”

  “Yes, Selwyn. Curtis Randolph of the Oakland Raiders.”

  “Curtis Randolph,” he murmurs. “Curtis Randolph. That man . . . That man is the top quarterback in the country! He’s going to take the Raiders all the way to the Super Bowl! Damn, girl, I just might have to dump the wedding I’m going to and check out your sister’s engagement party. What time does it start?”

  “None of your business.”

  “But it might be fun to—”

  “You’re not invited.”

  “Damn,” he mumbles. “Curtis Randolph. What if I just stop by for a second?”

  “You’re not invited.”

  “Okay. All right. Damn. Curtis Randolph. That man is a wizard with the ball. A genius.” He eases himself up with a grin and kisses my shoulder. “Lotta love between you and your sister, huh? You two are like this.” He crosses his fingers and chuckles.

  “Shut up.”

  I refuse to look at him but feel his stare and big goofy smile all the same. He takes a finger and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Mmmmm. You sure are pretty when you’re pissed,” he says. “Which is a good thing, ’cause I get the feeling you get pissed a lot.” He laughs to himself.

  “Not funny,” I say, giving him a playful slap near the shoulder.

  “Aw, come here.” He takes me in his arms and kisses my temple. “Shall we continue?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not, baby? We’ll find our groove in no time. I have a feeling it’s just around the corner.”

  “More like the next state.”

  “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that.” He smiles and lets his fingers do a little dance on my shoulder.

  I push him away.

  After giving his head a scratch, he sighs and falls back against the bed. “Curtis Randolph. Damn. Curtis Randolph.” He sucks in a breath and adds, “Well, I should probably get ready for the ceremony anyhow. Would you like to be my date?”

  “Can’t. You heard—I’m watching my nieces.”

  “Well,” he says, “can’t say I didn’t try. You’re a lovely woman, Kilowatt.”

  “Thanks.”

  He pauses, eyes locked with mine. “May I ask what your sister was talking about? What you need to move on from?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  He raises a hand in surrender. “I understand. I do. I just want to say, though, if you ever need anyone to talk to—well, I understand pain. Me and pain? We go way back.”

  I see how sincere he is and take his hand. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  He kisses my cheek and climbs out of the bed. After finding his slippers and robe, he goes to the door. “So I guess this is good-bye, huh?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Well, if you’re ever in Livermore, promise to look me up.”

  “I will never be in Livermore.” I’m not even sure where Livermore is, actually. Not to mention the ugly sound of it—makes me think of various organs like kidneys and spleens.

  “But if you are. I’m an attorney. I work in the mayor’s office. City hall. Can’t miss it. Now, what do you say you give me one more smile before I leave?”

  I toss my shoulder up, as Margot might, and smile as if posing for a picture.

  “Beautiful,” he says, shaking his head. “Just beautiful.”

  two

  I don’t need to rely on my college French to understand that Hélène is pissed. I stand just inside the girls’ room, watching her pick up clothes while cursing under her breath. Margot’s twins are camped out on the Edwardian sofa, watching TV.

  Hélène is Senegalese and arrived in the States via France. She has wide square teeth and small red eyes she lines heavily with black eyeliner. As usual, she wears her signature overalls and bright yellow sneakers. The front of her hair is braided into what looks like an upside-down basket with a fluffy synthetic ponytail shooting out the back, much like feathers on a rooster. The first sign that she was a nanny to be reckoned with was her absolute refusal to wear a dress or straighten her hair. Margot threatened to fire her over her appearance, but the girls instantly fell in love with her and begged their mother to keep her on. Hélène: 2; Margot: 0!

  Hélène is the only nanny not afraid to stand up to Margot, and the only nanny who’s lasted longer than a year. Margot keeps her around not only because Sophia and Margot adore her, but she considers it a bonus that she speaks only French to the girls and is willing to work on the cheap. We have no idea how old she is. An older-looking twenty? A younger-looking forty? No one dares ask.

  She marches up to me. “Your si
stah,” she says, pointing an inordinately long finger in my face. “Your sistah is no good. I tell her my sister have a baby and I need to go to the christening, but she no care! The christening is in LA. I have to catch the plane, you know? I told her last month I no stay for this party because I have to be with my family.” She thumps her chest. “My family. What she think? I have no family? I tell her I fly today, and she calls me a liar. A liar! Why would I lie about such things, eh?” She glances over at the twins, then lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Her girls are sick, and she don’t care. All that woman cares about is her party.”

  She’s right. Since Margot started dating the football player, the girls have been getting the short shrift.

  I say, a little too late, “I’m sure she cares.”

  Hélène guffaws. “Care. What she know about care?”

  “I’m sure after the wedding Margot will—”

  “She have party tonight for engagement. She have party last weekend for engagement. How many parties does one person need, eh?”

  Last weekend’s party was with her closest friends—in-house manicures and pedicures followed by a catered tea, the event covered by a style magazine. She and the football player have also been featured in various magazines with the occasional spots on entertainment news programs. Since the engagement, they’ve also been followed by paparazzi, giving Margot the excuse to buy several pairs of expensive sunglasses.

  “Last night I tell that woman—your sistah—I tell her she needs to—” She glares hard as if she’s suddenly had enough with me, too. “Eh. What good does it do to talk except I waste my breath. That woman—that woman, she never change.” She finds her purse and rattles off to the girls in French as she kisses their cheeks. She then stares me down. “Sleep by eight, eh?” She juts her chin toward Sophia. “And don’t let that one there eat no ice cream. I don’t care how she beg.”