Like a Sister(2)

His hazel eyes widened. “No. That one…was a bit much.”

My phone rang. I recognized the number and ignored it.

“Yeah. Just a bit.” I gave him a tight smile. “Wonder if they would have went the ‘bit much’ route if it was a Kardashian. Any white girl, really.”

“I doubt it,” he said, and for the first time his smile seemed genuine. “Can I quote you on that? For an article, Miss…”

I shook my head. He tried to step closer, but my Schwinn blocked his path. “Don’t tell me you’re a Mrs.…”

I was not. But still. I didn’t answer the question, instead opting for “Lena. Lena Scott.”

It was my turn to see if he recognized the name. He didn’t. Thank God.

I smiled in relief, but he didn’t know that. He assumed it was for him. “Ms. Scott”—another grin—“wondering if you can help me out. It’s for a follow-up. I’m interested in what the natives have to say.”

“I’m not native.” I’d grown up in Jersey and only moved to the city a year ago, when I’d started classes at Columbia.

“That’s okay.” He flashed that smile again. “I’m still interested.”

I pulled my bike closer, then crossed my arms to cover the hot-pink I USED TO BE A PEOPLE PERSON…THEN PEOPLE RUINED IT FOR ME written on my fitted black T-shirt. A double barrier. “I’m not.”

Box Braids returned, practically pushing me out of the way. “You can talk to me, cutie. I’m Toni White. That’s with an i.”

“I’d love to, Miss White.” Guess he wasn’t as concerned about her marital status as he’d been about mine. “Did you know Desiree Pierce?”

“Of course! I loved her. I watched her every week on that girl’s show,” Toni said. “NYZ. She didn’t have any goddamn sense.”

Editing. It’s called editing, Toni with an i. But I swallowed my flip retort.

Toni continued. “But I loved that about her.”

I’d loved other things: her humor, her ability to talk to anyone, her glass-half-full attitude. The problem was that it was usually a glass half full of vodka. It was why I had decided to love it all from a distance.

“She had so much potential,” Toni said, and at least that was true. She sucked in a breath, as if trying to keep it together, and started sniffling. I looked up to see if she’d actually cry. Her eyes were as dry as my sex life. I looked back down. “She was beautiful. Too beautiful to die,” Toni finally said through attempted sobs. As if ugly people got first dibs on tragedy. “Too beautiful to be assaulted like that.”

My eyes jumped to Stuart, the throbbing in my wrist back with a vengeance. “She was raped?” I could barely get the words out.

Stuart shook his head and the throbbing stopped. “No signs of sexual trauma.”

“No rape?” Toni sounded disappointed. “But I heard she didn’t have on any panties.”

I wasn’t surprised. Desiree had been known to go commando, considering it a lifestyle choice.

“She didn’t,” Stuart said, casually, like he was discussing the weather. “My source at the precinct is saying there was bruising on her legs but nothing to indicate foul play. They don’t know how she got here, but they’re working on it. So am I.”

He watched me as he spoke, his chest puffed out like he was Superman sent to save the day. But it was too late. My sister was already gone.

“She musta been really needing a hit to come all the way up here.” That was Toni again, working my nerves like a street corner.

“You know that’s some bullshit.” I shook my head as I cut in. “There are better places to get coke in the city. So I’ve heard.” From Desiree, in fact. “She didn’t come up here to score drugs. Not if she had been in Manhattan.”

I stared her down like a bully in fifth grade, and she didn’t say anything. Just looked away. And for the first time that day, I wanted to smile. So I kept at it. “She was last seen in Manhattan?”

Stuart nodded. “SoHo. Omni hotel rooftop.”

“Latest hot spot?” I said.

“Yeah. You haven’t been?”

“As a rule, I don’t travel below 110th. Look, if a reality star”—I made sure not to use the word “former”—“with a rich father is going to get her hands on some coke, it would be at the hottest spot in Manhattan. Right?”

A miffed Toni grabbed Stuart’s arm. “Police said she overdosed,” she said. “If she didn’t come up here for drugs, then why? A girl like that don’t belong in the Bronx.”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” said Stuart, star reporter. “How did a woman like Desiree Pierce end up dead in a park above the Major Deegan Expressway?”

I could have told them both. I’d known from the moment I saw the headline.

She’d been coming to see me.





POSTED JUNE 4, 2019,

11:08 p.m. Eastern @TheDesireePierce212




The cell’s camera turns on to find Desiree Pierce in selfie position, left arm fully extended and raised just enough to make her look up at the screen. She turns her face slightly to the left. Pauses, then faces right. All in search of the perfect light.