“Tough,” Evelyn said in her new alto. “Let Kent handle them. I’ve never taken a real vacation. I’m taking one now. I’m tired of giving my love away. I have my priorities.”
“Yes, girl, yes!” Chyna shouted as Fitzroy’s jaw scraped Mtume’s carpetand Evelyn strutted to the elevator banks without looking back. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout!!!”
Evelyn took in her studio later that afternoon, reminded herself once again that she was working with a blank canvas, that she had a capacious mind. She thought of all the energy she’d put into work for her clients. Mtume was a top advertising company because ofherefforts. Their newfound reputation as this sparkling, innovative thing to the outside world, established because ofher.
An idea arose.
Trev, hey, she texted.Wanna swing by tonight, around 7? And do you have a suit? Think super old-school style, 1920s, ’30s…
Evelyn had done enough research to know how to make her place look like she was in something akin to a Harlem Renaissance jazz spot. It wouldn’t take much, didn’t need to be so on the nose like what she’d conjured up at Mtume. She texted Trevor once again, asking him to prepare a playlist with Renaissance-era tunes(Not Beyoncé’s album, though I love it so, she clarified) before he arrived. Then she dashed over to Vinnie’s Vintage and her local supermarket to get some items to cook. She noticed that some of the shelves were conspicuously empty, especially when it came to products like toilet paper and canned foods. Folks were spooked by the demon eyes, preparing for an emergency. She knew she should be doing the same but honestly didn’t want to think about it.
She immersed herself in preparing dinner. The smell of herbed greens and roasted chicken soon permeated her apartment. She’d so rarely cooked for herself or anyone else, for that matter, since attending Howard, something she only now realized she associated with slaving away for Granddad, who always complained about what she made, thatit couldn’t compare to her grandmother’s food. The care she took with the preparations… seasoning the bird, tossing and washing greens, slicing yams and stirring cranberry sauce… a soothing balm she hadn’t realized she could enjoy.
A few minutes after seven, Trevor arrived at the door wearing a loose-fitting gray striped suit with striped tie that looked like something he might’ve borrowed from his great-grandfather’s closet. Tucked in his arm, a mixed bouquet of lavender alstroemeria, sprayed roses, and sunflowers. “Evie,” he said. “Goddess, once again, I mean…”
Evelyn shimmied and spun around in the beaded emerald flapper dress she’d snagged from Vinnie’s. The matching green slingbacks she already had in her closet. The silver chandelier earrings and pink feather headdress, an extra-special touch. Did she get it 100 percent right? Didn’t matter. There was no need to obsess over details like she would have if she’d been handling an account. Or Mtume’s bathrooms.
“And this is for you,” she said as she placed a fedora on Trevor’s head. She’d guessed the right size.
She dimmed the lights and they sat down to eat. Hardly any words were spoken as Trevor plowed food into his mouth, nodding and smiling. (Was he nervous?) Evelyn soon kicked off her shoes so she could be comfortable. Music from the playlist he’d made for her wafted through the apartment, sumptuous sounds dominated by Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, and Ethel Waters. After half an hour of dining, with Ethel’s voice singing over a muted band, “I got rhythm, I got music, I got my man…” Evelyn mumbled to herself, “Indeed.” She put down fork and knife, stood up, and walked over to Trevor as she threw her headdress onto the floor. His eyes bulged as he swallowed the second serving of mashed potatoes he’d stuffed into his mouth. She reached down and caressed his crotch. He was already aroused, hard as a rock. How long had he been sitting at the table like this? Was he waiting for her to make a move?
Was she the one in control?
Good.
She pulled down her dress. Trevor moaned, “Oh, Evie,” and rested his head in her ample bosom, which drove her crazy. She was tired of looking at pinstripes and ripped off his suit jacket, throwing it to the floor, and quickly unbuttoned his shirt. Then she pulled down his pants, took out the condom she’d been carrying in her dress pocket, and, after he put it on, plopped down on his thickness, her wetness all the lubrication she needed. The chair creaked as Evelyn rode him, as she felt the muscles of his thighs contract as he placed his hands on her waist to lift her up and down. She shouted like she was riding a bull, the joy more than she could take from being able to see Trevor’s lustrous shoulders, from being able to devour flesh, to lick his neck and ears and eyebrows and nostrils. She rode him down until one of the chair’s legs snapped and the two toppled over in laughter.
The next morning, the first full day of her vacation, Evelyn woke up to Trevor standing in the kitchen alcove. His bare ass jutted out from underneath the button-down shirt she’d tossed aside last night. The pop and fizz of a frying pan bounced off the walls. He was scrambling eggs. The aroma of bacon filled the apartment.
Evelyn rose from bed in nothing but her panties. Fallen beads rolled underfoot as she made her way to the stove. She touched Trevor’s waist. He froze. She turned off the burner and the oven. Breakfast could wait.
After they’d gone another round, Trevor hopped into the shower for a couple of minutes, dashed out, and ran around the apartment, struggling to get one of his legs into his pants. He kissed Evelyn. “I’m late. Supposed to spend some time with the parents,” he said. “But can I call you tonight? I… uh… I can come over again if you want.”
Evelyn would have liked nothing more than to lose herself to this man for the third night in a row. But something inside said she needed to slowher roll. That she should take a moment… for herself. “Let me text you,” she whispered. “I want to see you again. Soon, I promise.”
After Trevor left, she noticed a text from Fitzroy.We need to talk about your insubordination. I expect a call or email from you later in the day.She ignored the urge to toss the phone out the window. Fitzroy would hear from her when she felt like it.
Evelyn found herself lying in bed after ten yet again. Unconscionably late… after sleeping with a man whom she felt like she’d commandeered over the past couple of nights into serving her as she wanted, when she wanted, however she wanted, barely any words passing between them as they engaged in torrid, skanky ho sex. Meanwhile, her adopted city might be at the beginning of a catastrophic devil invasion… or something. And yet she wasn’t preparing to flee, to figure out how to protect herself… really, anything.
“What’s going on?” she softly asked herself in the new voice she was still getting used to, the voice that seemed to drive Trevorcrazywhen she spoke. A womanly voice. The chipper, deferential girliness that she’d long canaried from her mouth, gone.
For a moment, Evelyn felt a tinge of guilt. This man had been going along with her program for two days now, no questions asked. Was this what he wanted? Did she dare ask? She remembered the peace she saw on his face when he was asleep in her bed. The serenity emanating from his body. She couldn’t be imagining that he was happy, could she?
She folded her knees to her chest. Something had changed since she’d visited Nueva Investigations less than a week ago. Radically. The memories of her time there had become so foggy, so dreamlike, she still wasn’t quite sure what had gone down, could barely even be certain she’d stepped foot into the agency. Memories kept on popping up. For the life of her, she couldn’t stop thinking of her time with Grandmama. Something else had been brought to the surface, a sense of self she’d neverknown she possessed. Awildsense of self that maybe was just a bit out of control.
She once again glanced over at the folder of counselors and therapists Linda had given her, which now rested on her kitchen counter. Yes, she would need help to figure out whatever was going on. But first she simply wanted to lie in bed with herself and sit with the fullness pulsing through her body. This bizarre energy. The Evelyn she never thought she had the right to be.
Later that evening, while eating Chinese takeout, she saw an MCURY report profiling Jeremiah Samuelson, the first demon eye apprehended on the streets of DC by private investigator Linda Villanueva. Evelyn dropped her chopsticks. She was stunned to see Linda on TV, somehow connected to the crisis taking the district by storm. But she was even more shocked to look upon the face of Pastor Samuelson. The sweaty, zoned-out man she’d spotted on the Metro when she was falling apart after work.
Was it all a coincidence? Some sort of divine connection between her and Linda and the pastor? She took in the sight of Jeremiah’s peeling flesh, his glowing eyes as he struggled on the ground, captured on video from someone’s phone.
Evelyn became cold. The nickname for his condition made sense. Hedidlook like a demon, like something from hell. A vision that lodged itself into her brain.
She soon fell asleep. Unlike her most recent nights, her slumber wasn’t restful, instead consisting of bizarre, disturbing visions. The delightful dancing blue that had kept her company for several nights, replaced by visions of brown, blistering skin hot to the touch.
CHAPTER NINE
FONSI
