When I got back to my room, I showered, changed the dressings on my various cuts and scrapes, and went to Aubrey’s room. He was in slacks and a gray T-shirt with a golden fleur-de-lis on it. His smile was warm, but exhausted.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“Talked them into it,” I said, sitting on the bed beside him. He smelled like soap and sandalwood. I leaned against his shoulder. “Karen was easier to convince than Mfume.”
“She’ll be okay, you think?”
“I think,” I said. “Given time. What about you?”
He turned to look at me, his eyebrows raised a millimeter.
“Marinette,” I said. “You and her all copacetic now?”
He laughed, then winced. His ribs were a little tender too.
“Better,” he said. “Not . . . good, but better.”
“So you’re not too spun by it showing back up and taking over?”
Aubrey took a long breath, his brow furrowing itself. Slowly, he shook his head.
“No. It was . . . different. When it wanted the same thing I did, it was more like it was on my side. And I cannot tell you how good it felt to kick the shit out of Carrefour.”
“Even though it wasn’t you in the body?”
“It was, though. It was both of us. Me and Marinette both. When it left . . . Well, I didn’t want it to come back, but I could understand why someone would.”
I was quiet for a moment.
“But it is gone, right?”
“Oh yes,” Aubrey said, taking my hand. “It’s not subtle. If it were still in me, you’d know.”
“Good,” I said, and kissed him.
I wanted to push him back on the bed, curl up beside him. Sleep or make out or a little of both. But I had a larger plan to put in motion, and I had one other thing to do before I could.
Ex’s hotel room was on the second floor with a balcony that looked out over the street. He’d left the door to the hallway open, and a breeze stirred the curtains. A Bible lay open on the bed. He was sitting at the small, black writing desk, looking into the air with an expression that seemed numb. He had one
of his black button-down shirts on, his hair loose and hanging to his shoulders.
“Hey,” I said.
He looked up at me, pleasure and dread and the expectation of punishment flickering across him in less than a heartbeat.
“Hey,” he said. I sat on the edge of the bed.
“So,” I said. “We probably need to talk.”
“If you want,” he said.
“That stuff you threw at me in Atlanta? The sexuality and failure of leadership thing? You were out of line,” I said. “I was down, and I was hurt, and you kind of kicked the shit out of me.”
“Yes, I was,” he said. “I’m not proud of that.”
“Good. Don’t be. But here’s the thing. I was out of line too.”
The confusion in his expression was interesting. He didn’t see it. I wondered if he ever really saw anyone’s sins besides his own.
“That whole firing you thing was shitty of me,” I said. “I was kicking back, and I went too far. I don’t get to pull rank on you. Or on Aubrey or Chogyi Jake. I need you guys to be my friends, not my employees. And that means I don’t get to go straight to the nuclear option when you piss me off.”
“You weren’t out of line,” Ex said. “I deserved it.”
“Doesn’t matter. There will be a time when you need to kick my ass and tell me I’m full of shit. And I need to be able to hear that. If we set precedent
where I get rid of anyone who confronts me about something, I’m screwed.”
“I suppose it’s all about setting the right boundaries,” he said. There was something wistful in his voice. I hadn’t meant to tackle that too, but the issue was right there, and I went for it.
“I’m going to be straight here, okay?”
“You were being crooked before?” he said.
“I may be sleeping with Aubrey,” I said. “I’m kind of into him. And if that’s a problem for you—”
“It isn’t,” Ex said.
“You’re sure?” I asked.
He was lying, or if he wasn’t, he was fooling himself. Ex shook his head, then plucked a black band from his pocket and tied his hair back in a severe ponytail.
“I know what Chogyi Jake told you,” he said. “The first thing he did this morning was come to me and confess.”
“Yeah, that sounds like him,” I said.
Ex held up his hand.
“I wish he hadn’t done what he did. I think he’s wrong about the motives behind my . . . poor behavior. I don’t need you to feel anything in particular about me,” he said. “I’m a grown-up. I’ll handle it. I only need you to treat me with respect.”
“I can do that,” I said, then a moment later, tapping on the doorframe, I added, “if you can do the
same. The part where you dis me in public for not being able to control my sexuality?”
“I project a little sometimes,” Ex said, blushing. “Karen . . . Carrefour messed with my head. I was talking about myself more than you. I just didn’t see it at the time. I’m not as good a person as I would like to be. But I’m trying, and I’ll get better.”
“Pax, then?”