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Amid backward glances, the committee members leave. With a strained smile Kenya nods at everyone until only Ms. Nina, Cheryl Lee, Kenya, and I remain. Ms. Nina’s furtive glances and reluctant steps are all a ruse. Given the opportunity she will report everything she hears on the first page of the Escondido Examiner as a guest reporter. She’s the reason the whole town has photographic evidence and a first page article of Kenya kissing me during a meeting.
I can’t let Ms. Nina’s ulterior motives distract me. Thoughts race through my mind, uppermost is a decision that will out me. I could force Cheryl Lee to prove that she doesn’t know Khadijah, but there are a few major flaws to trying.
First and biggest is that only a small circle know who Liquid Obsession is without the makeup and garish costuming. Cheryl Lee could have an imposter in the wings waiting to back up the conniving woman’s story. Kenya, who knows little to nothing about our discography will be easily manipulated into believing Cheryl Lee.
Then there is the big lie Khadijah and I have perpetrated on Kenya since we met. How can I expect Kenya to believe me over Cheryl Lee?
Ms. Nina finally exits, leaving the three of us in the hostility-laden room. I advance on Cheryl Lee who hasn’t stopped smirking since questioning Kenya’s right to lead the committee.
“Cameron, I’ll handle this.” Kenya says, her voice an implacable wall that reassures and feeds all my doubts.
I fist my hands while a war rages inside me. This isn’t the first time she’s relegated me to the background so that she can fight her own battles. If not for my silence lending complicity to Cheryl Lee’s claims, I wouldn’t mind being her cheerleader on the sidelines.
“What are you doing?” Cheryl Lee asks Kenya who has her phone out.
“Finding out the truth.” Kenya dials a number. “Hey Pe— Oh, you heard? I’m really sorry to bother you, but can you join us in the committee room? Thank you.”
“To find out the truth, all we have to do is call my friend,” Cheryl Lee says, proving one of my fears is founded. “She’ll admit over speaker that she never spoke to you.”
“I’d love to have a word with her.” Kenya sits down and crosses her legs. The only indication that the situation has her in a similar fury as me is the forceful swinging of one leg in the air and her tightly folded hands over her knee.
I stand behind Kenya, resting my hands on her shoulders. The gesture isn’t much. I’ve boxed myself into a role I hate, but I want the heavy weight to remind her that she isn’t alone.
On the third ring, a woman answers the phone. Cheryl explains the situation.
“I told you, I never spoke to a Kenya Collins,” the mystery woman says.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page regarding who you didn’t speak to,” Kenya’s voice strains. “What I want to know is who you did speak to.”
Pedro enters the room at the end of Kenya’s request. His nostrils flare and he flays me with silent judgment as Kenya’s response makes it clear that I have yet to tell her what my relationship with the band is. In the seconds it takes him to surmise the situation, I beseech him not to blow my cover with a mouthed, please.
“What are you talking about?” Cheryl Lee jumps from her position. For the first time, she glances between Pedro, Kenya, me, and the phone with wide, anxious eyes. “You told us you booked Liquid Obsession, and the lead singer is on the phone saying you did.”
“Kenya never said she booked the band,” I say.
“Yes, she did. Everyone on the committee will serve as my witness. You’re only defending her because you’re sleeping together.” Cheryl Lee points at me then Kenya.
While staring daggers at me, Pedro imperceptibly dips his head. “I doubt Kenya would have taken credit for booking the band since I’m the one who spoke to their representative and lead singer. And I don’t know who’s on the phone, but that she’s a fraud.”
“You booked Liquid Obsession?” Cheryl Lee’s voice has lost the vigor of moments ago.
“Thank you for clearing things up for us, Pedro. As for you, Cheryl Lee, your presence is no longer welcome on the committee.” Kenya gives Cheryl Lee a tongue lashing that quiets me and Pedro.
Copious tears fall from Cheryl Lee’s eyes, but her despair leaves us unmoved. A silent breath of relief escapes me with the resolution of this crisis, but Pedro’s condemnation hurls me back to my former dilemma only worse. This time I’ve exposed him as a coconspirator.
* * *
Throughout the ride home,outrage radiates from Kenya’s silent form. I take her unspoken demand not to speak in stride. I pull up to the house and she slams out of the car and into the building.
Jackpot takes one look at her, arches her back. With a puffed tail, the cat races upstairs to hide from Hurricane Kenya.
Kenya launches her purse into the living room and ignores the crash as she storms from room to room. When it doesn’t look like anything will calm her, I walk into her path and grab her shoulders. Despite her twisting to free herself from my hold, I maintain my grasp until she looks me in the eyes.
I step back in surprise at the glittery sheen and misery she can’t hid. “Want to talk about it?”
“I’m done tolerating Cheryl Lee. She’s dead to me.” Kenya’s fight leaves her body with the same swiftness as it surfaced.
“Perfectly understandable. I won’t acknowledge her if she passes me on the street, either.”
