All Up In My Business Read Online Free PDF Page B

mantel. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing.” Malcolm retrieved his jacket, tie, and briefcase from the couch and headed out of the room.
    Victoria quickly followed. “What do you mean, nothing? You come home and head straight for the liquor cabinet, without checking on your wife or your kids, and expect me to believe that everything is okay?”
    “Don’t try starting an argument, Victoria. It’s not unusual for me to have a drink when I come home in the evenings.”
    “Yes, but in the dark?”
    “Where are the kids?” Malcolm was ready to change the subject.
    “Where do you think they are on a school night? In bed.” Victoria turned and marched back up the stairs.
    Malcolm followed her to the master suite. Victoria walked to her side of the oak, four-poster, king-sized bed, grabbed her Bible off the nightstand, and once again headed toward the door.
    “Are you going to be long?” Malcolm asked her. “I was hoping we could … spend some quality time together.”
    Victoria snorted. “Oh, you can’t speak but you can screw? That liquor’s got you riled up and now you want to have intercourse?”
    “The liquor has nothing to do with it,” Malcolm said, slowly walking toward her. “It’s been months since we’ve been intimate, Victoria. I need to make love to my wife and don’t feel I should have to beg her.”
    Victoria put up her hand. Malcolm stopped a few feet away from her. “The Lord has spoken to me about that boy who got burned,” she said in a firm tone that brooked no argument. “He told me to fast and pray for three days, to help bring about that child’s healing. No food, only water.”
    “Good. Maybe you’ll lose one of those rolls around your neck or your stomach,” Malcolm shot back, hurt and angry that he’d been rejected—again.
    “Perhaps I will,” Victoria replied calmly, masking the hurt his jab had caused. “At any rate, I’ll be sleeping in the guest room while I do the Lord’s work.” She walked to the door and placed a hand on the doorknob. Before opening it, she turned and said, “I would love for you to join me and the kids at church this Sunday. That’s something we could do together. Good night.”

5
    T oussaint and Shyla entered the upscale Buckhead Taste of Soul location. The rich vocals of Aretha Franklin assailed them immediately, oozing from the bar and waiting area located at the front of the restaurant. Toussaint bobbed his head to the beat as Aretha spelled out the respect she wanted. His uncle Ace’s suggestion from ten years ago—placing jukeboxes in the restaurants so patrons could have soul music along with their soul food—had been excellent. The idea was further enhanced when Ace’s wife, Diane, had suggested that the main platters be named after soul groups. Now, instead of ordering a meat dish with a salad and sides, customers ordered the Otis Redding Rib Eye Platter or the Wilson Pickett Pork Chop Plate. A highlight from those early days was when the Godfather of Soul, James Brown, personally came in and christened his namesake—the James Brown Baby Back Big Snack, a half slab of succulent baby back ribs, served with potato salad, coleslaw, and tangy baked beans.
    “I can’t believe how crowded it is,” Shyla said as Toussaint led them to a corner booth.
    “What do you mean you can’t believe it? I thought you knew!”
    “Of course, Mr. Livingston, I’m well aware of this location’ssuccess. But it’s three o’clock in the afternoon. I thought these heavier flows occurred mainly during lunch and dinner.”
    “If you’d patronize this establishment more, you’d know that it’s always busy,” Toussaint admonished gently.
    “My waistline can handle this place only once or twice a month. Do you think you’d like me with a pudgy stomach and flabby thighs?”
    “You know I like you nice and tight, baby,” Toussaint drawled softly. Further comment was interrupted as their waitress came up to the table.
    “Hello, Toussaint,” she