The Phoenix of Birmingham III

The Phoenix of Birmingham III

It had been three months since the old man had finally fallen silent and three months since their mother had returned from the dead.  It had been a busy time.  There was a new product line to get out and a few assorted idiots to disperse across the country.  If she hadn't been so busy, Margaret might have realized she was depressed.  She would have been diagnosed with a simple reactive depression not worthy of medication, but perhaps worthy of a little attention.  If she' been a woman who felt any use for a psychiatrist, she might have been told.  But she wasn't, so she hadn't. 

Rigel hadn't been seen or heard from since his joining the female family circle of abuse.  She'd heard that he was around and managing his assigned accounting duties in the finance department, but he hadn't popped in to see her the way he usually did.  Not that he needed any help, but he liked to search her out anyway.  It unnerved her that she liked to be searched out by him.

Margaret was worried and she wasn't a woman who did worrying very well.  She hated it and avoided it at all costs.  Worrying cluttered her mind with uncertainty and indecisiveness and these were not attractive qualities in a CEO.  She figured, with the scar of Lucifer around her neck, she didn't need any added unattractive qualities.  Besides worry caused furrowed eyebrows and creases to appear in your forehead, which made you appear angry all the time.  Black people were accused of being angry all the time.  And as a black woman, she was angry enough without looking the part.  Not that she minded creases, after all creases supported her company.  She just didn't figure she'd help the bottom line by needing her own chemicals.  It wasn't as though she would pay the going price for them; she'd take them, executive privilege.

But where was that young man?  She hadn't had to look for him for many years, not since he disappeared during finals week as a junior in college.  Her men had found Rigel in the Caribbean trying to pass bony self off as a cross between a Rastafarian drag queen and well... a Rastafarian drag queen.  If he'd been halfway persuasive, she would have left him there.  There were worse ways to end up.  Instead, she'd brought him back, arranged for him to do his finals during the break, and judging by his acing of all the exams, just chucked it up to nerves, an attempted college prank or an effective attention-getting device.  She hadn't bothered to tell their father.  She took it for granted he just wouldn't understand.  Besides which, to tell him she would have to speak to him and she sincerely didn't feel like it at the time or since.

Of course, now she realized, there was much more going on with that kid than she'd wanted to entertain.  What had that man done to him?  How could one evil son of a bitch spread so much pain?  Rigel had refused to tell them what happened to him and she had interceded on his behalf and told her sister and mother to let him be.  She had figured with a few more drinks under his belt that he might loosen up and spill the beans anyway, but instead, the three ladies awoke the next morning with raging cotton-mouth hangovers and a note bidding them ‘adieu'.  Rigel was gone. 

At the time, there was no need to worry.  A couple days later...still no need to worry, he'd come by.  A week later, she was concerned.  Two weeks later, she was more concerned and distracted.  Where was he going after work?  Why was he avoiding her?  She couldn't even sneak up on him in his office.  Every time she went by, his secretary said he just stepped out.  It's not as though the boss can sneak around.  And though she now said she was worried, panicked was probably a more appropriate term and the panic was playing havoc with her depressed mood.  It was not a good mixture.

The receptionist rang her out of her revelry by announcing that Clarice and her mother had arrived.  The estate lawyer was due to arrive in an hour for the reading of the will.  They had delayed it as long as they could.  It was little more than a formality since everyone knew what the will said.  They'd all been given a copy of it years ago.  Not that the old man really had anything.  By the time he died, he was simply living off the generosity of Margaret.  She'd long since divested him of the business and he'd long since converted all the money to booze.  Good old mom from the grave was just showing up for grins, giggles and gloating.  After all, she was dead to the old man, not that he would have left her more than concrete boots had he known she was still alive.  She didn't care.  She was just glad she had outlived him.  It was the sweetest revenge for her.

It was with a mixture of relief and anger that she greeted Rigel when he rounded the corner with their father's lawyer.  The relief won out and the anger receded.  She'd halfway expected him not to show.  The pierced ear was barely noticeable and the sizeable ruby in place dissuaded her from focusing on the disfiguring act itself.  It was a gorgeous stone.  Damn, he had good taste, even if it was a little unorthodox.

"Wanna have some eggs?"

"I already had some eggs."

"Want to have some more eggs... naked?"

They laughed.  It was always the same opening every time she met up with the family lawyer.  He'd always been more than kind to her and more than a little familial when the occasion arose.  It was a short romance, but potent.  She still blushed under her black skin if he looked at her too long.  If he hadn't started dating men, she might still be having a fling with him every now and then.  But as she thought about it, he was probably a better friend and she was probably more man than most of his dates.  Yeah, he was a good friend.  He had shown her the will when she'd asked him.

As they made ready for the reading, she noticed a distinct shift in the atmosphere.  Her ears perked up.  She'd been here before.  It was just the feeling she got when she was about to receive some unwelcome news.  She couldn't imagine what it was.  Maybe he had managed to hold onto some secrets for the old man after all.

She awoke the next morning and was happy for a full thirty seconds before she remembered.  It probably took thirty seconds because she'd had to take a sleeping pill to get any sleep at all last night.  Luckily it was Saturday and she'd always been a stickler for not working on Saturday.

She called down for the car when she'd finished dressing and was quickly and quietly whisked off to the airport.  She was not about to let the news from last night alter her plans.  She had an appointment with a plastic surgeon in Atlanta.  Now that he was dead, she no longer needed the physical reminder of what he'd done.  She no longer needed the scar to protect her from him.  He was dead and now it was time for the scar to join him.
She was amazed she'd fallen asleep in the car and again on the plane.  It was only a forty-five minute flight and twenty minutes to Dr. Wright's office.  She was immediately whisked into the inner office and barely looked around her as the anesthesia was applied.  When she awoke, she'd take a flight to her island home to recuperate for a few weeks.  It would give her time to digest the news. 

Even in her anesthetized state, she knew she was asleep too long.  What had happened?  What had gone wrong?

To be continued...