In the end, Gabriela and Angel agreed on an edgy chignon-like bun, but with more lift. A colored rinse, drying the roots, flat iron, roller set, brush out, a doobie with pin curls, finger combing, and looping the smooth, volumized hair into a bun … As a last step, the baby hairs left around her face were waxed and softened.

“Respect, girl. You look like J. Lo at the Oscars,” Latisha said. “Maybe even prettier.” The women clustered in a semicircle around her, nodding.

“I’m afraid to put on the dress.”

Chapter Eleven

Duke could hear his father on the phone as he made his way down the long staircase. He couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying but it sounded like a hushed argument. His ears perked up; he swore he heard his father say Regina’s name. Why?

Willis hung up as Duke entered the kitchen. “Hey, Pops, who you talking to?”

“About time you got your lazy ass out of bed.”

Duke would have laughed. But his father wasn’t joking. “Pops, are you for real? Who bought this house?”

“You are damn lucky you playin’ ball, boy. What else would you do? They don’t pay young men to sit around and play video games.”

“Why you ridin’ me?”

“You upstairs sleepin’ when you should be out running or lifting weights. You’re going to be sloppy next week. Fat and slow. Get your act together, Duke. If you want to be a success, you have to act like it.”

“I am a success. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“I’m talking to a brother who’s close to washing out.”

“Have I ever been good enough for you?”

“That is a ridiculous, self-pitying question. I simply want you to be better. How much money do you think you’ll make in the minors?”

“This is about money, then.”

“Son, I’d like to say you are set up for the rest of your life. But you’re not.”

Duke growled in anger at his father. “Why are my credit cards canceled? You stealin’ my money?”

“Damn it, boy. I have busted my ass, sweating it out late at night while you were off renting yachts and buying cases of Moët, feeling sorry for yourself—and I was paying off the lawyers. I was worried you were going to prison. Believe you me, that was a chunk of change. We are still paying for that. More than you know.”

“You thought I was going to prison? You thought I was guilty?” Duke’s face contorted. “Of what? Did you think I killed Mark?”

His father blustered and waved his hands. “I knew, whatever the truth was, you are a black man and your chances of having something pinned on you were fairly high.”