by Tracy Gray
“It’s weird that you would say that, and then call me ‘Busy’, because the only people who ever call me that, are people who’ve known me since I was a kid.”
“Well, your grandmother called you that, and I knew her. I was close to her.”
I nodded in agreement. The person behind me started to honk their horn. Chicagoans - they were impatient as hell on the roadways. I pressed the gas pedal.
“What was the deal with you treating us the way you did growing up?”
“How do you feel like I treated you and your cousins growing up?”
She sucked her teeth, and even though I couldn’t see it, because I was watching the road, I knew she rolled her eyes. I could feel it. “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”
“I do.” I admitted. “I know that we weren’t friends…”
“You completely ignored us.”
“So, we’re doing this.” I muttered mostly to myself, but with her proximity to me, there was no way she didn’t hear what I said.
“Don’t you think it’s time? I mean, especially if we’re gonna pull off this whole ruse. Because right now, I don’t even know if I like you.” She paused. “That’s a lie, right now, I feel like I don’t like you.”
“Damn, I thought Clarke was the one that didn’t pull punches.”
“Family trait.”
“Okay, let’s do this. When we moved in with my grandmother full-time, I was ten years old. Yeah, we knew each other before then, but just in passing. We would see each other if we happened to visit my grandmother at the same time you all were visiting your aunt.”
“I’m not talking about when we were babies. I’m talking about when we were old enough for it to matter. I wouldn’t hold something that you did when you were six against you, Busy. But see, if you knew me...you would know that.”
“You’re big mad about this, huh?” I asked, realizing for the first time how much my behavior had affected the girl from across the street.
She didn’t respond. Truthfully, I didn’t really need her to, I could tell where she stood.
“By the time I moved in with my grandmother, I had discovered girls. And you and your cousins...let’s just say that I had a lot of impure thoughts about y’all. One day, my grandmother caught me trying to get...fresh, for lack of a better term, with Kyndall, and she pulled me to the side. She told me in no uncertain terms that if I wanted to ‘dilly-dally’ with some young girl’s emotions, to leave the Watson family out of it.”
“Uhm.”
“As I got older, if she caught me looking at one of you all - and full disclosure Mecca, I did look, and think about, and dream about you all. Anyway, if she caught me looking, she would give me the same speech. After awhile, I got tired of hearing the speech, so I put you, with your pretty face, Indigo with them big breasts, Joya with that fat ass, Kyndall with that beautiful smile, and Clarke with her kissable ass lips into a little box that said “do not touch” and I stayed away from y’all. Clearly you took it as a personal offense, but it wasn’t. It was self-survival. I was running through women, and I knew my grandmother would’ve killed me, if I had treated a Watson girl the way I was treating other girls.”
“I don’t get what that has to do with you ignoring us for all of these years. We’re grown now, Maddox. I have seen you numerous times. Numerous. And so have my cousins. You still barely say three words to us.”
She had a point.
“I think it’s just become a habit, honestly. A bad habit, Mecca. A rude habit. And I apologize.”
“You owe everybody an apology.”
“You’re right.” I agreed, because she was right. “I’m an asshole. Believe me, that has been made clear to me, as of late.”
Neither of us spoke for a bit.
“Anyway, Joya is having an anniversary party.”
“How long has she been married?” Joya was one of her first cousins.
“I think this is their 5th anniversary.”
“When is it?”
“Saturday. If you want to come, I’ll bring you. We can take some pictures together, post them on social media. We can have Indigo post them on her Instagram.”
“Indigo’s like famous now, right?” Indigo was another first cousin, who was currently making noise on social media.
“She’s a popular beauty guru on social media.”
“She’s dating Northern McKinley, the music producer, too? I see them on my Instagram feeds all the time.”
“She is.”
“Cool. I’ll go to Joya’s thing with you on Saturday, and on Friday, there’s something I need you to do for me.”
“What’s that, Busy?”
“Friday there’s this charity event that I need to attend, it’s part of my image overhaul. Sydnie wants me to take you as my date. It’s an industry thing, so she wants me out there, front and center. Sorry, it’s last minute.”
“This whole thing is last minute. I’m not tripping. It’s formal, huh?”
“Total black tie. Again, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I love dressing up.”
That shocked me, and I don’t know why.
“I hope you love paying for formal gowns, expensive designer shoes, hair appointments...and nail appointments.” She teased.
“Uh, not necessarily, but it is what it is. I got you. Just tell me what you need.”
“I need for you to finance my fly, so I can help you look like you got Ainsley Neuberg outta your system. Duh.”
Mecca
Maddox’s team moved fast. Thursday morning, by the time I had showered, dressed, done my skin care regimen and pulled my hair up into a neat ponytail, I had a text message from Maddox’s younger brother and attorney, Brandon. He let me know that the non-disclosure agreement and contract that I needed to sign were in my email inbox. I texted him back.
Me: What’s up, Brandon? I’ll have my attorney look over the documents. If he thinks they’re good, I’ll sign them and get them right back to you.
The thing about Brandon Mayhew, was that I considered him a friend. Although Maddox had made it his business to ignore the Watson women while we were growing up, the same couldn’t be said for Brandon, or their youngest brother, Xavier. I didn't know if Miss Vera relaxed her rules after Maddox, or if Brandon and Xavier were just rebellious enough to ignore them. Whatever, they were cool with all of the Watson girls. At one point, Xavier was in a serious relationship with one of my younger cousins.
Brandon: Mecca baby, I can’t believe you’re even doing this for Busy’s ass.
Me: Me either, but Auntie Bo…
Brandon: Yeah, he told me. Lucky ass.
Me: Stop flirting.
Brandon: Nope. You’re too pretty not to flirt with.
Me: If that’s the case, why’d you spend all your time sniffing up behind Indigo when we were kids? You were enamored with the light-skin.
Brandon: What? You’re light skinned.
Me: I’m caramel colored, Sweetheart. Indigo is high yellow. That’s what you like.
I teased him, because it was true.
Brandon: Doesn’t matter now. She’s hemmed up with dude. So, let me shoot my shot with you.
Me: Leave me alone, Brandon.
I knew he wasn’t serious. That was how we related to each other, with teasing and fake flirting.
Brandon: So, who all are you telling about the arrangement with Busy? I would hate to have to sue your pretty ass...but I will.
I laughed out loud at that.
Me: Immediate family only. I have to tell my parents, and you know I can’t keep nothing from British. She already knows.
Brandon: You gonna be able to keep it from the rest of the pretty committee?
The pretty committee was how Brandon and Xavier Mayhew liked to refer to the Watson girls.
Me: Yeah. His secret is safe with me, but you might want to draw up an NDA for British. You know she has a mouth on her.
Brandon: You’re right. I’m about to text her ri
ght now.
I took British with me when I went shopping for a formal gown. We went to an obscure little boutique in the Gold Coast area called, Saturated, that my mom liked to frequent when she had an event that she needed to dress for. The owner, Georgette Luckett was a ground-breaking, barrier busting black model in the 1970s. She knew fashion and had an eye for all things beautiful. When she retired, her daughter, Greer had taken the helm, and she was just as impressive as her mother. When I told Greer that I was going to a benefit with Maddox Mayhew, NFL free-safety, she pulled about twelve gowns for me.
“So,” British said, pawing through the gowns on the rack that Greer set aside for me. “I get that Auntie Bo asked you to do this, and I know how you are about old people.”
I chuckled. British teased me constantly about all of the time I spent hanging out with Miss Vera and Auntie Bo.
“But what else besides that made you agree to do this?”
“Nothing.” I said, fingering the luxurious material of a dreamy silver gown.
“Just Auntie Bo? It had nothing to do with the fact that Busy is fine as hell, or that those football pants can’t hide his dick print?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s an athletic cup in his football pants, Brit, so there’s that.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Maybe, but I’ve been looking at Busy’s dick print since I was a senior in high school - it ain’t always been an athletic cup. Plus, he loves to thirst-trap in those compression shorts on his IG page. Just saying.”
I shook my head, not just to ward off what she was saying, but to clear the thought of his dick print from my mind.
“It wasn’t the dick print?” She confirmed.
“No, British. It wasn’t the dick print. I don’t even pay attention to his dick print.” I pulled a black gown from the rack and held it out.
“Lies. You’ve always had a crush on him. Since we were little, you’ve had a crush on him.”
I started separating the dresses that I wanted to try on from the ones that I knew weren’t going to work for me.
“I did have a crush on him when we were little. Then it faded.” I looked over at my younger sister, and it was obvious from her facial expression that she didn’t believe me. “I’m not lying, Brit. I wouldn’t lie to you. If I was digging him, I would tell you. I’m not. He was my teenage crush, and I haven’t been a teenager in a minute.”
“So, no feelings for him at all?”
I cut my eyes at her and smiled slyly. “Now, let’s not be ridiculous. Have you seen him? Of course there’s feelings.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “Feelings of lust. Feelings of hunger. Feelings of…”
“Horniness.” She supplied.
“There are those.”
“You think you’re going to be able to convince people that you guys are a real couple?”
“Girl, people believe anything they see on the internet. All he needs is some strategically placed, suggestive pictures of us together, and the media’s gonna be like, ‘Who’s the mystery woman on Maddox Mayhew’s arm?’.”
“Just make sure that he’s not out there in “suggestive” pictures with other chicks. You don’t wanna look like a member of his line-up.”
“Yeah, I had my attorney put that in the contract.”
“I’m excited to see how this plays out.” She told me.
That surprised me. “Really?” I raised my eyebrows. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I feel like he was always destined to end up with one of us Watson girls. Why shouldn’t it be you?”
“I can’t imagine that I’m Busy’s type. I would imagine him with somebody more like Clarke or Joya.”
“Clarke?” Her brown eyes were wide in surprise. “Uhn uh. Not at all. He’s motivated, focused and high energy, like daddy. You’re motivated, focused and high energy, like mama.”
“And on that note, I’m gonna try on these dresses.” I took three dresses from the rack and headed towards the back of the boutique. I wanted to keep things professional with Busy. I didn’t need British planting any seeds in my head that I wasn’t trying to nurture.
Maddox
4
I paid for Mecca’s benefit attire, but she took her sister with her when she went shopping, so I had no idea what to expect. When I picked her up Friday night, I was nowhere near prepared for what I saw. My heart raced wildly in my chest, its rhythmic thumps resounding in my ears when she answered the door for me.
“I’m almost ready.” She told me, and turned on her heel to walk away, but then she stopped, and gracefully turned back to me. “You must see something you like, but you need to close your mouth before you catch a fly, Busy. I know Miss Vera raised you better than that.”
I closed my mouth.
She’d selected a white dress. It was clingy, and lacy, and sheer, and form fitting, and it made two very distinct thoughts pop into my head. The first was that I wanted to touch it, and the second was that I wanted to touch it while taking it off of her.
“She did raise me better than that, but Miss Vera never saw you looking like this, Pudding.” I called after her.
I heard her chuckle from wherever she was in the condo.
“So, what’s this benefit?” Mecca asked as I opened the door of the truck for her and helped her out of the backseat.
“CTE. It's for a foundation that was created by Jennifer Zuriela. Her husband, Jack, was the quarterback for the Pythons for almost ten years. When he left the league, things got...crazy for him.”
She nodded. “I’ve heard about the consequences of CTE; mood swings, aggression, depression.” Shaking her head, she pulled in air through her teeth. “Scary.”
It was my turn to nod. “Yeah, he committed suicide, left his money for research on the condition and Jennifer started the foundation.”
“Are there gonna be a lot of NFL people in here?”
“Yeah. That’s why Sydnie really wanted me to come. Get my face out there, in front of the people who matter, in a positive way.”
“You know I’ve been going to these kinds of events with my parents since I was little. Just in case you’re worried about me, don’t be.”
I looked down at her like she was crazy. “Trust me, I’m not. Ain’t nobody in here gonna be paying attention to your behavior, they’re gonna be too busy looking at your body in this dress that I’m pissed off you tricked me into buying.”
“I didn’t trick you.” She objected, her pretty brown eyes big with dismay. “I texted you a picture of it from the boutique.”
“I saw it on the hanger, Mecca. It looked like a bed sheet or some curtains or something. I didn’t see it on your body. If I’d seen it on your body, I would’ve said ‘hell nah, pick something else’.”
“You don’t want me to look good?”
“Not this good.” I shook my head. “Not in front of this crowd.”
She giggled, and it was a tinkly sound in the warm night air. “For fifteen years, you ignore me. Now, you wanna be on some protective big brother stuff.”
“Ain’t nobody trying to be your big brother in that dress, Ma.” I said honestly.
“Well, if those are the vibes this dress is giving off, then I say it was money well spent.” She looped her arm through mine.
“The vibes that dress is giving off are giving me a hard dick.” I muttered to myself.
Mecca and I walked into the ballroom with her holding onto my arm. The place was done up to impress the moneyed crowd that Jennifer invited. There was a lot of silvery, shiny, and sparkly shit everywhere you looked. I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, though. I couldn’t stop glancing down at her cleavage. Mecca’s body in that dress was perfection.
While I was busy looking down at her cleavage, somebody said her name.
“Mecca B. Goode, check you out - pimping the hell outta that dress.”
I snatched my eyes away from Mecca’s breasts and looked into the face of Curtis Starrveld. Curtis was a defensive back for the Falcons. I co
uldn’t say that I disliked him, he was just that dude. The dude that was always a little too loud, always too over the top, always needed to draw attention to himself.
Mecca gave him a smile that seemed genuine. “Hey Curtis.”
He grabbed her free arm, pulling her body to his. Her arm slipped out from mine, leaving the obvious absence of the warmth of her body.
I tried not to let myself get tight when his hands drifted down and didn’t stop until they were right above the line of scrimmage. That was when I noticed that the damn dress was backless.
Yo, I fucking hated this dress!
After the hug went on longer than I was comfortable with, which honestly, would’ve been two seconds, I spoke. “Yo Starrveld, I’mma need you to stop being so damn handsy with my girl.” His back was to me, and Mecca’s face was somewhere by his chest so neither of them saw how my face involuntarily frowned up at me calling her my girl. I didn’t know where the terminology “my girl” had come from, but I could admit that seeing him all over her made me feel possessive.
“Sorry, my dude. Me and Mecca go way back.” He said as a way to explain his blatant violation.
And before I even thought to edit myself, I responded, “I don’t give a damn if y’all go back to the fucking womb, don’t be holding her like that.” I put my arm around her waist and pulled her to me, my face still arranged into a mean frown.
She looked up at me, her eyes were warm and calm. She wasn’t taken aback by my behavior. “You ready?” She asked easily.
I nodded stiffly.
She turned to Starrveld. “Take care, Curtis. See you around.”
“Yeah, can’t miss you in that dress, Shawtie.”
This motherfucker. I thought to myself as I watched him walk away. Once he was out of my line of sight, I released Mecca, and walked away myself. She followed me.
We ended up outside, on one of the patios overlooking one of the gardens.
“Busy.” She said my name patiently, like she caught my hand in the cookie jar, after repeatedly telling me to keep it out of there, but was still amused.
