Mark picked me up right on time, which pleased me because that meant I could make our dinner short and be back home in a couple of hours.
“You look beautiful tonight, Tyler.” I was happy to hear him call me by my birth name and not that ridiculous Citrus, although I was somewhat dressed like a citrus. I had on an orange chiffon baby doll dress that the stylist picked up from Versace. She decided that my entire wardrobe needed to reflect the whole Citrus flavor. I was basically going to look like a fruit all year round. The whole concept was ludicrous.
“Thanks Mark. Have you decided where we’re going for dinner?
“I had my chef prepare an intimate dinner at my place. There we can have privacy and talk about your future with LaFamilia.” That actually sounded good to me. Maybe I wouldn’t be home in a couple hours like I planned, but at least I didn’t have to be in a restaurant around a bunch of people. Plus I wanted some privacy when I broke the news to Mark that I no longer wanted to pursue the whole female rapper profession.
We pulled up to Mark’s elaborate house in New Jersey. I had never been to his home before but heard how beautiful it was. When we walked inside, it was undeniably stunning, but I had lived and been around houses like this since I was a little girl. It was going to take more than this to impress me. We walked to the dining room where the table was perfectly prepared. Mark poured me a glass of champagne as the chef fixed our plates. After finishing up the delicious gourmet meal, Mark and I stayed at the table and continued making small talk. After an hour, Mark excused the chef and his two helpers, telling them they were no longer needed for the evening and that he would see them tomorrow.
“Tyler, we finally have the house to ourselves,” Mark said in a mac daddy voice. When he swaggered over to my chair and caressed his fingers through the loose curls of my hair I instantly became uncomfortable.
“What are you doing Mark?” I asked while shifting my head, letting him know his behavior was inappropriate.
“What do you think I’m doing Tyler?”
“I don’t know, but you’re making me very uncomfortable, so please stop.”
“That’s what I love about you Tyler, you have entitlement issues. You truly believe that you have a right to do and say whatever you want. I’m going to enjoy teaching you otherwise. Once I break you down, our working relationship will be so much easier.”
“Excuse me!”
“I didn’t stutter. It’s time to introduce you to the real world and get you out of that fantasy princess shit you live in.”
“Mark, you sound real crazy, so I’m ready to go, now.”
“See what I mean? You’re under the impression that you can leave just because Tyler wants to. It doesn’t work like that. You leave when I tell you to. But before you go anywhere, I want you to come over here like a good little girl and kiss daddy’s dick.”
I watched Mark in disgust. This was all the fat fuck wanted from the start. Did he really think I was going to suck his dick? He was sorely mistaken. I would bite the shit off before I sucked anything.
“Mark, maybe the champagne has you a little tipsy, or you’ve just lost your fucking mind, but regardless, none of that is jumpin’ off.”
“If you want to become the next big thing you better make it jump off. Understand Tyler, I make you, you don’t make me, because I’m already made. I’ve got my millions and I will make millions more. I can go out tomorrow and find another Tyler Blake and turn her into Citrus. Nobody would know the difference. So if I was you, I would crawl on my hands and knees and suck this dick until I beg you to stop or your career as a superstar is over. Do you understand me you ungrateful cunt?”
I laughed uncontrollably and couldn’t stop. I could tell Mark thought I was on something and wasn’t sure if he should shake the shit out of me, or ask for whatever I was on so he could laugh too. But once he realized I was laughing at him, his attitude shifted back to what it was. I continued to laugh before turning serious.
“You think I care about being your quote ‘superstar’? Baby, I’m already a star, the world just doesn’t know it yet. But look at you. You’re nobody’s star. You’re just a fat fuck with an overinflated ego that nobody would give a shit about, if it wasn’t for the fact you bamboozled your way in this business with your drug money and rode the coattail of a real talent like Tah Tah. Nigga I don’t need you or LaFamilia Records. As a matter of fact, I was going to tell you I wanted out of this farce of a career. I’m no rapper, never was. I let you get me caught up in some bullshit dream that I never wanted to be a part of. When I do become a star and make my millions it won’t be by sucking the dick of a clown ass wannabe Berry Gordy cat like you.
I picked up my purse and pulled out my cell phone to call a cab and get the hell out of Mark’s house. I knew the look he had on his face and it meant trouble, but it wasn’t happening tonight. There was a champagne bottle sitting right in front of me on the table, and if Mark stepped any closer I was busting it over his head. Somebody was going to die tonight if that motherfucker put his hands on me. The thought of being raped again was too much for me to handle. At this point I would rather take my chances catching a case than letting another man violate my body.
“Mark, whatever you’re thinking, rethink it fast. If you put your hands on me, you better kill me; because if I make it out of this house alive, not only will I file criminal charges against you, I will make it my mission to destroy whatever respectable reputation you think you have in the music business.”
By the intense look on Mark’s face he knew I wasn’t bluffing. “Have it your way Tyler, but we will cross paths again, and next time I might not be so willing to let you go. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding your way home.”
With that, Mark went upstairs and left me alone. I called a car service and finished drinking the last glass of champagne while waiting for my ride. Once again I was back to square one trying to figure out my life. I wondered how much longer I would have to battle for my rightful place.
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Marry Your Baby Daddy by Maryann Reid
AVAILABLE NOW FROM ST. MARTIN’S GRIFFIN
Breshford Jackson’s office was on the forty-sixth floor of an office building located on Water Street. This had been the longest two weeks Giovanna could remember. She waited for her sisters in the reception area. Their appointment with Mr. Jackson was in fifteen minutes. She surveyed the area, where young women in low-cut blouses and with shiny, long tresses tapped their computer keys in a manic frenzy. Lush fern plants hung from cathedral ceilings, giving the brown and gold interior a splash of color. The wood panels were a deep, rich reddish brown trimmed with delicate gold pyramid shapes. Even the floors were dressed with a luxurious red wine-colored rug. Giovanna thought that Mr. Jackson’s office outshone hers in style. And there was just one large, cherry-red wooden slide in the door that had Breshford Jackson, Esq. on the front.
Fatima and Keyah walked toward Giovanna, who signaled for them when they walked off the elevator. She couldn’t wait any longer to see who was behind the big wooden door.
“I hope you’re not mad that we didn’t get here sooner; Fatima had a late hair client,” Keyah said, grabbing a chair next to Giovanna.
“We are not late. Are we?” Fatima adjusted the neckline to her fitted black suit jacket, something she wasn’t used to wearing. “Is he here?”
“Yes, ladies,” Giovanna said, putting on her wide black Dior shades. She stood up and smoothed down her white pleated dress. “When we get in there, let me do the talking. Two lawyers think alike.”
Keyah and Fatima agreed as they checked in with the secretary. The blonde assistant dialed his extension. When she hung up, she said, “Go right in.”
Giovanna led the way as Keyah and Fatima followed. The tall wooden door slid open by itself. Giovanna didn’t stop, but she heard Fatima and Keyah take notice.
And there he was. Standing at no less than six-three, with a clean-shaven face, caramel-coat
ed skin, and a close-cropped haircut that was lined evenly around his square face, Mr. Jackson stood up behind his desk as the ladies walked in and showed them their seats.
“Good evening, ladies,” Mr. Jackson said, sitting down with a boyish grin. He folded his fingers into his hands and placed them on his shellacked wooden desk. A well-placed lamp spotlighted his well-kept work space, which contained neat stacks of folders and an hourglass. A tall antique cherrywood bookcase lined the wall to his right. Dozens of awards and degrees, some from Yale and Brown, hung on the opposite side. Giovanna looked carefully to make sure they all had his name.
Keyah and Fatima smiled and nodded, but not Giovanna. She wasn’t as smitten as most women by an attractive black man in a suit. “Good evening, Mr. Jackson. We’d really like to get down to business whenever you are ready,” Giovanna said, handing him some forms of identification.
He scanned them over. “As you ladies may already know, I’m the executor of your grandmother’s will. A very fine, gracious woman she was, who loved you all dearly. I met her three years ago. She was referred to me by the daughter of another client, who said they met at church. And since then I have been managing her affairs.”
“What affairs?” Giovanna asked, her eyes squinted in concentration.
“Before we go there, are there any other relatives?” Mr. Jackson jotted a few things down in his notepad.
Giovanna shook her head no. “Our mother committed suicide after the death of our father. I’m the oldest, and I was fifteen at the time. Upon her death, my grandmother took us all in and raised us. She became our new mother.”
“She tried her best with us, and always made sure our needs were met,” Fatima added, the sound of despair in her voice.
“I’m sorry, ladies. Your grandmother did speak fondly of all of you. Let me read the will to you … ,” Mr. Jackson said, sliding on his thin-rimmed glasses and resting them on the tip of his nose.
Fatima raised her hand. “I want Grandma June’s china set. That’s the one that Mommy had, and I’ve already made a space in my cabinet for it.”
“She told me I could have it! I don’t even own a matching set of dishes,” Keyah said, moving her neck in a circular motion. “Ain’t that right, Mr. Jackson?”
Mr. Jackson looked down at the will.
Giovanna shut her eyes. This all had to be some joke, she thought to herself. Grandma June was just eating Premium crackers and drinking coffee with her two months ago, and here they were fighting over a will.
“Would you two stop bickering? I’m sure Grandma June has who gets what in her will,” Giovanna said, noticing Mr. Jackson’s pensive look.
He rested his chin on his folded hands. “Actually, she doesn’t mention any of those things.”
Fatima anxiously asked, “What does it say, then?”
Keyah sat slumped in the chair, looking ever more uncomfortable by the minute.
“Well, now that I have your undivided attention, I’ll read it to you.” Mr. Jackson opened a folder on his desk and read from a long sheet. “I, Juneah Mable Anderson of 675 Halsey Avenue in Brooklyn, New York, being of sound and disposing mind, do hereby make, publish, and declare the following to be my Last Will and Testament. I declare that I am widowed and I have one deceased child. I appoint Breshford Jackson of 234 Park Avenue in New York, New York, as sole executor under this, my last will, in witness whereof I have set my hand this day … ”
Fatima lost all patience. “Can you please just tell us in your own words?”
Mr. Jackson’s eyes twinkled when he looked at Fatima. He seemed to like her aggression.
Giovanna knew that he couldn’t read the will any other way. “That’s how a will is written. You just have to sit and be patient,” she said to Fatima, who kept tapping her foot on the ground for more.
“May I continue?” Mr. Jackson asked.
Giovanna glared at her sisters. “Yes.”
Mr. Jackson cleared his throat and read the remainder of the will. “… I give and bequeath to Giovanna Anderson, Keyah Anderson, and Fatima Anderson, my beloved granddaughters, three million dollars—”
“Oh my God!” Keyah shot up from her chair. “Three million dollars? I think I’m gonna catch a fit. Grandma didn’t have that kind of—”
Fatima brought her hands to her mouth to hold in a scream, but Giovanna could hear her anyway.
Giovanna pushed her shoulders back and maintained her posture. Her lips were a thin line across her mouth. There had to be a typo, she thought. “Let me see that…” She smiled and extended her hand.
“I’m not done yet,” Mr. Jackson said, arching one eyebrow. “May I continue?”
Key ah sat back down and put her arm across Fatima’s shoulders. Tears were rolling down their cheeks. Their reaction made it more real to Giovanna, who was still in shock. There was just no way this made any sense to her.
Beginning again, Mr. Jackson read, “In order for you to get this money you all have to marry the fathers of your children before midnight, six months from the date this is being read. If you don’t all marry, the money will be sent to Women United, a charity where other unwed mothers can benefit from the money.”
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Mr. Satisfaction Page 26
