“Sup?” Trevon answered.
“Hey, Trevon, you busy?” Michelle asked.
“Working late, but nothing I can’t easily stop. What’s up?”
“Can you meet me someplace quiet for drinks? I don’t feel like making a bunch of noise, but I don’t want to be alone, either. Is that all right with you?”
“Some soft time sounds real good. There’s an upscale bar called Swans on the hill in Torrance. Do you know the place?”
“No, but I can find it,” she said. “And Trevon . . . ?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
*
The morning light peeked around the dark curtains in Trevon’s bedroom, both waking and surprising Michelle. Rarely did she sleep so late and so well. With one drowsy eye, she checked the clock on the nightstand and the red numbers told her it was after 10:00 a.m.
I never sleep this late—and never in a strange bed.
Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Trevon next to her, still asleep.
That was a first . . . We stayed up way late talking and drinking wine. Musta been after 3:00 when we went to bed. We only held each other and fell asleep. Is this what a real relationship is like?
Michelle felt the bed shift and looked over to see Trevon watching her.
“Been awake long?” he asked.
“Only a minute.”
“About last night—”
“Your secret’s safe with me. Unless I need some special favor. Then I’ll tell everyone you had me naked in your bed and didn’t do anything. The guys will think you’re losing your mojo. Can’t have that,” she teased. “Truth is, though, what we did was exactly what I needed. Thank you for a wonderful night.”
“You’re welcome.” He brushed his fingers down the side of her face.
“Now, are you up to a little mojo this morning?” she asked.
“Your wish is my command . . .”
Fifteen: The Full Treatment
MICHELLE PULLED UP to the curb in front of Nikky’s apartment and, still on the phone, she said, “I’m outside of your place. Do I need to come in, or are you ready?”
“Stay there; I’ll be right out.”
Through her cell, Michelle heard the muffled sound of the door closing, then tapped the “end call” icon and dropped her phone into her purse.
“Where’s Deja?” Nikky asked, hopping into Michelle’s car.
“She was called in to work,” Michelle said. “Looks like it’s only the two of us today.”
Michelle wore Stevie denim bootcut jeans matching her Tony Lamas and a cream‑colored V‑neck T‑shirt. Sexy and practical. Nikky low‑keyed it in sweats and Nikes.
“Her loss,” Nikky said, “because we’ll have fun all day today, getting our nails and hair done. My gain. We’re going in your car? I love this car.”
“What car would you buy, if you could get anything you wanted?” Michelle asked.
“I used to want a Porsche Boxter, but it’s more of a man’s car, super‑fast and not really comfortable to drive. I sat in one once and couldn’t see over the wheel all that good, so I changed my mind. Now that I’ve been in your Crossfire, I like it a lot more than the Boxter. If I could, I’d drive a Crossfire. It’s super classy. I like the hardtop the most.”
“Not a convertible, like my Pearl?”
“Your Pearl is beautiful, and I love her. But I like the cool, sleek style of the hardtop more. I think it’s the sexiest car ever.”
“Enough car talk,” Michelle said. “I was thinking we should do more than just get our flip whipped. First, we’ll do the full spa treatment with a massage, a facial, and a sauna, and finish up with a manicure. Deja’ll be off work around two, so she can meet us later at Betty’s for our hair. What do you think?”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful! I’m completely tensed up and worn out with worry about Taye, so this is a perfect time. We can go, but only on one condition.”
“What condition is that?”
“I pay for our hair. You always pay for everything, and now it’s my turn. Let me be a good friend to you and Deja, and do this.”
“I’d love for you to pay for my hair. Thanks so much. I know you’d pay more often if you could, and that’s easy to fix.”
“Oh? How?”
“Find a better job.”
Nikky worked her butt off as the night manager of a small medical supply distribution center. She’d started right out of high school, and even though she eventually moved up to manager, she still earned less than a school teacher.
“I’m ready to make a move,” she said. “I wanted to stay long enough to be comfortable with managing people. There’s lots to learn”—she shrugged—“but I’m beginning to feel pretty good about my skills.”
Later, and well into their third hour at the spa, while the massage therapist continued rubbing scented oil on her back, Nikky lay completely relaxed and spoke so softly she could barely be heard. “Mmmmm, this is heavenly . . .”
They’d started with facials that caked thick cream on their skin and put slices of cucumber on their eyes. The two friends fell out laughing, trying to drink wine with their eyes covered.
“God,” Nikky said, “mixed with face cream, this wine tastes like crap.”
“You’re about as ghetto as can be. You know you’re not supposed to mix your wines.” Michelle looked down at her own glass where one of the cucumber slices floated. “I did that on purpose. Fo real doe.”
“Yeah nice try, ghetto girl.” And again they busted up laughing.
Next came the sauna, followed by the massage given by massage therapists who diligently worked out the tension in the friends’ bodies.
“I can’t believe it’s already time for our pedicure and manicure,” Michelle said.
“How long for both?” Nikky asked.
“Toes and nails, about an hour. Should be plenty of time for lunch before we need to head out to Anglewatts. Our hair appointments with Baby‑Sister aren’t until two.”
“Only one more hour. Not fair,” Nikky said. “I don’t ever want to leave. Deja’ll be so jealous she was called in to work and missed all of this. I almost feel guilty coming without her—almost.”
“The best way to fix that is to bring her next week. We’ll go on a day when your mom can stay with Taye, if she’s still in the hospital. And, of course, it’ll have to fit in between your men friends.”
“Oh, girlfriend, for this, I’ll call in sick to make the time. My men friends are good. Omar’s been coming around a lot, but we’re still real casual. He’s been good about giving me some space since Taye got hurt. He said he also understands how I’ll need to be with her a lot when she gets home. As for this right here?” she said about the spa. “I’m not saying it’s better than sex, but ol’ Omar will have to wait to get krunk with my trunk, because this . . . this is too good.”
“Are you okay with going out on the pier to eat?” Michelle asked. “There’s a private patio where we can relax and enjoy the ocean at the Albright. The food’s pretty good, and I think it’s the right type of place to go after spending all morning being pampered like queens.”
“You mean the Santa Monica Pier?” Nikky asked.
“Yeah, it’s only a few blocks away, and I don’t want to go far. I’d like to sneak up on real life, easy‑like.”
“The Albright it is.”
The drive from the spa to the pier only took a few minutes. Walking across the parking lot, Nikky grabbed onto Michelle’s arm and leaned in. “Talk about being relaxed. I’m so relaxed I might not make it. How about you carry me in?”
“Nice, huh? Isn’t it wonderful what a little pampering will do for you?”
“Any more pampering and I might melt right into the ground.”
“Hello, ladies.” A friendly, attractive, middle‑aged woman greeted them at the front door. “Would you prefer a table inside or out on the patio?”
&nb
sp; “Patio,” Michelle said, “but in the shade, please.”
Before long, they were seated in the shade, and with a soft, ocean breeze blowing on their faces, it was the perfect spot. Nikky waved her hand around. “Thank you so much for all of this.”
“Hey, you’re my row,” Michelle said. “It’s been fun for me, too.”
“No, seriously, girl. I mean it. Thank you for the spa, and now lunch at this place. With worrying about Taye and trying to keep my head on straight to help Mom, I needed the break more than I’d realized.”
“Speaking of Taye, any news?”
Nikky checked her phone. “Nothing new, but yesterday, the docs said the swelling is slowly going down. They won’t say how long until they can bring her out of the coma. They don’t know, and won’t guess. Mom will call or text if anything happens.”
Lunch arrived. Two attractive young women came to the table—one with a tray carrying the plates, and the other with a folding stand onto which the food tray was set. The helper stepped away and, without asking, returned to fill their water glasses with ice water while the waitress set the plates down in front of Michelle and Nikky. “A cob salad with shrimp for you, and a fish‑and‑chips for you. Can I bring you ladies anything else?”
“All right, this settles it, Nikky said. “I need a better job. No way can I afford days like today on what I make. I don’t know how or what, but, for sure, something’s going to change.”
“Let’s start by enjoying our lunch, then you can drive us back.”
“You want me to drive your car?” Nikky asked.
“You said you’d like to own one. How can you be sure, if you’ve never driven one?”
*
Shortly before two o’clock, Nikky parked Michelle’s Crossfire at Betty’s Hair Salon where they planned to meet Deja.
“Well?” Michelle asked.
“Oh, I love it. I definitely want one of these.” Nikky handed Michelle’s keys back to her, and they got out of the car. “Definitely.”
“Hey, Baby‑Sister,” Michelle called out as she and Nikky entered the hair salon.
“Hey, Michelle. Hi, Nikky.” Baby‑Sister waved. “Come on back. I’m ready for you now.”
Michelle considered Baby‑Sister to be family; she practically was. She and Michelle’s uncle, G‑Baby, had been hooked up for a while.
On the calendar, Baby‑Sister was fifteen years younger than G‑Baby, yet in life experience, she was almost his equal. Early on, she lived with Lewis, a mean thug who ran the corners in Anglewatts. Since a thug’s life was fast, gritty, and often cruel, as a thug’s woman, Baby‑Sister had gotten the bad end of a hard life.
Call it poetic justice, or karma, or just “gotcha, you muthafucka,” but three years earlier, Lewis murdered Michelle’s brother and cousin, and Michelle returned the favor by putting a bullet in Lewis’ head.
“Where’s Deja?” Baby‑Sister asked.
“Deja had to work this morning,” Michelle answered. “She’ll be coming in soon.”
“Well, come on in. I can start on whoever wants to go first. Does anyone want a glass of wine?”
Michelle shook her head no.
“I’ll take one,” Nikky said. “If you don’t mind, we’d rather wait for Deja.”
“No problem. What’s up?” Baby‑Sister asked pouring Nikky’s wine.
“She mos’ def’ needs some of that . . . what do you call it again when someone gets treated special?”
“Preferential treatment?” Michelle said.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Nikky said. “Deja needs preferential treatment getting her hair washed and done with the works, so she should go first. We need to treat her special, partly because she had to work an extra shift, but also because when she hears what we did today, she’ll fully realize how much she missed out on.”
“Why? Where’ve you girls been?” Baby‑Sister asked.
“Heaven, that’s where,” Nikky replied. “We’ve been to the spa for the full half‑day treatment, and now I feel like I’m butter all the way through. If my man wants some loving tonight, it’ll be on him to do all the work. I can see the scene now: a little love music in the background; me, lying back all lazy‑like in a sea of pillows, and then I say, ‘Baby, I’m your queen for the day. You’re my sex god. Now, my sweet baby, make my toes curl.’” She laughed and toasted everyone with her wine glass.
“Hey, Deja!” a chorus of voices called as Deja came through the front door of Betty’s.
“Am I glad to be here!” Deja said. “I’m dog‑tired from messing around with fools all day. I swear to God, I think somebody’s been selling clown pills down at the Corner Mart. The whole place came down with a bad case of stupid. Somebody please give me a glass of wine.” She plopped down into a cushioned waiting chair, kicked out her feet, and draped her arms over the sides, hands dangling free.
Michelle handed her the wine. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re here with us now, and it’s your turn to be taken care of.”
“Deja, you coming in here all wiped out is the perfect commentary,” Nikky said.
“Commentary? Well, I’m glad this shit day is good for something. My commentary is ‘shit days suck,’ and working with a bunch of fools sucks even more. I’m so ready to be here.”
“That’s what I was telling Michelle earlier at lunch,” Nikky said. “I’m serious. We need to take you to the spa real soon. You’ll love it. You walk in, and the place feels like relaxed money with the scent of lavender, vanilla, and expensive lotions. Then, it just keeps getting better and better. They spoil you like you’re a goddamned queen. That’s what we did today.”
“Nikky, you’re my row and I love you, but how on God’s green earth does my lousy day fit in with you being spoiled at the spa?”
“Everything,” Nikky said. “We need to change what we’re doing, that’s what. You and me, we need to up our game and quit these dead‑end, no paying, crappy jobs. We seriously need to exchange shit days for spa days. I don’t know how, but it’s going to happen. I promise, we’ll be doing something sometime soon to move our butts out of this broke‑ass life.”
“How about we start with you coming back here and letting me wash your hair?” Baby‑Sister said to Deja. “I can also rub some of those kinks out of your neck.”
Deja rose and followed Baby‑Sister farther into the salon. “Thank you, God, for delivering me from fools and into the bosom of good friends.” With a contented sigh, she kicked off her shoes, put her feet up, and leaned her head back into the hair‑washing sink.
*
After a couple of hours at B’s Salon, the friends drove to the house Nikky grew up in.
Inside, they sat at the table in Mrs. Harris’ kitchen where nothing had changed in years. The oval‑shaped, wood‑grain Formica‑top table with black steel legs still sat against the wall, with a line of napkins, salt and pepper shakers, Tabasco sauce, and a toaster, all hugging the back edge and a single cigarette burn mark punctuating one end. The same, lingering scents of home‑cooked meals and hand‑washed dishes greeted Michelle when she entered the small kitchen. Yet, nothing was the same. Everything had changed when Taye was jumped.
Taye hung in limbo in the intensive care ward at the hospital, and with her return not automatically assumed, the house felt empty, almost like it announced and amplified her absence.
“Nikky, I’m so, so sorry,” Deja said. “I wish I let you and Michelle cap Jerome the first time. I stay sick thinking about how Taye’s been jacked. It’s my fault for asking you to hold back.”
“Oh, sweetheart, we all agreed to warn him,” Nikky said. “It’s all our faults, not yours alone.”
“Maybe, but I still feel like I caused everything.”
“No, you’re both wrong on this,” Michelle said. “None of us did anything wrong. Deja, you only screwed up being with such a loser, that’s all. Women hook up with losers all the time, and nobody’s hurt like this. Thi
s mess, this is all his fault. He’s the one who hit you. He hit Nikky. Now he’s hurt Little Taye. Everything bad that happened is because he’s a rat bastard sonuvabitch. I’m real clear here, Deja, this is not your fault.”
“Thank you,” Deja said. “One sure thing is that asshole’s days in this hood are numbered. He’s gotta go.”
Michelle turned to Nikky. “I’m right with you on wanting to cap this asshat and his friends. And we will, but we’ll have to be smart.” She looked Nikky in the eye. “And being smart means you need to hold your temper. You have every right to blow up, sky‑high. The problem is, if you let your temper go, it could screw things up.”
“Other than keeping my temper, what do you mean by ‘being smart’?”
“I mean, once we have him, we do this however bad or quick you want, and we make that fucker pay. Only, we cap his ass on the low‑low so the police can’t catch on and we don’t go to the joint. Our doing time won’t help Taye or your mom. With what’s happened, they’ll need our help more than ever so we can’t screw up and put them in a bad spot because we’re mad deep down inside.”
“Okay . . .” Nikky closed her eyes, took a breath, gripped the edge of the table, then pushed herself back in her chair. Her hands dropped into her lap, and she perched ramrod straight as small women often do.
Quietly, Michelle and Deja looked at Nikky, then met eyes with one other, and then looked at Nikky again. No one said anything for a full half‑minute while Nikky sat, eyes closed.
Then she opened her eyes, leaned over, propped her elbows up onto the kitchen table, and cut her stare over to Michelle. “How in God’s name were you able to keep from going insane, while making yourself bide your time before you offed Michael’s murderer? Sitting here, trying to get a hold of this shit and not running out to kill that sonuvabitch is the hardest thing I can ever remember doing.”
“This may sound crazy,” Michelle said, “but honestly, I think this situation is harder in some ways than what I went through. At first, I was scared for my life.”
Get Even: A Michelle Angelique Urban Action Adventure Thriller Series Book #2 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin) Page 11
