Cutting it Close

by Olivia Gaines

  Davonshire House Publishing

  PO Box 9716

  Augusta, GA 30916

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.

  © 2016 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin

  Copy Editor: Teri Thompson Blackwell

  Cover: koou-graphics

  ASIN:

  ISBN-10:

  ISBN-13:

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8

  First Davonshire House Publishing August 2016

  DEDICATION

  For you ...

  It’s late because I had to find the right friend for TaeTay.

  I got it right.

  For you...

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To all the fans, friends and supporters of the dream as well as the Facebook community of writers who keep me focused, inspired and moving forward.

  Write On!

  Also by Olivia Gaines

  The Slice of Life Series

  The Perfect Man

  Friends with Benefits

  A Letter to My Mother

  The Basement of Mr. McGee

  A New Mommy for Christmas

  The Slivers of Love Series

  The Cost to Play

  Thursday in Savannah

  Girl's Weekend

  Beneath the Well of Dawn

  Santa’s Big Helper

  The Davonshire Series

  Courting Guinevere

  Loving Words

  Vanity's Pleasure

  The Blakemore Files

  Being Mrs. Blakemore

  Shopping with Mrs. Blakemore

  Dancing with Mr. Blakemore

  Cruising with the Blakemores

  Dinner with the Blakemores

  Loving the Czar

  Being Mr. Blakemore

  The Value of a Man Series

  My Mail Order Wife

  A Weekend with the Cromwell’s

  Other Novellas

  North to Alaska

  The Brute & The Blogger

  A Better Night in Vegas ( Betas Do It Better Anthology)

  Other Novels

  A Menu for Loving

  Turning the Page

  An Untitled Love

  “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.” – Mike Tyson

  Contents

  Chapter 1 It’s All Relative

  Chapter 2 -What You’re Not Gon’ Do

  Chapter 3 So Embarrassing

  Chapter 4 Let’s Get It Done

  Chapter 5 Supper Time in the City

  Chapter 6 Who’s Your Daddy?

  Chapter 7 Shiver Me Timbers?

  Chapter 8 Time’s Up

  Chapter 9 The Devil You Know...

  Chapter 10 The Devil You Don’t...

  Chapter 11 Making a Change...

  Chapter 12 Everybody Needs Help...

  Chapter 13 Talk to Me...

  Chapter 14 Okay...?

  Chapter 15 Put that down...

  Chapter 16 All in the family...

  Chapter 17 Understanding...

  Chapter 1 It’s All Relative

  Zephaniah Wilson received the phone call at three in the afternoon that his brother Leviticus was getting out of prison. Personally, he never liked the man; even though they were blood-related, grew up in the same house, and came out of the same womb, he simply did not like his own brother. He often joked with other family members that he had received the lion’s share of the nutrients from their mother, leaving his twin with the scraps, which is why Leviticus was a natural born socio-path. No matter what the man touched, it was guaranteed to turn to shit just by being in his brother’s presence. Leviticus had a way of turning the most beautiful and delicate flower into a withering stalk protruding upwards in a dried out pot of dirt. Zephaniah had watched him do it to Cookie Brown, then to his daughter Kveisha, but not to the twin girl Tae-Tay. That one he liked.

  He liked her a lot.

  So much so, he made certain that she and her mother remained safe and well fed while his brother was in prison. He owed Cookie that much. He owed Tae-Tay even more. She and her sister Kveisha were like him and Leviticus, twins, but nothing alike. The resemblance between the two sisters, much like the resemblance between him and Leviticus, demonstrated they were related, but drastically different people. Zephaniah believed in working hard for what he wanted, biding his time and allowing the fruit to naturally ripen on the tree. His brother preferred to surround the tree, expose the roots, claim the fruit as his own, and dare the tree to produce for anyone other than him. This was also the approach he took with Cookie Brown.

  She hated the man. She hated him with a passion and tried at every turn to get Leviticus killed or arrested. Zephaniah knew the last time his brother had been imprisoned, Cookie had a hand in it. She wound up the fastball, threw it at his head, and called the authorities to report his third strike. Leviticus did little to help his situation by being higher than a kite in the Hollywood Hills when the police showed up at the front door. No favors were won on the night he was apprehended since he was surrounded by a fresh shipment of everything felonious in the great state of California. The only items missing from what the media labeled as “one of the largest drug busts in Compton history” was a pile of kiddie porn. Leviticus Wilson was sentenced and going away for a long while.

  Unbeknownst to Zephaniah, his brother’s reach inside of prison was just as strong as his reach on the outside. Under government surveillance, Leviticus dried out his system from constant drug use and cleared his head. The soberer he grew, the clearer his thinking became. Things that had escaped his attention were now flashing red lights. The biggest flash was his brother’s attentiveness to Cookie.

  “If I didn’t know better, Zeph,” Leviticus said to him. “I would think you were in love with my woman.”

  “Only you would think that, Levi. Here you are, behind a plastic wall, behind a cell block, locked in a cage, and you are still trying to pick a fight with me,” Zephaniah said to his twin. “I gave her a ride up here so she wouldn’t have to take the bus with them babies.”

  “What other types of rides you trying to give my woman, Zeph?”

  “You have a filthy mind,” Zephaniah responded. “I was trying to keep an eye on my nieces while you were away.”

  “They don’t need your goody two-shoe ass doing them any favors,” Leviticus warned him.

  “You are a hard man, Leviticus Wilson. I don’t understand you,” Zephaniah said solemnly.

  “Ah...there it is, Zeph. Your logic and fancy wordsmithing. You understand me just fine. You know me. You know how I am. If you even try to get with Cookie, I will wipe her and the girls off the face of this earth,” he said to his brother.

  “What is wrong with you? We’re brothers. Those are my blood...” Zephaniah tried to say.

  “Are they?” Leviticus asked. “I was gone from my head for a while...I wasn’t producing anything...not even children...”

  Zephaniah knew where it was heading. He knew that his brother suspected the girls were not his own children. The desire to possess and control Cookie was part of the plan all along.

  Leviticus knew.

  He knew that Zephaniah was in love with Cookie.

  He’d seen her first. He’d made the first move. She was a nice girl with a potentially bright future and good life with the right man. They were scheduled for a dat
e on a Friday night. A date that could not come fast enough. It was a date that never happened.

  Leviticus happened. He took Cookie for his own. He forced himself upon her, causing an insurmountable level of shame and humiliation. The fire in her eyes never returned after his brother was done with her. Threats of giving her to his gang members kept her in line, but not completely under his control.

  The children she bore were not the children of Leviticus Wilson, but those of his twin brother. It was Cookie’s ultimate revenge on her enslaver. A dirty secret they would share until either of them met their deaths. Another secret they also shared was the location of Tae-Tay. Cookie knew she was in New York because Zephaniah told her. He knew of his daughter’s whereabouts since he, too, was in the Big Apple.

  Life was funny that way. The moment when a person was convinced they had everything figured out was the same instant that life tossed a curve ball at their head. His little girl was now a grown woman and raising her sister’s son, Douglas. Zephaniah smiled brightly as he watched the young man running on the playground. He’d met him a few weeks before when he came down the sidewalk with a cute puppy.

  My grandson.

  Zephaniah was only on the East Coast for a week or less this time, but there were safeguards that had to be put into place to maintain Tae-Tay and the boy’s safety. His brother could never find out where they were. Zephaniah would keep them from his grasp, no matter what the cost.

  “Thurston,” Tae Tay yelled up the stairs. “Carl is here.” The driver of the car service her husband used waited patiently on the front stairs of the brownstone they shared in Brooklyn, New York.

  “It is beyond me why you are taking a car into Harlem on a Saturday morning...wait, why are you going way to Harlem for a haircut anyway?” she asked, trying not to sound fussy as he descended the stairwell to stand in front of her.

  “Because, my beautiful wife, my barber is in Harlem, and he is the only man I let cut my hair. He is also going to cut Douglas’ as well,” he said kissing her cheek.

  “Wouldn’t it be wiser to take the subway?” she asked.

  “On a Saturday morning? I think the round trip would be too much for the boy. The car works best,” he said with a smile. “It also reduces my chances of losing him in a crowd.”

  The smile left Tae-Tay’s face. He said it jokingly, but her husband of only a month really didn’t have much of a sense of humor, especially not in regard to those types of jokes.

  “Do I need to come with you?” she asked out of worry.

  “Nope. Today is a dude’s day. A couple of hot dogs, some soul food from somewhere on 125th Street, and then some chatter in the shop with the old heads,” he said with a huge grin.

  “You seem to really be looking forward to this,” she said with a crinkle in her forehead.

  “Yeah, I am. Omari has a nice shop. I am looking forward to sharing a man’s day with my son, letting him hang with my folks,” Thurston said.

  Tae-Tay held up her hands, “Omari...your cousin Omari...he was here for the wedding right?”

  “Tae, he was my best man,” Thurston said in disbelief.

  “I thought his name was Jordan,” she mumbled.

  “No, Jordan is our other cousin,” he said. “Jordan is my Aunt Elizabeth’s son. Omari is Uncle Ellington’s son.”

  “Who and Who?” Tae-Tay asked.

  Thurston chuckled at her facial expression. “We will talk about the rest of the family later,” he said as he called for Douglas.

  The boy came sliding down the banister, wearing his full on Spiderman costume complete with web slingers.

  “No,” Thurston said. “No, no and no. Get back up those stairs and get changed right now. You have five minutes!”

  “But Daddeeeeeee,” Douglas whined.

  “Now, Douglas,” Thurston said trying to shield his laughter at the handful of butt tucked into the tight blue suit dragged itself up the stairs.

  “Thurston, I don’t mean to nag...” Tae-Tay started to say but he stopped her.

  “I handle the members of the RNC and their communications every single day. I can handle a day out with a five-year-old,” he said with a grin.

  “I’m being silly,” she said, feeling suddenly ashamed,

  “You are being a good mother,” he said to her. Douglas returned wearing a pink shirt, black jeans, black cowboy boots, and look of disappointment all over his little face.

  “Douglas, cheer up; it’s father-son day,” Thurston said to him. Somehow, Thurston had managed to convince his brother-in-law Thomas to come along for the journey and bring Johnathan, his 8-year-old as well as Harris, his five-year-old. The brother-in-law, Thurston often said, reminded him of a sad clown. The boys looked like little versions of a Pagliacci’s nightmare come to life. It was his hope that this would be a good bonding experience for the kids as well as one for him and his odd brother-in-law.

  The father-son day outing turned into something else entirely.

  Chapter 2 -What You’re Not Gon’ Do

  Harlem, NY

  Belly Bob Clay sat in the first barber chair in front of the picture glass window in Omari’s Male Grooming Salon, looking out at the street pondering the possibilities of subject matter for the course of the day. Along with the usual crew consisting of cross-eyed Kross Eye Pritchard, Dirty Red Sanders, and Mr. Johnny Ross, the barbers in the shop were like fixtures of African American history. Omari Cromwell purchased the historic landmark nearly 10 years ago right after he graduated college. Instead of firing the crew that worked for Mr. Johnny, he maintained the staff. All of the ideas Mr. Johnny had about the potential of the shop came to life under the direction of the young Cromwell.

  New floors were only the start of the vision Omari had for the shop on 125th Street. He offered classes to the local young men on proper grooming, learning to tie a necktie, and etiquette seminars, which included proper techniques for holding a young lady when dancing, among other gentlemanly skill sets. The barber shop was loved by the community as was Omari. He was a well-respected and man who avoided overzealous women like the plague. At 35 years old, he was not dating, had no intention of dating, and was anxiously awaiting his cousin to throw his hat in the political arena because he was planning to head up his campaign staff.

  “Hey, Omari,” Belly Bob called out, “Ain’t that your big headed cousin pulling up in that town car?”

  Omari gazed out the window, looking up from Drew Stanton’s head as he tapered and shaped the hairline at the base of the young man’s neck. “Yes, Belly. He comes the first and third Saturday of every month to get his hair cut. You ask the same question every time he pulls up,” Omari said with some impatience in his voice.

  “Well, Mr. Snappy Nappy, I am asking ‘cause he’s getting out of the car with some kids and what looks like an overdressed sad clown,” Belly Bob said.

  “The two boys are his sister Veronica’s kids. The man is Veronica’s husband, Thomas,” Omari said.

  Cross-eyed Kross-Eye, who wasn’t really a barber, basically came to shop each day for the company. A lifelong close friend of Mr. Johnny, Kross-Eye’s main function used be doing the lunch run for the men before Omari set up a delivery service with healthy meals to arrive each day.

  “Who’s the third kid?” Kross-Eye asked.

  “That’s Douglas, Thurston’s son,” Omari said as he brushed the stray hairs from Drew Stanton’s shoulders.

  “What? Get outta here. When did he get a kid? That straight-laced dude got some honey on da side? I never imagined him as somebody’s baby daddy,” Dirty Red Sanders piped up.

  “Yeah, maybe he pulling dem bones outta the closet before he makes that bid for Senate,” Belly Bob said.

  As much as Omari loved his barber shop, sometimes the men truly got on his nerves. If they would only open a newspaper once in a while and read something...so they would know something...or understand something bigger than what they often assumed to be an absolute truth...they wouldn’t irk him so much. More
than anything, it troubled him when he had to correct the men on their fallacies; this was something he worked to limit so he didn’t come across as a know it all.

  “Does anyone remember him getting married last month?” Omari asked. “Does anyone remember me being his best man?”

  “You don’t say. That’s his wife’s lil’ boy?” Dirty Red asked.

  “Douglas is now his son,” Omari gently corrected. “Thurston is also running for Congress.”

  “Congress, Senate...they are all airbags on short leashes to corporate America if you ask me, so one title is as good as the other,” Mr. Johnny piped up.

  “Yeah, but did he give that boy his name?” Kross Eye mumbled under his breath.

  The question was answered by Thurston himself as he walked in the door of the shop with a grin as wide as the day was bright. He wore jeans and a red polo shirt, but even dressed down, his bearing spoke volumes about who he was as a man. His presence filled the room with an air of hope, but even with the persona of a man of power, he did not eclipse his cousin.

  “Morning, gentleman,” Thurston said. “Allow me to introduce to you the next generation of Cromwell men. My son Douglas and my nephews Johnathan and Harris. This fine example of a man standing next me is my brother-in-law Thomas Hardman.”

  Belly Bob didn’t miss a beat. “You one of them Hardman’s who own all that property up in Brooklyn and the Bronx?”

  “Yes; are you familiar with our community rehab projects?” Thomas asked happily.

  “No, I’m familiar with you outpricing homes and upturning the market so hard- working folks can’t afford to live there anymore,” Belly Bob grumbled.

  Thomas squinted his eyes, “Sir, the only homes and buildings which were bought are zombie buildings which we clean, gut, and turn into affordable housing units. We have even started putting in some fresh produce grocers using local growers.”

  “Zombies?” Douglas asked, tugging on his father’s hand, nearly hiding behind Thurston’s leg. A calming hand was placed on his shoulders, letting him know everything would be okay. He hoped so anyway. Thomas didn’t look like much of a fighter if anything were to come to blows.