by Love Belvin
I twisted my neck and shrugged. “And now you’re here. I’mma make sure you chill. My people gone take real good care of you.”
I tossed a look over to Wynter, who looked confused, and I understood why. Grandmother talked to God more than I talked to my personal assistants. She stayed in His face. It was something I was used to, had heard it all my life—seen it, too. I didn’t like this due rest talk, though. I wanted my grandmother to live a long life.
“But when I pulled up to the house…walked through the door,” she cried, “I felt such a peace that shook my spirit. For months now, my mind been wrestling…thinking, praying—spirit running on a mill.” She pointed toward the bedroom door and down. “But here… I get here and a quiet and stillness that shook me felt like a blanket and covered me.”
Mmmm!
I felt that one in my spirit. Not that I agreed, but would hope my home—this property—would be a source of peace. I had just that in mind when I designed every detail of the estate.
“I can hear the Spirit of the Lord telling me now, here is where I need to be. Now, I won’t be in your way. I know you still…secluding and all.” My grandmother actually blushed.
Okay…
“A’ight, Grandmother,” I gave her a soft smile. “We’re gonna leave you to get some sleep. Can I get you anything before I turn down?”
I hadn’t even decided if that’s what I was going to do. I had scripts to read over and a melody looping in my head that I needed to flesh out on the keys.
“Nothing at all.” She tossed her chin to the door. “Just leave that open for me. I wanna see you two off to ya bedroom. That’s all,” she almost whispered, eyes still not on us.
I looked at Wynter to find her eyes on me already. They were big, scared, and questioning. Again, I understood why. My grandmother was a peculiar woman. I did a reverse nod to the door, telling her to lead the way.
I followed Wynter to the door. By the time we left the room, we were side by side. It was weird as hell, walking down the long hallway quietly. The journey felt like forever. I opened one of the French doors when we made it to the room. I was sure we were out of my grandmother’s view now, but my gut told me to play this right. Wynter stepped in first and I closed the door after me and as my head dropped to my chest, a hard breath left my lungs.
How am I gonna pull this off?
“Bathroom’s over there.” I pointed in case she didn’t peep it earlier when we were running in and out of here, setting this up. “You got the bed. I’ll take the couch.”
“Ummmm... Actually, I prefer the couch. You’re good.” My face shot up at that.
I shook my head, reading her expression. Wynter stood, frowning and arms crossed in the middle of the empty space just before the bed area. She was tense and angry.
“I don’t mind. No biggie at all. Ain’t like it’s my main bed anyway.” I stepped off, thinking to search the closet for a blanket.
“I said, I prefer the—”
I jumped around to face her. “What’s your deal, lady? Take the damn bed!”
“How many ways can I tell you I don’t want your damn bed?” Her tone was thick.
My face fell into my palms. “Right,” I groaned. “Because you’re not going to fuck me.” Taking a deep breath, I lifted my head, slapped my hands together, opening my stance. “Okay. Name your price.”
“What?”
“I know you ain’t sign up for all this. My grandmother was a curve ball. The last thing we expected to do when you agreed to this was to share a room. I’ll eat that. Tell me what can I do to compensate you?”
Her face blew up, mouth opened wide. “Com—” She let a bitter laugh slip. “Compensate? Are you fucking kidding me? Is everything about money to you people?”
“Let’s not act like it ain’t to you.”
“It ain’t all about money for me, sweetie.”
“Then what’s it about to you, honey?”
“For one, it’s about keeping your damn word! Mike said he’d do things I’ve yet to see.”
“Like what?”
“For starters, get me in the studio.”
My neck swung back like I was hit with a jab. I didn’t take her for a music come up. “Oh, so you sing?”
Her neck jerked back. “No. I write and would like to turn my work into music. He said if I did this shit, he’d help.” Wynter stormed off toward the bathroom. “Just like he said he’d do other shit that I still ain’t see materialized. I wish I never signed that fucking—” She slammed the door, and I couldn’t hear the rest, but imagined it.
The room was quiet when I crept in. I guessed I shouldn’t have expected anything different at three in the morning. I headed straight to the bathroom for a hot shower. Washing my hair, I tried telling myself to relax. It was hard to when I felt like things were spinning out of control. It was one thing to put on a front with Wynter. I could keep it contained here at the estate. But adding Pastor Alberta McKinnon to the equation may have tipped me over. My grandmother wasn’t just…different. She saw shit. She could sense the dog and pony in this shit with her eyes closed. I really hadn’t thought this plan through. And now, my mind worked double time to figure a way out of it.
I didn’t know how it would happen, but I needed sleep. Leaving the room to go for a swim an hour after Wynter and I “turned down” for bed, was supposed to help tire me out. After three hours and I didn’t know how many laps, I should have been yawning and barely able to walk. But here I was, wide eyed and thinking of another plan.
After washing I threw on boxers, shorts, a tee, and socks I stashed in here before leaving for the pool. When I was ready to leave the bathroom, I turned off the light before opening the door. I couldn’t see shit at first. It was pitch black compared to the bathroom. So, I used my hand to guide me past the bed area to the lounge section of the suite. But I missed the damn step leading to it.
Damn…
I stumbled, almost falling on my ass. Needing a minute, I paused bending over with my hands on my knees. My grandmother, now Wynter; why was I feeling like the imposer in my own damn house? I tried waiting out the sting time.
One…two…three…fo—
“You creep out of here close to midnight, stealing away like a damn robber. You could at least come back in just as quiet.”
My body swung up and I looked back over my shoulder, even though my eyes hadn’t adjusted yet and I couldn’t see nothing but shadows.
“You up?” I didn’t know why I asked that question. Sounded dumb as hell.
“Did you expect me to be sleep?” I heard the sarcasm in her tone. “It’s not like I’m sleeping in the comfort of my own bed.”
I felt my face fold. “Which bed?”
Wynter moved in my apartment where she had her own bed, then here to the house where she was given another one. Was she talking about hers at home?
“Anyone but this one. It ain’t been broken in yet…stiff as shit.”
A soft, barely there smile broke across my mouth. I’d only slept in that bed less than a dozen times. When I came to the house, I slept in the studio or theater room more often than I did in here.
I started moving again, finding my way to the couch. “Consider yaself lucky then. It’s practically new.”
“Luck,” she breathed, and I could tell mostly to herself. “Yeah, right. Luck and me ain’t danced in a while. I’m more conversant with the rhythm of blues.”
I froze. Did I hear that? She was way across the suite, a huge distance between us at this point.
“The rhythm of blues?” It was more of an observation than a question. I liked it.
“Yeah,” she sighed. “Having bad shit happen to you successively has a rhythm.”
My eyes bounced left to right, now seeing shapes I could make out, as I processed that. “How is that?”
Did I just ask her that?
I couldn’t believe I basically gave her the green light to keep talking. I didn’t want to talk. I needed sleep. But so
mething about that line had me open. Intrigued.
Wynter didn’t answer right away, making me think she was shocked by that invitation, too.
“Uhhhh,” she stalled, I could tell. “I mean… Life has this arbitrary rhythm no one can control, no matter how much some believe they can. The cool thing about it is it’s like a rhythm with jumps and falls, alternating highs and lows. I’ve learned how to ride the current, make it look fascinating and cool.” She chuckled somberly after that.
She probably didn’t know I heard it. Wynter likely didn’t know I’d also caught on to how smart she apparently was. I’d always looked for conversation in women—men, too. Anyone I aligned myself with had to have a deeper dialogue than just talk of the weather. I needed to hear more from her to discern for sure.
“What’d he promise that he ain’t give you?”
“Huhn?”
“Mike. You said he agreed to a lot. What about the music part?”
Crickets.
Wynter didn’t want to answer.
“It’s cool.” I chuckled, being arrogant. “It’s coming out of my pocket and it ain’t like I can get out of it at this point. We’re legally bound.” There was my damn sarcasm.
I still couldn’t believe I was faking a marriage, of all things to fake.
“About the music?” she was asking if we were on the same page.
“Yeah.”
“Getting me in the studio with quality producers and engineers to help me out with my music.”
“What do you need help with?”
“Learning how to turn my writing into lyrics—everything because like I said, I can’t sing.”
“And he ain’t do that?” She’d been living in a house with a full studio.
“He had me in some rinky dink studio in the Bronx with some kids who smoked more blunts than they knew how to work the board.”
“Word?”
“Yeah. But it’s all good. I’ll figure something out.”
“What do you need help with? Finding tracks, production?”
“Everything. I don’t know the first thing about melody, but I have a heart for moving composition and the ear to direct notes. I just need the right environment to figure it out. I spoke to Leech about it and he’s got a guy in Midtown Manhattan he thinks has the time.”
“Yeah. You need a mentor,” I cracked.
Who wants in the music biz with no knowledge of production, melody, or arrangements?
“And I’ll get one.” I caught the rustlings of covers. “Like I said.”
She was being sarcastic, and my first reaction was going to be tuning her out. But there was a determination in her tone. Plus, I couldn’t shake the way she went along with my grandmother without a complaint. My first thought, when I started considering it all at the pool, was she wouldn’t complain when she was happily compensated. Then earlier, when we made it back to the master suite, her anger about this arrangement was clear when she ran into the bathroom. That wasn’t the reaction of a satisfied manipulator.
“I can help.” The words left my mouth before I’d fully decided.
Wynter didn’t respond right away. For the next few seconds all I could hear was the heat pushing from the vents.
“I mean…”
“You don’t have to do that.” She was firm.
“I know I don’t. I said—”
“Then why would you offer?” She quickly cut me off.
I closed my eyes in the dark of the room, trying to fight off the need to dead this conversation and tune her out. “Because of how you handled my grandmother.”
I heard more rustling from the bedding. “You know… You talked more in these few minutes—civilly—than you have since I met you. What is it about your grandmother that has you so generous and chatty?”
I swiped my nose, feeling my jaw tightening. We weren’t going there. My family was none of her business. I was none of her business.
But my spirit was telling me to chill. And with Pastor McKinnon this close to me, I wanted to believe I could trust that inner man.
“If you could just play it cool with my grandmother…for the week or however long she’s gonna be here—”
She sucked in a heap of air. “Oh, my god. How long am I supposed to sleep in here?”
“I told you earlier I don’t know.” I tried putting more bite in my voice. “But if you could just be polite and…easy.” I shook my head then ran my fingers against my scalp. “You do me this solid and I got you.”
When I didn’t hear from her right away, my head popped up. She was thinking about it? That confused me more. This chick wasn’t turning out to be who I thought she was at all. I didn’t like that. It made it hard to deal with her.
Tick…tock…tick…
“It would be helpful if you could just answer questions when I—”
“Deal.” She cut me off again.
I let out a long breath I didn’t know I was holding, making sure she couldn’t hear it. I swung my legs over until they hit the couch and pulled a throw pillow under my head to get comfortable. Maybe I wasn’t exactly sleepy, but thanks to Wynter, I was tired. This was bad. All of it. But I knew I had to see it through.
“And one last thing…”
“Yeah?” She answered right away, for once.
“Don’t be clownin’ my granny to people, man.” I laughed, but was serious as hell. Alberta was an anointed woman no matter how you sliced it. “She’s a real one.”
“I have a “different” grandmother, too.” I could hear her turning on the mattress. “I’ll try my best.”
That didn’t sound convincing but was better than nothing at all.
“Boy, get up!” her high pitch wakes me out of my sleep.
My eyes open wide to my grandmother glaring down on me with the blanket I fell asleep with raised in her hand.
“You know nobody’s allowed to sleep on this couch! Not in this living room,” she yells even louder.
“Sorry, Grandmother,” I groan, rubbing my eyes.
“Don’t sorry me, boy! I done told all y’all no lounging in here. I come in from night worship to find you disobeying me again?” She steps closer. “I should skin you!”
My palms shoot up. “It’s not like that, grandma!” I beg.
“Then why you up here? You got your own space down in the basement. I cleared a corner down there to let you bang on the drums and the keyboard, so you don’t keep the house up, but you don’t wanna sleep down there after all this time. I’m too tired and old to figure out you young people. Get outta here. Now!”
She swats me on the shoulder, and I shoot up in the air and out of her range, not feeling the little lick. Her hands can do but so much damage to me now. I’m almost her height. But she still scares me.
“Wait, Grandmother! Can I sleep in your room?” I try keeping my voice low.
“My room? What for?”
I clasp my hands to plead. “I can sleep on the floor, next to your treadmill. Please, grandma!”
“Boy, if you don’t get ya hips down them stairs!” She swats me again and I shoot away.
“It’s cold down there, grandma. Please don’t make me sleep down there no more!” Tears swell in my eyes as she pushes me toward the back of the house.
“Boy, you ‘bout big as your uncle, June. You can deal with that lil bit of chill. I told you last week when you started this to use that heater. Now, get!”
She shoves me out the back door, tossing my blanket behind me. The door slams shut and in my sweats and wife beater, I fall to the steps. I wrap the blanket around me and cry.
Why can’t my mommy still be here?
My body flew into a sitting position on the bed. Heart beating out of my chest as I glanced around the room. White everywhere, from top to bottom with splashes of black and gold.
Ragee’s bedroom, I thought to myself.
It was the weirdest design for a man’s bedroom. Not feminine, but particularly detailed with too much specification for a man. I w
ondered if Myisha was sure about him designing it all on his own. Maybe she had a hand in this room. All white carpet, black dresser, armoire, and chest of drawers. Stark white bedding with a few black decorative pillows tossed with white textured ones, and a lesser amount of gold. The sitting room was a step down section off of the main bedroom. The couches in there were glaring white, but the table legs and décor were gold: brass or gold plated. Even the earthy green artificial plants in there were muted enough to stand behind the black and white theme, but were shaped to be attention-grabbers.
I somehow forgot where I was for a minute. It’s easy to do when your resting place has changed as much as mine over the past few months. My palm covered my chest and I swallowed, trying to calm my racing heart. I couldn’t remember dreaming, but had clearly fallen to sleep at some point earlier this morning. What was most baffling was what had awakened me.
Raps at the door had my neck snapping to face that direction. There were seven knocks in a row. That’s what had awakened me. I glanced over to the sitting area, though I couldn’t see much. Last I knew, Ragee had been on the couch. My pulse beat in my neck as I shifted off the bed and twisted to toss my feet to the floor. On shaky legs, I toed over to the steps to peer into the sitting room. A thick and long male frame occupied the couch under a throw blanket, exposing his hairy muscled legs and feet covered in ankle socks was all I could make out.
“Gee-Gee?” More knocking had me gasping and remembering why I got out of bed. Quietly, I made my way to the set of doors, slightly opening one.
“Oh,” I stumbled, wiping the crust and mucus from my eyes. “Good morning…” I stalled, not recalling her title.
She smiled humbly, one chunky arm crossing over the other for a scratch. “Pastor McKinnon.”
I nodded back and forth, remembering. “Pastor McKinnon.” My eyes closed in frustration of forgetting. “I’m sorry…just waking up and a little fuzzy.”
