by Love Belvin
“How so?”
“I spent lots of time in the church as a kid. My dad hated it. He and my mom were never really together, as far back as I could remember. But they were on and off for mad years, before me. He was a street kid compared to her parents’ protective upbringing. I guess she thought she could change him. She fell in love with the fighter from the Memorial Homes projects. He don’t talk about her much, but has said he was really feeling her when they weren’t fighting about him staying out of trouble. When she was pregnant with me, in her third trimester, he got locked up again. They said she was so mad, she never put his name on my birth certificate, gave me her name.” He snorted, scratching the side of his nose. “He still be trippin’ off that. But anyway, I don’t know if it was that or the fact they broke up when I was like two because he and my grandmother always butt heads, but he didn’t really take to me.”
“What do you mean?”
Raj often talked with his hands and shoulder. It was kind of cute, when he got lost in a conversation…with me. “I mean… He didn’t come around much. I saw him on my birthdays and Christmas. Most of those times he pulled up to my grandmother’s. But mostly if I wanted to see dude, I had to go see him.” He chuckled. “He was all over town until he got a job at the gym. When that happened, dude was easy to find.”
“And that’s when you were young? How old?”
“Like ten…maybe nine.” His face was scrunched, thinking hard.
“And your grandmother would take you to see him at the gym?”
“Nah. I’d go by myself,” he scoffed at me. “Pastor McKinnon’s number one priority was the sheep of her church, not necessarily the family in her home.”
That reminded me of her saying she took in lots of boarders back then.
“So, when did you start boxing?”
For a while, Raj didn’t answer. He just watched the passing lights on the dark highway.
“Twelve.”
“You wanted to be like your father?”
“No.” He shook his head softly. “Wanted to be protected by him. Wanted to live with him. The only way I could get his undivided attention was in the ring with him coaching me.” He took a deep breath, seeming to come out of some dark space that he’d quickly found himself in. “He used to say it was good to keep me out of the church. That was a female dominated environment and he ain’t want to have no Jesus-jumping queer for a son.” A bitter chuckle danced on his chords.
Had Cut, his father, seen gay tendencies in his son?
I mentally shook those thoughts from my head. I was doing it. I was slipping into counselor mode, engaging in what we called a “singular perspective history.” I was taking a trip into his grim childhood. I didn’t want to do that. I’d been having a good time, being chauffeured off the estate with well-drawn eyebrows. Myisha would be proud of my progress with this makeup thing. She’d given me a few tutorials via FaceTime since she left. I didn’t want to revisit the depressing life I’d just left by subconsciously walking Ragee down memory lane.
In a leap, I twisted to face him. “Enough of that dark shit. Let’s talk about your ‘happy.’ What’s your favorite food?”
With a brow hiked and amusement gleaming in his orbs, Ragee answered, “Sea bass.”
“Fish!” I shrilled with sarcasm. “Of course.” No pork chops, a juicy T-bone. Good ol’ healthy fish. “Okay. Next question,” I piped up. “Your favorite number?”
His eyes circled their sockets. “Ten.”
“Eh?”
He shrugged, smiled big, relaxed, and sincere. “It’s the last age I can remember loving life.”
Don’t go there, Wynter. Don’t go there!
I wouldn’t ask for more information about that, not that Ragee would likely give it anyway.
“Favorite word?” I kept going.
His brows met as he cast his eyes outside of the Bentley. Then his index stabbed the air. “Redemption. It’s true liberation.”
“What was your first job?”
“An altar boy.”
My head flew back. “Altar boy? Father John recruit you?”
Ragee could hardly breathe, he laughed so damn hard. “I’m just messing with you!” He tried.
“Oh!” I pouted, not feeling too great about the joke being on me.
“Yo, I’m Pentecostal, baby. Not Catholic.” He wiped his eyes and tried slowing his lungs. “Ah, man,” he murmured. “My first job was as a camp counselor for the community summer program.”
“Okay.” I nodded, considering that. My chin perched in the air. “Counselor Ragee.”
We both laughed at that.
“Your first car?” I moved on.
And that was how the remainder of the ride back to Sparta went. Laughing while reminiscing. Not brooding while recounting the bad.
That night, after a late dinner with just Ragee and me, I crept into the theater room to take Van’s call. It was another depressing fifteen-minute conversation about the food quality in jail, the lack of temperature control and how often he was sick with a cold, the arguments he’d had with his children’s mothers, and his frustration with not having a clear legal defense. It had been four months since he’d been in there. Four months and we had no answers. The call left me drained.
I found my way out of the spacious room and headed up to the master suite. My thighs ached from my morning workout with Raj, and my head and heart throbbed for Van’s helpless circumstances. I’d had a few hours of reprieve while out discovering yet another talent of my legally wed husband. What started out as a nice evening, ended with my emotions flared. The house was quiet, and as I made it to the second level, only the nightlights from the back of the house shone through. I guessed no one turned on the soft lights for the long, winding hallway.
The master suite wasn’t as dark. Sounds of the television across from the bed whispered inside the massive room. Raj’s big body, covering much of the bed with a posture of proprietary rights reminded me of his warning of needing to stretch out there before heading to the couch tonight. He’d been hit a lot and needed the space. I didn’t mind. Since sharing the suite with him, I’d grown more and more comfortable with his company.
I trekked into the bathroom to wash off my makeup and shower for bed. A little more than twenty minutes later, I was back out, into the room where I found the remote to power off the television. I checked to be sure the balcony doors were locked. Blame the city girl in me. When I made it back over to the room, I stood at the foot of the bed with my bottom lip wedged between my teeth, wondering if I should wake him. He looked so peaceful, and I honestly didn’t mind sharing the bed.
The only problem is, he gotta move a bit so I can get in…
I approached him, a bit hesitant at touching his bare shoulder. After telling myself to grow up, I tapped him.
“Raj,” I called out softly.
He didn’t budge, poor thing. I tapped him again and called his name gently, not wanting to fully rouse him. But to no avail. That’s when I decided to climb onto the bed and take the sliver of space available. My knee hit the high firm mattress and I went to glide my arms down under the pillows.
“Don’t fucking—” He shouted as he leaped from his stomach, arm flying in the air.
“Holy shiiii—” I breathed. Startled out of my fucking mind, I pulled back, forgetting I was on the bed and fell onto the side of my foot instead of flat on it. My leg gave out and I fell to my knees and then on my ass.
Peering up with wild eyes, my chest heaved as my heart galloped. His eyes were crazed with anger, violence, and…fear? We stared at each other in the same physically heightened state for a spell. I watched for his next move, wondering what would be my defense. I’d just seen him pummel a man with blood gushing blows. He observed me with slow recognition, his pupils shrinking in concession.
Raj swallowed audibly, air pushing from his mouth. His forehead creased. “Look…” He heaved. “Don’t… Don’t come…” He swallowed. His voice hoarse, pained. “D
on’t walk up on me in the bed. I—I’ll let you come in here first.” He flashed me with expectant, urgent eyes.
I nodded feverishly, every cell in my body vibrating with a post-traumatic adrenaline rush.
For a while we didn’t move. I didn’t know what to do or say. Didn’t think words were appropriate. Ragee slammed his hand on the mattress and uttered a few invectives before swinging his legs to the opposite side of the bed with athletic precision. He then tramped into the darkened sitting room and I heard him slam himself on the couch, out of my view.
I don’t know how long I remained on the floor, not understanding what had just happened. What was clear was my beating bladder was what had me finally move.
Needless to say, sleep wasn’t in the cards for me that night.
I watched her arms work the battle ropes, muscling through a double wave on a squat.
“Yo,” I spoke over the flapping of the thick ropes smacking my gym room floor. “You gotta come back some more. How many times I gotta tell you?” I lowered her squat as she worked her arms up and down.
Wynter grunted, and after being at this for four days, I knew it was the extent of her pushback. But she eased back up, more occupied with her arms than her legs.
“You’re gonna mess up your knees.” I sidled up next to her, so she could hear me over the ropes without me yelling. “I ‘on’t know what ya man’s preferences are, but your knees come in handy when you wanna make a man happy.”
She blinked a few times. Her stride in the waves slowed, but she lowered herself, aligning her knees behind her toes and finished out the rest of her three minute interval.
“Stop!” I yelled.
Wynter dropped the ropes, her tight eyes hit me. Lips wound up as she heaved, out of breath.
“I told you I had to take a piss, asshole,” she growled as she turned and stomped off.
I knew there was more to her snapping than my pushing her. We still hadn’t talked about my wigging out on her in my room the other night. I didn’t know how. What made me think having this chick in my room would be cool? I didn’t see that coming; I never shared a bed with a woman. How was I supposed to know I’d react that way to having one wake me from my sleep? I’d been waiting for her to bring it up, but Wynter hadn’t uttered a word. And neither would I. I’d just ride out this short time until I had my damn space back. I was waiting for Myisha to call me today; hopefully with an answer on when my grandmother would be leaving.
Snickering behind me had me looking over my shoulder. My trainer, Josh, tried covering his mouth as he laughed. That reminded me of the time. My session with him was due to start. This was the second day I’d totally lost track of time while training Wynter and forgotten about my own.
“She’s gonna spazz on your ass, man.” He couldn’t cut the humor on his way to me. “That’s why I don’t train the females in my family or my old lady. They can’t take the heat, man.” Wynter may have complained all day about being hungry or the new foods she’d been eating from her meal plan, but in here or wherever we worked out, she never uttered a grievance. “That and the fact that with my lady, I can smell her pussy when she starts to sweat.”
That, I had known. Wynter was a heavy sweater. Training her had been more intimate than I bargained for. A few times I could swear to smelling her pheromones. It softened me to her a bit. Made her less of a stranger. I never mentioned it, not wanting to offend her. I didn’t know if I could. Wynter was a machine in here, even out of shape.
“Anyway,” I dismissed that topic, “what we got on tap for today?” I was so consumed with creating a regimen for her, I’d forgotten about my own.
These past four days of acclimating her to a new diet plan and workout schedule had been intense. Not to add in, entertaining my grandmother while taking calls for business.
“Upper body, man.” Josh scratched his head. “Yo, you heard about that video True Blue posted on IG?”
“Nah.” I went to grab my water bottle. “What video?”
“True Blue posted a video saying he’s smacking the shit out of Mike B when he see him. Something over Mike trying to sign his artist behind his back.”
“Artist? Who?”
“Machete.” I could tell he wasn’t familiar with him.
I was. Machete was a rap artist, who went out on tour with Mike earlier this month. I didn’t know he was signed to Blue Gang’s label. True Blue was a known Crip from Compton, who ran the label. Dude was the modern day Suge Knight the way he stayed in drama—legally and illegally. He and Mike had had words a couple of years ago over a woman they both claimed to have slept with. The problem was, she was True’s baby’s mother. Threats were hurled over it back then, but Azmir Jacobs, an ambassador of sorts, intervened, calling a meeting that led to a truce. The game didn’t need another East Coast versus West Coast beef. And both dudes had the ammunition to get one popping.
“My first time hearing about it. You know Mike makes and breaks beefs. Let me go grab my gloves for the weights.” Just as I was about to take off to the closet, Wynter was heading our way. “You’re done for the day,” I reminded her. We’d been at it for an hour and a half.
She brushed past me, going back to the battle ropes. “Just got to get this down.”
Paying it no mind, I headed to the closet to get my gloves and lifting belt. When I came back out, Wynter was at the ropes again, closely eyeing herself in the mirror to measure her stance. That didn’t impress me so much.
The fact that she stayed in the gym another thirty minutes, going over a few critiques of mine for practice did.
The door creaked open behind me. I turned to look over my shoulder and saw Wynter in the bathroom doorway, her hand rested in the frame. She’d changed into her pajamas in there.
“You’re awake.” She sighed as though she was relieved. Then she caught herself and bounced back with humor. I knew it was coming by the lowering of her eyes and the sleek grin spreading on her cute face. “She coming to tuck us in?”
I chuckled, turning from on my stomach to get up. I was wide awake, but hadn’t heard the shower turn off, or else I wouldn’t have still been laying across the bed, checking my emails.
“No. Stay. No need to run over to the sitting room on my behalf.” She sauntered over to the dresser, and pulled out a drawer. “So, what else do you do, besides sing and act?”
“Huhn?” I hummed, glancing up from my iPad.
Her chin dipped over her shoulder. “When you kept leaving the table tonight at dinner to take calls.”
“Oh. Real estate,” I answered, going back to an email from a builder with specs on a business park that would be erected soon.
“As in houses?”
“No. I did a little of that—flipping, but it was too time consuming. I do commercial properties.”
“Oh, wow.” I could sense she stopped moving and my eyes skirted over to my left where I could make out her halfway turned to me. “Is it lucrative?”
“It’s been paying the bills.”
“Like Hollywood?” I found myself turned to her fully.
That’s when I realized she was pulling out workout gear for the morning. I was impressed.
“Before Hollywood. More consistent than Hollywood in the beginning.”
She tossed her clothes in a chair in the corner before stepping closer to the bed. She nodded for permission and even though that plucked at something in me, her playing it cool made me want to, too. I returned her nod.
“But acting earns you more?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions.”
“And you don’t talk enough.” She sat on the footboard resting her back on the bedpost. “Feel free to answer any moment now.”
I couldn’t help laughing quietly as I sat up, clicking the iPad off. “My first few acting gigs were indie films and basically went straight to DVD. The money wasn’t even what I made in touring, but the investment was worth it. I earned my chops…got the gist of acting, being on an actual set, taking inst
ruction from the director, learning lines…all that. I was able to take my time and not put too much pressure on myself to make my first two mill off a flick.”
“Because of real estate?”
I nodded, stretching my arms in the air. Surprisingly, my eyes were growing heavy.
“How did you get into it—”
Small but firm knocking at the door had both our attentions. I stood from the bed to get it.
“Pastor,” I teased, trying to sound normal. Like coming to bed at ten at night to go to sleep was actually conceivable in my world.
“Did I disturb the first lady of the house?” was her means of flattery.
I opened the door so she could see Wynter in her pajamas. Why I maintained this lie was beyond me.
“Hi!” I heard Wynter greet cheerfully from beyond.
Seeing my grandmother’s chest swell in pride had me glancing over my shoulder to see what she did. Wynter was in the bed, under the cover and she somehow got the other side of the bed to look as if it was previously occupied.
By me…
“I was just coming to tell you Heather just called. She said she couldn’t get you.” Her eyes skirted behind me to Wynter. I didn’t have to follow them to see. “Please include Deacon Neil in your prayers tonight. His granddaughter in Cincinnati just had a stroke. You know she only thirty-two? My God, the devil is busy, you hear me?” Her voice was pained.
My grandmother carried the burdens of so many, and had since I could remember. I just didn’t understand how she couldn’t pick up the works of the enemy in her own home.
“Amen,” I consented. “I’ll call out their names in prayer.”
“Amen. Her name is NeNe.” I nodded, making a mental note of it. “Well, alright. I’ll leave you two.”
“Goodnight.”
I watched her first few steps down the long hall before closing the door.
