by Love Belvin
“Your phone’s vibrating,” Wynter informed me as I did.
I went to the nightstand and saw it was Heather calling. I sent it to voicemail.
“Come. Have a seat.” Wynter patted the mattress toward the empty side. “We were interrupted.”
That command turned off a switch for me. I didn’t get how it happened, but somehow her not hammering into me about what happened a few nights ago made her that much cooler in my eyes. It made me toss aside my guard without a whole lot of thinking. For the moment.
I pulled the blanket up to cover the sheet and sat with my back against the pillows and one leg hanging off the floor.
“Thanks for that.”
“For what?” she asked, confused.
“For jumping in bed and making it seem like—”
“Oh!” She blew out air. “No problem. I’m a fast learner. Now, tell me about your first big break.”
It took a minute for me to remember what we were talking about before my grandmother knocked on the door.
“Uuuuh…” My eyes squeezed as I stretched back on the pillow. I yawned. That’s when I recognized her scent in my bedding. I didn’t think much of it. Purposely. “I think my biggest break came a few years ago and not by a industry head.”
“Really?”
I rubbed my nose. “Yeah. Mike Brown and I had been partners for a few years. We put out two albums independently. This was back when I was as much of a musician as I was a singer. I did a lot of acoustic instrumentation instead of electronic. And for a while, not much was popping with my career. Mike saw how an old associate of his from BK was image sculpting an up and coming artist at that time.”
“Who?”
“Rin-Rin. You remember she had that hit—”
“Drip Drop!”
“Yeah. She was poppin’ and Mike figured it was because her label put her in touch with the guy from Brooklyn, Mike came up with.”
“Was he a producer…A&R?”
I chuckled. “Nah. Just a jack of all trades and a master at most. Azmir Jacobs. It’s kinda hard to explain his role in the industry, but put it like this: every major mover knows dude. He used to do some stuff with record labels. Now, he’s into straight business. Well, a few years ago, he came to my listening party in the City. Mike was hyped about it and made the introduction and that’s when my soul had gotten shaken.”
“What happened?”
“He was there with who is now his wife, but he wasn’t beat to be networking. Had been out of the business for a few years by then. He said what he did for Rin-Rin when she got all that airplay and a couple of deals just because of who she was seen partying with, was something he did for somebody he owed a favor to. It wasn’t that he said no. It was that he swerved me with his “date” while doing it.” I laughed, remembering the story Rayna told me after we’d gotten cool, months after that night. She said she played sick so they could leave. She did it in my face. “Anyway, I was in a bad place at that time in my life. To be honest, I was thinking about hanging it up. I’d been at music—good music for some time and didn’t have the success a few of my peers did.”
“What changed?”
“His now wife called me randomly to perform at a private party at his crib in Cali.”
She gasped. “Cali?”
“Yeah. She flew me in and put me up, too. I called on a few voices I knew out there and threw together a show that not only Rayna—his wife—enjoyed, but dude was blown away, too.” It was truly a small world, because that night was when I met Jackson Hunter, who now has the record label, L.I.T. Music, whose been dying to sign me. “A few months after that, he called me to perform at a club he owned. And from there, my career got like…poppin’.”
“What did he do?”
“He talked to me at first. Pulled me aside in his office after my show. Asked me what I wanted to do. I was a little intimidated at first, but after a while, I let down my guard. The O.G. explained being a dope musician with a voice wasn’t what the industry was looking for. They were looking for swag that matched its constituents. Wasn’t nobody checking for acoustics in mainstream music where I wanted to go. He put me in touch with some people he thought could help me with my image. About three months later, I had “Ride with Me” out. A couple of months it was in heavy rotation on seventy-five percent of all major stations. New York killed it, and that’s all I needed.”
“So, “Ride with Me” was your first single, huhn?” Wynter sounded to have been going back in time like I was sharing this with her.
“Yup. That first album went platinum. That hardly happens anymore.”
“So, that’s how you broke into music. The Jacobs guy.”
I snorted. “That’s how I got into real estate, too—business outside of music, period.”
Her head rolled over to me on her pillow. “How so?”
“We were in touch from there on out. Azmir told me to never go without multiple streams of income. He stressed not relying on one industry to be your bread and butter. To show me, he put me in a deal for a business park opening in Central Jersey. A newly developed town. I didn’t have much capital back then, just a few bucks. He fronted me a hundred stacks to add to my pennies. That first deal made me eighty grand after I paid him back his money. He showed me how to catch fish after frying it for me to taste. It was on and popping after that.”
“So, music, real estate, and movies.” She nodded, impressed.
“Technology, too. A couple of years ago, I finally caught onto a deal I believed in.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s been this huge public health push for hands-free bathrooms. To decrease the spread of germs and bacteria, there’s been an increased interest in sinks, soap dispensers, paper towels dispensers, and hand dryers with sensory power. Restaurants, malls, recreation facilities…any building you can think of with a public restroom is where a company I’m backing is marketing this technology at a competitive price for quality products.”
“You’re in on the marketing?”
“That’s the current phase. The one I came in on was the technology and high volume manufacturing. I’ve been lucky with the timing. We have companies like Macy’s, Wal-Mart, B-Way Burger…we’re about to close a deal with Hobby Lobby, and we’re working on Target.”
“That’s amazing, Raj!” she shrieked, visibly captivated. “Big shit poppin’ for the church boy!” she sang.
I shook my head as I laughed quietly. Wynter had a sharp sense of humor, something that usually irritated me. Hers was…nice. Disarming.
“Mentoring.”
“What’s that?” I turned to her.
“Mentoring. Sounds like what you had with the Ahmad guy.”
“Azmir.”
“My bad. Azmir,” she corrected. “Do you know how much further along we’d be as a society—black, white, green, blue—if we had people seeing into us, recognizing greatness, and pushing us into our destiny? Look how long you’d been at it until that one call from his wife.”
I nodded, eyes out to the other side of the room. She was right.
“I had a little of that,” her voice was but a whisper. Wynter was in her thoughts. “My grandparents were great. They always talked to me about the future. Constantly told me I wasn’t average.” Her eyes traveled over to me. “They were regular Janes and Johns, but managed to make me feel there was a big world out there, waiting for me to make it right.” A sheepish smile blossomed over her face. “That’s how I was able to breeze through school. They made me feel this big world was waiting, so I tried swallowing my academics to kill the time to meet it.” She went silent. “Then they were gone.”
“But you still went to school. Still got two degrees. That’s what’s up.”
She looked at me with light pain in her face. “But for what?” Wynter shrugged. “I became…basically a social worker, helping irreparable people. It burned me out, exhausted me. So, I’m sitting here with my highly educated ass, and just as unfulfilled as a child
who never left the front stoop.”
“You’re still young. God has born everyone into this earth with purpose attached to our existence. My pastor says it’s a matter of alignment and timing.”
Wynter clicked off the only light on this side of the room. The recessed lights in the sitting room were set to dim. She shuffled to her side, fully facing me now, though a few feet away.
Her voice was wistful and curious when she asked, “What if your destiny is something you don’t want? What if the purpose God has for you is something that doesn’t fulfill you?” her voice cracked, but I saw no evidence of tears. Just fear.
“I’ve been told the safest and most content place for a man or woman is in the will of God, even when it feels like the loneliest and scariest place there is.”
The only problem with that was, I had to believe it myself.
The next morning, I woke to a glass of what looked to be a lemon poison concoction on the nightstand. While rubbing my eyes, I heard the bathroom door open. Raj was quietly coming out with a compression shirt and leggings, and shorts. He stopped, noticing I was up.
I glanced over to the other side of the bed. “Did you sleep here last night?” My voice was raspy.
With a creased forehead and grin begging my pardon, Raj scoffed. “Yeah. I fell asleep after your million, probing ass questions. That a problem?”
It was a little defensive, but friendly fire. I could tell he was trying. Trying to show himself friendly. Normal.
“Thanks for the potion.” I smiled with dry lips.
“I thought you were gonna be up earlier than me this morning.” His voice was male-throaty. “Figured I could help speed the dumping process.”
A giggle broke through my lips. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said and done for me, pal.”
Raj didn’t smile, his head angled and brows met, though. “Then I need to step up my roommate game.”
Why the hell did that warm me somewhere I couldn’t put my finger?
He walked out of the room quietly during the dark hours of the morning and left me…feeling. That wasn’t cool. I kicked the blanket off my legs, dropped my feet to the floor and gulped down the citrusy potion without flinching this time. My feet moved swiftly and heavily to the bathroom where I powered on the stereo, selected a rap channel, and blasted Method Man to a rebellious level until I could feel the bass of “Bring the Pain” and nothing else.
~11~
As my grandmother sang “Lord, Don’t Let Me Fail,” I hummed the right key to keep her at an agreeable pitch. I didn’t want Wynter to finally run from one of our post-dinner worship meets like a bat out of hell. It was enough she would politely sit through them and be agreeable to going to bed at ten o’clock every night, or pretend to. But she’d also come out tonight without being invited. I knew it pleased my grandmother, but I didn’t want it to turn the girl off.
“When my faith gets weak…Lord, help me see…something in my life thou hast done for me…” Pastor McKinnon sang her soul free, eyes closed, and clutched fists waving in the chilled air.
A worshipper at heart and a person who sang in his sleep, I couldn’t get into it tonight. Watching the dancing flames from the fire pit out back, I felt restless. My grandmother had been here for almost two weeks now, and my life had been at a standstill. The tour was on pause, the scripts I was sent for potential roles didn’t intrigue me at all, and craziest of all, I had a woman sleeping in my bed. The only thing that felt normal was my real estate and investments business. Things were picking up with one and running smoothly with the other.
Still…I was restless. Having a woman in my personal space had been taking its toll on me. Made me crave pussy, something I could stretch the distance between having usually. Maybe it was smelling her after scent she left in the bathrooms, the lingering perfume and natural body odor from her clothes hanging in my closet. It could have been from seeing her in little shorts and braless tanks at night while we pretended to be sleeping for my grandmother. I didn’t know. But my hunger couldn’t be dismissed. I thought about making a call to relieve myself a few times. The fact that I didn’t bothered me, too.
And where was Mike? He’d made this mess I’d been trying to make the best out of. Getting to know Wynter wasn’t the plan. Having her in my bed had never been a thought. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to keep up this dog and pony act. I thought about telling my grandmother she had to go. Yeah right. That would never happen. The woman could spit in my face and I wouldn’t have the balls to kick her out. And I couldn’t leave the estate for a getaway until she was ready to go back home. Wynter was here. It was clear to everybody, including the public, this was our time to build a foundation for our marriage.
Whatever the hell that is…
“Wynter, baby,” My grandmother’s soul-reaching eyes were on Wynter, who sat on the other side of the wicker sofa from me. “We’re always out here, in the midst of praise and worship and you stay quiet. The Lord just told me you have something you have to say.”
Huhn?
When did my grandmother even stop singing? I’d been so lost in my head, I missed it.
Wynter was curled up in the corner. Her feet tucked underneath her while the blanket covered her body. Her head straightened and eyes went wide.
No…
She was doing well. Minding her business, getting lost in her head while she played along with this. Why would my grandmother provoke this girl? She’d been playing nice. How could she politely say, “Your god lied to you?”
Wynter’s forehead creased and my stomach jumped. She rubbed her lips together as her eyes fell to the dancing flames separating us from my naïve and ultra-spiritual grandmother, who waited with determined patience.
“Actually, yeah.” Her frown deepened. “I think.”
Oh, no…
I swallowed, trying to prepare for a verbal cover up.
“Raj and I were talking last night about purpose,” Wynter shared, her eyes somewhere in the distance now. “And it’s been eating at me all day.”
“What about it?” my grandmother pushed.
“He said God has born everyone into this earth with purpose attached to our existence. And all day I’ve been thinking about how it applies to me. Like… Trying to go back as far as I can remember to my mother before she died, my grandparents and messages they gave me, my father…” Wynter’s eyes closed in pain and annoyance, it seemed. “I’ve been thinking about my career and how I didn’t choose to go into the line of work I did; I just landed there. And it seemed I wasn’t happy, but couldn’t be promoted. I felt forced to stay at a job that didn’t pay much and honestly, had aged me prematurely.”
“Hmmm…” My grandmother seemed wrapped up in the picture Wynter was painting.
Hell, I was, too.
“Then Raj happened. I got swept up in this affair. I was thrust into a new life. My address changed, lifestyle changed, but I still don’t feel settled.” Wynter’s eyes appeared on me. “It’s hard when you’re spending so much time with a man born with many talents and on top of that, he’s still hungry. Still ambitious. It makes you question yourself.” She took a deep breath, forehead still wrinkled and lips pouting. “Then, last night, he hit me with ‘the safest and most content place for a man or woman is in the will of God, even when it feels like the loneliest and scariest place there is. And that has me wondering if God’s okay with me being unhappy—unsettled, I mean!”
There was a sincerity to her tone and cadence. These past few months had been an adjustment for her, up until recently with the sleeping arrangements and diet plan.
After processing it a little more, I realized Wynter was telling her truth, just leaving out my lies when crying out for help. But she wasn’t a damsel in distress. Hell no. Wynter was shaping up to be the strongest woman I’d ever encountered. Yes, she was unwanted in my world most of this time. She knew it even when I was too indifferent for her to feel it. And when I did remind her of it, I was harsh. But
Wynter was a bonafide G through the whole thing. She’d made a commitment and even through feeling uncomfortable and unwelcome, she stayed the course.
When she did shit like this… When she yielded herself to vulnerability. When she took my directions at exercising and eating well…
As barbaric and controlling as that sounds, it appealed to me. Made me pay attention to her over the past week or so. Observing her determination to lose weight and make a lifestyle change while doing it piqued my interest. It actually inspired me. Wynter kind of inspired me. She had been surviving me.
“Amen,” my grandmother nodded as she responded. “Marriage ain’t easy. Figuring out God’s ways ain’t either. I can’t tell you a whole lot about a husband; I ain’t have much of one long enough. But I can tell you about my God and how He’ll never leave you or forsake you. Just pray on it, daughter.” My grandmother’s tone fell into a preacher’s grunts. “I feel it in my spirit. You are in the will of God. Gee-Gee’s birthright in the Kingdom is strong and highly placed. Calling so strong, he can’t keep running from it. You’re safe. Safe in His arms, daughter.”
My grandmother fell into a hymn, “Safe in His Arms.”
This time, I couldn’t help her out. I was too caught up in my own revelations about my fake wife.
I hiked the stairs with the phone to my ear. My thighs burned with each step up, thanks to the crazy exercise regimen I’d taken on a few days ago. And no different from any other night since I started, I was tired as hell, absolutely depleted.
“You sure you’re okay?”
I scoffed, “Why do you keep asking me that?”
“Because in the little time I had to get to you, I realized you’re a tough cookie. And how low maintenance you are with your feelings. You take a lot of shit, and I know Raj can be known to throw lots of it. His ass is high maintenance, let me tell you.”
I snickered near the top of the stairs. My eyes scanned the second level, cognizant of the time. Pastor McKinnon should have been in bed by now. After dinner tonight, I excused myself to go drop off money to one of Van’s daughters, who would take school pictures the next day. Her mother called me at the last minute, though that wasn’t new. Then I stopped by MaMa’s to see Asia. She and Wanda were in town again. The questions that little girl had about me being married to Ragee! It was comical.
