White Lines II: Sunny: A Novel

by Tracy Brown

Sunny shook her head. “Rough around the edges, from the wrong side of the tracks and addicted to life in the fast lane.”

  He glanced at her again. “And why are you attracted to men like that?” he asked as they pulled up in front of her hotel.

  Sunny shrugged, unbuckled her seat belt and sat there thinking about it for a few moments. “I guess it’s like they say. ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’” She winked at him. “See you in the morning for our breakfast meeting with Abe.”

  Malcolm watched her climb out of the Range and sashay into the hotel lobby, turning the head of every man in her wake.

  6

  BROKEN PROMISES

  Olivia dialed Sunny’s number and got her voice mail. At the tone, she let loose.

  “Bitch, you coulda told me you were going out to L.A. on a whim! I saw Jada today and she told me where you are. I would’ve definitely gone with you cuz I could use a few days away. Well, I’m working from home today, going over sample patterns and fabrics. You are gonna love these looks. Call me when you’re back.”

  Olivia hung up and tried not to notice her man, Zion, huffing and puffing as if bothered by something she said. “What’s your problem?”

  “You can go to L.A. if you want,” Zion said. “You sound like you wish it was you out there instead of being stuck here with me and Adiva.”

  Olivia had to count to ten before exploding. Over the years, she had come to realize that she had a hot temper. She got it from her mama, may she rest in peace. Old Olivia would have quickly reacted, saying something slick and uncalled for. New Olivia was hurt by his attempt to lay a guilt-trip on her for something she had said casually in conversation. Zion knew that Olivia loved him and their daughter, Adiva, more than anything else on earth, so she tried to suppress her immediate reaction.

  “If it was that serious and I really wanted to go, I would go. I don’t need your permission.”

  Zion looked at her. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but he just shook his head instead.

  “What’s on your mind?” Olivia asked him.

  He kept shaking his head.

  “It’s obvious you have something to say. So … I’m listening, Zion!”

  “When’s the last time you cooked a meal around here, Olivia?” Zion felt like a dam had burst and all the weeks of watching her flutter about discussing stitching and hemlines spilled forth. “Seriously. When was the last time you lifted a finger in this house for me, or for our daughter? You’re so busy running around Manhattan trying to be Donatella Versace that you ain’t noticing the laundry piling up, the dishes in the sink!” Zion paused to catch his breath.

  Olivia leapt right in. “You must be out your fucking mind, Zion! Either I’m going crazy, or we have a cleaning lady who comes in here to do laundry—”

  “So, when she’s off, what? Just let the shit pile up, like fuck it?”

  “—and there’s a fucking dishwasher in the kitchen!” Olivia had stopped counting to ten now. “If you see the dishes piling up, load the damn dishwasher up and call it a day.”

  Olivia folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “What’s this really about, Zion? Huh? You jealous cuz I got my own brand now? Is that it? You mad cuz it’s about to take off and it’s mine alone?”

  Zion didn’t answer her. He thought she sounded ridiculous and hoped that hearing her own words echo throughout the room would help her realize that, too.

  Olivia did feel dumb for letting him upset her. She had raised her voice, and she lowered it now as she spoke. “Where is all this coming from? All of a sudden you’re mad about a simple voice message, laundry, dishes … since when is all of this a problem?”

  Zion looked at her, really tried to see the woman he had fallen in love with, but she was long gone as far as he was concerned. Olivia was still as gorgeous as she was the day he’d first laid eyes on her. Her deep chocolate skin was flawless, long legs perfectly thick, waistline slim and trim, and she had a walk that still stopped traffic. But while the years had been kind to her physically, they had done a number on her relationship with the man she loved.

  Olivia had lost some people who were very important in her life. Her grandfather had passed away, followed by her mother. She had also lost her cousin Curtis—who had been like a brother to her when they were growing up—at the hands of her own brother, Lamin. To add insult to injury, her family had been forced to withstand several criminal and civil court cases in relation to the incident on New Years’ Eve 2000 when Lamin had shot his cousin dead at the W Hotel. She had also been on hand the night that Sunny’s baby’s father was murdered at Sunny’s baby shower. Olivia had seen her share of bad times.

  These things had taken a toll on her, leaving her forever changed. They had shown her how fragile life is, and she was determined to make the most of hers by any means necessary.

  “It feels like you’re jealous of me, Zion. Like you can’t stand the thought of me being successful in my own right.”

  “Olivia, this shit ain’t got nothing to do with you being successful. I’m successful, too, so why would I be jealous?”

  Olivia smirked at that remark. “You’re successful illegally, Zion. There’s a difference between being a drug dealer and being the head of a company.”

  That hurt, but Zion didn’t let it show. Lately, Olivia had been nagging him more than ever about going legit. As she prepared to launch her brand globally, she was nervous about how his lifestyle might threaten the success of her company. If, for any reason, his hustle got in the way of her chance at independence, she would be livid. She had been begging him to abandon his position as a cocaine distributor and do something legal, something safe that wouldn’t threaten her own livelihood.

  “So now you call me a drug dealer—”

  “That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

  Zion didn’t answer. This was the real problem. He felt that Olivia had forgotten where she came from. “You were a drug dealer, too,” he reminded her. “You used to cook that shit up better than anybody. You used to drive up and down I-95 just as much as I did, with the same amount of shit in the trunk; carried the same guns, served the same customers as me.”

  Olivia hadn’t forgotten. Together they had made a lot of money before Olivia and Lamin focused their attention on legitimate ways of getting paid. Lamin had parlayed his success on the street into a visual production company, while Olivia had worked as a top stylist in the entertainment industry. Zion, however, had never made any secret of his love for the streets. It was a part of him and he had no intention of changing.

  She sounded slightly ashamed of her past as she answered. “You’re right. But the difference between me and you is that I’ve grown. I learned from my mistakes and grew up. You’re still out there doing the same shit you been doing since the nineties, Zion!”

  “I told you years ago that this is who I am. This is what I do. Get out of the game and do what?”

  “You can do all kinds of things, baby.” Olivia’s voice was pleading. “You can’t possibly believe that all you were put on this earth to do is hustle.”

  “There’s nothing else I want to do,” he answered honestly. “I never had no other dreams, no other goals. Just succeed in this game, and that’s it. And I’ve done that. I’m good at it. I’m not changing who I am. But you?” Zion pointed his finger at her accusingly. “You forgot where you came from.”

  “I’ll never forget where I came from,” she said.

  Zion laughed. “You’re standing here calling me a drug dealer, emphasizing the fact that my money is earned illegally. But when you met me, I was the same ole Zion—selling drugs, packing heat, maneuvering from state to state. I haven’t changed—but you changed a whole lot.”

  Olivia laughed now. “I changed?” She thought about it. “I guess I did. That’s what we’re supposed to do. But instead you want to keep living life in the fast lane like that shit is still cute. I’m not the same young girl that was turned on by you strapping your gun into yo
ur holster each morning and going out there with your life on the line. I don’t think that shit is sexy anymore—rolling the dice with the Feds to see if you can make one more score without getting caught. Adiva is eleven years old. How do you think she’ll feel if you go to jail?”

  “I’m not going back to jail.” Zion’s tone was flat and sincere.

  “Dead, then. How do you think your daughter will feel standing at your grave site, knowing that the fast life was more important to you than she was?”

  “Nothing is more important to me than Adiva.”

  Olivia looked skeptical. “The allure of this fucking drug game is more important to you than anything,” she hissed. “I’m working so hard for us, Zion. I want us to have more than just a drug empire to call our own. I want to have something to pass down to Adiva besides some street cred.” Olivia threw up her hands in frustration. “We’re not even married, after all these years!”

  Zion frowned. “Why you wanna be married to a drug dealer?” he asked, facetiously.

  Olivia shook her head. “I don’t know why,” she answered, honestly. She was beginning to wonder if her relationship with Zion had run its course. “But what I do know is that I’ve been with you since we were kids. 1992 was a long time ago.” She shook her head at the thought of all the years she’d been with him, and no ring, no proposal. “I must be a fool to still be waiting around for a ring after all this time.”

  “I don’t think that’s the problem,” he said. “We could get married tomorrow and there’s still gonna be problems. Look at Lamin and Dream.” Zion didn’t want to go down this road again. He didn’t understand what the need for marriage was if two people loved each other and committed themselves to being together. The last thing he wanted now was to revisit the subject of taking a trip down the aisle.

  “We’re getting off the topic,” he said. “All I’m saying is you need to spend more time at home with us so we can work on everything as a family.” Zion felt a little bit like a bitch as he said it. He felt like lately he was always nagging Olivia for her time, for her attention; like the roles had been reversed in their relationship.

  As if reading his mind, Olivia rolled her eyes. “You don’t even sound like the Zion I know right now.”

  He nodded. She was right. He picked his jacket up off the chair and strolled out the door. He wasn’t the Zion she had come to know. In fact, he had no idea what happened to the man he once was. The Zion that made no apologies for who he was and how he made his money; the Zion that answered to no one. He was determined to rediscover that part of himself, now more than ever.

  * * *

  Sunny was in her California hotel suite getting dressed for her reunion with Sean, and was having a really hard time deciding what to wear. The problem was that one never knew what to expect with Sean. He hadn’t divulged where they were going that evening, so she didn’t know what to put on. She decided to wear a tiny, black, strapless silk romper and a pair of black sandals. She wore her hair loose and packed a white bikini into her tiny purse for good measure. It was L.A., after all, and one never knew when a swimsuit would be called for.

  She put on a little makeup, spritzed a little Gucci Envy across her body and went downstairs to meet the driver Sean had sent over for her. To Sunny’s surprise, the driver was a rather well-endowed sister who ushered Sunny into the back of a black Maybach. Sunny got comfortable and the woman introduced herself once she was behind the wheel.

  “My name is Roxy. I’m Mr. Hardy’s driver and he instructed me to make sure you sit back and relax, and that you arrive with a smile on your face.” Roxy smiled at Sunny as if to demonstrate what was expected of her.

  “Where are we going?” Sunny asked, smiling already.

  “To HardyHood, Mr. Hardy’s estate in Pasadena. He’s hosting a party tonight.”

  Sunny’s own smile started to fade. “HardyHood? Well, Roxy, I have to be back here for a breakfast meeting at ten A.M. That means you have to make sure to get me back here in one piece.” Sunny knew how Sean’s parties could get. On more than one occasion in years past, she had ushered guests out of his home while he lay passed out upstairs having drank too much.

  Roxy winked at her. “I gotcha,” she said. “Don’t worry. You New Yorkers think Pasadena is far away but it’s like going from Brooklyn to Queens.”

  Sunny laughed, impressed by Roxy’s knowledge of New York’s geography. “You must be a former New Yorker.”

  Roxy nodded. “Mr. Hardy—Sean, as I’m sure you call him—is my cousin.” Roxy smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “I’m from the Boogie Down.”

  Sunny smiled back, nodding. “A Bronx girl.” This made sense. She recalled that Sean had always had a steady stream of relatives on his payroll, all of them depending on him for their own livelihood. It had been one of the things he and Sunny had in common. She could see that moving to L.A. hadn’t offered Sean an escape from the trappings of success.

  Sunny sat back and listened to Biggie playing on the radio and remembered a time when this would have been unheard of—blasting B.I.G. in L.A. The East Coast/West Coast beef was long gone and so were the days when Sunny had been Bonnie to some man’s Clyde. These days, she was living life on her own terms. At last, she was in control.

  Sunny watched the sunset as they cruised through traffic easily. Despite her usual preference for silent drivers, she and Roxy fell into easy conversation as they drove along. They discussed Sean’s search for a new agent, the whole family’s move out to the West Coast on a permanent basis while he weighed his options. Sunny was happy to learn that Sean had kept a low profile upon entering Cali’s society. She had heard how easy it was to get caught up in the fast lane out here.

  It seemed that they arrived at Sean’s estate in no time. To say HardyWood was extravagant would be an understatement. The iron gates that shielded the entrance to the opulent grounds swung open at the touch of a magnetized key card Roxy held up to the sensor. They drove up to the front of the mansion and Sunny could hear music pumping, laughter from inside. Roxy turned to her and smiled.

  “Okay, well, here we are. I hope you walk in there with a big smile on your face like Sean expects you to. Enjoy yourself, and I’ll see you in the morning to take you back.”

  Sunny thanked Roxy and climbed out of the car, adjusting her clothes before trotting up the stairs and through the front door of Sean’s home. As soon as she entered, her jaw dropped.

  Waitresses in body paint circled the room and the place was packed with people. The house itself was incredible. A spiral staircase leading upstairs was lined with beautiful people lingering about, drinking and laughing and enjoying themselves. A deejay was set up at the far end of the room, a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows providing his scenic backdrop. Sunny drifted into the room and smiled at the faces smiling back at her. She looked around for Sean, but didn’t see him anywhere.

  A handsome, European-looking man with a deep tan smiled at Sunny and she returned the gesture. “What a party!” she said. “And what an amazing house!”

  He nodded. “Sean’s Realtor is the most sought after in town.” The man extended his hand. “Ross Leon,” he introduced himself. “I’m Sean’s Realtor.”

  Sunny’s smile widened. “Well,” she said. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “Get your hands off my future wife,” a voice bellowed behind them. Sunny turned to see Sean approaching them with a smile on his face. He greeted her with a big bear hug and smiled at Ross. “Welcome to Cali,” he said to Sunny. “I decided to throw a party to celebrate you coming to town, me getting a new deal—hopefully—and acquiring this fine piece of real estate.” Sean held up his glass to toast and Ross happily joined him. Sunny had no drink yet, so Sean summoned a passing waitress and grabbed a glass of champagne off the platter she held. Handing it to Sunny, he raised his glass in toast once again. “To old friends and new beginnings.”

  Sunny clinked glasses with them and sipped her champagne. She looked around the party at a
ll the people dancing and having a good time. “I’m happy for you, Sean,” she said, honestly. “This is a great house. And I’m sure you’re gonna find an agent soon.”

  Sean nodded. “I’m not worried about it. I had a bad season, but I’m back stronger than ever. I’m ready to win a ring.” He waved at a friend across the room, flashing his killer smile that had won him a ton of endorsements throughout his career. Sunny wondered what he was really thinking, though, as he spent money the way he was doing now with no football contract to fall back on. She hoped he was being smart.

  Sunny sipped another glass of champagne, but what she longed for was something a little stronger. She hadn’t dared to travel with her Percocets since she didn’t have a prescription for them. In post-9/11 America, security at airports was intense. Ever since she’d landed, she had been longing for something to mellow her out, something to help quiet the thoughts in her head.

  The deejay was good and the guests danced and sang along, laughing and having a good time. Sean looked at Sunny and smiled.

  “You look good, girl!”

  “Thank you,” she said. “You look good, too.” She meant it. Sean wore a pair of black shorts, his calf muscles prominent. His wifebeater, black sweat socks and Nike sandals completed his ensemble. “This is a beautiful house!” Sunny said, looking around. “Too big for just you, though,” she observed.

  Sean was beaming. “Six bedrooms, five bathrooms, a media room and a grotto. Who could ask for anything more? I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

  Sunny smiled and clinked glasses with Sean. But inwardly, she didn’t believe him. She recognized the look in his eyes; the look that told the true story of having money and fame and still coming up empty. She was all too familiar with that feeling.

  Sean left her to go and mingle with his other guests. Sunny people-watched in the room she was in for a while before she decided to go on a tour of the expansive house. She started down a long corridor, which led to a pool area. She saw a few “cougars”—older women on the prowl—out there in their bathing suits and was glad she had brought her own bikini, which was tucked inside her little bag. She planned to put it on and shut it down in a little while. Next, she ventured up the long, winding staircase where many of the revelers stood mingling and talking. The higher she climbed, the stronger the smell of marijuana became.