by RM Johnson
“I’m gonna let the fool know where to get off. I told Monica she ain’t going over there alone. She said she was planning on me coming anyway. That’s why she told me about it.”
“I wish I could be there for that one. The rematch of Lewis versus Nate. Waters versus Kenny Two! If that was on pay-perview, I’d go ahead and drop the fifty dollars.”
“And it’d be worth it,” Lewis said, drinking the last of his orange soda. “Because if that fool steps out of line in the least, I’m gonna knock his head off.”
19
Monica walked into her third Aero store at 12:30 P.M. She had checked into her two other stores, the one up north and the other on the West Side, before walking into the Michigan Avenue flagship location. This was the one she liked the most and spent the most time in.
She had bought the stores nine months ago when the aging, overworked Italian owner said he was too old for the business and wanted to sell.
Monica had more than enough money after the divorce and wanted more to do with her time than just punch a clock and take orders, so she spent the money. She rearranged the stores, changed them from being just fine men’s clothing stores to stores that also offered spa services from manicures and pedicures to massages, all given by beautiful women.
In the redesigning of the flagship store, she did not change much of anything. She kept the loft decor the same, the exposed brick walls and the cedar ceiling, the thick pillars running overhead. The hardwood floors stayed in place, along with all the distressed leather furniture. Monica had all black and gray fixtures installed, either ceramic or marble, in the spa section. It contrasted sharply with the wood and brick, the warm reds and browns of the clothing area, which Monica liked immensely.
At half past noon, the store was already bustling, a little under a dozen customers browsed through the suit racks, while another two clients were being led back to the spa area by Lucy, a college student who worked there part-time.
“Miss Monica,” Roland, the clothing receptionist, called in a sing-songy tone from his perch, raised two feet above floor level.
Monica climbed the four stairs up to Roland, who answered calls, greeted clients, and rang up the occasional customer when it got really busy.
She accepted the squeeze and kiss on both cheeks she always got from him. “How’s everything today?” Monica asked, flipping through some papers at his work station.
“Floating like a swan on a placid river.”
“Roland, you are a poet. When are you going to write a book?”
The man blushed, fanning his face with his hand as if to cool his warming cheeks. “Miss Monica, you say the sweetest things. But you know I’m a dancer. My life belongs to the stage.”
“And rightfully so,” Monica said, patting Roland on the hand. “Where’s your boss?”
“Tabatha’s in the back, eating lunch. For the past hour and sixteen minutes.”
Monica smiled. “I’ll tell her to come out and relieve you.” She headed down the brick-walled hallway that led to her office.
Tabatha sat at her desk, her stockinged feet up, reading an Esquire magazine, fast food trash scattered around her. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Roland,” Tabatha said, not looking up from the magazine. “I’ll be done with lunch in a minute.”
Monica walked over, took the magazine out of Tabatha’s hands, and tossed it on her own desk. “You’re done now.”
“Oh, what’s up, boss? Good to see you back. How are you?”
“Wonderful,” Monica said, walking to her desk, sitting down in her leather chair, and lifting the top of her computer.
“Really,” Tabatha said, sounding skeptical.
“Really,” Monica said, tapping on the keyboard.
Tabatha got up, walked over, and stood in front of Monica’s desk, as if trying to find a lie in what she was saying. “What happened?”
“Lewis came back.”
“Really. And that’s it?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it?”
“Oh, yeah. And we’ve decided to get married.”
Tabatha took a step back, turned in a circle, and then looked down at Monica again. “What does that man bring?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What does he bring to the table, besides his needs, his mistakes, his regrets, his apologies, and oh, yeah, his daughter to feed and take care of?”
“Don’t,” Monica said, pointing at Tabatha. “I love that little girl like she was my own.”
“I know. And maybe that’s part of the plan.”
Monica chuckled. “There is no plan, Tab. It’s just this man and his daughter, trying to make it.”
“That’s right, and he’s using you to do it. How much money did you give him today for lunch, or for some new tennis shoes, or maybe a new PlayStation Three game? I know how bad you wanted a kid, but I don’t think he should be both your child and your man.”
Monica stood up, stone faced, glaring at her best friend, finding none of what she said funny in the least. “Go home, Tabatha.”
“What?”
“I think you had enough of work today, or to be more precise, I’ve had enough of you. Come back when you’ve learned that shit is supposed to come out your ass, not your mouth.”
“Monica, I’m sorry. But I think I see what it is, and I don’t want my girl getting taken advantage of. That’s all, understand?” Tabatha said, stepping around the desk to Monica and opening her arms. “I care for you. If I don’t have your back, who will?”
Monica stepped into Tabatha’s arms and they embraced.
“And I’m not going anywhere,” Tabatha said. “Even with Super Roland, it’s too busy out there, and you know this store just ain’t the same without me.”
“Okay,” Monica said. “But don’t be talking about that man and his daughter like they’re nobody. This is my situation now, and despite what you think, I love Lewis, and this is going to work. Alright?”
“You got it, boss,” Tabatha said.
20
Nate cut out of work early in order to get back home to prepare for Monica’s visit the following night. Still wearing his work slacks and a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, he sat in the den with his son.
The phone had rung ten minutes ago in the middle of his playtime with Nathaniel. Nate hadn’t bothered picking up the phone, for he knew Mrs. Weatherly would retrieve the call. A few seconds later, a knock came at the den door.
“Mr. Kenny, it’s Ms. Coleman on the phone for you. Would you like to take it?”
“Yes, Mrs. Weatherly,” Nate said. “I’ll take it in here. Thank you.”
Daphanie had only been away in London for three days on business for the pharmaceutical company she worked for. Nate found himself missing her more than he would have ever thought.
Maybe because even though they did not live together, over the course of their four-month relationship, more and more of Daphanie’s personal belongings had found their way over to Nate’s house, and they had recently been spending the better part of the entire week together. Nate had even given her a key to the house. She was a good woman.
“No, I’m not doing anything I’m not supposed to,” Nate said, smiling as he spoke into the phone. “And how about you? I know those Englishmen would love to get their hands on a fine American woman like you.”
“They can’t have what’s not available,” Daphanie said.
“Really?”
“Really.”
She went silent for a long moment.
“You okay over there?” Nate asked.
“It’s night, you know. And I’m in bed wearing nothing, my legs spread, and I can’t do anything but think about you.”
Nate felt a twinge in his pants, thought about the night before Daphanie left. An image of her underneath him, legs open, her breasts jumping each time he pushed himself into her.
“I want you so much right now,” Daphanie said, her voice raspy.
Nate was
almost lost in that voice, till he turned and saw his son staring right into his eyes. “Uh, Daphanie…yeah, we need to do this another time. Maybe when little ears aren’t around.”
“Oops. Sorry. Nathaniel’s right there?”
“Yup.”
“Let me talk to my sweetheart.”
Nate held out the phone to his son. “Someone wants to speak to you.”
Nathaniel placed the side of his face to the phone, listened, and then smiled brightly. “Hi, Ms. Daphanie…yes…yes. I’m fine. Okay…okay. I miss you, too. Bye-bye.”
Nate took the phone back.
“I love that little boy,” Daphanie said. “I’m going to let you two get back to business, cause I have some immediate business of my own I have to attend to in order to get to sleep.”
“Don’t have too much fun without me.”
“Never, sweetheart. I love you, baby,” Daphanie said, sincerely.
“I love you, too.” Nate said, then hung up the phone.
He picked up one of the dozen or so photos he had of Monica that were spread out on the table before him. Some were of the both of them during vacations they had taken while they were still married, others were of her just posing, pretending to be a model. And the last few were shots Nate had taken of Monica in black and white.
Nate held one of the photos before his son, as he had done with the others before Daphanie called.
“Now who is this, again?” Nate asked Nathaniel.
The little boy looked at the photo, then at his father, and smiled silently.
“This is your mommy. Say it with me. ‘Mommy’,” Nate said slowly. “‘Mommy’.”
Still Nathaniel did not respond.
It would take a while, Nate told himself.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Nate said.
The door opened, and in came Tim, Nate’s younger brother by two years. They could have been twins, save for the three inches Nate had on Tim, and Tim’s slightly broader nose and shorter hair.
Tim was a writer. He had only authored a handful of magazine articles and several drafts of a novel until he’d finally gotten a publisher to buy his first manuscript two months ago.
Nate and Tim had been very close until last year, when Tim went behind Nate’s back and told Monica everything—the entire scam that Nate was running on her. At first Nate had thought that if it wasn’t for his brother, Monica would never have found out about his scheme, and subsequently, Nate never would have lost those millions of dollars. He was planning on never forgiving Tim, on cutting him from his life. Then Nate found out that the fool Lewis had admitted everything to Monica anyway. It only lessened Nate’s anger toward his brother a bit. But Nate decided to keep speaking to Tim, to consider the man his brother, even though Nate still harbored anger toward him for his betrayal.
“What you up to?” Tim said, looking down at the scattered photos of Monica after picking up his nephew and holding him in his arms.
“Rehearsing,” Nate said, standing and gathering the pictures.
“For what?”
“I’m having a meeting with Monica tomorrow night, and when he sees her, I want Nathaniel to call her Mommy.”
Tim was silent, his mouth falling slightly open.
Nate could look at his brother and know what was running through his self-righteous mind. He called for Mrs. Weatherly.
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to go through with what you were considering,” Tim said.
“Yes, Mr. Kenny?” Mrs. Weatherly said, appearing at the door.
“Can you take Nathaniel, please?”
Mrs. Weatherly stepped in and eased Nathaniel from Tim’s arms, then closed the door behind them.
“In answer to your question,” Nate said, lowering himself into a leather armchair, “I have decided to go ahead with it.”
“You shouldn’t have gone after Tori. But you said that would be it.”
“I changed my mind.”
“What is wrong with you? You were the one who started all that nonsense with trying to get Monica to cheat. And now that she did, which made her divorce you, you’re still pissed off because you have to give her the money she deserves.”
“I didn’t force her to divorce me,” Nate said, his legs crossed, trying to remain calm. “I asked her to stay. Asked her to put aside everything that had happened, but she wouldn’t. And I didn’t start anything. It all started because she lied to me about being able to get pregnant. And I can’t let her get away with that and collect fifteen million dollars from me.”
“And what do you plan on doing? You can’t get the money back.”
“I can try. And if I can’t, I’ll do as much damage to her as possible.”
Tim shook his head. “Please don’t do this. You have a son now, and what about Daphanie? You have a woman who loves you. You have everything, but you’re just angry because you got caught.”
Nate practically leapt out of his chair, racing across the room into his brother’s face, pointing a finger. “I didn’t get caught. You told her! And because of that, I lose millions of dollars. You were supposed to be my fucking brother!”
“I was. I still am,” Tim said, looking Nate directly in the eye.
They held each other’s stare for a moment, Nate breathing hard through his nose, before he turned away.
“I appreciate your concern,” Nate said, sitting again. “But I know what I’m doing. I got what I wanted from Tori, and I’ll do the same with Monica.”
“But you’re using your son.”
“He’ll understand when he gets a little older. He’ll be fine, and Daphanie will never know anything about this. It’ll all be over before she gets back in the country.”
“You sure?”
“Positive,” Nate said.
21
Freddie woke up in his dark basement apartment.
It was only 7:30 P.M., but the foil he had taped to all the windows kept his space in a state of perpetual darkness, allowing him to sleep whenever he chose without dealing with the unwanted sunlight.
He had woken up angry.
Kia was beside him, still napping.
He wasn’t mad at her but at what she had told him while they were lying naked together after making love.
Freddy had noticed that while he held her, kissed her, caressed her, there seemed something deep on her mind. Afterward, she lay off to his side, cradling herself.
“He said he won’t continue to pay for my school if I keep seeing you,” Kia finally told Freddy after he continued to pry.
“What the hell is wrong with your father? First he tries to get you to abort our baby, now he saying he doesn’t want you seeing me anymore. Why?”
“You know what he keeps saying.”
“What?”
“It’s all bullshit anyway.”
“What’s he saying?” Freddy said.
“That you have nothing, come from nothing, and won’t ever amount to anything.”
Kia came from money. Freddy wasn’t supposed to be with her.
They’d met at a club near the University of Illinois, where she went to school.
Kia was studying law there, wanted to go into public service. She was all about providing for the poor and underprivileged. Her father wanted her to come and work for his high-powered firm, doing corporate law. He held that over Kia’s head, along with so many other things, trying to get her to be the exact daughter he wanted her to be.
Freddy knew she was probably only attracted to him because she was angry with her father, wanted to lash out at him, hurt him. She knew dating a so-called loser like Freddy would be the way.
Freddy didn’t expect much from the relationship in the beginning, assuming she was using him. Freddy figured he was doing well just to be able to hit the fine piece this woman was, the type of woman he would never normally even come in contact with. But the more time Kia and Freddy spent together, the stronger their feelings became. Now two years later, here
they were.
“I need to confront that motherfucking father of yours.”
“No! All that’ll do is make things worse.”
“You don’t trust that I’ll be able to talk to him on his level?”
“I’m not saying that. It’s just that the last time you two met, you almost got into a damn fistfight.”
“I could’ve took him,” Freddy said, softly. “Those things your father says about me, you don’t believe them, do you?”
“No. Never.”
“’Cause I told you, I’m gonna make something of myself. I’m going to take care of my family.”
“And I’m going to get through school.”
“But how?”
“Loans. Financial aid. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.” Kia slid closer to him, wrapped her arms around Freddy’s neck, kissed him softly, and they fell asleep.
Now, Freddy woke up angry, thinking about all that had been said. But sitting up, he listened for movement. He heard nothing, which wasn’t good.
Wherever his mother went, she was always back by six P.M., six-thirty at the latest, and Freddy knew this job interview would be no different. She was afraid to be out later than that, having to take public transportation at night.
It seemed almost every night on the news, there was some report about a senior citizen getting robbed somewhere in the area.
Freddy reached over, grabbed his cell phone off the nightstand. He hadn’t heard it ring, but he scrolled through his log of missed calls just in case.
His mother had not phoned.
Freddy jumped out of bed, grabbed his clothes from the floor, and started putting them on.
Kia awakened and rolled over, groggy. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“I ain’t heard Moms come in yet, and she hasn’t called me.”
“Maybe you just didn’t hear her walk in. Or maybe she just missed her bus or something.”
“I’m gonna check,” Freddy said, pushing his arms through a T-shirt and stretching the neck over his head.
“Just call her.”
“Yeah. Okay, I will,” Freddy said, leaning into the bed and giving Kia a quick kiss on the lips.
