The vibrator on his BlackBerry went off at the same time the door opened. He hit the text-message button: Police, man—get out the studio!
But it was too late. They were already parting the men in the studio like Moses did the Red Sea. Even Shabach’s bodyguard moved like a punk, raising his hands in a “Man, what can I do?” gesture.
Shabach was cool. Whatever this was couldn’t be that serious. Probably a warrant on a traffic violation. It wouldn’t surprise him if his accountant had failed to pay the speeding ticket he’d recently gotten in Atlanta. I’ll dock Junior’s pay for this, for real!
The engineer stopped the music just as the first officer reached Shabach’s chair.
“Yes, officers,” Shabach said as he smiled and looked from one officer to the other. “What can we do for you?”
“Are you Joseph Reubens?”
Shabach looked around at his buddies and laughed. Only a handful of people outside Atlanta knew his real name. A couple joined in with nervous laughter of their own.
“I’m Shabach, baby, you heard?”
“Are you Joseph ‘Shabach’ Reubens?” Their was an underlying sarcasm to the officer’s voice. The second officer’s hand went to the handle of his gun, and rested there. Two more cops entered the room. This is a lot of heat for a traffic warrant. Normally the room was considered large for a studio, but right now it felt so crowded Shabach could hardly breathe.
Shabach stared at the cop who’d asked the question. The cop next to him began easing his gun out of the holster.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever man. I’m Joseph. So what’s up?”
“You’re under arrest.”
“For what?” Of course, Shabach already knew about the ticket, but he wanted to make sure his buddies understood to stay cool, that he had this.
“For sexual assault against a minor. Now get up!”
“Sexual assault—what the hell? Man, get these handcuffs off me. I haven’t assaulted anybody!”
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney—”
“Call my attorney, man!” Shabach shouted to his bass player.
“If you don’t have an attorney, one can be appointed—”
The silence screamed as the door slammed behind the officers who’d just taken Shabach away.
“Man, that’s fucked up,” someone finally said.
“This is some bullshit, man. All the pussy that gets thrown at your boy? Ain’t no way he’s going down for something like this. Just some female trying to make rent next month, take a brothah down as usual.”
“You right about that,” the bass player said as he took out his phone and headed for the door. “I’m getting ready to call his lawyer now. He’ll probably be out by morning.”
The engineer nodded and reached for a knob. Soon Shabach’s defiant voice filled the room.
“Beat-down, beat-down for the devil,
Got a fist for the mist who is always causing
trouble …”
67
Counting Blessings
Stacy watched as Bo played with Darius Jr. Every time Bo made a face, her son would squeal with joy.
“My son really likes you.”
“Well, you know what they say,” Bo quipped. “Like father, like son.”
“Oh, God, don’t make me lose my lunch.”
“C’mon now,” Darius said, putting a casual arm around Stacy’s shoulders. “Bo spent too much time slaving in the kitchen for you to throw up his food.”
“Girlfriend knows she better not act a fool. That lobster was twenty dollars a pound!” Bo said.
“Forget you, heifah!” Stacy replied.
“No, you’re the cow.”
“All right, all right, that’s enough. None of that arguing and name calling in front of my son. Come here, little man. Come here to Daddy.”
Darius Jr. squealed and ran over to his father, who was sitting next to Stacy and Bo on the couch. Darius picked him up and placed him on his lap as Stacy watched. Bo reached for a magazine and began idly flipping through. It wasn’t the typical family scenario playing across America on this late May afternoon, but it was the one that now seemed perfectly normal in the Crenshaw household.
Stacy was content, something she thought she’d never be in a house with both Darius and Bo in it … at the same time. But her life had seldom played out as expected. Next to getting cancer, getting Tony—or any other man besides Darius—had been the last thing on her mind just a little over six short months ago. And now here she was, about to get married, and actually getting along with not only her baby daddy but his “wife” too.
“Where’s the remote!” Bo’s high-pitched question shattered the peaceful mood.
Stacy and Darius looked at the television, which had been on mute, at the same time. Shabach’s face was on the screen behind an anchorwoman reporting a story.
Darius reached between the cushions for the remote and turned off the mute.
“… best known in gospel hip-hop circles for his platinum-selling album, Beat Down for the Devil. If found guilty of these sexual-assault charges, Joseph Reubens could spend the next twenty years behind bars. Reporting live from downtown Los Angeles, I’m …”
“God don’t like ugly, and ugly just got his.” Bo was pacing back and forth in the living room. “I told you, baby. I told you they’d get his sorry behind.”
Darius turned his stunned look from the television to Bo. “Did you do this, Bo? Did you talk to somebody and get ’Bach arrested?”
“Hell, no! But I would have if given the opportunity.”
Darius shook his head. “That’s messed up, man.”
“Why? What he’s experiencing now is exactly what he was ready to put you through—bad press.”
“No, what he’s experiencing is worse than my coming out could ever cause. Cy once told me sixteen could get you twenty… .”
“I can’t believe it,” Stacy mumbled.
She hugged Darius Jr. as he crawled from his father into her lap. Moments like these made her count her blessings and remember that no matter how bad it had ever looked for her, somebody somewhere was facing something worse.
68
A Different Appetite
Gabriel laughed. Frieda was at it again, mimicking the nurses and other associates he worked with at the hospital. Her impersonation of Amber was spot on, the way she batted her eyes while sidling up to Gabriel at the nurses’ station in an overt flirtation she tried to pass off as nonchalant. Problem was, everyone in the entire hospital knew Amber was in love with Gabriel and longed to assist him with more than surgery.
“Gabe, are you sure you don’t have time for a salad?” Frieda aped in a pseudo-suburbanite flair. “I could bring it to your office.” Frieda finished the statement with an exaggerated wink. That she did these impersonations nude in his locked facility office added to the preposterousness of the situation.
Gabriel’s pager buzzed. He didn’t even have to look at it to know it meant time was up. Back to work. He followed Frieda into the shower, and after a quick yet thorough performing of ablutions, swatted her playfully on the behind.
“Come on—out, you. I have to go.” Gabriel stepped out of the shower and began toweling off.
“You go ahead,” Frieda said. “I’ll lock up.”
“How many times do I have to tell you I prefer not to leave you in the office. This is not a social suite, and if the wrong person found you here it could mean trouble for both me and/or the hospital.”
“All right, all right.” Frieda quickly rinsed off the soap, grabbed the towel Gabriel had abandoned, and dried herself. As usual, dressing was quick. She purposely wore as little as possible on these visits, allowing the time-constrained doctor easy access for the office quickies he’d come to look forward to with anticipation and enjoy. Not even the fact that he was fodder for the rumor mill was enough to discourage Frieda’s visits, though he
did try to limit them to thirty minutes or so. No, the truth was, Frieda energized him, and the sexual release provided a release of tension that led to greater focus when he went back to work. In short, she was good for him. Even if he did have to limit her on-the-job pick-me-ups to short doses.
“And just for the record, I’m still quite angry with you.”
“Why?” Frieda asked coyly.
“You know why. I always practice safe sex; you’re a bad influence.”
“I told you I’m not fucking nobody but you.”
“Frieda …”
“Okay, screwing, making love to, having coital relations with—is that better?”
“That’s not the point.”
“No, the point is you pulled out, nuckah. Ain’t no baby-daddy action happening here. Life’s too short, and I’ve got too much to do.”
Gabriel opened the door. “Really, Frieda. Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Frieda struggled with the straps on her four-inch sandals. “Go on, Gabriel. I have to pee anyway. I’ll be out in five minutes, promise.”
Gabriel’s huff was more chagrin that he had to leave than anger she was staying. “Look, just don’t forget to—”
“Lock the door,” she finished.
Frieda blew him a kiss, finished fastening her sandal, and hurried into the bathroom. When she was ready to pull up her lacy thong panties, she had a second thought, took them off, and smoothed down her tight, midthigh skirt. She turned off the bathroom light, walked over to Gabriel’s desk, left her present in a drawer she knew he’d open, and sashayed out of her man’s office, locking the door behind her.
Minutes later, Frieda eased her new BMW into Beverly Hills traffic. She loved this recent gift from Gabriel—the smooth way it handled in traffic and most importantly how good it made her look while navigating the streets of LA. The custom beige color was a perfect complement to her mocha skin, and she always made sure to wear colors that coordinated with the vehicle. She was the significant other of a doctor. Baby girl had to represent!
She turned on the satellite radio. Tupac’s voice filled the car’s interior and took her back to Kansas City and a much different time in her life.
“Me against the world, I got nuttin to lose just me against the world baby …”
The memories this song invoked were from another lifetime when she’d lived in a small apartment in an increasingly neglected area of Kansas City, near 27th and Paseo, and dated men who’s annual salaries were half of what Gabriel made per month. When her hangouts were clubs on Prospect and Troost, and if anybody got cut, it was not in the throes of surgery. Frieda hadn’t been unhappy then. She just hadn’t known there were levels to happiness and that she could aspire to and achieve a higher level. Frieda changed the channel—much like the move to California had changed her life.
“Speak, fool.” Frieda turned down the music as her Bluetooth beeped.
“I’m in town, baby.”
“Giorgio! You were supposed to call me.”
“I wasn’t sure I was coming. My agent didn’t reach me until this morning.”
“Oh, and where were you, between somebody’s legs?”
“I’d rather be between yours. I’m at the Four Seasons waiting on you. That’s what’s up.”
“No, what’s up is that log between your legs. Meet me in the restaurant.”
Frieda made a U-turn and headed back down Beverly Boulevard. Only now did she realize she’d worked up an appetite. She hoped Giorgio was hungry as well and that he’d believe her when she told him the food on the menu was all he was going to eat.
69
The Proverbial Straw
“Oh, girl, thanks so much for rescuing me. I couldn’t take being in that house one more day!”
“Please, no worries. It just gives me an excuse to shop.”
“And your going shopping gives me an excuse to surprise Cy at the office.”
Hope smiled and looked back at the lunch she’d prepared for her busy hubby. She was blessed and knew it. He was caring and attentive and had shown real interest in understanding what pregnant women went through. That he’d read several of her baby books had won him brownie-andchocolate-chip points. She’d responded by trying to control her feelings more, stop yelling at him, and practice prayer and meditation as a way to keep her feelings positive. She’d also hired a yoga instructor and chiropractor, both of whom had employed methods that greatly relieved her back pain. Besides constant trips to the restroom and limited walking, she felt almost like her old self again, plus sixty pounds.
Hope turned from the sunny June landscape and eyed Stacy speculatively. “I still can’t believe you’ve changed your plans for a big wedding and moved up the date. Are you sure there isn’t something you want to tell me?”
Stacy shot Hope a surprised look. “Like what?”
“Look, girl. I would totally understand if you and Tony have become intimate. Goodness knows my months of celibacy while living with Cy were the hardest months of my life. Even so, we, you know, played around a lot and several times came close to doing the do.”
Stacy looked over at Hope but remained silent.
“I guess what I’m … Now I feel silly, but … is there a baby on the way?” Hope asked.
“A baby? Is that what you think this is about? Tony and I moving our wedding date up because we’re pregnant?” Stacy’s laugh was genuine and continued until she had to wipe away tears. “If you, one of my closest friends in the world, is thinking that, I wonder who else is thinking it. Have you talked to Sistah Viv?”
“No, I haven’t talked to anyone.”
“Not even Frieda?”
“Well, we did discuss it a little.”
“Y’all heifahs. You’ve been talking about me behind my back, thinking I’m getting my groove on, when I told you we were going to wait.”
“I’m sorry, Stacy.”
“And you should be.” She softened her tone and continued. “But I’m too happy to let a little gossip bother me. The simple truth is, we don’t want to wait another six months, either to be married or to have sex. We’re both grown and know what we want, and more than a grand wedding, we want a grand marriage. What you don’t know because we didn’t tell anybody is we’ve been in counseling with the Montgomerys for the past two months and will continue even after we’re married. That’s what’s most important to us. Not that I have the right ring or the right dress but that I have the right man and that we’re getting married for the right reasons.”
Now it was Hope’s turn to give Stacy a questioning look.
“Yes, sex is one of those reasons.”
“C’mon now, ’cause a sistah can only take so much of your holy hem-hawing before you get real and break it down!” Hope laughed.
“It’s been so hard to hug that body and not be able to—”
“Baby, you don’t have to tell me twice. I’ve been there.”
“And then the other night I accidentally walked in on him after he’d come out of the shower… .”
“Uh-huh.”
“Girl, I had to leave his house.”
“Stop!”
“For real, girl. I couldn’t see him for two whole days. That’s how long it took my cootchie to calm down.”
Stacy wheeled her car into the Century City office building’s circular drive. “You sure you don’t want me to wait on you?”
“Not at all. I talked to Cy earlier, so I know he’s here. Besides, you’re only going to be a couple hours, right?”
“Tops. I just need to go by my wedding-planner’s office and drop off these swatches. Thank you so much for recommending her; she’s been a life-saver.”
“It’s the least I can do, as I can’t be a maid of honor in the true sense of the word.”
“You’re perfect. Now scoot.”
Hope waddled through the revolving doors and up to the elevator. She’d been to her husband’s office only a handful of times, which made every visit that much more special. She liked
to hang out in Cy’s world from time to time—feel a part of the mover-and-shaker environment he experienced on a daily basis. Hope would be lying if she said she missed corporate America per se, but there were aspects she missed, such as the feeling of productivity and accomplishment that came from seeing a task from inception to completion. Guess that task will be my family now, she thought as she stepped off the elevator onto the thirty-third floor of the high-rise building. All in all, not a bad trade-off with a company’s bottom line.
She eased open the office door and stepped inside his outer office. His office door was open, which meant he didn’t have clients. Still, she didn’t want to interrupt him unexpectedly. She repositioned the basket on her left arm and walked widelegged to his door.
“Hey, baby—what is this?”
“Oh, this. This is nothing, absolutely nothing.” Millicent scrambled out of Cy’s office chair and from behind his desk. “I was just playing a game of solitaire while I waited—”
“Waited for what? Millicent, what are you doing in my husband’s office? And why is it you can’t seem to stay out of what I thought was his and Jack’s business?”
“That’s just it. He and Jack—”
“You know, Millicent, I’ve tried, I’ve really tried. To be a good Christian, to forgive and forget, to accept you with unconditional love. When it was clear my husband wanted to work with yours, I made up my mind to try to get along—that, like you said, while we’d probably never be friends, we could at least be civil toward one another. We’re both adults, and I vowed to act like one.”
“Really, Hope, if you’ll just let me explain—”
“When I caught you with him at the hotel in La Jolla, I jumped to conclusions. And I apologized. I came to you, woman to woman, and let it be known in no uncertain terms that I preferred my husband’s business dealings be with Jack and not you. But every time he turns around, there you are. What’s the deal, Millicent? Is Jack not laying the pipe deep enough? Do you still have some crazed and distorted fantasy about being with my man?” Hope slammed the basket down on the desk and stepped up to Millicent.
Heaven Right Here Page 26
