by Love Belvin
“Well, looky here,” I heard from a distance and glanced up from inhaling my soup to find Mike Brown. “Looks good.” His compliment hadn’t an ounce of sincerity.
Realizing I forgot to grab a napkin, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Just the guy I’ve been texting for a week with no return.”
Mike pushed off of the arched entry to the dining room and stepped in. “My bad.” He sighed, swiping his nose with his thumb. “Shit been hectic with this tour we kicked off. We just flew in from Connecticut… Hotep Black Financial. He play the Garden tomorrow night.”
I nodded politely.
“Well, I’ve been calling because”—my eyes scanned the doorway to be sure no one heard—“my uncle says his lawyer hasn’t availed himself much. He’s never seen him and only had someone from his office come visit Van once. I was about to google him to see if I could get a number. Care to save me the trouble?”
A big dude I recalled as Mike’s security came into the room.
“Oh, yeah,” Mike sounded unfazed by our new company. “I do remember that text.” There were three. “Dude ain’t my lawyer, so I ain’t got his number handy. I’ll have my assistant send it to you tomorrow.”
I nodded, happy to have addressed that issue. Van had been worried, and that concerned me.
“Anything else you need, pretty girl?” He snorted, hands gripping the back of the tall dining room chair. “Damn, I never realized how pretty you is. Right, Will?” he asked his security friend, who chuckled while shaking his head.
Even he likely realized how random and inappropriate that was. But I didn’t react to it, used to men flirting.
“There is something else.” I stuffed the last of my grilled cheese into my mouth and chewed while I spoke. I didn’t want to be “pretty” to Mike. “You haven’t helped with my music.”
“Music?” he frowned, unfamiliar with the topic.
My neck rolled. “Yeah. The one thing I ever asked of you until your proposition…”
“What about music?”
Unbelievable!
Mike convinced me he was genuinely confused, comically similar to the way his eyes would glaze over when I ran into him at Checkerboard without Van.
Head unmoving, my eyes skirted over to my laptop where I had stanzas of my latest music on display.
I smirked, slightly embarrassed, but determined. “I write, remember?”
With a creased forehead, Mike’s eyes bounced between me and the table. He couldn’t recall.
“Oh, damn! You the poet!” he shouted while scratching his head underneath his Yankees baseball cap. “I gotchu. I gotchu!”
“How?”
He began backing out of the room. “Ummm…” He tapped his temple with his middle finger. “I got a group of producers in the Bronx on the come up. They just sent Raj some tracks. I’mma have my assistant send you their info tomorrow, too.” He was almost at the door. “Matter fact, lemme hit her up now. C’mon, Will.”
And then he was gone. And so was my appetite. In my line of work, I knew a bullshitter when its tongue wagged at me. Identifying them right away could save you precious time in trying to look for jobs, schools, housing, and/or lawyers for them, because you knew they wouldn’t make use of your research. Mike Brown was a tenured bullshitter.
Just as I was closing my laptop to leave for my room, a slender frame sauntered in. Her heels clacked against the hardwood floors.
“Hey,” dragged from Myisha’s lungs.
And her shoulders, they were slumped. Never had I not seen Myisha spritely. Even our first meeting when she didn’t know if she could trust me, she had pep in her step.
“Why the sulking?” I eyed her carefully.
“Niggas, girl.” She pouted.
Her face was layed and weave, dark, long, and wavy. She sported a chic cropped electric blue blazer, highlighting her small waist. I caught a bit of the flared, black and white striped mini skirt before she plopped into a seat next to me.
“Where they at?” I jeered with a smile.
“Girl, everywhere but by my side.”
“What’s up with you?” I scoffed. “For real.” I wasn’t used to seeing her like this. And of course, it had to do with a guy. Myisha was a man-eater. “He forgot to leave a bedside note?” I laughed at my own damn joke.
Myisha didn’t. “Why do men have to be so damn egotistical and…mean?”
“I don’t know.” I stacked my plate over my laptop to make it all easy to transport. “Maybe you can ask your cousin that. He’s an asshole.”
“He’s been fucking with you already? We just got here!” She rolled her eyes. “I told him to chill when it comes to you.”
“I’m good. Being hospitable wasn’t in the contract,” I whispered.
“So sick of him and his whole crew.” She swore under her breath.
My eyes blossomed, amused. “The whole damn crew?”
Myisha drew circles into the table with her long, Tiffany blue stiletto shaped nail. “Especially when he’s a part of Raj’s band.”
I choked out a laugh. “That white guy I saw you showing your gums to backstage in Detroit?”
Her head flew into the air. “Okay. So, he’s Ukrainian. And his name is Vanda.”
“Is he your man?”
Myisha’s shoulders dropped again and her chin went back to resting on her fist. “Not yet.”
“You plotting on him?” I laughed.
Come to think of it, this was the most humor I’d had in weeks.
She giggled, no longer leaving me hanging. “He likes me, too. A lot.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Her eyes skirted around for privacy. “He thinks I’m too stuck under Raj. As if I don’t work for him like he does, just at a higher level. Shit, I get paid for what I do. I have a career!”
“What’s wrong about you working for your cousin?”
“The travel. The commitment. Vanda isn’t exclusive to Raj. He’s a touring key, not necessarily production key.”
“Key?”
“Keyboardist. He plays the keyboard for Raj’s shows like he does others.”
“Oh. That means he travels a lot.”
She nodded, taking a deep breath with wide eyes. “Yup. And he wants me with him. Even now that we’re touring with Raj, at night after the shows, I have to deal with Raj before I can… You know.” A demure smile caressed her face. If Myisha could blush she’d be burgundy. “Come out to play.”
I smiled, my eyes falling. “But you don’t ‘play,’ from my understanding.”
“I want to!” Her eyes squeezed and lips went up into a pout. “Damn, I want to! I’m just a slow rider. Can’t trust my goods to just anybody, you know.”
“Is that something your mom taught you? Does she still want you to…preserve the kitty?”
I was hella curious about this thirty-five-year-old virgin.
Myisha chuckled softly with one cheek lifted. “I wouldn’t know. She’s dead.”
“Oh!” I tucked my chin, not expecting that. I had to remember, Myisha wasn’t a friend. “I’m sorry for your loss and shouldn’t have asked.”
Her chuckle was heartier when she scoffed, “You didn’t know. No need to be sorry.” She shrugged with her lips. “I never really had a mother. She had mental issues and on top of that, got high out her mind all the damn time.” Her eyes rolled, expressing annoyance. “And I guess this is a good time to tell you, your mother-in-law died a while back, too.” Her smile was forlorn.
“My mother-in-law?”
I’m not marri—
“Raj,” she murmured, keeping her tone low.
“Oh!” My eyes closed and I shook my head to get it back in the game, trying to recover from that. “Then we are a motherless couple, aren’t we?”
“Yours, too?”
I nodded. “Since I was about eight, so I get having to figure out men without the benefit of an experienced woman. But you trust Vanda?” I tried steering us b
ack on course.
She did it again. Myisha gushed as she nodded her head. “I wanna take it there with him so damn bad, but he has to trust me. And not try to be so domineering! I’m not a clueless spring chicken.”
“You damn sure ain’t,” I thought I uttered only in my head.
“Well, damn, friend! Just make me feel worse, why don’t you!” There was humor in her tone.
I laughed as I tried to apologize. “I’m sorry. It’s just that… You’re thirty-five, Myisha! That’s insane.”
“And how much experience do you have?” she dared.
I lifted my things from the table to leave the room. “Apparently, enough for the both of us.”
Myisha howled a laugh at that. “Ah, shit! Somebody ‘bout to help me catch a fuckin’ Ukrainian shark!”
She followed me out of the dining room, into the kitchen, and from the kitchen all the way to my room where she stayed for hours yapping about…nothing. And I was completely okay with it.
His timing was just seconds off when striking the keys, but he was pushing through it as he worked the baby grand piano on stage. Once in a while his head would come up from his hands and he’d swing his neck to rock his chestnut strands from his eyes, so he could see his note sheet. He wasn’t practiced, less than a year into his piano lessons, but there was an unbridled passion in the digits of his hands as he delivered the chords. I could tell he’d been critiqued on looking at his fingers too much by the way he struggled to keep his head up.
“Matthew’s strides have been out of this world,” Molly whispered, leaning into me in the dark theater. “Donna has been working with him for months now. Even his counselor says the lessons have helped with his anxiety. We’re hoping to have him promoted to the next step in the program.” She turned to me with red stained lips as we sat balcony level away from the audience. “You remember Matthew—”
“Peterson,” I muttered, watching him closely for similarities. “Yes.” He was the first white kid I sponsored.
“Yes!” she whispered with excitement. “Great strides, that kid. See! What you’re doing for these kids is beyond extraordinary,” she breathed as her palm brushed over my arm.
My eyes swept over her touch with an arched brow until I forced my attention to the saxophonist on the stage beginning his solo. It was the annual fall recital at Bearing Love. They put them on a few times throughout the year, but I came to only two. And when I did, I didn’t sit amongst the audience. I may have dressed in a full tuxedo, but my attendance and sponsorship remained anonymous. Molly would come up to the dark empty box with me and gush over their residents.
“How’s Benji doing?” I asked as he blew so hard into the sax, his eyes squeezed.
“Fantastic! He’s been to visit his father in Bayside, which was the next milestone in his care plan.”
“How did it go?”
She shrugged her slender shoulder as her eyes were on the stage below. “I was told he didn’t speak much, but neither did his father. It’s only been a year since his mother’s murder. I don’t think his father has forgiven himself for it.” She tossed her aquamarines over to me. “Or maybe he doesn’t struggle with guilt at all,” she whispered. “Violation of a child is violation no matter who the predator is, and this case, the parent.”
My phone rang, snatching my attention.
“Hang on,” I explained. “I gotta take this.”
Quietly, I moved toward the box door and opened it. Danny G’s eyes were alert as I stepped into the hallway.
“Yeah.”
“Yo…” Mike practically shouted into the phone because wherever he was had been mad loud.
“Yeah.” I repeated.
“I just got off the phone with ol’ girl.”
“Who?”
“Wynter,” he yelled, and even though I knew why, it still didn’t sit well with me.
“What’s winter?”
“Your fuckin’ wife!”
God…
Wynter.
“And?” My eyes fell to my Gianvito Rossi’s.
“And IG blowing up with bullshit ass blogger posts about Ragee’s cover up marriage, nigga.”
“And?”
“And they sound legit saying they never see y’all together, which is true. I tried to google her name and only came up with pix of her before you or the same ones of her at the wedding and that one show she went to in Detroit.”
The one she came to because I got a call from you just like this, saying she needed to be seen at one of my shows?
I rubbed my face with my free hand. Then I shrugged, face still to the floor. “What you want from me, man? I got shit to do.”
“Be a fuckin’ newlywed! Fuck you mean?”
I laughed, tossing my eyes to the side to calm myself. “Word? And how do I do that?”
“Take her out. Take her somewhere y’all can be seen doing shit that ain’t got nothing to do with work.”
“But I’m touring, man!”
“You ain’t working right now, but you touring!”
He had a point.
“Yeah. A’ight. Later.” I was ready to dead the call.
“Hold up. Raj!”
“Yeah?”
“I know I’m on my petty shit, homie. But remember what this means to us. Frank called me the other day, asking if you interested in any of them roles Janice sent you. They watching, fam. Facts! They watching.”
I took a deep breath, rubbing the back of my neck while I processed his message. I knew I had a job to do with this fake marriage business. I was just hoping to make it as painless as possible for me.
“Raj?”
“Yeah, man. I’m here.” I turned back for the door I just came out of, considering what was inside. Talks of progress and care plans had me putting things in perspective. “Got it. I’m out.”
I disconnected the call and nodded to Danny G before going back inside. I’d already missed most of Benji’s solo. I didn’t want to miss Devon’s, too.
6
I watched as the woman helping out the host reached for her cape and smoothed it down while smiling. She was paying a compliment to the dark, round sheepskin material, ending in chinchilla fur. Wynter’s chin dipped nervously. Her batted lashes thanked her before the words left her glossy lips. She was shy about her new lifestyle, my wealth. This was something I didn’t get. She had to know what she’d signed up for, likely fantasizing about and plotting on it since she was a girl.
Why be bashful about it now that you have it legally?
“Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon,” the host’s chin lifted and eyes brightened, “this way please.”
I waited until Wynter was at my side before following him through the restaurant. My eyes stayed trained to the back of the host’s head as we followed him across the restaurant and into a curtained off section where I asked him to leave them open. It was laid back in terms of energy. I was sure all around me were suits and stiffs. This was that type of restaurant, but the food was pretty decent. The walls were a brick red with gold accents, tall vases in the corner and along the walls, and white linen-lined tables and booths all around. He stopped at the double doors and directed us into a small, well-lit room with a table set for four. Before Wynter made it to the chair I invited her to, he was pulling it out already.
“Someone will be in to take your order for drinks shortly,” his accent was thick. He nodded before leaving.
I stood over my place at the table, waiting for her to settle in her seat. When she looked up at me, I dipped my chin, questioning her. “Ready?”
Wynter’s lashes fluttered again and her eyes wouldn’t settle on me. “Who are we meeting with?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” I sat in my chair. “Whatchu feel like drinking?”
“Ummmm….” She hesitated, but I didn’t look at her. “Maybe wine?”
In my periphery, I could see someone walking into the room. A menu was placed in our hands.
“Actually,” I spoke up after a few seconds,
“we’ll take a bottle of Martin Schaetzel 2013 Kaefferkopf Grand Cru Gewurztraminer, a red blend, dry, and a bottle of Mauve.” I handed back the menu before the waiter could even speak. I also peeped Wynter’s deer eyes caught in headlights. “You good with that?”
Her attention shot from me back to the waiter, who smiled. Then she nodded. I shrugged with my brows before pulling out my phone. Of course, she was with it.
My attention went to my emails. I had three accounts, and my business inbox stayed in the thousands. Clearing it was my favorite pastime when I wanted to ignore the room. It was the way I shut down and shut everybody out. And that’s what I did for the next few minutes while we waited. I noticed when a drink was put in front of me. I thanked the waiter, nodded at whatever he said about waiting a few more minutes until the rest of my party arrived, then went back to scanning and deleting emails.
“This place is nice.” The softness in her chords snatched my attention, catching me off guard.
I lifted my head, finding her holding a wine glass inches from her mouth as her eyes swept across the room. I almost got lost in the sight of her full lips, pouting in anticipation of the glass. They were puffed, hiding her straight teeth beneath. Yup. I noticed that about Wynter and more, but I never let myself get too carried away. Like now. Her eyes were on the details of the room. Of course, they were. This was an exclusive restaurant, feeding the world’s elite. That coincidence had my face going back to my phone.
I hope tonight works out…
“Hey! Hey!” a feminine voice announced.
It was Kennedi, leading her husband into the room by the hand. Lord tramped in behind her with spread legs in his signature all black, as to not step on the back of her high heels. He used his other hand to pull up the waist of his jeans by the gold buckle of his Hermés belt. Looked like she was dragging him in.
