by Love Belvin
“I get it. I had this thing pushed on me, so it ain’t all figured out, but I don’t want Kenny to know.”
“Why?”
Because she’d be disappointed…
“She don’t need to. It would only upset her.”
“But you invite us on a double date. You’re rubbing my baby’s nose in your foul shit, Raj,” he growled, teeth gritted. Then he straightened. “That why you chose this place to meet at? That’s why the curtain’s open to the private room?” My eyes fell. “Fuck, Raj!” he turned away again.
“I ain’t been out since all this went down. They said I needed to be out with her more…” I looked around again, lowering my voice. “To make it look real. The sell to me was being around my people again.”
“The sell to Kenny was finding out why we wasn’t invited to the wedding or even hit up about ol’ girl.” His head cocked to the side. “You know how fucked up all this shit sounds?”
I swallowed hard, feeling defeat cover my whole frame again. “A whole lot less than what I feel every day.”
His head whipped to face me. Young studied me hard and for a long while he didn’t say anything. Too long. I looked away.
“This is your weird shit going on again. Didn’t I tell you I’d fuck with you as long as you kept it trilly with me?”
My hands slowly went into the air. “This is me doing that. I fucked up about the marriage thing, but Lord, you know I’mma real one.”
The thing with Young Lord was unlike other people I’d come across in the business, I wanted to be cool with him. Usually, I’d work with people and keep it moving. But Lord had an authenticity about him I hadn’t seen in years. He was a gully rapper from Paterson, not yet diluted with the politics of industry. Even with L.I.T. Music trying to court me through him, he stayed real. We kicked it about poverty, illegal hustle, and the lack of opportunities in our communities. We shared about things we could do to give back and remain true. And despite risking the rumors over his head, he hung out with me, made music, and even brought me into his family with Kenny and the kids. Crazy as it sounded, he was the first connection I made with someone new in years. I had a clean slate with dude.
Young rocked back and stepped off, heading toward the room. I was on his heels, feeling more anxious than I did before telling him. The girls—well, Kenny—seemed to not have missed us at all based on their conversation that never broke when we stepped into the room. We took to our seats and I saw the main entrees were on the table. I tried eating again to calm myself. This was really fucked up.
“Oh, my god!” Kennedi shrieked while chewing. Her fork turned down and index went out, pointing at Wynter. “You’re reminding me of the first time I met Raj.” She turned to Lord, sitting mad close to her as he ate. “You remember that? I was so intimidated. I think you were the first person in the industry I’d had a meal with. Everyone else before then was just a shoulder-brush at an event. But I actually had to add to a conversation with you.” Her finger came to me. “And I really didn’t do it until at the end of the meal. Please don’t do that,” she begged Wynter with a pout as she finished chewing. “No need to be afraid to loosen up around us. We’re just everyday people.”
“I’ve gotten that impression,” Wynter offered a crooked smile, telling me she was warming to Kennedi’s naiveté.
My guilt tripled.
“Well,” Kennedi held that index finger in the air. “Let me speak for myself. I’m a regular girl in a fairytale world, thanks to my best friend.” She nudged Lord, who rolled his eyes, chowing down.
“So, you from Gfield?” Lord tossed his chin to Wynter.
She nodded, putting her glass back on the table. “All my life.”
“What’s y’all…Boilers, or some shit?” He pushed a stuffed mushroom in his mouth.
Wynter snorted. “Boilermakers. Weird, I know.”
“What’s that?” Kenny asked.
I wanted to know, too.
“You said she ain’t been talking. Maybe we ain’t been asking the right questions.” Young’s eyes rolled over to me. “How old’re you?”
She glanced over to me before answering. “Twenty-eight.”
“Twenty-eight,” he repeated. “You’re the class of…”
“Two thousand seven,” Kenny answered for him.
“Five,” Wynter corrected quickly. “I graduated two years early.” Her eyes skated over to me. “I got skipped.”
“Hmmmmm…” Young thinking brought my attention back to him. “Who ran Garfield back then?” he asked himself, staring at the ceiling. “Them Polish niggas, pushing dust and heroine went to charter schools.” He was still thinking.
“Are you really doing this?” Kennedi asked, light-weight upset.
“Roggy!” Young snapped his fingers, ignoring her. His eyes were on Wynter again. “Roggy and Lipito.”
Wynter’s face ghosted. “You know those low lives?”
Unbothered, Lord answered. “They were my colleagues. Them Spanish dudes had heart. They constantly went to war with the Polish over turf. The solution was to have different inventory. But before they made it to that agreement, Roggy’s uncle, Manuel, called their Paterson suppliers for back up.”
I watched as the O in her lips grew wider. I didn’t know if she realized Young was testing her authenticity or revealing his street credibility.
“Manuel’s dead,” she almost whispered.
“Yup. Found him behind the Shoprite in Clifton with two holes in his chest,” Young confirmed.
“Now, that he’s got you talking,” Kennedi rolled her eyes. “What do you do? Did you go to school? I tried staying away from the blogs until I at least spoke to Raj.” She rolled her eyes at me this time.
“I did.” Wynter wiped her mouth. “I went to Rutgers.”
“Oh!” Kenny piped up. “What did you study?”
“Psychology.”
“Ewwww.” Kenny’s nosed turned up.
At that, Young’s confused expression was my reaction, too.
“I know,” Wynter breathed. “Deadlocked, but I was determined to finish.”
“How did you make out with the degree?”
“I didn’t, of course. Not much you can do with a Bachelor’s in psych.” Wynter smiled. “I applied for the Sociology graduate program and got in.”
“Well, seems like you stayed in the region of thinking with and for people,” Kennedi assessed. Her mind never slowed. Wynter nodded in agreement.
“What do you do again?” Lord asked. “Kenny couldn’t slow for your answer. Nosey ass.”
Kenny smiled, rolling her eyes and Wynter giggled.
“I’m actually between jobs right now, but I worked for the Department of Corrections for years, counseling.”
“Counseling who?”
Yeah…
“Residents transitioning. I worked for a residential community release program.” She picked up on their empty faces. “When they’re released and transferred to a halfway house, they automatically enroll into a grant funded program where they receive mentoring, counseling, interviewing skills…learn how to complete education applications and such. Our program was unique, in that all state convicts are eligible.”
“Oh!” Kenny breathed, eyes in the corner of the room as she processed it.
“So, you done came across some crazy mutherfukas with unbelievable ass circumstances, huhn?” Lord asked, eyes sweeping over to me.
Wynter’s face tightened for a quick second before straightening. “Yeah.” She nodded. “I guess I have. What’s crazier is I really miss it. I feel so…empty now without having meaningful work.”
Yeah. Fucking. Right.
“My godmother recently got engaged to the Commissioner of the Department of Corrections.” Kennedi blushed.
“Oh, wow.” Wynter’s forehead stretched. “Small world.”
I’d just learned more about my wife tonight than I had in the two months we’d been wed.
“Do you know him?” Kenny asked.
/>
“No. I’ve never met him.”
“I’d be glad to introduce you two. They’re having us over for dinner when we’re done with winter break in L.A.,” Kenny shared. “I’d love to invite you two with us. Maybe he can point you in the direction of a new opportunity—”
Oh, no.
“Time to go.” Young tossed his napkin on the table.
“Wha— Wait.” Kenny’s face fell. “We still have time.” She went to her phone for the time.
“Nah.” Young stood from the table and stretched. “I just remembered something I gotta pick up before we head to Paterson.”
She turned to me with apologetic eyes. I could feel Wynter’s eyes on me, too.
“No sweat. We gotta go, too.” I stood to look for a waiter while pulling my wallet out.
“Oh, we have it, Raj,” Kenny offered about the check.
“Nah, baby. This on the McKinnons.” Young’s hand was at Kenny’s shoulder.
Her eyes bounced between us, confused and angry.
“Yeah,” I moved again. “I got it. Give us a minute so we can walk y’all out.” I handed my card to the waiter without seeing the bill.
“You mean walk with us?” Young’s eyes were empty on me.
Shit…
He was mad.
And I can’t blame him…
“Give us a minute, Isaak,” I more or less demanded, using his government. My eyes were loaded on him.
The next few minutes were awkward as Kennedi tried filling the wait time with small talk with Wynter. When my card and receipt came back, Wynter stood as I signed it.
“Let’s go,” I said low, but clear enough for her to hear.
Young already had Kenny out of the room. As they walked to coat check, Kenny tried talking to me.
“So, you’ll be in L.A. when, Raj?”
“Not sure, baby girl. So much is in the air before I leave the states in January, but I’ll let you know,” I tried responding as I texted the driver to meet us up front.
“Okay,” she spilled from her lips, she was out of breath from having to keep up with Young. “Let me know. We come back January second. We can come by if we don’t see you guys before then.”
“That’s what’s up,” I answered as we waited for our coats.
Mine and Wynter’s were brought out first. After we put them on, I pulled out my pinging phone.
Mike: Yo. That fuckin blog got it popping again. I’ll be at the crib tonight. Got another plan.
I took a deep breath as I put the phone in my pocket, my jaw tightening. Kenny’s giggles caught my attention. Lord was helping her with her coat, whispering something in her ear. Wynter was in her phone as she waited.
When Young’s peacoat was on he tossed his chin to me, motioning to leave. I softly took Wynter at the small of her back. “Show time,” I whispered in her ear, not realizing I’d be hit with a flowery scent.
The moment we hit the curb, the cameras flashed from a distance and near.
“Don’t forget our bet about the Kings,” I warned after positioning Wynter next to Kenny, so they were in the middle of Young and me.
“What bet?” Kennedi chewed on her lip with narrow eyes going between Lord and me.
“With both of us being big Kings fans, we hope to make it to the Super Bowl this year. I have no doubt we’ll win, but Young here thinks just because it’s not likely for a team to make it to the Super Bowl two years in a row, we definitely won’t win. But I told him our number one QB is a praying man that so happens to attend the same church as me, and we’re taught about the one and only God with supernatural powers. TB wants it, so guess who’s going to and win the Super Bowl?”
Young shrugged and went back to his phone.
“So what’s the bet?” Kennedi repeated, this time being smart.
“If we win, Lord’s gotta hit up church with me in February. No delaying it. It’ll be just in time for our annual men’s conference, too.” Even though it was foul for me to take this opportunity to bring it up, it was a true bet.
“I’m a man of my word,” Young made clear while in his phone.
“This is us,” Wynter nudged me.
“All right. It was good finally meeting you. I don’t know why it took so long, but let’s not repeat that. Okay?” Kennedi was hugging Wynter at this point, so I had no idea what her response was.
I waited until they were done before I grabbed Kennedi up in my arms, giving her strength I couldn’t by way of words.
“Please keep in touch,” she whispered next to my ear. “Even if it’s with just Isaak.”
That broke my heart. Why would I leave her out? I didn’t respond, though. When we broke away, I moved on to Young, who had his arm ready.
We slapped palms and he pulled me into him. “I’m checking her out now. I gotta connect in Garfield. I’ll let you know if I find something. In the meantime, clean that bullshit up. We ain’t Hollywood, nigga; we changing it.” He pulled back.
I used my thumb to scratch my mustache as my eyes rose somewhere over his head. Taking a deep breath, I nodded before turning to Wynter, who was not too far away. She let me take the lead when I passed her as cameras flashed.
The driver had the door open, waiting for us. I let her get in first then climbed in myself.
The moment we pulled off, I heard, “You couldn’t tell me we were meeting with them?” There was mad bass in that question.
I turned to my left and found hot coals, burning into me.
“Why did I have to tell you? This is business. You signed the damn contract.”
“For one because a little notice on having dinner with Young Lord would’ve been appreciated. Two, those are…real people! Kennedi is a regular girl, like she said!”
“And so are you.”
“You’re damn right I am! I’m also a human being, who deserves the common respect of full disclosure!”
“Aren’t you getting what you deserve? What you signed up for? You got dinner with a mega music figure. Be happy, sweetheart.”
“No! I had dinner with your friends. Your friends, Ragee! I don’t put on shows. I’m not a damn act. That’s who the fuck you are!”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I muttered. “You sure are getting paid to be one.”
“Fuck you,” she hissed.
I snorted, wanting to say so much more, but having never been the type of man to argue with a woman. I did that with my cousins as a kid. They didn’t even get that anymore. I had bigger fish to fry as I grabbed my phone. Mike mentioned the blog. There were hundreds of them, but I knew where to start and went to IG.
It’s been over two months and still no marriage certificate is available for Ragee McKinnon!
Spilling That Hot Tea had been on the come up for a couple of years now. I knew the chicks who ran the page. Mike had them investigated when they ran a story on one of my classmates in high school coming into their DM with a story of me speaking to the guidance counselor about being raped. The story was a headliner, but with no proof. I’d never gone to anyone saying I was raped. But the article accurately mentioned facts about the social groups I was in and high school friends I hung out with. From there, we knew the authors of the page had some teeth. They were known to pay for credible gossip, and back then, I was their target. We learned about the fingers on the keyboard.
One was a big mouth graduate student from The Bahamas, studying abroad, Meks. She worked with a low-key partner in crime, who went by PawKid. That’s all the team Mike hired could come up with. Meks had the balls and drive while her sidekick had the brains to pull up files that weren’t public record. Meks had a temper, too, but stayed on top of shit.
In the comments of this post, someone asked her why was she so intent on convincing the world I was gay. And in her usual quick clap back nature, she cleared the air.
First of fucking all to make clear to all the dickheads like you Ragee ain’t gay. I told yall that a couple of years ago. We BEEN past that. That’s them other fake ass blog
s still running with that fake ass rumor. What I’m saying now is he ain’t married. I don’t know why he lying about being married. But guess who gone find out?
“What’s Mike saying about this gossip blog’s post?” Wynter’s voice snatched my attention from the comments.
I took a deep breath and slid down into my seat. “We ‘bout to find out.”
7
The elevator door opened to the vibrant yet monotone hues of the foyer. But what was more conspicuous than the impeccable décor was the number of people crowding it and the threatening shouts.
Mike Brown stood in front of a uniformed man whose back was to us at first. His hands were in the man’s face as he barked, “You don’t know? You don’t know? How the fuck you not gonna know when a fuckin’ reporter on the premises, speaking to one of ya subordinates, my nigga?”
As we stepped closer and Mike continued to berate him, their bodies turned as the man cowered away from Mike as though he was about to be harmed. “That’s like saying you ‘on’t know how ya kids gone eat every day. That sound acceptable to you, Pito?”
They pivoted enough for me to recognize the uniformed man’s profile. He worked in the lobby of the building, always smiling and directing people at the front desk. Mike’s guards were standing over both men, threatening the guy without words. Mike lunged at Pito and he bucked. My pulse kicked up.
“I swear, Mr. Brown. I swear! I had no idea. Barry was new. Only’s been employed with us for three months.”
“And you don’t seem to be doin’ a good fuckin’ job at pickin’ niggas to work here. You ‘on’t tell ya new hires about the celebrities that own here? You only tell them these people are rich fucks that don’t deserve no fuckin’ privacy?” He lunged at him again, to test him.
Pito, once again, balked. Mike’s one guy laughed as he cracked his knuckles.
“What’s going on here, man?” Ragee stepped between them and demanded.
Mike glanced around, I guess not realizing we’d come in. Myisha was in the wings of the hall, anger set on her pretty face and so much more. I knew she despised Mike, and acts like this justified her feelings.
