The Come Up

by Nia Forrester

  Jamal’s guest suite was fully-stocked with fresh towels, soap, and even unused toothpaste with a toothbrush still in the box nearby. Unable to squelch her curiosity, she looked in the cabinets beneath the sink, almost expecting to see a box of tampons, or other toiletries that women might need, but there was only extra toilet paper, and another toothbrush. The bathroom itself was beautiful, with bright white tiling, accented with a blue jewel-tone. Everything looked impeccable and untouched, as though no one had ever used it.

  Her shower was brief, because she had an image in her head of Jamal walking in on her and though she fully planned for him to one day see her naked, today would not be the day. Especially since she was in dire need of having her legs shaven, and having other parts of her body properly waxed. When she got out, she listened carefully and heard nothing. Then she faced the dilemma of what to do with her underwear. Folding it into a small square, she finally stuffed it into her clutch and went commando in the same palazzo pants from the previous evening. The dresser in the guestroom yielded nothing by way of a top, and she wasn’t keen on putting on the same yellow bandeau from last night, so with the towel wrapped about her, she tiptoed toward the master suite.

  Every man had a trove of plain white t-shirts somewhere.

  “You want to eat?”

  Almost tripping over her own feet, Makayla spun to face the voice. Jamal was standing at the end of the hall, shirtless and barefoot, looking like he’d just showered himself. For a moment, she stared at his bare chest, reminding herself that she had seen it many times before at all those hotel pools. But damn, it just never seemed to lose its impact.

  “Sure. What’re you making?”

  “Steak. Eggs. Sound good?”

  “Sounds perfect. Hey, can I borrow something to …” She indicated the towel wrapped about her.

  “Knock yourself out. Wear whatever you want.”

  He turned and headed back to the kitchen while Makayla went into his suite, and thought of where to look first. Jamal had an enormous mahogany dresser, which most women would envy, with nine drawers. Picking the center drawer on the top row, Makayla pulled it open. Inside, rows of boxer briefs were folded with military precision and arranged according to color and shade. Smiling, she glanced in the direction of the kitchen.

  Trying another of the top drawers, she found his white t-shirts and undershirts, picking one, sliding it over her head and discarding the towel. Since she was already in his bedroom, it seemed harmless to look around, so she made her way over to the bed and glanced at the book he had open on the side table. It was a biography by a former press secretary for President George W. Bush. Wait, what? Makayla looked in the direction of the kitchen once again.

  “Don’t be searchin’ through my shit!”

  Makayla laughed and picked up the book, heading out to join him, holding it up so he could see. Jamal was standing at the stove, still shirtless, and had two very big steaks in a skillet with onions. The aroma caused Makayla’s stomach to growl audibly.

  “Don’t tell me you’re a Republican.”

  “Hell nah I’m not a Republican. Does that mean I can’t read a book written by one?”

  “I’m just shocked you find time to read at all.” Makayla sat on one of his kitchen stools and began idly thumbing through it.

  “You look cute in my shirt,” Jamal said out of nowhere. “I like it.”

  Looking up at him, Makayla thought about all the assumptions she’d made—that he was probably a cad; played with and thoughtlessly discarded women, broke a lot of hearts, was callous. So far none of that appeared to be true. And maybe that made it all more understandable—all those women at SE who were constantly trying to get on his radar, or get back on his radar … they weren’t looking for a fling with Jamal, they were looking to get their hooks into him for good.

  Because—and this was a possibility Makayla had never seriously considered before she got to know him—he was a good guy. The kind where you started out with nothing more than pure, animalistic attraction, and then while you weren’t paying attention, he crept quietly into your heart.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked, grinning at her. “You’re looking at me a little sideways over there.”

  “Just thinking that I should probably call my grandmother,” Makayla lied. “And let Candace know when to expect me home.”

  Makayla slid off the stool and took her phone out onto the balcony to make the call. Her cousin was just waking up and sounded completely agnostic about when Makayla actually made it home, so she felt comfortable about going back in to enjoy a leisurely breakfast with Jamal. But she wouldn’t stay much longer after that, because now that she’d had her epiphany about him, she wasn’t sure how involved she should get. This man could wreck her if she let him. With all his casual sweet-talk, and …

  “Come over here.”

  As soon as she reentered the kitchen, Jamal put down his spatula and moved away from the stove, calling her over to him. Makayla went. She had knotted the t-shirt at her waist because it was huge on her, and would have fallen to mid-thigh. Jamal loosened the knot, and she let him. Then he lifted the shirt, searching for the waistband of her palazzo pant, pulling it down.

  She let him. The garment glanced over her hips and fell into a pool of fabric around her feet.

  Once he realized that she wasn’t wearing underwear, Jamal paused, his hands on her bare hips. Makayla’s eyes were fixed on his. She couldn’t tear them away if she tried. Taking one step closer, he smoothed both hands over the curves of her ass, squeezing and simultaneously pulling her closer. Makayla’s chest heaved.

  “What happened to them?”

  “Them … what?”

  “Your drawers. Where are they?”

  Makayla smiled a little at his use of the word ‘drawers’ instead of say, panties.

  “In my purse,” she said.

  “Good. I’ve been wanting them off since last night.”

  Then he was kissing her, sucking and biting and tasting her lips, his tongue putting hers through the paces so that she had to struggle to keep up. His kisses were just as overwhelming as everything else about him. The thought of more … and of what that would be like was enough to render her breathless. Just as she was on the verge of gasping, Jamal pulled back and slowed down, instead focusing on her neck—he seemed to like that—and sliding his hands up under the t-shirt until they cupped and held her breasts.

  The delicious smell of their breakfast steaks was overshadowed by the deliciousness of his hands on her. They were large, and warm and easily held her, the thumbs grazing across her nipples. Makayla’s eyes fluttered shut and then she felt herself literally lifted off her feet, her butt colliding with something hard. Opening her eyes she saw that she was on one of the stools again, her back pressed against the center island and Jamal was spreading her legs east and west, falling to his haunches in front of her.

  The momentary embarrassment at being so exposed in the bright light of day quickly flew out of her mind the second his head dipped between her thighs.

  “Jamal …”

  “Yeah?” he asked before kissing her.

  Makayla gasped, forgetting what she might have been planning to say. Not sure that there was anything to say except maybe …

  “Yes … oh …God …”

  Jamal’s arms were extended, holding her by the ankles so she remained wide open to him. While she jerked and moved spasmodically, somehow he managed to keep her back braced so she didn’t fall over and unceremoniously onto the kitchen floor. His tongue darted in and out of her, stroking up and down, making tiny waves and then circles. He suckled and licked, kissed and blew cool breaths. Reaching down to put both hands on his head, Makayla had to grit her teeth to not press herself against his face.

  “Why you holdin’ back?” Jamal breathed, not letting up on the new slow rhythm he’d found.

  “I’m … I’m … n…”

  “Yeah you are. I can feel it. Stop that. Let go …”
/>   “I don’t know what you …”

  “Let go,” he said again.

  “Jamal …”

  “Stop holdin’ back. You know what you want to do … so do it …”

  “I am. I …”

  “No you’re not.”

  He increased the pace and pressure, making it virtually impossible for Makayla to maintain control. Finally, she arched her back and pushed her pelvis toward his face, and with both hands pressed him hard into her. Jamal emitted a deep moan and dipped his tongue deep inside her just as her orgasm hit. Makayla screamed, her head falling back as she did.

  Then Jamal was standing, and she waited to feel him enter her, but he didn’t. Instead his mouth was on her throat and he was kissing and sucking her there, where the surface of her skin was suddenly sensitive and raw. Makayla felt every rough bristle of his morning shadow, and the smooth softness of his lips. Dipping her head, she found them with her own and they kissed long and deep.

  When finally she opened her eyes, Makayla was intoxicated, dizzy with pleasure. Bar none, that had been the most intense orgasm of her life. Her legs were still shaking and her breaths coming in short bursts as she trembled. Jamal was watching her come down from the high, a small smile on his face. Pressing a brief kiss on her lips and then on the shell of her ear, making her shiver yet again, Jamal moved away.

  “I’m starving,” he said. “How ‘bout you?”

  _______________

  The entire team was sitting around the conference table—Dean, Harper, DeJuan, Makayla and Jamal.

  And Jamal was talking, but Makayla wasn’t listening.

  Two weeks. It had been two weeks since that morning in his kitchen and since then, nothing. He was busy—they both were—but that didn’t explain it to her satisfaction. After he’d turned her inside out on the kitchen stool, they’d eaten breakfast like nothing untoward had even happened. The steak was the best Makayla had ever tasted, which probably had everything to do with the fact that her orgasm had rendered her ravenous, and very little to do with Jamal’s talents as a chef.

  Then, and this was the real killing part, he’d driven her home, all the way to Brooklyn, parked his fancy-ass car out at the curb in front of her shabby building and walked her in. Makayla kept expecting him to try to make his escape—first when he’d pulled up, then when he’d walked her to the building’s outer door, and again when they got to her apartment door—but he didn’t. Instead, Jamal waited patiently while she fumbled with the keys and let herself in, and entered behind her. The whole time, Makayla was trying to figure out what the hell was going on, but couldn’t figure out how to ask.

  Nana was on the sofa, watching one of her programs, and just as she looked up, Candace emerged from the kitchen, a mug in hand. Her mouth was partly open, as though she was about to speak and then completely lost track of what she intended to say.

  Good morning. Jamal broke the silence.

  Young man, it’s well past noon, and I want to know where you been with my granddaughter, Nana responded.

  She was in her pink floral housedress and had her beautiful crown of gray hair neatly pinned back. It had clearly been recently washed and brushed out; something that Candace was particularly good about. Candace, who in the meantime was still staring speechless at Jamal.

  Well ma’am, we had a long night and I didn’t want to disrespect you by bringing her back in here too late …

  So you decided you’d keep her out all night?

  At that Jamal smiled and made his way over to the sofa, extending a hand.

  I’m happy to tell you all about it, ma’am, he said. But first, let me not forget my manners. I’m Jamal Turner.

  And what followed was the best snow-job Makayla had ever witnessed. Except it didn’t seem like a snow-job. Jamal just talked to her Nana like a person, telling her about the party, about some of the people who attended, and finally, even describing what he called a “last-minute errand for a client”, leaving out the rapper’s name, and of course the adultery. Nana ate it all up, listening eagerly and then chiding Jamal—but this time good-naturedly—because ‘ain’t nothin’ good happen after two in the morning’.

  At that, Jamal had laughed out loud. Not sure I agree with that, he said, giving Makayla a look which Nana missed, but Candace took full stock of.

  That he had taken the time to talk to her Nana, to really talk to and listen to her … well, Makayla was pretty sure she would never be able to get angry with him ever again. If there was one thing her grandmother had always complained about as she aged, it was that she was becoming invisible.

  People don’t ask you nothin’ no mo’, she said. They tell you. When you gon’ eat, sleep, take a shit. You not a person. You a decrepit ol’ piece a not-much-at all.

  For someone like her grandmother, who used to be a real force of nature—the kind of woman who walked down the street and even the neighborhood tough guys looked at and spoke to with respect—that was a difficult adjustment. When she and Makayla fought, which was seldom, it was always about that—Makayla telling her what to do, or deciding when she did it. But sometimes, as hectic as her life was, Makayla just didn’t have time to coddle the old woman’s ego, she just needed her to take her damned medication, or eat her soup, or have a bath, usually on a very rigid schedule whether she liked it or not.

  So Jamal taking the time to show her that her approval—and she—mattered was a gift, the magnitude of which he probably didn’t even realize. After almost an hour with her grandmother, he’d gotten up, said he should probably get going, winked at Makayla and left.

  And since then? Nothing.

  So now Makayla was sitting in the staff meeting, only barely listening to him talk about an event they were all going to that evening. This one was for Shantez Page, who after signing with Scaife had finally dropped a new CD, which was not performing up to snuff. And apparently, she was beyond pissed, having made the jump from Virgin because she said she wanted to “get back to her roots.” Word on the street was, “her roots” was code for wanting to get back with Chris Scaife himself, whom she’d once had an affair with.

  But anyone with two eyes and half a drop of sense could see that Chris wasn’t feeling that. Though he still sometimes took Shantez to industry events, just his body language in the photos the two took together told the tale. He wanted no parts of her. But Shantez was from that country somewhere between Shameless and Don’t Give a Fuck. She still took every opportunity she could to push up. Her low numbers were a convenient way for her to take her anger at Chris Scaife’s lack of personal attention and pretend it was a lack of professional attention.

  So now, they were throwing her a huge party, complete with big name celebrities and in a swanky location, pretending it was a release party when the CD had been out for weeks. Jamal was going over all the details with the team before he went up to the twentieth to talk to Chris about it all, and make a last-ditch effort to get the big boss to attend. The rest of them were supposed to hit the phones to confirm and re-confirm that all the biggest names in music were planning to be there as well.

  And that was no small feat.

  Shantez’s star power could only be reinforced by the stature of other stars, so it was essential to get the right people to commit. But performing artists were notoriously fickle that way. Iron-clad promises had a way of falling by the wayside if an offer for a private party in a suite at the Gansevoort with a roomful of high-priced hookers came up; or an impromptu helicopter trip to Cameron Cole’s Hamptons mansion to get blunted was suggested. The development team’s job was to make sure the party sounded way more attractive than anything else going that night. Shantez’s party had to be sold as the place to be.

  “When you get on the phone, you’re going to get a lot of publicists, managers … you’ll need to play on their insecurities. If their client had a shitty last movie, or CD, mention it. Don’t be too heavy-handed, but drop that little piece in, make them think they can’t afford not to be at this party. You
feel me?”

  Jamal reached for a few sheets of paper in front of him on the table, and handed one sheet to each member of the team. When he handed Makayla hers, they made brief eye-contact, but there wasn’t a hint of anything personal in his look. He was all business. Makayla’s heart dropped. Had he forgotten already what it felt like? Or maybe he’d just … changed his mind about her? One minute it looked like they might be starting something and now it was as though none of that even happened.

  “Look at the names I just gave you,” he said. “Let me know if there’s any reason you can’t work those names. Especially you Harper.”

  Harper Bailey shifted in her seat but said nothing. She was the quintessential “pretty light-skinned sister”, with curly brown hair and hazel eyes. She dressed in plaid shirts, jeans and Doc Martens just about every day, with noisy accessories in silver and pewter. It was a wonder she still worked for SE, because she had many times broken code by winding up in front of the camera instead of behind the scenes. Frequently linked romantically to SE’s superstar clients, there was at least one unflattering rap song about her and her reported prowess for fellatio.

  “Makayla, you’ve never done this before, so I need you to sit with Dean for his first couple of calls so you can get the flavor.”

  Makayla returned Jamal’s look but said nothing.

  “Makayla. You listenin’?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I hear you,” she said. Her tone was sour enough that everyone else looked up, their eyes curious. DeJuan alone seemed to find it amusing.

  “The folks on your list are slightly easier gets,” Jamal continued, ignoring her tone. “But it’s no less important that they show up tonight.”

  He was wearing a hunter-green long-sleeved crew neck shirt. Makayla thought she recalled seeing it in his closet when she was snooping. With the brown pant and, counterintuitively, bright white sneakers, he still looked good. He could probably show up in Winnie the Pooh pajamas and look good. Definitely a man who wore the hell out of his clothes rather than letting them wear him.