by Tracy Brown
“’Cuz you act like I’m not as good as her. Because I drink and I get high? She don’t drink? She don’t get high, Rah-lo? So what, I’m not good enough for you anymore? You forgot where the fuck you came from, Rah-lo. You forgot who was with you from day one. But it’s all good.” Asia shook her head in defiance.
Ishmael came back in and noticed the thick tension in the air. He pretended not to hear them arguing as he headed upstairs to retrieve the rest of Rah-lo’s belongings. Ishmael climbed the stairs, grabbed some bags, and headed back out to the car. Asia waited until he left before she turned and glared at Rah-lo once again. She hated him at that moment and her facial expression showed it. “I don’t need you to make me happy, muthafucka.” She moved out of his way. “I’ll be better off without you!” she hissed.
That had to be the hundredth time he had heard her say those words. “Show me, then.” Ra-lo reached for his jacket and headed for the door. He was out of there. Asia hurled obscenities at him and ranted and raved. But all of her noise was like a current that carried him straight out of their house, into his car, and on the road headed for the house he had once shared with Celeste. He vowed that he would never go back to Asia. Their marriage was over.
Ishmael couldn’t believe Rah-lo and Asia had called it quits. Within an hour of Rah-lo putting his car in drive, Asia started blowing up her husband’s phone, calling again and again. Rah-lo ignored her calls, shutting his phone off altogether after she speed-dialed him repeatedly. Asia eventually started calling Ishmael, knowing that he knew where Rah-lo had gone. The two were such good friends that she was sure Ishmael knew Rah-lo’s plans. But Ishmael hadn’t heard from Rah-lo since he moved into his second house. And Ishmael had tried to call his boy numerous times with no luck. Rah-lo’s phone kept going straight to voice mail, and when Ishmael went by the house to see him his car wasn’t there and no one came to the door. Ishmael figured that Rah-lo was laying low to let his beef with Neo die down.
Unfortunately, Asia didn’t believe Ishmael when he told her that he knew nothing. So she kept calling him to vent and to demand to know her husband’s whereabouts. Now, after more than four days, Ishmael was checking his caller ID and ignoring Asia’s phone calls, too. He marveled at how he always managed to be caught in the middle of Rah-lo’s bullshit.
During one of Asia’s rare breaks in speed-dialing him, Ishmael checked his full voice mailbox. All of them were from Rah-lo’s wife. He deleted most of them, but one caught his attention. He heard a name he hadn’t heard in a while, and he had to replay the message twice to be sure that he had heard correctly.
“Yo, Ish, this is Asia. I know you see me calling you all these times. And I just spoke to you, so you can’t act like you don’t know why I’m calling. This muthafucka left me here with these kids to go off and find Celeste and I’m supposed to just sit here and … what? Sit here and do what? I ain’t got no fucking money. I ain’t got no fucking job. And I’m stuck with the kids while he runs off to that bitch! Ishmael, you know more than what you’re telling me. I don’t want to kill Celeste. So please don’t make me go find him. Tell me where my husband is so I can talk to him before he gets to her.”
Ishmael had never heard Asia sound so vulnerable and so desperate. After replaying the message, he frowned. Celeste. When did Rah-lo make that decision? Ishmael couldn’t believe Rah-lo had left to look for Celeste. He hadn’t mentioned Celeste during their conversation the other day. Ishmael hadn’t even heard her name mentioned in his conversations with his friend in recent years. He wondered if Rah-lo had been in touch with her. Strangely, Ishmael felt an odd twinge of jealousy. The only thing that had made Celeste’s move to Atlanta easier to deal with was the fact that neither of them had her. If he didn’t have her, he certainly didn’t want Rah-lo to have her. That would have been too much to bear.
But it sounded like that was exactly what Rah-lo had told his wife, and now he wasn’t answering his phone. What had made Rah-lo go after Celeste now? It all seemed strange to Ishmael, and he found himself deep in thought. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice Nina standing beside him as he stared out the kitchen window. When he realized that she was standing there (and had apparently said something to him that she was waiting for an answer to), Ishmael was at a loss for words. He had no idea what she had just said to him and was wondering how long she’d been standing there. He silently chided himself for giving so much thought to Rah-lo and his relationships. Now he had to act like he had been paying attention to Wifey.
Nina threw her hands up impatiently. “Do you like it or not?”
Ishmael looked her up and down, trying to see what was new so that he could guess what he was supposed to judge for her. Her bangs looked a little different. As a hairstylist, she was often asking his opinion about different hairstyles. “I like your hair. It don’t matter how you change it, you’re still pretty.”
Nina frowned. “I asked you about the new pillows I bought for the couch.” She shook her head and walked away. “It’s nice to know that you still listen to me.”
Ishmael could see that she was gearing up for some bullshit. She was going into her zone of feeling “unappreciated and unexciting.” He didn’t feel like hearing that shit all night. He waited until Nina went in the bedroom and turned on The Quiet Storm and then he grabbed his jacket and made his way out the front door.
He went to his quiet place. Ishmael kept a small two-bedroom apartment on Hall Street in Fort Greene. Nina knew nothing about this spot. Few people did. He came here whenever he needed to escape his surroundings and be left alone. This was one of those times. He thought about what Asia had said on his voice mail. Celeste. Had Rah-lo really gone after her? On a whim, Ishmael turned on his computer and logged onto the Internet. He figured he’d check out MySpace and see if he had any messages. He’d had a page on the Web site for about a month, and he was amazed at all the broads who had never met him and still sent him explicit pictures and comments. His and Rah-lo’s connect—Cito—had put Ishmael on to the site. Papicito was a ladies’ man with a handful of kids with different baby mamas. Once Ishmael had asked Cito where he found some of the bad bitches he fucked with state to state. He told Ishmael to set up a Web page and the rest was history.
Tonight he checked his usual friend requests, messages, and comments. Then he decided to search for Celeste’s name. He was new to the Internet and the wonders of cyberspace. And for that reason, he had never thought of searching for Celeste this way. But ever since he’d heard Asia mention Celeste’s name in her message earlier, he couldn’t get her off his mind. The computer scanned the records for a few brief moments before Ishmael found what he was looking for. He clicked the link and sat back and smiled. Celeste Styles’s smiling face stared back at him. Clad in a tiny bikini in some tropical setting, she looked as lovely as the last time he’d seen her. He checked her stats—single, no children, hometown: Atlanta, Georgia. He looked through her pictures and found several shots of her out with friends, traveling to different exotic locations, and looking better than ever. She had lost weight and cut her hair. But she was the same as he remembered her—better even.
Celeste had been special to Ishmael for a very long time. When Celeste was with Rah-lo, Ishmael’s relationship with her had been strictly platonic. They were friends who shared private jokes and great conversations. In fact, they bonded not just because Ishmael had saved Celeste from an attempted rape but because the two of them were often taken for granted by Rah-lo. As his mistress, Celeste was relegated to playing second fiddle. Rah-lo didn’t intend for her to feel that way, but with Asia being his wife Celeste had little choice but to play runner-up. Ishmael was also often overlooked. He had been Rah-lo’s sidekick for so long that Rah-lo grew to depend on Ish without fail, especially when the rest of their crew fell apart. It got to the point where Ishmael was the one Rah-lo called for business reasons and personal ones. When Rah-lo was locked up, it was Ishmael’s job to take care of both Asia and Celeste. It was then that he re
ally got to know his friend’s mistress. And it was then that Ishmael began to feel that she deserved so much more.
On their way upstate to visit Rah-lo, Celeste and Ishmael had shared many heart-to-heart conversations. He had always liked her as a person. He thought she was very pretty, witty, and seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. But during their trips up north, he discovered something even more endearing about Celeste. She was a go-getter. She didn’t want a handout. Instead, she was willing to work hard for what she wanted out of life. She insisted on paying Rah-lo back for what he had invested in Dime Piece, and that impressed Ishmael. Unlike his sister, Tangela, or his aunt Mary, Celeste wanted success and she wanted it on her own terms. She didn’t nag Rah-lo or beg to have more of his time the way that Nina did to Ishmael. Instead, Celeste waited patiently, allowing Rah-lo space to breathe, and she was available to him when he wanted her. While most women would have been content to be a baller’s bitch—running their own business and enjoying all the fruits of Rah-lo’s labor—Celeste wanted nothing more than to have Rah-lo’s time. She was unlike any other woman Ishmael had ever known—beautiful, intelligent, patient, faithful to Rah-lo, and hopeful that he would be hers alone someday. Ishmael never meant to fall for her. But he did, and he fell hard. Soon, he was not only impressed by her character and her determination to succeed. He also wanted to help her succeed, wanted to give her the key to his heart. But Rah-lo had met her first. And for that reason she was off-limits. But Ishmael still pined for her. Even after all this time.
He clicked the message button and typed away: “Hello, stranger. This is how I have to find you? You can’t keep in touch no more? I miss you. Shit ain’t the same since you left. Get at me.”
Ishmael clicked “send” and sat back. He hoped she didn’t take long to answer him, and he also hoped that Rah-lo hadn’t gotten to her first this time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
If It Don’t Fit, Don’t Force It
Rah-lo watched Sherry stroll naked over to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and stepped inside. Once she was out of sight, he lay back against the pillows and exhaled. Sherry was one of his favorite pastimes, and now that he was no longer with Asia, he was enjoying even more time with her. It had been four days since he walked out on his wife, and in that time he had been holed up at Sherry’s crib. He didn’t know what Neo would do in retaliation for Rah-lo pulling his gun on him. And Rah-lo wanted a break from Asia. He had turned his cell phone off and only checked his voice messages periodically in order to make sure that nothing was wrong with his children. They were all he cared about. He was finished with Asia, and he didn’t care about how business was going. He needed some time to himself, away from the drama in his marriage and his responsibilities in the street. He knew that Ishmael would handle business. Right now, all Rah-lo was concerned about handling was Sherry. She had a perfect body and a gorgeous face. His only complaint was that she talked too fucking much. She was a real chatterbox and Rah-lo now found himself feeling anxious for her to disappear.
He reached over to the nightstand and picked up his pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, he sat up in bed and took a long drag. He had started to second-guess himself. Although he had no regrets about leaving his wife, he missed his daughters terribly. He had been ignoring Asia’s phone calls and each time she left a voice message more profanity laden than the last. He knew that if he went over there or even called he would have to deal with Asia’s bullshit. And he was in no mood for that.
As Sherry exited the shower, Rah-lo realized that he was in no mood for her, either. She had good pussy, but that was about it. True to form, she started talking almost as soon as her foot hit the bath mat.
“Don’t you think we should go out and get something to eat? You’re not with Asia anymore, so there’s no point in us sitting cooped up in this house all day. I was thinking we should go to the new—”
“Nah,” Rah-lo cut her off. “You should go to get some food while I go get my head together. I’m gonna go home,” he said, sitting up in bed and reaching for his clothes. “I need some time to myself. I’ll call you tomorrow.” His tone was very clipped and matter-of-fact and Sherry looked momentarily stunned. She regained her composure, not wanting to turn him off by whining or appearing overly sensitive.
“Oh,” she managed. “Okay then. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Rah-lo exhaled some more of his Newport. “No,” he said. “I’ll call you when I get ready.” He didn’t mean to be rude to Sherry. She wasn’t a bad person. She just wasn’t the one for him. All she was to him was a way to pass his idle time, and he didn’t want her to think differently now that he was separated from Asia. “I’m not trying to play you or nothing, sweetheart,” he explained. “But I just left my wife, and I got a lot of shit on my mind. I appreciate you keeping my mind off it for a little while, but now I gotta face reality and there’s a bunch of shit I need to handle. Don’t take it personal.”
Sherry shrugged as she put on her clothes. “I’m not taking it personal. It’s all good,” she lied. She felt as if she’d been dismissed, and she didn’t like it one bit. “Call me when you handle all your shit.” Rah-lo got dressed and left her house, and Sherry was pissed that he hadn’t even bothered to kiss her good-bye.
Rah-lo didn’t give a damn whether she was upset or not. He was finished with her for now, and she just had to get over it. He shook his head, wondering why women had to be so complicated all the time. Every one of them seemed to be overly emotional and incredibly needy and demanding. Well, almost every one of them.
Celeste had been the only woman he’d ever encountered who didn’t stress him for anything. Celeste hadn’t made demands; she’d made suggestions. She hadn’t craved his attention constantly, which only made him more eager to give her his undivided attention whenever he could. She had seemed to understand him both as a man and as an individual, and she had fallen into step with him perfectly. He loved that—and so much more—about her. He had thought about her constantly over the four years since she’d left him. And after his argument with Asia he had thought about Celeste even more. In some ways, Asia had been right. He did often silently compare Asia to Celeste. He just couldn’t help noticing that she had been as good for him and to him as any woman could ever possibly be. He wished that Celeste had been more patient. She would have been pleased to find out that he had finally left his wife. But Celeste was long gone, and his heart still ached for her despite him telling it not to. He drove to his new bachelor pad, figuring it was time for him to move on with his life. Celeste had left him and now he had left Asia. Both relationships were over, he reminded himself. No more living in the past.
Robin walked into the shop and right into the midst of a heated debate.
“Good! Robin’s here!” Lauren yelled, happy to have their resident intellect present to weigh in on their latest topic of discussion. “Do you think they should have fired that guy? What’s his name?” Lauren waved her hand as if willing the man’s name to pop back into her head.
“Don Imus,” Dimitri offered.
“Yeah, that’s him! Do you think they should’ve fired him for calling those basketball players nappy-headed hos?”
Robin slipped out of her jacket and hung it on the coatrack. She smiled. “Okay, first of all, good morning, everybody.”
Everyone greeted her (except for Charly, who was standing in the back of the salon shampooing a client and pretending not to have heard Robin’s greeting).
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lauren said impatiently. “Answer the question.”
Robin walked to her station and began to tie on her cape. “I think he was wrong.”
“Thank you!” Lauren yelled. “I told you they were right to fire his ass!”
Robin shook her head. “You didn’t let me finish.”
“Exactly,” Dimitri said sarcastically. “So desperate for a cosigner!”
Lauren waved her hand at Dimitri and waited for Robin to finish her thought.
“I
think he was wrong. He always says foul things on the air about pretty much every ethnic group. But what makes him different from Howard Stern? What about all the rappers who use the same language in their songs and make millions? Where are all the outraged black activists when a rapper shows up to an awards show with black women on leashes, or when one of them swipes a credit card down the crack of a black woman’s ass in a video? It’s a double standard. We think it’s okay that we use the ‘n’ word, or that we call each other bitches and hos. But if a white person does it, we’re ready to kill somebody. If we don’t want to be referred to that way, we shouldn’t refer to ourselves that way.”
“Amen!” Miss Pat called out. She had her head in the sink, but she was still engrossed in the conversation. As a woman of a certain age, she was tired of hearing the foul language young black people were using in music and in their everyday conversations. “You’re a very smart young lady, Robin. Ow!!” she yelled. Charly was washing Miss Pat’s hair, and just as she cosigned on what Robin had said, the water mysteriously turned scalding hot.
“Sorry,” Charly said halfheartedly. But she wasn’t. Charly had changed the water temperature in order to shut Miss Pat the fuck up. Charly hated that everyone made Robin feel like she was a genius. True, Robin was doing well in college and had learned a lot in the course of her education. But the bitch wasn’t a prodigy or anything.
Lauren wasn’t satisfied with Robin’s answer. “Okay,” she said. “But you still didn’t say whether or not you thought he should be fired.”
Robin called her client over to her chair and sighed. “No,” she said, knowing that her answer was going to spark another debate. “I don’t think they should have fired him.”
“Thank you!” Dimitri said triumphantly. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell these ignorant heifers in here all morning. Why would you fire him for that when you got people on the air who say worse shit than that every day?” He shook his head in disgust.
