by Marcus Weber
“I will always be here for you, Antonio. For us,” she said, unsure if she even meant it. “And just remember, if we ever need it, my family is always around. My father is a lot of things, but he has our backs.”
Antonio let out a long breath, mixed with sobs. Paige knew he hated when she brought up her father and how her family could bail them out, but she wanted him to know that it was always an option.
“I’m never going to go to your father for help over getting my hands dirty to feed my family,” Antonio replied. “I just need to know that I have you in my corner . . . no matter what happens.”
Paige shook her head. “Okay,” she said weakly. “But just be careful.”
Antonio turned toward her and looked her in the eyes. “Paige, I want to do what’s best for us, but I know the more I move up, the more I’m going to need to change faces. Just know that I love you and Christian more than life.”
“I know,” Paige said, though she wasn’t too confident that she believed him.
* * *
Michaela sat, sobbing, and thinking through what had happened, and she wondered how she had fallen this far. There she was, on Paige’s couch, crying over a $10 bottle of wine now that both of them were, for all intents and purposes, broke.
“It’s not your fault,” Paige said, walking up to her.
It had been a week since the fiasco at Rod’s birthday party, and his mistress’s pregnancy had been confirmed. As far as the tabloids were concerned, their relationship had ended, and Michaela didn’t know if it was worth her reputation to try and salvage it now that things were so far gone.
“How is it not my fault?” cried Michaela. She was a little drunk, and her emotions had gotten the best of her. Their entire relationship, Rod had cheated on her. To be perfectly honest with herself, the way she and Rod had met involved him cheating on his first wife. Paige had told her at the time not to mess with a married man, especially a baller, because there is nothing in a woman that they wouldn’t find replaceable with another one.
“You can’t keep a man that doesn’t want to be kept, girl, it just doesn’t work,” said Paige. And who better than her to know? The cheating had, for lack of a better word, broken her. And when it happened, she and Michaela were essentially in the same position, but with their roles reversed: Paige crying and Michaela stroking her head instead. It was crazy the lengths that women have to go to protect each other from the damage that men do. Even watching Michaela go through it now, reminded her of how much Antonio’s infidelity had hurt her all those years ago.
“You’re so lucky you have Antonio,” muttered Michaela before hiccuping. Paige sneakily grabbed the wine bottle away from her.
“What do you mean?” said Paige, “He’s cheated on me before too, you were the one that told me to give him another chance.” She was so confused by Michaela’s mindset. She seemed to go from hot to cold, and back again, with no type of explanation.
“Antonio is different, though,” she choked through her constant stream of tears. “You can tell he really loves you.”
Paige looked at the top of her friend’s head as it lay in her lap. She was wondering if maybe she did have a point. From the moment they had met, Antonio had made it clear to everyone around them that he was obsessed with Paige. Everything about her. He thought she was beautiful, and smart, and funny. When he looked at Paige, he didn’t see her money or status, he just saw her. Even though he had had his moment of infidelity, love would always win out. Paige knew that the way Rod and Michaela had started up had been less about love, like Antonio and Paige shared, and more about what would look the best in the papers. Like Michaela, Rod loved knowing that his reputation as a stud would be solidified by marrying an old-money girl. And Michaela, with her tendency to want to one up Paige, also wanted to be able to tell people that she married a pro-athlete. With all this in mind, Michaela was probably right, Paige’s situation with Antonio was different. but it was still weird the way that Michaela rode for him.
“You can’t think like that, girl, you’ll only hurt your own feelings,” Paige said. Michaela’s head was still in her lap, and she was petting her hair like you do with an infant who has just finished a tantrum and has started to calm down. There was a mixture of sweat and tears beaded up on her forehead, and if Paige didn’t love her so much, she would have stopped, because it was a little gross. But taking care of Michaela was one of Paige’s favorite things to do, the one place that she couldn’t be one-upped.
“It’s okay, Paige, everyone knows it,” Michaela responded. And then she laughed. She lifted her head off of Paige’s lap so fast, she almost threw her wine across the room. Paige was in shock. Clearly, something in Michaela had broken. Her tears and laughter mixed together until she was almost screaming.
“Michaela, Jesus, what’s wrong?” Paige yelled over her friend’s nervous breakdown, standing up from the couch. Michaela calmed down into giggles and looked up at Paige, heavy eyeliner streaming down her face. She looked like an oversized raccoon and was somehow still so beautiful.
“Because,” she said. “This is our whole life.”
“What do you mean?” asked Paige.
“We’ve spent our whole lives caring for these men. Building them up. And look at what they’ve done to us.” Michaela had stopped crying and was looking down at her hands that she held together like she was praying. “We have nothing without them.”
Chapter 7
Moving In and Moving Up
Antonio laughed at Emil’s corny joke. “Man, you’re one funny old man.”
Emil clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. “I hope you’re feeling at home here.”
Antonio nodded his approval. His relationship with Emil was blossoming. In Antonio’s eyes, Emil was happy to have all three of his sons working for him. He’d been pointing out to Hayden and Jackson how well business was doing since Antonio had come aboard. Sometimes, Emil made Antonio uncomfortable when he sang his praises. Antonio knew Jackson didn’t like Emil to shower Antonio with praises at all.
“Whose turn was it to buy lunch?” Emil asked loudly as he took his seat for his weekly lunch meeting with his sons.
“Mine, why?” Jackson replied.
“Just asking,” Emil said, winking at Antonio. They started laughing.
“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” Jackson snapped, looking from his father to Antonio and back again.
Emil held up his hand. “It was a little joke between me and my son. Let’s get to the business at hand. Let’s start with the numbers. Hayden?”
Hayden moved uncomfortably in his seat and fiddled with the stack of papers in front of him.
“Um, well . . .” Hayden stammered.
Antonio, Jackson, and Emil all looked on, confused.
“Spit it the fuck out,” Jackson shouted.
“The intake collected from the gambling spots Antonio is in charge of does not match the books,” Hayden said, clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say.
Antonio sat up in his chair. “Wait, what? That’s impossible.”
Emil raised an eyebrow at Hayden. “Are you sure it was Antonio’s spots?”
“I’m positive,” Hayden said firmly. “I did the count over and over.”
“That’s bullshit!” Antonio spat. He was shocked by Hayden, who’d always seemed to have his back.
“Nah, somebody must’ve dipped in after the collection,” Jackson said, shockingly intervening on Antonio’s behalf.
“Don’t fucking gang up on me! I’m telling you what was in the count!” Hayden barked, angry that Jackson would dare go against him for Antonio. “How the fuck do you know that it wasn’t him? It damned sure wasn’t me!”
“Well, nigga, something ain’t kosher here at all. I helped with the count, I sealed the bags myself and rode with bruh to drop it off,” Jackson continued.
Hayden’s eyes flashed with fire. Suit or not, he wasn’t about to let them flip this on him for Antonio’s sake. He’d been the one to accept
Antonio into the fold before Jackson, and now they were flipping it on him.
Emil stood up. “Enough. A simple solution to this is that Hayden needs to check his people, because they must’ve pocketed the money that they were being paid to clean.”
Hayden slapped his hands on the table in front of him and shot up from his chair. Seeing his father agree with the black sheep son and the illegitimate son fueled Hayden’s anger even more. “Fuck all of y’all,” Hayden hissed.
Antonio wasn’t all that shocked. Being a star athlete his entire life, Antonio had dealt with jealous haters for a long time. He easily recognized the jealousy in his own brother’s eyes. All the while he thought Jackson was his problem, but now, he knew neither brother was that keen on him being around. He quickly and quietly made a mental note to stay one step ahead of everyone in the room. Or so he thought.
* * *
Blu Lounge was a nightclub located on the west side of the Bronx. They called it the Blu. The club was housed in a nondescript, red brick building that resembled an old factory. It was a holdover from the days when Emil cleaned his dirty money through the legitimate club scene. After a young girl had been shot during a party fight gone bad, Emil had been forced by the Feds to shut it down. Now it was just used for important meetings with Emil’s distributors.
A dude named Kenneth Barnes technically owned the Blu, although, on paper, it used to be one of the legitimate businesses Emil still held majority ownership in. Thinking back, Antonio remembered coming to the Blu one time to party and celebrate a win with his basketball team. Admittedly, he didn’t remember much about that night, especially after drinking almost an entire bottle of D’usse.
Antonio felt slightly exhausted. He had tossed and turned the previous night after his brother Hayden had accused him of stealing. Suddenly, he felt like he had no loyalties from Hayden nor Jackson. When Emil had told Jackson and Hayden to bring Antonio to the meeting, something inside of Antonio’s gut didn’t feel good about it.
Still, Antonio was there. So far, he had amassed about thirty thousand dollars in cash and another twenty thousand in treasury bills. Hardly enough to provide for Paige and for them to continue to live comfortably.
If Antonio had any doubts about being there, they went out the window when he reminded himself about his financial situation. He sat behind the wheel of his burgundy Escalade, the first car he’d gotten when he became famous. He’d brought out the old school to remind himself of how far he’d come.
His eyes were covered in dark shades, and the gun on his hip brought him a small bit of comfort. Antonio had sat in the cut and watched at least twelve dudes, some in business suits and others in jeans and hoodies, file into the Blu. Some came in groups and others solo, but they all seemed well acquainted with one another. Antonio figured he’d wait for Hayden and Jackson to arrive before he made himself known.
Antonio gave himself a mental pep talk. You ain’t got shit to lose. Watch out for the snakes. Don’t trust none of them. Get what you came for . . . what’s owed to you. He wasn’t sure what he would encounter inside, but he did know he wasn’t going to be weak in front of his brothers ever again. Antonio felt something changing inside of him. And, he didn’t know if it was for the better.
He stepped out of the car and immediately noticed that his legs were shaky like strands of cooked pasta. He smoothed the material of his Armani suit, which he’d worn just so he’d remind Jackson and Hayden that he still resembled Emil the most. He was Emil’s son, whether they liked it or not.
As he walked confidently, his hard-bottom Christian Louboutin loafers sounded off on the uneven cobblestones. The way he was dressed sent the message he wanted to convey—he was there to be about his, and Emil’s, business. Antonio had the right to be there too.
The clear plexiglass door handles opened effortlessly.
Inside, a slender man came rushing toward Antonio.
“Nah, we closed,” the man said, ready to force Antonio back out the door.
Antonio removed his glasses so the man could see his face fully. His nerves were on edge, but he managed to suppress the sheer nervousness well.
The man’s eyes went wide like he’d seen a ghost. “Oh, shit. You . . . you’re Tony Roberts from the . . . I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t think,” the man stammered, an awkward, nervous smile pasted on his lips.
Antonio chuckled. “It’s all good. Where is the meeting?” he asked.
The man’s head snapped up, seemingly surprised. “You here for the . . . I mean . . . you play ball. . . .”
“I’m here for the meeting with the Cartwrights. My brothers,” Antonio said.
“Oh, shit. Um, right this way,” the man said, his words rushed and quivery. He ushered Antonio up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway. There were two heavy wooden doors at the end of the hallway.
“Right in here,” the man urged, pointing Antonio in the direction of the forbidden underworld realm. “Man . . . can I get your autograph before you leave?”
“I got you.”
Antonio took a deep breath and turned both knobs simultaneously, opening the French doors. The bustling and noisy scene before him seemed to pause like a movie. All the men inside the room turned toward the door and stood stock-still, jaws hanging wide. Antonio felt hot all over. He felt suspended in time, his feet seemingly rooted in place.
Jackson was the first to react. He jumped up from the end of a shiny, dark wood table and rushed toward Antonio.
“If it ain’t the man of the hour?” Jackson said in the same smart-ass-mouth way he said everything. In all the time since Antonio had been working with his family, Jackson had never been this enthusiastic about seeing him. It made Antonio feel slightly uneasy.
“Either I’m looking especially good today, or you dudes got a thing for dudes. Which one is it?” Antonio asked, laughing.
“This is our brother, Antonio,” Hayden announced, moving to Antonio’s side. He still hadn’t apologized for that little stunt he’d pulled. Antonio never thought he’d see the day when he felt better about being around Jackson than he did being around Hayden.
“Brother, what the fuck kinda game is this? Ain’t that the motherfucking basketball player Tony Roberts?” one of the dudes in the room shouted.
“Shut the fuck up, Grim,” Jackson yelled. “We said this is our fucking brother.”
The room went silent as the occupants watched Antonio so hard he felt the heat of their gazes burning him up.
“Now, this nigga is here at the request of my father. He’s here to learn about our business dealings. If somebody in this room thinks they got a problem with him being here, they better think again,” Jackson gritted, his words forceful enough to send chills through the room. A wave of groans traveled the length of the table. Antonio had seen some of the men before at events he’d gone to with his brothers, but many were new faces.
* * *
What the fuck am I doing here? They can all shoot me down right here in this room! Though the thought flitted through his mind, Antonio knew that he couldn’t back out of the meeting now.
“Well, don’t mind me. Let’s get started,” Antonio said boldly, sitting down at the end of the table. Each man turned to each other incredulously. He was all in now. There was no turning back. No showing signs of weakness either.
A dark-haired Hispanic man slammed his hands on the table and stood up so fast he sent his rolling chair into the wall behind him.
“Oye, cabrones, yo no tengo tiempo para estas pende-jadas. Yo no estoy aquí para ver un pinche juego de basketball?” Listen, motherfuckers, I don’t have time for this bullshit. I’m not here to watch a fucking basketball game. He spoke to another man who stood at the back of the room defiantly.
“We don’t just allow outsiders into our business meetings!” someone else at the end of the table complained. Two more men stood up, their faces stony. The room was abuzz with gruff protests now.
Hayden’s face flushed and sweat danced down his side
burns.
“Everybody just calm down,” Hayden pleaded, frazzled. He turned back toward Antonio. “We will take care of this.”
“Nah. I’m not here for a basketball game that’s for sure,” Antonio announced loudly. The Hispanic man looked shocked that Antonio had understood his insult. “But I will say this, I’m here to find out about the dealings of my father’s business. I know that you all respect the Cartwright name, and we are the supplier here, and none of you have the high-level connections that our family has. We hold the key to your livelihoods, so you better learn how to play ball . . . and not fucking basketball,” Antonio said.
His words dropped like tiny bombs around the room. They all knew he was right. Each man in that room was dependent on the Cartwrights like a baby depends on its mother’s milk. In their business, Antonio had come to learn, dudes in those seats had better learn to obey him first, react second.
“Oh, shit! A nigga getting some balls,” Jackson joked. He was the only one in the room smiling though.
“Let’s get to the business at hand. We are moving to a new connect. And my father gave the name to me. Even Hayden and Jackson didn’t know this,” Antonio announced.
The room erupted again. This time it wasn’t low grumbles and mumbles, it was all out pandemonium.
“What the fuck?” Jackson whispered, pulling Hayden’s arm. “Did you know about this shit?”
“Obviously fucking not. I’m just as surprised as you,” Hayden whispered back harshly. “Pop is playing games. Dangerous games.”
Antonio held up his hand. “Let’s all talk. I think you’ll all want to hear what I have to say.”
A hush fell over the room like a soft blanket on a sleeping infant. Each man slowly took his seat, a captive audience.
Something tingled inside of Antonio’s gut. He felt a surge of confidence and power enter his bloodstream. Is this what it was like to be a Cartwright? He couldn’t front, the rush was better than stepping onto a basketball court and hearing a crowd cheer for you. This rush was different, like when you had forbidden sex as a teenager. So good, yet so bad.
