In The Cut

by Arlene Brathwaite

“I need you to represent me.”

  “Represent you?”

  “You could sell ice to an Eskimo. You speak French, Spanish, even German. What black man speaks German?”

  “Glenn—”

  “Olivia’s going to be there.”

  “And? She’s out of my league, remember?

  “I’m just saying. She’ll be there to keep you company in case you get bored.”

  Saint looked him up and down, and then shook his head. “I’ll do this on one condition,” he said holding up his finger.

  “Anything.”

  “For as long as you live, don’t ever, ever come to my job wearing orange spandex, again.”

  Saint’s apartment was a simple one bedroom, scarcely furnished, with nothing in plain view linking to his past. He leaned against his dresser, staring at the cotton/silk single-breasted tux laid out on his bed for tomorrow night’s exclusive event in Las Vegas. “I can be honest,” he said out loud, remembering what Glenn said to him coming home from the last show. “The only reason why I’m going to this snobbery event is to see Olivia again. There, I said it. I’m feeling homegirl and I want to see her again.” He broke out in laughter. It felt so good to feel emotions for another human being again. The last woman he had been intimate with nearly killed him. He fingered the stab wound on his chest. He knew Olivia was nothing like Her.

  “Holler at your boy!” Jon-Jon barked, as he walked into Butta Cutz. He licked his lips as he walked toward the reception desk.

  “What up, Miki?”

  “How you doing, Jon-Jon?”

  “Better… much better,” he said, eyeing her long legs. “How’s business?”

  “It’s business as usual.”

  “No doubt. Is my sister in her office?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ma go holler at her. I’ll be back to holler at you later, though.” Jon-Jon winked at her, as he headed toward the back. Miki’s smile vanished as soon as he did.

  Jon-Jon knocked on Olivia’s door and then walked in. “What’s cracka lacking, sis?”

  “Jon-Jon. How many times I got to tell you to stop barging in on me like that?”

  “Save that shit for them hoes, I’m family, we ain’t got no secrets.”

  “It’s not about secrets; it’s about respect for each other’s privacy.”

  “I ain’t come here to hear all that. Check it, right. I need a favor. I’m seeing this girl—”

  “And?”

  “And she attends Hunter College.”

  “Really?” Olivia said, surprised. “Yeah, I’m stepping my game up.”

  “When you gonna step your wardrobe up and rock something else other than baggy pants, hoodies, and fitteds?”

  “Step up to what? Tight-ass suits and pointy shoes? Forget about how I dress. Back to my girl. She needs a job.”

  “Bring her down for an interview.”

  “Interview? She’s looking for a job, not an interview.”

  “I don’t know her, Jon-Jon. I got to at least meet her before deciding whether or not to give her a job.”

  “You know me, and I’m vouching for her. That’s good enough.”

  “Like I said bring her down for an interview, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You on some bullshit, Olivia, word.”

  “Why I got to be on some Bullshit, Jon-Jon? I’m running a legitimate business.”

  “A business that your brothers help hold down.”

  “Don’t even go there.”

  “All I’m saying is I don’t ask for much, and when I do, I got to jump through hoops ‘n’ shit.”

  Olivia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Listen; bring her in Monday morning, just so I can go through the motions. My employees will flip if I just hire someone without running it by them first.”

  “So, you’re going to give her the job?”

  “Yes, Jon-Jon, I’m going to give her the job. Just make sure she comes in Monday morning.”

  “I knew I could count on you, sis.” Jon-Jon pulled up a chair and kicked his feet up on her desk. “So, what’s this I’m hearing about you fucking with some nerd-ass accountant?”

  Olivia opened her desk drawer and grabbed the bottle of aspirin.

  Chapter 3

  Saint and Glenn arrived at J.F.K. airport just before noon. Mr. Seeger greeted them with a brisk handshake and a wide smile. “The ladies are already onboard,” he said, referring to Grace and Olivia. When Glenn told him earlier that Mr. Seeger was flying them to Las Vegas in his private jet, he was impressed.

  The runway was an eardrum’s nightmare. Everything from the roaring of jet engines to the click-clacking of baggage carts being towed to luggage conveyor belts hit Saint from all sides. He winked at Glenn as they followed Mr. Seeger up the grip-textured aluminum steps of the Gulfstream VI. As the cabin door closed behind them, it felt like they entered a soundproof booth. The interior was red with gold trimming. The red leather seats were club-sized and looked inviting. Some faced each other with a table bolted down in between them. Saint’s eyes lit up when he saw Olivia. She gave him a head nod and a smile. Grace on the other hand ran down the aisle and gave Glenn a hug and a wet kiss on the cheek.

  “You don’t know how much this means to me, Glenn, thank you so much.”

  “No, thank you,” Glenn said, kissing her hands.

  “Hi, Clayton,” Grace said, giving Saint a hug.

  “Hi, Grace. Good to see y’all again.” Saint cut his eyes at Olivia. She was wearing a plain sweatsuit. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but she still looked sexy as hell. He hung up his garment bag containing his tux on the overhead hook next to Grace and Olivia’s garments bags, and followed Glenn and Grace down the aisle. He sat in the seat opposite Olivia and reached over the table to shake her hand. He smiled when he saw the sparkling diamond. “So, are we going as husband and wife tonight or…?”

  “I think I can keep a couple fashion designers at bay, but just in case, be ready to call me darling or sweetheart,” she said with a wink.

  Mr. Seeger picked up a phone that was linked to the cockpit. He shook his head and grunted a few words before letting his guests in on the conversation. “We’re about to take off, so the pilot wants us to buckle up. We should be in Las Vegas in about five hours. If you’ll excuse me, I have to make a couple calls.”

  “Thank you, once again, Mr. Seeger,” Glenn said.

  “My pleasure. Anything for the future icon of fashion.” With a nod, Mr. Seeger headed toward the front of the jet.

  “Seems like he has a lot riding on you, Mr. ‘Future icon of fashion’,” Saint said.

  “A lot of people do, that’s why I have to hit it off big with these guys tonight. So, what should we be expecting?” Glenn asked Saint in a stressed tone.

  “The same thing you see at all these functions. Eccentric men with deep pockets and exotic women wrapped around their necks like scarfs. You’re new to the game, so they’re going to try and dazzle you with a little glitter and a lot of bullshit.” Saint looked over at Grace and Olivia. “Excuse my choice of words, but I got to call it what it is.”

  “Keep it real, nigga,” Grace said.

  Olivia swatted her on the shoulder. “What did I tell you about using the N word?”

  Saint continued. “The most important thing to remember, Glenn is… don’t sell yourself short. You are a damn good fashion designer, and you got a dime piece on your side.” Grace blushed. “They’re going to love your creativity, I can guarantee you that.”

  “And how do you know so much about these guys Mr. Accountant?” Olivia asked, leaning over the table toward him.

  “In my line of work, I meet all kinds of people. Some I can’t stand the sight of and others… I can’t stop looking at. So, remember what I said, Glenn and—”

  Olivia blinked. Oh, you’re good. I didn’t even see that one coming. Some I can’t stand the sight of and others… I can’t stop looking at. She grabbed her bottled water out of the cup holder and to
ok a few swallows to extinguish the heat of the blush spreading across her face. He was different. He wasn’t the shallow type she was accustomed to dealing with. If they weren’t flashing their jewels, they were patting the knot of money in their front pocket. Olivia didn’t consider herself rich, but she was well off. Her wealth was her gift and her curse. She was blessed to be able to take care of her brothers and those who worked for her, but the one thing that money couldn’t buy her was the ability to look into the hearts of the men who wanted to get with her. Did they want her money or did they just want a quick lay? Either way, she had no true way of knowing, and the line of defense that her brothers provided between her and the male population did keep out a lot of creeps, but it also kept out a lot of good men. From what she could sense, Clayton was smooth, but he wasn’t game-tight. Cocky, but not arrogant.

  “So, how did you two guys meet?” Grace asked. “He’s a fashion designer and you’re an accountant. You two are from two different worlds so to speak.”

  “It’s a long story,” Saint said, hoping she’d get the hint.

  “Well, can you tell it in five hours?”

  Saint looked at Olivia and he could tell she was just as curious. When he looked over at Glenn, he had the let’s-see-if-you-can-tell-the-truth grin on his face.

  “Well… we met in Paris.” Saint gave Glenn the yeah-I-told-the-truth look.

  “Paris?” Grace said surprised.

  “Yeah. Glenn was studying fashion design under the tutelage of a Rumanian tailor named Petrescu. I was Petrescu’s… number man at the time. About three months down the line, Glenn’s parents found out that he had dropped out of college to pursue his fashion dreams. They immediately cancelled his credit cards and stopped putting money in his bank account. When Petrescu offered to take an alternative form of payment, Glenn punched him in the face, packed his things and behold, the future ‘icon of fashion’ was knocking on my door at ten o’clock at night. He promised that if I let him stay the night, he would be out of my life in the morning. That was five years ago.”

  “Wow, and now y’all are the best of friends.”

  “Actually, Glenn is my only friend.”

  “Aw, poor baby,” Grace said, pinching his cheek. “I’ll be your friend, and Olivia will be your friend, too. Right Olivia?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well,” Grace said exhaling, “being that we got all that out the way. Did my ears deceive me the other night or did you call my girl’s salon a barbershop?”

  When Seeger’s jet landed, there was a Maybach 62 waiting for them.

  “Niiicce,” Grace said elbowing Olivia.

  At the MGM Grand they were greeted by a personal butler who showed Grace and Olivia to their suites, and then Glenn and Saint to theirs.

  “We’re on top of the world,” Glenn said, staring at the floor to ceiling windows of the two-story suite of the recently opened Sky lofts that were on the two top floors of the MGM Grand.

  “Not yet, Grasshopper,” Saint said, patting him on the shoulder. Remember what I said about the glitter and bullshit.”

  “Speaking of which, I’m impressed. You actually told the truth about how we met.”

  “I told you I could.”

  “Of course you left out the part about Petrescu being part of the Rumanian mafia, and that sexy assassin that put a six inch knife through your chest.”

  “I didn’t want to bore them with details.”

  “So, when are you going to tell Olivia that you’re not an accountant? I peeped the way you were looking at her. You’re feeling her.”

  “Since when did you become a master at reading people?”

  “I ain’t got to be a master to see the sparkle in your eye when you first saw her on the plane.”

  “Stop worrying about me, and start thinking about how you’re going to get in Grace’s panties. That is one of the main reasons why you asked her to come, right?”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Just one. Be honest.”

  Glenn and Saint met Grace and Olivia at their suite and accompanied them to one of the hotel’s private lounges where they were introduced to fashions designers who didn’t need any introduction. Both Glenn and Saint were wearing tuxedos. Olivia wore a strapless gown and a diamond necklace. Grace was the breathtaker. She had on a hand-fluted silk matte-jersey gown that cuddled her.

  “You were right,” Olivia said, whispering in Saint’s ear.

  “About what?”

  She pointed with her chin to the man with three gorgeous women surrounding him. “Like scarfs, right?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, about to mingle.

  Saint grabbed her by the elbow. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do?”

  “What’s that?”

  He looked down at her clutch purse. “How many business cards do you have in there?”

  “Ten, maybe fifteen.” Saint gave her the look. “Fifty, but I don’t plan on giving them all out.”

  “You’re not going to give any out.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Look around you, Olivia what do you see?”

  “Fashion designers, women, waiters…”

  “Look past the obvious.”

  “I give up. What am I supposed to be seeing?”

  “Business cards.” Olivia squinted her eyes at him. “The dresses, the gowns, the suits, the tuxedos, the jewelry, the eye wear, and even some of the women are all for sale. This gathering is nothing but a commercial whose actors are also the consumers. This is how ‘they’ advertise. You go pulling out business cards and start handing them out, they’re liable to call security and have you thrown out into the street for vulgarity.”

  “Oh really?” Olivia didn’t look convinced.

  “Really. If you don’t believe me, go ahead.” He released her elbow.

  Olivia bit her bottom lip as she looked around the room. “So, how am I supposed to let them know about Butta Cutz?”

  “First of all, they’re going to need a damn good incentive to want to come to Butta Cutz. And the only incentive that works on these folks is money.”

  “Money?” I’m not going to pay them to come to my salon. That’s defeating the purpose.”

  Saint shrugged. “Of course there’s another way.”

  “And what’s that?” she asked, tensing her shoulders. “Pay them, but pay them with their own money.”

  “Huh?”

  “Saint!” the fifty-five year old Rumanian called out, as if he saw a ghost. It took Olivia a few seconds to realize that he was referring to Clayton, and it took her a few more seconds to realize that he was speaking to him in French.

  Saint bowed his head and then replied to what the Rumanian had asked him. Olivia was amazed at how Saint’s voice took on a French accent as he spoke the language as if it was his native tongue. He gestured toward Olivia and continued his conversation with the Rumanian.

  “Olivia this is Mr. Petrescu.” Olivia remembered the name from their conversation on the jet.

  Mr. Petrescu grabbed Olivia’s extended hand and kissed it. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He spoke English this time, but Olivia still had trouble understanding him through his thick accent.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, as well, Mr. Petrescu.”

  “Please, call me Laurent.”

  “Okay, Laurent.”

  “You’ve gained weight, my friend,” Petrescu said to Saint.

  “I’m not as active as I used to be.”

  “So, I’ve heard,” Petrescu said, grinning at the double meaning of Saint’s words. “So, what brings you here, business or pleasure?” Petrescu asked, suspiciously.

  “Neither. I’m just accompanying a friend,” Saint said, pointing with his chin in Glenn’s direction. Petrescu looked over and then clapped his hands on his cheeks. “He still looks magnificent. I hear he’s becoming famous here in America.”

  “He’s the futu
re ‘icon’ of the fashion industry, Laurent.”

  Petrescu laughed, but the bite in his stare told Saint that he hadn’t forgotten the night when Glenn punched him in the face. He wasn’t mad at the fact that Glenn punched him. He was outraged that Glenn didn’t accept his intimate proposal. After all, he was Laurent Petrescu. No one said no to him. He bowed his head to Olivia. “I will leave you two to mingle while I go and pay my respects to Glenn.” Before departing, he locked eyes with Saint. The only word Olivia understood in Petrescu’s parting words in French was a name: Josephine.

  They both watched Petrescu as he approached Glenn and hugged him like a long lost relative. Olivia and Saint both smiled at the way Glenn greeted him with a cardboard hug and a plastic smile.

  Olivia stepped back from Saint and looked him up and down. “You’re full of surprises. You speak French?”

  “I speak it a little.”

  “A little?”

  “I lived in Paris for a few years. I was forced to learn the language to get around.”

  “Whatever you say, Saint.”

  “That’s my nickname. Correction that was my nickname.”

  “And who’s Josephine?” Olivia peeped the way he stiffened. “I shouldn’t have asked you that. It’s none of my business.”

  “Clayton!” Glenn was waving him and Olivia over.

  As they walked toward Glenn and Grace, Saint could see that he was sweating and nervous as hell.

  “I would like you to meet Marion Claude.”

  “Marion Claude? That name sounds so familiar,” Saint said. Then he snapped his fingers. “I read an article on you in Fortune 500.”

  Marion nodded humbly. “Please to meet you Mr.—”

  “Andrews. Clayton Andrews.” Saint extended his hand. “And this lovely lady is Olivia Martin.”

  “A pleasure,” Marion said, kissing Olivia’s hand.

  “I see you’ve bumped into an old friend,” Saint said to Glenn as he looked toward Petrescu, who was standing next to Glenn. “Yes, Laurent and I have some catching up to do,” Glenn said, moving closer to Grace.

  “Please, if you will,” Marion Claude said, motioning for them to sit at his table.