“Waiting for an important call? Another part?”
I almost jumped right out of my shoes at the sound of his voice. Looking up, I saw that Nolan was wearing a smile on his handsome face that I didn’t have the heart to return.
I shook my head and slipped the phone back into my pocket. “Uh, no. Let me get back out there since I’m supposed to be hosting this thing.”
My voice must’ve sounded off, because he asked, “Hey, you okay?”
You’re an actress. Act!
Upon receiving that internal admonishment, I flashed him my best smile and nodded. “I’m great.” Then I made my exit and resumed my duties as shower hostess.
*****
“Thanks for helping, guys. I really appreciate it,” I said to the five big burly men before me—Big South’s security team—as they carried Jo’s gifts up to the baby’s unfinished nursery. That baby was coming in a couple of months and I swear the poor thing was going to have to sleep on a naked mattress on the floor at the rate Jo was going with putting that room together, but she was determined to design it herself, having turned down South’s offer to hire a decorator.
I was gathering up the last few boxes to take upstairs myself when I heard a familiar voice say, “I can take those for you.”
Tommy.
I gave him a smile, a sincere one, because Tommy was a good guy, a kind soul who I just wasn’t compatible with. To be honest, he wasn’t even my type, and I knew that from the start. I was all ambition, and work would always come first for me. Tommy was chill. He loved his job, but he was ready for the one thing I couldn’t give him—a family. What we’d shared was short, intense, and fun. But it wasn’t love, and we both knew that. We didn’t have what it took to build a marriage, let alone a family. Then again, I wasn’t looking to build one of those with anyone anyway.
“Sure,” I finally said, handing him the boxes. “Thank you, Tommy.”
He gave me a little nod and turned to leave. He looked good and peaceful…content, and the exchange wasn’t as weird as I feared it would be, since those were the first words we’d traded since our breakup. It was…pleasant, mature, and I was grateful for that. I’d burned enough bridges for one day.
A few seconds later, I was heading to the living room to tell Jo I was leaving when I ran right into Nolan, who barely acknowledged me. Oh, well. I had too much shit on my mind to fake it for him again, anyway.
I felt stupid as hell. I’d dragged my feet, fucked around and missed my window of opportunity. I saw her talking to Tommy-the-bodyguard after Jo’s baby shower, and from the smile she wore after they ended their conversation, they were good, probably messing around again. And what messed with my head more than anything was that the thought of her being back with Tommy upset the shit out of me, had me acting all bitchish, halfway speaking to her when we crossed paths, ignoring her, and now, two weeks after the shower, I was actually avoiding her, because the sight of her legs in high heels and her ass in anything was making me lose my damn mind, and I didn’t want her to see it on my face. When the hell did I develop this overwhelming desire for this woman whom I barely knew? I could count on one hand how many weeks I’d gone without sex over the years. I had never been hard up, but I’d be damned if my ass wasn’t drooling over this woman like she possessed the one and only pussy in the world, and I hadn’t even had a sample of it! Shit, I was losing it for real, and I had no damn idea why. Yeah, she was fine and smart and pretty and…damn. She was everything. That was the issue. Bridgette Turner was everything I’d ever wanted, but she wasn’t mine, and that was the problem. That’s why I was standing in a corner watching her and Honey kill the scene they were filming in my club—well, it was actually Everett’s and Leland’s club, but I ran it, so it was basically mine. Anyway, that was why I was standing there like a lost and hungry-ass rottweiler staring at a meaty-ass bone.
Shit, shit, shit!
I was in such a trance, I didn’t even hear Laz yell cut. It still didn’t register that they’d finished the scene as my eyes followed Bridgette from her mark to the craft services table. Hell, when Laz landed a heavy hand on my shoulder, I jumped and damn near shrieked.
“She fine, ain’t she? That’s some grade-A ass right there, bruh,” he said, in a low tone.
I frowned and glanced up at him. Laz was big and tall, but not the same big and tall as my brothers. He was carrying around a spare tire and a double chin, the definition of out of shape. Talented as hell and a cinematic visionary, but he wasn’t going to win any awards in the looks department. Not that he gave a damn.
“Who?” I asked, finally tearing my attention away from Bridgette.
“Honey! Who else?”
I shifted my gaze to where she’d joined Bridgette. They were laughing about something. “Yeah, she’s cute,” I agreed.
“Cute? Shiiiid, man…you crazy! That’s some prize-winning pussy right there!”
I frowned. “You and her? Y’all are a thing?”
“No, but we will be after tonight. I guarantee it. Which reminds me. Can you hook me up with that VIP room upstairs tonight? We gonna need the privacy, if you know what I mean.” He punctuated his statement by elbowing me and then laughing that loud, snorting laugh of his. “You gonna be here, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just ask for me when you get here. I’ll take care of you,” I said, letting my eyes roam the huge club again until I spotted Bridgette and Honey sitting at one of the tables.
“You always do,” Laz said, before heading in the direction of the two ladies.
I shook my head and headed to my office in the club. It was early in the afternoon, and I had tons of paperwork to do before we opened our doors later that night. This first official day of filming would have to go on without my stupid ass stalking Bridgette Turner.
6
Jessie Mae Parker, age 68, died unexpectedly in her home in Reola, Alabama, on January 8. She was the only daughter of Augustine and Linda Jones. A lifelong resident of Reola, she attended Reola public schools and married Earl Parker while still in her teens. A homemaker, Mrs. Parker worked tirelessly her entire life to care for her family and to help those in her community. Left to cherish her memory are her brother, Augustine Jr., her daughter, Arlette, her son, Earl Jr., a special granddaughter whom she helped raise, Jessie Mae, and a host of other grandchildren, nieces, and nephews...
That was where I stopped reading the online lie-bituary for my grandmother, a term I use loosely. Jailer, warden, abuser, evil bitch? Yes. Grandmother? Hell no. That lie-bituary was a sweeping work of fiction chocked full of bullshit. So she was a homemaker? Riiiight. And she helped raise me? Okay. Helped the community? If you call smoking and selling crack and pimping hoes helping, then yeah.
I closed my laptop and turned my attention to the episode of Wives with Knives that was playing on my TV. I kept it on the ID Channel for the most part, because I’d always been a little twisted, I suppose. But who the hell could blame me with the damn hood novel existence I’d once lived. The shit I went through growing up would make those book characters’ lives seem like fairy tales.
Unable to focus on my usual brand of entertainment, I leaned against my headboard, closing my eyes and trying to breathe through what I was feeling about my gr—that woman’s passing. It wasn’t sorrow or sadness, but anger. The woman was dead, and I still hated her, and that bothered me. It bothered me that even after death, she could affect my mood like this. Years had passed since I last saw her old crackhead ass, and I still despised her.
I opened my eyes, and my mind shifted to my mother, my weak mother who never, not once, tried to protect me from her mother. She just…let it happen, all of it.
And I hated her to this day for it.
She hadn’t called me anymore, so there was that, but I was still off-balance and disturbed about this intrusion into my world, a world I built to block that part of my life out. I’d worked so damn hard to delete that part of my life, to forget being scared and actually seeing that youth ho
me as a sort of paradise. Hell, anything was better than that den of crackheads I was living in. Crackheads, prostitutes, johns, perverts, hunger, nightmares…
I hopped from the bed to my feet, paced around the room while shaking my head, and when I found myself biting my expensively-manicured nails—a disgusting Jessie Mae habit I’d broken long ago—I sat back down on the bed and let a little whimper escape my throat, but I didn’t cry.
I didn’t cry.
“The Gallery. How may I help you?”
I held the phone for more than a few seconds, so long that the familiar voice repeated her greeting.
Finally snapping out of a haze of hesitation, I said, “Heather, it’s McClain.”
“McClain! It’s been awhile. Are you joining us this evening? Your usual time? Want me to set up your favorite room? We have some new girls I know you’ll be delighted to meet. All models.”
I paused again. This didn’t feel right, not anymore, but shit, I was horny. So I finally said, “Yes.”
“Great! Everything will be ready for you.”
“Thanks.”
I stared at my cell for a moment before placing it on my desk and scrubbing my hand down my face. Bridgette, or maybe my irrational desire for her, was messing with my head, had me thinking I should end my membership at The Gallery. And that was just crazy. That place had been a vital part of my life for years.
Shaking those thoughts off, I focused my attention on the split-screen monitor on my desk. The club was packed, including VIP, except for the room I was holding for Laz. If his ass didn’t hurry up and make an appearance, he would be ass out. It was already close to midnight, and I was trying to have some fun myself. I’d give him another thirty minutes, and then I was out of there and on my way to a damn good night. I was going to make sure of that.
Fifteen minutes later, I got the call that he had arrived, left my office, and headed to VIP to escort him and Honey into their room because Laz liked that shit, thought it made him look important for the club’s manager to do it rather than another club employee. He’d always been a good patron, and he was a friend, so it wasn’t a big deal for me to appease him. Plus, his arrival meant my departure, so walking him to VIP wasn’t an inconvenience since I’d be leaving right after that anyway.
I stopped at a few tables to speak to some regulars and went to the bar to let them know what to send up to Laz, so a few minutes had passed by the time I made it upstairs to find Laz…with Bridgette by his side.
7
“Bridgette! Hey, Bridgette! Can you walk? Bridgette!” I shook her where she sat slumped in the passenger seat of my car, my damn heart throttling my rib cage with each beat.
Her head rolled toward me as she fought to focus her eyes on me. “Wert arf key?” she mumbled, then reached up and sloppily swiped at her mouth and tugged on her bottom lip before her head lolled to the side again.
I was so panicked, I could only think of doing one thing. So I fumbled around the center console until I felt my phone, lifted it to my face, and as the screen lit up illuminating my car’s interior, I muttered, “I’ma call the police.”
Her head snapped back toward me, and she frowned as she attempted to rub her forehead. “No!” she shouted clearly. “No, d-d-on’t faw kip!”
“Huh? What?”
“D-d-don’t calllll,” she groaned.
“But-but I’ve got to. They need to—”
Her shaky hand clamped onto my arm. “No,” she whimpered. “P-p-please. No.”
I dropped the phone to my lap and closed my eyes. What the fuck was I supposed to do? This shit was all the way fucked up. She was out of it, and I didn’t know why I bothered asking if she could walk when she’d barely made it out of the club and into my car on her own two feet. I was parked in my driveway, because I didn’t know her address and this was the only place I could think to go, but maybe I should’ve taken her to Everett’s place since she and Jo were close. But shit, Jo was pregnant, and from what Everett had told me, she was emotional as hell right now. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to bust in on them.
“Okay…okay, then I’m just gonna take you to the hospital, all right? They-they can help you.”
Her head rolled back and forth. “No, pees-please. Just sweep. I want to sweep.”
“Sweep?”
“Night-night,” she slurred. “Sweep.”
“Sleep? You wanna sleep? Is that safe? Should you be sleeping right now?”
Nothing from her, because evidently, she’d already fallen asleep.
I slapped the steering wheel, and shouted, “Fuck!”
Bridgette didn’t move a muscle.
Take her to the hospital, repeated in my head, but I couldn’t erase the desperate look I saw in her eyes when she begged me not to. So, I pulled my car into my garage, and a few minutes later, carried her inside my house. After I’d laid her in my bed, I sat next to it and watched her sleep.
8
Two hours earlier…
For a second, I just stood there and wondered what the fuck was going on. What the hell was Bridgette doing with Laz? Where was Honey? Then I told myself that this was probably a cast get-together I wasn’t aware of, something to build camaraderie. Yeah, that had to be it. Otherwise, this shit didn’t make sense.
“You gonna let us in?” Laz asked, eyebrows raised as he slipped an arm around Bridgette’s waist.
My eyes shot from his arm to Bridgette’s face. She looked…apathetic, almost as if she wasn’t really present in that moment. The fuck was going on?
“Nole!” Laz said through a chuckle. “You a’ight, man?”
I blinked a couple of times and nodded. “Yeah, yeah.” As I opened the door and led them in, I asked, “Honey on her way?”
He shot me an incredulous look as he allowed Bridgette to enter the room before him. “Nah, it’s just me and Ms. Turner here.”
Bridgette took a seat on the couch and fixed her eyes on the coffee table.
“Bridgette, you good?” I asked.
She lifted her head, basically looked through me, and nodded. Something was wrong with her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She wasn’t high. I knew what that looked like. She was just…blank, like there was nothing in there, like she was on empty.
Laz cleared his throat, and I tore my eyes away from Bridgette, focusing on him. “Oh,” I said. “Uh, someone’s gonna bring your regular order up from the bar.”
He slapped his hand on my shoulder and smiled down at me. “Good, good.”
My eyes found their way back to Bridgette. “You need anything, Bridgette? From the bar, I mean?”
She shook her head without looking up at me.
And then I just stood there, because the last thing I wanted to do was leave her alone with this nigga.
“I think we’re good, man,” Laz said, but I barely heard him.
My eyes were still on Bridgette as I nodded. “Yeah.”
A minute or so later, Laz said, “Uh, don’t they need you in your office or something?”
Shit, I needed to leave. It didn’t make sense for me to still be there, but my damn feet wouldn’t move. Another minute had passed before I managed to put one foot in front of the other and make my way out of the room, closing the door behind me. Then I just stood there and stared at the door until I realized the people in the roped-off VIP areas were staring at me. So I left, returning to my office instead of leaving the club, because I couldn’t leave, not knowing Bridgette was up there with Lazarus. How the hell did that happen? Had he been sniffing in behind her the whole time he was acting like he wanted Honey?
I stayed in my office for an hour, watching the monitors for the VIP area and wishing there were cameras in that room with them, but Everett had wanted that one spot to have privacy for the patrons who were willing to pay top-dollar for it. Their need for privacy had worked in my favor up until this point, fattened my pockets, and made me privy to the kinds of secrets that help when you’re making moves in Hollywood. I’d turned
my head and played dumb about a lot of shit that went down in that room. But this time?
The last thing that motherfucker needed with her was privacy.
And the last thing I could do was turn my head and play dumb.
Motherfuck!
I sat my stupid ass up there staring at the monitors for another few minutes before I decided to just bust in there on them, because I had to do something. I rushed through the club so fast everything around me was a blur, and when I made it to the room, the door opened before I could touch the knob.
Lazarus didn’t see me at first, because he was too busy trying to lead a very wobbly Bridgette out of the room.
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked. Well actually, it was more of a bark.
Laz looked startled as his eyes shifted from her to me. “She drunk. Whatchu think wrong with her?”
“Did you give her something?” I’d heard the rumors. Shit, everyone had. It was widely known that Laz was supposed to be on that shit Bill Cosby was charged with. It had never been proven, but I’d seen him leave this room with other women who looked just as altered as Bridgette did. I knew. In my soul, I knew what was behind those sexual escapade stories he told. I just chose to ignore the truth.
“What?!” he shrieked. “I ain’t gave this bitch nothing! She drunk, and I’m gonna take her home. The fuck is wrong with you tonight? You acting like you fucking her or something.”
Let Me Show You (McClain Brothers Book 3) Page 3
