I watched Nolan as he had a hushed discussion with Nyles and Honey, and my mind reverted to that dance we’d shared just a couple of nights earlier, how good he’d felt and smelled, and what it did to my mind and body. I’d been thinking about him ever since and about the possibility of being with him, and at that moment, as I watched him do his director thing, I could feel myself beginning to overheat, so I stepped out of the room full of extras and film crew and lights and retreated to his kitchen where craft services had set up. I was staring at a tray of cookies when I heard a voice say, “Quite a spread today, huh?”
Nolan.
Spinning around, I was met with a smile I couldn’t return, and I guess I was looking a little too serious for him, because he said, “You all right?”
My response was, “No.”
“What’s wrong?” When I didn’t reply, his eyes roamed the room and then landed on me with a spark of recognition in them. “I’m sorry about the other night. A guy ran up a huge tab at the bar and his card was declined and he was acting a fool. I had to call the police and—”
“You say you like me, care about me, then why haven’t you asked me out?”
Raising his neat, thick eyebrows, he said, “What? I-uh-I was giving you time after the whole Lazarus thing. Plus, you went off on me for telling Ev.”
“I’m over the whole you telling my business thing. I mean, South is basically my brother, so I guess I might have kind of overreacted.”
“Okay, but I also thought maybe I freaked you out by kicking Laz’s ass.”
“I love that you did that for me, and I am extremely grateful to you for firing him.”
“You’re welcome. Um, Bridgette, I wasn’t sure if you were even attracted to me.”
“I’m very attracted to you, Nolan.”
“You are?”
“Yes. Don’t act like you don’t know you’re fine.”
“Not half as fine as you.”
“So, you think I’m fine, you care about me, and you’re standing right in front of me. Negro, ask me out!”
“Shit, okay! Go out with me. Tonight. Please.”
“What time should I be ready for you to pick me up?”
“Eight.”
“Okay, I’ll text you my address.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then we both stood there and almost simultaneously burst into laughter. For the rest of that day of filming, I wore a smile, excited about this night out with him.
He was smiling, too.
*****
“I’m so exthited! You and Nolan! It’s like a thream come prue for me!” I knew Jo was like eight thousand months pregnant and couldn’t help her huge appetite, but the constant chewing and smacking in my ear, along with her full-mouth speech impediment, were testing all of my damn patience.
Nevertheless, to keep from sending her into one of her frequent crying fits, I said, “A dream come true? How?”
“Well, we’re besthies, right? Sisthers in all the ways that mather. Wouldn’t it be cool if we were married to bwothers?!” Chew, chew. Smack, smack.
“Married? It’s only a date, a date I had to coerce him into making. I don’t think marriage is on the agenda for us. I just hope this night is a nice one.”
Slurrrrrp! Chew. Smack. “I can thream if I want to!”
“Okay, nut case. Look, I gotta finish getting ready, so I’ll call you later.”
I actually heard her swallow before she said, “Yeah, I need all the details!”
About thirty minutes later, he picked me up in his white Jag, and once I was inside it, it held a vague familiarity for me. But it wasn’t the car I usually saw him drive—a black Camaro. Then I realized this was the car he’d taken me home in the night of Laz’s attempted date rape. I had to quickly erase those thoughts from my mind so they wouldn’t ruin what I hoped would be a good night.
We were both quiet as he drove us from my little Atwater Village apartment towards Malibu with Kanye West’s College Dropout album filling the car. I wondered if he was taking me to his place, then decided against that. He probably thought that would freak me out, but it wouldn’t. I felt safe with Nolan, and feeling safe was a big thing for me. It was a feeling that was foreign to me for most of my childhood, from my time with my family to the two or three foster homes I stayed in until I was placed in the group home. Who’d think a group home would prove to be my saving grace and allow me to meet my best, oldest, and dearest friend on the planet? Blessings truly come in strange packages sometimes. The Teema Jane Smith Community Youth Home was that blessing for me, along with Karen, whom I’d shut out of my life.
I sighed as I observed the gorgeous neighborhood outside the passenger window. Yeah, I shouldn’t have treated her like that. I needed to fix that.
“You okay over there? I know it’s taking me a minute to get to our destination, but I promise it’ll be worth it.”
I turned and gave him a small smile. “I’m fine. It’s not like it’s ever quick or easy to get from A to B in LA. I was just…thinking.”
“About what? If you don’t mind me asking…”
“What made you want to change teams?” It wasn’t what was on my mind, but it was a question I wanted the answer to.
“Change teams?” he asked, his eyes darting from the road to me and back.
“From the time I first met you that Thanksgiving in Texas when South and Jo first got together, I’ve only seen you with white women. I’m just saying, I’m not white.”
“I know that.”
“So…why?”
“Why do I like you?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s not to like, Bridgette?”
I kind of blushed, or at least I blushed as much as was possible for me. “So you like black women?”
This time, he sighed. “I wish I knew why everyone assumes I don’t.”
I turned to fully face him, eyes wide as I said, “Uh, because the only women we’ve seen you with have been very white!”
“Did it occur to you that there was a reason for that?”
“Yeah…that you didn’t like black women.”
“How about a reason other than that? Because I love the shit out of black women.”
“A black woman hurt you or something?” I threw up my hands. “Help me out here!”
“Is it really that important to you? Does it really matter? You know I like you, that I care for you, that I’ll kick ass for you. I’ve never done that for any white woman.”
“So you’re not going to tell me?” I asked. This cryptic shit was beginning to work my last nerve.
He fell silent and I just shook my head, said, “You know what? Never mind. You’re right. It doesn’t matter. I was just curious,” and let the subject drop.
We had arrived at our destination—a Hawaiian-themed restaurant I’d heard good things about that was located right on the water—taken our seats, placed our orders, and had been served our drinks (pineapple vodka for me; Hahn brandy for him), when he said, “I was fourteen when Everett’s career took off, in the middle of puberty, and I already lacked individuality because I was a twin. Shit, half our relatives referred to us as “twin” when we were growing up, like we didn’t have names, because our mom and dad—when he was alive—were the only ones who could tell us apart. Then all of a sudden, I had this famous brother and people wanted to be my friend only because of that. Girls acted like they liked me just for what they hoped was the chance to get close to Ev. In a way, it was cool being popular, and people at our school actually started making an effort to tell which one of us was which, because we were Big South’s little brothers. We got invited to all the parties, Ev made sure we had the best clothes and shoes, and shit, we were living the high school dream. Had girls left and right. We were having too much fun to see how fucked up it was that all of this was only a result of Ev’s fame.
“Anyway, time went on, and Neil and me started developing as individuals more and more,
making it easy for us to be seen as two people instead of a matched set. We started growing apart, had our own friends and stuff. We left for college and matured a little, and I, for one, got tired of the girls who got with me in order to get to Ev. The shit just got more and more ridiculous as time went on. I only dated black girls back then, and every single one of them would get with me, be cool for a while, and then start asking when they’d get to meet Ev. The shit was actually demeaning, like my dick was a backstage pass to my brother. I just…” He paused and shook his head. “Hell, I just wanted someone to like me for me. That’s all I wanted, but I couldn’t find it in any of the women I dated.”
“So you switched to white women?”
He nodded. “American ones at first, but then Leland got drafted into the NBA and shit really got crazy. The damn white girls were after him and Ev. Don’t get me wrong; I love my brothers and none of this was their fault. It was just a fucked-up hand of cards I was dealt being the average, everyday brother of two famous men. Women couldn’t see me for me, and I got tired of that shit, but at the same time, I didn’t…I hate being alone.”
“So you switched to foreign women…” I said, coming to understand his plight. I could only imagine just how difficult it must’ve been to exist in the shadow of two extraordinary brothers. No wonder Neil was so fucked up.
“Yeah. They have no idea who Ev or Leland are, so it’s—it was a win for me. Hell, I was famous as far as they were concerned.”
“So what makes you think I’m any different from the black women you dated in the past?”
He adjusted in his seat, adopting a relaxed posture in that charcoal gray suit that fit him like a damn pair of leather gloves. “I’ve seen you around Ev and Leland. You barely notice them. You don’t seem starstruck at all.”
I shrugged. “Because I’m not. I mean, I was the first few times I was around South, but that’s my best friend’s man. Of course I’m not checking for him, and as far as Leland goes? We all know I’m not his type, and I’m not one to pursue a man who doesn’t want me. And shit, he’s married now. I’m not side chick material.”
“So you’re attracted to my brothers?”
“I’m attracted to all y’all. Hell, I’d be attracted to your sister if I swung that way. You McClains are some gorgeous people. But look, I can be attracted to a person and not try to get with them.”
He smiled, but before he could say another word, our dinner was served and we both dug in.
“This is nice,” Bridgette said, as we walked along the beach, not far from the restaurant. One of her hands was encased in mine while the other held her sandals. She was beautiful in her pink dress, the moonlight bouncing off her brown skin.
Damn.
“Yeah, it is,” I agreed.
“Is it crazy that I’ve been living in LA for twelve years and have only been to the beach a handful of times?”
“No, I think we tend to take the things that are most accessible to us for granted.”
“Hmm, you might be right.”
“I usually am.”
She shot me a grin. “Okay, sir. I hear you.”
I chuckled as we walked in silence, and then broke it with, “Bridgette, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What happened with you and Tommy? You two were going strong for a while there.”
Shrugging, she replied, “It just wasn’t meant to be. We weren’t compatible, and to be honest, my dedication to my career is too much for most men to handle.”
“Really? That’s one of the things I like most about you. You are a phenomenal actress, so the dedication is definitely paying off.”
“Thank you, and you are beasting this director thing. I mean, damn!”
We both laughed, and I said, “Thank you. I’m trying.”
“So, I hear you’re the man to go to, to learn about investing? Jo says you’re a master at it and you definitely have the lifestyle to prove it.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m pretty good at investments, better at making beneficial connections.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, when Ev and Leland bought the club, I asked to manage it because I knew the type of people who’d be patronizing it. You know, music industry heavy-hitters, Hollywood insiders. I knew if I could connect with them, I could get my foot in any door I wanted to enter, and I was right.”
“Like who? I mean, how do you work those connections?”
“Okay, you know who Stephanie Paré is, right?”
“Yeah, she’s one of those spoiled brat socialites—tall, anorexically thin, white, blonde, famous for no reason, sexually fluid. Her dad runs 2:22 Records.”
“Right. So she came to the club one night a few years back. That’s when she was dating that Baldwin chick, before she got with Talent the Prodigal One.”
“Yeah…”
“So, she and her girlfriend came in there and I put them in the VIP room. They were up there an hour or two before I started getting reports of shouting and crashing coming from in there. I rushed up there to find the two of them high out of their minds and beating the shit out of each other, bloody and bruised the hell up. They tore the room up, had already run through thousands of dollars worth of liquor, and while my security was trying to pull them apart, Stephanie Paré pulled out a knife and threatened to ‘Fuck all of us up if we didn’t let her finish kicking that bitch’s ass.’”
“Damn!”
“That’s what I said. I could’ve called the police. Shit, I probably should’ve called them, but Ev knows her father, so I got his information from him, called and told him what was going on, and he had his people handle it, even covered the cost of repairing everything in the room. After that, he owed me a debt. I’m cashing it in at his lodge in a couple of weeks.”
“The place in Montana where we’re filming the girls’ glamping trip? That’s his?”
“Yep, and he’s letting us film and stay there for free; otherwise, it would’ve been out of our budget.”
“Wow, so stuff like that happens all the time? You sweep stuff under the rug and these rich folks end up owing you?”
“Yeah, and most of them are good about honoring their word.”
“I bet they are if they don’t want stuff like that getting out. Smart, Mr. McClain. Kind of blackmailish, but smart.”
“I never said I was a saint.”
“And I never said I wanted one.”
Aw, shit! That’s what I’m talking about! “So, did you enjoy your dinner?”
“Yes, and the company.”
“Then you’d be willing to do this again?”
“Most definitely.”
“Good.”
A little over an hour later, we were standing in front of her door, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. “You really are beautiful; you know that?”
She gave me a wide smile and nodded. “I do now.”
“Hmm, I better let you go inside and get your beauty rest. You don’t wanna be late for work in the morning. I hear your director is an asshole.”
“Shh, he might hear you.”
I chuckled, and then leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. “See you in the morning, Bridgette.”
“Good night, Nolan.”
13
“Your skin is so pretty! I mean, you can tell you take your skin care seriously. No bumps or anything. You know, it’s rare for me to run across skin this smooth, and I have beat tons of faces. Tons!”
Dani, the film’s makeup artist, was a sweetheart. She really was, but Lord knows she could run her mouth, and I was almost too busy staring at Nolan across the room to pay attention to what she was saying. Yeah, I was really feeling him after our date the night before, feeling him and wanting to get to know him even deeper, maybe even pick his brain more. He was nothing if not intriguing to me.
“…you should see her skin up close! Horrible! You can tell she’s been living hard. The skin tells no lies,” Dani continued.
> “Who?” I asked, returning to our lopsided conversation.
“Honey,” she whispered harshly. “Girl, it’s like peanut brittle! Gotta be drugs.”
“Really?” I hated gossiping about Honey. She’d been nothing but kind to me, but it wasn’t like I was known to turn down some hot tea. “It’s that bad?” I added.
“Yeah! And it’s not just regular acne or from greasy foods. I’ve been in this business long enough to know the difference. Child, that’s heroin and brown liquor skin. I’m telling you!”
“Damn,” I said under my breath, as I let my gaze shift from my potential man to Honey Combs. She was so pretty and successful. Why would she need to be living so hard?
We were filming at the McClain Films building on a set decorated to look like Jazz’s—the main character’s—apartment living room. In this scene, Jazz and my character were supposed to be chilling at her apartment when Brother drops by. My character says something sassy and makes a quick exit, but even though I’d only be onscreen for a few minutes, I still had to undergo the “Cynthia” transformation of makeup, hair, and wardrobe, not that I minded. I’d always loved playing dress-up and make-believe. That was probably what made me a good actress—my love for it.
“Delivery for Bridgette Turner?!”
My head snatched to the right so fast, Dani damn near put my eye out with her mascara wand.
“Sorry,” I said, scrambling from the chair to my feet and rushing over to the man who had just stepped onto the set holding a massive bouquet of lilac-colored roses.
As I approached him, he said, “Bridgette Turner?”
I nodded a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah, that’s me.”
He handed me the heavy bouquet and nodded before leaving me standing there grinning like a complete and utter fool. I turned toward Nolan, who was staring at me but soon returned my smile. After digging the card out and reading his words, I held my hand to my chest and smiled even harder.
Bridgette,
Have you ever met someone whose soul pairs so well with yours that you wonder how you’ve managed to survive this life without knowing them? That’s how I felt last night.
Let Me Show You (McClain Brothers Book 3) Page 6
