The Boss

by Aya De León

  “So break the contract,” Tyesha said. “Artists do it all the time.”

  “And then get sued,” he said. “I’m sorry I did it, but I can’t undo it. I just wanted you to know that I really tried, but I was too late.”

  “Is that why you called?” Tyesha asked. “To tell me why you can’t get out of your contract?”

  “Not just that,” he said. “I called about Nashonna’s album release party. I know how much you love her, and I thought you still might wanna go. I can’t even make it, but I can keep you on the list as my plus-one. You should go see your girl. It’s the least I could do.”

  “Looks like you’re too late on this one, too,” Tyesha said. “I’m going with someone else.”

  “What?” he said.

  “Sorry, Woof,” Tyesha said. “I have to go. I’ll see you around.”

  She hung up and stepped back out of the bedroom.

  “That didn’t sound good,” Deza said.

  “We broke up, okay?” Tyesha said. “It happened the other day, but I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew you’d react like this.”

  “Was it the Car Willis thing?” Deza said. “They just announced it. I shoulda known.”

  “Yeah,” Tyesha said. “That was the thing.”

  “Well, did he say anything about my demo before you dumped him?”

  “I’m sorry, Deza,” Tyesha said.

  “Did you even ask?”

  “Wait a minute,” Tyesha said. “I promised one date and to give him the demo. Which I did. I didn’t promise to keep dating him til he discovered you, or to do follow-up.”

  “But this is my big chance, Auntie Ty,” Deza said, on the verge of tears.

  “Girl,” Tyesha said. “Don’t be like your mama here. Looking to some man to make your life happen. Just like your DJ ex did all the booking and had all the contacts. Now you want to be Woof’s protégée? You need to get your own hustle. Fame isn’t gonna show up in the form of a man sweeping you off your feet. What happened with that hip-hop open mic?”

  “Not much,” Deza said. “The guy said I had potential. That I should come back next week.”

  “Then go back,” Tyesha said. “You want it? You gotta put in the work. I haven’t heard you rhyme once since you been here. You used to freestyle all the time when you were in high school. You even had me rapping into a kitchen spoon. Now you’re just hovering over my phone. You need to get on your grind. When is the next open mic?”

  “Tonight,” she said, sucking her teeth.

  “Then what are you doing here?” Tyesha asked.

  Deza rolled her eyes, but put on fresh lipstick, grabbed her notebook, her purse, a stack of demo CDs, and walked out of the apartment.

  * * *

  A couple days later, Tyesha called the team into the office. Tyesha sat on the desk, with Marisol, Jody, and Kim on the couch facing her. Serena sat next to the desk with a laptop in her lap.

  “Unfortunately,” Tyesha said, “this cinematic masterpiece can’t be submitted for any awards. So this is a private showing, and an homage to the genius of Serena Kostopoulos.”

  “Oh, this old thing?” Serena said with a wry smile, and flipped open her laptop.

  After a moment of static, the camera showed the mobster’s office. Then a male figure entered the frame, wearing a ski mask and a hoodie.”

  “Is that the nephew?” Kim asked.

  “Nope,” Tyesha said. “That’s Marisol in the man suit.”

  In the video, Marisol crossed to the desk. She removed the painting and cracked the mob safe. After she took out the gun and set it on the desk, she closed the safe door. Then there was a quick glitch in the film, but it resumed, with the figure in the ski mask putting the picture back up.

  “That’s the cut, right?” Kim said. “That’s where it cuts to the nephew!”

  “Wait for it,” Tyesha said.

  The masked man took the gun off the desk and walked toward the camera. Several steps away from the desk, he removed his ski mask, and it was clearly Ivan, the mobster’s nephew. As he stepped out of the frame, he yelled, “Uncle! I take what I want.” Then the screen went black.

  “Damn,” Kim said. “That’s incredibly convincing.”

  “It wouldn’t stand up in a court of law,” Serena said. “But it only needs to convince his uncle Viktor.”

  “And it’ll probably be Ivan’s death sentence,” Tyesha said soberly.

  “I had Raul look up this guy’s rap sheet,” Marisol said. Her boyfriend was an ex-cop. “He’s a serial predator. Over a dozen rape cases settled out of court.”

  Jody nodded. “I saw the look in his eye when he came after me in that bathroom. He wasn’t gonna take no for an answer.”

  “If anybody has a problem with it, now’s the time to speak up,” Tyesha said.

  For a moment, nobody said anything.

  “I say send Viktor the video,” Kim said.

  Serena closed the laptop. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

  Chapter 16

  Nashonna’s album release party was located at the Paperclip Records headquarters in midtown.

  Tyesha had been to the Oscars with Woof at the beginning of the year, so the Paperclip party seemed less glamorous. But it was trendier, with artists wearing more edgy fashion instead of formal wear.

  Drew had on an understated black jacket and dark jeans, with black snakeskin boots. She wore a curve-hugging dress in bright hues of red and gold.

  One of the oversized posters on the wall in the foyer was the cover of Thug Woofer’s first album, $kranky $outh. The image featured a rural field with rows and rows of plants that had hundred-dollar bills where cotton bolls should be. Thug Woofer wore a straw hat and had a wheat stalk sticking out of his mouth. He was pictured driving a solid gold tractor with loaders on the front and back, each filled with women wearing bikini tops, thongs, and booty shorts, with their rumps in the air. Tyesha rolled her eyes as she walked past the poster.

  The place was packed. There were no chairs, but Drew managed to find them a tiny standing table at the far end of the room where she could set down her purse.

  “Now let me go get us some drinks,” he yelled over the music.

  She nodded. The opening act sounded great. A trio of young Latina rappers. Nashonna was always good about putting other women on.

  As she nodded her head to the music, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  She turned to see Thug Woofer.

  “I thought you weren’t coming tonight,” she said.

  “I had planned to surprise you,” he said. “Til you said you had another date. You can’t possibly be with that bourgie fool. He doesn’t know you.”

  “Is that your surprise? Telling me who to date?”

  “No,” Woof said. “I wanted to tell you in person that I broke my contract to work with Car Willis. You were right. I read more about it and . . . that shit is sick. I don’t wanna be associated with it in any way.”

  “Good for you,” Tyesha said.

  “Look,” Woof said, “I know you’re here with that other guy, but it’s only been what? Less than a week? I cleaned up the Car Willis mess. Is there any way we can get past it? Tyesha, I’m really falling for you. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “Whatever I felt before is over.”

  “I told you I broke the contract,” he said. “I fixed what was wrong. What more do you want from me?”

  “Nothing,” Tyesha said. “I don’t want nothing from you, Woof. You need to go. I’m with someone else tonight.”

  “Nah,” Woof said. “Niggas like him talk a good game, but they don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what?” Tyesha asked.

  “Don’t know reality,” he said. “What they know they learned from a book in school. Some fucking college boy.”

  “I’m a college girl,” Tyesha said.

  “You ain’t just one thing,” Woof said. “You college and you hood. That bourgie nigga kno
w what you used to do?”

  “You don’t even know him,” she said. “He’s very pro–sex worker.”

  “Bullshit,” Woof said. “He don’t know nothing about getting your hands dirty. How sometimes you gotta do shit you can’t write about on your college applications.”

  “Look, Woof,” Tyesha said. “You had your shot. Then two second chances. Don’t come up here talking shit about a man who can show respect where you fell short. Drew not only knows me, but he respects me, because he respects women.”

  “You haven’t told him, have you?” Woof said.

  Tyesha opened her mouth, but Woof put up a hand. “You right. Not my business. But you heard it here first. Enjoy the show.”

  Tyesha stood at her table, seething. How was he gonna tell her who to date? How did he know what Drew was really like?

  Drew appeared with a pair of champagne flutes. “Sorry that took forever,” he said. “Those girls were pretty good, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Tyesha said, and pulled him into a kiss.

  “Wow,” he said. “And that was before the champagne.”

  “Take me home with you tonight,” Tyesha whispered in his ear.

  Drew laughed. “As much as I love Nashonna,” he said, “now I’m gonna be hoping she does the world’s shortest set. One number, thank you and good night.”

  Tyesha laughed and kissed him again.

  * * *

  Two hours later, they were in his cramped apartment drinking wine out of hand-blown goblets. Tyesha sat on one of two tiny stools at a mini table that folded down. She was afraid to move normally or she might knock over her glass.

  “So now we move into the second entertainment portion of our evening,” Drew said. He stood up and hung onto a tall pipe next to his fridge.

  “I was gonna give you a striptease,” he said. “Got any professional pointers?”

  “What?” Tyesha asked.

  “You know,” he said. “From a stripper perspective?”

  One voice in her head said to leave it. He thought she’d been a stripper, and that was close enough, especially for a second date.

  But she kept hearing Thug Woofer’s voice in her head. She wouldn’t feel at ease until she had proven him wrong.

  “Sorry, no tips,” she said. “I didn’t really used to strip.”

  “But I thought—” Drew said. “You said—”

  “I waitressed in a strip club,” Tyesha said. Then she took a deep breath. “And I occasionally did exotic dancing as part of the package when I was an escort.”

  Drew blinked. She resisted the urge to sugarcoat it.

  “I was a full-service sex worker,” she said.

  “Full—?”

  “Sex for money,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said, with a bouncy little shrug. “That’s cool.”

  But she could hear by his hesitation that it wasn’t. The moment felt awkward, stilted.

  Then he poured them a couple of drinks and got her laughing again. She thought maybe she had imagined the awkwardness.

  As they chatted and laughed, she kept waiting for him to make the move on her. To lean in and kiss her. He had been so eager the first time they had sex. So excited to get her home tonight. But now, since she’d said the words “escort,” “full service,” and “sex for money,” he seemed to be stalling.

  She thought about making a move on him herself, but she needed to ask him point-blank.

  “Drew,” she said, interrupting a funny anecdote about interviewing a Scandinavian pop star. “I know you said it’s cool that I used to be an escort, but are you sure?”

  “Oh yeah . . . no,” he said. “Totally cool. I’m just really . . . you know I’m way more tired than I thought. I’ve been up since five and that latte I had after dinner is wearing off. Can we maybe take a raincheck?”

  She tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Of course.” She had used that same face and posture with clients. When regulars were vague about setting another date. Not willing to man up and just say. . . whatever the fuck it was: I’ve tried a black girl and it was nice, but now I want to try a Latina. Or my wife is getting suspicious. Or I lost my job, so I can’t afford to see you again. Whatever it was. Part of what they paid for was the privilege of not having to say anything.

  Drew hadn’t paid, but he’d certainly treated her like a hooker. All condescension and distance.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’ve got an early day myself.”

  “Let me walk you out,” he said.

  “No, no,” she said. “I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.”

  Some part of her was waiting for the sexy joke, or the Wait, Tyesha . . . stay . . . But it never came.

  As she stood on the street, hand up, trying to hail a cab to Brooklyn, it did feel like a walk of shame. Not for the sex that never happened, but for the humiliation of having gotten her hopes up and been rejected.

  The tears began to fall.

  Worst of all, Thug Woofer had been right. Him and his smug mansplaining attitude.

  Finally, a cab cut across two lanes of traffic to stop for her.

  She wiped her eyes and climbed in, giving the driver her address.

  In the back of the taxi, she deleted both men’s numbers from her phone. She couldn’t deal with thugs. She couldn’t deal with college boys or stockbrokers, either. Fuck all men.

  * * *

  She slept poorly and was up before dawn. She decided to go in early and get a head start on all the work she’d been neglecting, between the heist and her love life drama.

  Things were quiet in the early morning, and she walked down into the subway with a cup of coffee in her hand and an umbrella under her arm.

  Suddenly, she felt a tug on her other hand.

  A young man was trying to steal her briefcase. He had on a sweat suit and a lock of dark hair fell in his eyes and obscured his face.

  She spun around and threw her coffee on him. He screamed and stumbled back against the steps.

  The next thing she knew, she was beating the shit out of him with the umbrella.

  “You gonna take my briefcase?” she asked. “My fucking briefcase? Do you have any idea everything I’ve gone through to get this fucking briefcase, and you’re just gonna fucking snatch it?”

  He threw his arms up over his head to protect himself. It was a cheap umbrella she’d gotten on the street for five dollars, and it broke quickly. He scrambled up and ran out above ground.

  She stood on the steps, panting. She could hear the train coming. She fumbled in her purse for her Metrocard, but her hands were shaking too much. She missed the train.

  * * *

  That day at work was nonstop. They had back-to-back strategy meetings for the union, as well as several grant proposals that needed her attention, not to mention closing out the fiscal year.

  It wasn’t until nearly eight p.m. that Tyesha had a chance to look through that day’s mail.

  On the bottom of the pile was an envelope from the DNA test lab.

  She opened the express mail envelope, and the business-size envelope within.

  They explained that the majority of the hairs were synthetic, or could not be tested because they didn’t have the bulb roots. The testing did, however, show conclusively that two of the samples are full siblings and are the children of the father’s sample. It also showed that there was another half-sibling who was the child of the father’s sample.

  Tyesha blinked. Who the hell had Deza been bringing into her house?

  She called her niece.

  “Deza,” she demanded, “have you been doing other people’s hair at the house while I’m at work? Are you starting up some cottage industry behind my back?”

  “No, Auntie,” Deza said.

  “Stop lying, girl,” Tyesha said. “I have evidence that you’ve brought somebody up in my house. Did you bring one of Zeus’s other kids into my house?”

  “Seriously, Auntie,” Deza said, “I ain’t brought nobody up in her
e. And all his other kids are in Chicago.”

  “How you gonna disrespect my house like that, after I took you in?” she raged. “It’s scientifically impossible for you to be telling the truth right now. Because you and Amaru been using my hairbrush and it just had—” She broke off, remembering that the brush also had her own hair.

  “Please, Auntie.” Deza began to cry. “I promise. Please don’t put us out. Seriously, I never—”

  “I—I’m sorry,” Tyesha said, her body feeling light, dazed. “Don’t cry, baby. I made a mistake. No, no, hush, sugar. Of course I’m not gonna put you out. My house is your house now.” She felt her throat tighten. “We’re family.”

  * * *

  Shock, Tyesha thought. This is shock. She couldn’t quite feel the touch of the leather on her fingertips when she picked up her purse. She felt disconnected from the pulling sensation in her arm muscles as she struggled to yank her phone charger out of the sticky wall socket in her office. She couldn’t feel the steps under her feet as she walked downstairs and out of the building.

  She had been standing on the street for a few minutes before she noticed that it was raining. The drops pelted her face, her hair, her raised hand as she tried to hail a cab. Rain splashed against the soft brown leather of her briefcase, soaking it to an even darker brown. She stood for another ten minutes, getting drenched, as yellow cab after yellow cab passed her by.

  Zeus is my father?

  She couldn’t quite picture his face, but he did look so much like Deza and Amaru, and they did look like her. Zeus is my father?

  The rain ran down her wrist into the sleeve of her blouse. She couldn’t quite feel the dampness seep through her summer-weight suit jacket, her silk blouse, the padding of her push-up bra. The rain thudded against her thighs, soaking through the skirt, the polyester slip, the oversize underwear, because she wasn’t going to be meeting Woof or Drew or anyone who might see them. Droplets slid down her legs into her shoes, turning the bright orange color sodden and dull.

  A taxi pulled up and dropped two clients in front of the clinic. One of the girls recognized her.

  “Tyesha,” she said. “Take our taxi!”