by Love Belvin
With my head tilted, my hand swept from my beard into the air as a response.
“So, I told her she couldn’t make that call, then she fired me out of nowhere. I couldn’t believe it,” he seethed. I’d never seen him out of character like this.
Though he left out the part of the story when he called her an incompetent, menial, jealous brat, whose only merit of employment is nepotism—or at least, that was what Earl quoted to me.
I nodded, I’d heard enough. It was clear, I had what I needed.
“Just wanted to rap with you about some changes happening in my staff. Let’s call it restructuring.” I laced my fingers, placing my hands on the table. “You good with that?”
“Yeah, man.” Jashon shrugged.
There was a knock at the door before it opened. Lil Bruh handed me two file folders and a thick manila envelope. After quickly thanking him, I flipped open one of the folders, going through the contents inside. I pulled out his resume and scanned through it again.
“I looked you up. You graduated top of your class from Le Bourreau.” My eyes swept over to him. “In Marseille—France?”
Jashon nodded, eyes to the table as he tried to play it cool.
“That shit’s impressive. I ain’t even know they had schools for personal assistants. I’m sure you know Le Bourreau means ‘the executioner’ in French. That means you get shit done.”
He didn’t respond. I didn’t think Jashon knew how to. My request to meet him here, of all places, this morning had to strike him as odd.
“You liked your job, Jashon?”
“I—I…” His face folded, confused. “I worked for one of the top in the industry. I think that’s good enough for most.”
I eyed him, looking for any clue of his personality I could have missed over the two years he’d worked under Myisha. He was average height, maybe five-ten, kind of light skinned, and kept a low cut. I didn’t know about his sexuality and honestly didn’t care, as long as he got the job done.
“But what about for you?” My eyes brushed over his information again. “Jashon Brewington. What about your aspirations?”
His eyes skid away again. “To have a P.A. firm. Train and assign professionals. But first, I want the experience.” He shrugged.
“Yeah, I see here you’re twenty-four. Where you been applying for a new gig?”
“Parkwood.”
“Parkwood.” My brows rose, lips pinched, and I nodded respectfully. “Beyoncé. Sounds promising.”
Jashon shrugged with his mouth. “Just an assistant to an executive.”
With my chin resting between my thumb and index, I tossed him the thick envelope. It made a disruptive landing on the table. “Interested in being my exec? Here’s a detailed contract with a non-compete clause, confidentiality agreement, salary breakdown, and a whole bunch of legal nonsense my lawyer won’t even let me shake your hand on until it’s signed and returned.”
His face folded as he eyed the envelope. “What about Myisha?”
“She’ll be replaced. I told you, I’m restructuring. I’ll have another E.P.A. working alongside you. This won’t go into effect for another few weeks or so, but on the low, I’m offering you the gig. The sooner you fill it out, the faster you’ll be hired.”
Jashon fell into a stunned period of silence. I needed to go.
“I know this is a lot to process. You got time to decide, but I wouldn’t take too much.”
He nodded, eyes still on the envelope. “I’m good. I—I’ll apply.” He finally looked up at me.
Before I stood, I tossed the last file across the table to him. This one smaller than the one laying out our impending relationship. Jashon immediately opened it and began to read the brief document. “And to keep you oiled, I want you to find out everything you can about them. Full names, residences, hang out spots—everything.”
He glanced up to me with a wrinkled forehead, as though he was confused.
“I’ve been told Le Bourreau comes with a few classes dedicated to outsourcing and resource-gathering. Put that to use and find what I need. If you have to, hire a private investigator. So long as it’s done with discretion, do it.”
“What’s this about?” he uttered, regard still on the document.
“Jashon, you’ve worked for me long enough to know I don’t explain myself.” I stood from the table. “And that won’t start when you’re my E.P.A. Again, this begins after my lawyer hits me up saying your paperwork is in and completed.”
I gave him a nod of final acknowledgment, finding him somewhat dazed with a hanging mouth as I opened the door to leave.
“How did it go?”
I grabbed the cell Danny G was handing me. It was open to the text app. My eyes were glued to the one he was bringing to my attention when I muttered.
“Let’s hope for your sake, he’s down.”
“Why?” Danny croaked.
I glanced up to find Lil Bruh approaching. Then I cut my glance back to Danny. “Because your bum ass is a sucky personal assistant.” My smirk was forced.
With a hidden smile, Danny’s eyes fell away and I could hear Lil Bruch chuckle behind us as we stepped off.
“Dude’s lawyer sent this?” I asked, referring to Donovan, Wynter’s uncle.
Danny shrugged his surprise and cluelessness to it, too.
“How else he gone get word back that he wanna see you?”
It was my time to snort as we headed for the door to leave.
“So for the stage hydraulics…” I yanked at my beard, studying the layout of the stage simulation. “Play the “DM Unavailable” track, raise the other stages and leave the light on them, but fade mine.” I instructed Steve, the stage engineer.
We all watched as switches were tapped and knobs turned on his keyboard and on a huge projector against the wall, the simulation of a concert stage—my concert stage—came to life. There was an avatar that represented me on stage, lip syncing to the “DM Unavailable” track.
When the end of the song neared, I requested, “Now, let me exit without them missing me right away.”
“How do we do that?” Jamall, the stage manager, asked as we all stood around Steve’s desk and monitor, arranging the international leg of my tour.
I considered the advice given to me the first night I tasted her sweet pillowy lips. “Drop my stage but dim my lights first—keep the ones for the background singers and band on, though.”
“Oh, shit!” Jamall croaked, fist to his mouth as he chuckled. “That shit could be dope as fuck.” He leaned on Steve’s desk and asked him to rewind it to tweak the timing.
While everyone else behind me murmured their approval, I offered a few more suggestions then ended the meeting. I let out a deep breath to fight against the roaring exhaustion gaining on me. “A’ight. I think that concludes this meeting. Jamall, I’ll let you get to those changes. Hit me about our next meeting.” Addressing all of my team present, I turned to the back of the room where everybody was gathered. We were like twelve deep today. “I know we’re still a couple months out, but this stretch of the tour’s gotta be tight to make up for the cancellation to my fans. Let’s keep the communication tight. We’ll meet again for the next phase.”
While returning goodbyes, I took off with Lil Bruh and Danny G in tow. We made it out into the studio hall when I asked, “Is the visit with Williams set up?”
While he was in his phone, Danny G muttered, “His next visiting day is tomorrow. I was able to get you in.”
“Word,” I acknowledged, strolling toward the elevator.
It had been a hell of a day—hell, a week or more. I’d been running on adrenaline and…grief. My phone vibrated in my hand.
Heather: Are we still on for tonight cranky danky?
My eyes squeezed. I’d forgotten all about agreeing to getting up with her and I wasn’t in the mood. I would have much preferred to be in the studio, finishing up another song from recently lit passion. I’d been hit with fresh inspiration and creating pi
eces with a vibe never explored in my career. Rather than sleeping at night, I’d developed a hunger for writing, arranging, and recording new material. But I’d been putting Heather off for a week now, so I had to get it over with.
Me: No doubt.
A flash of a distinct mole painted on a full lip had me losing my step. I recovered quickly, squeezing my eyes to escape the visual.
“Raj!” I barely made out, so deep inside my head. Then I heard the clacking from heels gain on me. “Raj!”
Recognizing the voice, I turned to face her, trying to keep my cool.
“Yo.”
“Where are you going? Your two o’clock with wardrobe can’t be pushed back. Ralphie’s leaving for Argentina tonight.”
“I met with him yesterday.”
Her eyes narrowed as she processed that. Then her regard swung over to Lil Bruh and Danny G.
“I didn’t know that.” Her eyes fell below, and she changed her stance.
“No sweat. Don’t worry about my scheduling from here on out.” I turned to take off.
“Wait,” she demanded, and I glanced back. “What do you mean? Who’s taking over your scheduling?”
“That’s being worked out now. You picked your side of the fence, remember?” She knew what I was referring to. “I’ll get back to you when it’s final.”
“But… Wait—”
“You got the apartment’s spring cleaning taken care of? The staff in Sparta on top of season transition for the property?”
Myisha blinked, telling me she wasn’t prepared for those questions. The menial roles of an assistant. Things I’d asked her to get on a couple of days ago.
“Ummmm...” Her lashes fluttered. “The staff started—some did. I have a few calls to make about the lawns. I’ll get on the apartment next.”
I gave a nod as I turned to walk away again. “Looks like you’re overwhelmed, MyMy. No worries. I’ll be taking more off your plate.”
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I glanced back and saw her head was cocked to the side. “Alone.”
I exhaled, pinching between my tired eyes. “I don’t have time. Gotta get over to the hospital to check in on Mike. Hit me later.” I stepped off.
“I know you were in the studio all night,” she spoke behind me. “Have you at least eaten? You look stressed.”
My tired eyes flashed on her. “And you look guilty.”
She walked up to me the closest she’d been since being back in the States. “It’s for the best,” she shrieked, but low in a whisper.
Anger flared in my chest. “You may know a lot about me, but you don’t know shit about what’s best. I know this because if you did—really know me—you’d know you fucked up royally when you made that power move a week ago. You’d know how much damage you caused in our relationship.” I dipped to get closer to her face, to show her the truth in my eyes. “You’d know things will never be the same between us.”
With perfectly arched hiked brows and flared nostrils, she grated, “We’re family. No one will ever change that.”
“But you changed the strength in the fabric of our bond.”
“Because I won’t let a chick come between us?”
“Because you threatened me and decided to rock my fuckin’ universe with one selfish decision!” People coming out of the room we’d just left caught the sharpness in my voice and reversed their track back inside. My security had already backed up enough to give us privacy. “When Grandmother warned me about keeping you underneath me from since you were barely in a damn bra, I ignored it. When Mike and my business team begged me to shake you because I’d whipped too many niggas asses for talking out their neck to you, I ignored it.”
Tears rimmed in her lids lined in white and I stepped closer. “When my pastor—friend, whose batting average is point a gazillion told me our relationship needed to be aired out because there’s some dependency here, I ignored it. I made those sacrifices since you were young to shield you from whatever darkness you could have seen without my protection. I wanted to keep you pure and promising. But when you started employing fuckin’ power plays, the blinders were knocked clear off my face and you were exposed.”
I couldn’t believe when her face balled and Myisha began to cry like a little girl. Cry. As though she’d been done wrong.
“Man, fuck this,” I breathed and took off.
I caught the elevator just before it closed with Lil Bruh and Danny G right behind me.
God, we’re standing in faith for complete healing. We’re giving you the glory for this victory already. Preserve our faith; spare his life. In Jesus’ name.
“Amen,” I uttered, lifting my head from my clasped hands next to Mike’s comatose body. He lay there with a breathing tube lodged in his mouth. His eyes were hidden behind bandages taped to his face. I could hardly recognize him. Around his still head were sterile pads stained with his blood.
Sniffling across the room caught my attention. It was Melba, his mother, holding a knitting project in one hand and using her other to cover her face. I stood to go to her, hearing the sobs she swallowed. Grabbing her at the shoulder, I dropped to my haunches and drew her closer to me.
“Don’t cry, Ma. We’re standing on faith with this one,” I spoke underneath the soft music she played in the room.
“I just…” She trembled in my arm. “I’m scared he ain’t gone make it outta this one.” She blubbered hard. I shushed her, my face to her head. “Seeing you…come here…again and be…so…strong for him. I can’t do that.”
“You can. You’ve been here every day,” I tried.
Melba couldn’t control her wet fears. Mike was shot in his office in Jersey. After they stabilized him at the local hospital, the staff said he had to be sent to a trauma unit and ASAP. Afraid for his safety, his family demanded he be transferred to a trauma center in Brooklyn. The hospital was shut down. Visiting Mike was possible for only a few.
“I’m so scared,” she groaned again.
She had every right to be. When I came in today, Mike’s cousin, Jerry, who’d been a rock to his moms since this ordeal began, told me the doctors didn’t like the results of the tests and scans they’d taken yesterday. It had been over a week and Mike wasn’t improving. His blood pressure was still dangerously low and there was hemorrhaging in his lung where one of the bullets penetrated. That was just one. Mike caught six bullets in his chest, stomach, shoulder, and thigh.
His muscle, Tim and Will were hit, too. Will was recovering in the hospital in Jersey. Tim died on his way to the hospital from a shot to the head. It was believed by all True Blue put this hit out in retaliation of the attack on his kids’ mother’s family. But of course, he wasn’t shouting it from the rooftops. People were now talking, news outlets reported in a fury, and blogs fanned the flames. Mainstream outlets carried the story of the second coming of a hip-hop East versus West Coast beef. It was laughable. Mike had been in the industry for a while but didn’t carry that type of popularity. My name was being mentioned for affiliation, though. True Blue was an artist with a small but growing label. This was growing his platform, for better and worse. I knew this thing wouldn’t blow over anytime soon.
Melba’s head drew up and she tried facing me. “Why can’t he be more like you? Low key, go to church, and ain’t about the bullshit?” she breathed heavily.
I didn’t know how to answer that. I’d had my time running with Mike in the streets. There were incidences where our actions were only separated by our motives. Mike was a grimy, street head with a knack for business. I was a wounded boy trapped in a man’s body, thriving off my anger. It took me years—and a talented spiritual therapist—to help me see that.
“We all got our demons, Momma.” I stroked her shoulder gently as I stared at Mike’s sleeping body. “Some were assigned to us at birth.” I exhaled, lost in that revelation. “But God.”
“I don’t even know what to pray.” She sniffled. “What if he don’t wake up? I’m doing all this damn pray
ing and God ain’t gone listen?”
“My pastor always says when you don’t know how to pray or your faith is weak, just pray for His will to be done.”
“Why?” Her big, red, and glossy eyes questioned me excitedly. Angrily and confused.
“Because that’s one thing most of us don’t have a handle on, but the one thing that’s a constant. God’s will, will be done. There’s a bit of faith in that prayer, when you think about it.”
Melba exhaled, her eyes fell, and lids blinked as she chewed on that. I stood to my feet as I kissed the side of her forehead.
“You eat?”
She shrugged grumpily. “I ‘on’t know.”
“I’ll holla at Jerry before I go.” I gripped her shoulders while eyeing Mike. He sure looked like a different man in that bed. He looked smaller, frail. “You hang on in there for him.”
Melba didn’t respond as I left out the room. When I closed the door behind me, stepping out into the hall, I met eyes with Mike’s cousin, Jerry. Jerry was an older dude—older than Mike. He had to be in his sixties, if not pushing it. Jerry liked to drink and dabble in a little coke on occasion while Mike ran the streets and his business in the industry. Mike would give him little jobs here and there to keep him afloat. He trusted his cousin. A lot.
Jerry ended his call as his eyes were stapled to me. Big red buggy eyes that weren’t due to his emotions like Ms. Melba’s in there. Last I heard Jerry was diagnosed with diabetes and crazy high blood pressure that hit him hard. It showed.
“You good?” he asked when he made it to me.
“Ms. Melba ain’t holding out too well.” My eyes skirted to women sitting across the way from me on the floor, holding their phones and gazing at me curiously. I dug into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. “One of y’all mind getting her something to eat?”
