Clearing my throat, I say, “Candace, honey, can you please be out in the reception when your crush arrives?”
“Sure, sis, that’s no problem. I’ll take every second I can to soak him in.”
I retort with a tease leaving my lips, “Whore.”
“Bitch.” My sister chuckles while walking toward the door. Fair enough, I think.
“Hey, did Mr. Jamison ever say who his client is?” I ask.
“No, he won’t reveal any of his clients until they’re here. That way there’s less worry of the paparazzi camping out. We’re in the big leagues now, sis. This is fucking L.A., land of dreams.” She walks out, closing the door behind her. I stand, trying to self-soothe the nerves causing my hands to tremble as panic makes its way to my chest. I’ll not freak out, not when so much is riding on this one little interview. In all actuality, I need this big break. My money will only stretch so far.
* * *
16 years ago
I can see the string dangling from his words as he speaks, still trying to get his way. I don’t want him to walk me up to my dorm. Hell, I didn’t even want him to fly out here with me. He’s not father of the year, but leaving my little sister with the step-witch causes my anxiety to soar. Daddy is still not signed off on Stanford, choosing for me his alma mater of Harvard. Though, in the long run, I told him I’d major in political science if he’d send me to California.
I chose Stanford primarily for the pilot program they were offering in sports broadcasting. With a double major in the new program they only guaranteed for four years and political science, I knew I’d have no social life. There was also no chance I’d be attending law school, but a political science degree didn’t mean I’d have to. What my father didn’t know concerning my plans wasn’t going to hurt him. It would help me get Candace away from the step-witch faster. Daddy agreed that upon graduation, I could have Candace full-time, raise her. If he wasn’t hell bent on getting his way with me concerning my life, I’m sure he’d allow me to have her now.
I can remember how she screamed for me as I loaded my suitcase into my father’s Mercedes. The step-witch grabbed her, scolding her for crying. Now, with Daddy on his way out of my dorm, I’m due to start classes tomorrow. My new life, on my terms; it’s all I ever wanted. Now if I can get Candace back with me, my life will be complete.
Israel
My agent’s town car is waiting on the curb the second I walk through the doors of my high rise. The doorman doesn’t hesitate and a relieved look graces his face as he beats me to the car. “Jeffery, I tell you this every day, man. I can get my own door.”
“I know, Mr. Laita, but rules are rules.” Jeffery only smiles my way and I have to admit, he’s my favorite doorman. He’s also one of the few that can pronounce my last name correctly. Even though I’ve been in the league for so long, everyone mutilates it. It’s exactly like it appears—Lay-tah.
We’re staring at each other, at an impasse. The corners of his mouth curl into a slight smirk, because he’s heard how I loathe this directive. “C’mon, man. Jeffery, fuck the rules. I put my pants on the same way everyone else does.” I lean in to whisper, “And I even shit the same way others do.”
Before I get my large six-foot-five-inch body in the back of Langston’s town car, he’s lighting into me, “Fuck, Iz, do you always have to be so crude?”
The muscle in the side of my neck pulses uncontrollably at the treatment I receive as though I’m helpless. Like I have so many times, I spout off at Lang, “It makes me approachable. I want everyone to know just because I’m rich and famous, I’m not helpless. I’m gonna put a stop to this, tonight. I fuckin’ own the building. For fuck’s sake, I’m a person like everyone else.” I won’t lie, I love having money but I hate being treated like I can’t do the simple shit in life.
“I hate to disagree with you, Iz—you’re not like everyone else. You’re Israel Laita, owner of three Super Bowl rings and the new voice and face of Fox Sports—that’s if we can get you a fucking halfway decent lawyer.” He’s being optimistic. And though he wants Fox Sports to win, I’m still entertaining ESPN, too.
“Lang,” I say, using the same nickname I’ve had for him since we were twenty, Langston has never suited him. “I’m the same Iz that you met our sophomore year of college.”
Putting down the phone that’s attached to his fucking ear, I’m surprised he doesn’t need it surgically removed. “And you fucking put me on the map, Iz. People salivate over you.”
I’m tired of the same shit from my best friend who just happens to be the best sports agent also. I ignore him, because it’s best for me, since I find myself at times wanting to shake the scrawny bastard senseless.
Putting the phone in his jacket pocket, I almost pass out in shock until he brings up my favorite subject. He knows how to calm me. “Did you have Nevaeh this weekend?” he asks.
I answer him with a nod of my head. “I took her to San Francisco to see my mom. She can’t get enough of her granddaughter. Mama says hi, by the way, and wonders when your arrogant prick of a self will be visitin’,” I add.
Lang loves my mama and somehow, she loves him. “I’m sending her an email today. I’ll be in San Fran with a client in two weeks,” he pauses a second barely breathing moving onto the next order of business. “Anyway, I want to get your opinion on this new lawyer before I pitch her to others in need of new representation.”
I do my best to suppress a laugh. Why in the hell is it so hard to get a decent lawyer for someone like me in LaLa Land of all places? I won’t hold my breath, though I’m told this one is a winner. “If she’s competent, she’s one step ahead of Crane Foster. That man’s a joke.”
Snickering, Lang adds, “The problem is that your fucking joke is the truth.”
“Tell me somethin’ about this new lawyer,” I say, trying to kill time. Lang is as undone over this situation we find ourselves in right now as I am, maybe even more so since this is part of his job. But, I’ve always been more than a client.
“Um, besides she’s nice to look at?” Of course, that’s Lang’s deciding factor. “She’s accomplished. Harvard Law School. Ran her family law firm until her dad died. Wanted a change of scenery. She has a strong background in sports broadcasting. But the best part is the little package known as her secretary. I tell you, I think she likes me, too,” he adds with one eyebrow raised while I attempt to avoid this statement. Typical Lang, I don’t comment on his man-whoring ways. The two minutes he’s been without his phone must eat him alive, he reaches in his jacket pocket to fish it out. The man can multitask with the best of them. “How’s Kendra?”
Of course he’d ask about Kendra. I’d gained custody of Lang in the divorce, but both my best friend and my ex-wife miss one another. “You know you can call her. She misses your fucked-up face, too.”
With his mouth tightening in a grimace, Lang argues, “It’s just weird. I never want you to think I’m on her side, and then there’s Paul.”
His loyalty is admirable and I’m touched, but still I’m a man so I jest, “What are we, fuckin’ ten? I know where your allegiance falls. Anyway, Paul isn’t that bad. He’s good to Nevaeh and at the end of the day, it’s all that matters. Did she cheat on me? Sure. Did it hurt like hell? Fuck yeah. But my own heart was never truly with Kendra and we all know it.”
Shaking his head in agreement, he offers, “I’m tired of you falling on your fucking sword when it comes to Kendra. We all know you never got over your first love and sure, I adore Kendra, but regardless, you were always good to her. And she cheated on you. If she was unhappy, she could have left, it’s not as if she doesn’t have her own money.” I’ll never throw my ex-wife and the mother of my kid under the bus. He continues with a heavy sigh, “But you’re right, it’s in the past. And I’ve missed her smart-ass comments. I’ll email her and see if we can get lunch.”
“You mean the ones that center around you bein’ a male whore?”
Lang ignores me. “I’ve mi
ssed that goddaughter of mine. Anyway, your words wound, I wouldn’t go that far about the male whore.”
“Though it’s the truth.” He only shrugs when the driver pulls into the parking garage of this new hopeful lawyer of mine.
* * *
The building is older, but still in downtown L.A., so it’s prime real estate. From the parking garage, we enter the structure and are face-to-face with double doors leading to the reception area. Stepping into the offices of Parker-Entertainment Attorney at Law, as the sign displays, I’m ignoring all the pings of Lang’s text alerts as if he’s the most important person on earth. The man has texting and walking down to a science as I fall a stride or two behind him. Truth be told, he’s a pretty sought after sports agent and computer whiz. He scored big with me; but what can I say, he’s my best friend so our success truly is intertwined.
Thinking of my daughter, I reach for my phone to see the morning text from Nevaeh. It’s one of our many routines we’ve adopted to stay connected since the divorce. I hear a young but sweet voice address Lang and when I look up, I’m transported many years back in the past. The person standing in front of me can’t be her, no, she’s too young.
Before my mind reaches my mouth, I question, “Liz?”
The beauty in front of me looks confused, as she should. I mean, there’s no way this can be Liz Declan. Before she can respond, I hear her phone beep. “Candace, please send them back as soon as they’re here.”
I have to break my gaze on this young woman as my eyes catch Lang staring at her ass. I want to smack him for undressing the girl in front of me who delivers such deep strife concerning someone I’d once loved.
As if she has just now recognized me, she continues, “Holy shit, you’re Israel Laita.” I nod, because this tends to be the reaction of most people.
I receive a text from Nevaeh as the secretary Lang can’t keep his eyes off of opens the door to her boss’s office. Looking up from Nevaeh’s selfie this morning, I gaze toward a pair of imperial violet eyes that left me breathless the first time I came face-to-face with them sixteen years ago. And though they are lowered a bit, there’s no doubt in my mind who they belong to.
* * *
16 years ago
Are they purple? Can eyes indeed be purple? I ask these questions to myself when the girl next to me settles into her chair while a faint scent of lavender wafts from her body. She turns toward me only to give me a weak smile and more of her fragrance hits me. Like her, it’s subtle, with all her features screaming for me to take in the delicate breathtaking beauty of her. I try not to stare when she pulls out a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup from her backpack, devouring it at only eight in the morning. Everything about this beauty is intoxicating, especially those fucking imperial violet eyes. In them I think I may want to get lost because they’re a true miracle.
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Foundations: The Power of Three Love Series Page 27
