The Takedown

by Nia Forrester

  They had been locked in this unwilling dance for over a year, both nursing their grudging acceptance that they were likely bound to each other for life, because of their love for the same woman. It Kayla’s mind, whatever romantic relationship she had in the past with Devin was gone, but Jamal knew that was true for only one half of that equation.

  As a man, he knew when someone loved a woman as a man. Not as a friend, not as a brother, but as a man. And that was how Devin Parks loved Jamal’s fiancée, even if she lied to herself, and avoided seeing it. It was clear to Jamal at least, that Devin’s feelings for Kayla were both selfish, and self-sacrificing.

  He could never let her go; not completely. But he would let her go just enough to let her have with someone else what he knew he was still too messed up to give her himself.

  And Jamal knew that it was the selfish part of his love that now kept Devin in his seat, and prevented him from lashing out. He needed to maintain at least a semblance of a civil relationship with the man Kayla was planning to marry, or maybe, she would be lost to him entirely and for good.

  Devin sucked his teeth. “Why you call me down here?” he asked, his gaze drifting over Jamal’s shoulder. “I ain’ got all night.”

  “And I do? You know what kinda shit you bein’ late caused?”

  “Man … just tell me what you want.”

  “You have a problem. And I don’t know why, but I want to help you with it.”

  At that, Devin’s eyes focused on him once again. They were guarded, suspicious.

  “I got lots of problems, so you’re goin’ to have to be more specific.”

  “This problem is about twenty-three years old, and lives in Atlanta. And goes by the name Tyree.”

  Jamal watched him closely, but there was no reaction, no glint of recognition in Devin’s eyes; nothing. Finally, he shrugged, waiting for Jamal to go on.

  “He says he’s an acquaintance of yours.”

  Devin shrugged again.

  “An … intimate acquaintance.”

  At that, Devin leaned in, eyes narrowed.

  “He sees that you’re blowin’ up, and he has a story to tell. He wants to sell that story to the industry press. Or … get you to buy it first.”

  “Fuck him. Tell him to do whatever the hell he …”

  As Devin made to stand, Jamal grabbed his arm.

  “You sure about that, man?”

  Yanking his arm free, Devin made a sound of disgust. “I couldn’t give a shit about Tyree whoever-the-fuck, or what he has to say about me. I’ll deal with it, when …”

  It was Jamal’s turn to scoff. Shaking his head, he leaned back and exhaled a long, hard breath. “When you gon’ stop makin’ your life so … unnecessarily difficult?”

  Something about that gave Devin pause and for a moment, he looked chastened. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, his brows knitted.

  “You have a gift,” Jamal continued. “And you are just on the cusp of being able to share it with … You think this shit is easy to come by? The chances you’ve got, the talent you’ve got?”

  Seeing that Devin was listening, for a change, actually listening, Jamal continued.

  “This dude in Atlanta, even if what he says is true, he’s a fuckin’ gnat. Somethin’ you need to swat out the damn way and then go get what’s yours. Go get what’s meant for you.”

  Giving a short laugh, Devin shook his head. “And what’s that? Because I been tryin’ to figure that out all my life. What’s meant for me?”

  “For people, not just in New York, not just in the United States, but all over the world to hear your music, and through that, to understand what you’re tryin’ to say. That’s what’s meant for you.”

  Devin looked away abruptly, and blinked. Once, twice, three times. He swallowed. “I make music for myself. Not for …”

  “That’s bullshit,” Jamal said. “You make music for yourself, but not only for yourself. Let’s just be real.” He gestured between them. “We know too much about each other now to be anything other than real.”

  “Yeah …” Devin nodded. “You’re prob’ly right.” He took a breath. “I ain’ one to run from nobody though. This Tyree dude …”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I don’ know,” Devin said ruefully. “Maybe. You got a picture?”

  “I can get one.”

  “What’s … what’re you sayin’ I should do?”

  “We give him what he wants. And we put it behind you, so you can …”

  “Go get what’s mine?”

  Jamal nodded. “And believe it or not, I’m committed to helping you do that.”

  For a brief moment, Devin’s eyes lit up with something like hope, and then just as quickly dimmed, because maybe it was too frightening to hope. He looked young, just like Kayla sometimes looked young.

  For a moment, Jamal glimpsed how deeply alone Devin was, and how much more so he would be without Makayla Hughes in his life.

  “Why you doin’ this?” Devin asked quietly.

  Jamal shrugged.

  “Did you tell Kay? Does she know?”

  “No. And I don’t want her to. Did you tell her I called you?”

  Devin shook his head. “Why don’t you want her to know?”

  “Because she’s going to be my wife, Devin. And I don’t want my wife thinkin’ that her life’s mission is to look after you. And because I think that if you and me handle this, without involving her, it’ll get you in the habit of lookin’ after yourself.”

  “I been lookin’ after myself since I was …”

  Jamal shook his head. “No, you haven’t. You know it just like I know it,” he said lowering his voice and leaning in close. “I’m not gon’ to take her away from you, but straight up? I think you need to learn how to let her go.”

  The apartment was dark, and quiet when he got in. That was becoming the new normal. But it was only eleven-thirty, and Jamal knew that if she was home at all, Kayla was likely not sleeping, but pretending to be.

  In the kitchen, there was a covered plate under a warming lamp. Uncovering it, he saw that the dinner she’d prepared—or ordered—was one of his favorites. Lamb chops, with couscous and mint gelée.

  Grabbing a fork out of the utensil drawer, Jamal ate standing at the kitchen center island, barely tasting it as he ate. The only thing that was almost as bad as hurting Kayla was disappointing her. And tonight, he had done both.

  On the drive home, he considered once again telling her about Devin’s conundrum, and about Robyn’s proposed solution—that they sign him, and then take his problem on with all the wholeheartedness they would give to any of their most valued artists. Because Devin Parks, if he signed, would no doubt be very valuable.

  That part—the fact that Jamal was going to ask him to sign—he hadn’t broached tonight. It was too soon to get to that. Especially since Devin would only view the offer with suspicion. It would all look a little too convenient—'Sign on the dotted line and SE will help you. Or don’t sign, and weather the storm on your own.’

  What Jamal hoped, was that he could work this thing out without Devin having to make that choice. Maybe this Tyree kid wanted a sum that Jamal could bankroll out of his own personal funds. Maybe, like Madison said, he was just a hustler who with very little money or fanfare, could be made to go away.

  He hadn’t gone into the meeting with Devin thinking this way. He’d gone in thinking that if he was going to help the little asshole, SE was going to get something out of it as well. He was going to get something out of it. But then there was that moment when he saw Devin, as Kayla saw him. Not as a difficult person with irrational and intractable positions, but as someone who was just trying to make it through the best way he knew how.

  And once Jamal saw Devin in that way, he couldn’t do it.

  Besides, wouldn’t that deal have been just as bad as the blackmail?

  So, no. He’d raise the offer at the appropriate time. And only if he needed to. If, and when he did,
he would make it clear to Devin that even if he didn’t sign with SE, Jamal would do everything in his power to help him eliminate this threat to his burgeoning career. He meant what he said to Devin about his talent. It was real, and he was poised to become huge, but something like this … it could stunt his growth, and hold him back.

  Hell, after that first burst of ‘I’m-not-homophobic’ solidarity, did anyone give a crap about Frank Ocean anymore?

  If you had an artist with the bonafides that Devin Parks had, it would be a bad idea to allow his introduction to a mass market to be with a protracted dispute that involved questions about his sexual proclivities. The music had to lead. Always.

  His meal finished, Jamal put the dishes and utensils in the dishwasher and shed his clothes as he headed to the master bedroom. There was a stone sitting in the bottom of his gut as he contemplated the possibility that when he got there, the bed would be empty.

  It was not.

  He didn’t turn on the lights, but saw the shape of her under the covers, and her locs spread across the pillow next to her head. She wrapped her head in a silk scarf when she slept, but her hair was way too long for it all to be contained. And he didn’t want it contained.

  Jamal liked turning over and feeling its reassuring roughness against his cheek in the middle of the night. He liked gripping it in his fist, yoking himself to her, and her to him.

  After brushing his teeth, with the bathroom door closed so that he would not wake her——just in case she really was asleep—Jamal climbed under the covers. She wasn’t sleeping. He felt her tense when his weight settled next to her.

  “Kayla,” he whispered in the dark.

  She said nothing. Sighing, he moved closer and settled his head on the pillow next to hers

  “Baby … I’m …”

  He reached up, stroking, and then holding a handful of her hair in his fist. Her back was to him, but she felt it, because though she didn’t speak, she reached over her shoulder, and tugged her hair out of his hand, moving away to the farthest edge of the bed.

  ~14~

  “I think Prentice has a crush on you.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Harper jerked backward at the vehemence in Devin’s tone.

  “Nothing. Just … I meant musically. He liked jamming with you and wanted … Forget it.” She stood, reaching for her ponytail holder and scooping up her mass of hair, trying to get it under control again.

  It had come loose during the act, when Devin had grabbed her by the back of the head and kissed her, while he pushed deep inside her. He had initiated the kiss. Which he rarely did, but now was doing more often. And it made her relax a little.

  She should have known better than to do that—to relax. He had been irritable, and snappish with her all day. Despite inviting her over to his new place, which he had never done before; and despite asking her opinion about something new he was working on.

  “Hey.”

  He grabbed the hem of the t-shirt she was wearing. His t-shirt. He had given her the slightest lift of his eyebrows when she’d pulled it on, but didn’t object. Little things like that, tiny, miniscule things like that, felt like progress to her. Like maybe he was opening up. Just like him holding on to the shirt felt like that right now as well.

  “C’mon,” he said. “It’s too late for you to go home. Lie back down.”

  Harper considered for only a moment before doing what he asked. She lay on her back and looked at the ceiling of his new bedroom, and at the pendant light fixture hanging there. She thought about how much nicer things were at this new place. She forced herself to think about that, instead of thinking about him, and how frighteningly easy it was for him to bruise her feelings. And how scary it was that with less than a dozen words, he could persuade her to forgive him for that bruising.

  “So, you think Prentice wants to work with me, huh?”

  As he spoke he was lifting the shirt, tugging it upward and working it up over her thighs, her pelvis, and then her stomach. The tips of his fingers barely skated across the surface of her skin. When he touched her, gently like this, her nerve endings tingled. Most of their touch, most of their sex was insistent, urgent, and sometimes rough.

  Devin struggled with receiving tenderness, and when Harper did anything that resembled it, he grew visibly uncomfortable, or pulled away. Once, after sex, she leaned in and simply pressed her cheek against his. He accepted the gesture for a few moments, and then tilted his head, leaning away from her to break the contact, even though at that exact moment, he was still inside her, more intimate a connection than her cheek on his had been.

  “Yeah, he said he thought you were ‘righteous’. Who even says that anymore, right?” She struggled to lighten the mood, still smarting a little from his earlier sharp tone.

  “That’s cool. I wouldn’t mind working with him again either.”

  Harper didn’t know whether the surge of excitement she felt right then was about Devin’s willingness to work with Prentice, or about the way he was touching her. But if he meant it, and wanted to collaborate with Prentice, she could get both artists something they wanted, which might even increase the likelihood that one or both would at least entertain a conversation about signing with SE.

  “I could hook that up if you want,” Harper said, as Devin hoisted her arms up, and pulled the shirt completely off.

  She was bare-chested, and wearing only her boy-shorts. Upon exposure to the cool air, her nipples hardened. Devin’s lips twitched at the corners in a slight smile as he watched it happen. Then he lowered his head and pulled one between his lips. Harper held her breath, then gasped when he bit it slightly, holding it between his teeth and gradually increasing the pressure.

  The pleasure, mixed with the slenderest thread of pain caused her to lift her hips from the bed. Devin’s hand slid down her stomach, and beneath the waistband of her underwear. Relaxing her legs, she allowed him to shove her thighs apart just enough so that he could touch her. And when he did, she gasped again. Devin lifted his head and kissed her neck, moving upward, to the area beneath her chin.

  Once he reached her lips, she felt as he hesitated, so Harper opened her eyes. He was staring at her, and seemed to be negotiating with himself about his next move. His bluish-green gaze was intense, but ambivalent. She exhaled softly, because his fingers were moving between her legs now, parting and stroking her.

  Devin stared at her lips as she panted softly, and bit down into his own.

  Why didn’t he just kiss her?

  She could, with the slightest lift of her head off the pillow, kiss him herself. But she wanted him to initiate it. That he so rarely did, was beginning to frustrate her, to … hurt her.

  Resisting the urge to open her legs further to him, Harper instead lifted both her hands, and with palms pressed against his chest, shoved him away. His eyes widened in surprise.

  “I forgot,” she lied. “I’ve got this thing tomorrow. It’s early. I better …”

  Twisting from beneath him, Harper this time evaded him when he tried to hold on to her as she stood. Between her legs, she was still throbbing and pulsing from his touch. She was turning into a fool for him, when she had never been a fool for a guy before.

  “It’s almost one in the morning. You sure you want to head out now?”

  ‘Just ask me to stay,’ she pled silently. ‘Just please … say you want me to stay.’

  “I’d better,” she said again.

  She found her jeans near his bed. His mattress really, which was on the floor since some of his new furniture had yet to be delivered.

  When she pulled it on, the inseam of the jeans brushed against her still-swollen sex, a reminder of how easy it had been for him to ignite her. And it would be just as easy for him to let her walk out into the night.

  Harper felt his eyes on her as she shrugged her own shirt over her head, not bothering to first put on her bra. That, she shoved into her backpack.

  “I’ll walk you to the tra
in,” she heard him say from the bed.

  “Sure. Yeah. Thanks.” Harper bit down hard onto her lower lip to keep it steady.

  Devin reached for the television remote before remembering that his cable hadn’t been connected yet, and then, frustrated, tossed it aside.

  He hated the smell of his new couch. It looked fine—Kay had picked it for him—but it smelled a little like the plastic it had come wrapped in. He almost felt like buying, and smoking a pack of cigarettes just to get the odor of smoke into it, so that it would feel more familiar.

  Who would have thought a time would come when he almost regretted moving out of the old place in Brownsville? He liked it here in Park Slope, but there was something almost antiseptic, or fake about its relative cleanliness. Not to mention the parade of young families, hipster couples pushing their progeny around in over-priced strollers, sipping their fair-trade coffee out of environmentally-responsible, reusable cups.

  Harper had been good company for most of the day, breaking up the monotony with her chatter, even when he didn’t respond, or responded by snapping at her. He didn’t know why he did that. She was easily the best sex he’d ever had. It felt disloyal to think that, since there had once been Kay …

  But with Kay, he was careful, and overly gentle, and in his head too much, thinking about how he didn’t want to ruin it, or ruin her. With Harper, they went at it like … savages. He didn’t think about ruining her, because that first night set the precedent and back then, he didn’t give a shit about her.

  Now, though, it was a little different. He felt that difference in the seconds after she said she was leaving, and in the empty silence now that she was gone.

  Reaching for his phone, he took a breath and dialed.

  “Dev? Everything okay?”

  Just hearing her voice calmed him. His racing thoughts slowed, his pulse resumed its resting pace. He felt centered again.

  “Yeah. I’m good.”

  “It’s late.”

  Right. She was probably in bed right now. With her fiancée.