“Aw, shit. Sorry. Is he …?”
“Don’t worry about him.”
Kay’s voice had hardened a little, then there was the sound of movement. She was getting out of bed, probably going someplace else in the apartment to talk.
“How are you? Did you gig tonight?”
“Nah. Just sittin’ here in my spacious new digs. Wide awake. Bored, with no cable.”
Makayla laughed. “I can imagine. Remember what we used to do when we couldn’t sleep, that summer when there were all those rolling blackouts and it got hot as hell in the apartment?”
“Oh yeah,” Devin drawled, lying back on his sofa, legs up, and closing his eyes.
They used to sneak off to the basement of the building, where it was pitch-black with all the power out. They couldn’t even see their hands in front of their faces, and would feel their way toward the farthest corners of the space. It wasn’t the cleanest spot, since it was where the crackheads sometimes had someone sneak them in so they could sleep on the floor, and where some of them took men to blow them for a dime bag.
Back there, in the dark, alone, Devin and Makayla could only rely on touch. And so, touch they did. Over their clothes, under their clothes, kissing and feeling each other until they were breathless.
“I don’t mean that,” she said, laughter still in her voice. “I mean before. When we were little kids.”
Devin smiled. “Yeah, I remember that, too.”
They stole a pillowcase off the bed in her grandmother’s apartment, went to the freezer and emptied all the ice cubes from the trays into it. Then they went to his house and did the same.
There was never quite as much ice as they wanted, but with what they managed to get, they went up to the roof and sat there, looking across the tops of neighboring buildings, passing their sad little sack of ice back and forth between them, and using it to cool their faces, necks and chests.
It was on that roof that Devin told Makayla all his secrets; and where she promised to never tell another living soul. She had only once broken that promise—telling her grandmother his biggest secret of all—but he was eventually grateful that she had.
It was then, ironically, when she broke her vow of silence that Devin had known he could trust her completely. He knew then that she would always protect him, even from his own destructive impulses. If she hadn’t told her that secret, he would almost certainly have been destroyed.
The warm breeze on that roof, the coolness of the ice on their skin, the hum of Kay’s voice—the most comforting voice ever—had often lulled Devin to sleep. Right there, on the warm blacktop of their dirty rooftop perch. And it was the same voice that sometimes had to wake him, and remind him that they could not stay, and whether he liked it or not, he had to return to the complicated, chaotic and oftentimes dangerous life in his mother’s apartment below.
“If you’re bored, you could always invite Harper over.” Kay’s voice was cautious, inquisitive. He knew she wanted to know more about the nature of this new relationship. Only, he wasn’t sure of what to tell her, or even sure of whether it was what could be called a relationship.
“She jetted not too long ago,” Devin admitted.
“Were you mean to her?”
“What makes you think I would be ‘mean’ to her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s after midnight; and if she left instead of staying over, it can only be because you were being an asshole.”
“So now I’m an asshole.”
“Not intentionally, but you’re not the most sensitive person in the world sometimes.”
“I’m never insensitive to you,” he said.
“Yeah. Okay.” He pictured her curling her upper lip the way she did when she was skeptical of something he’d said.
“When am I insensitive to you, Kay?”
“What did you say to me when I told you Jamal asked me to marry him, and showed you the ring? I was excited and geekin’ about it, and what did you say?”
‘Damn. Look at that. A three-carat mistake waiting to happen.’
“Don’t remember.”
At the other end of the line, Makayla issued a long, deep sigh. “The fact that you don’t remember makes you even more insensitive. It made me cry. You remember that part?”
“I never want you to cry,” he said. “And I never want to be the reason you do.”
“I know that.” Her voice had softened. “But …”
And after that ‘but’, Devin knew, was her intention to end the call, out of respect for her man. He knew he was wrong for calling her this late, but there was part of him that liked to rub Jamal Turner’s face in it—there was nothing he could do to break the bond between him and Kay. Nothing.
Bad enough Turner had gotten him to agree to keep his mouth shut about the shit-show that little punk was threatening to start in Atlanta. But it was probably for the best. He agreed with Turner on one thing at least—Kay didn’t need to spend her whole life worrying about him, and he needed to get his shit together without involving her all the time.
“You’d better go,” he said, before she could. “Wouldn’t want you to get put on punishment.”
Kay made a scoffing sound. “Yeah, well he’s the one on punishment right now, so …”
“What’d he do?”
“I’ll tell you about it some other time. Maybe tomorrow night? You got plans?”
“None that can’t be broken.”
“Let’s do something then. I’ll come cook for you at your new place.”
“Yeah, a’ight. Just hit me when you about to come through. And you sure you ain’t gon’ get in trouble, right?”
“Shut up, Devin. And go to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
~15~
Jamal rarely got angry. And for certain, he couldn’t recall a single time—not one, in the entire history of their relationship—when he had been genuinely angry with Kayla.
But he was now.
Sitting in the passenger seat of his car, heading back to the apartment with Jackson driving, he had just heard that not only was Kayla not at home waiting for him to get there for one dinner, but that not two hours earlier, she had asked Jackson to drive her to Brooklyn. And he knew exactly where she was headed.
Okay, so she was still a little hot about the dinner he had missed, but this tit-for-tat shit was immature and unnecessary. And if she didn’t intend to be home, the least she could have done was call him, so he would know not to bother ending his day early to come spend the evening with her.
Dialing her number for the third time, he listened for the familiar voicemail greeting. But this time she answered. Taken aback, he hesitated before speaking.
“I’m at Devin’s,” she said without greeting, filling the gap. “So, you can stop calling now.”
“Yeah. Why’s that?” he asked. “Why are you not at home?”
“Because I have to assume the deal is off, that’s why.” Her tone was deceptively breezy. “You missed the very first dinner, and to me that just shows how little of a priority this is for you. So, you’re free to do whatever you want with your evenings again, Jamal.”
“I’m headed back home right now. What I wanted …” Nah, that was a lie. “What I planned to do with my evening was spend it with you.”
“And I’m telling you not to bother, because I won’t be there.”
“Makayla …”
“I don’t know how late I’ll be, so don’t bother waiting up for me,” she said, before ending the call.
What the …?
“Take me where you took her,” Jamal said without looking at his driver. He tossed his phone into the backseat.
“You want me to …?”
“Did I stutter?”
Aw, see? That shit wasn’t even like him. Kayla was going to make him lose all his cool.
Sighing, he ran a hand over his head. “Sorry, man. It’s just … women sometimes, y’know?”
Jackson gave a short laugh. “Yeah, they ca
n be …” He let the sentence hang there, unfinished.
“In general, yeah,” Jamal said, almost speaking to himself. “But not this one. Not Kayla. At least, not usually.”
“All that means is that you’re overdue,” Jackson said.
Jamal laughed. “Yup. You might be right.”
Devin’s new building was many leagues nicer than the old one. Just over the bridge, it was a converted brownstone, with what looked from the outside to be no more than six units. It wasn’t too far away from where Brendan and Tracy Cole had their place, so Jamal knew a little bit about the market.
Townhomes could range from the high one-million to the high five-million range, and one-bedroom rentals would easily set someone back twenty-five hundred a month. To be living here, even though just a renter, Devin had to be finally pulling in a little bit of cash.
That was good. Even without the backing that came with a recording contract from a major label, he was coming up. Still, the business side of Jamal’s brain couldn’t help but consider how much more would be possible, with a robust budget and all the things that came along with it—master producers, sound technicians, musicians, studio time, and the all-important visuals and public exposure.
Shaking his head to refocus himself on the matter at hand, Jamal entered the foyer as one of the tenants departed, making sure he made eye contact and smiled at her as she left, so as not to arouse her concern. She smiled back and went on her way, and he paused at the mailboxes, looking for names. There were none, just numbers.
But only one looked to have had the lock recently replaced. Unlike the others, the keyhole was shiny and new, having probably recently been replaced by the post office for a new tenant. Apartment 3C.
Taking the stairs up, Jamal was standing in front of the apartment in less than a minute. His anger at Kayla had subsided to exasperation, but he was still clear on one thing—she was coming home with him.
Knocking on the door with three short raps, he ignored the doorbell and waited. The door swung open, and Devin stood there, shirtless and in sweatpants, his messy, floppy hair hanging in his eyes. He didn’t look even slightly surprised to see Jamal at his door. Instead, he stood aside and smirked, admitting him without a word.
Kayla was nowhere in sight at first, but then she emerged from the kitchen, a ladle in hand, barefoot and in jeans shorts and a tank. She looked like she fucking lived there.
Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and she opened her mouth, but did not speak.
“So, we’re doin’ dinner over here?” Jamal asked, looking at her.
Her mouth closed, and she pressed her lips together, still not speaking.
“Always room for one more.” Devin said from behind him. Then he walked by, heading back into the kitchen and leaving Jamal and Makayla alone.
They stared at each other for a few beats and she sighed, shaking her head.
“Why are you here?”
“We had plans.”
“Which time? The time you canceled on me a couple nights ago, or …”
“I called you. I told you it was something that couldn’t be avoided.”
“Nothing you have to do can be avoided. Except for your commitments to me. You avoid those all the time. And I’m …” She shrugged. “I’m just … I don’t … I’m starting to wonder if that’s what I can expect from a life with you, Jamal.”
He took a step closer. “You think I want to miss stuff like that? Nights home with you?” He took another step. “You and me, just being in each other’s space … talking, laughing, playing …” He moved even closer. They were only a few inches apart now. “Lovemaking.”
Makayla didn’t even smile.
“Right now? You’re doing the same thing you always do. You’re handling me. Like you handle some bratty pop-princess who’s pouting because she wanted a bigger dressing room. And I fucking hate it.”
If she knew he’d missed it because he was meeting Devin, it was difficult to say how she would react. She might be glad that he was helping her friend out of a jam. Or she might be enraged because he had concealed it until now. And did it really matter why he’d missed the dinner? The damage was obviously already done.
“I’m not trying to handle you. I’m explaining to you that no matter how many times I get called to be someplace for work, you need to believe …” He cupped her face in his hands. “No, you need to know that I would rather be with you. Always. But …”
Makayla wrenched her face free of his grasp. “Yeah, but. It’s the ‘buts’ I’m not sure I can handle.”
“What’re you sayin’?”
“I’m saying …” She swallowed. “Are you sure we need to be planning a wedding right now? Maybe we should just postpone until you’re …”
“What?” He took a step back from her and ran a hand over his head. “I miss dinner so now you want to call off our wedding? What the …?”
“I didn’t say ‘call off’, I said, ‘postpone’. Just until …”
“Until nothin’. We’re getting married in November.”
Makayla gave a mirthless laugh and shook her head. “Oh, so you’re going to make me get married.”
“No, Makayla. I guess I thought it was something you wanted to do.”
She shook her head again. “Not like this. Not when you’re not even present. Either physically or emotionally.”
“I am always emotionally present for you.”
“At least you didn’t lie and say you were physically present,” she said ruefully.
“Y’know what? You’re actin’ like a little kid right now. You want what you want, when you want it. My career, my responsibilities … fuck all that. Makayla wants to go pick some damn … wedding cake. So that’s what has to take priority.”
She folded her arms, staring at him, her expression disturbingly calm. She had been thinking about this, Jamal realized. Planning it.
She wanted to postpone the wedding.
He inclined his head in the direction of the door. “Let’s go home and talk about this,” he said, trying to keep his tone measured.
Makayla shook her head. “I don’t want to,” she said. Then she shrugged.
“You’re serious right now?”
“Yeah,” she said, with the same dispassionate tone. “I agree we need to talk, and I … I want to. Eventually. But tonight, all I want is to hang out, cook dinner with my best friend, watch something silly on TV, and … chill.”
Jamal nodded, biting into his lower lip. “Uh huh, I feel you. Because that’s exactly what I thought I was goin’ home to do.”
Then he turned to leave. And though he heard her call out to him once he was on the other side of the door, Jamal didn’t stop, and he didn’t turn back.
“I feel like you’re not … responding to this arrangement,” Claire said. “Do you want to see something different?”
“What? No. Sorry. That’s not it at all. It’s fine. I guess I just got lost in thought there for a second.” Makayla shook her head and looked down at the mock-up on the kitchen center island in front of her.
Claire had been running through table arrangement options for the reception, and all she was thinking about was whether there would even be a reception at all. It had been two days since her and Jamal’s little confrontation at Devin’s place and they still hadn’t talked.
He had worked late both the following evenings, and this morning had tersely informed her before he left the apartment that he had business in Atlanta and would be gone until the weekend.
‘You’re leaving today?’ she’d asked, sitting up in bed, her eyes still bleary, and her mind cloudy with sleep.
‘Yeah,’ he said. His tone was short, and his expression grim.
Makayla wasn’t used to a home without Jamal’s smiles, his affection, and his attention. And she sure as hell wasn’t prepared for him to go on a trip out of town with them still in such a negative place.
But after telling her his plans, he’d simply turned to leave. And then,
as if he knew it looked bad or something, he turned back to kiss her quickly on the top of her head. It was so obviously not a gesture he wanted to extend, that it had to be one he felt was required by the Cohabitating Fiancée Etiquette Handbook.
‘Will you call me when you get there?’ she asked as he left their bedroom, an already-packed duffel in his hand.
‘Don’t I always?’ he called back.
“Is everything okay?” Claire asked. She put a hand atop Makayla’s and her voice was so gentle, it almost made her Makayla want to spill all her worries in a mass of tears and sobs.
“Tired. Stressed. But nothing that won’t pass,” she said.
“Wedding jitters?”
Forcing a smile, Makayla shook her head. “Not jitters. Not exactly.”
“So, wedding planning stress then,” Claire said matter-of-factly. “I once worked with a couple that broke up three times during the planning process. The last time was the night before the wedding. Thank god, they got it together before the actual ceremony.”
“I never said Jamal and I were breaking up,” Makayla said, not meeting Claire’s gaze.
“Oh god, no! I wasn’t suggesting …” Claire put a hand to her chest, as though she was literally clutching her pearls. Then she shoved a strand of her dark hair behind an ear.
“No, it’s fine. I just … I would never … we’re not breaking up. I just wish he had more time, that’s all.”
“Well, he’s kind of a big deal, so I’m sure there’s always people jockeying for his time.”
“Yeah,” Makayla said, toying with two of her locs, wanting to change the subject.
“And you said he’s away?”
“Yup. In Atlanta.”
“What’s in Atlanta?” Claire asked. She had begun gathering up her samples, having picked up on Makayla’s lack of interest. It wasn’t likely that they would get much more done today, so Makayla didn’t dissuade her.
Claire looked at her expectantly. “I said, what’s in Atlanta? Is there, like a big music scene there?”
“Pretty significant, yeah,” she nodded. But even as she spoke, she realized something else that was in Atlanta. Someone else.
The Takedown Page 15
