“Hey DeJuan,” she said, greeting him with only the slightest approximation of pleasantry. “Is Harper around?”
“In her office, I guess,” he nodded in that direction, then added as though he knew he probably should: “how you been?”
“Good, thanks,” Makayla said, not pausing to continue the small talk.
As she brushed by him, there was a distinct smirk on his face. He had no doubt been keeping up on Devin’s drama on the blogs, and was gaining some delight from it. One of these days … But not today. Today, she had other fish to fry.
Harper was sitting at her desk, feet propped on another chair next to hers. There was a pen between her teeth, and she was looking at what seemed to be publicity shots, on her 27-inch iMac monitor. As she scrolled through the images, she tagged some, and made notes on the paper in front of her. When she looked down, her unruly loose curls hung into her face and she made no move to push them away.
The tumble of her hair made it easy for her to overlook, for almost a minute, that Makayla was standing at her door. But when she noticed, her expression transformed to mild surprise. She let her feet fall to the floor and dusted off the chair, indicating that Makayla should sit.
“You finally decided to stop through and see about us little folks, huh?”
Makayla took the offered chair and glanced at Harper’s monitor, still trying to figure out how to broach the purpose of her coming.
Following her gaze, Harper turned the monitor a little so she could get a better view.
“Prentice Michel,” she said. “He’s our newest. Kind of interesting, huh?”
Makayla took in the shots. The young man pictured was styled like a Jamaican dancehall artist in some shots, and in others, he looked like a world musician, with standard red, black, green and gold. In others, he was dressed like a West Coast rapper—baggy chinos, a wife-beater and bright-white tennis shoes.
“I’m trying to decide on a look for him,” Harper said.
Makayla surveyed the shots. In each, Prentice Michel almost looked like a different person. And certainly, each shot came with its own impressions.
“What kind of music …”
“That’s the thing,” Harper said, thoughtfully. “He’s hard to define. Hence, all these different looks.”
“Well, then maybe the best thing is to just let him look like himself,” Makayla said shrugging.
Harper smiled. “You sound like you’ve been indoctrinated into the Devin Parks Theory of Music Promotion,” she said.
“All my life,” Makayla returned.
Harper smiled again. “Well, it’s a good theory.”
“It is. In fact …”
Harper shook her head. “No. Makayla. Let’s … let’s not, okay?”
“Let’s not, what?”
“I think I know why you’re here. And I just … I don’t have … This is not a conversation I’m super-interested in having.”
“What conversation is that?”
“The one where you explain you and Devin. Believe me, I understand completely. You don’t need to explain.”
“I wasn’t going to explain him. Explain us. I was hoping to convince you to … I don’t know,” Makayla took a breath. “I guess I was hoping you would think about …”
Harper looked at her evenly. “Think about what?”
“I …” Suddenly, Makayla’s mission felt that much less certain. Harper was looking at her with open curiosity, wondering what she would say next, but clearly skeptical of whatever it might be.
“Let me save you some time,” she said, when she realized Makayla was faltering. “You and Devin go way back, right? Like as far back as either of you can remember. You’ve both been through some shit. Some really bad shit. The kind that no one else would understand?” Harper lifted her eyebrows, waiting for Makayla’s confirmation. But when it didn’t come she continued nevertheless.
“Because of all you’ve been through no one understands. No one understands this thing that you and Devin have. And if they try to do anything like, I don’t know, care about either of you, they need to get that you’re a package deal. Devin is yours, and you are his. Forever.” A vaguely bitter note had slipped into Harper’s voice and her hazel eyes had become steely. “Does that about cover it?”
Makayla said nothing.
“See?” Harper said, nodding. “I understand perfectly.”
Still, Makayla found herself unable to speak.
“Here’s the thing,” Harper said. “I care about Devin. I do. I feel like something … this might sound corny, but I feel like something special …” She broke off to give a short laugh, as though laughing at herself for even saying it. “I feel like we could be …epic, me and him. But I’m not Jamal, Makayla. I don’t have the … emotional stamina to compete with this thing that you and Devin have going on. So, please don’t come here and pretend that you’re willing to let him go. You won’t. You can’t. And I’m not now, but if you both leave me alone, I’ll be cool with it. So please, leave me alone.” Harper shrugged again, and then added one more thing, in a voice that was not unkind, but more like, resigned. “He’s all yours.”
“So, back to the apartment, or …”
Makayla walked by Jackson, ignoring the open door to the car, pretending she didn’t hear him, though it would have been impossible for him to believe that she did not.
She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, didn’t want to see anyone. She just wanted to go. But not home. Not back to the apartment. At least not right now.
She picked up the pace, not running exactly, but walking fast, very fast. She walked, and did not look back; not until the sound of Jackson’s voice, calling her name was obscured by the noise of the traffic and busy street.
~26~
“What do you mean it wasn’t him?”
“He said they came to him. That they already knew.”
“Bullshit.”
“Well, that’s what he’s saying.”
Jamal had been undecided about taking the call when Gayle told him Madison Palmer was on the line, but now he was just pissed off. It had been a couple of weeks now, and he was just about cooled off from that whole Devin-Tyree fiasco, and only beginning to contend with another one—the Devin-Makayla brouhaha, when Madison called to stir everything up again.
He didn’t want to talk to her. That he wasn’t conflicted about. But he had never been a petty person, and didn’t intend to start now. So, he took the call, only to have her lob this new claim his way.
“What difference does it make? Is he looking for a cash prize for that? I’ve seen the blogs. He still spilled his guts regardless.”
“And has Devin been harmed by that?” Madison challenged. “Be honest. I don’t know, Jamal, but from what I’ve been hearing the answer is ‘no’.”
“What you’ve been hearing,” he repeated. “Where? In Atlanta? New York is the only market that really matters on the East Coast …” That was an overstatement to make a point, but who cared?
“I know you’re still in Shoot-the-Messenger mode, and I get it. But I just thought you should know …”
“The last time you thought I should know something, you brought me Tyree Scott. So, I’m not sure I’m interested in what’s at the other end of that sentence.”
“Your anger is justified, alright? But I believe him, for what it’s worth. I don’t think Tyree was the one to leak all of this to the blogs. Once he heard that Devin wasn’t going to sign, he was ready to go get someone to pay him for his story. And then the stuff on that website dropped. He seemed as shocked as anyone.”
“He’s a grifter. You said so yourself. Why the hell should I give a crap what he says?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Madison acknowledged. “And if I were on your end of things, I probably wouldn’t either. But then I would wonder, what if Tyree didn’t tell them, who did?”
Jamal laughed. “That’s a question you should be asking all the folks in your office. No one on our side h
ad any interest in seeing this information out there.”
“So maybe it’s someone who isn’t.”
“Isn’t what?”
“Isn’t … on your side,” Madison said.
Jamal fell silent.
“I know you have no reason to believe him. But you can believe me. It just so happened that we wound up on opposite sides of this thing, but I think you know I would never …”
Glancing down at his watch, Jamal thought about his next appointment. It was one he didn’t want to be late for, or miss.
“I’ll think about what you said, Madison. Thanks for the reaching out.”
“Look, I’ve been following the blogs,” she said, speaking quickly because she probably heard in his voice that he was poised to hang up. “And the direction they’re taking this, especially that one site, what’s it called …”
“BlackandFabulous,” Jamal said dryly.
“Yes, them. It doesn’t even seem like they’re that interested in Devin. It seems like they’re interested in Makayla. And in you. I mean, have you read them lately?”
“I try not to.”
“Well you should. They dredged up all these old pictures of Devin and Makayla, from a couple years ago, when he was touring with you. Pictures of them dancing, walking together, laughing together. Hugging. Shots of his shows in the city this year, with Makayla as part of the audience, or …”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen enough to get the gist of what they’re trying to say.”
That his fiancée was messing around with her childhood best friend. That Jamal Turner, the playboy was being played.
“Putting aside for the moment, the inconsistency of Devin being both a gay cruiser and the man who’s stealing your woman?” Madison said. “I don’t think his story was ever even the point. I think his story was just to get people to pay attention. It was just the set-up for a takedown.”
“Yeah. Well, it ain’t gon’ work. So, I wouldn’t worry about it if I was you.” Jamal looked at the time again. He needed to get going, and didn’t have time to entertain Madison’s movie-of-the-week fantasies.
“Okay well, you take care, Jamal. I hope we can …”
“Yeah, we can. Bye Madison.” He hung up without waiting for her response.
This time, she was pretty in pink. A summer dress with spaghetti straps, and a grey cardigan draped over her shoulders.
Jenna Cruise was a few minutes late herself, but just in time for Jamal to watch her walk in. She looked flustered and a little flushed.
“Sorry,” she said, falling into the seat opposite his at the table. “I stopped to change after work. Today was just one of those days where I couldn’t wait to get out of that uniform. Two shootings, a kid who ate part of a laundry detergent pod … just … madness.”
“But you like your work,” Jamal said, reading her eyes. She probably got a rush from it. The same way he used to get a rush from being the one to ‘fix the problem’. The one who everyone relied on to get it done.
“I love my work,” she corrected. “But it is the kind of work that could also kill you if you’re not careful. It’s not healthy for the human body to be in a heightened state of excitement for long periods of time.”
“A heightened state of excitement?” he repeated.
Jenna blushed, and Jamal caught himself. He was flirting with someone else’s wife. He was flirting, period.
Shit.
It had been a while since he had done that, with anyone—acted like a single man. Because he wasn’t. As screwed up as things were at home right now, he was very much attached, as was the pretty woman sitting across the table from him.
“Adrenaline, dopamine,” she clarified. “It’s not healthy for the body to have high levels of either for sustained periods of time. When you work in emergency medicine, it’s inevitable. And you have to learn how to turn that off.”
“How do you turn if off?” he asked, curious.
“Yoga. Hot baths. Prayer. Things that bring you back down, and help you relax.”
“Is that what you do? Yoga, hot baths and prayer?”
“Yes. Though not necessarily in that order.”
They regarded each other for a moment, during which Jamal knew, and she seemed to know as well, that in a different time and place; and under very different circumstances, they would have been drawn to each other.
“Thanks for coming to meet me,” she said, suddenly brisk, as though hoping to break a spell. “After we talked last time, I had a lot to think about. And I was impressed by how much you care about Kendrick, so I wanted to tell you in person …”
Jamal held his breath.
“I’m going with him,” she said. “I’m taking a leave of absence from my job, and going with Kendrick on tour.”
Nodding, Jamal forced himself not to smile too wide. “Does he know?” he asked instead.
“Sort of. I told him I was leaning in favor of it.”
“And? What did he say?”
“That it would be … cool.”
“So, he’s playing it cool.”
Jenna laughed. “Yeah, I guess. But I just wanted to thank you in person. For making me think a little.”
“What did I make you think about?” Jamal said.
“The woman as the heart of the home, is what I think you said. That we set the tone. Those words resonated with me. I talked to my mother about it. She and I prayed about it.”
Jamal nodded.
“She’s the First Lady of a church, I don’t know if you know.”
“I did.” Jamal nodded.
“So that’s what I did. Talked to her, prayed about it. And the answer I got was that I need to nurture my marriage, and set the tone. A tone of forgiveness, understanding, supportiveness, compassion.”
“I’m glad, Jenna,” Jamal said. “I think with you there, Kendrick’ll be alright.”
“We’ll see.” She shrugged. “I’m hopeful.”
‘But not naïve,’ she seemed to be silently adding.
Then she sat up a little straighter. “And that was honestly all I had to tell you,” she laughed. “But I wanted to tell it to you in person, because I appreciated your intervention.”
“It wasn’t just for you, or Kendrick,” he said, feeling it was impossible to pretend for another second that he’d done what he did just to be a good guy.
“Oh, I know that,” Jenna said waving away the disclaimer. “So … you have time for a cup of coffee, now that you came all the way up here?”
Jamal nodded. “Absolutely.”
A cup of coffee turned into two, and then a third, with a shared dessert. Jenna Cruise was easy to talk to, and if he had let himself, she would have been easy to confide in as well. Instead, they stuck to general, and mostly impersonal topics.
But she took him back to another time, of effortless conversation and connection, and of feeling himself, just for a little while, in touch with the other Jamal Turner. Not the one he was now, who had arrived, but the one who was still on the come up.
Jenna Cruise was a rare kind of woman in his world; the exception, rather than the rule. Talking to her reminded him of talking to Kayla, the way they used to talk before life got so hectic. It made him miss her, so that when he and Jenna parted outside the diner, all he could think about was getting home; and he was happy that, despite the distance between them of late, Kayla would be there.
Jackson was already pulled up in front of the building just as Jamal arrived in the back of a cab. While he was waiting for his credit card payment to be processed, he watched as Jackson got out and went around to the passenger side of the vehicle and opened the door. But the door he opened was not in the rear.
Narrowing his eyes, Jamal waited as Kayla got out from the front passenger seat, and paused, speaking to Jackson for a few moments.
“Sir?” the cabbie was asking. “A receipt?”
“Yeah,” Jamal said. “Thanks.”
He could just make out Kayla’s expression. It was troubled, a
lmost pained. Jackson was speaking to her and she was shaking her head. She turned to head into the building, and Jackson held her arm.
Jamal reared forward in his seat.
“Here you go.” His cabbie was handing him a slip of paper.
“Thank you,” he said. He looked down to shove the receipt into his wallet, and by the time he had, and looked up again, Kayla had disappeared inside.
By the time he got upstairs, she was already in the shower, and when she got out, she looked like her normal self, albeit a little subdued. She didn’t express any surprise at seeing him home so early, but asked whether when she put a steak on the grill, he wanted one as well.
“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Cool.”
That’s how she sounded—cool.
“What’d you do today?”
Shedding his work clothes, he watched as she sat on the edge of their bed, pulling her locs to one side and then lotioning her legs, and arms. Those legs were his torment. She could extend them both completely while holding her ankles, a limber quality they had taken advantage of many times. Now, she had them extended on the bed in front of her and was rubbing oil into her skin, concentrating so fixedly on the task that she almost didn’t hear him.
“Hmm?” she asked. “I had school.”
And then, seeing that he was still waiting, added something more. “And then lunch, then visited your office, actually.”
“My office?”
“Well, not your office but the building. I went to the development department. To catch up with someone. With Harper.”
Jamal still didn’t respond.
“Why? Was there something that …”
“No,” he said. “Nothing.”
She was leaving something out. He didn’t know what it was, but something.
“Why don’t I get those steaks started while you finish up here,” he said.
“Okay. Sure. Thanks.” She barely looked up as he left.
Once in the kitchen, he pulled out his phone. It only took him about thirty seconds to make the decision.
Dialing the number for the security company, he entered his code and waited for the Scaife Enterprises account manager.
The Takedown Page 24
