Wayne paused. He was silently contemplating. There were questions that he wanted to ask, but he wasn’t really in a clear enough state of mind to hear all the details. He had too much going on.
“I’m not sure what it is you think I can do for you, Shane, but—”
“If you just take a few minutes to hear me out, I can tell you what I know you can do for me. In a nutshell, I saw how hard you went for Caivano over the years. I need that. I know that he retired recently. It’s known by everybody who’s anybody that you focused all your attention on your client. I’m hoping I can pick up where he left off. And go even bigger. I can make us a lot of money . . .”
Go even bigger.
The words ricocheted into Wayne’s ears and pierced his psyche, with a forceful bang, forcing Wayne to reclaim his seat. He couldn’t deny that his interest was slightly piqued. It was true that his focus had been on Dario, and he liked to give his undivided attention to the projects he took on. With Dario, he was too busy to do much else, because Dario was in high demand. Even though working with another boxer sounded good, this particular boxer had shit going on that he might not be able to shake. Not just that, the fucker was arrogant as fuck and a known asshole. Despite that, Wayne wanted to hear at least a little bit of what he had to say.
“How?” Wayne finally asked.
Silence loomed for a few seconds, before Shane spoke. “What do you mean how?” he asked, visibly offended.
“Just what I said,” Wayne charged. “How are you sure of it . . . of anything? You’re trending, man. On TMZ, on ESPN, and all over social media.” Wayne shrugged his shoulders, as though Shane could see his confusion through the phone.
“I’m innocent, Wayne. These charges are not real. I paid good money to have that woman in my hotel room. Why she’d turn the shit around and say that she was raped is beyond me; but as we speak, my attorney is getting the paper trail gathered to show she was no more than pussy-for-sale. If I’m guilty of anything, it’s paying for it. That’s it.”
“Pussy for sale doesn’t mean that she can’t say ‘No’, Shane.”
Shane sighed, heavily, on the other end of the phone. It was sounds of defeat, and managed to trigger something in Wayne in that moment. It was familiar. He was there, himself, with his current situation, so he understood.
“I’ll let you go, Wayne. I realize I have a long haul ahead and I just figured—”
“Hold on, Shane.” Wayne nodded, in empathy. “Let’s set up a Skype so we can iron some stuff out. Even if it comes down to me referring you out, I wanna help.”
“Wait. Seriously?” Shane sighed.
“Seriously,” Wayne confirmed.
“Man, Wayne, you don’t know how much I appreciate it.”
“I can’t make any promi—”
“I get it. I’m just thankful that you’ll entertain the thought at all.”
“Okay, so is this your number that came up on my caller ID?” Wayne asked.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Okay, I’ll lock you in, when we hang up, and text you later on with a day and time.”
“Cool, man. I’ll wait to hear from you,” Shane said, disconnecting the line.
Wayne sat his phone on the desk in front of him and sighed heavily. Possibly getting back to what he loved to do was a good thing. However, this other stuff that was going on . . . not so much. But the sooner he could get the ball rolling, the sooner he might be able to smooth things over and get life back on track. And, hopefully, that happened before shit hit the fan and caused a shit storm . . .
CHAPTER 19
Chanel
“Whew!” I sighed, when I finally took my exit. Generally, I didn’t like coming to “The City”, to shop—or for anything, really. Except, if someone else was driving. It was just too busy for me and everybody seemed to be in a hurry at all times of the damn day. Just like the rest of the Bay Area, there was always way too much traffic—both pedestrian and vehicle—and then the parking structures were always full. And forget about valet parking, because who needed to pay an arm and a leg just to go shop and pay with your other arm and your other leg? It was just way too much. But this time, because I had waited until the last minute to get the outfit that I needed for our engagement party, I didn’t have a choice.
Since everything had been planned by my mother, along with two of my employees from Suite 713, I knew of nothing—except that it was happening. Oh, and I had no control either, which was very hard to accept. Not that I was a control freak or anything like that.
Riiight! Try convincing yourself of that, Chanel!
The only part of the event that I did have any kind of control over was, of course, what I would wear. I planned to dazzle big time. The cool thing was that I had already placed the order online for all of my items and now all I had to do was pick them up. So Tracie and I could probably be in and out before the real crowd poured in.
I couldn’t have been happier when I rounded the corner of the layered structure and a car was pulling out. That was pure luck! I smiled to myself, in great relief. I was 100 percent sure that I’d end up somewhere near the top level. It was what happened to me the few times I was bold enough to tackle the monster traffic.
All for the love of fashion. You’re gonna be a knockout at your own engagement party, so whatever inconveniences you had to endure, will be well worth the trouble, I reasoned.
After the driver had vacated the space that I sat patiently waiting for, I pulled my Infiniti between the two, thick lines, let the end of Rihanna’s song play, and then cut the engine. After I unbuckled my seatbelt, I noticed the text from Dario on my cell phone screen. ‘I love being your man,’it read. He was responding to the text that I sent telling him, ‘I love being your woman,’ when I first exited the freeway and was forced to stop at a red light.
On my way to the elevator, my cell phone rang in my hand. It happened right as I delivered triple heart emojis to Dario’s phone. I automatically assumed that it was Dario calling, but when I looked at the caller ID, I saw that it was Tracie, instead.
“Hey, girl, what’s up?” I greeted. “You here already?”
“Check your left,” Tracie instructed.
I turned to look over my shoulder and blurted, “Too silly!”, when I saw her walking toward me, standing about five inches taller than her normal five-foot-five. She had on a shirt that cut off her midriff, and some form-fitting jeans. “Don’t tell me you got lucky too!” I shouted.
“Sure did. I pulled in right behind you. I got a space over there,” she said, pointing to an area about six cars over from where I parked.
We hugged it out and gave each other pecks on the cheek, before I announced, “Let’s make this happen.”
“Hi, ladies. I’m Kimberly. Can I help you find anything?” the pretty, red-headed salesgirl asked us, as we entered the BCBG store inside of San Francisco’s Westfield Centre.
“Hi, Kimberly. My name is Chanel. I have an online order to pick up.”
“Oh, yes, Chanel,” she stated, reaching to grab a shimmery binder near the fancy countertop. She fingered a tab and opened the book to its page. “Here we go. You have the poppy Oralie cutout dress, Dona high-heel, leather sandals, twisted, cuff bracelet, and that Pave, looped, choker necklace, right?”
“Yes, that’s all meee!” I answered, gleefully.
“You put this outfit together nicely!” she complimented. “You ever considered a career as a stylist?” Kimberly asked. “You have a good eye for fashion.”
My head twitched side to side. “Ooh, girl, nooo, not me. I couldn’t pull this off all the time. You should’ve seen how long I sat in front of the computer, before I assembled all this!”
“But look at what you came up with, though,” Tracie offered. “That is suuper nice, and that poppy goes perfect with your complexion!” she exclaimed, looking at the items that the saleslady was handing off to me.
“Will you be trying this on? Or do you want me to just package it for tran
sport?”
“You can package it. I’ve worn an eight for as long as I can remember. It’ll be fine. I will try the shoes on, however, just to be on the safe side.”
“And are you Tracie?” the saleslady asked. “You have the white, Johnny, cutout jumpsuit, right?”
“Riiight! Oh my god! How did you know thaaat?”
“We don’t get too many customers who purchase via the in-store pickup, so I figured. Besides, it just looks like it’ll look really nice on you,” she praised, going to a nearby rack to retrieve Tracie’s jumpsuit. “I have you all ready to go.”
“Well, unlike the bride-to-be, I’m trying mine on, just to be on the safe side.”
“Smart woman,” Kimberly said.
“I’ll be back, Chanel!” Tracie announced, on her way to the dressing room.
“I’ll be right here, girl.”
As badly as I wanted to peruse the store and make another dent in my pocket, I chose to stick close to the register to fight the urge.
“So, how is everything?” the salesgirl asked, once she and I were alone.
“Everything is great. I can’t wait to put every last one of these items on,” I said, with a bright smile.
“Your friend said you’re a bride-to-be? That’s so exciting. Are these outfits for your bachelorette party?”
“Oh, nooo, we’re not there yet. We’re newly engaged, so this is for the engagement party. I never even thought of an engagement party,” I laughed out loud. “That was all my mother’s idea.”
“I can relate,” Kimberly shared. “My mother was the same way when me and my honey got engaged.”
“Oh, so you know!”
“Absolutely.”
“I honestly don’t feel the need to rush anything. I love my man to death, but a marriage is serious business. We’ll do some couple’s therapy first and maybe live together for a bit, before taking that leap.”
“I think that’s smart,” Tracie agreed, suddenly emerging from the dressing room and modeling her new jumpsuit. “I love this!”
“It’s so perfect on you,” Kimberly commented.
“That’s for sure. I’m sure Quinton will think so too,” I added.
“Quinton is not my man,” Tracie snapped, trying hard to conceal the smile that was trying to push through. After admiring herself in the large mirror for a few minutes, she scurried back inside the dressing room to slip her clothes back on. “Just so you know, you’re not funny, Chanel!” she yelled out.
“Not trying to be!” I retorted.
“So, what are you about to do now?” I asked Tracie, on our trip back to the garage. “Homebound?”
“I don’t know. What were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking maybe we could round up those guys and get some dinner and drinks in, if you’re not busy.”
Tracie tilted her head to the side, then smacked her lips. “Uhh, it’s a weeknight, for one. I already played hooky today. And then, two, I’m going to your engagement party with Quinton next weekend. I doubt he’s gonna want to hang out with me three times in one week. That’s not who he is.”
“Girl, please. What’s a few hours? I’m not asking yo’ butt to pull an all-nighter! Although, who says kickin’ it with him won’t lead to one?”
“Ohh, you’re funny!”
“But I’m not laughing, though. Do you wanna go or not? If you do, then I’ll just have Dario invite y’all. Quinton won’t say no to that.”
“I’m not trying to beg him—”
“Didn’t you tell me that’s how you ran him off before? Didn’t he imply as much the other night when we all hung out at dinner? You gotta quit acting all nonchalant about shit, Trace.” I fed off the look of recognition in Tracie’s eyes to drive home my point. “Riiight . . . it’s as good as done. Take your pretty, brown self to your car, head home and be waiting for the call.”
“You are crazy,” Tracie proclaimed. “And my kinda girl. Hugs.” She gestured, moving in for an embrace. “And… okay, I’ll be waiting for the call,” she remarked, over her shoulder, as she walked away.
CHAPTER 20
Parking structure of the Westfield Mall, San Francisco
“Man, quit touchin’ my fuckin’ music!” Moose ordered. “Sit yo’ ass there and just be a passenger.”
“What real man sits in a damn parking lot for damn near two hours, listening to soft-ass, sissy music?”
“Fuck you, Dave. Ain’t shit soft about Joe. Just because you don’t know real music when you hear it. That shit ain’t my problem. The fuck you wanna hear? Some of that bubblegum-ass rap they sing now? Weak-ass lyrics and shit? Ain’t gon’ happen!” he said, reaching for the knob to adjust the volume a little higher. “Not in my muhfukkin’ ride.”
“Weak-ass lyrics?” Dave said, talking above the music. “You just old as fuckin’ dirt and stuck in a time warp.”
“Old? Pssh, you stupid. And a time warp? Yo’ so-called rappers need to get the fuck on board with real-ass music. Just listen a while, you might grow some appreciation for real art.”
“Real art? That’s funny!”
“No, what’s funny is rappers in Color Purple dresses. Posin’ wit’ purses and shit. That’s what’s funny! Now, shut the fuck up so I can hear the damn song.”
“Whatever, dude,” Dave said, leaning his head back against the headrest.
“Don’t go noddin’ off either; we got a job to do.”
“Like I don’t know that,” he said, without raising his head. “Man, I got three women. Trust me, I know how they get down; and I know that we’re gonna be out here for at least another hour, waitin’ for this chick. Probably a few of them thangs!”
The men fell into belly laughs, stemming from a mutual understanding.
“You right about that shit, man. That’s why when I treat my broad to shopping, I just shoot her ass the paper. I ain’t got time for that shit. Goin’ from store to store, tryin’ on every fuckin’ pair of shoes and shit.”
“Hell yeah! Shit is crazy. I go shoppin’, I grab the goddamn jeans, some coke-white tees and some Jordan’s and I’m out that bitch. The most time I spend is when I gotta get dressed the fuck up for somethin’ and need to get a tux or some shit. Outside of that, fuuuck that!”
“You ain’t never lied, blood.” He released a sigh and looked up, momentarily, to see if maybe their target was approaching. “So, let me ask you a question.”
“S’up?”
“This job, you have the details of it?”
“Nah, just that Boss said to snatch the chick up and where to deliver her to.”
Moose shook his head. “That’s crazy how life works . . .” he reflected, out loud.
“What you mean?”
“We sittin’ here ready to just take somebody off the street without a care in the fuckin’ world about who they are and who they matter to. You don’t ever think about that shit?”
“Nah, not really. It’s just a job to me. I get a nice bag a’paper to not ask questions . . . or to feel remorse.”
“Wow.”
Dave gave his partner in crime a grimaced frown. “Don’t tell me that you got a heart for this shit.”
“Man, any real person got a heart for anything.”
“Shit, not me. Been through too much in my life to give a fuck. There ain’t never been a time where nobody gave a fuck about me, so I just treat life the same goddamn way. The only shit that I trip off of is how nobody is safe anywhere. All it takes is somebody wanting to get rid of you . . .”
“And then somebody like us willing to make it happen,” Moose said, completing the sentence.
“Life’s a bitch, right?”
“Fuck yeah . . . and then you die.”
CHAPTER 21
Dario
With Lennox in tow, I pulled up to Rai’s school at exactly 2:56—14 minutes earlier than I needed to be there. Lennox spotted Rai way before I did, as evidenced by his excessive panting, and sticking his head all the way out the back window.
“Chill out, Lennox,” I said, reaching in the back and stroking his fur to calm him. “You gotta chill, dude. You’re way too excited.”
The truth of the matter was that Lennox didn’t take any time at all bonding with Chanel and Rai. The moment they came into the picture, Lennox took to them in the same way he’d taken to me—and it was quick. Whenever either of them was around, he’d divide his time, selecting nobody in particular. To him, we were one and the same, and I’d never seen him like that, not even with my immediate family.
Watching Rai get closer to the car, it amazed me just how much of Lucas’ mannerisms were present in him. His slow strut was just like Lucas’. It was as though being in any type of hurry was out of the question. The shape of his head was like his father’s; and for sure, his stature. Watching his son was like having Lucas back all over again. I was honored and extremely grateful to have a front row seat to watch him grow, and to help guide him through this journey called life. I zoned out sometimes, stuck in the fact that I lost so many years of his life. That none of the family knew of his existence. But it just made me hold onto the moments even tighter now that we had found him.
By the time Rai made it to the passenger side, Lennox had ditched the back and made his way into the front seat. He was overly excited about the attention that Rai was about to shower upon him.
“Lennox, chill!” I shouted, pushing him back to the back. “Geez, dude.”
“Hey, Lennox!” Rai greeted, as he opened the door, seemingly forgetting that I was even there.
He removed his backpack and placed it on the floor behind his seat, then immediately went for his hugs with Lennox. I pulled out my cell and sent a text to Chanel, asking, “How is it going, baby? Just got to Rai.”
A few minutes later, a smiling Rai closed the back door and hopped into the front seat.
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