Private Property

by La Jill Hunt

  King gave her a look up and down and smiled. “What are you offering?”

  “I’m offering you a soda or some water, whichever you choose.” Melissa smirked.

  “Naw, I’m good then,” King told the bartender. He then turned to Melissa. “You know how to tempt a brother, don’t you?”

  “You’re fine. How long is it now?”

  “A while.”

  “What’s a while?”

  “Drugs, almost two years.”

  “And alcohol?”

  “Other than a beer I drank to celebrate the Giants’ Superbowl win, it’s been a little over nine months.” King shrugged. Sobriety was a daily challenge, especially since most of his life had been spent indulging in marijuana, alcohol, and even the occasional hit of cocaine. For him, it was all a part of being a member of the group. King was the one member who could perform during a concert, party until noon the next day, arrive in the studio and lay down a track, and be ready to perform again. Unlike the R&B legends King grew to love, like David Ruffin, Rick James, and Gerald Levert, he didn’t succumb to the lifestyle and lose himself to it. He thrived while intoxicated. It made him a better performer and did wonders for his songwriting.

  What it didn’t do was wonders for was his reputation or his relationships. On more than one occasion, he was accused of being a womanizer and philanderer and fathering numerous children. Most of the accusations weren’t true. People just didn’t understand him, which angered him at times. The fact that he would throw items across the room when he got frustrated, or throw a punch at a guy who disrespected him, just showed how passionate he was. And passion was what music was all about.

  He had one failed marriage and was in the process of ending his second one, both in the ten years since he’d broken up with Melissa. Losing his mother had been the one sobering factor in his life. Her death was a shock, and it sent him into a state of depression that landed him in rehab. It was there that he realized he did have some anger issues and emotional baggage from his childhood, and it was there that he got clean. He vowed to stay clean as a legacy to his mother.

  So far he had kept his promise. It wasn’t easy, especially with the messy divorce he was dealing with. Having people in his corner like Melissa, his group members, and his manager helped out a lot.

  “I’m proud of you,” Melissa told him.

  “Proud enough to go upstairs with me?”

  “Hell no, not that proud.” She laughed.

  “So what’s so important that I had to fly all the way to VA to discuss it?” King’s curiosity was now piqued.

  After a few pregnant seconds, Melissa finally spoke. “I need for you to take Knight for a while.”

  King blinked for a few seconds. “What? What do you mean?”

  “Knight? Your son? I need for you to take him to live with you.”

  At first he thought she was joking to see what his reaction would be. They sometimes did that with one another: suggest extreme what-if situations to test one another and get a good laugh. But there wasn’t a smile on her face or any humor in her eyes. He wasn’t sure what to say except, “I’m getting him this summer when school lets out.”

  King always kept his son for a month during the summer, in addition to seeing him during the major holidays when he wasn’t touring. They always had a great time going to amusement parks and movies, and he allowed his son to pick a destination for them to spend an entire week. Knight was adventurous, so they had been everywhere from Hawaii to Brazil. He loved hanging out with his son, but it seemed like Melissa was asking him to do something a whole lot more than jet around for a couple of days.

  “No, right now. I need you to take him now,” she explained.

  King inhaled and then said, “I can take him for a couple of days.”

  “I need you to take him for more than a couple of days, King. My mother is sick. Really sick. I’m gonna have to go up to Baltimore for a little while,” Melissa told him.

  King saw the tears forming in her eyes, and he reached for her hand. “Damn, Mel. I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”

  “Stomach cancer. I don’t know how bad it is. I just know she’s sick and I need to get to her. But, King, you know I can’t take him with me to Baltimore. There’s no way.” Melissa shook her head.

  “But . . . Look . . . What . . .”

  “But nothing. There’s nothing to look at, and what I need you to do is what I’ve been doing for the past fourteen years: be a full-time parent. It’s not that hard to comprehend. What’s the problem?”

  Melissa was getting agitated, and he didn’t want things to get ugly between them. But this was unexpected. For some reason, he thought she wanted to talk about them. They had been getting closer over the past year, and now that his mess of a marriage would hopefully soon be over, he hoped that maybe there was a chance they could try again. Now here he was sitting there and she was asking him to be a full-time father.

  “I’m not saying it’s a problem, Mel. But you know I have a lot going on right now. This divorce is crazy—”

  “That’s because you married a crazy woman. And you told me she moved out and has been gone for months.”

  “She did, and she has. But I’m still dealing with lawyers and the settlement. And you know the guys and I are touring again, and we’re trying to work on this album.”

  “Your son will be at school during the day when you have your meetings. And you know you aren’t on tour. You all are making appearances every now and then. King, I really don’t care what you have going on in your life. I just told you my mother is sick. I am leaving to go and take care of her and my father, who you also know has Alzheimer’s. Now, you and I have always had a great relationship, and we have an amazing son. Even when you’ve messed up, I’ve always had your back. Now I’m gonna need for you to have mine for a little while.”

  “I do have your back, Mel. I’m sorry you gotta deal with all of this. Trust me, I know what you’re going through. It’s hard being the only child when something happens to your parent. You know I know that. Why don’t we talk to Uncle Matt and see if he can—”

  “You can’t be serious, King.” Melissa’s voice was filled with disappointment. “You want to leave your teenage son in the care of your seventy-year-old uncle who has health issues of his own?”

  “First of all, Uncle Matt is fine,” King pointed out. “He may have a little high blood pressure—”

  “The man had bypass surgery last month and wears a heart monitor,” Melissa hissed at him.

  King could see her anger rising, but he continued trying to reason with her. “But he’s fine now. If Knight stays with him, he can stay in the same school with his friends, and we won’t have to disrupt his life. Let’s just try it out and see.”

  “King Jabari Douglas, I’m not gonna sit here and argue about this, because now you sound real stupid, and you’re not a stupid man. You will be taking your son back to California to live with you until I am able to come and get him,” Melissa stated as she stared at him.

  King knew he had lost the fight, and an hour later he was back in his hotel room, trying to figure out how he was going to handle his new responsibilities of being a full-time dad once he and Knight went back to California in two days.

  The conversation with Melissa and his newfound responsibilities made him want to go back down to the bar and get a drink. He was stressed and needed to do something and do it quick.

  His eyes fell on the business card on the nightstand, and he dialed Nikita’s number, inviting her to his room. She didn’t hesitate to tell him she would be there within minutes. He was slightly relieved, hoping that she would provide a much-needed distraction from his urge for libations. He decided to change shirts and was going through his suitcase when he got a call from an unfamiliar number. Thinking maybe it was Nikita calling from another number, he answered.

  “King! So you ’bout to let Knight come and live with you in Cali?”

  Immediately King regretted answering the pho
ne as he heard Portia’s voice yelling at him. “Hello to you too, Portia.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Knight ’bout to be living wit’ you now? PJ came in and said Knight just put on Instagram that he was ‘moving in wit’ Pops.’ I knew this shit was gonna happen. My mama told me you was always gonna favor him over my son, and she was right!”

  “That’s a lie, and you know it. I love both my sons equally. I always have.”

  “Now that’s a lie! It’s always been all about Knight. He’s the one you take on fabulous trips and shopping sprees. My son gets nothing.”

  How Portia considered the $8,000 a month he paid in child support nothing, King didn’t understand. He also didn’t understand why his son would put that information out on social media without even speaking to him first. He had some choice words for his son and grabbed his iPad to pull up Instagram. He searched his son’s page and was relieved not to find a post even remotely saying anything like she said.

  “Portia, I’m not having this conversation with you. I have to go,” he said when he heard the beeping on his line. He switched to the other caller and asked, “Where you at, sweetheart?”

  “Getting on the elevator,” Nikita told him.

  He gave her the room number, and when he opened the door and found her standing there wearing a trench coat and heels, he smiled.

  “Darling Niki.”

  * * *

  Hours later, they were both exhausted and lying in bed when his phone rang again. Thinking it was Portia, he tried to ignore it, but it kept ringing.

  “Don’t you wanna get that?” Niki asked, turning over and facing him.

  He brushed one of her long locs from her face. “Nope. I got something else I’m trying to get.”

  She giggled. “Well, before I give it to you again, can you at least put your phone on silent?”

  King nodded, climbed out of bed, and walked over to the nearby desk where the phone was lying. He picked it up and saw that the missed calls weren’t from Portia. They were from Leo, his business manager. King hoped his psychotic baby mama hadn’t gone and done anything stupid. He dialed Leo’s number, glancing over at Nikita lying in the bed. He prayed Leo didn’t answer the phone so he could go ahead and get started on the round two he was looking forward to.

  “Man, you need to get on the next flight and get back home,” Leo said, having picked up before the first ring was finished.

  “You’re crazy! I just got here a couple of hours ago. I’ll be back tomorrow.” King told him.

  “You need to get back now. It’s an emergency.”

  King knew something was wrong by the tone in Leo’s voice. The last time Leo sounded like this, the father of one of the other group members had been killed in a car accident.

  “What’s going on?” King asked, praying that someone wasn’t dead.

  “I just got word that your house is on fire.”

  “What?” Next to his sons, his Grammy awards for his solo albums, and his custom motorcycle, King’s house was his most prized possession.

  “They just called me. Hell, I think it’s on the news.”

  King reached for the remote and turned to CNN. Sure enough, there was a shot of his house with smoke billowing out of it. At the bottom of the screen were the words HOME OF FORMER R&B STAR SET ABLAZE.

  “What the hell do they mean, ‘former’?” King asked, sitting on the end of the bed.

  “Wow! Is that your house?” Nikita asked.

  “Who is that?” Leo questioned. “I know that ain’t Melissa. Is that why you had to fly to meet her?”

  “Hell no!” King told him. “I can’t believe this.” He turned up the volume and tried to think of what to do next.

  “Folks, what you’re seeing is live footage from the mansion of former R&B singer King Douglas. The recently built mansion is the location of a four-alarm fire, and firefighters are trying to contain the flames and minimize the already-severe damage to the property. We have a reporter headed to the scene, but we have just received word that Mr. Douglas’s estranged wife, supermodel Scorpio, was in the home when the fire started. She has been taken to a local hospital.”

  And just like that, when King thought his life couldn’t get any worse, it did.

  Chapter 9

  Bishop Walter Burke

  Walter Burke sat at his mahogany desk and stared at the open Bible in front of him. He was trying to put the final touches on the sermon he had prepared for Sunday, but he couldn’t focus. His thoughts were jumping from one subject to the next, and he was tired after being up for almost twenty hours. It was time to go home.

  Going nonstop was nothing new for him. The day before had started with his normal routine of waking at six in the morning and spending prayer time with his wife, followed by an hour-long workout with his personal trainer. He then had multiple meetings and conference calls regarding church business, television appearances, the next book he was scheduled to write, and the script for a film project he had just secured that he was excited about. Later yesterday evening, he preached at a revival service at one of his outreach churches, which was followed by another meeting.

  After the long day he’d had, all he wanted to do was spend some intimate time with his wife, preferably in their marbled dual shower, and then go to bed. After sweet-talking her on the phone, his plan seemed to be in motion. He’d turned his cell phone off and sat back in the passenger’s seat of his black Escalade, hoping to catch a quick nap during the drive. He knew he was in capable hands. Frank had been by his side for years. A longtime member of the church, he was more like a son than an employee.

  “Bishop, something’s going on.” Frank’s voice startled him out of his sleep.

  Walter sat up and saw that they were approaching Harrington Point, the posh community where his family now resided. Walter rubbed his eyes, confused because there was a line of cars trying to turn into his neighborhood, causing a massive traffic jam. It was the first time since moving there that Walter had seen more than two cars at one time. The area was so secluded and newly constructed that most people didn’t even know it existed.

  Now, there were news vans and reporters on the side of the road. Frank eased onto the main roadway leading to the entrance of the neighborhood. Fire trucks, police cars, and emergency vehicles lined the streets.

  “I’m sorry, emergency vehicles only,” a police officer told them after Frank rolled down the window.

  “Officer, I am a resident here. I live around the corner, and this is the only way I can get to my home. What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but there is a massive fire in one of the homes,” the officer told him.

  Walter panicked, and he began to pray while he searched for his cell phone. He dialed both Olivia’s and Micah’s numbers, but neither his wife nor his son answered.

  “Which house? Where is it?” Walter asked.

  The officer didn’t have to answer because Walter suddenly noticed the smoke in the distance. It was near his home, but he could tell it was on the opposite side. Nevertheless, he needed to make sure his wife and son were okay.

  “Here is my identification, sir.” Walter grabbed his license from the wallet in his back pocket and passed it to Frank, who passed it to the officer. “I need to get through and make sure my family is okay.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t let any vehicles back there,” the officer said, taking the small square of plastic and shining his light on it. “Wait, you’re Bishop Walter Burke! My wife watches you on TV, and she has all your books! Man, you saved my marriage,” the short, blond white guy said all in one breath.

  Frank looked over at the bishop and shook his head. They were used to this kind of reaction once people actually realized who he was.

  “I’m glad to hear that, young man. Now I’m sure you can understand why I need to get home and make sure my wife and son are okay,” Walter told him.

  “I do, but there is no way I can let you through. We were given strict instructions tha
t we can’t allow any vehicles anywhere near the area. The press and paparazzi are clamoring to get in.” The officer shrugged.

  “What if we park the truck and walked to the bishop’s house?” Frank asked.

  The officer tilted his head to the side, and Walter could tell he was thinking for a minute.

  “My house is right around the corner. I just need to get to my home, Officer . . .” He leaned over to see if he could read the name badge.

  “Ford, sir,” the officer offered.

  “Officer Ford.” Walter nodded.

  “Okay, pull the vehicle all the way to the side, out of the street, and make sure it’s not blocking anything or anyone,” the officer finally told them.

  “Thank you, Officer Ford. God bless you, sir.” Walter barely got the words out as the officer flagged them through, speaking into the walkie-talkie on his shoulder and alerting his fellow officers about Walter and Frank.

  Frank pulled near an empty lot near the entrance, which held a FOR SALE sign. They quickly got out of the truck and maneuvered their way through the emergency vehicles, rushing toward the bishop’s home. The thick smell of smoke filled the air, and Walter almost had to stop and catch his breath, but he persevered and continued until he finally made it to his house. He was relieved to see Olivia and Micah standing out front along with a few other people he didn’t recognize.

  “O’la!” he called out to his wife.

  Olivia turned around and started running when she saw him. She didn’t seem to mind that she was dressed in only a bathrobe and some slippers, and neither did he. He swept his wife into his arms and held her tight.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her.

  “I’m fine. I was worried that they weren’t going to let you get in and come home. Someone said they have the entrance blocked off and people couldn’t get through,” Olivia said.

  “They do. But you know there was no way they were gonna keep me from making sure you were okay.” Walter rubbed the side of her face and kissed her forehead.

  “Hey, Dad, you know I made sure she was fine,” Micah said, walking up and putting his arm around his father. “I’m glad you’re home, though. I figured if anyone was gonna get you here, Frank was.”