Baddest Apple

by Nisa Santiago

  Their connection was broken when Tokyo stormed out of her vehicle, thinking her boss had encountered a threat. Maybe the guy wasn’t as harmless as she had initially thought. She was ready to react with violence. She looked at the man with the dog, the music, and the flowers and asked, “Who this fool?”

  Apple shot her a dirty look. “Chill.”

  Tokyo acquiesced. She had no idea what in the nineteen eighties was going on, but this shit was corny. She watched as her boss walked closer to dude and decided to sit this one out. Tokyo got back in the car and waited for further instructions.

  “These for me?” Apple asked.

  Touch handed her the roses, and she graciously bundled them in her arms like they were a newborn baby.

  “Ruff! Rufffff!” Girlie barked, tired of being ignored. She wanted to meet Apple too. Touch and Apple both laughed as she kneeled in front of Girlie and got a face full of licks.

  “Who is this sweet thing?” Apple asked, rarely showing this much niceness around anyone other than her daughter.

  “This Girlie. And she likes you for sure; she usually doesn’t allow anyone to get close to me.”

  Apple spoke directly to Girlie. “I’m honored, pretty girl. You’re so pretty,” Apple repeated as she stroked her beautiful coat. Finally, she stood back up.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I missed you. I wanted—no, I needed to see you. You placed me on timeout, and I wanted to come up off the bench.”

  “I’ve just been bus—”

  “Nah, don’t give me that busy shit. Keep it one-hundred with me. I’m a grown man. I can handle the truth.”

  Apple nodded. She was about to kick game and was relieved he had stopped her. Apple didn’t know what the future held, but she knew she didn’t want to start off by lying to him. “It’s complicated.”

  “I like complicated women and makeup sex,” he joked, and Apple’s eyes widened. “Too soon?”

  She smirked and said, “Absolutely.” Then she grinned. Touch was silly and had levity to him that was nice.

  “You want to go to breakfast with us so we could talk about it?”

  Apple looked at Girlie and said, “Us?”

  “I know a place.”

  Apple walked back to Tokyo’s passenger’s window and leaned in. “I’ll need to reschedule,” she whispered. “This afternoon, I want you to go with Hood and IG to pick up the shipment from the Mingo cartel and oversee the transport to the Westside trap house.”

  It was a huge responsibility, a task that made Tokyo somewhat nervous. “You sure?”

  “Tokyo, when I give an order, don’t ever question me. It undermines my authority. It’s time you start earning your money. I’ll call Hood and let him know to expect you. Hit me if there are any issues. Otherwise, I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  Tokyo nodded, placed the car in drive, and peeled out.

  23

  Touch walked over to his passenger’s side door and opened it. The vehicle was recently cleaned and waxed, and the new car freshener was subtle and welcoming. His doors looked like mirrors as his exterior glistened under the sun. Apple hopped in the passenger seat of Touch’s car, and when she peered over at him, he had a look on his face that said he was a happy man. He’s so corny, Apple thought. He looked like he was taking her to prom. Girlie, who had started in the backseat, had no reservations about jumping her substantial body into Apple’s lap.

  “I told you she likes you,” Touch said. Apple felt that Girlie’s approval was validation to him. She rolled down the window so Girlie could feel the wind on her face as Touch steered his car to one of his favorite dog-friendly cafés in Little Italy. He parked and they walked two blocks. The quaint café was huddled among the huge city buildings on the wide city block. They were seated outside, and Girlie sat at their feet.

  When the waitress walked up to take their orders, Girlie growled. It was a low warning shot that she liked no one getting close to her dad.

  Apple’s eyes widened.

  “See?” Touch said. “What I tell you? She likes you.”

  Apple looked under the table and rubbed her head.

  They ordered breakfast, and then Touch had his opportunity to get to know her. He wanted to ask more profound questions that weren’t broached on their first date. He started off slow but was ready to build.

  “What’s your real name?”

  “It’s Apple Evans.”

  “Apple? That’s your legal name?”

  She nodded. “And yours?”

  “Malcolm Xavier Nuñez.”

  “Malcolm X Nuñez is unexpected,” she responded after allowing her eyes to sweep over his smooth milk-chocolate skin with just a hint of hazelnut. Touch had shiny, thick eyebrows with long lashes and bright white teeth. His hair was soft, curly, and low, and he had a full mustache and beard. “Nuñez? Is your father Spanish?”

  “My mother was a member of the Black Panther party, so she named me after Malcolm X, and my father is where Nuñez comes from. He’s Puerto Rican.” Touch couldn’t believe he had just mentioned his mother, even in the most inconsequential of ways. Her question was specifically about his father, but without provocation, he let her in. Apple’s eyes told him that he could trust her.

  “That’s impressive. Your mother seems solid, like she raised you to be a strong man.”

  Touch quickly shook his head. “She didn’t raise me.” He was ready to take the conversation to places he vowed he never would. Instead, he stopped short.

  “I feel you. In theory, my mom didn’t raise me either. The streets did, but you don’t feel like a street dude. You seem different, in a corny kind of way. I get the feeling you graduated from high school.”

  The waitress came with their Belgian waffles, caramel lattes, and a bowl of water for Girlie. Touch sipped on his hot beverage with its sweet froth and felt indifferent. He was mercurial, a man with two sides. He was college educated, had a few talents—he could play poker, sing, few people could beat him in pool, and he loved to cook. He was someone a girl would like to bring home to meet her parents. Still, he had a dark side, the side of him he kept suppressed that only came out for business. Touch took no pleasure in murdering people, had no grudge or animosity toward each victim. This side of him couldn’t be shared, couldn’t be placed at someone’s feet. But he wanted to share things with her on an intimate level that he couldn’t communicate with others. Now just wasn’t the time.

  “I did go to college. I have my bachelors in science. You? What’s your highest level of education?”

  “I dropped out long ago. School wasn’t my thing, but I want my daughter to go all the way and finish college like you.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Peaches.” Before he could ask, Apple had pulled out her iPhone and showed him her screensaver of her beautiful little girl. Touch stared intently, picking out the features that were the same as her mothers.

  “And she makes beautiful babies . . .” he said and allowed his statement to linger in the air.

  Apple blushed and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. This small gesture did not go unnoticed by him.

  “You know that’s sexy, right?”

  “What?”

  “Everything.” Touch sat back in his chair and drank her in. She didn’t have sexy moves; Apple was sexy. She was the personification of the word; she embodied it. Dressed down in sweats she was turning him on. He could smell her hair from across the table. She was freshly showered, and her hair was still wet. He wanted to run his hands through it and inhale her scent—all her scents.

  Apple had heard compliments before. When niggas wanted to fuck you, they usually laid them on thick. You were the prettiest bitch, sexiest bitch, there was no other bitch until you caught them with the next bitch. When fucking you had the bomb pussy and could suck dick
like no other until you got into an argument with the next female and realized that the things he said to you, he said to her. So at breakfast, Apple wanted to focus on more than sex and lies. Touch had made her cancel her plans, so now he had to earn her time. It would not be easy.

  She got to the point. “How do you support yourself?”

  It didn’t elude him she had changed the subject. He liked that. She steered him back on track to what mattered: substance.

  “When my mother left, it was just my dad and me alone. We’d spend weekends and evenings playing poker. He taught me the game as a way to keep my mind sharp and focused on something other than why I was a seven-year-old boy without his mother around. In college, I started playing in tournaments, and then that parlayed into a career.” There it was again. He’d mentioned his mother.

  He was smooth, Apple thought. The way he corrected her assumption that his experience with his mother was similar to hers was effortless. She could see and also feel it was painful for him. His bright eyes somewhat dulled as he mentioned her. Apple wanted to ask her name but fell back. Fuck her. Whatever reason she had to leave wasn’t good enough seeing how torn he still was.

  “I hope poker pays enough for the eggs that I’m going to order after I finish these waffles.” She grinned. “And I’d like the fresh squeezed orange juice too.”

  “I got you,” he replied. “What about you? How can you afford to live this way and also support your child?”

  Touch already knew what it was. Well, he knew the outline. He wondered if she would fill in the details. Whether she had a diplomatic answer or told him a fantastic lie would determine how she saw him. It almost wasn’t fair putting her in that position knowing his side hustle wasn’t exactly something you divulged either.

  Apple allowed the outwardly innocent question to ground her. To strip away all romantic feelings for a moment, she needed to filter logic through not only her mind, but it needed to pierce her heart. No one had ever asked what she did for a living. All of her men had been street dudes, men who busted their guns and stacked their ones. There wasn’t a need for full-fledged confessionals because there was transparency from day one. Who was this poker-playing, rhythm-and-blues-singing, Malcolm-X-namesake, half Puerto Rican? A cop? Apple needed to tread carefully, and yet she didn’t want to outright lie.

  “The first few years of my daughter’s life, I didn’t take care of her. At some point, my sister became her guardian until I was able to get her back. That part of my life is off limits. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s my past, and it’s buried. Right now, I’m in the process of looking for a new apartment, so she could live with me full time. The fact that I’m sitting here with you at eleven in the morning on a work day is a testament that I don’t work.” Apple felt good about how she had addressed his question, but his eyes told her she hadn’t answered his inquiry. “For you to pull up knowing I would be home tells me that you already know what I do.”

  “There are two different types of men—the ones that ask direct questions, and the ones that listen to rumor and innuendo. I did ask around, only wanting to know if you had a man. I was told that you were trouble, and that you were a stick-up chick. You set niggas up to get robbed. Now if I believed any of that, we wouldn’t be sitting here. So again, what do you do for money?”

  Apple was stuck on a stick-up chick. It sounded so petty. The streets had no chill button. “My ex left me some money.” Her answer was short, honest, and succinct.

  “How long has it been since you two separated?”

  “I don’t want to talk about him either,” she admitted.

  Touch wanted to let that response ride, but he couldn’t. He was becoming territorial over her time and wanted to know more about his competition. “Try, please . . . for me.”

  Why was he making her so weak right now? It was like she would do whatever he said. Apple took a deep breath and blew out a lot of negative feelings. She said, “He was murdered last year.”

  Touch slowly nodded. It was like the fuzzy picture on his television screen had just cleared up. He now had an HD 4K ultra view into her life.

  “You still love him?”

  “I do,” Apple said without hesitation.

  “Is that why you didn’t call me or return any of my calls?”

  “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Nah. I’m stubborn like that.”

  “Maybe,” she said coyly. “But then you came with all this—which, by the way, is so fuckin’ extra.” She laughed.

  “Which part? Girlie? The roses? The stalking? The singing? The boom box?” he countered.

  “The pursuit,” she answered honestly. “You’re coming on strong as if you’re going to run out of time or be exposed as a liar. You feel too perfect, like I’m going to find out something about you that won’t sit well with me and you’ll become an enemy . . . You don’t want me as an enemy.” Apple stared fiercely into his eyes, and he didn’t flinch.

  “If you give me a chance, I promise I won’t ever break your heart.”

  “It’s your heart that I’m worried about.”

  Touch’s breath hitched as he came to terms with her words. She was his challenge. He wanted her because she made known that he couldn’t have her. Her heart belonged to another man, her body was on loan, and her time was monopolized by the streets.

  “Let me worry about me,” Touch said.

  “So what now?” she asked.

  “What now? Let’s make the best of the morning,” he said. “And so it begins.”

  “Begin what?” she asked him.

  “Our second date.”

  24

  You’re late,” she griped. “In fact, beyond late. This is downright disrespectful. Only whores keep these hours, and I’m no whore!”

  “It ain’t that easy for me like it used to be,” he explained. “She was out of town, but now she’s back.”

  Melinda stepped to the side to allow Kamel to come in. He coolly entered the apartment, simultaneously removing his jacket. She closed the door behind him and tightened her silk robe. Underneath she had on a two-hundred dollar pair of La Perla thongs, and pasties covered her perky, toffee colored nipples. Her breasts were firm, voluptuous, and real, as was her ass—solid facts she took great pride in. Her body was a perfect ten, her mind was filled with knowledge, and her life was full of family and friends. Melinda was loved beyond measure, and on the outside looking in, she had it all.

  His lateness had her in a foul mood. It was nearly one o’ clock in the morning, and she had to be to work by eight. Melinda was an investment banker at J.P. Morgan & Chase, and she took her job seriously. This affair she was having was a first for her. It was against everything she thought she believed. Married men were off limits. It was an unspoken rule in her life, a commandment just as crucial as Thou Shall Not Kill. Right now, she was coveting another woman’s husband, and the guilt was eating her up inside. However, the shame of it all wasn’t enough for her to end it. She loved him, and he promised her it was over with his wife. He swore that he had asked for a divorce. Melinda had Sza’s “The Weekend” playing softly in the background, the song an in-your-face reminder of what was going down inside her four walls. Was the weekend enough for her? And she wasn’t even getting that. He broke her off a few evening hours a couple times a week, never allowing the sun to beat him home.

  “I like this song.” He said as he kicked off his Ferragamo shoes.

  “I bet you do.”

  “C’mon, not like that. That’s not us. We’re more than sex.”

  “Are we?”

  “Melinda, please don’t start. I’ve had a long day, and I just want to chill wit’ you.”

  Kamel looked around at the dinner that sat untouched on her dining room table and the champagne now soaking in a bucket of warm water. Melinda always put in the extra effort to make him feel wanted and ne
eded. Her eyes spoke to him each time he walked through the door, begging him to make a home with her.

  “You hungry?” she asked.

  He nodded, even though he wasn’t. He had cooked a massive meal for Kola and the children, but he couldn’t allow Melinda to feel neglected and her time to feel wasted. She had gone through a lot of trouble for him.

  Melinda got right to work placing his steak and potato in the microwave. Her lips were poked out, allowing him to absorb her attitude. Kamel took a seat at her table and leaned back in the chair. How had he made such a mess of this woman’s life? He could tell she was hurting, and he didn’t want to cause her more pain, but he didn’t know how to unravel his lies so they both could walk away without regrets.

  Melinda was only supposed to be someone with a warm bed when he needed a companion. From day one, he told her he was married. Kola had left him and the kids and gone to Apple’s rescue in South Beach without an ounce of understanding that he was a man. And when she came back, she was even more fucked up in the head and distant. He begged her to see a therapist, and she did, but they placed her on a cocktail of meds, which numbed her mind and dried up her sex drive. Kola kept pushing him away, and Melinda kept begging him to stay. What was a man to do?

  The microwave sounded and Melinda pulled out his hot plate and dropped it in front of him. Her energy was so dark that Kamel thought about turning around and going back home.

  “You not going to eat too?” he asked.

  “I’m not hungry,” she scoffed.

  Kamel grabbed his steak knife and fork and cut a small piece of the meat. He chewed a forkful and told Melinda how good her food tasted. “You can burn,” he flattered, and he could see a small smile take root.

  “You should have tasted it without the million volts of artificial rays. Your mouth would be watering right now.”

  “Nah, it’s good. No complaints.”

  Melinda relaxed. She looked at his chiseled jawbone and broad shoulders, with all of his gangsta swag and couldn’t stay angry. She yawned and wished he would eat faster.