by Nako
All he knew was grind. Work hard and provide. He was unfamiliar with the logistics of anything outside of that.
After confirming that the barber did a good job, he showered once more and moisturized his body from head to toe. That was something he didn’t do often, but it was time that he started back nurturing his body. He had neglected it for far too long. Porter settled on a pair of gray fitted jeans, a white button down, and docks. He didn’t have much options of jewelry, other than his wedding ring, watch and some four carat diamond earrings. He wore it all with the exception of the gold Cartier band.
He paid a hefty fee for them to find the bodies of his family and when they did, it broke his heart into two that Kim wasn’t wearing her ring. He wondered when she had taken it off. Sadly, it was like two or three weeks that he had last seen them and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what she wore. He was always distracted. Business kept him busy and occupied. Porter tried to cling to old memories of them to keep him from losing his mind, but failed miserably because he wasn’t around often.
He shook those thoughts away. Not tonight. All he needed was one night of pure excitement. He’d weep and mourn tomorrow, all day if he had too, but tonight, it was going down.
“Oh yeah, you the man homie,” he pepped himself up before heading into the city.
Porter had dinner at Le Bonne. The lamb chops were divine along with the three glasses of champagne that he fell in love with called, Royal Kir. It was like a Rose, but with hints of blackberry and crème that he indulged in. He was fine sitting at the bar, dining alone. He watched the game and even chatted a bit with the bartender who was new to the country.
Porter’s accent was picked up easily, it never left him and when asked over the years where he was from he never said Paris. Instead, it was always, “Not from here.”
The questions that came after he said France made him uncomfortable.
People wanted to know when he moved and why, then they asked about a family that didn’t exist. It was way too much. He tucked a lot of things under the rug when he moved away and that’s where it would stay.
“What’s popping tonight?” he asked the couple sitting next to him. They were obviously young, drunk and in love. He could dig it.
“We’re going to Moulin Rouge, we’re visiting from Arizona. Have you heard of Scottsdale?”
An uncomfortable lump grew near the back of his throat. He hadn’t been there in years. It had to be about seventeen years since he was thirty-five.
“Cool. My man, let me get the check.” He was ready to go. Not home, but the fuck out of here.
Moulin Rouge… it held memories of the woman that raised him. She never let him call her mama, said she was too young and sexy to be his mother, but he damn sure loved her like one. She was the only family he had. She treated him good, damn good. He went to the best schools, learned about life. She was responsible for his taste in clothes and women. Porter was a picky fellow. He liked beautiful women, and not no regular joes, but literally drop-dead, break your neck, make your dick hard at the mere sight of them kind of women. His standards were high, which is why he married Kim. She was the only one that checked off everything on his to-love list. Kim was a rare beauty. No one would never or could ever compare, he was almost sure of it.
She was the head honcho over there. Ran the dressing room like a trap house. His “mama” was well-respected and had left her legacy lingering through the halls of that place long after death carried her away.
He wondered if he should stop by and see if Cisco was still around. He was the owner and his mother’s lover who she never claimed.
“Nah,” he shook his head. Tonight, was too lively to be in his feelings.
“How about I buy you guys a round?” he suggested to the young couple, removing his jacket and getting comfortable. His ass wasn’t going anywhere.
He got drunk as a skunk and mozied back to his place. Maybe he’d try again tomorrow and turn up. Or maybe not.
However, putting one foot in front of the other was progress and today, he made a lot of it.
η
Another day had come and again with the same routine. He peered one eye open slowly followed by the other. Heart check. He waited for his mind to go into overdrive. Patiently, it was almost as if he knew that he deserved this shit. Nothing happened. Memories were far and in between and the few he did have, he held on to them motherfuckers tighter than a chick kept her baby daddy who she refused to let move on. He didn’t hear her laugh in his head or the exotic sounds of their lovemaking, he couldn’t recall the kids laughing or calling his name on the few occasions he made it home before their bedtime. He and Kim hadn’t lived in the same house in about nine months with him residing up North and her down South raising the kids away from the lights and cameras.
He sat up in bed to be sure this shit wasn’t happening for real.
No remnants of him driving to identify the bodies or him fucking up the house out of anger. Picking out caskets…nothing.
“Hmph.” This shit was weird.
Healing took time, but he knew that he hadn’t suffered enough.
He got out of bed still waiting on the weariness to overtake him. He peed, showered, made coffee and all of that. Nope. Nothing.
“This gotta be…” He tried to rake his brain for who was calling him. He stared at the half-charged phone wishing he knew who it was before he picked up.
The call ended, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Porter unplugged from the world and had to detox from society, he made no apologies about that. Not sure if he would ever return to work. He had no desire to do so.
His phone rang again. Same number.
“Man, who the fuck is this?” he had grown comfortable with only having himself to talk to.
He finally answered on the last ring but said nothing. Shit, they called him, so they needed to speak up.
“Porter? Is this you? Nigga, I hope it’s you ‘cus this the only number we got and I’m not coming all the way over there to chase your ass down,” his best friend complained.
He smiled. It had been awhile since he’d heard his voice.
“Case, what up? Yeah, it’s me. What’s good baby?”
He told his peoples in the background, “Yo, it’s him. Give me a minute. Get out.” He bossed everyone around, it was in his nature.
“I miss you my nigga,” he told him with no regrets. They were friends. Brothers. Normally, emotions and deep feelings were reserved for women, but this was his guy right here.
“Miss you too, dawg. What’s up?” he wanted to get to the nature of the call and skipped over all the small talk.
Casey exhaled. “Now you know I wouldn’t be blowing you up like some bitch if it wasn’t important, but I need you to come back, like tonight.”
That wasn’t happening. He wasn’t ready.
“Where is Jill?” His assistant had been promoted to second in command.
“Last time you talked to her? She’s married and pregnant…with twins.”
Jillian wasn’t stunting work, she was preparing for motherhood.
“Word? Damn…” He had missed a lot.
“Yeah, so I need you here. It’s a massacre.” He wouldn’t lie to him.
Porter wasn’t concerned, he actually didn’t care anymore to be honest. He was sure the thrill of the business was gone.
“Case… I can’t come back. I don’t even want to man.”
The line grew silent.
“Don’t do it for me then, okay? Take me out of it. Money is on the line, P.”
He had surpassed millionaire status. The company could crumble, and he’d still be alright. If it all was taken away, he wouldn’t have been concerned. He lived a minimalistic life these days. However, since his employees had families to feed and this was his lawyer and best guy on his jack right now, he questioned, “How much money?”
“Big B’s, fam.”
Porter groaned into the phone, chewing on his tongue out of irritati
on.
“I’ll be there.” He wasn’t coming tonight, not even tomorrow or the day after. Porter had to come back on his own time, but he would return. That much was certain.
“Bet, I’ll send the jet.”
“Nah, don’t do that.” His head wasn’t clear enough to hop up and go back home. It wasn’t that easy. See, the thing about healing was that it was a personal journey. No one could tell you when to move forward or when to let go.
Before Casey could protest, he gave him his word, “Yo, relax. I said I’ll be there.”
C H A P T E R 2
It’s hard to hear the truth from a pretty liar – The Dream
“Throw that ass in a circle, throw it…toss it…twerk it…back that big motherfucker up and drop it on the dick. Boy, this pussy so good I make you sick,” she huffed into the microphone and then shook her head.
“Run it back,” she was tired. Needed sleep. Physically and mentally exhausted, but she was determined.
The engineer took a deep breath. Shit, he was tired too and she sounded horrible.
“Are you sick?” he questioned over the soundboard. Wanting to know if he was wasting his time because her voice resembled nails scratching across an elementary school’s chalkboard.
“Uh, no. Why?”
The guy shook his head and scratched his hair. “Sounds like it. You sure you don’t wanna reschedule?”
“Didn’t I pay you?” she snapped back. The few people in the room chuckled under their breath. Lil mama wasn’t nothing to play with. She was a feisty little thing and made no apologies for it.
She cleared her throat, stifling a sneeze that would erupt any moment now and then picked up her phone and waited on the beat to drop.
This was their third take, but she was determined to get it. She spent the last of her savings on this studio session, so she had to make something shake. She was determined to make it.
“Yeah...It’s Nene, hoe. I’m the baddest bitch in the building. No need to look twice. The ass fat and it’s real.” She cackled loudly into the microphone before going into the first verse that she wrote herself.
She had talent, but this ratchet shit wasn’t her and no one understood why she desperately wanted it to be. Her persona, beauty and demeanor didn’t match what fell from her lips. Regardless of what she looked like, Mahogany Sinclair was a true product of her environment. She was what they would’ve called a certified hood bitch. She had big dreams to make it out the trenches and she believed that rapping was the only way for her to get there.
“How do I sound?” she asked as she sauntered out of the booth and into the small makeshift studio in the basement of her cousin’s baby daddy house.
“Why don’t you sing? You look like you can blow,” one of his homeboys asked her. She was so tired of people asking her that. Did she look like Mariah Carey or something? Mahogany didn’t want to belt out songs and sing ‘til her voice went dry. Hell, she barely sung in the shower.
“Same reason you don’t.”
Her guard was always up. She was extremely defensive and didn’t know how to be any other way. In her eyes, everyone was the enemy. She had trust issues out the ass.
“You always got a damn attitude.”
She ignored him and looked at the guy who she paid her money to, these other individuals held no importance.
“What you think, Bert?”
Mahogany may have assumed that she accepted constructive criticism well, but she didn’t. She had a problem with people telling her what she should sound like or should say, so he never really understood why she asked for his opinion.
“It was alright. I mean you sound like you have a cold, so I would say come back when you feel better and maybe consider stepping out of your comfort zone a lil’ bit.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms across her quaint breasts.
“And do what?” she pressed.
“Uh…go a lil’ softer. I’m a man, so me personally, I don’t want to hear you rapping about taking my credit card and watch while I sleep. But that’s just me.” He shrugged his shoulders, nonchalantly.
“Me neither,” his homeboy chimed in.
“Well, you snooze you lose. Email it to me after it’s mastered. Later,” she tossed out as she chunked up the deuces. Grabbed her belongings and took the steps upstairs and out of the house.
Her ’99 Honda Civic was on its last leg and Lord knows she couldn’t afford new brakes, two back tires and a transmission. She told herself that if it breaks down it was gone be left wherever it cut off at. The car was beginning to cost her more to keep it running. She’d rather cut the expense and hop in Uber.
Other than work and the studio, she didn’t do much anyway. Her days of running wild in the clubs and the streets were behind her. All she desired now was to stack her money and chase her dreams…even if they seemed far away.
η
“Nene, my baby daddy said if he gives you fifteen hundred can you get the Gucci hobo bag? He told me that he already showed you the picture of the one I want, and I need the thigh-highs that Yung Miami had on. I know you seen them joints. I need em’ in a size 8.5.”
She saw the message but knew that they had to be smoking crack if they thought she was snagging both for fifteen hundred.
“Nah, can’t do it.” She texted her right back because it was no point in waiting. If they wanted the bag and the shoes, they were going to have add at least another five hundred dollars on top of that.
The girl then called, probably thinking that she could negotiate the price, but she wouldn’t be able to. It was the first of the month and Mahogany needed all she could get. She was responsible for more mouths than just hers and baby, the bills were due on top of her car running hot every other hour.
Currently, she was trying to gel her edges down. She wouldn’t be able to get her hair done for another two weeks unless she worked something out with her stylist. The only downside was that the bitch talked too much. If she knew how to keep things between them two, it’d be great. Mahogany’s phone vibrated again, and she silenced it. Money talked, and bullshit walked. She wasn’t working a deal out with nobody. She never did. There were no favorites in business and she didn’t do discounts.
Her hair wouldn’t lay down for shit and her patience was non-existent. She took a deep look at herself in the mirror and hated what she saw. His words replayed heavily on her mental and she hated the effect he still had on her.
It had been almost six years since he was taken away from her, although they were far from perfect. When he was sentenced to twelve years, she damn near lost her mind. He was her everything and that’s where she fucked up.
What was even more horrid was that he wasn’t the best man she ever had, but we as women always wanted what we really didn’t need. She used to think she was a bad bitch until she met him. He broke her down and made her heart as cold as steel. And now, unfortunately, every nigga had to catch that hell; whether they were trying to get with her or not. She hadn’t had sex or even took a nigga serious since he got locked up. Probably because his clout was still heavy in the streets, she wouldn’t dare embarrass herself by fucking a lame. Although, she had moved far away from their hometown. She could technically do what she wanted. On the other side of that, Mahogany was so fuckin’ damaged that she knew she needed to get her shit together before she even allowed someone to get close to her.
He tried to destroy her confidence before he went to jail, and he succeeded.
“How come whenever I send you pictures of me when I’m out you don’t ever respond?”
It was a random ass question, but it had been on her mind for a long time.
She saw him shift in the driver seat of the Range and she also didn’t give a fuck. Nene was done biting her tongue when it came to how she felt. He was hurting her feelings more than normal and it wasn’t okay. She had to address the shit.
He turned the music back up and acted as if she never even opened her mouth.
Sh
e reached over and turned it right back down. They were going to have this conversation today.
“Raheem, like for real, am I ugly or something?” she wasn’t sure why she even asked him that because she knew she was beautiful.
He shook his head. “Nah, you don’t know how to pose…I don’t know. You don’t take good pictures or something,” he tried to make it sound good, but her feelings were crushed. Completely.
She took her seatbelt off and turned towards him. “I don’t know how to pose? What’s a hand on the hip or smiling in the picture…I mean what kind of pose are you expecting?”
This was the stupidest thing and the sorriest excuse he could’ve ever given her.
“I’m saying like, I like you. You cute to me, Nene, and you know that.” He turned the music back up as if what he said was acceptable.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she was a gutter bitch and she wouldn’t dare let them fall. She barely said two words to him after they made it home. Out of anger, she archived all her pictures on Instagram after noticing that he had only liked one or two of the almost four-hundred pictures that she had on her page. It was a devastating blow and a painful revelation that the man she was dangerously in love with barely found her attractive.
Mahogany shook the flashback out of her mind and said, “Fuck it,” she decided to throw a beanie on her head. She was going to sell one of her bags to put some extra cash in her pocket, she needed her hair done and some new extensions. This weave was done, it wasn’t a conditioner in the world that could revive this hair. She dressed in her uniform and slid her feet into this worn ass New Balances that were comfortable as hell. After smoking half a blunt and downing a cup of orange juice, she tidied the small apartment up and headed out the door.