Stormy Knight

by J. D. Mason

  Tito Hardiman was one of the few remaining tenants leasing space from Lola. Tito ran a—hell! Brewer didn’t know what kind of business Tito was in. His place, Hardiman’s Hideaway, sold coffee, muffins, books, cigarettes, tealight candles, and hair products. He hosted an open mic night featuring local poets every third Wednesday of the month, and local bands on Saturday nights. An eclectic-looking fellow, Tito had dreadlocks down to his heels, spoke with a lisp, and smelled like weed all the damn time. But he was close to Lola, which Randall hoped he could somehow use to his advantage.

  “Thank you for stopping by, Tito,” the mayor said, welcoming him into his office and motioning for him to take a seat. “I know that’s got to be tough”—he smiled—”especially in the middle of a busy workday.”

  It was eleven in the morning on a Wednesday. Tito likely had no customers at this time of the day. In fact, it was highly unlikely that he’d have any customers today at all. Tito looked absolutely uncomfortable about being here.

  “Can I have Lindsay get you a cup of coffee? Maybe water?” Randall asked.

  Tito shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

  Randall made a mental note to soften his features, even his tone, and make reassuring eye contact, just like he was running a campaign. The voter had to believe in you. They had to be convinced that you truly cared about them and their plight. He wasn’t worried, though. This shit came second nature.

  Naturally, Tito was pensive and guarded. Randall hadn’t just called him in out of the blue. He’d been slowly but surely getting to know the young man under the guise of surveying the development sight. Randall would casually stroll into Tito’s store, introduce himself, and strike up some small talk. It was all very strategic, very calculated.

  “I don’t know how much Lola has told you about what’s going on with the acquisition of the strip mall and surrounding areas,” he said, even though there were no other surrounding areas in question.

  He shrugged. “Not a whole lot,” he said coolly.

  He was lying. Tito and Lola were as thick as thieves, and Randall knew good and damn well she’d told him everything.

  Randall sighed and scratched his chin. “Well, the developer had made another offer to Lola, their best and final offer I’m afraid, and she’s got a limited amount of time to accept it or it goes away,” he explained.

  “So, why’re you telling me this?”

  “Because I think you care about her,” Randall said, deadpan. “I think she’s your friend, and I don’t think you want to see her walk away with nothing, which is exactly what’s going to happen, if she turns down this offer.”

  “That’s up to her.” He shrugged.

  Randall leaned back in his seat.

  “I mean,” Tito continued, “if she doesn’t take the offer then the developer has to walk away. Right? So then Lola gets to keep the mall and it’s all good.”

  “No.” He sighed. “No, it won’t be all good, Tito. Right now, except for you and one other tenant and her own store, Lola’s got no other income. Taxes on that place go up yearly, and she’s struggling, as it is, to keep them paid,” he explained. “How long do you think she’s going to be able to keep that up?”

  “She’ll just have to find new tenants.”

  “You think she hasn’t tried? She finds them, but how long do they stay? In the time you’ve been there, how many tenants have come and gone?”

  Tito was starting to look agitated. “Why you telling me all of this?” he asked again. “I can’t do nothing about it. What do you expect me to do?”

  Randall looked thoughtful. “Do you have any plans for your place if she loses the mall? Do you know where you might go?”

  Of course he didn’t. Tito didn’t seem the type to have plans past what he was going to do after he left the mayor’s office.

  “She’s probably not charging you much,” Randall concluded, and pretty accurately, too, since Tito didn’t argue.

  “No,” he said under his breath.

  “You might want to think about that, son. Maybe even start looking around at other places.”

  If Tito had thought to argue, he quickly changed his mind.

  “There’s a place off Route 10 that might have some space, but they’re gonna charge you double, maybe even triple what Lola’s asking. I’m just saying, between you and me, get your house in order before it’s too late. Make sure you got a contingency plan for yourself, keep your business going. There’s no reason for it to have to shut down.”

  Now, Tito looked like he was paying attention. “How long does she have to take that offer?” he eventually asked.

  “My guess is a month, maybe less. If she took it, the developers would ask that the place be vacated almost immediately since they’re so far behind on breaking ground now, and I would like to think that Lola would have it in her heart to help to relocate those of you who are there when it happens.” He smirked. “But that’s my hope. It’s the right thing to do, and she strikes me as a woman who would naturally do the right thing, especially by her friends.”

  Take the bait, Tito. Listen to what I’m saying.

  “She’s responsible,” he continued, “a responsible property owner.”

  Tito nodded. “Yeah. She is.”

  “She keeps the place up. Never failed an inspection. Everything’s up to code. Keeps decent insurance on the place. Not a lot, but some. If anything bad ever happened to the place, she’d at least get some money for it.”

  “Something like what?” he reluctantly asked.

  Randall shrugged. “Nothing,” he said dismissively. “Look, I don’t blame you if you don’t want to mention having this conversation with me to Lola,” he added. “I’m not exactly one of her favorite people right now. You understand.”

  Again, Tito nodded. “Yeah.”

  This one was full of possibilities and opportunity. Randall had him thinking, probably for the first time, about his self, his business, and how to save his own ass, instead of being the rah-rah-sis-boom-bah cheerleader for Lola. And he needed to think about it, because it was a very real fact of life that Tito, and the rest of them, would soon be out on their asses if they weren’t careful, all because of Lola and that big, old, stubborn pride of hers.

  Randall stood up, indicating that the meeting was over. Tito awkwardly followed suit. Randall walked him to the door. “If you decide that you need to talk or need some advice, feel free to reach out to me, son. I’d like to help, if I can.” He placed an endearing hand on Tito’s shoulder.

  “Cool,” Tito said appreciatively. “I might do that.”

  “Please do. And I’ll be in touch. If I hear anything about affordable rental space for your business, or even news from the developer, Tito, I’ll be sure to let you know as soon as I do.”

  He watched the young man disappear down the corridor and down the stairwell. Omar was a good businessman. He had always had a head for such things. But Randall knew people and that they were capable of just about anything given the right circumstances. For all Lola Knight’s talk about the community, she could give a shit about it. This wasn’t about community, so much as it was about her, and Randall was all out of patience with that woman. Star Industries was not going to hand him that mega-mart superstore only to snatch it out from under him just because of her. He’d leave Omar to deal with them. Randall would take care of everybody else.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  In the two days since he’d last seen her, she’d summoned Omar to her store, Lola’s Life Boutique, at the Green Groves shopping center, the very shopping center that the developers were trying to buy out from under her. It was one in the afternoon, and except for a few cars, Lola’s included, the parking lot was empty. Of the four remaining stores still in the complex, only two had “open” signs on them, Lola’s and that coffee shop next door to hers.

  A bell sounded as he pushed open the door to Lola’s. Moments later, the woman emerged from a small room in back. Watching Lola Knight walk could cause motion sick
ness in a man if he weren’t careful. And as usual, she donned an outfit that accentuated every last one of those curves, drawing attention to the exaggerated lines of her figure. Lola wore an emerald green wrap dress, full and flowing and cinched at her waist with a wide brown-leather belt. Her hair was pushed back this time, and fist-size gold hoop earrings dangled from her ears.

  Because of the tone of the voice mail she’d left him about meeting her here, and from the serious expression on her face, Omar mentally braced himself for battle.

  “Lola,” he said cordially as she approached.

  Lola held out money to him. “I appreciate everything you’ve done regarding my car,” she explained, and then waited for him to take the money.

  “That’s not necessary,” he said.

  “Yes, it is.” She held his gaze until finally and reluctantly, Omar took it from her.

  The morning after he’d dropped her off, Omar had called a tow truck to pick up the car and take it to a garage where he’d paid to have it fixed. It wasn’t much. Altogether, he was out of pocket four hundred dollars. Lola had given him back that exact amount. She hadn’t said as much that night, but it didn’t take a genius to tell that the woman just didn’t have the means to even get the car towed, let alone repaired. He didn’t know where she’d gotten the money from now, all of a sudden, but it wasn’t his business to ask.

  In the last six months of trying to do business with this woman, this was Omar’s second time being in her store, which actually seemed a little too upscale to be in a run-down strip mall like Green Groves. It suited her, though, filled with all the kinds of things that made Lola, Lola. Pretty things, natural, organic, spicy things. Despite everything that had been going on between the two of them, he wasn’t in a hurry for this meeting to end.

  “Have you given that offer any consideration, Lola?” he asked, knowing the answer already, but stretching out his time here for as long as he could without looking foolish.

  She half smiled. “What do you think?”

  She owed it to herself to take it. Omar wanted her to understand that this mall wasn’t worth losing everything over. Lola could’ve easily taken the money and set up shop someplace else, but more and more, he was starting to believe that her conviction to keep this place had more to do with something else than just her commitment to community. But trying to tell her that would be like talking to a stone wall, a beautiful stone wall that smelled like … lemons?

  “Do you have something you want to say, Omar?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to one side.

  No. Not something he wanted to say, but rather, something he wanted to do. Omar quickly shook the thought.

  “I uh…”

  “You what?”

  “Smell lemons.”

  Lola took a tentative and barely noticeable step away from him. “Well, I have to get back to work. Thank you again.” She started to turn away.

  “Will you have dinner with me?”

  Of course Lola looked stunned. Why wouldn’t she be? The two of them had been battling like boxers for the last six months with him trying to convince her to sell away her dream to a big corporation.

  “I’m not taking their offer,” she said defensively.

  “I didn’t intend to talk about the offer,” he coolly retorted.

  Lola looked off-balance and uncertain of how to take his invitation. She didn’t trust him. He knew that. Lola likely believed that this was some ploy of his to try to talk her into changing her mind, but it wasn’t.

  “Under the circumstances,” she said pensively, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “When would it be a good idea?” he asked, challenging her.

  She took a deep breath. “Probably never.”

  She’d said probably, not absolutely. Omar translated this to mean that he actually had a chance. He grabbed hold of optimism and held on to it. The fool in him wanted desperately to believe that somehow, the two of them could overcome their stances on this whole development thing, even if it was just long enough to enjoy a meal together. But the realist in him read her mind. And it said that hell would freeze over before that happened.

  When all else failed, good old-fashioned honesty and straightforwardness were all that he had left.

  “I would like to get to know you, Lola,” he admitted. “I don’t want to talk about business. I just want to know you.”

  “I’m really not interested, Omar,” she said unapologetically. “You and I don’t have anything to talk about that doesn’t revolve around this place.”

  “We could determine that over dinner,” he argued.

  She smirked. “It’s determined already.”

  He sighed. “I’m not so convinced, Lola. I might be wrong, but I think that I sense some chemistry here,” he said, teasing, mostly.

  Lola laughed. “What you feel is not chemistry, Mr. Reid. At least, that’s not what I’d call it.”

  “I’d be interested in hearing what you’d call it.”

  She shrugged. “We’re gladiators, going head to head in an epic life-or-death battle.”

  He frowned. “That serious?”

  “Pretty much.” She nodded. “That’s my perspective.”

  “That’s too bad,” he muttered, nodding.

  Her rejection stung, but hell, he’d been rejected before, so Omar wasn’t crippled by it. He was disappointed, though.

  “Well,” he said, making that his cue to leave. “If you change your mind about the offer, please let me know. I think it’s a good one. I think it’s fair, more than fair, and I think—” Yeah. He was disappointed. Omar folded the money she’d given him and slipped it into his back pocket. “Take care,” he said before leaving.

  He got it. She was proud, independent, and stubborn, and she wanted nothing to do with him. Omar started his car and pulled out of the lot, then headed back down the highway to meet with the developer and ask for them to give her just a little more time. Today she looked to be as determined as ever to keep that place, but two nights ago, Lola was at a breaking point. He knew instinctively that whatever reprieve she’d gotten these last few days was temporary, and that it wouldn’t take much for her to lose her footing altogether.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Was that Omar Reid?” Ciara Hardiman asked, coming into Lola’s boutique less than five minutes after the man had left.

  Ciara was Tito Hardiman’s older sister and business partner.

  “That was him,” Lola reluctantly admitted.

  Ciara made herself at home, opening jars and sniffing hair products, lotions, and soaps on Lola’s shelves. “You got any of that loc butter in?” she asked.

  “No, but I can order it for you.”

  Lola had resorted to special ordering just about everything for her customers in the last few months. Another sign that she was starting to run out of business.

  “He came to talk about that superstore?” Ciara asked.

  “That’s all he ever wants to talk about,” she said.

  “So, what are you going to do, Lola? They want to buy the place, right?”

  Lola tried to keep her tenants as informed as possible and transparency was everything. Tito and Ciara, and Mr. Brown, who owned the tailor shop, had all been loyal and had stayed the course right alongside her.

  “They do.”

  Ciara put a jar back on the shelf, came over to the check-out counter, and leaned on it. “Maybe you should, Lola. It can’t be easy trying to keep this place going,” she said sincerely.

  Coming from Ciara, a statement like that didn’t bring out the defensiveness in Lola that it would’ve brought if it had come from Omar. Ciara was her friend, and she knew what this place meant to Lola.

  “Some days I think you might be right,” Lola admitted. “And then other days, most days, I’m bound and damned determined to tell them all to kiss my ass.”

  Ciara laughed. “Well, Omar Reid can kiss mine and he wouldn’t even have to ask.”

  Lola shook her head. �
�Ciara and Omar sitting in a tree…” she sang, and laughed.

  “From what I hear, it’s not me he wants to be sitting in a tree with.” She side-eyed Lola.

  Considering the conversation she’d just had with Omar, Lola was suddenly uneasy. “Well, you won’t find me and Omar sitting next to each other in any trees anytime soon.”

  “You wouldn’t date him?”

  “I would not,” she said definitively.

  “Even if he wasn’t trying to take this mall?”

  “Even if.”

  “There you go, girl,” she said, walking toward the door. “Stick to your convictions. Take no prisoners. Make no exceptions.”

  “Open mic tonight?” Lola called after her.

  “At eight.”

  * * *

  He stood out like a sore thumb. Lola walked in to the open mic event at Tito’s at nine and spotted Omar standing in the back of the room, holding a beer and looking like a politician at a nudist camp. He made eye contact with her and raised his beer in acknowledgment of Lola. She shook her head in disbelief and walked over to him.

  “You don’t belong here,” she said, sidling up next to him.

  “You are absolutely right,” he shot back, then took a long drink. “They might as well be speaking Chinese.”

  She couldn’t help but to laugh. “Then why are you here?”

  “Enlightenment,” he said simply. “To broaden my horizons. Increase my cultural awareness.” He shrugged. “That sort of thing.”

  Tito came to the mic to call out the name of the next presenter.

  “We have a virgin tonight, folks.” He laughed, and the crowd cheered. “Mr. Omar Reid.”

  Omar left her standing there and made his way to the center of the room and cleared his throat. “I didn’t write this, because I’m not a writer, but I like it.”