Like a Fly on the Wall

by Simone Kelly

  He leaned in. “What? You getting a premonition and shit about me? What, man? Don’t hold back. If you see me catching something, you better fuckin’ tell me!”

  “Relax! No, no I don’t see that, but just be careful is all.”

  He headed for the bedroom, walking backward and pointing. “If you see some shit, you better tell me!”

  He was so dramatic. “Yeah, yeah . . .”

  I really didn’t see anything directly, but I know Hicham has a low vibration at times and surrounds himself with people of similar or lower energy. When you are not grounded or you’re constantly partying with drugs and alcohol, it’s a recipe for disaster. I lay back on the couch and looked around. I was still tired from traveling and, let’s face it, Hicham was tiring. I was happy to see him, though. He always made me laugh, whether he meant to or not.

  My eyes floated around the room. The parquet floors were remarkably clean, except for two pizza boxes. They were almost a yellow wood with a tarnished aged look to them. The floors were carpeted when Mom lived here. Hicham’s high ceilings and minimal furniture gave his place a spacious feel, unlike most matchbox-sized apartments in New York. When Mom lived in the loft, you could barely find space on the wall, because her paintings were everywhere. It was more her studio than a home.

  I lay back on the couch and was thankful that Hicham was finally getting his act together. He hadn’t borrowed any rent money from me in almost six months—an astonishing record for him. I was lost in the deep burgundy photography backdrop in the far corner of his loft. All of his camera equipment was set up there.

  “What are you thinking about?” Hicham broke my concentration as he handed me a cold beer.

  “You.” I smiled. “I’m proud of you.” I nodded my head as I took a sip of my beer.

  Although he towered over me, he changed into a kid right before my eyes.

  “You are? Really?” He looked like he’d been waiting forever for me to say that.

  I must admit it, I was never very affectionate toward my little brother. I’d wanted to toughen him up a bit. I figured he got enough coddling from Mom. He was always her favorite. I used to be really worried about how he was going to survive on his own when Mom moved to a smaller place in TriBeCa. Now that he has transformed into a womanizer in macho-man overdrive, I wonder if I was worrying about the wrong things. . . .

  “Yeah, sure I’m proud of you, Hicham. You’re doing really good with your job at Maxim magazine, getting all that press. And I love how you’re getting a lot of freelance clients, too. You haven’t been sticking it to me with the sob stories for some cash.”

  “Oh, come on, Jacques, you act like I borrowed so much. . . .”

  I shot him a look. He still owed me about $2,000.

  “Well, if you were really a good brother, you would hook me up with the lottery numbers for tomorrow. What’s the point of having magical powers if you don’t share your gift with your loved ones?” He laughed as he took a swig of beer.

  “Shut up, Hicham!” I laughed with him.

  I’d never given him an actual reading and definitely had never given my mother one. Not that she even believes I can give readings. She still doesn’t admit it to herself that this is who I am and this is what I do for a living. I’d rather give them advice only when absolutely necessary. I try to draw the line between business and my personal relationships. They can go haywire when I get too deeply involved with someone’s life if he is close to me. And, I must admit, some things I’d just rather not know. The truth is, if I could figure out the Lotto numbers or which horse would win, I’d be in a different tax bracket by now. I know only what messages are given to me. Seeing things for my own future was not always easy and clear.

  Chapter 6

  Kylie

  I walked into the guest room, with Phantom trailing behind me like my little shadow. The sweetness of a honeydew-scented PlugIn air freshener embraced me as I entered my room, my escape from True’s stank attitude.

  I rubbed my hand across the wheat-colored wallpaper. It was grainy and resembled grass blades. I dropped onto the fluffy down comforter and stared blankly at the seashells and crystals on the windowsill. My eyes floated across the room to the vase of white lilies on my mahogany dresser. It was quite obvious the decorating shows on HGTV were personal favorites of True’s. She was not the greatest mother, but ironically she was one heck of a good homemaker.

  It was the simplicity of this room that gave me peace and helped me forget the stress I was going through. The depression from my debt gave me a sinking feeling that never went away, no matter how many minimum payments I made on my maxed-out credit cards. My entire life was jammed into a storage garage, which was just another bill to pay. I missed my own furniture, my home.

  I took off my jeans, earrings, and beaded belly chain and put on a sports bra, tank top, and my favorite old Columbia University shorts. A nice long speed-walk around Coconut Grove listening to my music would do me some good.

  I stretched on the front porch and waved to our nosy neighbor Hilda Cruz, who loved wearing housecoats all day long, even to go to the grocery store. She was picking mangoes from her tree. “There’s plenty more, honey. Tell your mom to come get some!”

  “Okay!” I replied, and started to speed-walk away from a long conversation about her goofy son that I should meet. I’d seen him before. Not my type, but she brings him up every time I see her.

  I took in the sweet sounds of the birds chirping and wind blowing before I totally checked out of nature and plugged in to listen to Jason Mraz, my latest musical crush. He has a sexy Jamiroquai kind of voice. Jazzy, soulful, and funky. You wouldn’t believe he’s a white boy.

  I picked up the pace to a light jog. I felt like I’d gotten sucked into a vortex from TV Land where the Leave It to Beaver theme music played as I jogged. A few people waved at me and smiled. Many of these people I’d never seen before in my life! They sure were friendly down here. A few cars even stopped to let me go by, just because.

  I had to turn back before it got too dark, because a few blocks farther west was the shady part of Coconut Grove, where drug dealers on bikes, prostitutes, heroin addicts, and crackheads abounded. Well, that’s at least what True had told me.

  I made sure I stayed on the safe side of the Grove and made a quick U-turn the second it started to look sketchy: guys on bikes, fewer tourists, and more cops. I cooled down, but still walked at a fast pace, because I knew I had something to look forward to when I got home. My reward after my four-mile speed-walk was to chat it up with my new Internet friend, Chauncey. Yes, sexy-ass Chauncey. We had a “date at eight” as we liked to call them. We’ve chatted online for more than two weeks and so far the conversations have been good. He intrigued me with a compliment about my musical “likes” on my Match.com profile page. I had Pat Benatar’s “Love Is a Battlefield” listed as one of my favorite songs of all time. I thought it was fitting for me, seeing how my love life has been sucking ever since I left New York. Truthfully, it’s been the real pits for the past two years.

  I’ve dated a few guys and of course had my old reliable from New York: my homie-lover-friend, Breeze, who was always in the picture. But still no one that I’m trying to make babies and settle down with, that’s for sure. They all insisted on being exclusive, but I’m right where I wanna be. I don’t even know if I want to have children. Being responsible for another life? Hoping they don’t pull the same stupid tricks you did! I’m too much of a snoop, and I might read her diary and she’ll hate me forever. A mother? I don’t think I’m cracked up to be one. I didn’t have the best example from the beginning, after all.

  Even though Chauncey lives in Orlando, four hours north, Internet romance is looking like the next best thing to the face-to-face thing. I kinda enjoy the anticipation, sexual tension, and fantasy that come along with it. I get a real rush from wondering what the person on the other side of the Wi-Fi signal will be like in 3-D. I’m hoping to keep my distance at least for a while, just
so that I can get to know him better. It’s my first attempt at Internet dating and I have to admit I’m a bit nervous about our first real-life meeting.

  After my jog and a shower, I felt like I had a second wind for the evening. Standing on the coral-colored terrace overlooking the freshly cut grass, I took in my favorite part of the day . . . sunset. I loved the pinkish cotton candy sunset glowing and the palm trees dancing in the evening breeze. It all reminded me of how peaceful it was back in Jamaica. While I was there on the white sand, I didn’t battle with my thoughts or continue to beat myself up about past mistakes. I didn’t compare myself to True anymore. I finally convinced myself that I was my own woman and I sure as hell wasn’t going to become her. I wanted to be focused on a job that I loved, not just money. I didn’t want to be a scatterbrain like her, taking any meaningless job and falling for a money-making scheme. Gullible, I’m not. And, most important, I refuse to be somebody’s forty-five-year-old, unmarried booty call. She was fine with that life, but for me, it’s not going to happen.

  I thought long and hard about my career direction. My last job was at EarKandy, an online magazine and social network for music lovers. I was attracted to the job in the first place because I’m an avid fan of all types of music. After two years, I feel like I can answer any obscure question on any music genre, from Captain & Tennille to Kendrick Lamar.

  I always knew who was on E! True Hollywood Story and TV One’s Unsung and who topped the Billboard charts. Useless music statistics started swimming around in my dreams, pushing out the juicy fantasies I should’ve been having. My brain was starting to get overcrowded. Sure, with all the facts and stats on music, at any party I was fully armed as the hipster-intellectual on pop culture. I also knew that after a while I could bore someone to death with my knowledge, because all I lived, slept, and breathed was music.

  I was damn good at my job, better than anyone else who came before me. At least that’s what I was told from the higher-ups. I was well liked by my boss, which is what caused lots of jealousy among some of my coworkers.

  I knew I had “the power” and I must admit, I did abuse it somewhat. I could stroll in late to a meeting and be greeted with a smile. Others would get chastised—I mean downright screamed on—in front of everyone. I got three weeks’ vacation my first year and everyone else had two.

  “She’s fucking him.”

  “I heard she sucks a mean dick.”

  “So-and-so caught them messing around right in his office on a Saturday.”

  The rumors were outrageous, and yes, they always, always got back to me. People didn’t realize that I was the fact-checker and the Queen of Snoop (my girl Olivia blessed me with that name). So. Don’t. Fuck. With. Me. The nosy bitches who tried to ostracize me were close with their allegations, but no cigar.

  True, my boss, Howie Cantanelli, and I had a fling, but it was eons ago, back in college. A hot steamy romance it was not. We never even got 100 percent naked, which was a downer for me, since I was looking forward to my first Jungle Fever experience. He couldn’t even get it up the night we tried, and I’m sure he’s been wanting to make up for it ever since. For my conscience’s sake, I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t go further than a hot humpin’ kiss.

  We stayed friends after college and I followed his career path as he moved up the corporate ladder at Music News. When he was appointed VP of a new website under the Music News umbrella called EarKandy, he invited me to be on his team. He knew I had majored in communications and was a music fanatic. Sure, I knew his hidden agenda might be to make his way into my panties, but I put my foot down. I told him I would take the job under the condition we didn’t let anyone—not anyone—know about our past affiliation. What would his wife think? But the little innocent fling we kept a secret eventually came back to haunt us.

  One day, Howie and I were staring at his computer watching a YouTube interview of a new artist. I was sitting with my back to the door, but couldn’t miss the bang when it was flung open.

  “Howie! My man!” a familiar voice yelled.

  “Julian! Holy shit, what are you doing here?” Howie shouted.

  “The receptionist let me in.” I turned around to match the face with the voice. “I was in the neighborhood, and . . .” Julian comically shook his head as if seeing spots. “No way! No freakin’ way. Smiley Kylie? What the hell! Get over here, beautiful!” I laughed as he came over to scoop me out of the chair and embrace me with his signature massive bear hug. He was drowning in cologne, as usual, and his dark hair was slicked back with mousse. Very Grease, John Travolta, 1978. Ewww.

  I kissed him on the cheek. “Julian, so good to see you! I see you filled out a bit, huh?”

  He patted his stomach, which was now a beer belly instead of the trim six-pack he showed off every chance he got in college.

  “Oh yeah, that’s good living, sweetie. You know I married rich, right?” He slapped Howie on the back and laughed obnoxiously. We laughed, but he wasn’t lying. By the looks of his tailored shirt, cuff links, and slacks, I could see she dressed him as well as she fed him.

  “So, wait a minute, for Christ’s sake,” Julian said. “Are you two still, ummm?”

  “Oh, no, no!” we yelled in unison.

  “Ahaaaa! Ahaaaa!” He pointed like he’d caught us doing something. The door was open and everyone had heard his big mouth.

  We didn’t know that Julian’s little visit was the beginning of my end at EarKandy. The rumors escalated like a California wildfire, once people started putting the details together: that we were the same age and we both went to Columbia. All of a sudden, they thought they knew why I got special treatment.

  The gossip by the water cooler was at an all-time high. One of my interns was in the copy room and reported back to me that she heard two women in my department gossiping about me and how I received special treatment. They were rambling about how I got away with everything. One even mentioned they were going to HR to report it. The other mentioned she had already complained to Howie.

  I was furious, and less than a week later, the shit hit the fan. Howie had to cover his ass, so I lost my job. I know it was those two jealous chicks. Budget cuts were the excuse, but of course, I’m the only one who got laid off. He gave me six months’ pay as my severance and I had unemployment, too. Most of it vanished after paying off a lot of debt.

  I can survive at least another two months without a job. Guilt crept in as I remembered what Jacques said in my reading—that I was being a bit lazy. Howie told me that when things died down he might send me some freelance work and I could work from home. That’s definitely my last resort. I hope I don’t have to go back to that business.

  I didn’t miss working the long hours or the alienation, and I sure didn’t miss being looked at as a whore who slept her way to the top, especially since it wasn’t true!

  My cell phone rang; the screen said “Tulsa OK,” but I didn’t know anyone in Oklahoma. I answered it anyway.

  A deep baritone filled my ears. “Kylie Collins, please.”

  “Yes, this is she.”

  “Hello, I’m Chris from Macy’s calling about your payment, which is currently thirty days past due.” His voice was kinda scary in a James Earl Jones, you’re-in-trouble kinda way.

  “I’ll be able to pay fifty dollars on Friday.”

  “Great, can we use your credit card on file?”

  “No, no, I’ll do it online. Thanks. Good night.” I rolled my eyes and hung up quickly.

  It was getting a bit hard. The stress of unpaid bills tightened around my neck like a noose. The damn calls were driving me crazy! They started at 8:00 A.M., continued every couple of hours, and stopped just short of my blowing a blood vessel around 8:45 P.M. Collection calls were sending me into a deep pit of hopelessness. Seeing all my friends back in NYC driving new cars, buying homes on Long Island, investing in stocks and bonds, and building retirement funds made me feel as if they had grown up but my life was stuck in remedial mode.


  I shouldn’t be upset because even with a steady paycheck, I was pretty free with my money. I know I’m a grown-up and I shouldn’t blame True for teaching me her spendthrift ways, but I never really believed in having a savings account. True always said to live every day as if it were your last. Planning for a rainy day was negative thinking, she’d say. “The universe will always provide. It always has.” She’d laugh gaily like she hadn’t a care in the world, even if she wasn’t sure where the rent money was coming from. All True seemed to ask the universe to bring her was a man. She was just dandy with that.

  I could just as easily use my body and charm to get Breeze to Western Union me a few hundred or juice sweet Internet Chauncey into wining and dining me, but I do have a conscience. I don’t want to use someone, since as I always say, “Karma’s a bitch if you are.”

  As the sun lowered gracefully, saying its last good-byes, I pulled out my iPad, knowing that one of the neighbors had wireless that I could hijack. Powering up, I was right on time for my “date at eight.” I logged on to Chauncey’s page to see if he was online. A smiley face blinked next to his name. The greatest aphrodisiac in the world to a woman is consistency. Ah, a consistent and reliable man.

  I was pleasantly surprised to see new photos of Chauncey that were added to his profile page. I had been thinking he had a bubble butt and thunder thighs, since all of his photos were from the waist up, but his new photos showed him chilling at the beach on a rock, no shirt and tan trunks. He was givin’ it to me with that charming smile. I sent him an instant message.

  KYLIERAIN: Nice legs!

  CHAUNCEBOOGIE: You like? I put it up for you, you know?

  KYLIERAIN: I’m sure you tell all the girls that. LOL. When did you take it? That tattoo of the cougar is rather sexy.

  CHAUNCEBOOGIE: I took it two weeks ago at Daytona Beach with some friends. When are you coming to the Orlando area to hang out?

  KYLIERAIN: Not sure . . . Shouldn’t we speak on the phone first? Don’t you wanna make sure I don’t sound like Darth Vader or something?