by Love Belvin
“Hmmmmm…” he hummed as he considered what he was looking at. “You’ve had decent orthodontia done.” He let go of my face. “Anyone I know?”
My brows met and head slowly turned to the right then left as my eyes were stapled onto him. No way my low-cost, mainly pediatric patient-having ass orthodontist was known in the entertainment industry.
“I wouldn’t think so.”
He took a deep breath as his face opened in a stretch. “No…,” he let it out, his regard still in my mouth—or lips. “I wouldn’t think so either. Need a good whitening now.” His eyes went to Myisha. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. She’s cute, at least, in a basic manner.”
Basic?
Funny thing was, I could deal with that backhanded compliment. But the mention of teeth wouldn’t roll off my back as easily.
“You are?” I asked. “…other than extremely irrelevant in my basic looking ass world, that is…”
LeRoy casually glanced over his shoulder to an alarmed appearing Myisha before turning back to me, sporting a soft smirk.
“Your best man.” He began to walk off. “And the son of a bitch that will make your life hell if you fuck this up.”
Before I could register the threat, LeRoy and his ballerina crew had turned the corner. I glanced back at Myisha, who hung her head.
“I swear, this is all fucked up,” she groaned into her manicured hand.
“You’re telling me? This is my damn orientation into my new home!”
“I know. I just wished everybody would—”
She was interrupted by masculine, hellish deep, and curvy vocals.
“Let’s go where it’s nice and quiet…where there’s nobody… there’s nobody else around…” I didn’t recognize the sound at all as we stood frozen in the middle of a hallway that seemed as if it could be featured on the cover of an ELLE Décor magazine.
The balladeer sang about a proposal to sit by a fire for good company. After a few more lyrics, the song began to ring familiar. It was one my father—no grandfather—used to play at his garage and sing into a wrench as he performed for no one in particular in his oil and gasoline-stained coveralls.
But it wasn’t until, “Come on and go with me. Come on over to my place,” was effortlessly declared into the air melodically that I recalled the old Teddy Pendergrass cut. This rendition was just as soulful in its slight rasp, powerfully honeyed delivery. And persuasive. The notes he belted, staggering toward us with one hand in the air were husky, curvy, and crisp. I’d never heard such a rich voice in my life—outside of on the radio. But this was even better because it was live. There was no music playing. The music was in the chords of the deliverer.
“He sings…a lot!” Myisha whispered with the same pained expression she’d had since LeRoy. “It should work out, seeing his room and studio are at the opposite side of the apartment from yours.”
Just how big is this place?
When it was clear people were in the hall, the voice stopped and so did the cinnamon frame. It was him. Ragee. My soon to be fake husband.
“I got ya fuckin’ text,” his voice was earthly deep, lusty, and thick. “One of the reasons you’re flying commercial is because I gotta private show tonight in ATL.” He got up in Myisha’s face in a manner unprofessional—really familiar-like. “I’mma need the jet tonight, boss.”
Then he flashed a smirk of deviousness.
I knew they were fucking!
“And the other reason?” She cocked her head to the side.
There was a scar on his left brow and bridge of his nose, something that showed in some pictures I’d googled, but not all. It brought to mind a brawler. Was Ragee a fighter? In my internet search of him, it was clear he loved Jesus, but did he like throwing hands, too? He smelled manly—heavenly, actually. And he was big: thick, tall, and cased in warm red skin. His latest look was a full beard and small loose twists at the top of his head with tapered sides. He had an air with him, too. He felt famous—oozed it—as silly as that may sound.
“Ain’t enough room.” There was a devilish glint in his eyes as he delivered those words to her.
I had no idea what they were speaking of, but understood quite crisply Myisha wasn’t happy and …Ragee didn’t care.
“You definitely need a break. Rest, ass, or something,” Myisha hissed, rolling her eyes. Jashon had started down the hall, though we hadn’t advanced much from the spot he’d left us in. “Speaking of which, this is Wynter.” Myisha cracked a smile. “I don’t believe you two have met.”
Ragee finally looked at me. Finally. All this time, he and Myisha had been engaged in their down low domestic feuding.
“An introduction?” he droned wryly.
I tilted my head, now having his attention. “I think the more appropriate version of our story would have been what you waltzed down the hall singing. Don’t you?”
At the same time, Jashon was upon us. He swore under his breath, tripping and dropping a haggard box of mine to the floor, almost falling himself.
To my dismay—and horror—its contents spilled out. Not only did old CDs I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of tumble out to the floor, but my fucking vibrating Nen Wa balls fell to the edge of the opening of the box and the Tongue Twister vibrator rolled completely out.
Jashon snickering caused Myisha to glance down by her feet where it landed. My regard shot up to her, my mouth hanging open in total shock. Then in my periphery, I saw Ragee slowly descend on his haunches. The first thing he picked up was an old Dale CD, “Revelations.” Then he picked up a Tyrese one, examining it front to back before he made a scoffing sound and tossed it back down.
Then… Then! He picked up the vibrator, bouncing it in his hand. I could hear Jashon’s cackles over my head; I was too humiliated to look up.
“You seem too versed for those verses.” He chuckled, tossing my vibrator back down and stood straight.
The hall grew quiet until Ragee continued down the way we came in, belting out more Teddy.
“Believe me, you won’t be under any kind of pressure… Yeah!”
I could’ve taken that two ways. The dismissive one was what rang out in my head.
“He’s an asshole. C’mon,” Myisha rustled as she stepped off. “He can be cool when he wants and a total douche when he don’t.”
I quietly sulked as I trekked behind her. Turning down another hallway the walls were still black, but with gold chair rail molding running horizontally, and stark white floors. Again, beautiful, but far too elegant for a man’s touch.
“Nice, right?” I didn’t catch when Myisha had peeked over her shoulder to catch me eyeing the details of the décor. “Raj did his thing designing this spot!”
“Sho did,” Jashon murmured behind me.
“He had the place decorated?” I asked for clarity.
“No. He did it all,” she replied casually. “And here’s the only room in the spot I can lay claim to for the design.”
We were at the end of the hall where she opened up a door. I gaited inside after her and was taken by a muted hue of lavender on the walls accentuated by black and white stripes on two, a jet black wooden floor, and gold statement pieces highlighted around the room. There were several doors throughout, reminding me of my small apartment; this single room rivaled it in size. A black wooden cabinet was topped with a gold vase filled with a floral arrangement, all hues of purple. On the walls were artwork and abstract paintings of black women: some faceless with full natural hair, one with long box braids swaying down her back, and others with sensual and uplifting poses.
The bed was a queen-sized mattress layered with a black, white, and gold striped comforter. The decorative pillows followed the same color scheme, though some of the pillows were polka dot. On the nightstand was a small stack of books: “Another Word (The Sequel)” by Andre S. McCollum I, “Catch Me If You Can” by Christina C. Jones, and “Feeling Trapped, But There is a Way Out!” by Tina Baker.
“I didn’t know
your tastes—if you’re a reader at all,” Myisha offered from just beyond the bed.
Initially, I was speechless. The last two titles seemed like an omen of things to come. I sat on the bed and exhaled. I was tired, hungry, and honestly, scared. What had I gotten myself into?
“You don’t like it?” My head shot up at the sound of Myisha’s voice. Her expression appeared sincere.
Behind her, I saw Jashon directing two guys into the room with the boxes from my place.
I licked my lips then poked them as I considered my words. “The room is out of this world,” I muttered, eyes still exploring. “You did this yourself?”
A smile blossomed on her chestnut face. “Actually, Mishka helped me—you know, from JAGMisha Boutique?” I nodded, eyes on the details of the frames in the walls. “Yeah. She helped with the furniture and artwork a lot. I wanted to keep with the theme of the house.” Her voice grew low as she glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t want you to feel…excluded or isolated here. I don’t know much about you other than your favorite color.” She shrugged. “So, I blended it with Raj’s.”
My forehead stretched. “His favorite colors?” Because none of these were mine.
She nodded. “Black and white. He’s weird, but as you can see, he pulls it off well.” She referred to what I’d seen of the apartment. Then she cleared her throat and resumed her normal volume. “So, you and your soon to be hubby will be staying in here until your master suite is done being renovated.” My heart rate shot up well before I caught her wink.
That reminded me very few knew about this arrangement. It appeared her assistant, Jashon was not privy to it.
Still out of breath from her faux announcement, I blinked, looking away with flared nostrils. No way I was sleeping with a damn stranger.
Fuck that…
“Well.” She sighed. “That’s the last of your things and I know you’ll have your hands full unpacking. I have loads of shit to do to get ready for tomorrow. Your gowns need to be shipped tonight and I have to pick up shoes for you.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled down a page. “Your car should be ready on Monday. I have Jashon picking it up. He’ll bring it here and park it down in the garage.”
“What car?” I was confused.
“Your AMG E 43 Sedan.” She stretched her cheeks back expressing regret. “Mercedes don’t make those in purple, so I settled for polar white with a nut-brown interior.” She singsonged as she angled her head with a big smile, “It’s pretty sexy…”
Again, I had no idea how to respond. I didn’t want to be rude, but when did I ask for wedding gowns, a car, or even say my favorite color was purple? What would I do with my old Civic?
“You should get some rest,” Myisha advised as she turned on her heel. “In the email I sent about this weekend, I mentioned our early flight. We need to head out of here around 3:45 for a 5:40 a.m. flight. Ugh!” she groaned. “I hate commercial! But anyway, the glam squad will be at the resort at 2:00 p.m. to start on you.”
She was almost at the door when I asked, “Tomorrow?”
Glam squad…resort?
Myisha turned to face me with eyes as big as saucers. “You don’t read your emails, do you? The ones Mike and I send?”
“On occasion,” I answered, face tight. “With all that’s been going on lately, those occasions have been scarce.”
I didn’t think it would be safe to say I didn’t want to read shit else Mike Brown sent me. He already had me by the balls legally.
With one hand in the doorframe and the other on the door, she shared, “Your wedding. Tomorrow’s your wedding day, dear.”
Myisha closed the door with a tight smile. My spine gave out on me and my back collapsed on the mattress behind me.
4
“Damn. Could y’all move any slower?” I heard hopping off the boarding stairs of the yacht.
I recognized the voice, which was why I ignored it. Tina, my barber, provided some explanation to him when she made it onto the pier where we docked. My attention went into the clear air. It was dark when we landed twenty minutes ago at the airport. The plan was to do this while the sun was setting.
Yeah, right…
We were a half hour behind because my jet didn’t get clearance for takeoff at the scheduled time in Atlanta. Then coming here—Marye Island in the Florida Keys—we had to land, unpack the jet then unload what was needed, board the yacht and take the ride to the private resort where my wedding was about to take place.
Wedding…
I’d done a good job all day not thinking about it. I’d been busy, working on closing a few real estate deals, doing three interviews to promote the tour, visiting a local boxing gym to do a photo opp for a buddy of mine, and even sleeping for a good hour. My life was constantly an act of time management, and while touring, my time was managed for me. While approaching Mike Brown smiling with his hand mid-air, ready to give me dap, I was reminded of the planner.
“What it do, my nigga!” He greeted as we bumped shoulders. “You ready for this?”
I pulled out my vibrating phone as we walked down the pier, heading toward the resort.
Myisha: Please say you’re here. We’re so behind.
I ignored her, dropping the phone back into the pocket of my sweats.
“Nah,” I finally answered Mike honestly. “I got a full-bodied Arturo Fuente and a bottle of Mauve in a Miami rental, overlooking a bay in my immediate future.”
“I can add a Dominican with a fat ass and strong jaw muscles to that agenda,” Mike offered as we walked toward the resort where I saw staff waiting.
“I’m good.”
“Cool, man. Cool! Let’s just get this shit over with.”
“Just show me to hair and makeup, give me my lines, and point to where I should stand and smile, so I can get up outta Dodge.”
“You got it, playboy,” he assured. “You sure you don’t wanna stay for a taste? Shorty thick as shit with a pretty smile. Definitely a fuckable bride.”
“Brown—”
“I’m just fuckin’ witchu, Raj!” he hollered into the salted, dark air as he took me by my shoulders. “Let’s get you married so we can start this new chapter. Fuck Hollywood and their conservative ass studios. We coming back, knocking the damn doors down.”
The moment I stepped outside, I felt a festive vibe. Lights were strobing and music flowing.
“‘Bout damn time!” I turned under the veranda while fixing my cufflinks and found Myisha all made up and in what looked like a bridesmaid gown, handing me a shot glass. I’d been in enough weddings to recognize her costume. Myisha, being the fashion diva she was, looked effortlessly gorgeous, and I was sure, better than the bride. She pointed with her forehead for me to take the shot right away. I did. My cousin knew me, sometimes better than I did myself. “You could return my texts, you know.”
She looked annoyed, but man, so was I as she lifted another shot off the small table next to her. She gave another angry jerk of the head for me to down it. Without a question, I did.
“Why’re you texting me when you know where I am?”
“To tell you all the shit we gotta do to pull this off!” She caught on to her heightened volume almost matching the music, her eyes scanned all around us before she whispered, “We’re an hour late. Follow me, please.” I obeyed, finishing with my wrists. “We missed the damn sunset, but I had the resort bring out extra lightening. Lucky for me, they specialize in weddings and have the perfect lamps and spotlights, and inground posts to create the best wedding glow.”
We were walking down the back yard that was slowly turning from inland estate scenery to a beach.
“So, where’s all this going down?”
“There will be lots of pictures, Raj.”
“Okay,” I returned dismissively, realizing she ignored my question.
“No.” She grabbed my arm, halting my steps, and turned to me. “Lots of pictures, and you need to be patient. Here.”
She handed me another shot
I honestly didn’t see her carrying. I downed it and gave it back to her. Did I really need three shots to marry a stranger? Maybe I did.
“Okay!”
“No okay. I hate this shit.” She rolled her eyes—hard. “Like… With a fucking passion I ain’t never felt.” Her eyes were hard on me. “But you’re more than a cousin; you’re my brother and I’d walk through a fucking pack of wolves, naked with raw sheep’s flesh hanging from my limbs to keep you covered and happy. Just don’t forget, I’m putting a lot on the line for this shit.” Her eyes skirted around. “There are close to forty people out here for this wedding and maybe only five of us know it’s bullshit.”
“Well, that’s good.” I snorted, feeling the first wave of warmth from the tequila.
“No!” she demanded, though her tone was low. “It’s not if your resentment surfaces, and they can smell the bullshit. You say this is all for your rightful place in Hollywood? Then, motherfucker, you better act as good as though you’re up for a fucking Oscar based on your performance tonight alone. You fucking with Mike on this? Then make this shit work tonight.”
Making it sound that simple pissed me off. “It’s not just for tonight. It’s for three year—”
“That’ll be the easier part that we’ll figure out later.” Her eyes shot like bullets into me. Myisha and I fought like brother and sister, but she was never threatening. “Tonight, your father is here, a few of your cousins, too. We tried to make this as legit as possible without involving too many people. But this is it.”
We both turned when we could see someone coming our way. It was a photographer, bringing his camera up for a shot. Myisha pulled on my arm to follow down closer to the beach.
She whispered, “There are four photographers and one videographer on duty tonight.”
“Why so many?” I pulled out my Chapstick to swipe my lips.
Myisha shook off my question with her head. “Pictures will go out to every major news media outlet in exactly one hour—that includes the bigger social media bloggers like Spilling That Hot Tea. I’ll lead you through everything, just don’t give any pushback. And please, be polite to Wynter.”