by Love Belvin
“But she’s different. She’s like…real.” He eyed me suspiciously. “Dude, I actually like your grandmother. Like I told her, I had one, too. I even got another, who’s been a pain in my ass.” I rolled my eyes, thinking about MaMa’s coldness earlier. Nothing new, but still hurtful. “So, it’s good to see one that at least tries to be wholesome.”
“She don’t try,” he corrected, “she is.”
I shot my palms in the air again, expressing peace. “Well, I did learn we’ve got something in common like Bobby and Whitney.” I danced with my neck and head.
“What’s that?” His top lip curled.
“We were both skipped in middle school. But I got skipped twice, so that makes me smarter.” I Nay-nayed backward.
When I stopped and laughed to myself, I saw Ragee was still unmoved.
“I woulda never thought with how dirty ya mouth is.”
“I’m like any other urban girl: I can swing it both ways. You never know which way I’m coming, and that’s how I like it.” Raj didn’t give me the humor I would’ve preferred, but the muscle between his brows loosened and that was enough to keep me talking. “And speaking of the both of us being smart, it brings something else to mind.” Raj didn’t ask what, but I had his eyes. “If I was ever crazy enough to sign a fucking contract to have kids by you, at least my kids would be exceptionally bright. But! Two things wrong with that.” His chin dipped.
I stood to my feet. “I’m never ever having fucking kids and that ain’t in my contract!” Immediately, my body shuddered. I sauntered over to the bedroom door. “So, that shit’ll never ever be in the rhythm of my blues!” I sang playfully, stepping inside.
“Hold up.”
I took a step in reverse. Raj was turned, facing me. He did a reverse nod for me to come back.
I sat in the seat across from him again and watched him take a deep pull on the cigar.
He blew it out as he spoke. “That phrase you like to use reminded me of my word to you.”
“Which is?”
“To help you out with your music. We can get started tomorrow.”
My face lit up again. This time with pure shock. “Are you serious?” Raj gave one nod, expression stoic. I covered my big ass smile. “Oh, my god! What time? I hope it’s not too early. I have to work out in the morning—even though I ain’t seeing much results…” I caught Raj’s eyes run from my neck to my lap.
His eyes aligned with mine again. “You good in the morning.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Ragee nodded once and pulled the stogie to his mouth, dismissing me. This feeling was familiar. He was shutting me out. So, I stood again to go inside.
“Oh,” he husked while I passed him. I stopped and looked at him. His eyes were straight ahead, into the dark sky. “I appreciate you being respectful, even when talking about the Word.”
“Oh.” I smiled, half way remembering that conversation. “You like that?”
He scoffed. “She did. Funny thing was, I was reading the book of Ruth last night.” He muttered in thought. “It was the last thing I remember.”
“Yeah. That’s why I read it. I saw it open on your chest this morning, so I checked it out when I got in today before dinner.”
Ragee’s head shot up and his gaze almost seared me. Maybe I shouldn’t have shared that.
“You read it because of that?”
I shrugged, face folded. “You fell asleep to it, must’ve been captivating. I don’t know many guys finding interest in the Bible. Thought I’d check out what had your attention.”
I moved to leave again. This was feeling too awkward.
“Thanks for coming out to kick it with my grandmother.”
I stopped again, turning just my head. “It’s no biggie. I had gas anyway. Messed up my stomach again, overindulging on that soufflé.” I grabbed my belly, remembering it. “That’s another reason I took the shot, hoping it would soothe it, at least. It worked. Maybe I should have it more often.” Then I thought. “Nah. Can’t have it in the morning after my cereal or in the middle of the day with a grilled cheese and cream of tomato.” I shrugged, turning to go back inside.
I still had Mauve in my system, I could tell. Plus, it was cold out.
“You’re eating wrong.”
“Tell me about it. Too much, too.”
“No.” That brusque clarification had me turn completely around, now by the door. Ragee turned to face me, too. “You might be lactose intolerant.” I mouthed what screamed in my head as I considered the possibility. Noooooo… I couldn’t be lactose intolerant. I’d always been able to consume milk and cheese, even when my grandfather couldn’t because it would send him to the bathroom. Even when I moved in with MaMa and them, Van and Wanda couldn’t eat dairy products because it would irritate their stomachs. I had to buy my own milk and ice cream. “I can get you on a diet to tell. Can help you with the working out, too.”
Instantly, I sobered at that offer. What weight did his grandmother have with Ragee? All of this because she was staying here?
After a deep swallow, I murmured, “Okay…”
Raj turned in his seat, placed the cigar in his mouth, and pulled up the packet of papers from the table to read. It took a few seconds, but eventually I was able to turn back for the door and head into the suite. My first stop was the bathroom where I was able to catch my brain up with my ears and process his offer.
I made it down into the kitchen, hungry as hell when I saw two men at the table in conference. Ragee was sitting with papers in front of him and Earl’s big frame hovered over him while fingering the document. Raj’s eyes caught me first. Earl’s head rolled up after.
“Aye,” Ragee’s expression was serious, but tone soft. “Here’s the woman of the hour. I thought I was gonna have to wake you. Sit.” His eyes flicked to the chair in front of him. “Let’s talk.”
Motionless, my eyes lolled between the two. “This looks serious. I need my Jay’s and Vaseline? Who we need to touch?”
Earl snickered and Raj shook his head, trying to hide the amusement playing at his lips.
He nodded to the seat again and I obeyed this time.
“Time to talk about a key component of weight loss: diet,” Raj announced the moment I settled into my seat.
“Uh—Okay. Just like that, huhn? No lube to prep me?”
Earl covered his mouth as he guffawed with his shoulders raised.
Raj smirked, still trying to remain controlled. “Nah, but you gonna need it for this.”
Earl stepped away. “Lemme go get this stuff started.”
“First things first.” Raj peered into me in a way I wasn’t used to. In fact, I wasn’t used to his regard at all. “How much do you weigh and how much you tryna lose?”
“It’s not polite to ask a woman how much she weighs,” I partially joked, severely self-conscious around the man.
I hated he intimidated me so.
“But I told you I’d help you lose weight.”
“Then do it.”
He sat back in his chair. “Look. How much you weigh doesn’t matter to me. You look good…healthy. But I’m a man of my word.”
“As am I.” My marrying him was indicative of that.
“Do you wanna lose weight or what?”
“Yes.”
“You gonna let me help, or nah?”
I shrugged. “Yes.”
“Then how much do you weigh and what do you wanna lose?”
I swallowed hard, deciding to go with it. “I’m one ninety-two now.”
“Damn!”
My pulse jumped. “Are you fucking judging?”
“No!” His eyes blew up. “No. I just can’t see it is all. I know you’re a little hippy, but I would have never put you near two hundred pounds.”
“Well, I was one ninety-seven until we moved up here in the damn country, miles away from a damn B-Way Burger.” I rolled my eyes, dead serious about that.
“That’s the problem. Your diet.”
“Because you’re being fed by a world class chef.”
“Hallelujah, brother!” Earl encouraged from the other side of the room. His thick accent made it not believable.
“Earl can make just about any cuisine, but he stays away from meals high in saturated fats. It doesn’t work with my lifestyle.”
“So, you’re the reason for the skimpy meals around here?”
“I heard that!” Earl warned. “I bet I can fry chicken and whiting better than your grandmother.”
Ragee ignored him. “I get good eating versus good eating. It took me a few years to adjust, and that’s just what it is: a lifestyle adjustment.” I chewed the inside of my mouth, this all smelled commitment-ishy. “You never said how much you want to lose. Please don’t say you wanna be a size four.” His head rocked left to right, side to side as though the thought exhausted him.
“What if I do?”
“I’d call you crazy. You’d look sick, if this is how you’re carrying a buck ninety. Please go with something reasonable.”
“One forty-five—hell, I’ll take one fifty. I just want it off.”
Ragee took a deep breath, his eyes cast to the table as he hummed his thought process. “A’ight. We can do that, but only if you adhere to this workout schedule and diet plan.”
“What’s the diet plan?”
As if on cue, Earl arrived back at the table with a tall glass of yellowish water.
“Looks like piss.”
Ragee nodded toward the glass. “Try it.”
I took a gulp. Wrong move. I choked on it. Coughing, I yelled, “This shit is bitter as hell! This is a potion. You tryna kill me?”
Earl laughed sinisterly, I knew to get back at my jab about his über healthy food.
“This’ll be the first thing you drink in the morning, and early in the morning. You have to get on an eating schedule. Think of it as a cleanser, a diuretic. A good way to get your day started.”
“This can’t be breakfast.”
“It’s not.” Ragee glanced across the kitchen to Earl. He’d just turned on the blender. “You’ll have a protein shake before you work out. After your work out, you’ll have one of these meals.”
He slid one of the papers across the table to me. It was a list of breakfast food items.
“These all look…healthy.” I shivered.
“I’ll make them good for you, baby,” Earl sang from the other side of the kitchen.
With sobering eyes, Raj bowed. “He will. Trust me. Now.” He slid another paper in front of me. “Here are your lunch and dinner items he’ll prepare a combination of. They’ll be switched up, so you won’t get bored with them. Or you just may not like a few.”
“Yeah, like tofu.” I read from the paper. “Arugula? Who the fuck eats this?”
“Wynter, my grandmother, a leader of a religious organization is lurking.”
I recoiled in shame. “My bad.”
Then another paper was before me. “Here are the foods you can’t eat, no matter what. You’re gonna need this in case you’re not here for lunch or dinner and Earl can’t choose for you.”
“No soda?” I gasped. “No dairy products? But my milk. Chili cheese fries…ice cream—”
“I was serious about you possibly being lactose intolerant. You should go get that checked out. In any case, these items won’t get you to your goal.”
I sat back in my seat and for the next twenty minutes, I was lectured on the do’s and don’ts of this new diet and exercise lifestyle I was about to embark on.
10
The back door to his Bentley SUV was opened for me and I dipped inside, gliding over the caramel leather seats. Next to me, Raj had dropped in from the other side, smelling of a recent shower and fresh splash of cologne, humming an unfamiliar melody. With a Yankees baseball cap hanging low over his brows, he began to tap the monitor on the back of the head rest in front of him to select a station to ride home to. Music lived in his heart, bled from his veins. The doors closed and I tried straightening my long coat underneath me.
“You good?” he asked hoarsely. I wasn’t used to his tenor being nothing but manly, deep and rich.
Was I okay? After seeing him go seven rounds, throwing blows and dodging them on bated breath, hell no, I wasn’t okay.
“You okay?” I countered with hiked brows.
He snickered beautifully as the car pulled off to a smooth acceleration. Kids and adults alike snapped pictures of the moving car with their cell phones. I’d taken a few inside of my own for my obligated social media activity as his wife.
“Yeah, I’m good. You see who won.” I was surprised to find his haughtiness attractive.
I shook my head. “I can’t believe you can box. I mean… I saw a hint of it when I looked you up last fall, but I took it as a passing hobby. Maybe a Money Team fantasy.” His head tossed back as he chuckled quietly. “I’m serious! You know everybody wanna be down with Floyd Mayweather now…be riding his dick.”
Ragee glanced at me, humor fading. “Why is your mouth so filthy?” My eyes went wild at that jab of judgment. “You’re a bright girl—real bright! Educated woman. Why do you speak like you were raised by a pack of hoodlums?”
“First of all, I’m not ratchet: I’m expressive.”
He nodded his face animated, eyes cast ahead as we pulled out of the New Brunswick boxing gym parking lot. “I would agree.”
“Second, education has nothing to do with the way someone speaks.”
“Third,” he continued for me, “you’re married to a man of God—”
“Who cusses his ass off, too!” I shouted loud as my body twisted to face him. I caught his driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror as I did.
With his face hung toward his lap, Raj laughed at himself. “I’ll admit, I’ve been spewing more profanity than I’m used to over the past six months or so. It’s a bad habit I fall into when I’m stressed the hell out.” His tone suddenly turned grim.
That change of mood struck me. “Is boxing a good way to relieve stress?” My pitch was much gentler with that inquiry.
My god, Ragee was a beast in that ring. Unrecognizable! His shoulders were broader and higher as he approached his opponent, a man much thicker and wider in size. Ragee’s chin stayed low and hands up as he focused in on the man with predatory meticulousness. Sweat dripped from his strapping frame as he did some sort of short bounce dancing with his feet to either stay ahead of the guy or from underneath him.
“One of several,” he uttered, eyes outside of the car, into the darkness.
“Ohhhh…” I whispered as I rested my elbow on the center console between us. “Name your favorite.”
“A simple praise and worship service at church.”
I blew out air, rolling my eyes. “I thought you’d say something juicy.”
“Like what?” His eyes were on me in the dim truck.
“Like… Good head, nifkin play, a long delayed nut, Spit Roast… Hell, even a good ol’ Rusty Trombone,”
With a tightened face and humor in his eyes, he murmured, “I think I’ve heard of the Rusty Trombone and nifkin, but what the hell is a Spit Roast?”
“Really?” I gasped. “It’s when you’re in a threesome and partner A is bent over, giving partner B—a guy—head while partner C’s having sex with partner A from the back. The image is similar to a pig roasting on a spit.” I waggled my brows. “Get it?”
Raj’s head shot back again, this time his laughter was so boisterous, it caused me to chuckle my damn self. I could see the driver covering his mouth up front.
“Yo!” Ragee tried slowing. “That’s what you’re into?”
I shrugged. “I ain’t into nothing. I’m married, remember?”
“Ah, man,” he trilled, facing the blackened window now that we were on the highway.
He was still snickering from processing the joke. Shock value humor had become my favorite thing with my strange fa
ke husband, now that he actually talked to me. He asked me to come tonight under the guise of getting pictures out there on social media. His father, who managed the gym, opened it to the public for a change. Ragee was a regular there when not working, but he usually snuck in and out without announcing it to the neighborhood. That meant tonight was work. But something inside hoped it was a genuine invitation. It was nice getting off the estate for something social.
“I still can’t believe it got past me that you’re a real fighter.” I breathed in shock over the soft flowing jazz.
He turned to me with a soft grin. “Not everything about my life can be googled, sweetheart.” There was something forlorn in that as he turned back to his window.
“You said your father trained you?” He nodded with his profile to me. “You never considered taking on a career in it? You seem like a pro.”
“Because I am.” My neck snapped over to him. “I started out in bantam. Won that tournament, and went all the way to youth division. Stopped at eighteen.”
“Why?”
“Music was calling. My last championship win, my face got bruised pretty bad. I finally decided to quit before my face wasn’t marketable no more.” One side of his mouth curled into a charming smile. Then he shrugged. “Plus, boxing has never been a passion for me. It was just a means to becoming a man.”
“How so?”
“I spent lots of time in the church as a kid. My dad hated it. He and my mom were never really together, as far back as I could remember. But they were on and off for mad years, before me. He was a street kid compared to her parents’ protective upbringing. I guess she thought she could change him. She fell in love with the fighter from the Memorial Homes projects. He don’t talk about her much, but has said he was really feeling her when they weren’t fighting about him staying out of trouble. When she was pregnant with me, in her third trimester, he got locked up again. They said she was so mad, she never put his name on my birth certificate, gave me her name.” He snorted, scratching the side of his nose. “He still be trippin’ off that. But anyway, I don’t know if it was that or the fact they broke up when I was like two because he and my grandmother always butt heads, but he didn’t really take to me.”