Queen of Miami

by M?ta Smith

  “I’m sure you are,” she says. “It isn’t as if you know the slightest thing about running a club.”

  “Pardon me?” I ask her, shocked.

  “Oh you heard me, Ms. Bobbi,” she says, crisply. “I’m not used to working with amateurs. So just stay out of my way and let me do my job. You just do . . . whatever it is you do,” she finishes. Now I know I need to put this ballsy broad in check immediately, but I’m so stunned that I don’t know what to say. That’s a first for a smart-ass like me. I damn near faint when I watch Rebeca walk away from me and over to Mikhail, who immediately drapes his arm around her shoulder. They whisper a few things back and forth and start to walk out of the meeting room, but I stop them.

  “Baby, what’s up?” I ask Mikhail casually. “Where are the two of you slipping off to?”

  “Don’t wait up,” is all that Mikhail says.

  Before I can object, Q walks up to me. I make an attempt to maintain myself and act unaffected as he greets me.

  “Congratulations,” he says to me as he shakes my hand. He doesn’t sound happy for me, but damn he looks good.

  “Thanks,” I tell him. “Congratulations to you too. Welcome to the team.” Q isn’t just eye candy—he’s the whole candy shop. Brother is fine as hell. I look him over from head to toe. He’s wearing an all-white linen casual pantsuit with a white wifebeater underneath that makes his smooth, bronze complexion glow. He’s also wearing sandals, which I usually hate to see on men because, face it, who wants to look at a dude’s grungy toes? But Q is obviously into grooming and such because his toes are clearly pedicured (but left natural, which is far more attractive than clear polish) and his fingernails are clipped short and buffed to a high shine. His hairline is razor sharp, like he just got his hair freshly faded, and his moustache and beard are perfectly clipped to accentuate his square jawline. But I still don’t like him. And I don’t trust him.

  “Thanks,” he says. “But I ought to be welcoming you to the team. I’ve worked with Mikhail before.”

  “You have?” I ask, hoping that he’ll elaborate.

  “I have,” is all he says.

  “I thought you were the bouncer at Mansion and Nikki Beach,” I probe.

  “Nah, I was just doing a favor for a friend,” he says. “I have plenty of experience in private and upscale security. You know, years of running a successful business. Things haven’t just been handed to me on a silver platter.” He doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that he’s taking a dig.

  “I see,” I tell him. Not only has this dude been prying into my private life, but he obviously has a personal problem with me. “Is there something you want to say, Q?” I ask him.

  “Actually there is. I’m not going to beat around the bush and drop hints,” he says. “I’m not used to biting my tongue. So I’m not going to start now. I think that you should stick to what you do best, and that’s looking pretty,” he says, but I cut him off.

  “You think I’m pretty?” I ask, flirting and trying to soften him up. If Q has been spying on me, I want to know why, and in order to do that I need for us to at least be cordial. Q ignores my comment.

  “Stick to looking pretty and DJ’ing. Leave the real work up to the rest of us.” He says DJ’ing like it’s a menial job. I want to kick him in the teeth. But I’m bigger than that. Fuck him.

  “You know, I don’t appreciate your insubordination. If you want to remain a part of this organization, I’d suggest you change your attitude, and quickly,” I say, tossing my hair in indignation.

  “Whatever you say, Boss Lady,” I hear him say sarcastically over the clicking of my stilettos on the floor as I walk away.

  AS SOON AS I GET IN MY CAR I WHIP MY CELL PHONE OUT OF my purse and call Amara. I want information and she’s just the person to give it to me.

  “Bobbi, baby! How is everything?” she asks when she answers the phone.

  “Things are going okay. I’m really excited about the opening. The club looks fabulous and I can’t wait for you to see it,” I tell her.

  “Well, I’ll be there for the opening, baby. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Good,” I tell her. “But listen, honey, I need to ask you something,” I say, getting to the point.

  “Sure, baby,” she says.

  “Now this is just between us.”

  “Naturally, baby.”

  “I just had a meeting with the staff of the MD Entertainment Corporation. And let’s just say that everyone isn’t exactly on board. I’m catching flack from a couple of people and I need to know the scoop. I am so heated I can’t even begin to tell you.”

  “Let me guess,” she says. “Is one of them Rebeca Escobar?” Amara asks.

  “Ugh, yeah,” I say with disgust. “How did you know?”

  “She’s a barracuda. I should have known that the two of you crossing paths would be inevitable. Baby, Mikhail and Rebeca used to date,” Amara says. That explains why they looked so close on the picture that I saw.

  “Was it serious?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure how serious Mikhail was, but Rebeca carried quite a torch. Whatever their personal relationship was, as far as I can tell it’s over, and now Rebeca works for them. It’s strictly business,” Amara tells me. Amara obviously doesn’t know how much Mikhail likes to mix business with pleasure. “Apparently she’s very important to them. Even the Apostles seem to revere her,” she says.

  “Why? Isn’t she like an accountant?” I ask.

  “Exactly, baby. She makes everything they do look legal.”

  “ Look legal? Wait a minute, Amara. Why would they need her at Babylon? Everything there is legal,” I tell her.

  “Sure, baby. I know you aren’t doing anything wrong,” she says.

  “ No one is doing anything wrong,” I say. “The club is on the up-and-up,” I tell her.

  “Don’t be naïve, Bobbi. I know of what I speak. If Rebeca is there, then something is going on. You can count on it.”

  “Are you sure, Amara?” I ask.

  “Yes, baby, I’m sure.”

  “Amara, exactly what does Mikhail do? I’ve asked before and you weren’t sure. But you seem to know a lot more than you’ve been letting on. My name is attached to this. My life is caught up in this more than you know. I need you to be up front with me.”

  “Okay, baby,” she says reluctantly. She pauses for a moment, then speaks. “Here’s what I’ve been able to figure out. The Apostles are like captains,” she says. “They run the businesses in different parts of the world. They report to Mikhail. My Dimitri is the one who makes sure that the captains all stay in line. But without Rebeca or someone like her—and I believe that there are others like her—none of it would work. Her brother is some kind of diplomat or ambassador or something. He’s their connection to all the crooked politicians. Rebeca is like a liaison, and she covers the money trail.”

  “Shit, Amara, this stuff you’re telling me is dangerous. There are laws against those sorts of things: RICO laws and conspiracy laws and racketeering laws. Oh God, I’ll be a codefendant!”

  “Look, baby, I understand why you’re nervous. If I were in your shoes I would be too. But I know these guys. Calm down. Nothing is going to happen. Mikhail will never get caught. He’s too smart, too connected, and too careful. Why don’t you just get the money, and let things run their natural course?”

  “Which is what? Get sucked in deeper?” I ask.

  “Come on, Bobbi. You know how long clubs last on South Beach. A few years? By then, you’ll be a very, very rich lady. Mikhail will move onto something else. You’ll be free. It’s happening with Dimitri and I. He is growing bored and so am I. We love each other, but he is not a suitable husband for me. We are not forever. You and Mikhail won’t be either.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t make Dimitri money, you cost him money. He may be more willing to set you free,” I tell her.

  “Maybe you have a point there,” she says.

  “I am so screwed, Am
ara,” I say.

  “No you aren’t. You’re rich. The rich always find a way out. You’ve got to stop worrying. But, baby, you said a couple of people were giving you trouble. Who else is there?” she asks. “That may tell me something.”

  “Well, his name is Q. Have you ever met him? He’s a good-looking black guy. The first time I saw him was the night I met Mikhail. As a matter of fact, the only other time I’ve seen him before today was the night I saw Mikhail at Nikki Beach Club, the night before I met you. He seemed vaguely familiar the first time I saw him, but I thought it was because he reminded me of my ex. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “No, baby. I’ve never met anyone named Q. Never heard of him either. But that doesn’t mean a thing. There are a lot of things about Mikhail and Dimitri that I don’t know,” Amara says, but she knows a hell of a lot more than me.

  “Well, when we were on the ship, I did a little snooping in Mikhail’s office. I found a picture of Mikhail and Rebeca and a folder with the letter Q on it. Inside the folder was a file with a bunch of information on me. I’m talking yearbook pictures, credit report, damn near everything.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you found that?” she asks. “It’s odd, isn’t it?”

  “Well, at the time I thought it was just a really, really thorough background check. I mean, I’m working for him. And when he asked me to go into business with him, it kind of made sense. I mean, you want to know who you’re getting in bed with so to speak, right?”

  “I guess so,” Amara says. “So what’s different now?”

  “I don’t know. It just seems too coincidental. And I’m not sure if I want someone from Mikhail’s camp so involved with security, you know? How can I trust him when I know he doesn’t have my best interests or the customer’s best interests at heart, but Mikhail’s? I’ve got Rebeca on one end being the bitch of life, and Q on the other side prying into my private life. I will not have them ruining this for me. What am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to keep your eyes open and watch your back,” she tells me. “And you’re going to be a legend. Not just on South Beach, but around the world. Go with the flow, don’t make waves, but be smart. Learn what you’re up against, and protect yourself at all costs,” she says.

  “Damn, Amara. That’s gangster,” I say. “Shit, are you a mafia chick?” I ask her, only half joking. “Is your family the Brazilian liaison?”

  “No,” she says, laughing. “I assure you that I’m no gangster. I’m a friend, Bobbi.”

  “I want to believe that, Amara. I really do. But I can’t help but ask myself why you’re telling me this. Why now? Why not before? Why did I have to come to you? If you were really a friend, wouldn’t you have told me earlier? No offense, but nothing is as it seems anymore. I don’t know who I can trust.”

  “You have some valid questions, Bobbi, that I can’t deny. The only answer I have for you is that you can’t trust anyone. Just trust the advice I have given you. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

  The conversation with Amara rattles me at first because I know in my heart that she’s told me the truth. It was too much to think that Mikhail would just bless me with a club for the reasons he gave. There’s too much money involved for everyone to be on the up-and-up, too much at stake for me to be naïve enough to trust everyone. But regardless of what’s now been confirmed, I still want Babylon to be a success. So the dream is a little tainted. It’s still a dream come true. I’m walking a fine line and taking some big chances, but to win big you’ve got to bet big.

  I come to the realization that I need to play the game to win. I’ve got to think and move strategically. Like Denzel said in Training Day, “This shit’s chess, it ain’t checkers!” The way I see it, I’m the queen, the most powerful piece on the board. And every other piece should move to protect me because I am Babylon, whether they like it or not.

  I hold my head high when I go to work, and exude confidence and professionalism. Regardless of the circumstances, or maybe even because of them, my club is going to be the biggest thing to hit Miami since Hurricane Andrew. Q remains cold and indifferent toward me. I’m friendly, but it’s a wasted effort; talking to him is like talking to a brick wall. He’d rather grunt or nod than speak to me, but I don’t stoop to his level. If I need to know something I ask him, and I don’t stop asking questions until he’s given me a satisfactory answer.

  I also make a conscious effort to get along with Rebeca, no matter how difficult she is. You get more flies with sugar than you do with vinegar. Rebeca makes this especially hard though. She acts like I rode the short bus to special school, and I don’t know how much more of her attitude I can take.

  “That doesn’t go there,” she barks, when I replace a file in the file cabinet.

  “Did you put this bill in this tray? It goes in the other one,” she admonishes me when she finds the phone bill in the out bin instead of the in.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I finally snap on her.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asks.

  “Rebeca, this is my club. I am Babylon. Babylon is mine. I’ve tried to be patient with you and I’ve tried to be friendly. But you want this to be difficult. Well, let me tell you, I’m not going anywhere.” I roll my neck like I’m back on the playground on the South Side, facing off with a school bully.

  “You’re so arrogant, but so naïve. You really overestimate your importance. You may be Babylon for now, but trust me, you won’t be it forever.”

  I confront Mikhail about both Rebeca’s and Q’s behavior.

  “Mikhail, why is Q so mean to me?” I ask.

  “How is he mean to you?” he asks, his brow furrowing in concern.

  “He acts like he has nothing to say to me. He makes me feel like I’m in the way or something. He’s rude.”

  “Is that all?” he says with a chuckle.

  “Isn’t that enough?” I ask.

  “That is nothing. He’s the head of security, sweet angel. He’s not supposed to be nice. He’s supposed to make sure that everyone, including you, remains safe,” Mikhail explains. Is that why you had him spy on me? I wonder. “If he’s chatting and joking and laughing with people, how can he do that?”

  “Maybe you have a point, but I don’t like it,” I complain. Mikhail runs his hands through his hair, exasperated.

  “Is there anything or anyone else bothering you?” he asks me. He says bothering as if this is all in my head.

  “As a matter of fact there is. What does Rebeca have against me?” I ask him. I wonder if Mikhail will tell me that they used to date.

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” he says.

  “She’s a bitch,” I say, cutting to the chase.

  Mikhail laughs but I don’t find anything funny.

  “I’m serious. She’s rude, patronizing, and stank.”

  “That’s just her way,” he says, defending her.

  I don’t like it. “Well, her way sucks,” I tell him. “She’s straight up insubordinate and I’m not going to take it. We already had words. And you’re not blind; you see it. Now, Mikhail, I’m not telling you how to run your business, but this isn’t just your business; it’s ours. I am the face of Babylon, and I don’t need her giving me shit for doing what I’m supposed to do.”

  “I’ll have a chat with her, sweet angel,” he says.

  But whatever he says to her doesn’t do squat. Things come to a head again when I ask Rebeca to see the liquor license. I have a meeting with a wine vendor, and I need it for the paperwork.

  “I’ll have to talk to Mikhail,” she says.

  “Why? This is my club,” I say.

  Rebeca ignores me.

  “Do you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then let me see it. I just need to write down the license number.”

  “I’m afraid I have orders,” she begins.

  “Orders? From whom? This is my club,” I repeat.

  “Yes,
but all operations are handled exclusively by the MD Entertainment Corporation. I’m afraid that when Mikhail isn’t around, all the important decisions—you know, the one’s that will keep this club afloat—are made by me,” she says.

  “What?” I ask incredulously.

  “Didn’t you read your contract?” she smirks, and walks away.

  I chirp Mikhail immediately on his cell phone.

  “What is it, Bobbi?” he asks curtly. “I’m busy.”

  “It’s your girl Rebeca. She’s tripping again, and I think she may be in need of professional help because she’s obviously not thinking clearly.”

  “Can you make this quick?” he asks.

  I sigh, exasperated. “I need to see the liquor license for a meeting, and she says she needs to talk to you first,” I say.

  “I’ll talk to her,” he says. Yeah right! I’ve heard that before.

  “Yeah, but I need it now. As it is I’m already late,” I say.

  “Reschedule the meeting,” he replies.

  “What?” I ask. Surely there’s got to be some interference on the line.

  “Reschedule it. Rebeca is just following protocol.”

  “Protocol? I’m the owner,” I say.

  “Later, Bobbi,” he says. “Can’t talk now.”

  Mikhail doesn’t answer any more of my chirps that afternoon; I have no choice but to do as he says and reschedule the meeting. Mikhail also doesn’t return any of my phone calls or reply to the text messages I send when “later” comes and goes. Afternoon blends into evening and evening into morning. Mikhail never makes it home. I’m sick with worry. The first thing I think is that he’s been arrested, or even worse, kidnapped. Right now he could be getting tortured. Right now an assassination squad could be on its way to my house to retaliate for some of Mikhail’s business doings. I don’t even want to think that he’s been in an accident. God would never be that cruel to me. He’d never allow me to lose two men that way.

  I nearly jump out of my skin when Mikhail finally comes home. I’m dozing on the couch near the front door when his keys jingle in the lock.

  “Why didn’t you call?” I ask him as soon as he walks in, trying not to sound whiny or confrontational. I wrap my arms around him, happy to see him in one piece. Mikhail’s body doesn’t respond and he pulls away from me.