The Come Up

by Nia Forrester

  Considering just for a moment whether to lie about having eaten, she eventually just shook her head.

  “Me neither,” Jamal said. “Let’s see what they got around here.”

  The club was in East Point and housed in a ramshackle building that appeared to Makayla’s untrained eye to be in violation of more than a few fire codes. Nearby were a couple fried chicken, soul food and burger joints, but nothing that could be mistaken for fine dining. In fact, the entire neighborhood was a little on the sketchy side, with more than a few abandoned buildings, burned-out row houses and empty lots in the vicinity. Definitely not the kind of place where Makayla would have considered walking alone in search of a late-night meal.

  Even Jamal should have been concerned, but didn’t appear to be. Though dressed casually, he also had on his wrist a watch that easily cost a few thousand dollars, and boots that were an obvious cut above the standard Timberlands. Standing at the sidewalk in front of the club, he looked up and down the street, trying to decide which way to go, and as he did, a few women openly gazed at him, their lips twisting in appreciation as they exchanged looks with their girlfriends.

  “Chicken and waffles,” Jamal said sounding wistful as Makayla took a place at his side, hoping that would ward off some of the females who looked ready to pounce. Not that it was her business if they did.

  “Sounds good.”

  Jamal looked at her, taking in her snug jeans and sleeveless blouse ensemble. “You’d eat that? Not watching your figure?”

  “Why? Do I look like I need to?” Makayla asked before she could censor her thoughts.

  “Nah. Not at all. Jus’ sayin’ … most women these days, before every meal feel like they need to apologize for eating or something … ” He let his voice trail off and shrugged. “Let’s go get our grub on then.”

  As they walked toward the sign for a place a block and a half over that looked like it was full of patrons, even at this late hour, Makayla noted that Jamal didn’t lose his confident stride. There was none of the watchful hesitance that she might have expected of someone who had grown accustomed to much nicer places, like the neighborhoods where clubs like Onyx were. Lacking that confidence herself, Makayla stuck close to his side, trying to match his pace. She was no stranger to bad neighborhoods, but the rhythm of every city was different. She couldn’t read Atlanta like she could New York.

  In New York, just before something was about to jump off, there was a charge in the air that most native New Yorkers could sense. That instinct was dulled for Makayla down here. She’d never been this far South before, and even though Atlanta was very much a cosmopolis, the accents, unrelenting politesse and different fashions made her feel as though she may as well be on another planet. The way everyone called her ma’am, for instance, was downright unsettling.

  The chicken and waffles place was unpretentiously decorated, with unvarnished wood floors, and exposed brick walls covered with images of food that looked delicious, but was definitely not heart-healthy. The menu was displayed on an immense chalkboard above the chrome-polished counter where orders were being taken. Seating was a hodge-podge of bar tables and stools and long family-style wooden tables with wrought-iron chairs.

  “Order whatever you want,” Jamal said. “I got it.”

  In that case, she was going to eat enough to hold her until tomorrow afternoon.

  Makayla ordered a platter with four mini-waffles, fried chicken, smothered fried potatoes and a cheese omelet with peach iced tea. Jamal got shrimp and grits with a coffee. While waiting for their food, they opted for one of the pub-style tables, near the plate glass window through which they could watch the happenings out on the street. Apart from the nightclub, the only action in the neighborhood seemed to come from the groups of young people milling about on the corners, laughing and talking loudly; a few homeless and the tricked-out cars that occasionally cruised by.

  Only when Jamal’s phone rang did Makayla realize that they’d been sitting there silently, and rather than try to make conversation with her boss, she was gazing wordlessly out the window. Glancing at the console of his phone, Jamal grinned and picked up, mouthing a silent apology.

  “Hey,” he said. His voice was lower, sexier. “Isn’t this way past your bedtime?”

  It was a woman. Obviously it was a woman. And she was calling him at forty-something past midnight? Booty call. Makayla tried not to care.

  “Nah, you know me,” Jamal was saying. “I’m nowhere near thinkin’ about the bed right now. About to throw down at a chicken joint … yeah … I wish you were here, too.” He winked at Makayla as though she was in on some joke with him. “Next time, maybe. But lemme hit you back. I’m here with a colleague and she’s lookin’ at me like …” He laughed at something the person on the other end said. “No. I swear. Of course I’m working. I’m in the music business, baby. This is how we do.”

  Moments later he ended the call and put the phone face down on the table between them.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” he said. “So … you replace that ol’ dinosaur of a phone yet?”

  “No, I didn’t have a chance to.”

  Jamal extended a hand. “Lemme see it.”

  Makayla pulled her phone from her back pocket and reluctantly handed it over.

  “This is like circa 1999,” he said, turning it over in his large hands. “I’m throwing this away,”

  “No …” Makayla reached for it.

  “Nope. Has to go.” Jamal made as though to stand and Makayla grabbed it aggressively from his hand. “Damn! I was just messin’ with you! Why so desperate to hang on to that piece of shit? You expecting a call?”

  Makayla said nothing, embarrassed by her response, which now felt disproportionate.

  “Your man not crazy about you bein’ on the road?”

  “No,” Makayla said, looking toward the front of the restaurant, wishing they would call their order. “That’s not it.”

  “So he is crazy about you bein’ on the road?” Jamal said, leaning in and grinning at her. “Well then I don’t know about this dude. I would have to say he’s up to no good.”

  Though she knew he was only teasing, Makayla was finding it difficult to take it in good humor. Between the phone call he’d just gotten and his easy speculation about her “man” it was pretty clear he didn’t see her as a likely prospect for himself. The man who, at least according to his reputation, saw every woman as a sexual prospect had dismissed her out of hand. Between that and the crack that suggested she needed to watch her figure, she was beginning to feel downright homely around him.

  “I need to be able to get calls about my grandmother,” she said, looking him directly in the eye. “She lives with me, and she’s … she has some health issues.”

  At that, Jamal’s expression sobered and leaning forward even closer, he was about to say something when someone called out an order number. Glancing down and seeing it was theirs, he instead stood and went to get their food. It took him two trips before he could bring it all back, but once he had and they were settled, he looked at her again.

  “Who’s looking after your grandmother while you’re away?” he asked, taking the first bite of his food, but keeping his eyes on her.

  “My cousin. She’s staying with her at my place while I’m gone.”

  “So your parents ..?”

  “No,” Makayla said.

  She knew that brief and somewhat nonresponsive answer might only provoke more questions, but the last thing she wanted to do was share her family horror story and give Jamal the idea she was going to be one of those employees—the kind who always had a “crisis at home” to attend to, like court dates, doctor’s appointments, and various other mini-calamities.

  “How old are you?” he asked narrowing his eyes.

  “Twenty-six.” Makayla looked down, cutting one of her mini-waffles in half. It was flaky and crusty and looked delicious. She could even feel her mouth begin to water a little bit as she anticipated the first bite.
r />   “And you look after your grandma on your own?”

  “Mostly. But she used to look after me on her own, so …” Makayla shrugged.

  “I took care of my grandmother as well.”

  At that Makayla looked up, but Jamal was now preoccupied with getting the perfect forkful of food.

  Taking care of an older, infirm relative was not for the faint of heart. It introduced you to a world of uncomfortable intimacy that was difficult to describe to someone who hadn’t been through it. How could you explain what it was like to view the flaccid nakedness of an elderly relative’s withering body? To empty bedpans of urine and feces, to change bed sheets that were stained with hard to identify bodily fluids, to cut toenails and brush dentures? To witness a body in its slow march toward decay and eventual death? There were no words that could fully convey that experience.

  Makayla took another bite of her waffle and swallowed hard both her food and the hard lump that formed at the back of her throat. There were support groups for people in her position—caregivers of elderly family members—but she didn’t like to think of caring for her grandmother as something that required something as clinical as a “support group.” Support groups were for people who had problems, like an addiction.

  “Did your grandmother …” She tried to finish her question but in the end just let it drop.

  “She passed almost three years ago now,” Jamal said.

  “And she was with you then?”

  “Yup. Up till the end,” he said nodding. He took a quick sip of his coffee. “I had help though. Someone who came in and looked after her.”

  “How about your parents?” Since he’d asked, her, it only seemed fair that she be allowed return the question.

  “My mother’s all about doin’ her,” Jamal said. “She loves her family, but she’s just …” He shrugged. “And that wasn’t her mother, anyway. That was my father’s mother.”

  “So where was your father?”

  He looked at her. “I don’t know him.” And when he said those words, his eyes hardened.

  “So we have that in common,” Makayla shrugged as well.

  “Tell me about why you wanted to work in music. You said performing is Devin’s thing. What’s yours?”

  “It’s a little late to interview me,” she said, stabbing another piece of waffle. Teasing him felt safer now. “You already gave me the job, and I’m not giving it back.”

  “But now I want to know why you took it.”

  “A few reasons. One, I want to help Devin do well, and get what he deserves. Two, while I definitely want to be on the publicity side of things, I wanted to learn from you since the publicity and development sides of the business are so intertwined. And three; everyone says you’re the best at what you do, and I want to be the best at what I do, when I finally get a chance to do it.”

  “Good answers. But let’s tackle them one at a time … You and Devin, what’s ...?” Jamal broke off and shrugged.

  “Our relationship?”

  Makayla was used to being asked that. The answer was complicated. Once, a very long time ago, she and Devin used to date, if it could be called that. Just kids at the time, neither of them knew what they were doing. They’d graduated from ‘practice kissing’ at eleven to the real thing around thirteen, and later were each other’s first experience with actual sex. Makayla still remembered the quiet solemnity with which they’d completed the act that first time. It seemed like a lifetime ago, now.

  That phase of their relationship went on for about four years before it ended. But over time, as they learned more about themselves and each other, their bond only evolved, it never lessened. In fact, it only strengthened with the passing of each year.

  “Yeah.” Jamal nodded. “And this isn’t me getting into your business or anything. Since you’re working with him now, I need to know just how personal this is for you.”

  “It’s a little late to ask, isn’t it?” Makayla said. “But if you have to know, it’s very personal.”

  Jamal’s eyebrows lifted and he put down the coffee cup.

  “But not that kind of personal,” she hastily added. “I mean, we’re not together or anything. But we’re … very close.”

  “I can see that. Too close for you to be impartial when it comes to him?”

  “Of course I can’t be impartial when it comes to Devin. But I can be fair. I can be realistic. And I’m always reasonable.”

  Jamal smiled and nodded. “Okay. I’ll take that. Now tell me why you took a position in development.”

  “Apart from the raise and getting to work with my best friend? I want to be a publicist, ultimately. And what you do on the development side is always going to have some impact, or maybe even dictate what the publicity folks do.”

  “That’s true. So does that mean you plan to leave development as soon as this project with Devin is done?”

  “I don’t know. Like I said, I want to learn from you.”

  “You want me to be your mentor?” Jamal looked as though the suggestion amused him.

  “I bet you get lots of people beating down your door wishing you could be.”

  He seemed to think for a minute, biting into his lower lip and furrowing his brow. Jamal’s face was so smooth, that even the tiniest shadow of hair growth appeared more like sprinklings of ground java beans across the surface of a perfect cup of strong, black coffee, with nary a trace of cream.

  Whenever she looked directly at him as she was doing now, Makayla felt her skin grow warm and the muscles in her thighs tighten. His forearms, resting on the table between them were firm with the bulges of his veins visible. She imagined using the tip of a finger to trace them, and wondered how he would react if she did.

  “Come to think of it, no one’s ever asked me outright,” he said finally, shaking his head.

  “Really? No one’s ever asked you to be their mentor? I find that hard to believe.”

  “No, it’s true. Mostly they just try to hang around and steal my moves.” For a moment he sounded perfectly serious, but then he smiled that pearly-white smile.

  “So if I asked …” she began.

  “You’d be my first,” he said. “Are you asking?”

  “Yes,” Makayla said, lifting her chin.

  It was late, and she was feeling just tired enough to also be a little reckless. She would never get as good an opportunity as she had on this trip to get Jamal Turner’s coaching in her new career. Back in New York, everyone wanted a piece of him in one way or another, and she was sure to be way down the list in the pecking order of who might command it. And besides, though they’d only been away from New York for a couple days, there had been moments lately when Makayla almost felt like he was avoiding her.

  “You sure you’ll be able to keep up?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Last time you said that …”

  “Last time, you were trying to get me drunk to prove a point.”

  “Okay.” Jamal nodded. “So shadow me.”

  Makayla leaned forward. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. You want to learn, then there’s no better way.”

  “I guess I thought it would be more … I don’t know …”

  “You thought I’d make you fill out an application? Submit to a background check?”

  “No, but …” Makayla stopped trying to explain herself and instead ate a forkful of waffle. One of these days, one of these days she would learn how to maintain composure in Jamal Turner’s presence.

  “It’s not like we’re making atom bombs. All we’re doing is making stars. You roll with me you’ll know what I know in no time. If I go to a meeting, you go with me. If I’m on a call, you’re on it too.”

  All we’re doing is making stars. Like it was so easy to do. Although, for him it probably was. Unable to contain her smile, Makayla just let it break free. And when he smiled back, she started cheesing even wider.

  “Stop smiling at me like that,” Jamal said. His eyes were fixed
on hers, unwavering and suddenly serious.

  “Why?”

  “Because sometimes … you’re just too cute for your own damn good.”

  Makayla tried not to look surprised. He thought she was cute? Okay, it would have been preferable for him to think she was … sexy. Or beautiful. But she would take ‘cute’.

  For now.

  8

  “You never tried it?”

  Jamal smiled when Makayla shook her head, and looked suspiciously at the tuna nigiri between his chopsticks.

  “It’s good,” he promised.

  “No thanks.” Makayla shook her head once again and returned her focus to her beef teriyaki.

  “I’m probably asking for it having sushi in Dallas, anyway,” he admitted. “I mean, what the hell do Texans know about sushi, right?”

  They were only in the Japanese restaurant because it was in the same building as their late morning meeting, and the least-crowded of all the other eateries nearby when they wrapped up around noon.

  “And I guess you want to take me down with you,” Makayla said.

  Jamal smiled at her. “No one’s taking anyone down. I just want you not to be afraid to try something new.”

  “I’m not afraid of trying new things. I just don’t think I could get a piece of raw fish that looks like a slice of human flesh past my gag reflex.”

  Number 6—she sometimes had a smart mouth.

  Lately he’d picked up a new habit of killing time making a list of things that he learned about her. The once inscrutable Makayla was now less so, because of a series of slow reveals. Most were unremarkable, but Jamal collected the nuggets of information anyway, constructing one hue at a time, the picture that she stubbornly refused to paint for him. Though he still hoped for the kind of conversation where she talked at length about herself the way he got her drunk at Onyx, it never came. So instead, he made a list to satisfy his curiosity.

  Number 1—never coffee, only tea.

  Number 2—snores really loud when she was sleeping upright. That one he’d learned when they drove to a meeting in Fort Worth in the rental SUV, and she fell asleep on him during the forty-minute drive back.