by Amarie Avant
“No, I was in the shower. Or getting out of it. I believe, if there was a noise, I wouldn’t have heard it. I had just sat down at the vanity and rubbed the mirror.” Mila gulped while tugging the dress over her head. “I saw him.”
“You saw him in the mirror?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Walk me through what happened next.” Brown nodded while jotting down more notes.
“He had my cell phone in his hand.” Mila sat down on the settee next to her shoes. For a moment, she placed her head against her knees and took a deep breath. She sat back up and snatched up the first pair of shoes she could reach, which happened to be high-top sneakers. They would have to do; her brain wasn’t in it. While stuffing her feet into them without socks, something she knew she’d regret later, Mila continued. “I guess Blake had been trying to call me because Todd answered the phone, laughed, and then he hung up.”
Brown listened to her story, nodding her head, using summary questions to clear up any confusion, and jotting down more notes. It all ended with Mila in tears. I could have died.
“Thank you. I hope there’ll be no need for your assistance in the future, Ms. Ali.” She held out a small pack of Kleenex. “From what I assessed while glancing inside the bathroom, Ms. Ali, you fought for your life. No matter what thoughts are swarming through your mind right now, know that you fought, and you survived.”
***
Shortly after the interview, Mila slipped into her car and took a deep breath as she started it. She tried not to think about the private bodyguard in the passenger seat. Parker had called in Gab, a highly trained security specialist, who had arrived earlier with her. The publicist was ready for any situation. Blake and Mila had used his services before, during vacations in high-tourist areas. Parker had anticipated that Mila would need something to keep her mind off the horrors of the day—which meant Mila intended to go to work—which also meant extra measures would need to be taken. Mila’s attack was now a high-profile media event.
After offering to drive, Gab sat in the passenger seat quiet as ever. He only made a noise when adjusting the front passenger seat for his large frame.
Mila tried to navigate her car out of the driveway. Though they lived on an extensive lot, the press, who had made it up to their home, had taken up most of the open space as far as Mila could see. However, she eventually saw that they hadn’t completely blocked the driveway or the road beyond. She looked in the direction of Parker, who was still in the front yard, and saw the reporters. They were in a foot race toward her. Mila hurried, driving fast enough to make it out of the winding driveway before they could catch her.
“Great. They’re following us,” Mila mumbled. There were vans from major news stations a few cars back.
“Don’t worry. Parker mentioned to Ephraim to have an injunction filed the moment we all arrived at your home. Ephraim called his firm. If they haven’t already, by the time we get through traffic, the media will be fully aware that they must stay at least five hundred feet away from your nonprofit—because of the kids and other things,” Gab stated, his delivery monotone.
“Wow, Parker is—”
“Efficient,” Gab said, before returning his gaze to the rearview mirror. For the entire ride, his eyes swept from each mirror and out the window.
Blake’s cell phone kept going straight to voicemail as was Ephraim’s. She made it to the freeway in record time. At just before lunch rush hour, the coast was clear, at least to the on-ramp. Mila merged into the middle lane and tried Lamb.
He answered on the third ring.
“How are things going?” she asked.
“We’re still at the precinct. Blake and Levine are chatting with the cops.”
“Should I come down there?”
“It’s a waiting game. Blake will call you.” Lamb disconnected the call.
Mila’s mind was overwhelmed. Every time she blinked, Mila saw her man trying to annihilate Todd. She glanced over at Gab and felt slightly reassured. Jesus, give me happy thoughts. Or calm my Spirit at the least.
The way Blake battered Todd, like he wanted to bash his skull in, left Mila’s stomach tied in knots. Her phone rang. She answered the phone.
“Gabadhayda—my daughter.” Her father’s voice was heavy with concern.
“Dad, it’s after midnight in Ethiopia. You should be asleep.” Mila spoke in Somali.
“I’ve heard some very disappointing things. Blake is in jail? Why? Please,” he implored. “Talk to me.”
Mila quickly explained the situation about Todd Welsh. Her wise father listened and pondered intently for a moment then sighed. “Blake acted in your honor. That is good. And you’re not hurt?”
“No, father, I am well.”
“Then I can get some sleep.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“In bed. I didn’t want your mother in tears before I had gathered all of the information.”
The instant Mila finished her conversation with her father Yasmin was calling her for the umpteenth time.
Yasmin circumvented the common greeting with a rushed question. “Where are you?”
“I’m heading down Crenshaw now. I’m a few blocks away from my business—"
“But Blake is in jail. Mila, you need to come over here. Or I can come to you. No work. It’s the wrong time to head to work.”
“My mind is unsettled. I have to do something, Yasmin. You’ll just want to talk. I’m sorry. That’s blunt. Now’s not the time for more questions—”
“Yes, I want to know everything. You’re my sister. I’m concerned about you. Even when you were fresh out of grad school, you had this knack for tossing yourself head first into your job so as not to think. Have your employees handle the youth today and come over so we can talk it out.”
Mila swooped into a parking spot. “No, Yasmin. I just rehashed the story with a detective and then our father. It’s a long story, and I need to focus on something else.”
Yasmin was adamant, arguing. “I’m preparing lunch. I have tea on the stove.”
“Walaashay weyn—big sister,” Mila grumbled. She was almost missing the “Yasmin” who used to hold her tongue when they weren’t very close in the past. This one was a mother hen and got on her damn nerves at times.
“You will come the second you leave work?”
Mila smiled at her sister’s concern. “I’ll probably check in on Blake first. If he’s not out, then—”
“I will go with you.”
Aware that her oldest sibling would refuse to budge, Mila agreed and hung up the phone. She sat in the car with her forehead leaning against the steering wheel for a moment. A deep huff escaped her lips.
“I’ll be inside.” Without time to register his comment, Gab was out of the car. Mila watched as he seemed to be surveying the grounds. She had forgotten that he was in the car and knew that he’d move like a ghost, unseen, around the building and property for the rest of the day.
Before she was able to take a moment to breathe, her cell phone rang again. This time it was Zenobia. As a deep breath funneled through her lungs, Mila pressed the button to answer.
“Mila, it’s Zenobia—”
“And Isaac.” The brother and sister spoke at the same time.
For the third time, Mila found herself replying that she was okay and giving them the rundown of what had transpired. Luckily, they offered their support and made the call quick, while genuinely offering any help that she might need.
After the rush of those intense conversations, Mila was now alone in her thoughts. For the first time since the altercation with Todd, she let every moment with him sink in. She pushed past the anxiety she felt after Blake left. Their home was now teeming with cops who had sectioned off the bathroom and the sliding glass door in the kitchen where Todd had entered.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second to rid her mind of the vivid image of Todd. That man had gone over the deep end long ago, and he would have murdered her.
THUMP.
Mila startled, sat up, and looked out the window. Destiny, a nineteen-year-old mom of two, waved. She had a nose ring and box braids. Her oldest son, five-year-old Lance, gave a grin as well as she stood there with a stroller.
Get over yourself, Mila. These kids have endured so much. Mila grabbed her purse off the passenger seat, realizing that she would give them her attention and then go see about Blake. After all, the population she currently serviced had lived through worse horror stories than she had. Fleeing from her native country of Somalia and now, being attacked by a madman, was still nothing compared because she’d gotten out unscathed.
“Hey, Destiny,” Mila said, getting out of the car.
“Girl, I’m loving those kicks.” Destiny gestured to her shoes.
Mila tried on a smile. It fit perfectly as usual. She’d put her mind into her job now and then check in on Blake. Things had to get better. They just had too.
Blake
The booking process was ingrained in Blake’s memory. In St. Louis, back in his teen years, there was a cop who knew him by name. Detective Reynolds had been assigned to one of his mother’s robbery cases. Blake could t remember which, but he’d known the man almost as if he were family. Reynolds never censored himself. Blake had cussed Reynolds out the first time he got caught shoplifting. Reynolds went right back and cussed him out too, telling him he could do better. He was like Serenity, but, for some reason, Reynolds’ words packed more of a punch.
Before Reynolds had retired from the force, he had just about dished out the whooping that Blake’s mother had missed out on giving him, and Serenity was too tiny to give. The man had been the father figure that Blake swore he never needed. He’d also sealed Blake’s records before his retirement. For a few years prior to his death, Reynolds traveled around the states in a million-dollar RV that Blake had bought him. Blake had been fresh out of college and had paid for it with money from one of his first cellphone app deals. He knew he owed the man a lot and being back in a police station brought it all back.
Seated in an interrogation room, a two-way mirror before him, Blake rubbed his hands together, waiting for Ephraim to finish negotiating with the District Attorney. The charges on the table were three counts of misdemeanor hit and run. In addition, first-degree assault had been tossed around after Detective Simmons came into the room revealing the degree to which Todd had been injured. Apparently, Tweedle Dee had declined to mention the few pops he had received when pulling Blake off Welsh. At least assault on a cop was off the table.
Ephraim stepped into the room, rubbing a hand through his thick, jet black hair. He sat down across from Blake, leaned back, and took a deep breath.
“Talk to me, Eph. Looks like I’m in some real shit.” He gritted the words out. He was angry at himself. Not for what had transpired today, but in his lack of responding to Agent Taylor in enough time.
Ephraim sat up. “The DA isn’t a fan of rich fucks getting a slap on their wrists. Regardless of my capabilities, it’s hard for me to argue about that Welsh-fuck, without them tossing in the use of your car as a deadly weapon.”
“What?” Blake roared.
“The bitch that was running down Wonder View Drive. That’s a felony in and of itself, Blake.”
“I know.” Blake rubbed his tense jaw. “And I admit that I was at fault.”
“No. Never admit being at fault, even if the cops have you on camera shooting someone at point-blank range. You did nothing.” Ephraim smiled. “Listen, you have bigger problems than the DA now.”
Blake’s thick brows crinkled. “What?”
“The wedding we went to last summer? I must have screwed half of the bridesmaids. How many friends will Mila be having stand up with her? Because you owe me, bro!”
Blake sat in shock.
“I’ll just take Mila’s sister, the model chick. Blake, you’re free to go. But I will take my fee in sweet, hot ass. And I am also having my assistant send a bill for cold hard cash because I came to Los Angeles for the car expo, not this, so that my brother is how the cookie crumbles.” Ephraim plastered a smile on his face. “So, about Mila’s sister. It’s always nice to add a new model to my belt.”
For a second, Blake was silent. His aversion to cuffs due to being a wayward teenager had finally faded. “If you can spin that, good for you.”
“Damn, you were never one for the banana in the tailpipe, Blake. Too serious. Actually, my services weren’t needed—not quite yet. Agent Taylor has ensured all charges were dropped. We can chat lawsuits, regarding you navigating the streets like it was a game of fucking GTO later. I’m sure there’s going to be a good number of them. But let’s get the hell outta here, grab a late lunch. We can flesh out the details, so when lawyers for those clients you bulldozed come calling, I can low ball them all. And we can talk about Lido Ali. I was on my way to Italy when Lamb called me anyway, missed my flight.”
“I don’t want to low ball anyone, Eph.”
“Say what now?” Ephraim asked, rising from his chair.
“I made a choice. I stand by it.”
They headed for the exit with Lamb in tow. The second they got outside a crowd surrounded them, mostly women and a few effeminate males. All of them were holding signs with various slogans for freeing Blake Baldwin. One chick pulled up her shirt showing her breasts.
Ephraim patted Blake’s back. “See, Parker must’ve painted you as that billionaire hero . . . eh, Batman. Parker . . . me . . . bro, you have yourself a winning team.”
“Marry me instead!” Another lady shouted.
Blake almost cracked a smile as they headed toward Lamb’s Escalade. Damn, had Parker announced their engagement? More importantly, was Mila serious?
MILA
Mila had chewed on her bottom lip while going from room to room at The People’s Love Project. She smiled as college kids tutored the elementary and middle school youth. Though some of them worked for intern hours, each of them had become a blessing to the child that they helped. In another room, a Young Man of Color group had just started. Mila’s Hispanic Marriage and Family Therapist, who ran the group, was so down to earth. Seeing all those young men get together—even a few young white boys with soul, were a part of the group—made her happy, mending her heart.
After she listened to them for a short time, she moved on, stepping into the room with the teen mothers. It was her favorite place to be. Watching the young women sit in circles and have a moment to de-stress while their toddlers were busy, it was like chocolate and wine night—though, nobody was old enough for wine.
A Nigerian, Nkem, whose child was a product of rape, was speaking about Agape love as her toddler sat in her lap, playing with her coral beads. Her words were no less than poetry. If Mila closed her eyes, she could almost visualize Erykah Badu singing, while Lauryn Hill strummed a guitar to go along with the words.
Destiny was the first to clap. “Girl, you just gave me life.”
An Asian girl, with hoop earrings to her left nodded. “You gave me that way, way back Lauren Hill feel.”
True! Mila smiled. These girls are so young. Lauren was a beast just yesterday in my eyes.
As Mila leaned against the doorframe listening in, a warmth spread through her belly. Her womb felt ready for Blake’s seed. She wanted to give him children. They’d make good parents. Lost in thought, she suddenly became aware of a very familiar scent that began to envelop her. Strong arms wrapped around her waist.
“Don’t say a word,” Blake commanded in her ear.
She complied, beaming brighter than the sun. Mila tried to turn around.
“Don’t move either. I like you smiling like this. You haven’t smiled this bright since my first attempt at a proposal.” His whiskers tickled her cheekbones as he planted kisses and bites on her earlobe. “The first time I see you the happiest you’ve been in forever is when I’m supposed to be somewhere sitting in jail.”
“Blake,” she chided, aware that he wasn’t really offended.
He palmed her ass harshly. Although still being a gentleman about it, since he was pressed against her back, and the young women were in the room.
“You’ve already given me a happily ever after. There’s no getting there involved. We’re there; believe that. No, I don’t want to get married, Blake. I wish we were married. I wish I could wake up married to you already.”
His lips brushed against her earlobe, forcing her to use his hard body for the much-needed strength. Her legs were weak with desire as he whispered in her ear, “Wake up married? Shit, I won’t be able to sleep our first night. And I don’t even mean me just putting that body on a pedestal, Mila. I would watch you sleep all night. Wake you up for more rounds. Watch you again like a coveted jewel.”
“Tsk. You already watch me sleep sometimes. Now, about us . . . marriage? Let’s just—”
“I can read your mind, beautiful. The answer is no. I want to claim you in your grandeur, Mila. In an extravagant affair,” he said as the Nigerian girl turned to another page in her Composition book. This time she talked about a man who wanted to be there for her and her child, yet she just couldn’t forgive herself for being the disgusted cum bucket of a man she never knew the name of.
“The entire world needs to see you. Men need to hate me because I’m the luckiest bastard. We’ll blow the bank.”
“Not necessary,” she whispered.
“A quick engagement followed by a grand wedding. Will you at least agree to that?”
“Hmmmm . . . but I take it you mean millions.” Mila cocked an eyebrow. “Which has nothing to do with how much we love each other.”
“Of course it doesn’t. But I’m cocky as fuck. We will have a lavish wedding. Marriage is compromise, Mila. Say yes to a swift engagement—money is not a problem. It’ll get the ball rolling. I can’t risk you regretting a drive to the Justice of the Peace like our marriage is on Monday’s to-do list.”