CHAPTER 39
Kevin successfully swindled his first million a lot sooner, and easier, than expected. With Darius out of town, Kevin had ample time to manipulate the financial records. Poor little rich kid. So busy being important he neglected to balance his checkbook. Darius’s mommy could bail him out with another million. By the time the auditors completed Darius’s fiscal year-end financial analysis, Kevin would accept Tony’s offer. Kevin parked in the outdoor lot at Parapictures. To his right, the studio. Ahead, the twenty-one story office building where he’d soon work.
Kevin greeted Tony in the studio. “Tony. How’re the new projects coming along?” Kevin wrapped his arm around Tony’s shoulder as they walked through the props at Parapictures.
“Williams,” Tony said, peeling Kevin’s fingers away, “you do good follow-up. You know that’s where a lot of businesses fail. They get a contract and don’t follow up. Learning the business. Making great suggestions. You sure you won’t accept my job offer? You’re here almost every day. I could use you on my staff.”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about a career transition. There’s no growth potential for me at Somebody’s.”
“Whatever Darius is paying you, I’ll double it. And offer you an incentive package. Think about it. I gotta go.” Tony patted Kevin on the back then shouted, “Hey, Joey! Hold up! I’m coming!”
“Peace.” Kevin said, continuing to stroll the deserted set. The cast for Darius’s film was shooting the last scenes in Oakland. Darius and Ashlee were in Oakland again. There was nothing to think about in regards to Tony’s offer. Kevin hadn’t accepted because he didn’t want to appear anxious. And the longer Kevin waited, the more money Tony offered.
Kevin sat in the director’s chair, pulled out his cell phone, and called his dad. “What’s up, old man? When you coming to see my new house?”
“I’ll be in LA soon. UCLA, Santa Barbara, and the University of Southern California coaches want to meet Darius.”
Darius. Darius. Darius. That was all Darryl talked about lately. “Still steadfast on making one of us an NBA star, huh?”
“Darius is the only one of you that has the talent and skills to make it. Darryl Jr. could never dribble well with his left hand and you were never consistent with your outside shots.”
Fuck Darius. “I’m going to ignore that comment. Look old man, you can stay with me or stay with Darius.” Kevin paused. “Hey, why the sudden interest in Darius?”
“Can’t make up for time lost but I’m tryin’ to do the right thing before it’s too late. Now that I’m no longer envious of Darius or Jada, I’m proud of my son. And you should thank Darius. You wouldn’t be where you are if it weren’t for Darius giving you the opportunity.”
Proud? His dad said he was proud of his son. Kevin wished the words were intended for him. Kevin studied the set design. “Me too. I’m tryin’ to do the right thing. I’ll mail you a key in case you decide to come over, stop by, whatever, and I’m not home. But call first. I might have Ashlee over.”
That was another thing pissing Kevin off. Every time he made plans with Ashlee, Darius took Ashlee with him on the road. At first Kevin’s attitude toward Ashlee was ill intent. Not anymore. He really did love her. There was something about Ashlee that was pure. Genuine. Romantically magnetic. After Kevin had apologized to Ashlee for disrespecting her and promised he’d never do that again, their friendship grew.
Kevin slid back his sleeve and looked at his Rolex. Oh, shit! Kevin had forgotten that his homeboy from Harlem’s plane had arrived into Long Beach airport thirty minutes ago. Kevin’s house was forty minutes away from Parapictures.
“Hey, old man. Let me call you later. Bye.” Kevin ran to his Cadillac.
With one hand on the wood-grain steering wheel, Kevin speed dialed Lamont.
Lamont answered, “Nigga, where you at?”
Kevin darted through traffic, constantly switching lanes. “I’m on my way. I was tied up at the office. Where you at?”
“Figured as much. That’s why I didn’t hit you up. I’m chillin’ in front your crib. Nigga I know you gave me the wrong scrillers. This ain’t yo’ shit. But a brotha ain’t got it good like you I gotta go befo’ my celly hit that next—” Lamont hung up.
When Kevin cruised in front of his home leaning out the window, Lamont was sitting on his suitcase blocking the driveway. Kevin tapped his horn and fanned his arm.
“Get out the way, nigga.”
Lamont smiled. Leaving the suitcase, he walked up to the window. “Man, what bank did you rob? This you playa?” Lamont pointed at Kevin’s sports utility vehicle, then the house.
“That ain’t all, mein,” Kevin said, still pronouncing man like he was ordering Chinese food. Grinning, Kevin turned off his engine. “You are looking at a certified, true-and-tried, millionaire mein.” Kevin pinched the tips of his white collar then snapped his wrists.
“You lyin’. Yo’ ass did rob a bank. You know I ain’t never been to jail and I swear if the cops show up here, I’m tellin’ ’em everything I know.”
“Which ain’t shit.”
They entered the house laughing.
Lamont sat his suitcase in the living room and gave himself a tour. Lamont returned with the same smile plastered across his face. “Four bedrooms? Maybe you can hook me up with one of dem jobs. I can move in with you.”
“Mein, your wife ain’t lettin’ you go nowhere and you know it. Make yourself at home. Your guest bedroom is on the left. I need to run to the office right quick. I should be back in about two hours.”
“Cool, man. You got any LA freaks to introduce me to?”
“The sistahs will be here at ten. Sistah, sistahs, mein. They do everything together. You better get some rest, call your wife early, then cut off the celly,” Kevin said, opening the door.
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.” Lamont bobbed his head.
“Peace.” Kevin pinched his collar, snapped his wrists.
Heading toward the door, Lamont yelled, “Is that a real Rolex boy-ie!”
Kevin swiftly closed the door. His basketball shots weren’t that off. Darryl should’ve put in more time practicing with him. Kevin arrived at the office. Making sure Angel was gone, he entered Darius’s office through the back door. What were all those boxes stacked on the round table? Kevin shook one box. Then another. The box felt but didn’t sound empty. Kevin opened one of the boxes.
Kevin pinched his nose. “Oh, shit! Damn, this cheap ass perfume stinks.” He stared at the postcard on the floor. A closed casket. Black. Long. Kneeling over the picture, Kevin flipped it over with his pinky nail and read, “Ashes to Ashes.” What the fuck did that mean? Why hadn’t Darius said something? Was someone plotting to kill his brother? Who? Why? That’s what Darius deserved for fucking over so many women. Maybe Kevin would stay at Somebody’s longer. If Darius were killed, somebody had to take over the company. Kevin smiled. Moving to LA was the best decision he’d made in his life.
CHAPTER 40
Riding in her Benz with Monica driving, Ciara felt centered again. She was back home but not back to work. Ciara’s sabbatical to the Redwood Mountains resort was a spiritual awakening which allowed her to accept Solomon’s death. Regardless how insane her relationship with Solomon may have appeared to others, Ciara loved and missed Solomon.
Witnessing God’s beautiful creation of rolling mountains of natural hues, brown, red, orange, strategically placed by Mother Nature enlightened Ciara that everything and everyone has its place. Its time. Over time the mountains, although breathtaking, had begun to corrode. Like mountains, with time, people inevitably had to expire. Death was as natural of a progression as life. And God controlled the start and stop watch for every living organism.
Never again would Ciara kill. A spider. A fly. An ant. A human being. At least not intentionally. But Ciara had every intention of scaring the hell out of Darius. She wanted to make Darius think about life. His. Hers. Their son’s. Ciara prayed daily fo
r a baby boy.
Talking over dinner last night at Monica’s, their sisterly bond was reunited. Monica had apologized and said, “I wanted you to feel how I was feeling and words, regardless of how I expressed myself, had no impact.” Ciara remembered commenting, “Yeah, you were right. I’m sorry for shutting you out. Mama always said treat people the way they treat you and soon they will hear. Tell them what you don’t like—” Monica had finished Ciara’s sentence. “And they’ll only hear what they want to hear.”
Ciara’s heart raced. The closer Ciara got to Darius’s home, the more her calm demeanor converted into nervous energy. Maybe she shouldn’t have showed up at Darius’s house. This was the first time Monica insisted on being a part of the plan to pay back a man. Darius Jones, if he was lucky, would have all of his limbs when they left his house. Monica parked in front of Darius’s house and left the engine running in the sports car.
Ciara knocked with force on Darius’s front door with her boot. Bam! Bam! Bam! Ciara raised her boot and kicked again. Bam! Bam! Bam! Ciara wanted Darius to know this was not a pleasure trip.
Darius’s door flung open. Holding the outside knob, Darius opened his mouth wide but before any words escaped, Ciara drew back her hand as far as she could and slapped Darius’s face.
Monica whispered, “As Missy Misdemeanor would say, ‘Run for cova muthafucka.’ You done fucked with the wrong bitch!”
Ciara stood outside Darius’s door. With every deep breath, her breasts heaved up and down. When Darius motioned to close his door, Monica swiftly put her foot between the crack and rammed her shoulder into the door so hard it flew open again.
Darius yelled, “What the fuck!”
Monica aimed a fully loaded gun at Darius’s face. Ciara’s eyes bucked. Ciara had no idea Monica had brought a gun. What if Monica killed Darius? Ciara and her sister would be divided by jail cells. Darius would join Solomon. And the one thing Ciara longed for would be stripped away from her bosom at birth.
Darius stood, eyes bucked, blocking the entrance. He rubbed his mouth. Blood stained his hand. He wiped the redness into his espresso-colored pajama pants. Darius casually said, “It’s over, Ciara. I want a divorce.”
Ciara snapped with fury. “I say when we get a divorce. And we will not get divorced until I,” Ciara pointed toward her chest, “get my companies back and you,” Ciara pointed her finger up toward Darius’s face, “compensate me for the damages.”
“This is bullshit,” Darius said, stepping away from Monica’s barrel and Ciara’s finger. “Those are my companies. And this conversation is over. Leave my house or I’m calling the police. And what happened to your restraining order? Doesn’t that mean you need to stay away from me too.”
“This conversation ain’t over,” Monica’s voice escalated, “until my sister says it’s over.”
“Look, Bonnie and Clyde.” Darius laughed. “You two are a joke.” Darius motioned to close the door again.
Monica fired two shots in the air then pointed the gun at Darius’s dick.
Ciara gasped, never having intended for the situation to escalate to a life-and-death matter. Thinking back, Ciara recalled how all of the heated arguments never started off that way. Who allowed the situation to get out of control? Was it her for initiating the first words of anger? Was it Darius for mistreating her? Was it Monica for secretly bringing a gun?
Darius froze. “Oh, shit! What the fuck! You crazy ass.” Darius paused. His eye widened.
Click. Monica cocked the gun, still aiming at Slugger.
Ashlee came running to the door. “No, Ashlee go back! Call the police.”
“I save the best for last,” Monica continued whispering. “Move again without my sister’s permission and I’m going to make a lot of women happy and sad at the same time.”
Darius stood still. “Y’all crazy.” His blood-filled nostrils flared as his chest expanded and deflated several times.
Ciara knew he wanted to call them bitches but had enough sense to know this wasn’t a good time. “Darius, all I’m demanding is restoration of my companies and reparations for any damages. You’ve got five days. That’s all. Oh, yeah.” Ciara rubbed her protruding stomach. “And you will take care of your son.”
“If you don’t kill him first,” Darius replied.
Monica held the gun with both hands and said, “Keep messing with my baby sistah and I’m gon’ tell our daddy. And trust me. You don’t want me to tell Leroy.” Then Monica whispered to Darius, “Five days. Or run for cova muthafucka.”
Ciara turned and walked to her convertible, glad no one was seriously injured. Monica stepped backward until her butt touched the car, she opened the driver’s door, and drove off. Smoke trailed the screeching tires.
“Monica, you are crazy.” Ciara laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. “I was praying you wouldn’t shoot the dick. Shoot him in the ass but not the dick.”
“What do you care?” Monica wasn’t laughing. She was mad. “I should’ve shot between his legs and made him shit on himself. Always putting his dick in somebody’s face. Muthafucka. I hate him!”
Ciara rubbed Monica’s arm. “It’s okay, Monica. Uncle Ray can’t hurt us anymore. He’s dead.”
“You know I almost had a flashback. I really could’ve killed Darius. And it would’ve had nothing to do with Darius.”
“We gon’ be alright. I don’t have to leave for Trinidad today. I can stay here with you or you can come vacation with me.” Tears of sadness rolled down Ciara’s face. She remembered all the bad things Uncle Ray had done to them. Uncle Ray especially liked Monica because Monica was older and her butt was bigger. Uncle Ray liked Ciara because her titties were big even when she was a little girl. Uncle Ray said, “If either of you tell a soul, I’m telling the police how your daddy, crazy Leroy, killed our brother. It wasn’t an accident. Oh, no he meant to kill Slim.” After Uncle Ray died of a heart attack, their daddy had become depressed. Ciara and Monica decided the rapes weren’t worth talking about or telling Daddy. But Ciara knew the nightmares still haunted both of them. And perhaps that’s why neither of them knew how to sustain healthy relationships with men.
Monica parked at LAX passenger departure. The patrol officer blew her whistle several times. Ciara dried Monica’s tears with a tissue. “You sure you’re gonna be okay, Sis?”
Monica blinked several times, washing away her tears. “Yeah, Sis. I’ll be okay. Now, go. Enjoy your vacation. I’ll pick you up in five days.”
Ciara motioned to the patrol officer to stop blowing that damn whistle. “I love you. I’ll call you as soon as I get in.”
Monica nodded then drove off. Ciara wheeled her carry-on to the counter and handed the ticket agent her passport.
Ciara boarded her plane and propped the pillow against the window in first class. She refused to entertain Darius’s request for a divorce. Maybe she’d hire a private investigator to work internally for Darius’s company and sabotage Darius’s business. Kevin claimed he had no knowledge of the takeover but Ciara didn’t trust Kevin any more than she trusted Darius. Maybe she’d report Darius to the Internal Revenue Service for tax evasion. Even if the IRS didn’t uncover any wrongdoings, the costly investigation would take months.
Dozing off, Ciara smiled thinking about her return home to Monica in five days.
CHAPTER 41
At Jada’s request—a formal invite sent via the United States Postal Service—Candice agreed to meet for lunch at Alex’s. The filming was complete. Editing was scheduled to begin next week. Darius had insisted that Jada fly to Oakland and view the taping of the last scenes. Watching Morris and Kenya reenact the breakup of her relationship with Wellington made Jada cry, wishing she’d never left. They’d lost twenty years. Years that could’ve been filled with loving memories as husband and wife. Twenty anniversaries.
Candice must have designed the set of Jada’s penthouse in the Oakland Hills. The backdrop with the tall evergreen trees. The living-room fireplace. The packed bo
xes. The sofa and unpacked throw pillows. Then it happened. Kenya gave Morris the soul mate ring. The same ring Jada had given to Wellington the night their relationship ended. Jada watched intently when Morris kissed Kenya. Then they made love. Jada relived her orgasmic moment. Hearing Kenya speak Jada’s last words to Wellington, “I don’t know where we go from here . . . but I do know I’ve renewed my lease on life. I have a business to start and a plane to catch to Los Angeles. Maybe I’ll call you. Maybe I won’t.” Jada recalled feeling empowered and empty at the same time. How many people were fortunate to have someone turn their life into a movie? Being on the set for five days, Jada realized she may not have another twenty years to live. But if she did, she didn’t want to live them without her best friend.
Jada sat in her office brainstorming how to best promote the movie and Soul Mate jewelry line. Jada’s secretary buzzed the intercom.
“Mrs. Tanner, you have a Mr. Reynolds on the phone. He will only speak with you.”
“Reynolds? What company is he with?”
“I don’t know and he won’t say.”
Another person trying to get to Darius through her. Jada imagined when Darius did join the NBA she’d have more strangers and clients trying to get tickets, hopefully to the Lakers’ games. “Thanks, put him through.”
Jada glanced down at blank sheet of paper. Lost in thought, great ideas floated in her mind. This Mr. Reynolds guy would delay progress.
“Hello, Mr. Reynolds. How may I help you?”
“Thanks for taking my call. The reason I’m calling is your company came highly recommended by one of my long-term clients. I’d like to discuss contracting with Black Diamonds to do PR for my upcoming film festival.”
“I’m listening.”
“Specifically, I’ll need two full-time staff persons for six weeks to focus on our print ads, radio announcements, TV commercials, and internet promotions.”
“My company can handle that. Let’s schedule a meeting to outline the details.”
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