Nappily in Bloom

by Trisha R. Thomas

  “Sell JP Wear? I told you that was your choice, man. I’ve always said it from day one.”

  “Yeah, but the buyout stipulates some important small print: Like I get twenty percent and you get eighty.” Legend’s focus turned back to Jake. His good eye zeroed in, “That’s a pretty shitty deal.”

  Right there, in that moment Jake saw the error of his ways.

  Déjà vu. He’d had this conversation before, the very same one with Byron Steeple. He’d had it with his original partner, too, way back when. However he played it, it boiled down to the same thing: the haves and the have-nots. He had something the other person wanted. If not the actual jewel, the essence, the perception of it, a life of substance, possibly happiness. His friend and, basically, the only father he’d known, Edgar, used to explain this distinction to him when Jake brought home the wrong friend. A have-not, the wrong type of person. Edgar was never talking about money, or material things, although it played a decent-enough role. He was talking about spirituality, peace of mind, integrity. If they didn’t have their own, they eventually wanted to take yours. Drain you of your spirit, deny you your peace by planting their poison in your soul.

  “Right, it’s not fair.” Jake agreed, “You’ve put in sweat and tears over the last couple of years. I appreciate it, man. Maybe we do need a new contract. But let’s hash it out over a couple of brewskis before I take you to the airport.”

  Legend pointed to his eye. “Unless you have an eye patch, I probably shouldn’t be sitting in anybody’s restaurant. I’m damn sure going to get the business going through security.”

  “As a matter of fact, I might have you covered.” He pushed the door open wide for his friend to leave. “I’ll meet you downstairs in ten, man. Watch your step . . . with the bad eye.”

  Jake stayed in the shower longer than he should have to think things through. How many times could he have counted the signs but ignored them instead? The sidekick who was sick of being kicked. They’d joked about the women falling all over Jake and Legend getting the crumbs. The career aspirations both the same, to own their own companies. While Jake’s clothing business had prospered, Legend’s advertising and marketing company, Urban Works, had failed, leaving him bitter and in debt. Were those reasons enough for the thin line to cross into hate, jealousy, spite, possibly into sabotage? How many times had a sideways glance caught Legend off guard? Only to be shaken off as a friend who had his back. Putting thought into question. He hadn’t wanted a bunch of yes men, an entourage of fools sucking up resources. When Legend pushed back, he appreciated his input. But at some point, the exchange became less about feedback and more about a scorecard. Checks and balances. It always boiled down to give and fuckin’ take. And how much was not enough.

  He dressed and rushed into Mya’s room, where her closet was filled with more clothes than he and Venus had together. In the corner he found what he was looking for—Mya’s pirate costume from last Halloween. He’d taken her trick-or-treating and had to carry her on his shoulders the entire time. Equipped with her sword, eye patch, and mustache, Mya was afraid to be on the ground with the ghouls, witches, and scary slasher-movie masks. He couldn’t blame her. Halloween was for freaks. Some people took it a bit too far. Costumes past the age of twelve was downright psychotic. But on this day, he couldn’t have been happier to have an eye patch in his possession.

  “Here you go, man.”

  Legend took the patch. “You’re serious?” The plastic black fabric had obviously seen better days.

  “From a distance it looks like solid leather. You can start a new fad.” Jake wasn’t going to argue with him. Legend was getting on that plane or, as the old saying goes, You ain’t got to go home, but you gettin’ the hell outta here.

  “You seriously think I’m going to wear this?”

  “You asked for a patch, I got you a patch. Now let’s roll.”

  Just an Illusion

  “Mama D, I want to thank you for rescuing me.” Gray put his hand to his heart, though no one was in this office to witness his humility. “I can’t apologize enough. It was purely an accident. I asked my accountant to reconcile my accounts to one place so my lovely wife-to-be would have equal access—well, the mix-up wasn’t all his fault, but more than anything, I’m glad you were on the case.”

  He waited for the preferential love he was so used to receiving from womenfolk. That absolution of any wrongdoing. But instead, she huffed on the other end of the line. “You may think you can fool all of the people all of the time, but you can’t fool me. I’ve never bought into your perfect Gray Hillman act. I didn’t tell Keisha, because I love her more than life itself and would never want to bring her a minute of pain. But you best believe I’m watching you, Gray Hillman. Believe, know, and understand it. I’m not one of these women who give a damn about your light skin and light eyes. Your nice car and clothes. I see right through all the decoration. All that matters to me is how you treat my baby, you get me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gray said quickly. There were few things he cared about besides money, but being on Judge Delma Hawkins’s bad side was not a good thing. “I swear, Keisha is my first and only priority. I want to take care of her, love her like she deserves.”

  “That’s all I want, Gray. Long as we agree to that, we’re on the same page.”

  He hung up, feeling victorious. Regardless of the tongue-lashing he’d received, the consequences had been mild. He was still a king in his baby’s eyes. Really, what else mattered?

  His phone buzzed; this time it was his office line. “Yeah, Nikki?”

  “Mr. Jake Parson is here,” she said, “I don’t have him on the schedule.” She left it open-ended. His call.

  “Show him in.” Gray logged out of his computer, making the screen with his accounts disappear. “It’s a beautiful thing. I just got word from Calvin Klein and Pepsi—they’re both interested.” He put out his hand to Jake. “But I wasn’t expecting you, please tell me you’re not changing your mind. You gotta whole new world, my brotha, don’t drop the ball now.”

  “Nah, haven’t changed my mind. In fact, very excited.”

  “And you are?” Gray put out his hand.

  “Legend Hill.”

  “Mr. Hill, a pleasure. What’s the other guy look like?” He joked noticing the obvious fight wounds.

  “It was a woman,” Jake said.

  Gray got the joke and laughed accordingly.

  “Nah, seriously, a woman. Never underestimate one.”

  “I try not to.” Gray opened his hand. “Please have a seat. So what brings this special drop-in?”

  “I need a meeting with Ronny Wilks,” Jake said without further explanation.

  “Ronny Wilks—okay, so you’re lookin’ to get back in the studio. Not a bad idea.”

  Legend leaned near Jake’s ear. “Not a good idea.”

  “I think it’s the best idea. You see, I got a situation. You might be more familiar with it than you’re letting on, so stop me if I bore you.”

  Gray’s eyes lit up with genuine confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Not at all. Here’s the situation: Ronny’s your boy and all, thought you two may have had this conversation already.”

  “I assure you, your name has never come up.”

  “Well, then let me go on,” Jake said. “Money went missing that belonged to Ronny via an old employee of mine, who happened to steal money from me, too. All fingers would likely point to me, that maybe I took Byron out, maybe I recovered my money and Ronny’s, too. But that’s not the case. I’m living off the fumes of my success. If I had an offshore account filled with the money of a gangsta like Ronny Wilks, I wouldn’t be sitting here begging for a meet and greet.”

  “Ah, a mystery with suspense. As if life isn’t complicated enough.” Gray’s knuckles hit the top of his desk. “Okay, time’s up, gentlemen. I don’t deal in business that doesn’t have to do with lights, camera, and action.
I wish I could help.”

  “You can. I need to meet with Ronny, face-to-face, neutral ground. Friendly territory for both of us.”

  “Me and Ronny are not that friendly. I’m sure you witnessed that the other night at Sirena’s party.”

  “All I saw were two businessmen talking deals. Call it what you want to call it, but I need five minutes. That’s all.”

  He nodded, threw up his hands. “What the hell, all right, a business meeting, then? At least you were honest with me. I would’ve seriously been pissed if you had me setting up a bogus meeting, talking about your next great hit, then you break out with this boil and trouble. Would’ve made me look bad. Right now that’s something I can’t afford.”

  Jake and his partner stood up, ready to leave.

  Gray had to ask, “The first time you came to see me, is that what it was about, your way of getting to Ronny Wilks?”

  “I’m not going to lie to you.” Jake Parson managed a million-dollar smile. “Yes.”

  Gray shook his head. Ronny was either going to kill Jake Parson or be dumbstruck by his nerve.

  “Right now I just want to figure out how to end the Byron Steeple nightmare once and for all. Once it’s done, I can seriously be down with this new career.”

  “I feel you,” Gray said, escorting them to the door. “I’ll set something up, let you know where and when.”

  Gray had his own deal set and in place with Ronny, but if he could sweeten the bounty by delivering Jake Parson, why not?

  You Have the Right

  The cameraman was busy adjusting his lens while the producer’s assistant felt her way up the back of my blouse with the wire of the mic. My interview was going to be aired on prime-time news. A chance to gain my name back was moments away. I was nervous for the first time. Normally being in front of a camera was like waking up and brushing my teeth. It was just something I did, but for this interview I was unhinged. So much on my mind to the point I couldn’t even pray it away. Donations were down by 30 percent to the Doval Ministries. The television ratings had declined by twice as much. I was losing my following, and all because I’d loved a man.

  Once the tiny unit was attached to my suit lapel, she pressed a second piece in my ear. “There, got it. Go ahead and count to three for me.” She waved a hand. “Okay, we’re all set.” Then, she paused. “Would you like something warm, tea or coffee? You’re shaking.”

  “No thank you. I’m fine.”

  “You’re going to do great. No need to be nervous,” the woman gave me a thumbs-up.

  “We’re on in fifteen seconds,” the man’s voice inside my ear announced.

  Carla O’Brian was going to be the interviewer. She was a straightforward newswoman who I expected to be fair and classy. No longer did I want to be in the spotlight for the sake of pushing my book. CNN was the first interview of many to come. I’d planned to set the precedent of behavior, let Carla know I wouldn’t be discussing Airic and his philandering ways.

  Where would I begin? Start with who I was, who I’d become, and all the work still to be done. I’d spent so much time and energy healing sick hearts that I’d left my own vulnerable.

  The interviewer was going to see me, but I wouldn’t see her. Having watched enough of her interviews, I knew her tone and expressions. Her stiff blond hair tucked closely to her neck while she worked hard at being taken seriously. The thing to remember about these types of interviews was that they closed you up in a soundproof box to make you feel private, cozy, like talking on a phone with a good friend . . . only the whole world was listening. I wouldn’t be lured in that direction. I would keep it purely about my beliefs, my faith, and the hope for a better Christian tomorrow.

  “Five, four, three . . .”

  “Good evening, I’m Ebony Jenkins, and welcome to the nightly news. I’m sitting in for Carla O’Brian, and we have a bustling lineup for you this evening.”

  I tapped on the mic attached to my lapel. “Um, excuse me. I’m supposed to be interviewed by Carla O’Brian.”

  The man’s voice piped in, interrupting Ebony Jenkins’s intro. “Not a problem. Ms. Jenkins is familiar with your story and very well read. Enjoy.”

  “But . . . no—”

  He cut me off. Ebony Jenkins was known for entertainment gossip that destroyed reputations. She wasn’t a serious journalist, not with her signature blond wig and exaggerated large bosom. The woman was an embarrassment. I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was probably sitting with her breasts exposed as she usually did.

  “Our first story is filled with scandal and heartbreak. Trevelle Doval, who holds the coveted title of Queen of the Pulpit, was rocked by the news that her husband of only two years had an illicit affair with her assistant, only to learn far too late that she was underage and now, we learn, pregnant. We’re going to talk to her to find out how someone of such high moral aptitude picked a—” She paused briefly. “Something in my introduction seems to have shocked you, Ms. Doval.”

  That’s when I realized she was speaking directly to me. The camera was on. I snapped out of the horrified expression she and the viewers must’ve seen. I plastered a calm smile on my face. However, I was seething. “No, shocked, no. I have tried to distance myself from this situation. I was hoping we could talk about my new book, You Have the Right to Refuse Service to Anyone.”

  “Absolutely, and would you say this young woman is your prime audience? This young woman who obviously didn’t know she had a right to refuse service and now finds herself pregnant by a married man?”

  “Yes, I’d say she was my prime target.” I held my breath and waited to reclaim my position. “But let’s look at the reality—women young and old, doesn’t matter the age, have not learned of this right. Women are divine creations by God, yet we treat ourselves like secondhand sweaters, passing ourselves around to the first needy individual who comes along.”

  “Are you calling your husband, Airic Fisher, a needy individual? And if so, wouldn’t that counter your stance that a woman should fulfill her helpmate by any means necessary?”

  The rise in temperature in the room and the throbbing nuisance of a headache made me touch my temple for relief. “We can’t always be everything to everyone. At some point, a woman must decide if she has taken on too much to bear, and maybe hand it over to God.”

  “If you could say anything to Chandra, the young lady who slept with your husband, if she’s listening, and the many Chandras out there today, what would you tell her?”

  I leaned forward, though there was no one staring back at me but the black glass of a camera lens. “You deserve good things. God made that promise when He gave his only son for your sins. Forgive yourself and begin anew. From this day forward, you have a right to refuse service to anyone.”

  “And you, Ms. Doval. Do you personally forgive her?”

  I was filled with contempt, ready to lash out, but thoughts become words, and words become actions; this I understood. “Yes, I do. I forgive her. She is a child. She did nothing wrong.”

  “How apropos,” Ebony Jenkins said in closing. “Most of us have not read all of Trevelle Doval’s books, many are not familiar with her past history, but many understand the term ‘full circle.’ What you give comes back to you?”

  I realized I was no longer on feed. But I still couldn’t make myself get up out of the chair. So I listened to her closing remarks.

  “And here we see the perfect example. Trevelle Doval had an affair with a married man when she was but a child, and this union produced a baby daughter. The wife of that man chose to stay with her husband, and fight for their marriage. The irony is for one so prophetic, how she doesn’t see the similarities, how she doesn’t understand that this was her test, and possibly her failure. Next we have billionaire Leon Miller—”

  “Get me out of here!” I screamed. The black door opened, letting in a stream of light, hurting my eyes. “How dare she call me out like that?”

  “Hold on, you’re leaving with the wire
attached,” the assistant said as she tried to help me get loose.

  I snatched every piece of wire, pulling and tugging until the unit ripped my blouse. I threw it at her and walked out.

  I drove myself home, wishing I’d said and done everything differently. I should’ve stood up for myself somehow, demanded the last word. Ebony Jenkins would forever be on my list of neva-effa heff as. She’d never be invited to anything, and if I saw her in public, I’d pretend to not remember a thing about her.

  I moved quickly through the lobby of my condominium, only to hear my name before reaching the elevators. “Ms. Doval, there’s a delivery here for you.”

  The large floral arrangement coming toward me was probably another ploy from Airic. “No thank you. Donate them to a hospital.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The last time I accepted flowers, they were from my ex-husband, who you let into the building without permission. So what now, is he hiding behind a ficus somewhere?”

  “These were delivered by a florist.” He pulled off the huge card and handed it to me.

  Embossed print with the name IN BLOOM across white linen. I opened it and read, “Your interview was great. Though you have the right to refuse, I hope you’ll accept my invite to lunch. Vince Capricio, aka In Bloom Elf.”

  “Bring them up,” I told the security guard.

  “That’s not all. There’re four more.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. I saw the arrangements sitting lined up on the security station counter. I covered my mouth in shock. Beautiful, fresh bouquets in various colors and sizes. Long-stemmed white roses mixed with gardenias and freesia.

  “Bring them up?” He asked for confirmation.

  I nodded. “I’d appreciate it, yes.”

  The last trip up, the security guard set a glass vase on the center of my coffee table. I handed him a ten. “Thank you. I’m sorry I was so rude.”

  “No problem. Enjoy.” He waved. I double-locked the door when he left, then faced the bounty. I inhaled and took in the calm joy of flowers freshly cut. There was no greater scent. I bent my face to the lavender and nearly came to tears. Vince Capricio, aka the In Bloom Elf, knew a thing or two about arranging flowers. I regretted having been so rude to him, too. I was noticing a serious pattern.