by Marcus Weber
Antonio nodded. “Appreciate it.” But, he didn’t. A fire lit in his belly. He felt like some strange interloper who was fascinating for them to watch. Someone to pity. Hayden’s statement made Antonio feel more like a charity case than before. Still, Antonio played it off.
“I’m bringing Antonio into the fold here at C.E.,” Emil announced proudly like he’d just recruited Antonio from a pile of highly touted applicants. “He will work handin-hand with both of you until he learns the ropes. He will be on equal footing. He’ll learn everything there is to know.” Emil looked from Jackson to Hayden, and then to Antonio. “Everything,” he stressed.
Jackson laughed sinisterly. “You can’t be serious, Pop. You just trust this dude off the rip? No questions asked? All of a sudden he’s your son and our equal? Why is he coming around now? What changed for him? Who sent him? Ain’t like he gave you a big fatherly hug when you tried in the past. I don’t trust this nigga.”
Emil, Antonio, and Hayden all shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Jackson was right. Antonio had wanted nothing to do with Emil before now. They all recalled the year Emil had bought courtside tickets to Antonio’s game and he’d taken Jackson and Hayden along. Emil had beamed proudly as he watched his other son play up close for the first time. When Antonio had noticed Emil sitting courtside at his NBA game, he played his ass off. He’d hit his first triple-double of the season. After the game, Emil used his powerful connections to get onto the court. He’d walked up to Antonio with a proud grin spread across his face.
“Antonio,” Emil had called out, his hand ready for a shake.
Antonio had shot him a dirty look. “No autographs today. I don’t do deadbeats,” he’d grumbled and pushed past him.
Apparently, Jackson still held that grudge.
“That was the past. It was complicated. We’ve worked it out,” Emil said, smiling over at Antonio now.
We did? Antonio wondered. He returned a halfhearted smile. He needed this, so whatever hesitancy he was feeling toward Emil, he swallowed it whole. It had no place right now. He’d kept up with Emil over the years. He had done some digging after Emil’s first big trial hit the media. The Feds had thrown all sorts of charges at Emil, including murder and racketeering. Back then, Antonio had become obsessed with the story. He’d watched Emil masterfully turn the Feds’ case on its ear. Antonio had wanted to stay angry at Emil for abandoning him as a child, but somewhere deep inside he was proud of the man. He was proud he had his blood running through his veins.
“I’m excited to have you on board.” Hayden stood and extended his hand toward Antonio. “Whatever Pop wants, I’ll accommodate.”
Antonio shook Hayden’s hand. “I appreciate it.”
Emil watched them, satisfaction easing across his features. His expression quickly changed at the sound of Jackson’s chair hitting the wall when he shot up out of it in a fury.
“You’re making a mistake. All of a sudden he’s your son? This dude thought he was too good when he played in the League. He married into that stuck-up-ass Tillary family, and he couldn’t see himself as your son all these years. So, what changed? He’s working with his father-in-law? That nigga been after you for years!”
They all sat, riveted by Jackson’s angry outburst. Emil was embarrassed, Hayden was slightly amused, and Antonio felt exposed, like he’d been stripped naked in front of a crowd.
Jackson turned his heated gaze toward Antonio. “My father might trust you, but I don’t. I’m the eldest Cartwright heir, I don’t give a fuck what year a whore laid down with my father and decided to—”
Antonio shot up from his chair, his fists balled.
Emil stepped in front of Jackson. “That’s enough. He’s my son, he’s a part of this family, he’s entitled to what I say he’s entitled to, and he works for me now. Just like you. End of discussion.”
Antonio and Jackson’s eyes locked. They were more alike than they knew.
Chapter 4
Faking It
Paige rushed through the huge cherry wood French doors of the Riverdale Country Club. With more faking it to come, her head throbbed. She was late, and she knew how her mother hated her to be late.
Once inside, Paige’s stomach clenched at the sight of all of the extremely rich women milling about in their big hats, sparkly and gaudy estate jewelry, and custom-made dresses and Chanel suits. Paige wanted to vomit. This was real wealth. Old money. This definitely wasn’t rich-because-your-husband-played-sports money or a rich-because-your-mother-married-up type of wealth.
“Ah, Ms. Tillary, we were expecting you,” a tall blonde with a clipboard chimed as soon as Paige approached.
“Roberts,” Paige corrected like she always did. It was like these people only acknowledged that she was the daughter of Gladstone and Lillian Tillary, and not the wife of Antonio Roberts. It was their way of subtly saying they didn’t accept Antonio’s type of money, what they called “new money.”
“Right! Forgive me . . . Mrs. Roberts. Either way, we were expecting you,” the woman feebly corrected.
Paige smiled weakly. She knew by “expecting you” the woman meant expecting her large monetary contribution. Paige still couldn’t say what exactly they did with all those hefty checks they collected every year in the name of charity.
“Has my mother already arrived?” Paige asked, finished with the fake small talk.
“Of course,” the blonde chimed. “Your mother is such a gem.”
Paige grunted. You mean such a big money contributor.
As soon as Paige stepped into the elegantly decorated room, she saw her mother Lillian waving her over to their table. Before now, Paige hadn’t thought anything of the fact that she’d paid $500 for one ticket to the country club’s annual charity tea. But now, that money seemed like a million dollars to her.
“Paigey! You look radiant,” Lillian sang, leaning forward for air kisses on each of Paige’s cheeks.
“You look beautiful too, Mom.” She meant it too. Lillian Tillary, at age sixty-two, was still a stunner. She kept her body in shape, and her face didn’t look older than fifty.
Lillian was a New York City native and the youngest daughter of the wealthy Collette family. Paige had learned early on that her mother had grown up wanting for nothing, even back in the days when black people weren’t expected to have the finer things in life. The one thing Lillian did endure was prejudice inside of her own family. The Collettes were very fair-skinned blacks with wavy hair, and they only married people with the same attributes in order to keep the bloodline pure. Lillian, although light skinned, was not as light as her siblings. Her skin was golden and not as pale, and because of her skin tone, she was often treated differently than her siblings. Lillian’s grandmother even accused her daughter, Paige’s grandmother, of having an affair with a dark-skinned man, and said Lillian was the product of the affair. As with every family, wealthy and poor, the Collette’s had their fair share of secrets and crimes too.
Paige fought hard to plaster on a smile as her mother gushed about the same things she always gushed about: who wore what designer, how much so-and-so contributed this year, who was remarrying, and, of course, how great she was doing in all of this.
Faking it was going to be an art in that moment, and Paige needed to master it. She wondered if her mother could see the distress in her eyes or the sadness dragging down the sides of her face as she pretended that she wasn’t worried as hell about her life.
“Sit. Sit,” Lillian said, pulling out Paige’s chair. Paige sat, feeling like she was already on the hot seat. She immediately wished she had made an excuse not to come.
“This year we stand to raise over four hundred thousand more than last year,” Lillian said excitedly, clasping her hands together. “I know you’re going to bless me with a great contribution, which will just take the totals from my benefactors over the top. I am going to be the highest ranked contributor in our town. I’ve been fighting for years to surpass that damn Cora Pierre,” Lillian continued. These were
other bad habits her mother possessed that Paige knew came from her upbringing: competitiveness and jealousy. Lillian hated for anyone, woman or man, to have more or be more than she was in their vast socialite circle. Lillian actually drove Paige crazy with the constant competition.
Paige picked up the champagne flute sitting in front of her all-crystal place setting. To hell with the tea. Paige needed something much stronger to get through the day. She’d found herself drinking more and more these days.
“So, what’s it going to be this year, sweet daughter?” Lillian chirped, smiling, the light glinting off of her bright white, perfect veneers. She didn’t waste any time getting down to it.
Paige sighed and drained her glass. “Mother, I forgot my checkbook and didn’t realize until I was in the car,” Paige lied. “I will make it up to you. I promise.” She reached over and picked up another champagne flute that obviously wasn’t meant for her.
Lillian’s smile faded into a scowl. She raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to Paige. “What?” she whispered harshly, her eyes darting around to make sure none of the other pretentious women at their table could hear. “Are you saying you came without a check, Paige?” Lillian’s voice was more forceful this time. It reminded Paige of times in her childhood when her mother made her feel like she wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, just not enough.
Paige let out a nervous squeak and then cleared her throat, her telltale sign of guilt since she was a child. Lillian grabbed Paige’s arm and tugged. She whipped her head around and smiled at other bourgeoisie ladies sitting with them, then turned her attention back to Paige. “Paigey, why don’t you walk with me to the loo. I need to freshen up in the powder room,” Lillian said, loud enough for the table to hear. She then chuckled nervously as she gripped Paige’s arm so tight it started throbbing.
Paige stood up reluctantly as her mother practically dragged her from the table to convene in the restroom. Paige felt like a child all over again. Her mother had often made her feel like she wasn’t good enough or like she was a disappointment. When Paige decided to marry Antonio, who her parents thought was beneath her, Lillian stopped speaking to Paige for two months. Paige knew how important appearances were to her mother, but, she’d fallen in love with Antonio, and she wouldn’t compromise her own feelings. Not even for her parents.
* * *
The night that she and Antonio first met, they knew that they had found something special. Even though they were in the middle of a party, Antonio and Paige only had eyes for each other. Her small hand in his big one, they had danced that first song while Rich distracted Michaela with small talk she wasn’t interested in.
“So,” Rich started, “y’all aren’t from around here, are you?” He, unlike Antonio, didn’t care about the feelings of rich girls slumming it.
“Obviously not,” said Michaela, looking at her delicately manicured nails and thinking about how she loved Paige enough to talk to this lame ass boy so that her friend could be happy. But she had been so sure Antonio was looking at her.
Paige felt butterflies in her stomach the whole time she and Antonio swayed back and forth. She was so distracted by how tall he was and how small she felt in his arms she couldn’t even hear the song that was playing, but she trusted him to keep her on the beat. She knew she was safe and protected. Even though she had first thought that the area was dangerous, which it probably was, she felt that with Antonio around, nothing bad would ever happen to her. He looked down at her and tilted his head like he had asked her a question and was waiting for an answer.
“I want to know everything about Paige,” he said. And he smiled.
They talked about where they went to school, both slightly embarrassed to admit it to the other. But it was something that could not be avoided.
“Well,” began Paige, “my name is Paige Tillary—” She stopped as she felt Antonio’s body tense up around her. She almost stumbled on her pumps.
Paige was an illustrious and rich socialite, and Antonio, well, wasn’t. Antonio was waiting for his big break, but as he told Paige, that break wasn’t too far away. He had been training and playing, and recruiters had been calling him. He knew that he was going to do something. But Antonio knew that name. Everyone knew Gladstone Tillary.
“You mean like, Senator Tillary?” asked Antonio. Paige hated that question.
“Yes,” she said. Ever since she was old enough to understand what people were really asking when they brought up her father, she had hated having to explain herself.
“Cool,” Antonio responded, “I’ve never really been into politics, but that must be a fun job.” He felt dumb. He didn’t know what he was saying. Paige moved closer to him, just missing his instep with her small feet. It wouldn’t have hurt him anyway.
She was surprised. Pleased even. Antonio, for all intents and purposes, had gotten his answer and let it go. Most people lingered with it, asking dumb and frustrating questions about what it must be like to have grown up in a house based on appearances how she did, or who her parents had to pay off so that she could have a spot at Riverdale. It was enough to have low self-esteem, another to have it based entirely on someone else. But for the first time, in Antonio, she had found someone who didn’t seem to care. Or so she thought.
“Come on,” interrupted Rich, leaving Michaela by herself still looking at her nails. “We gotta go,” he said, pulling Antonio away from Paige. It seemed that maybe Rich was the one who was really calling the shots.
“Hold up,” Antonio said, pulling a pen out of his pocket. Paige smiled. She had never been as bold as she was about to be. She grabbed the pen out of his hand.
“Call me,” Paige sang while writing her number across his arm. Antonio looked stunned, like she had just punched him in the stomach. She thought it was cute and dorky, and it only endeared him to her more.
“I will,” he winked.
* * *
The door slammed, and inside the fancy bathroom, Lillian smiled at a few wrinkled, rich women and waited for them to leave. She turned on Paige so fast her head could’ve snapped from her neck.
“What is going on, Paige?” Lillian asked, almost through her teeth.
“I told you,” Paige fidgeted as sweat made her underarms itch.
“You told me a pack of lies. That’s what you told me. Now out with it. Nothing less than the truth.” Lillian folded her arms across her chest and tapped her left foot against the floor tiles.
Paige’s shoulders slumped, and she sidestepped so she didn’t have to look her mother in the eyes. She kicked off her heels, closed her eyes, and sighed loudly. She was always bad at lying, much less holding up under her mother’s scrutiny.
“Well?” Lillian pressed. “I am listening.”
“Ugh! Mother! Why do you have to know everything? This is the first year I didn’t contribute since I’ve been married and out on my own. Is it such a crime? I forgot my checkbook. Sheesh! Will you die if your daughter doesn’t come with a check for this bullshit?” Paige raised her voice, and it shook as she spoke. Her little outburst did not faze her mother one bit.
“Don’t try to deflect this onto me, Paige. The first year you’re not contributing is a problem. I know you better than—”
“Just stop. I know,” Paige interjected rudely. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.” She shook her head in disgust. “That’s everyone’s problem. Everyone knows Paige better than Paige. Well, think again! No one knows me!”
“What is this all about, Paige?” Lillian softened her voice. “I won’t give up until you tell me what’s going on.” Lillian dropped her arms in an attempt to show she was being more supportive. It worked to ease Paige’s anxiety.
“Antonio—”
“I knew it,” Lillian jumped in. She couldn’t help it. She blamed Antonio for anything that went wrong in Paige’s life.
“Let me finish!” Paige snapped. “Geez. You don’t know everything. Damn.”
Lillian’s eyes went wide, but her lips closed. Paig
e started speaking. As she listened, Lillian squeezed her eyes shut and let out a few gasps as Paige filled her in about her and Antonio’s financial crisis.
“And just why the hell didn’t you come to us?”
“Because, mother . . . for once, I want to let my husband take care of his family without handouts.”
Paige couldn’t look her mother in the eyes, so she stared down at her toes.
“I will not have my grandson on the verge of homelessness. What will everyone think if they find out you’re broke? Paige, this is unacceptable. You’ll be in a shelter. You’ll have to beg on the streets. . . .”
“Oh my God, you’re so dramatic,” Paige replied, shaking her head. “Our broke is not the same as being impoverished, and you know it. We will work it out.” Even Paige didn’t believe that when she said it.
Lillian giggled, trying to lighten the mood. “What do you need? I can try to help.”
“No. I don’t want your money and you ab-so-lutely cannot, I repeat, cannot tell Daddy.”
Lillian seemed to contemplate Paige’s request. “Well, what’s the compromise, Paige? I’ll not have you out here hungry and destitute. I cannot afford for the elites to find out you’re broke. Not my daughter.”
“Will you stop making it seem like we are about to be sleeping on a corner with a cardboard sign and cup, please?”
“I won’t tell your father if you agree to go to your grandmother and get a loan. I probably can’t pull out anything outside of my monthly allowance these days, but your grandmother will help you. You know how she feels about you . . . her little light bright child, as she calls you.”
Paige rolled her eyes. She knew her mother wouldn’t tell her father, but she also knew if she didn’t do what Lillian said and go to her grandmother for some emergency money, Lillian would drive her completely crazy until she did.
“Okay. I will.”
“Good,” Lillian said, letting out a relieved breath. “But you’re not off the hook. Didn’t I teach you anything growing up?”
Paige rolled her eyes. She knew what was coming. “What now?”