“Why the fuck haven’t I heard from you in three years?” Grelle jerked her head toward Janiyah.
“Grelle, I meant to check on you, but—” Janiyah tried to explain, but she was cut off when Grelle started her engine and quickly backed out of her parking space.
“Girl, you haven’t been checking on me since I told you that Trap got shot up in that hotel in Greensboro.” Grelle told the truth as she found her way to I-40. “I mean, you were there for me for the funeral and shit, but then you went ghost.”
“Okay,” Janiyah said, “you do realize that I was locked up?”
Janiyah looked down and realized she had Grelle’s iPad in her lap. She looked through the Kindle app to see if her girl had any good e-books to read. Other than Carl Weber’s Kingpins series, she didn’t recognize any of the authors her girl was reading up on. That was one thing she had missed about Grelle: They used to talk about hot books.
“All right, you have a point there. But how come you never even told me about you getting locked up? And then I had to go about things myself to find out about when you were getting out.” Grelle blew her frustration on the horn as Raleigh traffic came to a slowdown. The cars surrounding her were moving slower than molasses, and the cars were literally bumper to bumper. “And you know my uncle is one of the COs. I heard they were trying to do some real damage to you in there.”
“They tried, but they didn’t succeed.” Janiyah wanted to reveal her plan, but she didn’t know Grelle’s true motive just yet. She wanted to think she wasn’t in danger because her arms and feet weren’t bound and her mouth wasn’t taped shut. Grelle had her gun in her lap, but Janiyah didn’t want to take the risk of trying to get it.
So she tried a different approach. “Why did you grab me? How did you know I was getting out today?” Janiyah looked at the skyline she had seen a thousand times between The Real Housewives of the Triangle and the numerous local romance movies that played on BET in the prison rec room.
“I just told you my uncle is a CO. He always kept me filled in on the shit going on with you in there. I showed up today ’cause I wanted you to look me in my eyes and explain to me why you kept me in the dark. Bitch, I coulda kept money in your commissary and had someone telling you how to make makeup from Kool-Aid packets so you coulda stunted on them bitches like Orange is the New Black and shit. And please tell me one of those bull-dyke bitches didn’t try to slip their dusty fingers all up in you, ’cause I can go back and shoot a bitch,” Grelle answered as she reached in the backseat and grabbed a copy of Watch Out for the Big Girls by J. M. Benjamin.
“Well, I . . .” Janiyah tried to come up with a lie on the spot but found herself tongue-tied. Normally, she’d be able to spin a story off the cuff, but she couldn’t get her facts straight in front of Grelle for some reason. Truth was, the only person she’d kept in contact with over the last three years was Gun.
“I thought we were friends, Janiyah, but I gotta go and hear about you stabbing a photographer and getting arrested from that rusty-ass assistant Brianna. Even though I don’t like her, she knew the whole story, so my ass had to sit there and pretend like we cool and all just to get the scoop on what’s going on with my best friend.”
“You know what, Grelle? The knife cuts both ways. If you’re telling me you knew all this and was even keeping tabs on me in there, how come you never came to see me?” Janiyah snapped and focused on the iPad. She opened the e-book and started reading a few pages. When she had first heard about the electronic devices, she wasn’t interested in them, but while she was in the women’s prison, all she could think about was getting her hands on an iPad so she could read books, play music, and try to get her business plan in order. Janiyah had no plans to sit on her ass and wait on an opportunity to come to her.
Traffic started to pick up a little, and Grelle guided her BMW west. “Because I was hurt that you left me out of it. Why did you keep it a secret, was what I’m trying to get at. I’m supposed to be your friend, and a bitch didn’t like being the last to know.”
“Okay, so I didn’t reach out to you and you didn’t reach out to me, so I guess that makes us even,” Janiyah responded. She really wasn’t in the mood to sit there and argue back and forth, “Yes, you are my best friend, and I should’ve filled you in on everything. What’s done is done, though, so let’s just move on. We good?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Grelle said after sucking her teeth. She wasn’t ready to stop talking about it, but she knew her friend had a point in that they needed to just let things go and move on.
“Where are you taking me?” Janiyah questioned.
“Against my better judgment, I’m taking you to Nisa Isley in Greensboro. She asked Gun about you, and she offered to help you get your career back on track. I only found out she was in town because she called Gun to check on you.”
Janiyah felt like a bad friend now. Grelle had done all of that just to help her get her life back together, even though Janiyah had pretty much written her out of her life the last three years. Not too many people in the industry reached out to her to find out how she was doing, if she was okay, or anything like that. Janiyah knew Grelle kept it one hundred and told the truth. Janiyah’s plan was coming together much sooner and in a way she hadn’t expected. Grelle was doing for her what Gun always did: saving her from her enemies. Grelle really was a good friend, because Janiyah could picture in her head how much money she must have turned down. Janiyah was grateful to have a friend like Grelle.
“So what do we do?” Janiyah asked, exhausted. In the back of her mind, she was trying to decide if she should go back to New York, and if so, how she was going to get in touch with someone who was going to help her.
Chapter Eight
“Watch where the hell you’re going!” a woman screamed at Janiyah after bumping into her. The woman was barreling down the busy sidewalk of Friendly Avenue, pushing people to the side like a bulldozer.
The walkways of Greensboro stayed busy at the right time of the year. Being pushed, shoved, pulled, and grabbed was not an uncommon occurrence. In the few days Janiyah had been home, she’d grown accustomed to the fast pace and often rudeness that came with being in G-Boro. She refused let the haughty and mightier-than-thou attitudes make her break a sweat. She needed to keep the focus on her goals, not the petty stuff these people were dealing. As long as none of these street thugs tried to snatch her purse or openly cop a feel, she didn’t have a single care to give. And even if someone did try to do something, she doubted she’d do much about it. With her being so fresh out of prison, there wasn’t anything important in her purse, and a little butt-grabbing never hurt nobody. It would feel a whole lot better than those strip searches she was forced to endure during her time away. Walking down the street, these people must have thought they were New Yorkers as they walked around as if the world belonged to them, and there was no way of telling who the punks were and who the aggressors were. Both wore the same outfits.
Janiyah quickly turned to look at the woman. Her impulse was to “accidentally” push the woman back. The problem was that Janiyah couldn’t actually be sure who the perpetrator was. The night skyline concealed her identity as she walked past. There was a full-figured white chick in a loose-fitting blue blouse and skin-tight jeans who was on her phone talking shit to somebody about how she was going to beat somebody’s ass. A part of Janiyah wanted to run up on her and trip her and watch her jelly roll down the block. Yet, Janiyah couldn’t prove that it wasn’t the skinny black thing with a huge Afro who appeared to be sashaying like she was RuPaul. It occurred to Janiyah that whoever it was that bumped into her might just have been in a hurry to get somewhere. She cut her eyes and shook her head, deciding to just keep it moving.
The sounds and smells emanating from the various restaurants along the street reminded her of the great times she’d had with Gun. There were so many different cuisines being represented: Indian, Jamaican, Spanish, Italian. Janiyah had missed this while she was locked up. It re
minded Janiyah of all the fabulous trips she and Gun used to take. From the first day they met, he treated her like a queen and loved to wine and dine her. A trip to a luxurious island in the Caribbean, or the Straits of Gibraltar between Spain and Morocco, or any of the locations off the Mediterranean Sea were regular vacation spots. She tried to discourage him from spending so much money on her, but Gun swore up and down that it wasn’t setting him back. He was adamant about taking her around the world. Janiyah was known to royalty and the world’s wealthy alike, and she and Gun were never alone when they decided to travel the world.
The infectious reggae tune blaring from a barber shop competed against horns coming from impatient cars and Uber drivers waiting to get to their destinations. The $20 bill rubbing against Janiyah’s breast reminded her she couldn’t afford a cab even if she wanted to. Janiyah thought about the few fives and tens crumpled at the bottom of her purse. It was literally all the money she had at the moment. She was in dire straits and needed a come up, right quick.
A vendor hawking copies of the latest urban fiction and other African American books caught her attention. Her eyes zeroed in on the copies of Whose Life II stacked front and center on the table. While one man had two copies of the book in his hand, handing over some bills for the exchange, Janiyah noticed three young black girls scanning the pages. Janiyah smiled. This was all the confirmation she needed to know her next move was to make her story go to print. Dollar signs danced in her head.
“I see my wife.”
Janiyah heard his voice. She turned around and was so happy to see her husband. She ran to him and gave him a hug.
“Girl, it’s been too long.”
“Yeah, it has.” She hugged him tight. “How come you had Grelle come and get me instead of you picking me up?”
“Because I knew if Grelle picked you up, your money would have been your focus. If I had picked you up, we’d be screaming and hollering in some hotel in Raleigh somewhere.”
“True.” Janiyah didn’t bother to deny it. Just holding him had her wanting to get him inside of her. She needed to feel her husband throbbing inside, pulsating, confirming that she was still wanted as a woman.
“And I trust that your meeting with Nisa Isley went well,” Gun said.
“Yeah, I got a photo shoot tomorrow.” Janiyah still couldn’t believe it. She had met with the elderly oriental lady, who was impressed that she kept her figure while she was locked up and that she didn’t have too many battle scars to worry about. “She even likes my mane.... You know I call her Chaka.” Janiyah patted her hair.
Gun chuckled. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Get me into a room and you won’t have to wonder.”
Gun grabbed her hand and gave her a kiss. “I’m glad I talked Grelle into bringing you to her shop in the Friendly Shopping Center. I felt that if you came here and saw all the stores and really had a chance to sit down with her, you’d make a decision you wouldn’t regret.”
“And trust me, I don’t.” Janiyah kissed him back. “Now, can we head to the hotel?”
Chapter Nine
One Year Later
Flash, flash, flash.
Janiyah worked to time the blinks of her eyelashes so that the sharp beams emitting from the photographer’s Cannon T5i DSLR camera wouldn’t blind her. She wanted to rub her eyes to deal with the burgeoning headache that seemed to get bigger by the second. Janiyah needed an ibuprofen, but since it was her first shoot since her release, she wasn’t about to stop in the middle because of a little headache. She needed to make sure she left a great impression so this job would lead to many more.
Her arm was getting tired of holding onto her hip, and the four-inch red bottoms were working a number on her spine, legs, and feet. Janiyah had forgotten the stamina needed for an entire day-long photo shoot.
And plus, a big girl needed a break.
“Good, Janiyah! Keep up the pose!” the photographer shouted over the noise of the huge fan. Her hair had taken flight and moved as if it were going to fly off her head.
Why don’t you strike a pose? Janiyah wanted to ask, but she kept quiet. Her focus was on making sure she didn’t break a sweat. She could still smell the Rogue Love by Rhianna lotion that she wore, and Secret was keeping her secret under her arms. With all the heat in such a compact space, she didn’t want to give out and have to take a break to freshen up.
Janiyah found it funny that most of the people behind the camera couldn’t do poetry with her body the way she could, yet they were able to command her like a drill sergeant giving orders to a private.
“Okay, to the left,” the photographer directed with both a verbal and a visual cue.
Another order. Janiyah quickly followed the prompt and got into position.
Flash, flash, flash.
Janiyah really wasn’t enjoying her photo shoot with this particular photographer, but for now she was going to keep her mouth shut and her temper in check. She was in no position to start making demands. It had been a year since she’d been back in the real world, and she had been getting a lot of jobs to get her career back on track, but she still wasn’t quite back at the top. A lot of things had changed during her three-year stint in prison. Vine and Instagram had seen the birth of many overnight sensations. Regular, round the way girls were now “Insta-famous” and being offered modeling and endorsement gigs based on the amount of followers they had on Instagram, Facebook, and even Vine. Some girls were even getting paid just to post amateur pictures of themselves using company products.
Right before the situation happened with Janiyah, she was gaining a large following on her Instagram page. With her being gone for so long, Gun deactivated her account because there was little she could do to keep it going. This past year, her primary focus had been to get back on the pages and become relevant again. Her Instagram page was booming again, and her phone was ringing constantly. She was proud of herself for getting back out there, and she was being extra careful to keep the momentum going for herself. The last thing she needed was to get snippy with a photographer and for rumors to start circulating that she was difficult to work with or too much of a diva.
She couldn’t remember the photographer’s name at the moment. Since he wasn’t all too friendly, she had forgotten his name as soon as he introduced himself. In Janiyah’s opinion, the photographer was inexperienced. He was rushing shots and not communicating clearly. As the man would ask her to get into this position or that pose, he’d be snapping random shots. She thought the flash was on too bright, and he could’ve turned off some of the lights. Still, Janiyah continued smiling and posing, working diligently to follow the nonverbal cues the photographer continued to give her.
“We’re almost done. You’re doing great.” The photographer encouraged her and gave a visual prompt to turn around.
That was the nicest he’d been to her throughout the shoot. Janiyah felt herself tremble as her heel started to sink into the floor. She wanted to look down to see if it was broken, but she didn’t dare break her stride.
“A couple more pictures. Maybe we can get some of you and your husband before the day is over,” the photographer suggested.
They’d been at this shoot all day, and after fifteen outfit changes, she was happy it was almost over. They were shooting for a magazine that catered to full-figured career women, but Janiyah couldn’t remember which one. She did remember that she’d collect a check after the shoot and that the magazine agreed to highlight women of faith—full-figured women of faith, that is—single ministers and power couples who were moving up and pushing fame and faith to their limits.
Janiyah looked at her husband. The appeal of another photo shoot with one of the most popular up and coming, well-respected youth pastor in the state brought a smile to her face. Gun had undergone a full transformation over the last year and a half. He had found his calling as a youth pastor, and aside from helping with his wife’s career, his job as a youth pastor was his priority. Because of his p
ast and his “rough around the edges” type of attitude, young adolescents were very drawn to him. They loved to hear about his life experiences and were very receptive to hear what he had to say about God, Christianity, and how they could make better choices for their lives.
Janiyah, too, had become a member of the church and was also dedicated to supporting her husband in this new chapter in his life. She had also made a decision to give her life to God and had developed a true passion for serving in the community. Like Oz and Gun, she had been enlightened and awoken to a newfound faith. Her mind, heart, and soul had been reset, and she loved working alongside her husband in the church. She was amazed at how fast things had developed for them in the church congregation. Gun completed his six-month course to become a certified youth pastor with such ease, it was as if he were born for it.
Flash, flash, flash.
“I just need one more angle and you are done, Janiyah.”
And that’s when the photographer’s name hit her: Cable. It was actually Jeriah Cable, but he preferred to go by his last name. The man was surprisingly thick, not rotund or overly obese like the Fat Albert cartoon character, but Cable had a little stomach pouch that a few crunches, situps, trips to the gym, and a small diet could cure. His arms were rippled like a G. I. Joe action figure, which Janiyah found complemented his square face.
Cable pointed his finger at Gun and motioned for him to join Janiyah in front of the camera. Janiyah shook her head at his unprofessionalism. Pointing then directing was not the way one asked for something to be done. Janiyah took note of that as the heat continued to rise, and she noticed her foundation breaking as she started to sweat on her cheek and jawbone.
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