“Umm, excuse me, is Eddie here?” Bleu asked.
“Eddie’s never here, sweetheart, but I could probably get him to come and help out if he knew a hot young thing like you was asking for him,” the waitress said. She moved with swiftness behind the counter as Bleu followed her. “Who are you?”
“My name is Bleu,” she answered as she practically chased her around the restaurant, trying to hold a conversation as the lady worked.
“Well, Bleu, if you are going to follow me, you might as well carry something,” the lady said. “Here.” She handed Bleu two plates and then grabbed four and with perfect balance headed to a table. “How do you know Eddie?”
“He was my cabbie the other night. He told me about this place. Said his wife owns it. Are you his wife?” Bleu asked.
“Marta,” she said.
“Marta, I don’t really need Eddie; I just came to see if you were hiring,” Bleu said. “I’m a student and I could really use the money.”
Marta stopped walking and wiped her brow with the back of her arm as she exhaled.
“This is family owned and run,” Marta replied. “I work the floor and the cash register and my mama and papa cook the food. That’s how it has been for ten years.”
Bleu looked around at the packed establishment. “It seems like you could use an extra waitress. Or at least a dishwasher? I’ll do whatever. I just need a job. I came out to California with nothing. I didn’t know how expensive dreams are out here,” she said.
The desperation in her eyes shone brightly. It was enough for Marta to sympathize with the young woman.
“Where are you from?” Marta asked.
“Michigan,” Bleu responded.
Marta wiped her hands on her apron and then placed one hand on her hip. “Long way from home. How old are you?” she asked.
“Eighteen,” Bleu answered.
“Fine,” Marta answered in exasperation, giving in. “You can take orders, bus tables, help with dishes and trash. I’ll pay you ten dollars an hour and not a penny more. You get to keep your tips.”
Bleu’s face melted into a smile of relief. It wasn’t much, but her pockets would have more than lint in them, and for that she was grateful.
“Thank you,” Bleu said.
“You’re in school, right?” Marta asked. She was all business. A dark-haired, tan-toned Mexican woman, she wore her aging beauty well. She was fast talking and even faster moving; the crow’s-feet around her eyes were every indication of how much sweat she had put into her business. Bleu could tell that the restaurant was Marta’s baby.
“Yes, UCLA,” Bleu answered.
“You can work nights then,” Marta said. “There’s an apron and an order pad in the back. You can start now. You don’t work the register. I’m the only one who touches it, comprende?”
“Yeah, I got you,” Bleu answered.
She pulled her hair up into a loose ponytail and retrieved the apron, wrapping it around her waist and sticking the pad inside. The restaurant was crazy busy, and as soon as she hit the floor it seemed as if she were pulled in a million different directions.
The location of the restaurant made it a popular choice with the night crowd. In the middle of West Hollywood, it was an after-hours hot spot when the clubs let out. The fact that it was an authentic Mexican family-owned business only added to its charm. It wasn’t much, but it was a job.
Customers flowed in and out of Picante all night until finally at 2:00 a.m. they closed.
Bleu sighed in exhaustion as Marta walked up behind her. “I think you will work out well. I didn’t realize how much help I needed until now. Go home; get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow … six o’clock,” Marta said.
Bleu nodded and then lifted her head when she heard the bell above the door ring.
“I’m sorry, we’re—” She stopped speaking when she looked into his gray eyes. He was average height, but he had a big man’s swag. His brown skin was smooth like cocoa, and the outline of his full lips enticed her. His attire was simple … designer khaki shorts and a sleeveless Lakers tank with fresh sneaks. A chunky diamond link rested against his shirt, his only accessory. She was speechless. His presence dwarfed her as he stood before her, handsome, suave, yet humble all at once. His arms and neck were covered in tattooed sleeves, roughening his pretty image slightly.
“We? I’m sorry, ma, but who are you?” he asked.
Marta came walking out of the back and answered the question for Bleu. “This is Bleu. I hired her.”
“I’ve been telling you to get help around here for two years and out of nowhere you hire someone new?” he asked with a slight smile.
“She was persistent,” Marta answered. Marta turned to Bleu and made the introduction. “Bleu, this is my nephew, Iman.”
“Nice to meet you, beautiful,” he said. There it was. The insincerity that came along with fine men like him. She had heard it all from his type. The lines. The flirtation. The whack little come-ons. It was all so predictable, no wonder all the ugly niggas were pulling all the women. They were the only ones with originality.
She pulled her lips together in a fake smile and replied, “You too.” Just like that she was uninterested. She turned to Marta. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Marta.”
“Have a good night, Bleu,” she returned.
Bleu walked out into the night air, relieved. All she wanted was a shower and her bed. She smelled like beer and corn chips. She had never worked so hard for $60 in her life. Those were her meager earnings for the night, and as much as she wanted to complain, she didn’t. Sixty dollars would buy the linens she needed for her bed and towels for her showers. She had nothing, and anything was better than that. She looked up and down the block. The emptiness reminded her that the buses had stopped running hours before. She was too broke for a cab and she doubted that she would find another cabbie as friendly as Eddie had been. It would be a long walk back to campus. Her tired feet ached in protest as she started down the block. Just as she started off she felt a car pull up alongside her. She kept her head straight as the car crept. I probably look like a hooker, she thought as she picked up her pace. “Bleu! Do you need a ride?”
Marta’s voice caused her to stop. Iman and Marta sat in the car awaiting her answer. “No, I’m good. Thank you,” she said, too proud to accept.
“You can’t walk all the way to UCLA, mami. Please get in the car. Iman can drop you off after he takes me home,” Marta reasoned.
“I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” Bleu said as she continued to walk slowly. “I promise you, I’m fine. It’s a nice night. I’ll walk for a little while and then catch a cab the rest of the way.”
The car stopped and Iman hopped out as Marta moved into the driver’s seat. Bleu stopped walking as he approached and Marta pulled away. “What are you doing? Where is she going?”
“Home. There was no way she was letting me pull off and leave you out here this late at night, and since you weren’t getting in the car…”
“This is stupid. You don’t have to walk me,” she answered persistently.
“Are you always this combative?” he asked with a smile.
“Usually,” she admitted, causing him to laugh.
“The pretty girls usually are,” he answered. She blushed and lowered her head, not sure of how to respond. That line was a little original; okay, playboy, I see you, she thought, making herself chuckle slightly.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. “Nothing,” she responded.
He started walking, hands stuffed in his pockets as he strolled with a cool confidence by her side. “How did you get my aunt to hire you? She doesn’t trust anyone with her restaurant. She wouldn’t even let me bus tables, so how does a complete stranger win her over?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess good people just recognize good people.”
“That makes me bad people?” he asked, placing his hand over his heart as i
f she had wounded him.
She smiled and shook her head. “No, bad people don’t get out of a new Mercedes to make sure that a random girl makes it home.”
“So, tell me the truth. Why are we really walking?” he asked.
“I don’t have money for cab fare. I barely had enough to catch the bus down here. I guess I didn’t think of how I would get back,” she admitted.
“That’s a lot of trouble for a waitressing job at a taco spot,” he answered, trying to figure her out.
“Yeah, well, I need the money, so…” She shrugged without finishing her statement. She didn’t expect a guy like Iman to understand. He smelled like money. “A Richie Rich type like you wouldn’t get it. I’ve got to work for everything I get. No silver spoons over here.”
He stopped walking and grabbed her elbow to make her face him. “I understand, ma, and I respect it.”
Those gray eyes pulled her in as she stared at his handsome features.
Suddenly he raised his arm, signaling the lone cab that was driving down the street. The driver pulled over and rolled down his window. “I’m not working! Taking it in for the night!”
Iman pulled out a Gotti knot, revealing the cash to the driver, enticing him to stop. It was true what they said; money made the world go round, because just like that the cabdriver was suddenly willing to pick up one last fare. Iman peeled off two hundred-dollar bills. “Get her where she has to go, a’ight?” He leaned down over the car and passed the money through the passenger window. Opening the back door, he held it open for her.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said. “What about you?”
“I’ll catch the next one,” he said. “Where are you going?”
“Rieber Hall,” she responded.
He leaned down and looked at the cabbie. “You hear that, my man? UCLA, Rieber Hall.”
The man nodded and Bleu walked over to the door, hesitating as she stared him directly in the face. “Thank you,” she said.
He gave her a wink, his charm undeniably sexy, as he replied, “Good night, Bleu.”
She waved to him just before the cab pulled away, secretly wishing that they had taken that long walk to campus. He was someone she wouldn’t mind spending a little extra time with. She wouldn’t mind that at all.
* * *
Morning came too quickly and classes moved along too slowly as Bleu struggled through the entire day. She hadn’t made it home until after 3:00 a.m., and with her first class being an early one it left little room for sleep. She was exhausted and on top of that distracted. She didn’t know how she would balance everything out, but she knew that she would have to figure something out. She didn’t come from money. There was no support system back in Flint, rooting her on and sending her care packages. All she had was herself, so she would have to play superwoman if she wanted to remain in L.A.
She made the long walk back to her dorm grudgingly, and when she arrived she stopped dead in her tracks. The familiar face immediately caused butterflies to form in her stomach. Iman stood, leaning against his white S-class Mercedes, arms folded across his chest. He wore Ray-Ban shades over his eyes and a fitted cap, but she immediately knew who he was. It was his aura that gave him away. She had never met a man who carried himself quite like Iman. He was a god, living among mortals. He was everything, and she instantly swooned over him in her mind. The giddy feeling that she got when in his presence told her she was feeling him more than a little bit, but she would never admit it aloud.
She frowned in confusion as she approached him slowly.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“It’s a long walk to work. Let me take you,” he replied.
“You came all the way here to take me to work? You didn’t—”
“Have to,” he finished for her. “I know. Are we going to repeat last night or are you going to get in?”
“I don’t have to be there until six. You’re kind of early,” she said as she grabbed at the straps of her backpack.
“Then let’s grab some food or something beforehand,” he offered.
“Lunch?” She was unsure of his intentions and of her own, in fact. What was this? Why was he going out of his way to be nice? Where she was from, niggas who were that friendly wanted only one thing in return, and she wasn’t paying her debts in pussy.
“It’s just a meal, ma. It doesn’t take that much thought,” he said. Her uncertainty was written on her face, and he was perceptive to her doubts.
She looked down at her clothes. The sweatpants and tank top she had thrown on before rushing to class instantly filled her with embarrassment. He had caught her at her worst.
She pointed back at her dorm. “I just need to change. Do you want to come up?”
Iman gazed up at the building and then at Bleu. He nodded. “A’ight.” He tossed his keys to a student who was walking by. The kid snatched them out of midair and looked at Iman, baffled.
“Bro?” the blond surfer boy asked as he held his hand up in confusion.
Iman pulled off a few hundred-dollar bills and placed them in the guy’s hand. “Watch my car. I won’t be long.”
“Bet, bro. Thanks,” the guy said in shock as he stuffed the money in his pocket.
Bleu shook her head as Iman came to her side. “You just have nothing better to do with your money, do you?”
“I could think of a few ways to put it to better use, but I don’t think you would accept,” he said slyly.
She stopped walking as she turned to him, slightly offended. “I’m not for sale.”
“Girls like you usually aren’t,” he said. “I was talking about shopping, ma.”
“Handbags and red bottoms won’t work on me either,” she replied.
“Who said I was trying to work on you?” he asked with a slick grin. The way his eyes creased when he smiled made Bleu’s panties moist. He was too damned handsome for his own good, and he knew it. Oddly enough, she liked his cool air of confidence. It wasn’t overbearing or obnoxious. He intrigued her with just the right amount of chivalry while still keeping his gangster.
“Now, if you throw dollars at my tuition bill, I’ll twerk a little something for you,” she joked.
He laughed, surprised. “So there’s a sense of humor behind the hard façade?” he asked.
She cut her eyes at him and smiled before sashaying in front of him, headed for her room.
She walked inside. “You can sit on my bed,” she said. He looked around at her bare walls, her bare bed. It didn’t even seem like she had fully moved in yet. He took a seat as she she grabbed a simple sundress before rushing into the bathroom.
Bleu could have slapped herself when she looked in the mirror. She was just plain. Ponytail, no earrings, bags under her tired eyes. She couldn’t believe he had seen her so rough. The fuck? she thought in frustration. His interest in her seemed odd, and she couldn’t help but think he had a hidden agenda. He could undoubtedly have any girl in L.A. Maybe he is just being nice. Why would he be interested? she thought to herself. There was no umph, no glamour, no nothing about her that could possibly keep his attention. Marta probably sent him here today. Bleu slipped into the dress, her curves filling it out as they formed a dangerous silhouette. She left her hair in the high ponytail but switched it to a large bun and then added a pair of large hoop earrings. Within minutes she was ready, and when she emerged from the bathroom she held out her arms for inspection.
His smile was all the approval she needed as she followed him to the door. He held it open for her, and before she walked through it she said, “Keep your eyes off my ass.”
He laughed and shook his head. “That mouth real slick. A nigga can’t even be nice,” he said.
“Where I’m from accepting something nice from someone turns into a debt, and dudes back my way only want that debt paid one way,” she replied honestly. She rolled her eyes and began to walk away until she felt his hand pulling her back. He pinned her against her door, standing so close that she
became intoxicated by his Ralph Lauren cologne.
“I’m not that guy,” he said. She felt the familiar bulge of a pistol that was tucked in a holster at his waistline, and her eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t pegged him as the type. His pretty-boy skater image had her confused, but clearly he had an edge to him and if she walked too closely to that edge, she could see herself falling … hard.
“For every guy that says that, there is at least one girl who would say otherwise. I don’t trust words. I trust actions,” she replied.
He nodded in understanding as he stepped back, giving her space. “I got you. I get it. Now can we go eat?”
Riding shotgun in his luxury whip, she stuck her hand out of the window as the wind blew through her hair.
“Where are we going? We’ve passed like ten restaurants,” she said.
“I’m taking you to the beach. They ain’t got those in Michigan, right?” he joked.
She cut her eyes and pursed her lips. “We have beaches,” she replied sarcastically.
“Nah, those ain’t beaches. If it ain’t salt in the water it’s just pretend,” he replied, his eyes hidden behind his designer shades.
“I don’t have that much time. I’ve got to be at work in an hour,” she protested.
“Don’t worry about work. You’re with me, you’re good,” he answered.
As soon as he pulled up to the beach she immediately understood why Michigan beaches weren’t worthy of the title. It was beautiful. Palm trees and tan sand were the backdrop to the light waves that broke at the shoreline. The pier stretched out into the water for what seemed like miles as happy faces skated and fraternized around her. There was no barbecuing, or project babies running around in soggy diapers. No 40-ounce Cîroc bottles in red coolers or picnic tables. It was just pure beauty all around her. Carefree and happy people, doing California shit. This was the life that she imagined before she moved west.
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