Snapped

by Tracy Brown

  But Gillian wasn’t smiling. And neither was Frankie. Camille cleared her throat.

  “Okay, baby, let’s leave them alone to talk about it. You two have a good night,” she said, moving toward the door.

  Frankie didn’t move. He stood his ground, staring at Gillian and then glancing briefly at Sadiq before looking at Gillian once again. He leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear, “I’m gonna drop Camille off and then I’ll be back. Wait for me.”

  Gillian nodded, eager to explain to Frankie that she wasn’t the least bit concerned about Sadiq’s lateness. The only thing troubling her was that Frankie kept parading his phony wife around her. She decided that she would lay all her cards on the table once he dropped Camille off. Frankie gave one last menacing glance at Sadiq before he joined his wife at the door.

  In the car, Camille couldn’t wait to start asking questions. “What was all that about?”

  Frankie started the car and looked ahead, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know. She seems upset.”

  Camille nodded. “Yeah, I saw that. But what was all that about, Frankie?” She was getting more and more pissed by the minute.

  “All what?” Frankie wasn’t in the mood for this shit right now. “I told you that Gillian is my best friend. Don’t you think if one of your friends was upset you would wanna know what’s the problem?”

  Camille shook her head and looked out the window. “How the hell do you think that makes me feel?” she asked.

  Frankie sighed loudly. “What? How what makes you feel? Me asking my friend if she’s all right?”

  Camille shook her head again. “No. Me hearing my husband refer to another woman as his best friend. I’m supposed to be your best friend, Frankie. Not some other woman who hardly even speaks to me when she sees me!”

  “Come on!” Frankie said, looking at her like she was crazy. “She speaks to you, she smiles at you, all that. You’re making shit up now.”

  “Really?” Camille asked incredulously. “I imagine a lot of things, I guess. Like you whispering in her ear before you left. Do you know how fucking disrespectful that was, Frankie?” Camille couldn’t hold back any longer. Frankie had embarrassed her, leaving her waiting for him to leave with her while he tended to another woman’s emotional needs. She was livid. “Do you know how embarrassing that shit was for me, for Sadiq? Do you even care?”

  “Fuck Sadiq!”

  “Fuck Sadiq, huh? What’s really going on, Frankie?” He didn’t answer, and it only made her angrier. “Huh? You fucking her? Tell me now!”

  Frankie laughed, shook his head in dismay, and ignored his wife.

  “You can’t even deny it, can you?” Camille was devastated. Tears fell from her eyes, and she didn’t bother to wipe them as she imagined Frankie in the arms of someone else. “I heard her on your damn voice mail, Frankie! Talking about kissing my muthafuckin’ husband!”

  He glanced over at her and grew angrier by the second. “What are you talking about?” He was yelling, and his voice reverberated in the Bentley. He thought Camille had lost her mind. He had gotten no such voice mail from Gillian—at least, not as far as he knew.

  “I checked your voice mail, Frankie. And I heard Gillian saying that she can’t stop thinking about that kiss at fucking B. Smith’s. She said she was jealous when you brought me to Thanksgiving dinner at Nobles’s house. Now, I want you to tell me why you betrayed me!”

  Frankie gripped the wheel tighter, seething. “You checked my messages, Camille?”

  She was crying now and didn’t care whether or not he was pissed that she had busted him. “You’re damn right I did.”

  Frankie let her cry and they rode in silence all the way home. He thought about what she said, and figured that Gillian must have left him the message earlier that day while he was putting in an appearance at his barber shop. Obviously, that was why she had seemed so distant all night. He didn’t know which emotion was stronger—his happiness that Gillian had been thinking about that night at the restaurant, or his rage that Camille had been spying on him. By the time they got home, Frankie was furious and Camille was distraught.

  Frankie pulled the car into the driveway, screeching to a halt and causing Camille to lurch forward slightly in her seat. Before she could protest, Frankie had climbed the stairs leading to their opulent home two at time. She followed closely behind him and watched him charge straight upstairs to their bedroom. He began to pack his things, and, once again, Camille began to cry.

  “You leaving me for this bitch now, Frankie?”

  He looked at her as if he wanted to jump on her and wring her neck. “I never fucked Gillian, Camille.” He put his hand on the Bible that sat on their nightstand. “I swear. That’s my word on everything I love. I never had sex with her.”

  “But you want to. Don’t you? Ain’t that why you kissed her—your so-called best fucking friend?”

  He looked at her and almost wanted to tell her she was right. He shook his head. “The only reason I refer to her as my best friend is because there’s parts of this life that I don’t want to expose you to. I don’t want to poison you with the shit I deal with. But Gillian is in this shit. She’s like one of the guys to me, and I talk to her about shit that I would never bring to you.” He looked at her sincerely. “I did kiss her once. Weeks ago. And both of us were drunk. That shit just happened, and it only happened that one time. But I never cheated on you with her. I wouldn’t disrespect you like that. And I wasn’t trying to embarrass you tonight, Camille. I was just concerned about my friend. But this whole situation showed me how you don’t trust me.”

  He kept packing, and Camille rushed over to try and stop him. She grabbed him by the arm and turned him toward her. “Don’t walk out on me. I’ve been trying so hard to make you happy, Frankie.”

  He laughed. “Yeah? Is that what you’ve been doing? All I ever see you do is sit around here eating all fuckin’ day and getting fat, drinking every night, letting your sister use you, checking my muthafuckin’ voice mail, and listening to your little miserable friends filling your head with shit. I’m not dealing with that no more. I got enough shit to deal with every day.”

  “Don’t leave, Frankie,” Camille said, trying not to sob, but feeling wounded by her husband’s words. He had never acknowledged that he’d noticed her weight gain or her drinking until now, and she was ashamed. She was also so sorry that she had accused him wrongly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too,” he said, as he breezed past her and walked down the stairs and out the front door.

  Frankie got into his car and was on his way back to the party when his cell phone began to ring. He answered it as he fastened his seat belt.

  “Frankie!” Gillian was crying hard, and he froze as he heard her anguished voice.

  “What’s wrong, Gigi?”

  “They shot them, Frankie. Please!” she cried. “Come back. Hurry up, and come back!”

  “Who got shot?” Frankie was breathless now.

  “Daddy!” Her voice was racked with sobs, and Frankie’s heart sank instantly.

  “What?” He was shaken, and hoped he had heard her wrong.

  “They shot him. And Baron, too. It was Jojo and them, Frankie . . .”

  Frankie instinctively started the car and peeled off in the direction of the Verrazano Bridge. Gillian could hardly talk. She spoke in a hoarse whisper, and her words dripped with grief and pain. “They were outside. They ambushed Daddy and they shot him . . . they killed him!”

  Frankie felt hot tears falling as he thought of his mentor suffering at the hands of Jojo. All because of something Baron had done. “And Baron?”

  “They shot him so many times, Frankie.” She sobbed some more. “Please hurry up.” She hung up the phone and Frankie drove the rest of the way to the restaurant in a daze. He thought about Nobles. The man had saved his life in more ways than one. And now he was gone. His thoughts drifted to Baron, and Frankie was filled with rage. It was Baron’s beef that had cost Nobl
es his life, and Frankie hoped that Baron survived so that he could be plagued with guilt for the rest of his days. When he thought of Gillian, Frankie pushed way past the speed limit to get to her side. She needed him now, more than ever before.

  Casualties

  Frankie finally pulled up in front of Conga and left his car double-parked at the curb behind the droves of emergency vehicles at the scene. He jumped out and jogged toward the entrance.

  “Are you okay?” Frankie asked Mrs. Nobles as he walked into the restaurant. She nodded, though she appeared to be dazed, possibly even sedated. She was surrounded by police officers as well as family members. After explaining that he was a member of the family to the officers who were asking a thousand questions, Frankie started asking questions of his own. They told him that Nobles had been killed by two shots to the head, and he had died instantly. Baron had suffered numerous gunshot wounds and had been rushed to the hospital with his life hanging in the balance. His mother had been notified and was flying to New York immediately. One valet assistant had also been shot, but the wound was superficial and he was expected to be treated and released.

  “Where’s Gillian?”

  Mrs. Nobles’s sister pointed toward the corner, where he saw Gillian sitting alone staring at the wall. Frankie strode over and sat down across from her. He took both of her hands in his and looked in her eyes. He was fighting the urge to cry because he knew that Gillian needed his strength at this moment.

  “You all right?” He knew it was a stupid question, but he didn’t know what else to say. Gillian looked so fragile, like she was teetering somewhere between sanity and snapping. He felt so much grief in his heart at that moment, so he couldn’t imagine how she must feel. Since she had positioned herself so far away from her grieving family, he didn’t know what state of mind she was in.

  She simply stared at him blankly. Tears slid down her cheeks slowly. She shook her head no, and he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly to his chest. She cried and he felt her body quake from the force of her sobs. Frankie cried, too. He stroked her back, and whispered to her that it was all right, that he was there for her. Gillian cried until her tears wouldn’t come anymore. She finally sat back and caught her breath.

  Gently, he asked her, “What happened when I left?”

  She shook her head and looked up toward the sky. “It happened so fast, Frankie. Everybody was leaving for the night. My mom was wheeling Daddy out, and a whole bunch of people were outside. Valets and people going to their cars, that kind of activity. Then, all of a sudden, somebody just started firing. I heard shots and so did Baron. He told me to stay put and he ran out there. By then Daddy was already dead.” She paused, shook her head as if still in disbelief, and took a deep breath before continuing. “When Baron went outside, the shots started all over again. I don’t know if Baron got any shots off or if there was more than just one person shooting at them. But I could tell that there was more than one gun being fired. People were screaming and running, but Baron couldn’t run. They shot him and he was defenseless.” She paused to blow her nose with a tissue Frankie handed to her. “They just kept firing. Jojo was there. Mikey and Tremaine said they saw his face when they ran outside. They saw him shooting at Baron and they shot back, but nobody hit him. Then he got back in the car and they sped off.”

  Frankie sat soaking up all that she’d told him. He tried to picture it all happening, and he realized how lucky he was that he had left before all hell broke loose. He knew that if he had been there, Jojo would have had to kill him, too. Nobles was probably the one man that Frankie would gladly lay down his life for. He looked at Gillian and his heart broke. He had never seen her look so defeated.

  “He killed my father. My brother might not make it. I want Jojo dead.” Gillian’s voice was deliberate and flat. Her eyes and nose were puffy and red from crying so hard. Frankie looked around, noticing that her lame boyfriend was nowhere in sight.

  “Where’s Sincere?”

  “Sadiq, Frankie.”

  “Where’s he at?”

  “He left not long after you did. I told him to go home and that I’d call him tomorrow.” Gillian shook her head, wiped the tears that fell from her eyes. She knew that Sadiq had been with a woman, because he’d arrived smelling like Chanel No. 5. And when she’d suggested that he go home and leave her to retire with her family for the night, he’d gone along with it all too eagerly. She was done with his punk ass. Her thoughts went back to her father, and she dissolved into tears again. The pain was so palpable that she felt an ache in her chest. She couldn’t believe that he was gone.

  Frankie was feeling so much all at once. Nobles was dead and he couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t even had a chance to say good-bye. He never thought when he bid the old man good night that it would be the last time they’d ever get to talk to one another. He sat there, lost in thought, while Gillian was interviewed by the officers at the scene. When they were finished, Gillian was eager to get to the hospital to check on her brother’s condition. Frankie told her that he would bring her there, and they rose to leave. One of the crew members came over and explained to Frankie that Mayra was going home with her sister and would be watched around the clock by the crew to ensure her safety. No one expected Jojo and his goons to push things any further that night, but they would take extra precautions just in case.

  Frankie and Gillian rode to the hospital in silence, both lost in thought over everything that had happened. Gillian stared out the window into the night, feeling lost and so alone now that the father she loved so deeply was gone. She thought about his face, the sound of his voice, all the things he taught her. She cried so hard that Frankie almost pulled over. Instead, he reached for her hand and held it tightly, assuring her softly that it was gonna be all right. But they both knew that without Nobles, things would never be the same.

  When they got to the hospital, they rushed through the corridors still dressed in their formal attire. Frankie’s suit jacket swung open as he walked, and his tie was loosened. Gillian trotted to keep up in her three-inch heels. When they got to the emergency room, they asked about Baron’s condition. Several members of the Nobles crew were already there. The doctor spoke with them only briefly, informing them that Baron had been hit numerous times and had lost a lot of blood. They had him in surgery that was expected to last for several hours. When the doctor returned to the operating room, Frankie looked at Gillian. She looked so hopeless and heartbroken. He walked over and assured the crew that he would look after Gillian while they held vigil at the hospital with Baron. “Call me as soon as his mother gets here. And let me know when he comes out of surgery.” The crew agreed, and Frankie took Gillian by the hand and led her out of the hospital. When they got inside the car, she looked at him.

  “I’m scared,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Frankie looked back at her and brushed his hand across her cheek. “Don’t be,” he said. “I got you. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.” He started the car and left the hospital parking lot. But instead of driving her home, Frankie drove to the Plaza Hotel in Midtown Manhattan.

  Gillian was confused. She turned to Frankie and asked, “What’s Camille gonna say when she hears—”

  “I walked out on her tonight, Gigi. So she can’t say shit.” He looked at Gillian seriously. “You can’t go home right now. So I’m gonna stay with you until it’s safe enough for you to go back.” He checked them into a suite, then led the way with Gillian right behind him.

  “What happened with your wife?” she asked as they walked down the long carpeted hallway.

  “Shit got heated,” he said. “You seemed upset tonight, and when I was asking you what’s wrong, Camille got mad. We had a fight and I bounced.”

  Gillian was speechless. She wanted so badly to spend the next few days and nights safely at the Plaza with Frankie. But was it right? Then she thought about her father sitting slumped over in his wheelchair, pictured Baron sprawled out across the sidewalk bleeding
from all the gunshot wounds he had sustained. She heard her mother’s voice mixing with her own as they screamed in the midst of the melee. And she looked at Frankie, tall and strong and ready to remain by her side for as long as she needed him. Gillian pushed the fact that he was married out of her mind and walked into the room with him.

  Frankie tossed his bags on the floor beside the sofa. There were steps leading to a huge, beautiful claw-foot tub in the center of the room, a flat-screen TV and surround-sound system, a big California king–size bed near the wall. Frankie took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a crisp wifebeater beneath his tuxedo. He put the radio on The Quiet Storm and helped himself to the champagne chilling on the table. Gillian kicked off her shoes and lay across the bed, propping herself up on one elbow amid a huge mountain of pillows. Frankie walked over to her and handed her a glass of champagne, which she happily accepted. He lay beside her at a safe distance, watching her in silence.

  The two of them lay there for a few minutes before Frankie spoke up. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I met your father at the perfect time,” he said. “I was probably twelve or thirteen, and I was lost.”

  Gillian was all ears because she could never recall when exactly Frankie became a part of the family. For as long as she could remember, he had been there. But she had been too young to recall the specifics of how it all happened.

  Frankie drained his glass and refilled it before he continued.

  “My father was crazy, you know what I’m saying? He used to bug the fuck out at the drop of a dime.” He paused. “I never told nobody this.”