The Family Business 4

by Carl Weber

  “Welcome to Ladies Night Out Benefit Auction. I can already see that the show’s opening got y’all excited as hell, right? Y’all like those fellas, huh?” The host held her microphone toward the audience, and we all screamed. “So, that means that y’all are ready to show them some love and bid on them, because tonight, each and every one of their fine asses are up for auction! Get those wallets ready, ladies!”

  “Oh, shit.” I turned and looked at Paris. “That’s what the hell they’re auctioning off?”

  “Yep.” Paris smirked. “And I got my eyes set on one or two. What about you?”

  A smile spread across my face, because I knew exactly who I would be bidding on.

  “All right, ladies,” the announcer said, “first up for grabs we have Victor, who also happens to be a volunteer firefighter right up the road in Huntington.”

  A sexy white guy wearing a fire hat and suspenders walked out and stood in front of the microphone. “Hey, ladies. I’m Victor, and I’m ready to come put out the fire of the hottest bidder tonight.”

  “Four hundred dollars!” the woman sitting beside Paris yelled out.

  “Four fifty!” another one yelled.

  The bidding for Victor continued until it reached two thousand dollars, and the winner ran onstage and gave him a big hug. Victor didn’t seem to mind that she looked more like a lukewarm grandma instead of the hottie he talked about, because he picked her up into his arms and carried her offstage. The crowd went wild, clamoring for the next specimen to be brought on stage.

  We all laughed and screamed as each guy came out and explained why we should bid on him. Some, like Victor, went for two thousand dollars. A few went for slightly higher, but most of them stayed at around twelve hundred.

  “Are you gonna bid?” I leaned over and asked Paris, who was staring intensely at the gorgeous, deep chocolate guy who had just walked onstage wearing a chef’s hat and carrying a spatula.

  “Hey, ladies, I’m Bilal, and I’m a private chef who would love to whip something up for you to taste,” he said.

  “Nah, not this one,” Paris said, although she continued staring and smiling at him.

  “Why not? You’re damn near drooling at his ass,” I told her.

  “Because I’ve already fucked him for free.” She looked over at me and laughed. I couldn’t help it; I laughed right along with her.

  “You know I gotta ask,” I said.

  “And I have no problem telling you—yes, he can cook his ass off,” she said, trying to keep a straight face.

  I shook my head. “Your silly ass. You know that’s not what I wanna know. I wanna know if he can fuck.”

  “Oh, I would definitely fuck him again,” she replied happily. “He’s a three-tool player, and proficient at them all.”

  “Fingers, tongue, and dick,” we chanted in unison then high-fived each other.

  Paris finally caught his eye, placing her hand to her ear and mouthing the words, “Call me.” He nodded his head then went back to working the rest of the crowd.

  I was waiting in anticipation for the sexy guy I had mentally staked my claim on during the show’s opening. Finally, he walked out wearing a stethoscope.

  What’s up, ladies? I’m Dennis. I’m a doctor from Dix Hills, and I have no problem examining you from head to toe and coming up with the proper diagnosis to cure whatever ails you. So, bid your highest and best for me, because after your visit, I promise you’ll feel much better,” he said and smiled right at me. As they had been doing all night, the crowd went wild.

  I sat up and got ready for the bidding war that I knew was about to take place.

  The same woman seated beside Paris who had lost the bid for Victor screamed out, “Six hundred!”

  “Six fifty,” I yelled.

  Paris looked at me. “Yes, bitch. Get his fine ass.”

  “Seven fifty,” another woman yelled from the other side.

  “One thousand dollars,” I countered.

  “Ten fifty!” The lady beside Paris winked at me.

  I winked back at her and said, “Two thousand.” Then I looked at Dennis, who seemed impressed.

  “Three thousand!” a woman yelled from behind us.

  “Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” The crowd reacted in unison.

  The woman behind Paris sat back in her seat, letting us know that the doctor was out of her budget. Hell, three grand for some dick was out of my budget, too, I thought.

  Paris looked at me and gave me a nod. “Get your man, cuz. You can afford him.”

  I figured that was her way of letting me know that if I was a few dollars short, she would have my back, so I said, “Thirty-five hundred!”

  “Damn, Dennis. They really want that checkup. I have thirty-five hundred. Do I hear four? Anyone? Anyone? Going once, going twice . . .”

  No one said anything, so I stood up and got ready to head toward the stage to claim my prize.

  “Five thousand dollars!”

  I froze for a second, then I slowly turned to see who was bidding. The woman was in the shadows in the back, but she finally stepped into the light for all to see. I stared at the bidder. She smiled at me and waved.

  “Oh, shit. Is that—” Paris mumbled.

  “Yes, it is,” I snapped. “That’s my mother.”

  “Five thousand dollars!” the hostess repeated. “Five thousand going once, going twice.” It felt like all eyes were on me as I sat down in anger and defeat. “Sold, to the lady in the back for five thousand dollars!”

  The sound of applause that erupted was deafening, and I refused to stay and watch in humiliation as she claimed the prize that was supposed to be mine. I grabbed my purse and headed toward the exit.

  “Sasha, wait.” Paris tried to grab my arm, but I snatched away from her and kept going.

  I wanted to leave, but Paris was driving, which meant I had to wait for her ass. I paced angrily in the lobby while Paris took her sweet time.

  “Sasha.”

  “What the hell do you want?” I turned around and yelled at my mother. “Aren’t you supposed to be onstage?”

  “Don’t act like this, Sasha.” Donna walked toward me, and I took a step back.

  “Leave me the fuck alone!” I yelled, causing the other folks in the lobby to stare.

  “You’re causing a scene, and I know you were raised better than this,” she said.

  “How the fuck would you know? You didn’t care enough to stick around to see how I was raised,” I spat.

  Our eyes locked, and I could see that my words had hurt her, causing me to feel slightly vindicated. She walked away without saying anything else.

  “Sasha, you okay?” Paris asked as she came walking up.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t believe she did that. I hate her,” I said.

  “Why are you so mad? It’s a charity auction. If you want his ass that bad, all you gotta do is ask for his number. He was checking your ass out just as hard as you were checking him,” Paris said. “Look at it this way: you and your cougar-ass mother have the same taste in men.”

  “Fuck you, Paris. It’s not about him. How would you feel if Aunt Chippy was in here bidding on Bilal’s Chef Boyardee ass?”

  Paris blinked for a second and then said, “I’d kick her fucking ass, that’s what I’d do. My mom’s in her sixties.”

  “Exactly, and so is mine, so you should understand why I wanna kick her ass right now,” I replied.

  We walked toward the exit, and as we passed a doorway leading into the hall, I saw my mother and Dennis laughing and talking. I realized that my feelings were deeper than what I’d just admitted to Paris. I wanted to kick my mother’s ass each and every time I saw her.

  Ruby

  28

  Although it was Sunday, the church was fairly empty when I entered. I knew it would be, because I’d picked a time late in the evening when all the so-called saints would be home enjoying dinner after a long day of praising and singing. It was a small church, the same one my mother had dragge
d my brother Randy and me to each and every Sunday. As I walked into the sanctuary, I felt as if I had walked into a time warp. Everything was the same, including the sense of peace I felt when I looked at the large, gold cross hanging on the wall behind the pulpit. I smiled at the sight of the wooden pews we would squirm in as we endured the long, drawn-out services each week. The back of the pews held the same red hymnals and tattered Bibles.

  I sat at the end of the front pew. Praying had become unfamiliar and uncomfortable to me, which was why I had decided that if I went back to the place where I first learned to pray, maybe it would help. I had been up for three nights, tossing and turning, unable to sleep because of the dreams I was having. I needed help before I went crazy, and I knew the only one who could help me was God. I closed my eyes and tried to focus.

  “Please help me, Lord,” I whispered, then began, “Our Father, who—”

  “Ruby?” I opened my eyes, startled by the sound of a woman. My heart pounded, and I quickly stood up. “Ruby, is that you, gal?” The large woman dressed in all white smiled at me, and I instantly recognized her.

  “Mother DuBoise,” I said.

  “You lookin’ good; still beautiful. How’s ya brudda Randy?” she asked, sitting on the pew and pulling me down beside her. “He was such a good boy to ya mudda, God rest her.”

  I looked down sadly as I thought about Randy. “He’s dead, Mother Duboise. Randy died three years ago.”

  “My God.” Mother Duboise made the sign of the cross over her body and clutched the crucifix she wore around her neck. “Did a white man kill him? I had a dream about him bein’ killed by a white man.”

  I shook my head. “No, he wasn’t killed by a white man.”

  “Okay, not all me dreams is true.” Mother DuBoise left the uncomfortable subject and turned her attention back to me. “So, what brings ya here in de chapel dis late in de day? I can see dat you’re troubled in ya heart, Ruby.”

  “Peace.” I sat back and looked down at the floor. “I just needed to come here and see if I could find some peace of mind.”

  “Dis is de place fo’ dat. You’ve come to de right place, all right. But why is your spirit so vexed? Ya pretty, but ya look tired.” She took hold of my hand.

  “I am. I’m very tired. I don’t sleep as of late.”

  “Dat’s not good. What keep ya up, child?”

  “It’s funny you talked about dreams. I keep dreaming about my son’s father. Very intimate dreams.”

  “Why is dat a bad ting?” She smiled, looking down at my hand as she said, “I see dat ring on ya finger, so ya must be married.”

  “I am, but dat’s de problem. The man I’m married to is not my son’s father.” I lowered my head.

  “Oh, I can see how dat can be troubling.” Mother DuBoise nodded, and her kind voice lacked any hint of judgment against me. “You still have feelings fo’ de fada of your son.”

  I hesitated then frowned. “No, I love my husband.”

  “I did not say you did not love ya husband. I said you have feelings fo’ de fada. Dat is why you cannot stop him from coming to you in ya sleep. Tell me, is someone bringing harm to him in dese dreams?”

  I tried to recall exactly what had been happening in the dreams I had. In most of them, it was Orlando and I being intimate, then, a white bird would come down and attack us, causing us to separate and run away. I would call for my son Vincent, but he would run after Orlando, and I couldn’t catch either one of them; and finally, the bird would catch me in its talons. I would wake up in a cold sweat and run into my son’s room, making sure he was safe. Then, I would climb into bed with him, holding him until it was time to wake up.

  “My son chases after his father, and I chase after both o’ dem, but I can’t catch ’em,” I said, leaving out the part about the bird.

  “Maybe you are chasing after de love you both have fo’ dis man?” Mother DuBoise suggested.

  “No, my son has never met his father,” I said.

  “Neva? Why not?” She looked appalled.

  “Because his father is de man who killed my brother. Which is why I can never love him.”

  “Ruby,” she said, her eyes wide with surprise, “you are still tinking about him after all of dat? Dat means you still love dis man.”

  I sat and listened to Mother DuBoise as she told me something that, deep down, I already knew.

  London

  29

  The small charter plane we were riding in landed with a bump. It had taken less than thirty minutes for us to arrive. There was no conversation between us during that ride, and I told myself it was because of everything that had taken place over the past twenty-four hours, and not because of the kiss that neither Daryl nor I had yet mentioned. As soon as we had returned to the house after the explosion, Daryl had gone crazy on our captive, who finally told us that Vinnie and Ruby were in Kingston, which was where we’d just landed.

  I had spent most of the night wrestling with the idea that Daryl was going to knock on my door, and what I would or wouldn’t do when he did. Only he didn’t. I honestly didn’t know how I felt about that, and with Rio all up in our faces, we really hadn’t had a moment alone to discuss it.

  As we taxied on the runway toward the small terminal, I glanced over at Daryl, and he smiled. I smiled back, remembering the feel of his lips on mine and the warmth of his arms as he held me in front of that house. We needed to talk, but I knew this wasn’t the time. Would there ever be a right time? Should I even be thinking about finding a right time to talk, especially since my husband had already called demanding that I come home? I probably should have been more concerned with that, but I wasn’t.

  My mind was all over the place, not only with thoughts of Daryl. There was also the fact that our men were at least three hours’ drive away, and we had no idea how we were going to find Vinnie, Ruby, or my nephew.

  When the plane finally stopped, I unfastened my seat belt and stood up. There was another jolt when the door opened, and I instinctively grabbed Daryl’s arm to steady myself. Again, our eyes met, until he looked away.

  “I’ll go find a cab,” he said as soon as we stepped off the plane.

  “We’ll meet you out front,” Rio told him and then turned to me. “What the hell is going on? Why is he acting so strange all of a sudden? Did you fuck him?”

  I did my best impression of being offended by his assumption. “No, I didn’t fuck him. I’m married, or did you forget that?” I held up the marquise diamond on my left hand.

  “Don’t act like I’m stupid. What happens in Jamaica stays in Jamaica, remember? Your words.”

  “I do remember, and I’m gonna need to hold you to that, okay?” I gave him a don’t-play-with-me look. “And just so you know, we did have a moment, but that was it. Just a moment, nothing else. So, anything you think, or think you’re thinking, stays right here on this island, you hear? I don’t want anything misconstrued when we get home.”

  “I got you, but whatever is going on, y’all need to get it together, ’cause both of y’all are acting weird as fuck, and I don’t like it. It could get one of us killed.” He picked up one of the suitcases as if there was no more to say. “Oh, fuck.” Rio gasped.

  “Please don’t start with that again,” I warned, thinking he was about to start ranting about the weight of my luggage. Then I turned to see him staring at something, and I asked, “What is it, Rio?”

  “Look.” He leaned over to me and whispered, “Over there, getting into that car.”

  “Look at what? Where?”

  “There,” Rio pointed emphatically. “There, over there, London.”

  “Oh, fuck.” I repeated his words because I couldn’t find any of my own. I literally couldn’t believe my eyes. “Am I seeing things?”

  “Not if you’re seeing Curtis and Kenny,” Rio snapped back.

  I grabbed him by the wrist and headed for the door. “Come on. We gotta find Daryl.”

  We stepped outside, and I looked around fo
r Daryl. He was a little farther down the walkway on the phone. Rio whistled loudly and waved wildly until Daryl noticed him. Meanwhile, I approached a van that had been sitting in front of the airport and spoke to the driver.

  “I got a hundred U.S. dollars if you can give us a ride and follow that car,” I told him.

  “Yes! Yes! Get in,” the man said without hesitation. “My brother can wait.”

  Rio and I quickly threw our bags into the van and climbed in the back seat.

  “What the heck is going on?” Daryl asked, climbing into the front seat.

  “My cousins Curtis and Kenny are in that car.” I pointed to the black Mercedes that was half a block ahead of us.

  “Whatever you do, do not let that car out of your sight,” Daryl said to the driver.

  “No worries, mon. I’m a good driver.” The man smiled as he sped behind the Benz.

  True to his word, the driver continued following the car through the streets of Kingston until it pulled in front of a downtown apartment building.

  “Stay right here,” Daryl told the driver. “Don’t turn. Just pull over.”

  The driver obliged and eased over. We watched as the doors to the Benz opened, and Curtis and Kenny got out carrying a large army duffle bag. As confusing as this whole scenario was, the coup de grace was when the sliding glass doors to the building opened and Uncle Larry walked out.

  Curtis

  30

  The car pulled in front of a high-rise apartment building, and I was happy to get out and stretch my legs. I was tired as hell, and from the looks of him, so was Kenny. It felt like we’d been sitting forever between driving to Maryland from Georgia last night and the flight over here. There was one good thing about it, though. It was good to see my old man. It had only been a few days, but I missed his eccentric ass.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said happily when he walked out through the sliding glass doors.

  “What the hell took so long?” He hugged Kenny then me. “You guys left six hours ago.”

  “We weren’t exactly in a Learjet,” I joked. “Where’d you find that bush pilot anyway? He was high the entire ride over here.”