by Joy, E. n.
After BEA, the two headed their separate ways across the map. With miles between them, the two started up contact via the Internet. After they traded a few friendly emails, Vincent later reached her through her manager to see when she would have some free time. To his surprise, two days later, Micki called him back personally. Vincent invited her to spend the weekend hanging out in his neck of the woods, and she boldly told him that she could be on the next flight out of New York, where she was currently living, to see him. Once she got off the airplane, their chemistry was too strong to ignore. Her weekend visit turned into her moving in with him; something they both wanted.
"Have you made up your mind yet?" Micki asked as Vincent entered the kitchen and sat down. She was seated across from him at the glass and bamboo table. She maintained her stunning looks miraculously twenty-four seven as if every day was a photo session. For her effort, he made it a point to tell her how beautiful she was twenty-four seven.
"Not really," he said, cutting into the stack of buttered and maple syrup covered pancakes.
"Baby, I'm going to New York next week. Why haven't you made up your mind?" Micki asked. "I know how you feel about keeping our private life, well. . .private. But I wanna tell the world that you're my man. You know the people, I mean, the ones that will do the interview, will ask if I'm dating anyone. They ask all the models they feature in their magazine that question." She pushed back from the table and stood with her hands on her inviting hips. She now had on a pair of tight, lacey boy shorts gripping her tiny, twenty-five inch waist line. "I need an answer, Mr. Manor!" She pouted her glossy lips. "Now."
Hearing his last name, he knew she was getting upset. He calmly laid the fork and butter knife down. "Who are you yelling at?"
"You! And I'm not yelling. . .not yet." She folded her arms. She stood a short and spirited five feet four inches tall with long, soft, curly, brown hair framing her exotic face.
"C'mere for a second," he said, pushing back from the table.
Micki continued to pout as she made her way around the table and onto his lap. Her arms eased around his neck.
"Can we speak on this tonight?" He kissed her softly.
"I knew it," she said as she attempted to get up.
Vincent pulled her back to him. "No, really, this time I'm not brushing you off. We really will talk about it, okay?"
Micki hesitated. "Promise?" she murmured. "Promise," he said, kissing her on the nose.
"Fine," she said, managing to get up from his lap.
Vincent acted like a spoiled baby when she pulled herself free from his caress. He could have sat there and held her forever, but he had plans. "I need to go take a shower anyway and get dressed. If I'm late for that speaking engagement, I'll never hear the end of it from Celisha." He took a couple more bites of food, then jumped in the shower. About a half hour after that, Celisha showed up as promised, ready to take him to his engagement.
In the passenger side of Celisha's car, Vincent opened the laptop that sat on his lap as Celisha backed out of his driveway. He was checking his My Space page since Celisha was behind the wheel. Normally she checked it for him.
"How's Micki doing?" Celisha asked. She now had on a pair of white, ankle-length pants with a white chiffon blouse and some open-toed heels. Even when she tried to hide her curves, her effort was lost.
"Still bugging me about letting her put our relationship on blast in the interview she has with that magazine in New York."
"I don't think it's such a bad idea, Vincent. That's major pub; pub you can't buy," Celisha reasoned. "Did she find out if she's getting the cover?"
"Yeah. The editor called her last night. They picked her over Ester Baxter. She's going to get the cover plus a ten page spread inside." He glanced up from the laptop. "Can you open the sunroof?"
She nodded as she touched the button to open the sunroof.
"Thanks." He returned his attention to his laptop.
"So, why the big deal about going public with the relationship? It's not like you have a woman on the side," she kidded.
"And how would you know?" he smiled, closing his laptop as a plane flew overhead.
"Please, Vincent," she laughed. "Not only am I your faithful, and might I add, trusting personal assistant, but I also happen to be your friend." She turned to smile at him. "You love Micki and she loves you as well, so why hide it? And as for you having a woman on the side, you're not crazy. But back to the original concern; it's really not a bad idea to go public. You write so hardcore and street. Your supporters will see that you're a man that's not afraid to love."
He shifted in the leather seat. "I just don't want it to come off as a publicity move."
"Have you shared your thoughts with Micki? I assume she would be upset for you to feel that way."
"Nah. We're going to discuss it fully tonight. I guess I'm just. . .you know. . .nervous about making it public; making it official." Vincent's voice trail faded.
"Making it official? Now we're getting somewhere," Celisha surmised. "Vincent, she's been living with you for almost a year now. I believe you two are past the point of being official. Let me be frank with you; I think you're acting silly about the entire issue. Micki loves you and I know this. Both of you have careers that are public to some degree. I know you also wanted to keep your love life private, but Micki isn't going anywhere and you know it."
Vincent took the glasses off he was wearing. "So, as my personal assistant, you're telling me it's okay to let her go public about our relationship?"
"No," she smiled, "as a friend I'm telling you that it's okay."
He slid his glasses back on. "Okay. I'll think about it."
"Thanks for having an open mind."
Their conversation switched to business as they rode up I-95 North. Celisha later changed lanes to make an exit on 62nd. Rolling past Edison High School, they made a left at the light.
Childhood memories inflated Vincent's mind as he entered his former stomping grounds. The familiar scent of diesel fuel from the city buses reminded him of the many miles he had traveled by public transportation. He would always take the city bus over the small, always crowded Jitney van. He was deep in thought as he went back to his past.
Being poor wasn't a big deal to him when he was a child. Standing in line at the corner store on 62nd and 12th, everyone carried food stamps. There was no embarrassment in that. Liberty City, a.k.a. Pork & Beans Projects was his home and playground. Back then, nights were filled with random gunshots, police helicopters, violence, crime, drugs and death. Today he was returning to Liberty City to speak to a small group of kids ages ten to sixteen at a recreation center.
Through a street campaign led by Celisha, Vincent's public image was put on blast as a positive role model from the inner city. He was received with love and support from the hood with his moniker, Mr. Hood Legend. He gave a kid with a faint dream a firm belief of hope. Vincent knew about the pain, the loss and the stigma of the streets. He knew about the suffering and oppression behind bars. He knew how to fight for what he believed in, and that was his right to write and to seek a positive change in his life. As for those Jim Crow prison rules that he defiantly broke to keep writing, his drive was unbroken with their worthless punishment.
At the Rec center, Celisha stood in the far corner watching Vincent with faultless respect and admiration as he spoke to the kids. She could see in his eyes that his heart was behind every word he spoke.
"In all my life, before I became an author, I would have never imagined to be where I stand now. I once played outside at the same park where some of you spend your time. I grew up and became lost at some point. I deeply regret screwing up in life, but I've been given a second chance, and I'm taking advantage of it. I'm saying this to prove that I was given a chance to become something. All of you before me have a chance."
Vincent looked out at the young faces and then continued. "A chance to succeed, and many chances to fail. I failed when I foolishly embraced a life of crime. I ru
ined my life; betting on my freedom as well as my life. I lost my freedom when I messed up bad and found myself in prison, where I came close to losing my life on more than one occasion. Sometimes you'll. . ." he paused when a young girl raised her hand. She looked to be no more than twelve . Her name tag indicated that her name was Shana. "Yes, Shana." Vincent nodded toward her.
"Ummm. . .should we go to church every Sunday, Mr. Manor?"
That question came out of left field for Vincent. He stole a furtive glance at Celisha, wishing she could step up and help him. She would always have the right words whenever it came to stuff about God, church or religion. Typically, she would have stepped in at an opportunity to "share the good news," but not today. Vincent was on his own. He didn't know what to say. This was supposed to be a discussion about positive thinking, not religion.
"Do you think it's good to go to church, Shana?" Vincent decided to turn the question back on her.
"Yes, sir," she nodded.
"Do you enjoy going to church?" She nodded again.
"Then I guess as long as you enjoy going, then it's good to go."
"Then can you and your. . ." she looked over at Celisha, "your girlfriend come to church with me next week? You two can be my guest for Friends and Family Day."
Vincent looked at Celisha. She was smiling and deeply embarrassed.
"Shana." Vincent cleared his throat and then grinned. "That beautiful woman is my personal assistant, not my girlfriend."
"Oh," Shana giggled. "I'm sorry." "It's okay," Vincent told her.
"So, will you and your assistant be my guest next week?"
Vincent stammered out the words, "I. . .we. . .will be honored to be your guests." He looked over at Celisha once again. "Wouldn't we?" Celisha confirmed with a head nod and a smile.
Shana gasped in excitement. "Really?"
"Really," Vincent replied and then continued with his speech.
"Do you promise," Shana said for security purposes. "I promise," Vincent said. "And not only will I visit your church, but I'll come pick you up so we can ride together."
The smile on that little girl's face lit up the room.
Celisha hoped Vincent would keep his promise; that he wasn't just accepting the little girl's invitation because she'd put him on the spot and he didn't want to appear as though he was Satan himself.
The rest of the event went by smoothly with Vincent receiving a standing ovation from his audience. He hung around and willingly took pictures with anyone that had a camera. Three members of the Rec staff pulled out his latest novel to get his autograph. Each staff member was pleased with the time Vincent had spent with them talking about his books and writing career. He thanked them all for their support and asked that they tell a friend about him and his books.
Celisha was in a different part of the building finishing up a phone call when someone tapped her on her arm. She turned to find the young girl, Shana, standing there.
"How may I help you, young lady?" Celisha closed her cell phone.
"What is an. . .umm. . .personal assistant?" she asked.
Celisha smiled at her. "You're interested, huh?"
Shana nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Celisha bent down to get eye level with the girl. "How old are you?"
"Eleven," Shana replied, "and I like to write poems," she added. "So, I was just wondering that since Mr. Vincent writes and has a personal assistant, if I needed one too."
Celisha stood back up. "That's wonderful that you write too, Shana. Well, as a personal assistant for Vincent, I help to keep him organized and up to date on everything. For example, I need to get the name of your church, as well as your address and phone number." Celisha nodded to a bench that sat in the hallway. "Let's go sit down and I'll tell you more about what I do and why I enjoy it so much while you give me the information I need to pass on to Mr. Vincent." Celisha reached for Shana's hand and led her toward the bench.
Celisha and Shana chatted before Celisha saw that Vincent had wrapped up with the staff and was ready to go. Nearly a half hour later, Vincent and Celisha were back on the road. Vincent sat behind the wheel this time.
"I should be upset with you, Vincent." Celisha turned slightly in the seat facing Vincent.
He glanced her way. "Why? What did I do, or forget to do, this time?"
"I've asked you on several occasions to visit my church, and each time you gave me some lame excuse as to why you couldn't. So tell me, why did you grant that little girl's request? Don't get me wrong; I'm glad you said yes, and I hope you won't find a reason to back out. That girl is excited about you going to church with her. But are you going because you want to, or because you didn't have the heart to tell the child, no? I mean, I saw that girl's smile. She probably gets anything she wants out of her daddy with a smile like that."
Vincent shrugged his shoulders.
"That's not an acceptable answer, Vincent. That's a response I'd expect from a child, and you are far from being a child."
"You calling me old?" he smiled.
She folded her arms. "Don't turn this into a joke. I'm serious."
"I know, I know. You're always serious. Too serious sometimes," Vincent said. "You know I can fire you and then this topic would be over."
"Please," she smiled. "You wouldn't fire me if I paid you to." They both smiled at each other.
"If I said my reasons for accepting her invitation were both of those you suggested, would that be acceptable?" he asked.
"No," she replied, shaking her head.
"I knew you were going to say that." He slowed for a yellow light that was about to turn red. "I just don't understand a lot of things, Celisha."
"About what?"
"About the man above." He nodded up through the open sunroof.
"Vincent." She unfolded her arms, reaching over to touch his shoulders." You can't find the answer you seek in the streets. You have to read the Bible and go to church to learn. You have to seek Him. You have to make that first step." Celisha paused momentarily and then continued. "I feel your passion through your books. I mean, look at how you had your character, Ménage, seeking a link with God. Something inside you is yearning. Don't go to church because you have to; go because you need to and want to." She removed her hand from his shoulder.
Just as the light turned green, a booming Range Rover blasting Kanye West's "Jesus Walks" pulled up behind them.
"How's that for a coincidence?" Vincent asked.
"I don't believe in coincidences," Celisha replied.
"But what I do believe is that God is trying to tell you something, my friend."
On that note, Vincent sped off, hoping that if God was in fact trying to tell him something, that he could slow down long enough to hear exactly what it was God had to say.
Chapter Three
"Micki!" Vincent shouted, stepping through the front door. His two dogs matched his every step. He had two large shopping bags in his grip. "Micki!" he called out again when he didn't receive a response the first time.
"I'm out at the pool, baby," Micki shouted back.
Vincent was pulling out a Gucci shoe box when Micki entered the living room wearing a green two piece string bikini. Her hair was bone straight and wet.
"How did your speaking thing go?" She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"It was perfect." He turned around to face her. "Here." He handed her one of the size six Gucci Stilettos. She immediately released him, taking the stiletto from his grip.
"Ooooo, baby. Thank you, thank you, thank you. These are sooo hot!" She stood up on her toes to kiss him on his lips. "I got to call Celisha. These are hot."
"Call Celisha for what?" He pulled out the American Gangster DVD he had purchased when he and Celisha stopped off at the mall after the speaking engagement.
"Because I know she picked these shoes out. I'll wear these for my photo session in New York." She reached for the other pair.
"How do you know I didn't pick them out? You act like
my taste in fashion is a zero or something."
"Vincent, baby, I know your taste is bad," she giggled. "What about those tiger striped stilettos that you did pick out; the ones you paid too much for? The ones that I keep in a locked box? And those zebra ones." She turned her nose up. "What is it with you and animal prints?" she laughed.
"You wore them a few days ago," he reminded her with a wink.
"Yes, I did," she said in a soft, seductive voice. "And that was all I had on too. Speak on that." She slid her pedicured feet into the new stilettos. "Let's break these in." Micki returned the wink as she led him to the bedroom.
A couple hours later, Micki woke up in the dark bedroom, still wearing her new stilettos. She forced her eyes to look at the time on the digital clock while Vincent was asleep, spooned behind her.
"Baby," she whispered, "it's going on nine o'clock." She rubbed his arm, repeating herself. He murmured something into her scented hair. "Baby," she whined.
"Look at what time it is."
"So." His voice was hoarse.
"So? It's late. I haven't even. . ." she yawned, "started washing clothes yet. And I'm hungry too." She turned and twisted in his embrace until she was facing him. "Wake up, sleepy head." Unable to resist his soft lips, she began to kiss him. He returned her kiss. Micki loved her man inside and out, but that didn't stop the world from revolving. She had to get up and get a move on.
They managed to leave the bed before ten o'clock. Vincent took the chore of doing the laundry while Micki cooked some steaks. By five minutes pass midnight, they were fed and relaxing in the Jacuzzi. Micki sat behind him on the padded edge, giving her man a relaxing massage.
"How is the new book you're writing coming along?" she asked, raking her nails lightly up his muscular chest. "I Can't Stop Loving You" by Kem was playing softly in the background.