The Boss

by Aya De León

  “I don’t fucking believe it,” Deza muttered.

  “What the hell you think you doing, Tyesha?” Jenisse asked. “You taking my kids out of my house?”

  “It’s not your house,” Tyesha said. “It’s a hotel. That Zeus paid for.”

  “And nobody invited you, bitch,” Jenisse said.

  “Here we go,” Deza said through clenched teeth.

  “Deza called me,” Tyesha said. “So I guess that was my invitation.”

  “She an ungrateful little bitch, too,” Jenisse said. “Just like you. See? Bitches always trying to take you down. Take yo man. Take yo kids.”

  “And I shoulda taken them that time in Chicago,” Tyesha said. “But I was too young to know what to do. But now I know. I’m letting them decide. Girls, you wanna come with me?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Deza said. Amaru didn’t answer, but she held tight to Tyesha.

  “You know where to find your kids,” Tyesha said. “When you’re sober and not ready to brawl with their father right in front of them.”

  “That nigga deserve it.”

  “Maybe,” Tyesha said. “But they don’t deserve to have to watch it.”

  “What you gonna do, Amaru?” Jenisse asked. “You gonna be a little traitor bitch like yo sister, or you gonna stay with yo mama?”

  Amaru said nothing, but tears started to fall down her cheeks.

  The elevator arrived.

  “Actions speak louder than words, baby,” Jenisse said. “You get on that elevator, and it’s just like you spat in my face.”

  Tyesha moved toward the elevator, and Amaru stood frozen, her arms cradling the pair of lilac-and-turquoise basketball shoes.

  “You ain’t the one here who’s fucked up,” Tyesha murmured in her ear. “Jenisse always been a mean drunk. You ain’t gotta put up with her shit.”

  Tyesha felt Amaru’s arm squeeze tighter around her. Tyesha backed into the elevator with her arms around both girls.

  “Fine!” Jenisse spat. “Ungrateful spoilt motherfuckers.”

  She threw the brandy glass at them, but it swung wide and broke against the wall as the doors closed.

  Tyesha and her nieces rode the elevator down to the basement parking garage in silence. Amaru cried noiselessly.

  In the parking garage, the three of them climbed into Tyesha’s silver compact two-door. She fished a tissue out of the glove compartment and handed it to Amaru, who wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  When Tyesha turned on the car, the sound system began automatically playing the last music Tyesha had listened to: Deza’s CD.

  “Do you want me to turn it off?” Tyesha asked.

  “I don’t care,” Deza said.

  Tyesha let it play.

  Young black women barely got a chance these days

  Brothers act like they the only target but plenty bullets shooting my way

  On the other hand, we got Sandra Bland

  I don’t understand why folks act like just the black man is being destroyed

  Say Rekia Boyd

  Yeah, say her name

  Cause the reaper came

  We gonna have a roll call

  for Mya Hall because you can’t deny

  the fact of Spring Valley High

  As they drove across Brooklyn, Deza burst out, “Why couldn’t she stay in Chicago? Why she gotta chase a man all over the fucking country? She afraid he gonna fuck somebody else? He already does that in Chicago. He stayed with her psycho ass for twenty-five years. Why she gotta stick to him like some kinda crazy bitch Velcro? I’ll tell you why. Because he’s her job. Looking cute for him. Fucking him. Nagging him. Fighting with him. That’s all she does. That’s all she’s ever done. She has his babies then can’t be bothered with us except how we become new subjects for her to bitch at him about. I hate her. I fucking hate her.”

  It was surreal, Deza’s recorded voice and the beat rapping a litany of violence against black women and the live rant against her mother.

  Tyesha turned the music off.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” she said.

  “But she’s never sorry,” Deza said. “Never. Not once. I fucking hate her.”

  Brooklyn sped by, the long-standing mom-and-pop stores and restaurants, interspersed with hipster galleries and boutiques.

  When they arrived at Tyesha’s building, they had to circle the block looking for a parking space. A trendy bar had moved in around the corner and it was harder than ever to park now.

  Amaru spoke for the first time since they had left the hotel. “Is that Thug Woofer out in front of your place?”

  Tyesha looked over, and it was.

  “Oh my god,” Deza said. “I look totally fucking crazy.” She pulled down the passenger vanity mirror and wiped under her eyes. She smoothed her hair.

  “I need lipstick!” she yelled.

  “Don’t look at me,” Amaru said.

  “Auntie Ty, you got some for me?”

  Tyesha shook her head. “I ran out with just my phone and keys to come get you.”

  Tyesha found a tiny parking space and deftly maneuvered the car into it.

  “Thug Woofer,” Deza said. “I’m meeting Thug motherfucking Woofer. I need to look like I’m ready to be a star.”

  “Deza,” Amaru said, “you’re a rapper, not a model.”

  “You so damn butch, you don’t understand,” Deza said.

  “Lipstick or not,” Tyesha said, “here he comes. Put your head up and believe in yourself.”

  Tyesha stepped out of the car. “Hey, Woof,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was worried about you,” he said. “I heard there was a shooting on the Lower East Side that maybe had something to do with your clinic. So I called, but then you didn’t answer.”

  Tyesha fished her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket. Sure enough. Five missed calls and several texts from him.

  “As you can see, I’m fine,” she said.

  He pulled her into a tight embrace. She could feel the warmth of his body, even through the thick tracksuit. He smelled like sweat and some kind of soap.

  When Tyesha let go from the embrace, her two nieces were standing against the car smiling.

  She took Woof by the hand and introduced him to both of them.

  “I’m looking forward to hearing your CD,” Woof said.

  Deza was uncharacteristically tongue-tied. She just nodded and smiled.

  “And Amaru,” Woof said. “Nice game the other day.”

  “You were there?” she asked, her mouth falling open.

  “I just told him all about it,” Tyesha said. “Let’s get inside.”

  She led them down the stairs and opened the door of the brownstone.

  “The girls were just coming to sleep over,” she told Woof.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Woof said.

  “Interrupt my auntie all you want,” Deza said. “In fact, we don’t need a babysitter or anything, Auntie Ty. Like if you and your company wanted to go out or something. We can make ourselves at home.”

  “Are you sure?” Tyesha asked. “Amaru, you’re okay?”

  “I got six-thirty practice,” she said. “I’m going to sleep in the next fifteen minutes.” She was pulling off her loose jeans to reveal a long pair of cotton hoop shorts that hung to her knees.

  “And I’m gonna stay up and binge-watch the latest season of Badass Femcee Battle.”

  Deza draped a jacket over Tyesha’s shoulders. “And you shouldn’t be out without your coat. Here. Have fun.”

  “Deza, this doesn’t feel right,” Tyesha said. “You’ve just been through a very traumatic—” But she broke off mid-sentence because her niece had closed the door in her face.

  Woof shook his head. “You told me she was on team Thug Woofer, but damn.”

  “Did I just get put out of my own house?” Tyesha said. “That’s pathetic.”

  “Should you go back in?” he asked.

  Tyesha fidgeted with the house key in h
er hand.

  “No,” she said. “The way their parents are acting, they might be here for a while. I need to get ready for the long haul. I can’t be watching over them every minute.”

  Thug Woofer nodded.

  “So, where should we go?” Tyesha asked.

  “My place?” he suggested. “I wanna be comfortable and I don’t mind driving you home later.”

  “You still in that midtown penthouse?” Tyesha asked.

  Woof laughed. “No, girl. I’m right here in Brooklyn.”

  It was only a fifteen-minute ride to his place, a gorgeous loft in Williamsburg that looked out on the river.

  It was so different from his previous apartment. The last place was like something out of an old episode of Cribs. It was a caricature of how a rap artist was supposed to live. A sunken living room, platinum records, and album cover posters on the walls. An entourage of guys sitting around watching television and talking shit.

  But this place was open with unadorned walls, a few plants, and a small waterfall in the corner.

  “It’s beautiful here,” she said. “I realize I haven’t really seen that much of Brooklyn. Mostly I’ve just been in Manhattan between the clinic and Columbia. And with my apartment, I just walk to the subway or get takeout down the street.”

  “Your nieces weren’t really just having a sleepover, were they?” he asked. “Something seemed like it wasn’t quite right, especially when I first saw you.”

  Tyesha sighed. “Nope. Their parents got ugly. I love those girls. But my sister?”

  “I know her type,” Woof said. “Hard on the outside, soft on the inside.”

  “Soft?” Tyesha asked. “Ain’t nothing soft about my sister.”

  “I know that type because I’m that type,” he said. “I never let anybody see anything soft about me. Mad all the time. Rude. Disrespectful. Oh, I know all about it.”

  “It’s one thing for her to be like that with me,” Tyesha said. “But with her girls, her daughters? I see how she treats them and I wonder if I should’ve stayed in Chicago. They’ve only been in New York a few days, and they’re already calling me to rescue them. Their mama’s drunk and abusive. Their daddy has Chester the molester as his fucking bodyguard. I know what it’s like. I know what it’s like to have that mama not checking for you and creepy motherfuckers everywhere and nobody to turn to. Who takes care of those girls?”

  “From what I can see,” Woof said, “they take care of each other.”

  “It’s not good enough,” Tyesha said.

  “Looks like they turned out okay,” Woof said. “They’re almost grown now. A short step away from being out the house. So the real question is, who takes care of you?”

  “I been taking care of myself,” Tyesha said. “For years.”

  “What about that sugar daddy you had back in the day?” Woof asked.

  Tyesha chuckled. “Nope,” she said. “He took care of my bills, but I was the one taking care of him, emotionally, sexually.”

  “What if I wanted to take care of you?” Woof said. “I mean, you got your job and everything, but what if these walls were a safe zone where all the troubles of the world couldn’t get to you. Where it wasn’t your job to fix it. Where you could just have some peace . . . and pleasure?”

  He leaned forward, his lips slightly parted. His fingers slid softly along the side of her neck. Not pulling her toward him, but brushing, suggesting. When his lips touched hers, she felt a mix of emotions. A yearning for the peace and pleasure he offered, but the opposing tug of wariness. As his body moved closer, she could feel a sense of desire rising. The strength of it scared her, and she pulled back from the kiss.

  “Peace and pleasure sure do sound good,” she said, but with the slightest shrug.

  “But there’s one catch,” he said. “You gotta be my girlfriend. It’s not just a drop-in spa.”

  “Is Thug Woofer trying to lock it down?” Tyesha asked. “Is that what’s happening here?”

  “I think that’s what’s happening here,” he said.

  “What happened to a hundred dates?” she asked.

  “I blame your family,” he said.

  “How you figure?” she asked.

  “I wanted to wait to give you the really good stuff,” he said. “But you came over here all upset, and I just couldn’t have you up here in all this distress without using my most powerful medicine.”

  “And what is that?” Tyesha asked.

  “Well, you know I’m from the South,” he said.

  “I do know that,” she said.

  “From the backwoods,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “Cackalacky.”

  “Well, where I’m from, they got root doctors,” he said.

  “Oh, really?” she said.

  “Definitely,” he said.

  “You gonna try to work a root on me?” she asked.

  “I got something for you that’s directly from Africa,” he murmured. “And it’ll cure whatever ails you.”

  Tyesha laughed. “I hate to tell you,” she said. “But there are a lot of brothers out there making the same promises. And I do believe using some of the same—ah—natural remedies.”

  “Oh, but mine is organic,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “And no preservatives,” he said.

  “I hope it’s not vegetarian,” she said.

  “No, baby,” he said. “Definitely not. Feel.”

  Gently, he took her hand, and guided it to his erection. He let go, but she took a moment to press her hand down the length of it through his track pants.

  “That’s definitely not a plant,” she said. “A tree maybe, but not a plant.”

  He laughed. “That’s how much I want you to be my woman,” he said. “That much.”

  “Maybe it’s time to plant that tree,” she said.

  As they kissed again, she could feel her body release the knot, the clench she’d been feeling since she’d gotten the call from Amaru. Finally, she uncoiled toward him. Let herself sink into all the desire she’d been feeling. All the hunger she’d been holding herself back from. It was delicious, intoxicating. She sank into the place where there was only a pair of bodies and fire. His lips pressing hers, her tongue in his mouth, his hands undoing buttons, sliding under her blouse, lifting her breasts out of her bra, the hiss of pleasure as his hands grazed her nipples. Her body arching, kicking off her shoes to straddle him on the couch. She wrapped her legs around him and pressed. The moistening spot between her legs against the hardness between his, pulsing beneath the slippery fabric of his track pants.

  She unzipped his jacket and slid it off, feeling the sloping ropes of his muscles beneath. Then pulled off his T-shirt, running her hands up his chest, his neck, his face. She smoothed his hair back from his face. Feeling the tiny coils of the short fade in the front, the way they bounced beneath her fingers. She looked him in his eyes. Wide and brown and open.

  Slowly, eyes locked, he removed her blouse. He slid the fabric of it gently against her skin, providing the contrast between the silk and the slightly rougher texture of his palm. Like a striptease, but he was undressing her instead of himself. He pulled her shoulders out of the bra and began to rotate it around, tugging the straps up, so they pulled against each of her erect nipples until, one by one, they snapped free. He rotated the hooks to the front and undid the catch.

  They pressed against each other, both naked from the waist up. He ran his hands down the sides of her torso, and then down over her ass, wide and full with the straddle, her skirt hiked up to the tops of her thighs. Putting both hands beneath her ass, he stood up, lifting both of them off the couch. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held tighter. He strode across the apartment holding her up, and pushed the bedroom door open with his elbow. The room was dark, the only illumination coming in through the window, with lights from the city.

  He lay her down on the bed—it was firm, but with soft linens—and began to unzip and slide off her s
kirt. He buried his face in her navel and moved down, pulling aside the thong and parting her lips to slide his tongue inside.

  Tyesha cried out with the sweetness of it. He began to move his tongue right against her clitoris. Rhythmic. Insistent. She moaned and twisted. Could barely breathe. She gripped the string of her thong and when he thrust his tongue inside her, she gasped and pulled so hard that it snapped.

  She reached to tangle her hands in his hair, but it was too short. Nothing to catch hold of. And she found herself unable to hang on, spiraling, falling into pleasure. The undulating waves of her orgasm rocking her from the inside out.

  When she was finally back to herself, she saw him, grinning, kneeling above her, rolling on a condom. She blinked at the fullness of him. Then he was pressing gently into her. She was so wet that he slid easily, but the pressure of his girth opened her further. The sensation of pleasure, pushing toward an edge of pain.

  He straightened her leg and turned them over. Then he drew up her legs and thrust up into her. She felt him throughout the core of her, thrusting deep into her, pressing, stretching against her opening, and then the shaft of him, stroking insistently against her clitoris. She moaned, barely able to hold herself up. He gripped her ass, leaned up and took one of her breasts in his mouth, licked, then ran his tongue back and forth across both nipples.

  She was moaning more insistently now, as if he was pressing the sounds out of her. But he was totally silent, eyes locked on hers, whenever she managed to open them. And then she could feel herself on the verge of climax.

  “Are you close?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  She couldn’t speak, only nod her head mutely.

  He straightened her leg again and turned her over, crashing their hips together, thrusting hard inside her. With a deep moan, her eyes flew open. His face was a mix of softness and tension, as if the pleasure was more than he could stand. And as she looked at his face and felt the fullness of him inside her, she could feel herself crack open, deeper this time. And they both came, howling and trembling, together.

  Chapter 9

  Tyesha stumbled in to work late and in her sweats from the night before.

  Serena took one look at her and walked out. She came back a few minutes later with a cup of coffee. “Tyesha, can you confirm the press conference for today?”