King's Pleasure

by Adrianne Byrd

  “Well, it’s not like we haven’t invested a healthy sum in long-distance phone calls. What are you doing here?” he asked Jeremy.

  “The same reason everyone else is here. I came to get something to eat.” He laughed.

  “C’mon. You know what I mean. Wait.” He looked around and then grabbed a chair from the next table and crammed it next to Jeremy’s.

  “Join us. Have a seat.”

  “For a few minutes. I’m having a business dinner, but I don’t see them just yet.”

  “Cool, cool. You can just hang out with us until they get here,” Jeremy said, excited.

  His brothers and Quentin had sat down by then.

  “Oh, so does this mean that you’re being traded to the L.A. Razors, Roy?”

  “It looks that way, but don’t tell anyone just yet. We haven’t made the official announcement.”

  “Cool. Oh, I don’t believe that you’ve met my cousin here, Quentin Hinton.”

  “Hinton?” Roy repeated. “As in your rich cousin you used to brag about?”

  Quentin smirked. “Guilty as charged.”

  Jeremy laughed. “I did brag about that.”

  “Yeah, like that changed the fact that you were eating fried bologna sandwiches and drinking purple Kool-Aid like the rest of our broke butts.”

  Jeremy nodded. The King family didn’t have much growing up in their small house in Atlanta, but they had plenty of love. “But you were like the king of the neighborhood because your pop built a tree house in your backyard.”

  “Yeah, perfect for kids that ran away from home with a boxful of puppies.”

  The table erupted with laughter.

  Quentin’s brows crashed together as he tried to keep up with the conversation. “Do what?”

  “Oh, you didn’t tell your cuz about that?”

  Jeremy propped his elbow up on the table while his entire body trembled with laughter.

  “It was a long time ago,” Eamon started to fill Q in on the story.

  “Yeah,” Xavier agreed, shaking his head. “I tell you one thing, it certainly wasn’t funny at the time.”

  “What wasn’t funny?” Q grew anxious, waiting on the story.

  “You want to tell it?” Xavier prompted Jeremy.

  Jeremy struggled to wipe the grin off his face. “Aah… I think I was six years old and I found this box of puppies that someone had abandoned in the woods.”

  “So genius here decided to bring all of them home,” Eamon cut in.

  Xavier bobbed his head. “Only our dad said that we couldn’t afford to keep them and that we would have to take them to the pound.”

  “Only I didn’t like the idea of them going to the pound, so I ran away with the whole box of puppies and was gone for, like, two days.” Jeremy continued shaking his head.

  “It sent the whole family into an uproar. We were all over the news and everything.”

  Q frowned, thinking back. “Yeah, I think I do remember something like that happening. My mom was really upset and was convinced that Atlanta had another serial killer, snatching up little boys.”

  Roy jumped into the story. “Only, Jeremy and his puppies were hiding out in my tree house.”

  “Yeah, and you squealed me out,” Jeremy reminded him.

  “No, I didn’t,” Roy said, defensively. “My mother got a little curious about all the peanut-butter-and jelly sandwiches I kept making and sneaking off with and taking to the backyard. You know I would never drop dime on a friend—let alone a blood brother.”

  “Y’all are blood brothers?” Q asked.

  The men held up their hands and showed tiny identical scars across the center of their wrists.

  “Blood brothers for life,” they said together and then looked at each other.

  “Oh, there goes my agent.” He stood up.

  Jeremy was disappointed to cut their reunion short. “Well, we’re going to have to get together and play catch up.”

  “Most definitely.” They smacked palms and then gave each other a one-shoulder hug. “Oh, as a matter of fact, you should come to my engagement party.”

  Jeremy’s eyes rounded. “Do what? You’re engaged?”

  “And the epidemic continues,” Quentin mumbled, and then received a quick jab from Xavier’s sharp elbow. “Oow.”

  “What woman did you knock over the head and convince to put up with your Milk-Bone-addicted ways?” Jeremy asked.

  “Aah, man. You ain’t never lied. I had to bust out the ring or lose the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Meet her on the road?” Jeremy asked, knowing Roy’s propensity for groupies.

  “Nah, nah, man. This is my good girl. Salt of the earth, the kind you want to start producing a string of Mini-Mes to continue the family name.”

  “Aah, don’t tell me it’s that one chick you been seeing off and on for, like, forever.”

  Roy dipped his head and blushed a bit. “The one and only.”

  “Aah, snap. So you’re really going to make this legit and become a one-woman man?”

  “Whoa, now. I didn’t say all that. A playa is always gonna have a little dirt on him. You just have to wipe your feet off before you walk through the family door.”

  Jeremy’s and his brother’s smiles shaved off a few inches.

  He elbowed Jeremy. “You feel me?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”

  “Well, I better go. I’ll catch up with you later.” Roy turned to leave but then stopped. “Wait. Tell you what. I’m going to make sure that I shoot you an invitation to the engagement party. I’d love for the future Mrs. Roy DeShawn Carter to finally meet my best friend.”

  Jeremy’s smile bounced back. “I certainly can’t wait to meet this woman.”

  Chapter 8

  Sheree Matthews tossed up her hands. “Oh my God, Leigh. Would it kill you to smile? How am I’m going to be able to picture how you’ll look coming down the aisle if your bottom lip is constantly dragging on the floor?”

  “I’m sorry, Momma,” Leigh whined. “It’s just that we’ve been at this for weeks. I must’ve tried on a thousand gowns.”

  “And you haven’t liked any of them,” her mother reminded her. “I don’t know why you just don’t wear my wedding dress,” she said, pressing a hand against her chest. “After all, that’s supposed to be the tradition.”

  “No offense, Mom, but your dress is kind of dated.”

  “Yeah,” Ariel said, closing a copy of Bride magazine. “Those shoulder pads alone would make her look like the bride of Frankenstein.”

  “Ariel,” Leigh hissed, but it was already too late to remind her best friend to think before she spoke.

  However, her mother just thrust out her chin. “That was the look at the time. Besides, the ’80s are back in style.”

  The two friends shared a look.

  “Fine.” Her mother’s hands flew back into the air. “I’ll just save it for my grandbaby. I’m sure she’ll have more appreciation for a timeless classic.”

  Leigh scoffed. “Grandbaby? You’re getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Who said anything about children?”

  “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes my grandbabies in the baby carriages,” her mother said confidently. “DeShawn has already told me that he wants five—at minimum.”

  Leigh’s stomach flopped. “DeShawn said what?”

  “You heard me—five.” She held up her hand in case Leigh needed a visual aid. “And he promised me that you two would get started on the first one as soon as possible.”

  “Humph. I like his nerve.” Her frown deepened as she settled her hands on her hips. “We haven’t even talked about children.”

  Sheree waved off her daughter. “Chile, get your hands off your imagination and go take that hideous dress off.” She sauntered over to the upholstered chair next to Ariel where her flute of champagne waited on a mirrored coffee table. “Looks like we’re going to be here all day.”

  “Mmm.” Ariel shoo
k her head while she planted her nose back into the magazine.

  Leigh felt dismissed. “Wait a minute. I’m serious. Is anyone at all interested in whether I want to spit out five kids?”

  Her mother sighed. “Not particularly.”

  “Gee, thanks, Mom.”

  Sheree rolled her eyes. “Leigh, baby. I already know that you want to do a whole laundry list of things, and I’m sure at the top of the list is ‘take over the world’ in all caps and bold letters. But now we’re talking about marriage, and with marriage come certain duties. And at the top of that list should be, ‘have babies.’”

  Ariel looked up from her magazines. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious,” Sheree said. “Look, you can call me old-fashioned—”

  “Old-fashioned,” Leigh and Ariel chorused together.

  “But children are a blessing…” She stared Leigh up and down, adding, “…on most days. All this other stuff out here is a distraction. No one on their deathbed ever wished that they could’ve spent more time at the office or broken through one more glass ceiling. In the end, it’s going to be family—and the time you did or didn’t spend with them. Hey, I used to want to be superwoman. I could bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan. It was the late seventies—and we were kicking butt and taking names. I thought I could wait and do the whole family thing on my timetable. Then I got those cysts on my ovaries and the doctor told me if I was going to have children, I needed to start having them right away. I made a decision, got off the pills and had you. A few months after that, I had to have a hysterectomy—no more children. There’re not too many days that I don’t think about those eight years that I made your father wait, and wonder if you might not have had an older brother or sister. You can’t tell me that it wouldn’t have been nice to have siblings.”

  Leigh dropped her gaze. She remembered all too well wishing that she had just that.

  “Family! It’s the most important thing. It’s what endures. As a race, it was once taken from us—our family—our names—our birthright. Now—” she shook her head “—it’s all about self—not family. That’s why I’ve never missed one of your dance recitals, Leigh, or any of your track meets. I value being a good mother and a wife above everything else. I’m not saying that you can’t have a career, but everything has its place.”

  Leigh swallowed her attitude.

  Ariel rolled her eyes. “Well, shut my mouth. I didn’t know that the Stepford wives’ club was that much fun. I guess I better run out and nab me a husband, too.”

  Surprisingly, Sheree cracked up at the glib comment. “Girl, go on now. You are a fool.”

  Ariel laughed off Sheree’s sermon.

  “I didn’t say that I didn’t want children,” Leigh said. “I just don’t know about having a tribe…or having them right now.” Her stomach flopped. Could she handle a house full of little DeShawns? And with him on the road so much, could she handle being essentially a single mother? “I’d better take this dress off. It’s starting to make me itch.” She turned and rushed back into the fitting room. When she was safely behind the closed dressing-room door, she bent at the waist and tried to chug in some much-needed air. She glanced up at the mirror. “God, Leigh. Do you know what you’re doing?”

  Knock. Knock.

  “Leigh?” Ariel inquired softly. “Do you need any help?”

  She pulled herself up and then pinched her cheeks to put some color back into them. “I, uh…”

  “Open the door,” Ariel ordered.

  Rolling her eyes, Leigh did as her best friend asked, and moved aside so that Ariel could enter the small space.

  Ariel took one look at her and was instantly concerned. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

  “Yeah. Of course. I’m fine.” Her friend stared her down. “It’s just…everything is coming at me like a speeding locomotive, you know?”

  “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  “No… Well, just a few.”

  Ariel smiled. “That’s okay. It’s normal.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Are you kidding? How many girlfriends of ours have gotten married? How many of them almost ran screaming from the church before the ceremony? Hell, Maxine Jones hyperventilated the whole way down the aisle and then burst into tears after she said ‘I do.’ Now she’s been happily married for six years with three kids.”

  “Yeah.” Leigh nodded. “You’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right.” She blew on her nails and then buffed them on her chest. “They don’t call me Ms. Know-It-All for nothing.”

  Leigh drew in a deep breath and then felt her nerves settle down a little.

  “You know what? I know what will cheer you up,” she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “How about tonight we ditch the old lady and start planning the bachelorette party?”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. C’mon. As your maid of honor, I’m in charge of making sure that your last night in singlehood is one that you’ll never forget.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I just want to go home and dive into bed and just sleep for a couple of weeks. I think I’m coming down with something.”

  “Uh-uh-uh. I don’t want to hear it. I’m taking you out, and we’re going to check out some good spots for the bachelorette party.”

  “Strip clubs? You want to spend the evening checking out strip clubs?”

  “C’mon. Clearly you’re not into dress, cake and venue shopping, so let’s do the fun stuff tonight. Find the hot strippers.” She started shaking her booty. “You know you wanna.” She cheesed all up in Leigh’s face and started bumping her hips against hers.

  Leigh couldn’t withhold her smile any longer. “All right. All right. We can go.”

  “Woohoo! Now let’s hurry up and get you out of that dress.”

  Chapter 9

  “Booty, booty, booty, booty, rockin’ everywhere, rockin’ everywhere.”

  Quentin’s head bobbed to the infectious beat, which happened to be the same rhythm that Caramel Swirl twirled her hips to as she slid her oil-slicked body down the stripper pole and tossed him a wink. “Damn, girl. You make me want to buy your momma a house.”

  “My daddy might have something to say about that.” Caramel smiled and then edged closer so that he tucked two Benjamins into her tiny thong strings.

  “That’s all right. He can stay there too, for his fifty-percent genetic share.” He winked. “So what are you doing later?”

  “Spending time with you?”

  “You read my mind.” He leaned over and elbowed Jeremy. “Care to join us?”

  “Uh, what?” Jeremy lifted his head from the doodling he was doing on the club’s cocktail napkin. “What did you say?”

  Quentin frowned. “All these luscious bodies bouncing in your face… What the hell are you doing?” He glanced down at the napkin and saw a woman’s face sketched in remarkable detail. Recognizing that it was the same image his cousin had been sketching on practically every damn thing in the office over the past few weeks, he huffed out a long breath. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Q—”

  “What’s this? Are you obsessing over this girl?”

  “What? No,” Jeremy said, defensively. “I’m just… Well, you know, just passing the time.”

  “Are you kidding me?” He plopped back down in his chair and spread out his arms. “Look around you. You’re a King on a throne and look at all the toys at your disposal.”

  When Jeremy sighed, Q hopped up from his chair and wrapped his arm around his cousin and tried to give him the big-picture perspective.

  “What’s your flavor, cuz? Dark chocolate, milk chocolate, maple sugar, butterscotch or even vanilla? There’s just no way with all these flavors surrounding you. You should have a face so long, it’s about to hit the floor.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Look, cuz. I really appreciate what you’re trying to do, really. But you can pump the brake
s. It’s not what you think. It’s just…mysteries intrigue me.” He tossed his napkin back onto the table. “And so far, she’s the biggest mystery I’ve ever come across.”

  Q grabbed the napkin and took another look. “All right. She’s cute, I guess.”

  “Ah, but Baby Girl was also stacked.”

  “Yeah?” Quentin perked up but then watched as that same tired look glazed his cousin’s eyes. “Look, man. You know there’s a good chance that your brick house was just some bored housewife who needed to get her rocks off, you know what I mean? It happens sometimes. Don’t get your ego all caught up. Just be glad that she didn’t leave any money on the nightstand. That would’ve been humiliating. Trust me. I’ve been there.”

  Jeremy cocked his head. “Really? I thought you loved your life when you had a fleet of sugar mommas trying to take care of you.”

  Quentin thought back. “Oh, yeah. That was really nice. Never mind. Scratch what I said. Order another drink and then let’s set out finding you a chick who can pass for a look-alike for your mysterious Baby Girl. Role-playing can be fun too.”

  Jeremy thought that he could live a thousand years and never really understand his cousin or his demons, and he certainly had a number of those.

  “Heeeey, Jeremy,” a string of Dolls cooed as they sashayed their way toward the champagne room. “Evening, ladies.”

  “What? Y’all don’t see nobody else?” Quentin complained.

  “Heeeey, Q,” they chorused, flashing him the same blinding white smiles.

  “That’s better.” Q puffed out his chest. “I don’t want to have to start docking nobody’s pay around here. You girls need to work on your hospitality skills.”

  “You’re not a customer,” Jeremy pointed out.

  Quentin turned toward him, frowning. “Would it hurt you to have my back?”

  “Sorry.” Jeremy grabbed his glass and then tossed back his brandy. “So, um. Mind if I ask just how long you’re planning to stay out here?”

  Quentin’s brows leaped. “Sick of me already?”

  “Nah, nah, nah. I didn’t say that.”