by Love Belvin
Abruptly, Heather’s eyes fell, and she cleared her throat then seemed to choke. She rebounded quickly, though. “Excuse me.”
Taking a deep breath, I sat up in my seat, ready to eat. “Nah. You good.”
“I’m sorry,” I could hardly make out Heather’s whisper.
My wide eyes traveled up to her from my plate. “Huhn?”
She couldn’t look at me. Her elbows lifted onto the table and she rubbed the back of her head, still unable to look at me. “I’m sorry. Sorry you had to go through all that.” She licked her lips.
“S’all good, baby girl,” I offered with humor in my tone.
“You sure it isn’t the money that kept her from flinching? Or maybe it was relief.”
I glanced at her midway of lifting my fork from the setting. “Pardon?”
“Maybe she was so convinced of the gay rumors, when she learned about the thing with you and Patty, she was relieved.” When I didn’t answer, she tried circling back. “You’re a rich man, Ragee. It’s easy to overcome someone’s tragedy when they’re as rich as you.”
I chuckled. Heather’s animated eyes were hard on me. “You’re hustling backwards, trying to convince me what I feel about her ain’t real. You mentioned the money thing already.”
“Isn’t that what the fake marriage was all about for her?”
“I never gave her no money. No real gifts. Didn’t get a chance to trick her out before…” I hesitated. “…she bounced to Arizona.” I stuffed my mouth with the first of my food to distract from my emotions.
“So, you’re going to stay in this?”
God, I hope…
I shrugged, feeding my mouth more food. Heather’s eyes were pinned to me for more of an answer.
“If she wants me, I’m hers.” Fuck it. Why not be honest?
Myisha had me by the balls now, but I was determined to cut her at the hand. I just hoped it wouldn’t be a slow move. I hadn’t quite figured out how yet. Didn’t even know if Wynter wanted to be cool again. That was really some sucker shit I pulled that morning she left.
She sat steeled at the table. Her eyes bounced all around and at one point closed, and she shook her head softly.
“You ain’t touch your food,” I observed out loud, chewing.
“I’m just sorry—”
“You said that already.”
“For your trauma.”
My brows lifted, recognizing the emotion.
“Don’t pity me, Heather. You know I hate that shit—”
“Well, what else can I do?” she yelled. Her eyes closed as she caught her slip. “I wasn’t there for you back then. I hate that you suffered that way. I know that’s why you’re so…” Her upturned palms swayed as she searched for the right words.
I dropped my fork in the plate. “I’m a blessed man, Heather. I may have my demons, but God has given me more than what the average man’ll ever experience in his lifetime. He gave me exceptional chords that actually touch people. Chords I make a decent living off of. My face ain’t made for the runway, but I’ve graced magazine covers like models. Been in high budget movies with this mug and body. If that ain’t enough, He gave me a mind to have a legit and lucrative business outside of entertainment. Most men don’t have one of those advantages, and I got them all. I can live with the little demons assigned to me.”
“It’s not fair,” she hissed.
“God ain’t never promised to be fair. He promised to love, be faithful, provide, and heal.” I leveled my gaze on her. “I’m good.”
Especially after discovering my arctic blast…
Biting her lip and holding back the waterworks, Heather nodded. Eventually, she began to eat. When the silence became awkward, I asked about her kids. What mother didn’t like talking about her kids?
Her lips curled in a smile though her chin was low. “Lil Antwan loved that little motor truck you bought him. My mother joked that he got a Mercedes before his parents did.” She laughed. “I didn’t know they made those fancy things for kids. He’s been out back in the yard and the weather ain’t even break yet.”
We laughed. I was happy he liked it. Missing his party couldn’t have been avoided. Even if I wasn’t leaving town, I would have found an excuse. Heather may not have cared, but I didn’t like making Antwan feel uncomfortable, something I knew he was when I came around. So, I tried to minimize when I did.
We finished our food, talking about the kids and what’s going on at the church. My phone kept blowing up in between, but Heather didn’t seem to mind when I had to glance at it or quiet the chirps and vibrating. She had a few interruptions herself. Clearing my plate was probably the wrong move. All the sleep I’d been dodging seemed to be ready to crush down on me.
“You sure you don’t want dessert?” she asked, smiling as the waiter stood for our answer.
“I’m good.” I sat back in my seat. “But if you want something, by all means...”
After a few seconds of dithering, Heather ordered a slice of cheesecake to go. I motioned for the check then sipped on the last of my brandy, prepared to wait on the last of her food. No sooner than the waiter left, a familiar strut entered the room. What delayed my recognition of her was the way her shoulders caved, and her hands clasped humbly at her pelvis line.
Following my line of vision, Heather turned to glance over her shoulder, her smile fading as she did.
“Oh, hey!” Heather’s greeting wasn’t as cheery as usual.
She turned back to me with a gauging regard as she did earlier. She was trying to measure my reaction. This time she had company. Myisha’s smile was hesitant. As it should have been.
“Come,” Heather welcomed her with a wave. “Have a seat.”
Unable to look me in the face, Myisha obeyed. She rolled her jacket from her shoulders and arms then placed it on the back of her chair.
With timid eyes bouncing all around me, Myisha spoke just over a whisper, “The team ready for Vegas next week?”
“Yup,” I breathed out, disinterested.
I’d forgotten about the show in Vegas. I was hosting a party at Drai’s. So hell-bent on avoiding Myisha, it was the last thing on my mind until my accountant’s assistant hit me about a deposit they made on schedule.
“Ah!” Heather exhaled, intercepting any further exchange. “Now this feels like family. Not work!” she referred to our earlier conversation. Her beaming eyes bouncing between Myisha and me.
I gulped down the last of my drink and swallowed. Stretching my lips from the burn, I sat up to receive the bill from the returning waiter. “Nah. This feels like a setup.”
“Well—” Heather seemed stumped. She didn’t know what to say. Instead of paying with a card, I decided not to wait and peeled a few bills off and tucked them in the leather jacket, handing it back. “I just thought—”
I stood, interrupting her. “Thought you’d waste the little time I have on an issue that don’t concern you. I get it.” I stepped out from between the table and chair. “But I won’t forget the next time you hit me up, wanting to hang out.” I didn’t want to wait to ask for my coat. I would just have to do it when I left the private room. On my way to the door, I spoke over my shoulder. “How’s that spring cleaning coming along, MyMy?”
She knew I didn’t expect an answer by the way I left out without waiting on it.
~2~
“Now, we don’t do private room visits, but the warden allowed this one only once. The inmate’s confined to his seat, so there’ll be no touching or physical exchanges. It’s the usual thirty minutes,” the beefed up correctional officer with the name Smith on his badge ran down as we walked the concrete hall, smelling of bleach and oppression. “If for some reason, you wanna end the visit, just speak up and a guard’ll be in immediately.”
I knew that meant the conversation would be monitored.
We made it to the steel door where two other guards had been posted. Smith gave a single nod to let me know he was opening it. He stepped in first, which
hindered the view of the tiny space with a high window, no bigger than four by six feet with bars running through it. He advanced further than the table where my host sat, and I was able to see how small the room was. That’s when I was hit with an uncanny resemblance of the chick who was holding my heart in Arizona. The correctional officer stopped at the side of the chair across from Donovan Williams. I stopped, too, returning the curious stare Van was throwing me.
“You gotta sit for this, duke,” Smith commanded.
My eyes shot over to him and his wide posture reminded me I was on government territory. I moved toward the seat and pulled it back. As I sat down, I noticed Van’s sharp gaze on me. I couldn’t tell if he was star-struck or sizing me up. I still didn’t know why he’d extended the invitation.
Smith gave both of us a final gaze before stepping out. When the door closed behind me, I peeped the chains attached to his wrist bracelets. I imagined his feet wore similar jewelry.
A smirk broke around Van’s mouth. “I ain’t think you’d come.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You call, family come through.” My sarcasm wasn’t accompanied by a smile. In fact, I knew it was hard for him to read my position. I’d had years of practice at creating a blank canvas on my face.
He snorted, head shifted to the side as he chuckled, “Family.” Then his eyes were on me again. “That’s why I asked my lawyer to get you down here—by the way, big ups on finally getting me a real one to replace the ghost ya mans tried passing off.”
My forehead lifted. “Ghost?”
“Yeah. He was a ghost. People said they seen him...heard from him, but I ain’t never really see the nigga to know if he was a real person or just my imagination. This one could have me out after my next court date…out in a month.”
I nodded my understanding and palmed down my beard as I sat slightly reclined in my chair.
“Wynter don’t talk much about you. I ain’t even know y’all was fuckin’ before the media blasted about the wedding.”
My brows lifted again, and I gave a nod.
A smirk lifted on half his face and he bent toward the table to scratch his baldie. “You been like a ghost in my world, too. I hear about you on t.v. and my niece tell me she married you, but I ain’t never laid eyes on you in person to say you connected to something so precious to me.” He watched me closely.
“That’s why I got the special invite”—My eyes circle in the air—“to ya palace?”
“My palace…” He snorted again, head ducked, and eyes went to the corner of the room. “Yeah, man. That and to warn you I’ll be home soon.”
“And?”
He faced me again, his head leveling, and eyes squinting. “And I’mma find out the details of the fuckery you and ya mans got my peoples into. And if it ain’t on the up and up, I’m blowing up everybody’s spot. I ‘on’t give a fuck who you is. Wynter better than a public hoax. She a real one. A good girl. She may be covering while I’m in here, but I know how to get shit outta her.” His whole posture screamed warning.
I wanted to laugh, but his rundown on Wynter’s character wasn’t funny.
“What makes you think some fuckery’s going on?”
“C’mon, man!” He laughed dryly. His hands splayed over the table, exposing his palms. “Because of that question right there! You ‘on’t even know how tight we is. She do, though. She slipped up and confessed it. A couple of times, too.”
A panic lanced through me.
“What she say?” I projected calm.
“It ain’t just what she said, it’s what’s still the same in her world.” I shook my head and shrugged, asking him what. My usual protective wall to the side, if we were talking Wynter, we were talking my life. My fucking world. I wanted to know more. “For one, when I spoke to her last week, she slipped up and complained about her student loans. I pay half for her.”
“Half?” my anxiousness slipped.
He shrugged. “My car’s in her name. In exchange for her credit, I paid half the student loan. The car been paid off, but my payments to her still good.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause I know she need the help, nigga.” He laughed, flashing a shallow dimple, again reminding of a piece of joy. “Because that’s what family do. We look out for each other.”
I found that strange. Wynter hadn’t had any family in her corner since she entered my world. Everything she’d done in exchange of helping with my appearance had been for her uncle, Van. He couldn’t be far off in his generosity. But I was still confused. How could he be the only one in her corner? She said she lived with his side of her family for a minute before she stayed on campus, then moved in with that fuckboy of a friend of Van’s.
“She told you she had student loans.” I smacked my hands together at my waist. “And?”
“And? She got student loans and credit card debt. I help with those, too, since she took a L in pay. Why the fuck would my peoples have any bills if she married a damn millionaire? I’m down and she still in debt.”
I wished people would stop equating her connecttion to me with money. More than that, what the fuck kind of deal did Mike cut with her?
She’s out there by herself…
When I thought about it, she had no rent, utilities, or food to pay for since we married. But that didn’t account for the debt she had when she became my wife.
“Wynter ain’t marry me for money,” my tone was low, steady.
“She never would. My pops ain’t raise no gold digger!” he yelled. The door pushed open and Smith took a step inside, studying us. Van raised his palms, wrists confined by wide metal bracelets attached to the table. After a few seconds of inspection, satisfied, Smith closed the door. “Man, listen. I just need you to know that you may got her mixed up in your shenanigans, but she got family you gotta answer to. She may be in this with you, but I’m her blood. I’m the one shelling out cash to keep her shit together. And I don’t know what arrangement y’all done made, but don’t get shit twisted, my G, I’mma get outta here, thanks to your lawyer plug. When I get out, I’mma make sure everything legit. You feel me?”
I was dazed, but not by Van’s weak threats. He posed no harm other than his influence with Wynter. Van wasn’t a reputable killer, just protective of his niece, and I couldn’t be mad at that. What had me thrown was her financial situation. She’d never mentioned money. Ever. I thought we’d grown to a place of her trusting me. Now, I was feeling like all the connecting we’d done in the couple of weeks before she left for the L.I.T. boot camp was just physical. That shit hurt.
“I hope we got a understanding.”
“Nah, we don’t if you think I’m pimping out my wife.”
“You ain’t?” he challenged with that question.
“Nah.” I felt my head shake as my eyes journeyed to the wall behind him, running with visuals of a lonely Wynter Haile. “She’ll be the first to tell you I ain’t a perfect husband, but I can assure you I ain’t the type to have my wife struggling…”
A flash vision of her rocking at the foot of the bed in Saint Justin when she thought I’d been turned off by her bold sexual exploration appeared out of nowhere. Then the look of restrained pain in her eyes in front of the fireplace at my place in Sparta when I told her more about the craziness with my aunt, Patty. She was real. With me. Why couldn’t she open up as much to me as I’d done to her?
“Looks to me you do. Them bills still there just like I’m still in here. S’all good. I know my place in her world. I’ll take care of her. Just like I been doing since she was a pup.”
I shook my head. “You don’t get it. I ain’t know.”
“You should. She ya wife. Right?” The snarl he gave was one I could see him giving to one of his cellies. My patience was running short.
“She kept this one from me, tying my hands. Can’t address something that’s kept from you. Just like you couldn’t when ya bestie was fuckin’ her under your clueless ass nose.” His face tightened from conviction. I wasn’t supp
osed to know that as a fake husband. “Yeah. How it feel to know that sick mothafucka took both ya nieces’ innocence, pitting them against each other.”
“She told you that?”
“Wynter could’ve died in that car accident,” was my response.
Wynter, baby…
Van started his comeback about not liking it but having to deal with it because they kept it from him. But more important thoughts flooded my mind. Wynter. It took a while, a long while for me to come back to the room. It felt like I’d been out for a while, lost in thought. I could tell my mind took a trip for a minute by the way Van eyed me with new passion. I sat up and cleared my throat.
“She may be secretive, but you need to know she—we—don’t pimp her out on no whack shit. Best believe if I was out there, she woulda never got down with Mike fuckin’ Brown. That’s on my seeds, my G.” He basically repeated his argument, this time with less bass.
“You made that clear already.”
“To make sure you know, family,” he spat back the term I hit him with earlier. “Pops ain’t raise none of us to be used.”
I stood from the table. “Grandfather.”
“What?” he asked with pinched brows.
“You mean her grandfather.”
“Yeah. Him. What?”
I shrugged. “Just making sure I got this family orientation thing straight.” I ruffled him.
“Yeah. Just make sure you remember what I said.”
“Loud and clear.” I moved for the door then I turned over my shoulder. “Since my old lady likes to be prideful, how can I get the information about her debtors to settle them?”
I didn’t think he’d be able to help, but I tried because I had no other way of finding out.
“My sister, Wanda, moved back to Jersey with mom dukes. She got a stack of her mail that gets re-routed.”
“Give your lawyer her number. Matter of fact,” I scratched the back of my head. “I’ll make sure he gets you my direct number. I wanna get that information.” Van went quiet. His face still screwed, eyebrows tight. After a few seconds, he nodded. I tapped on the door for the guards. “And let’s keep this between us. See if Wanda can do that.”