by Zaire Crown
Tuesday had decided to downplay her sexy so she and Tushie had chosen a black knee-length skirt with a burgundy silk blouse that only showed a little bit of cleavage. The skirt hugged her but wasn’t supertight. She rocked her black Prada heels with the ankle straps.
He remembered his manners because as she approached he stood to greet her. He was wearing a navy-blue Polo golf shirt, dark jeans, and crisp white Air Forces.
Tuesday hadn’t noticed how tall he was before then. He towered over her by at least six inches. She liked tall men.
There was a brief hug in which she noticed his unique scent. His cologne, soap, and aftershave had mingled in an agreeable way.
He made certain to pull out the chair for her as she sat.
Tuesday said, “This is the part where you tell me how good I look.”
He seated himself across from her. “You didn’t come across as the insecure type who went fishing for compliments. You know you look good today, isn’t that enough?”
“I’m gonna tell you a little secret about women.” She leaned toward him then scanned around as if she feared someone might overhear. He leaned in and offered his ear.
She whispered: “All women are insecure—every single one of us! When you have a vagina you need three things to survive: food, water, and compliments.”
He teased her by making a face like she had just told him the mystery of life.
“While you being funny, I could lose my womanhood card for telling you that! This is the top-secret shit that get discussed at our meetings.”
Laughing, he asked, “So you mean a woman could actually die from not receiving enough compliments?”
“Compliment deficiency is no laughing matter,” she said with a grim expression. “I lost my grandmother to CD when I was a little girl.”
“You look beautiful today. Feel better now?”
Tuesday closed her eyes and sighed as if she’d just received a drug fix. “Oh, thank you. I didn’t know how much longer I could’ve held on.”
Someone came to drop off a pair of menus along with a basket of bread. Tuesday used that interruption as a chance to guide the conversation to a more serious place. “So, Mr. Marcus, what do you do?”
He took a piece of bread and broke it in half but didn’t eat it. “I’m sort of in what they call a transitional phase.”
“That’s usually just a slick way that people have of saying they ain’t got no job!”
“I’m not one of those people.” He took a bite and chewed it slowly. Tuesday was waiting for him to explain but he never did.
She pressed the issue. “So you do work?”
“Not in a sense that I leave the house every morning wearing a suit with a briefcase, but yeah, I work.”
“So we go back to my original question: What do you do?”
He tasted more of the bread. “It’s complicated. Not so much what I do, just explaining it to people can be difficult.”
On the inside Tuesday was frustrated that he was being so evasive but on the outside she maintained her cool. She should’ve expected this because just getting a name out of him had been like pulling teeth. Even though this was normal first-date conversation, he might get defensive if she kept pressing it, so Tuesday dropped the subject.
“This is a nice place,” she said, looking around. “You ever ate here before?”
He nodded. “A few times.”
“Is the food any good?”
“Actually it’s really bad, but I just keep coming back anyway.”
Oh, so now you understand sarcasm! Tuesday thought to herself.
“Okay,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “So that was a stupid question.”
“No I’m just messing with you. The only stupid questions are the ones we don’t ask. For real, though, the food here is on point.”
Tuesday glanced over her menu. “So do you mind if I ask another question that might or might not seem stupid?”
He gave her an agreeable nod.
“Are you single?”
“Yeah, I’m single.”
Tuesday sighed in relief. Finally a straight answer from this nigga.
“Well?” she said, looking at him expectantly. “Aren’t you gone ask me if I’m single?”
“I’m assuming you are. It would say a whole lot about your character if you weren’t.”
“You don’t know that, though. For all you know I could be here creepin’ on my man.”
“You’re not the type.” He said this as casually as if he’d known her for years.
Tuesday squinted at him. “You think you already know what type of person I am?”
“Yep,” he said, staring down into his own menu.
“So you done already figured me out?”
“Pretty much.” He never looked up at her.
“Well, go ahead then, break me down. If I’m such an open book, then read me a page.”
He sighed as if he were a magician being asked to do a card trick he was tired of performing. He set the menu aside and stared directly at her.
He took a breath then started: “People might think because of how you look that you’re disloyal, money-hungry and will drop any guy quick the second you see something better, but that’s just a misconception we make against pretty women. You’re confident without being conceited, you can appreciate nice things without being materialistic, and I’m willing to bet that when a man has your heart you make him your entire world. You learned a long time ago that you have a look that men go for and while you have used the pretty face, green eyes, and banging body to your advantage, those aren’t really the things you feel that define you. Men want to possess you and women mostly envy you, but you’ve never wanted to be a trophy or an object of jealousy. You’ll play on a guy if he allows himself to be played but really, you’re tired of those games. You’re a natural-born leader—the type of woman that other women follow—and while you put up a front of being so strong and in control, deep down you’re hurt and lonely. You’ve only allowed yourself to love once and that person broke your heart. Maybe he cheated, maybe he left, maybe he died, I don’t know, but you’ve never opened up to anyone else like that again.”
Tuesday was thrown into a stunned silence. All she could do was stare at him with her mouth hanging open.
She understood exactly what he was talking about because since she could remember, people had misjudged her based on her appearance. Tuesday had started as a quiet and humble girl, but so many guys before A.D. had treated her like a high-maintenance diva that she slowly adopted the attitude. Even other women assumed that she was a stuck-up bitch without knowing her. Men either wanted to possess her like a trophy or were so intimidated by her that they didn’t want her at all—and both stemmed from their insecurity. Tuesday had always taken pride in her appearance but she never did think that she was absolutely defined by her looks. Good genes were a product of her parents and she couldn’t take credit for that, but Tuesday had always taken the most pride in the things that she had developed in herself, such as her intelligence, style, personality, and game. Beauty is a blessing, but wisdom is earned.
She was even more surprised by the deductions he made about her being hurt and alone. Was it that obvious? Was it all written on her face so plainly for anybody to see or was this nigga something unique?
He had a way of reading her that was just uncanny; no one had been able to do that since A.D. She couldn’t help but compare the two. Tuesday had noticed the physical resemblance immediately because their complexion and build were so similar, but she thought it ended there, because when they first met he came off as so shy. She now realized that they were so alike in personality that it was fucking with her head.
Before she got lost, she had to stay focused and remind herself what this was all about. He was good but apparently he wasn’t that good, because if he could read her as well as he thought, he wouldn’t be here. He would know what she and the girls had in store for him.
She asked, “What i
f I told you that I was a shallow, gold-diggin’ bitch who only cared about the size of a man’s wallet and dick?”
He slowly chewed more bread. “I’d say you were full of it!”
“How do you know I’m not lying?”
“Simple,” he said in between bites. “I can tell by how you dressed today that you’re not too materialistic. A true gold-digger would’ve wore something way more provocative to entice me and would’ve played a lot of jewelry to let me know what she was accustomed to.
“Plus you’ve already shown me through our conversations that you’re intelligent and no woman who is truly shallow will do the necessary soul searching to ever discover that fact about herself. By nature, ignorant people are never aware of their ignorance.”
Tuesday nodded to agree. “So you would have to be a deep person to even admit that you’re shallow in the same way that the second a person realizes their ignorance, they have already taken the first step toward being wise.”
He leaned back in his chair and Tuesday could tell by the expression on his face that she had just impressed him.
When their waiter arrived, Tuesday allowed him to order for them both since he’d been there before. The sides were self-serve from the buffet but Tuesday was surprised to see that the beef tenderloin he selected for them both was actually brought out whole on long skewers from which servers carved healthy slices right onto their plates.
While they ate, the conversation didn’t extend much further than how delicious their meal was. He chose black beans and rice from the buffet; she, soup and salad. The tenderloin was succulent and juicy and the servers brought out a parade of it. The moment a slice was devoured, a server showed up to carve another onto their plates. There was a small wooden marker on their table shaped like a cylinder that was painted red and green on each side—flipping it red side up was the only way to stop the endless beef onslaught once they could stand no more.
As she sat there feeling full up to her throat, Tuesday didn’t know if the place served dessert, but she hadn’t left any room for it. She was a little self-conscious about eating so much, then told herself she was being silly. Her body type should’ve made it obvious to him that she had a healthy appetite.
Earlier Tuesday had allowed the focus to be shifted to her just when she was just beginning to dig into his personal life. Besides being single, he hadn’t revealed anything about himself and she figured this was a good time to get back to that conversation.
“Have you ever been married?” she asked, suddenly breaking their post-lunch silence.
Tuesday had meant to ambush him and there was only the tiniest flicker of surprise in his eyes before he composed himself. “Never married. Came real close, though.”
“What happened?”
“She died!” he said bluntly, then stared off into the distance.
Tuesday could tell from his tone and expression that this was not something he was willing to discuss. It was still a sensitive wound. She didn’t press because a dead ex was a little too heavy for first-date chitchat.
Sensing a shift in his mood, Tuesday knew she had to bring the conversation back to a brighter subject. “So what do you do for fun?”
“I run, I work out. I do the gym thing.”
“That’s all? That’s your idea of fun?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s fun, it’s just what I’m into.”
Tuesday leaned over the table some to expose a bit more of her cleavage. In a voice meant to be seductive, she said: “I’ve been lookin to get in better shape, improve my flexibility. Maybe you could teach me a li’l something? You know, work me out!”
The not-so-subtle innuendo either went totally over his head or he just didn’t feed into it, because his expression was deadpan when he responded: “I’m not actually a personal trainer but there should be some on staff at whatever gym you go to. If not, you could find some local ones online.”
When Tuesday rolled her eyes and grunted in frustration, he didn’t seem to catch that either.
They sat there for a while longer and talked without really discussing anything. Tuesday fired off a series of questions, which he gave short answers to or skillfully deflected like a politician. He treated her most mundane questions as if she were a foreign spy trying to learn his country’s military strengths. To Tuesday it seemed less like a conversation than a boxing match and after what felt like nine rounds of sparring with him, she was actually grateful when he looked to his wristwatch and called for the check.
They left Gaucho’s and he escorted her to the green Honda. He opened the door for her, and after she got in, he poked his head inside. “I had a really nice time.”
Tuesday faked a smile. “Me too.”
“I hope we can do this again,” he said. “Soon.”
She nodded but rolled her eyes dramatically when he looked away. Truthfully, she’d rather lick a wall socket before she had to endure another date like this.
Tuesday had been worried that the feds might be tailing him so while they ate lunch she had one of the girls camp outside the restaurant. Since Tushie had plans with De’Lano and she didn’t trust Brianna or Doll enough for the job, Tuesday had Jaye parked down the street from Gaucho’s in her 200 with a Tigers hat pulled down low over her face, peeping the scene with Tuesday’s binoculars.
After she left him at the restaurant, Tuesday had Jaye follow him and she confirmed that he shot back to the house for a minute then went to pick up the girl from Bishop Burchram. Jaye also reported that as far as she could tell no one else was following him.
She didn’t tell Jaye how bad lunch went because Tuesday felt they were already losing faith in her skills. It wasn’t just that he was so closed off about his life but what really bothered Tuesday was the fact that he never seemed to take a real interest in hers—especially after she went through so much trouble to create Tabitha Green. He said that he wanted to see her again soon but to Tuesday that just sounded like a polite kiss-off. With everything else that was going wrong with this case, she had just compounded another problem.
He had read her so easily but she was never quite able to figure him out. Tuesday’s strength had always been that she knew niggas and knew what it took to get them on the hook, but for whatever reason this dude just wasn’t taking the bait. Lunch was awkward for them both and if this nigga just decided to lose her number, there was no way she would be able to explain it to the team after Tuesday had been so adamant that she was the only one who could get him. Brianna was going to have a field day if she lost her mark.
While his being so secretive was enough to frustrate Tuesday, it was also confirmation that had something worth hiding. He quickly shot down any questions that pertained to his job and that had sounded alarm bells in Tuesday’s mind. She couldn’t know if he was actually Sebastian Caine, but he was way too game-conscious just to be the square nigga he was pretending to be.
A few hours passed and Jaye met her back at the club with nothing more to report. After scooping his daughter up from school, they stopped at Dairy Queen then went straight back to the house with no stops. She spent another hour and a half watching his block from the side street like Tuesday had told her but she swore that the Audi never left.
As Tuesday sat in her office with Jaye, she realized that it was one of the few times she had to talk to her one-on-one. Jaye was the newest member of the team, only having joined fourteen months ago, and while Tuesday had seen enough in her to extend an invitation, it sometimes occurred to her that she really didn’t know much about the girl. Outside of Tushie, she didn’t socialize with any of them personally because she’d tried to keep their relationship professional. But while Brianna and Doll were like open books that could be read at a glance, it wasn’t so easy with Jaye. She was funny but not as reckless as those two; Tuesday also peeped that she was a lot sharper than either of them. Tuesday felt she could trust her enough to do what was necessary for the team but she didn’t know whose side Jaye would be
on when she and Brianna finally had the big blow-up that was coming. Tuesday used this rare alone time with her to pick her brain.
They had already smoked some of the premium kush that Tuesday kept stashed in her office. Jaye was on the couch stuffing her mouth with steak fries that she dunked in Mr. Scott’s legendary barbeque sauce.
Tuesday called to her from the desk. “Jaye, if we hit this lick and get a nice piece of change, what are you talkin’ ’bout doing?”
She chewed a wad the size of a golf ball then swallowed hard. “Gettin’ the fuck outta dodge like we talked about.”
“Naw, I mean after that. Have you ever thought about an exit strategy—a way to get out the game?”
“Look, I know what you getting at and I’m not planning on making a career outta this. No disrespect, but by the time I’m forty I plan on being well established.”
Tuesday laughed. “First off, bitch, I’m not quite forty but I do see where you comin’ from. So when you do hit the big four-oh, where are you trying to be?”
Jaye put aside the empty Styrofoam container. “I’m only twenty-three so I ain’t gave forty a lot of thought, but by the time I’m thirty, I plan on being in Hollywood.”
“So you wanna be famous?” asked Tuesday.
“I wanna be rich but I’ll take the fame if it comes along with it.” She explained: “My whole life I been silly as hell and I was actually thinkin’ ’bout tryin’ my hand at being a comedian. If you blow up from there you can pimp that shit to the movie business and that’s when you start makin’ the big money.”
“Well, you do be havin’ us rollin’ up in here,” said Tuesday. “But can you really see yourself up on stage doin’ it for real? Niggas gone be too busy staring at you to even pay attention to the jokes.”
“Me and my brother talked about it and I think that’s what’s gone actually blow me up. If they see that I’m not just a pretty face, but can get on stage and kill it. Plus I got a look that’s made for TV. My brother done already wrote up a comedy routine for me, and a treatment for my own sitcom.”