by Zaire Crown
When she climbed into the passenger seat, she was a little surprised, but not disappointed, to see Danielle strapped in the back. She gave Tuesday an energetic wave, and she beamed a smile back at the girl. “Hi, Dani.”
“Hi, Tabitha,” she said, covering her mouth in that shy way that Tuesday thought was so cute.
She looked at Marcus, who was dressed in black jeans, a black T-shirt, and black fitted cap. “Oh, so you feelin’ like a gangsta today, huh?”
“I never feel like a gangsta!” He checked his mirrors then pulled away from the complex. “If you think back on every movie you ever seen, gangstas always wind up dead or in jail.” He smiled at Tuesday. “And I’m too young and handsome to wind up in either of those situations.”
She said, “You ain’t that young.”
“Or that handsome!” Danielle chimed from the backseat and he reached an arm behind him to tickle her.
Tuesday wondered what type of business he could have in Los Angeles, but figured it couldn’t be too dangerous if he was bringing Danielle along. She didn’t see him as the type to be exchanging briefcases in an abandoned warehouse; Caine was too polished for that. So even if he was doing something illegal, she imagined that it would probably look legit on the surface.
The fact that he even brought her along on a business trip was progress for Tuesday. Getting closer to his business meant that she was getting closer to the money. She hoped that all his business wasn’t out in California and that he had something put up in Michigan that she and the girls could get to.
When they arrived at Metro Airport, Tuesday wondered if they were flying first class or if he was going to keep trying to play the broke role. They left the Audi and the moment they hit the front door, they were immediately met by an attendant who’d been waiting to escort them. Tuesday couldn’t believe it when she, he, and Danielle were ushered past the tedious gauntlet of airport security straight through a rear door that led to a hangar. Inside more attendants were waiting to take their bags and they placed them in the storage compartment of the private jet.
While Marcus shook hands with somebody who she guessed was the pilot, Tuesday looked over the gleaming white bird. This plane was like something she’d seen in a rap video and she couldn’t help but wonder who he knew to get access to it. There was a logo on the side that read Abel Inc., and Tuesday tried but couldn’t guess how he might be affiliated with that corporation.
When Marcus was done chatting up the pilot, they were allowed to board. Tuesday couldn’t believe how plush it was inside. The G-650 was the largest and most expensive model in the Gulf-stream series. The cabin was large enough to allow a man of average height to walk fully erect and spacious enough to seat fourteen comfortably in fat leather recliners with eighteen-inch monitors that folded out of the armrests. The woodwork was done in dark maple with gold trim and some of the chairs were arranged around tables of the same grain. Beyond the passenger cabin was a small galley stocked with food and amenities. Beyond that was a modest suite with a full-sized bed and a bathroom with a shower. It was essentially a condo with wings.
As overwhelmed as Tuesday was, Danielle didn’t seem too impressed. She climbed into one of the big cushy chairs and strapped herself in without having to be told or taught how. Evidently he traveled with her enough for this to be routine.
He strapped himself into a seat next to Tuesday and put a hand on top of hers. “You look nervous. You’re not scared to fly, are you?”
“A little bit,” she lied. The nervousness in her gut was more directed toward him than the flight because for the first time since meeting him, he actually felt like the real Sebastian Caine. This was how a real kingpin got around.
There were two pilots and a single flight attendant to attend to the passengers. She was a black woman in her mid-forties who made sure all of their belts were securely fastened before she took her own seat.
The jet taxied from the hangar to the tarmac, then after a brief announcement about the weather and flight time, they were off to sunnier shores.
Once they reached cruising altitude and were free to move around, Marcus immediately excused himself and disappeared in the back.
The flight attendant came around to see if she wanted anything and Tuesday asked only for water. Little Danielle wanted nothing; she was content with the headphones and Dora the Explorer on the screen in front of her.
Tuesday was half finished with her bottle of Evian when Marcus reappeared in different clothes. He was bossed up now in a navy-blue Ralph Lauren suit, a white shirt, and yellow paisley tie with the matching pocket square. He was playing it with some sweet-ass horn-rimmed frames by Tom Ford that looked to be prescription and not merely for show, and black ostrich-skin Mauris.
He brought out his ice game too because his cufflinks were diamond blocks the size of Now and Later candies. The six-karat studs in his ears were bigger than M&M’s.
When he sat down, Tuesday couldn’t take her eyes off him or close her gaping mouth. Soaking up this new swag convinced her that this was the real him and the Audi-driving babysitter was just a facade.
He looked over at Tuesday and pretended not to notice the “God damn!” look on her face. “You don’t have to get changed right now if you don’t want to. We’ve still got about two and a half hours before we get to L.A.”
He confirmed the time by checking a platinum Greubel Forsey Quadruple Tourbillion that Tuesday had seen in the Robb Report Watch Buyer’s Guide costing over half a million. It was a big boy’s watch, but he glanced at it then pulled his sleeve back over it as if he was just rocking a Timex. The fact that he wasn’t trying to floss or stunt with it told her that he wasn’t petty and was used to having nice shit.
“Huh? What?” Tuesday was so mesmerized that she hardly caught what he said.
“I was just letting you know that you can go get dressed now if you want. Everything’s already set up back there.”
Tuesday went to the rear of the plane, and inside the suite found three dresses hanging on a wardrobe rack with a different shoebox from Marc Jacob for each one. He had even thought to buy stockings.
She took all three, laid them across the bed, then zipped them out of their protective slips. Tuesday was beaming ear to ear because the nigga definitely knew his shit when it came to fashion.
The first was a floral-print dress by Oscar de la Renta made of Chinese silk, and while Tuesday thought it was fly, along with the shoes he had chosen with it, they didn’t fit well together. The second one was a Vera Wang gown that was strapless with an intricate lace bodice. Tuesday thought that was pretty too, but it had a deeply plunging neckline and she didn’t want to spend the entire night trying to make sure her titties didn’t fall out. She passed on that one as well.
Tuesday literally struck gold with the third one. It was a gold chiffon backless gown by Rachel Zoe that was ankle-length with a slit running up the side to show off her legs. Tuesday liked that the fabric was light and clung to her body. Plus it was clasped at the neck and showed just enough cleavage. Although it came with an Hermès clutch that she was feeling, she wasn’t too crazy about the shoes. She swapped them out with the Jacobs from the first dress and knew she had her look.
When she came from the back, the flight attendant in the galley was the first to see her. She gave her smile of approval but stopped Tuesday before she could present herself to Marcus. “You look beautiful, girl, but there’s only one problem. With a dress like that, the hair is supposed to be worn up.”
Tuesday agreed. “I know, but this all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to get it done.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, pulling Tuesday back toward the bathroom. “I worked in a salon for five years before I started doing this. Now I ain’t got no irons or weave on board, but with a comb and a couple of hairpins I can get you right.”
And a few minutes later Tuesday was right. Her hair was pinned up in back; she combed aside the bangs covering her forehead and had two longer strand
s spiraling on either side of her face. The flight attendant even had a small makeup kit and gave Tuesday some eye shadow that matched the dress. She did so well on her face and hair that Tuesday jokingly asked if she knew anything about doing nails.
As they both stood admiring her reflection in the mirror, the flight attendant said: “Girl, I don’t know how you pulled it off, but Mr. King must really like you. I’ve been working for his family for years and you’re the first woman I’ve seen him with in a long time.”
Tuesday was confused. “King?”
“Yeah, Marcus King!” she said, looking at Tuesday as if she were slow. “The man you’re with. Whose private jet you’re standing on. The one who bought that six-thousand-dollar dress you’re wearing.”
Tuesday tried to play if off like she always knew his name. “Naw, I just thought you said Bing. Like Dave Bing, the mayor of Detroit.”
She said, “Well, between me and you, I’d take fine-ass King over Bing any day!”
Tuesday smiled to agree.
She leaned closer and whispered into Tuesday’s ear, “And it don’t hurt that his family’s worth like six hundred million dollars either.”
Tuesday’s eyes almost exploded from her skull. “Six hundred million!”
She figured the woman had to be lying or overexaggerating. She knew Marcus had to have some money stashed from all his years in the dope game but that was a ridiculous number. Plus, how could this flight attendant possibly know what he was working with when he made it his business to keep so much on the low?
“What makes you think he has money like that?” Tuesday asked nonchalantly, trying not to sound like a gold-digger.
The woman looked at Tuesday as if what she said were common knowledge. “You don’t know who he is, do you?”
No, you don’t know who he really is, Tuesday thought to herself.
“He’s Marcus King!” she said as if the name alone should explain it all. “Son of Brandon King.”
The woman was speaking as if these names should be familiar to her. Tuesday knew it would look bad if she didn’t know the first thing about the man who had brought her here and done all this for her so she just played it off. “Oh yeah, I just didn’t know he was that Marcus King.”
This nigga wasn’t just secretive, he was a full-blown mystery. The more Tuesday learned about him, the less she understood.
When Tuesday finally made her appearance, Danielle was taking a break from her cartoons. “Wow, Tabitha, you look like a princess. Just like Ariel in The Little Mermaid.”
“Thank you, Dani.”
When she sat down next to Marcus, he offered his approval with a smile. “I was kinda hoping you picked that one.”
“Why, because it shows the most skin?”
“That and because it goes best with these.” He pulled out a jewelry box and passed it to her.
Tuesday opened it to reveal a set of diamond earrings. Each had a trio of six-karat stones with icicles hanging from them like chandeliers. She’d never seen anything so exquisite nor diamonds so flawless. The dress, the shoes, and now this. Tuesday was starting to feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.
As bad as she wanted the earrings, she knew it would score major points with him if she refused them.
“I can’t accept these,” she said, pushing the box back into his hand. “Those look really expensive. It’s too much too soon.”
His eyebrows shot up. “First off, they are really expensive. Second, I never said anything about you being able to have them!”
Tuesday looked confused.
“They’re on loan from Cartier and have to go back in a few days. I just thought you would look fabulous in them tonight.”
She practically had to pick her face up off the floor.
“Tabitha, I like you but I’m not the type of dude who’ll pop for three-hundred-thousand-dollar earrings on a woman I just met.” He smiled at her to cushion the blow. “Even one as fine as you.”
Tuesday accepted the jewelry box when he forced it back into her hand. She couldn’t hide how embarrassed she felt just assuming he was giving them to her. She stared down at the set, and while they were mesmerizing, it was mostly to avoid his face.
He turned her head to meet his eyes. “Hey, don’t get like that. Tonight is supposed to be about us doing it all grown up, and after how I played you last night, I just wanted you to look as fly as can be.
“And Tabitha, the fact that you turned them down says a lot more about your character than assuming they were yours to have. It takes a special type of woman to refuse a gift like that on principle. I admire you for that.”
Wow, that was a first for Tuesday: having a man say that he admired her. All niggas complimented her on her looks and a few on her brains, but she couldn’t remember one ever complimenting her character. Refusing the diamonds was a calculated move, one that she hoped would earn his respect, but she still felt moved by how he articulated that respect. She was touched but stayed on game and hid it well.
She hooked the icy earrings into her lobes, then turned to him. “How do they look?”
“Amazing!” Although he never looked away from her eyes to examine the jewelry.
Tuesday stared into his eyes and again felt herself becoming lost in them. The moment seemed perfect for a kiss, but after last night she didn’t trust herself to stop, plus Danielle was sitting just across the aisle from them.
Luckily, the flight attendant interrupted them. “Champagne?” She had flutes of Dom Perignon for the two of them and some apple juice for Danielle, so she wouldn’t feel left out.
The rest of the flight was so smooth that some minor turbulence was the only thing to remind Tuesday they were thirty thousand feet in the air. She would’ve loved to join the Mile High Club, but having Danielle with them, it didn’t seem right to try to sneak off and get it in.
On their approach, Tuesday got to look out over the coastal skyline of Los Angeles, and when they landed at LAX, there was a car and driver already waiting for them just off the runway. Their things were transferred directly from the storage compartment of the G-650 to the trunk of a big black Rolls Royce.
Tuesday was not a bitch who was easily impressed or some broke-ass hoodrat who’d never been off the block and wasn’t used to being around money. She knew heavyweights in the game and a few of them had taken her on trips before—once to Vegas and twice to Miami.
But Tuesday had never fucked with a nigga on his level. She had never in her life done it this big and couldn’t keep it from getting to her head. As they drove through downtown L.A. in the backseat of the Phantom with Danielle sandwiched between them, Tuesday had her face pressed to the window wide-eyed as a schoolgirl on her first field trip. On Hollywood Boulevard Tuesday saw many of the famous landmarks she’d seen only in movies. On Rodeo they cruised past all the high-end stores like Gucci, Bvlgari and Chanel, with her secretly hoping they would get a chance to hit a few of them.
From there they crept up into those famous hills that held some of the most expensive real estate in the world. Beyond high fences, statement homes made bold claims about their owners’ wealth, and the longer they drove, the claims got more outrageous. Tuesday made a game of trying to guess which of her favorite celebrities might live in those lavish cribs.
Then the Rolls pulled through the gates of someone’s estate, where beyond a quarter mile of manicured lawn and trimmed topiary, the driveway opened onto a Grecian mansion that was so expansive it seemed more like a hotel than a private residence. With fifteen-foot beveled windows and huge Greek columns supporting the portico, Tuesday thought it looked like the White House but on steroids.
For the most part Tuesday was just going along for the ride and not bothering Marcus with a lot of questions, but when gazing upon this beautiful white palace with the decorative nude statues, she couldn’t resist the temptation to inquire about the people who were lucky enough to call such a place home.
“This is my father’s house,” he said af
ter a hesitant pause. “We’re just dropping Dani off here for the weekend.”
She flashed back to their conversation last night. “I thought you said you grew up in Detroit?”
He nodded. “I did until I was about ten. Then I lived out here.”
There was something in his voice that sounded as if he were embarrassed to admit that and for the life of her, Tuesday couldn’t understand why. Her childhood had been spent with her mother, bouncing from one roach-infested flat to another, but here he was acting all ashamed to have been raised in a mansion that looked as big as the malls she couldn’t afford to shop in until she was eighteen years old.
As the driver opened the door for them, they were greeted by a man who came from the house. He was an elderly brother, maybe in his mid-sixties, with a head full of salt-and-pepper curls. From the way he bounced down the front steps, Tuesday could tell that he still had some life left in him. Also from the way he caught Danielle when she sprinted to him and leapt into his arms.
“Grampy,” she screamed as he picked her up and spun her around.
“Hey, Funny Face!” He covered her cheeks with kisses and Danielle giggled with delight.
Just then a trio of golden retrievers clamored through the doorway and surrounded her, sniffing, licking at her fingers with enthusiastic tails wagging. They were leaping playfully to compete for the girl’s attention.
To Danielle he said, “Berta made cookies.” And this was enough to send her scrambling into the house with the dogs on her heels.
As Marcus approached his father, Tuesday looked for a resemblance, but just like with him and Danielle, she didn’t see one. He was a smaller man with brighter skin and a better grade of hair. Nothing besides the age difference could’ve marked them as father and son.
They had a brief hug that to Tuesday seemed very formal. It was a split-second embrace with a pat on the back. Everything about their body language told her that they weren’t very close.
“You look good,” father said to son. “So how are you?”