by Tiana Laveen
The journalist rubbed on his chin as he sat back in his seat.
“I’ve heard you’re a good businessman. I am certain some new artists could learn a lot from you.”
“Yeah, and they could learn from my mistakes, too, just like I said. At the end of the day, I’m just an entertainer whose mind revolves around the art and the business. I’ve heard too many stories of bad deals and fucked up contracts with long-term consequences. I put all of my eggs in one basket, and some of those were cracked, but hell, they were still mine. They still counted.”
“I like your perspective on that.” The man’s lips curled.
John seemed genuinely interested, not just going through the motions like so many others who’d move on to the next celebrity the following day. Perhaps he was just a damn good actor but either way, he didn’t come across as brash as some of the other journalists he had dealt with. Still, although he’d enjoyed his time with John, it was time for this shit to end. Time was money. Gutter checked his Apple watch, giving a subtle hint.
“So, I could sit here with you for another hour easily, Gutter; you’re an interesting guy, but I told you I wouldn’t keep you long so here’s my final question to you. If you could give your younger self advice about your career, what would you say to Zake ‘Gutter’ Rayden?”
He smashed his joint in an ashtray and leaned forward, the chair groaning from his shifting weight.
“I’d say, ‘Trust your gut. People can’t fake who they really are forever…’”
“I couldn’t agree with you more. Well, Gutter, thank you so much for your time, tonight.”
Gutter got to his feet, extended his hand and gave John a hearty shake. They shared a few pleasantries as he walked him to the door and escorted him out. Two of the security officers were waiting outside.
“If Will comes by, tell him I’ll be ready in thirty minutes,” he told one of them.
“Okay,” one of the officer’s replied.
Upon closing and locking the door, he took a moment to regroup. His muscles began to relax, and his mind became free. He made his way back over to the chair and grabbed his cellphone to call his friend, Tig—another artist he’d known for over five years. Tig’s career hadn’t blown up the way Gutter’s had, but he had a respectable following, and Gutter had agreed to do an album with him, hoping it would give the man a much-deserved boost. As he got ready to make the call and arrange some studio time soon, he noticed a missed call from a number he recognized but never used. Over the years, the person would leave a short message. ‘Happy birthday…’ or ‘Congratulations on your Grammy…’
He stared at that number.
Jennifer. 845-555-7933.
Gutter was about to delete the notification when he realized he had a voicemail. Biting on his lip, he began to pick at his pants, gripping the material and dragging it up his leg. Releasing. Then again. He played the voicemail, putting it on speakerphone while he lit another joint, then snuffed it out right away.
“Zake,” said the deep, feminine voice. One that was familiar, yet foreign. The woman began to cough, then cleared her throat. “We’ve not spoken in seven years. Actually, it’s been almost seven years to the date. Isn’t that wild?” She laughed pitifully. “I remember the day. Um, I hope you know who this is… I want you to know who this is. In case you forgot about me, or wish you had forgotten about me, it’s Jenny… your mother…” She was silent for a bit. “Zake, I wish I could make this sound less dramatic.” She laughed again, clearly struggling with her words. “But uh, I’m going to be dead soon. Went to the doctor last week, and the cancer has spread so badly that there’s nothing they can do for me this time. She said I have about six to eight months. Maybe nine or ten if I’m lucky. I’ve never been lucky.” She laughed once again.
His mouth went so dry, his throat began to pulse with a dull pain.
“I know your voicemail will cut me off. I’ve been talkin’ too much. So… if ya don’t mind, I’d like to spend a little time with you before it’s all said and done. I’m getting my affairs in order now. Not that you’re an affair or anything, but… you know what I mean. I think that—” The voicemail ended. Before he had a chance to play it back and force himself to re-experience the sound of her voice, to feel elation, disgust, indifference, or to think about any of it all, a knock at the door interrupted him.
“WHAT?!” he barked.
“It’s me! Will!”
“Come in.” He tossed his phone onto the nearby table and cradled his forehead. The door swung open, then closed.
“You all right?” Will draped his jacket along a small black couch near the door. “You look funny. Are you high?” He chortled.
“No. What’s the last day of the tour again, man? How much longer do we have before I go back to New York? Two weeks?”
“No, we’ve got eleven more shows that span over three and a half weeks. We hit up Chicago tomorrow. Cincinnati and Cleveland next week. Louisville later that same week. One more show in Atlanta, then Tampa, Orlando, Miami, then your last three shows are in Philly, Long Island and Queens, just like we planned.”
Gutter closed his eyes and ran his hand down his face.
“I can do this final week, like, the next seven days, but that’s it. We’ll have to reschedule the rest.”
“Reschedule? Gutter, this isn’t some dress rehearsal! You have sold out arenas! Some people paid over five hundred dollars for their tickets!”
“I know that. You know I wouldn’t do this unless it was important. I’ve got a family emergency.” He caught his reflection in the mirror and quickly turned away. He hated that he had her eyes…
“A family emergency? What kind of family emergency?”
“It’s personal.”
“Gutter, I’m not in the mood to play secret door number three with you, trying to figure out what the fuck is on the other side. You better tell me what the hell is going on! Do you realize how hard it was for me to—”
“Shut up. My fuckin’ mother is dying, man,” he growled. His shoulders sagged under the weight of that statement.
The air seemed to freeze, and then silence reigned. So quiet. An eerie quiet. A hurtful quiet. Red and angry, burnt and torn quiet. Will had known him for going on three years, and he was the best manager he’d ever had. Even though they’d never discussed his mother in depth, the man knew he’d had no relationship with her at all, since he was a child. He heard Will approaching him, step by solemn step. And then, he felt the warmth of a heavy hand on his bowed back.
“We’ll reschedule. Work around this, whatever we have to do. I’ll take care of everything, Zake. Go do what you need to do…”
CHAPTER TWO
You’re in Charge
“Promise, you’ve missed a couple of calls and Rebecca also wishes to speak to you,” Daniel announced from the end of the hall. She saw her reflection in the big silver mirror behind him. Her brown skin glowed from her new makeup setting spray, and her curls were pulled back and cinched with a black ribbon, the tresses bobby-pinned to death to create the perfect sloppy bun. Bright red lipstick lined her naturally crooked mouth and the whites of her eyes sparkled, despite the three glasses of wine she’d downed the evening prior.
“Did you hear me? You missed some calls, and Rebecca was looking for you.” he repeated, tone as sharp as a pitchfork. He narrowed his light brown gaze on her, his bronze skin smooth and clean-shaven.
As he adjusted his cufflink with a flourish, like a wooing peacock, she walked to him. She felt confident in her outfit—her figure-hugging black and white checkered dress, one of her favorites, a retro style olive green swing coat, and a matching gold-chained purse slung over her shoulder. Every now and then, she had to remind herself to breathe. It’s this damn new corset. I look great, but I might pass out. I think there’s a ventilator somewhere around here…
“Yeah. I heard you. I’m sure many people have been calling me, baby.” She glared at him, sucked her teeth, then played with her left ring f
inger cuticle. Daniel was the top sales manager. He sometimes popped in on their floor and helped Rebecca Hoffman, the funeral director and owner, particularly when they were overwhelmed with work. Really though, Daniel was nosey. He enjoyed eavesdropping on the grieving families, tiptoeing outside the morgue door when the forensics team was there every now and again with police officers. He was a busybody at best, which made his otherwise gorgeous appearance less, well, gorgeous.
“You said you’d be back in ten minutes. It was almost thirty. I’m a busy man. Where were you?”
In your father’s bed…
“I just finished speaking to the Samuels family.” She crossed her arms, while wrestling with the overwhelming urge to curse him out.
“I got that contract.”
“And? That’s your job, Daniel.”
“Don’t do this shit again.” His eyes darkened as he glared down at her. Promise stood at five foot seven. Not vertically challenged, but definitely not a high rise in human form by any stretch of the imagination. Daniel was six foot two, and his thin frame somehow made him look taller. Not only that, she was also certain he wore lifts in his shoes, like Prince. The only artist Daniel could aspire to be though, was a con-artist. He was an excellent salesman—but she wasn’t impressed by his pitch. “I know you did this on purpose, Promise. You really think you’re something.”
“I do think I’m something, Daniel, but most importantly, I didn’t ask you to answer the damn phone for me. You volunteered to do so because Rebecca was there and as usual, you were trying to show off. You got what you got. Leave me alone before you wish you would have.”
His brow rose as if he didn’t believe her veiled threat. “I was trying to help. You’re not slick. We both know what’s up. I’m not your secretary.”
“You’re also not my man.” She winked at him before pushing her weight into him with a grunt. The tall man lost his footing, and she was disappointed he didn’t fall to the floor, wrinkling his suit. Daniel Rodriquez had been a thorn in her side for the past six months. She’d made the unfortunate mistake of going out with him on a date after months of enticements and one-sided flirtations. Yes, he was attractive. Yes, he made a nice living, but something about him rubbed her the wrong way.
Initially his story had seemed simple enough. A divorced man who claimed he wished to settle down again and apparently, she was the lucky one to catch his interest after a year-long break spent healing. It had taken just one date to discover she should’ve trusted her gut and left this abomination where he’d stood. Some of the other ladies who worked in sales wanted a piece of him, but she damn sure did not, and it baffled her how anyone could stomach him for more than a few minutes once getting past the initial swoon of his Puerto-Rican Ken doll good looks.
The man was obnoxious to his core. He’d spent their dinner at the posh French restaurant—also called ‘Daniel’—bragging on himself, laying out his Latin bravado like layers of old cake batter across a perfectly nice window. To top it off, he was arrogant, obtuse, and unrealistic with a selfish, chauvinistic view of the world. He probably didn’t think Rebecca should even be the director, and the position better suited for a man. At least, it had been one of the best meals she’d ever had. Afterward, she’d tried to let him down easy, but the man didn’t take rejection well. There’d been tension between them ever since.
As she rounded the corner, she spotted Rebecca. Cradling her cell phone to her ear, her lustrous black curls bounced as she tried to balance her snakeskin clutch purse under an armpit and the multiple bags she was holding, including her infamous lunch pail with the little gray and white cartoon cats all over it. Promise rushed to assist. Rebecca threw her a grateful look as she continued to talk on her phone.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, then winked and gestured, “To my car.”
Promise walked with her, past various offices along the way. After all this time, she was still mesmerized by the beauty of the two-story funeral home she worked at in Queens, and how well kept it was. The architecture reminded her of an art museum.
“The thing you have to remember though is that this isn’t about what we want. It’s what they want… mmm hmm… Yes… Well, some may say it’s tacky, and some might think it makes us look bad, but it doesn’t because as my mother used to say, ‘You have to give the people what they want.’… So… mmm hmm… Our tastes vary from anyone who comes into our facility, and… yes, I understand that this is a business, Anton, but this is my father’s funeral home, his legacy, and he left it to me, as his only child. I’m not going to destroy it to appease people who have nothing to do with the values my family holds dear.” Rebecca frowned, frustration on her face.
“My father died fourteen years ago, and his name still moves mountains. He was held in such high regard not only because of our ranking and sales, but because of his customer service. He started in a small building in upstate New York. It had only two rooms, and now look!” She paused briefly. “If someone walks in here right now and wants to be placed on their motorcycle with the helmet and all, then damn it, let them! As long as they’re not cut to pieces and we’re not expected to be magicians, we’ll do everything we can to make it happen. I’m fifty-seven years old. That’s over half a century. I don’t have the time or desire to pick apart things like that. I’m telling you, and you can say I sound like a brochure if you want, but it’s God’s honest truth. We’re not in the business of death. We’re in the business of celebrating life.”
Rebecca went on talking to the man for a few moments longer, then abruptly excused herself from the call with a guarantee to call back. Sliding the phone in her pocket, she turned to Promise as they reached the front doors.
“What a craaazy day.” The woman rolled her big blue eyes and smiled, which accentuated the crow’s feet.
“Tell me about it. I was only supposed to show the new revised obituary to the Samuels family today, but… well, grief set in, and I couldn’t leave them that way.” Rebecca nodded in understanding and patted her shoulder. Promise had ended up getting tea and water for the family, turned on some music, and allowed them to sit there and reminisce about their departed mother.
“That’s what you’re supposed to do. Sometimes, going the extra mile makes all the difference. We’ve gotten accustomed to it. Grief is our business, too, but we still have to show some humanity.”
“Exactly. When some people come in here, I feel their loss, too. I couldn’t imagine only seeing dollar signs when they show up to make arrangements. Everybody needs to eat, but at what cost?”
“Thank you! Promise, I have to be a smart businesswoman, yet I still have a beating heart. I guess it’s a little egotistical of me to like you so much because I see myself in you.” They both burst out laughing. “But that’s why you’re so good at what you do, and such a perfect assistant to me. You’re intuitive. You know how to be professional without being cold.”
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, just stating facts. It’s hard, I know. Some days are really rough, especially when we have to deal with the death of a child, or have families fighting, like what happened this past December.”
How could I forget that? It was even on the local news. The damn police had to be called… Some woman was molly-whopping the hell out of her sister in the middle of the aisle, then they moved towards their poor uncle’s casket. It was anyone’s guess how the coffin didn’t topple over. Security couldn’t get them apart because other members of the family jumped in and it turned into an all-out brawl.
“It’s a fine line. I swear, some people just don’t get it. Yeah, this is a twenty-billion-dollar business, but where is the damn compassion?! I just want to slap… never mind.” She looked away and shook her head. “Anyway, I knew when I hired you years ago that you’d be a perfect match.”
Rebecca was always complimenting her, being extra kind. Promise couldn’t believe her luck in finding such an incredible place to work at and to be paired with such an understanding
supervisor. She’d had many jobs, both good and bad. Rebecca was the best boss she’d ever had, and also highly skilled and knowledgeable. Running one of the best funeral homes in New York state, she was well educated in mortuary science, did amazing embalming work, and ran her business with class and professionalism. Besides, she even had some forensic expertise and kept on top of her licenses and certifications. She paid her staff fairly, offering a superb benefits package, while expecting everyone to pull their weight. Still, she was not a woman to be trifled with. In fact, she’d taken several people to court who’d tried her, when they should’ve tried Jesus.
Promise accompanied her to her silver BMW and placed the bags she was holding on the passenger’s seat. When Rebecca got settled in the luxury car, she glanced at her from the open passenger’s window, a smirk on her face.
“I have to tell you something, Promise…”
“Tell me what?”
Rebecca wrapped her hands around the steering wheel. “I have to go out of town tomorrow.” Promise wondered immediately where the woman was going and why, but decided to simply wait and see if she would offer up the details on her own. Rebecca could be tight-lipped about her affairs outside of the office. “No worries though. I’ll be back next week.” Their eyes met. “I need you to run my schedule.” BOOM. There it was.
“Okay.”
“Okay? Okay?” Rebecca said in a shocked tone.
“Yes, okay.” Promise smiled.
“Really? You’re fine with this?”
“Yes. I would’ve expected you to take some days off before this, actually, but you never have! Look, I’ve finished my mortuary degree. I’ve shadowed you for years and have spent time with practically everyone who works here to see how they run their jobs, too. I’ve also worked for over seven years at a few different funeral homes before yours, since I left that nursing home, then the hospital I used to work at as a nurse. So yes,” she shrugged. “I’m ready. You have nothing to worry about. The place will be in good hands. Besides, I know your schedule inside and out. I’m the one who organizes it.”