Gutter - Part 1: The Rise

by Tiana Laveen

  “I follow my gut. My instincts. I trust myself. That’s how I move.” He stroked the side of the can with his thumb. “It had to be handled.”

  “Your gut told you to come home after she called you?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t even hesitate. I didn’t question it.”

  “She doesn’t deserve you, boy.” Dad rounded the table and patted his shoulder. “I’m torn, but I’m glad you showed compassion. I don’t think I could’ve.”

  “It’s not compassion. It’s selfish, and I’m fine with that. I’m not here for Jenny. I’m here for me…”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Fun Time in the City

  6:32 P.M….

  Promise checked the time as she waited in front of the locked entrance at Horizons Funeral Home. Just then, a big black truck approached, the windows halfway down and Gerry Rafferty’s ‘Right Down the Line’ blasting from it—so loud she felt the bass throb in her gut. The driver’s seat was occupied by a specimen that made her heart damn near stop.

  Removing his sunglasses, Gutter turned on his emergency blinkers only to be met with honking and people blurting some colorful expletives regarding his illegal parking maneuver. This guy is something. Her lips curled up.

  “Have a good fuckin’ night.” Gutter flipped someone off, left his vehicle, and walked briskly towards her. “What’s up, Emily?” He smiled, showing a sexy, bright smile.

  “My name isn’t Emily, Gutter.”

  He smirked, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. The cool metal of his lip piercing mixed with a hot sensation spreading across her skin, creating something new, sensual, and intriguing.

  “Your name isn’t Emily?” Wide sable brown eyes met hers. “Sure it is, my pretty corpse bride.” She clamped her lips as her temperature rose. “The movie. Remember? The corpse bride’s name was Emily. Animated flick. Did you ever see it?”

  “Yes, I did. I get it now.” She swallowed the urge to laugh at his cute little jab at her expense. Holding her wrist, he led her to the passenger’s side of the impressive truck. After helping her step inside, he closed the door and hopped in the driver’s side. He turned the music down, then grabbed some things he had lying around and placed them in a console in the middle of the dashboard. They drove on in silence for a while.

  The city was bustling, the sounds and sights from her high perch in the vehicle wrapping her in a familiar blanket of comfort. She could see things from new angles she normally wasn’t able to catch. None of her friends owned cars as big as a F-150. She could now see inside the other cars and felt like she was invading people’s privacy. A girl on the phone, her eyebrows furrowed, arms flailing as if she were arguing with someone. A taxi driver jabbing his finger into his nose, then studying whatever he dug out.

  The clanking of metal from a delivery truck door closing startled her, with what nerves she had already in a jumble, sitting near this man.

  Gutter shocked the hell out of me. This is crazy. We met because his mother is dying, and he asks me out on a date. Seems a little wrong. Too late now, I guess. He called this afternoon to confirm. Shocked me again. I wasn’t even sure he’d been serious, and had he not called, I definitely wouldn’t have been waiting outside. People say a lot of shit they don’t mean.

  But he’d saved her number on his phone, and he’d followed up…

  The truck smelled like spearmint, sexy cologne, and a hint of marijuana.

  “You smoke?” she asked as she dug in her purse and pulled out a stick of gum, offering him a piece.

  “Yeah. Not right now though.” He took the gum, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth, throwing the wrapper in a cup holder. “I only smoke on tour. My friend was in my car earlier. He had a little herb on him, so that’s what you smell. You’ve heard of Cable Terrel?”

  He’s friends with Cable Terrel? Wow. I shouldn’t be surprised. Cable was a popular R&B singer from Brownsville who’d hit international fame. The man was an incredible talent.

  “Everyone knows who Cable Terrel is. You celebrity birds of a feather flock together, huh?”

  He shrugged. “Not always. Lotta guys have beefs. This industry is competitive, but I’ve known Cable for a while. He’s solid. I’m supposed to work with him on my album coming out next year.”

  “You two are working on a song? That’s amazing.”

  “Yeah, but don’t tell anyone. Hopefully you can keep a secret.” He winked at her.

  “I won’t say a word. This is going to be big! I can’t wait to hear it.” I need to calm down and stop acting so excited! I’m sitting here probably coming off as some thirsty fanatic. On second thought, who cares? I’m not a crazed person. I just think the two of them working on a collab would be dope. He can think whatever he wants. “You both have such different styles, but I could see it working if the song is right.”

  “He has a timeless voice,” Gutter stated emphatically.

  “I definitely agree. He’s been compared to a modern-day Marvin Gaye.”

  Gutter gave her a fleeting glance. “You look nice,” he complimented.

  “Thank you. So do you.” Gutter was dressed in black baggy pants and a dark red V-neck shirt that exposed his neck and upper chest. Tattoos adorned his muscles under the soft hair, and a couple thin gold necklaces hung over his shirt. Completing the ensemble were a black Gucci belt and shoes. She fantasized about running her fingers through his luxurious ebony beard and short hair, which was lined up on the sides. He smelled like heaven. That’s got to be Tom Ford’s ‘Fucking Fabulous.’

  “So, you said on the phone we’re going to a party in Harlem on 131st Street?”

  “Yeah. We’re going to my friend’s party out that way, between Lenox Avenue and Adam Clayton Powell Jr Blvd. Her name is Venzula. She’s a talent scout and agent I’ve known for a long time. It’ll be chill. Like a dinner party slash dance club type of atmosphere… That’s how she usually has them. I can talk to you there, so we get to know each other. Vibe a bit. Is that cool?”

  “Yes, sounds fun.” She picked nervously at her black stockings then smoothed out her short plaid skirt. She’d paired the skirt with a cropped, sheer mock turtleneck that showed her goodies—which she’d encased in a black bra-let—and some skin above the waist. A black and red chunky necklace with an oval pendant in a plaid design brought the ensemble together, along with platform shoes that tied daintily around the ankles, like ballerina footwear. She was well put together, with her hair parted down the middle, flat-ironed bone straight and tucked behind her ears. Still, she felt like a wreck, and the whole situation was surreal. Oh my God, I’m in the car with Gutter… This is crazy!

  The reality of this hit her that day as she was getting ready for the date. She hadn’t even given it much thought until then. Before that, she’d simply seen him as the son of a customer. Sure, she’d recognized him, and that initial flutter of excitement upon opening Rebecca’s office door had come like a sudden storm, but the professional within her had forced her to set his superstar status aside. Besides, he made it so easy. Gutter didn’t act showy and over the top. Were it not for his height and build, he’d blend right in with the crowd due to his easygoing nature, and he’d make you forget who he was.

  This man has won several Grammys, MTV music awards, Billboard music Awards, and American Music Awards. He’s been on all the major music television and radio stations, and most of his albums have hit platinum. This isn’t some guy selling demos and incense on the corner. This is HUGE.

  Still, for some reason she sensed he was always on guard—a master of illusions. All that did was intrigued her more.

  She felt his gaze on her and turned to catch his eyes roaming up and down her legs, then her midsection, breasts, lips, and finally, her eyes. He returned his attention to the road.

  “After the party, if you’re up to it, we can swing by my apartment in Manhattan on the Westside. I’ve got a penthouse in Hudson Yards. It’s got a couple roof decks, bowling alley, coffee shop with a top-notch barista, pool,
and—”

  “Oh no, no, no!” She burst out laughing, waving her hand about. This fucker right here! He didn’t waste any time, now did he? “I like how you casually tossed in how you live in one of the most expensive spots in Manhattan, trying to entice me, son!” She chortled but was dead serious. “Let me nip this in the bud right now. I know you’ve got a lot a cake, but that sort of thing means nothing to me. I don’t care if you lived in a castle in the sky encrusted with diamonds. I don’t go back to guys’ places on first dates.”

  “Why not?” He arched a brow as if genuinely confused. She wasn’t buying it.

  “Oh, you’re buggin’ if you think this is going to fly. I was born at night, not last night, Gutter. I’m not easy prey. Real talk.”

  “You’re trippin’.” He shook his head, a crooked grin on his face. “I was just telling you where I live, not bragging, and it was just an invitation. You need to chill. Don’t read into it.”

  “Don’t try to do me greasy. I’m not one of these women out here throwing themselves at you because you’re attractive, sing good, and have money. I mean, I know what this is about. Cut the shit.”

  He burst out laughing.

  “You don’t have to get tight. I never said you were a thirst bucket. I didn’t say we were going there to fuck, either. I just said we could swing by. Damn.” Now they were both laughing. He had a beautiful laugh—strong yet lighthearted. Still, he was cold busted, and nothing he said could change that.

  “You are something else,” she said. He shrugged. Clearly, the man didn’t give a damn. “If I’m a midnight picnic, just say so. I see you were planning your after-party snack in advance. I’m not mad or tight about it, as you said. Just wanted to let you know where I stand, and to also make it known I’m no new jack or fool.”

  “All right, Promise. That’s fine.” He turned a corner. “Look, I didn’t realize you were old fashioned like that. People not fucking on a first date isn’t really a thing anymore. I don’t understand that. I feel like if people want to fuck, then just fuck. Sex to me is no different than going out to eat, or takin’ a walk in a park. It’s just a part of the day. Regardless, I respect your wishes. You crushed my schtupp dreams.”

  She fought another smile as she looked straight out the window.

  “You’re not a playa. You just crush a lot.”

  “Ha! You got jokes. Rest in peace, Big Pun! I like that. It’s cool. No problem.” He shook his head. “You can’t blame me for trying though. You’re fuckin’ beautiful. Like, seriously. And I’m attracted to you… for many reasons.” Dark, thick lashes cast shadows against the highlight of his cheeks as the setting sun hit his face just right. Her pussy throbbed with the way he looked at her. She squeezed her thighs, as if to keep the kittycat from purring. He sucked his lower lip real slow while looking her up and down with nothing but pure lust in his eyes.

  Oh boy, I’m screwed. “I’m not a prude. I just guard my shit.”

  “All right.” He tossed up his hands. “What guy in their right mind wouldn’t want to sleep with you? That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I guess you’re right.” She crossed her arms. “I—and my little Elvira, Morticia, Emily the corpse bride vibe, as you call it—am completely irresistible to anyone who looks my way. I’m a walking dead sex magnet, attracting the living and zombies of New York. Here she comes, boys! Guard your loins and urns!”

  The guy laughed so hard, he snorted. Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and held it. His big fingers wrapped around hers and swallowed them whole. All the veins and tattoos turned her on.

  He has clean, perfectly trimmed nails. She gave him a head-to-toe glance once again, this time, real slow. Damn. That’s a gun. On his hip, almost out of sight, was the silver and black gleam of the magazine and grip jetting out of a leather holster. Her brother, Westley, was a cop for NYPD. She’d seen her share. She imagined Gutter felt he needed one for good reason.

  “So, when you’re not working, what do you like to do for fun?” he asked, turning down the music and merging onto the highway.

  “Honestly?”

  “Yeah, why would I want a lie?” He gave her an incredulous look. “If I wanted to hear a bunch of bullshit, I’d just turn on Fox News or CNN. All those channels are full of shit.”

  She couldn’t exactly disagree with that.

  “I don’t always have a lot of free time lately, but I like traveling, taking pictures—nothing professional, just fun and artistic stuff. I also like juggling, going to comedy clubs, the theater, trying out new restaurants, and—”

  “Wait, wait, wait. You can’t just throw juggling in there and roll out. You tell me you’re doing circus shit, and then throw in photography and foodie stuff around it, like that’s something people hear every day. That’s like me sayin’, ‘Yo, I like to ride my bike, collect dead frogs, and garden. The dead frog shit you’d want addressed. IMMEDIATELY. It’s fuckin’ weird. Who the hell juggles?”

  “Me.”

  That’s wild. Do you do private juggling shows? Go on tour? Maybe you can be my opening act? ‘Now we welcome Promise to the stage!’ … Cue circus music…”

  She burst out laughing and leaned her head against the window.

  “Just forget it.”

  “Nah, CB, I’m not dropping this.”

  “CB is for Corpse Bride, right? You asshole…” She chuckled.

  “Dead ass. You juggle? For real?! Like, for real for real?” He looked at her as if he were impressed, not quite convinced, and amused all at once.

  “Yes! I’ve done it since I was a kid. I’m pretty good at it, and I really enjoy it.”

  “Is it, like, relaxing?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She shrugged. “I guess you could say that, too. It takes a lot of practice and concentration.”

  “How many things can you juggle at once?”

  “It depends on whether you’re talking about a work schedule or the actual art of juggling,” she teased. “Seriously though, it depends on the item, but in general, many.”

  “Oranges and apples?”

  “Yes.”

  “Balls?”

  “Well, yeah. That’s a given.”

  “How many balls have you juggled in your hands at one given time?”

  “I think the most balls I’ve ever juggled without dropping any were ten.”

  He went quiet for a bit, then his complexion deepened, and he burst out laughing. She knew exactly why after his last question but had decided to let him hang himself.

  “If I made a joke about what you just said, I’d be wrong, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “Ten balls equals five mothafuckas. Two! Four! Six! Eight! Ten! Ten balls in her motherfuckin’ hands!” He began to laugh like the Count from Sesame Street.

  “You’re childish, but funny.”

  “I know. You told me I was inappropriate the other day.”

  “You are.”

  “I am. You’re right. Who cares? Who else but an inappropriate bastard like me goes to a funeral home and starts hittin’ on a lady? A funeral home! Is there no line I won’t cross? No boundaries? Is nothing off limits? Tune in to the next episode of Gutter-ville to find out!”

  “Don’t go there.” She fought the urge to laugh once again… In truth, she was surprised how comfortable she felt sitting next to him. I love his sense of humor. Belly-aching funny!

  “When you’re not performing or working, Gutter, what do you enjoy doing?”

  He scratched the skin near his eye, looked in the rearview mirror, then switched lanes. “I like to make necklaces out of uncooked pasta and crochet leg warmers.”

  She playfully pushed his shoulder, and there they were, laughing again.

  “Come on. Be serious.”

  He stroked his chin. “I like to write. Not just songs, but for pleasure. Like short stories, movie ideas, things like that.” She nodded in understanding. “I also like to fish, hunt, and go boating.”

  “You city slicker you.”


  “I know, right? It’s because of my father. He’s into that stuff, so he got me into it too. I’m glad he did. I look forward to it.”

  “Boating sounds fun. I’ve not taken a pleasure cruise in forever. I’ve never gone fishing actually.”

  “You should try it. More women should go fishing. My father used to take me and my brother and sister out to Chimney Bluffs State Park. Lake Ontario. What a view… Good times. I haven’t been there in years, but I want to go back. Let’s see… what else? I like working out, too. I find going to the gym a way to zone out.”

  “I can see that. Put your headphones on, and just focus.” He nodded in agreement. “I like walking. That’s my favorite exercise. I used to do yoga a couple of years ago, but work got busy, so I kind of dropped it.”

  “Don’t blame work.”

  “But it was! I had classes, and—”

  “You have to make time for what you want to make time for. We’ll fit the shit into our schedule that we want to do. If someone told you right now to stop your date with Gutter and come get this million dollars in thirty minutes, you’d make sure you did. When we make excuses for stopping something we once enjoyed, that means we’re not as motivated to do it for some reason. Just say that. What’s important to us is what we’ll focus on. If you want to get back into it, then make the time to do it. It’s just that simple.”

  She twisted her lips, but didn’t argue. He was right after all.

  “Yeah, I should probably find another class that works with my schedule.”

  “If you like that shit, standing stone dog pose, then do it.”

  “It’s not standing stone dog. You’re so damn silly.”

  He moved quickly to land a kiss on her cheek. Her skin tingled in that spot.

  “So… yoga means you’re flexible, huh?” He raised his brows up and down in a silly, perverted sort of way.

  “You’re hopeless. Your obsession with this is starting to get nerve-wracking.”

  “I’m only doing it because it makes you uncomfortable.”

  “You want me to feel uncomfortable? The perfect gentleman.”