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Authors: Eric Pete

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Days Gone By New Orleans

“What do you think, Truth?” she asked after she pushed pause on the CD player.

“It’s good,” I simply said, focused more on the apple I was slicing. At least I wanted her to think that.

“Good? Nigga, you ain’t ’bout shit,” she scoffed as she pranced around the picnic table. Her voice had magical powers. Made most people do things. Like throw money at her, promise her the moon ... and do anything to possess her.

And I hadn’t even gotten to how pretty she was. One of them high yella girls who came from an established New Orleans family, but bucked their carefully laid plans for her. Spent more time instead in the clubs and bars trying to be discovered, which isn’t hard when you’re a five-foot-ten black girl with blue-gray eyes in Tipitina’s or the tourist traps on Bourbon Street.

In short, she was a good look for the face of any record label.

Women wanted to be her and the fellas wanted to be with her. A winning formula for record sales. Something Jason had discussed as desperately needed for On-Phire.

She went by the name of Still Summer, influenced by her poetry ’cause she had that fire and her sound was hot year round. I just called her Summer. Jason said she was imitating the two-name thing like that singer Truth Hurts, but that he was going to work on changing hers once we had her locked down with a long-term deal.

“If I ain’t ’bout shit, then why is my opinion so valuable?” I teased as I held up an apple slice on the end of my blade and pointed it at her.

“’Cause you’re the only one that never says anything about my songs. About my music. Not even a smile from you when I’m in the booth,” she said as she snatched the slice away and plopped it in her mouth. “Is that too much to ask?”

“It’s not my job to critique the talent. North is the talent evaluator.”

“What is your job? What do you do ... besides stand around?”

“Security,” I answered, lying. Just like the man I called my uncle was teaching me. “I’m there to make sure everybody’s safe.”

“I don’t feel safe, Truth,” she said as she stared out onto Lake Pontchartrain. Vulnerability wasn’t something she normally showed. “You’re doing a shitty job.”

I smiled finally. “Then why you here with me?” I asked. Here was Lake Terrace Park after a power outage led to cutting her studio session short. So no one would suspect, I’d met up with her down the street then we drove here together.

“I like you. You’re not like the rest of them. Especially Melvin,” she said, referring to the real money and the power behind On-Phire Records. “I ain’t no scaredy bitch, but he scares me with those eyes. Wish Jason would tell him to stay away.”

“He can’t. Melvin’s a business partner, so you might as well get used to him being around,” I offered. “He’s On-Phire as much as North is.” And besides, Melvin could have Jason North killed if ever pissed off. Wouldn’t be the first notch on his kill-a-nigga-dead belt. But I wasn’t going to share that with her. My job was to see where her head was. Jason, always the schemer, had noticed her curiosity in me. Didn’t discourage it.

“You think Melvin had something to do with AK ...”

“No,” I said, swiftly cutting her off. She’s lucky she said it to me and not in front of anyone else. AK, our biggest rap act, had just been killed. Gunned down on the West Bank by a crazy-ass NOPD officer last week. Jason and Melvin had a contract dispute with AK, so it would be logical to assume they had something to do with it. But they were innocent just this once. Even paid for a nice wreath at the funeral.

Summer walked around to my side of the picnic table. Long legs fit into a pair of tight shorts found a spot next to me and slid right in. Nothing said as she rested her head on my shoulder.

I checked my watch as I felt my heart racing, an annoying feeling. Would’ve loved staying out here on the lake with her all day. All night too. But being a horny kid had no place in this. Never had time to be a kid anyway, so why start now.

“Power’s probably on now at the studio. I should be getting you back,” I said.

“Why? Because they told you?”

“No. Because you have a job to do. And so do I,” I replied as I forced myself to stand. Hoped I sounded convincing.

“What is your job, Truth? To watch me for your bosses? To keep me happy?”

“Whatchu think?” I shot back as I stowed my knife. Began walking back toward the car. But she grabbed my wrist.

“So ... keep me happy,” she said, eyes afire.

Like it was still summer.

In the back seat of my old Impala off Lakeshore Drive, I did my best to make Summer happy. My pants dropped to my ankles. Her shorts and panties cast away in the front seat. Wasn’t my first time, but damn sure felt like it in terms of the excitement that gripped me. Probably just the fear of being caught out here in broad daylight like this.

But I liked it.

Would never say I loved her. Love was something foreign. Just a word that usually set you up for great hurt. But intense “like” was enough to fill me from head to toe with little electric tingles ’n’ shit. As I went about fucking that good pussy, wanted to fill her with that same feeling. Needed her to really like me for the moment. With one of those long legs of hers resting against the headrest and the other one stuck in the air, her foot pressed into the ceiling, she met my unyielding lust with a fervor of her own.

I stroked her deep, stroked her good. Made her cum repeatedly, sweet passion sweeping her face as she held on to my hips. Guided and tugged me into her, assisting my thrusts as she led me to my finish.

“Oooh, oooh, mmmm,” she moaned. “C’mon. That’s it. Love me.”

I pressed against her, lowering myself from the potential view of onlookers as I fucked her more vigorously. Kissed her firmly as Summer began kicking her legs, floodgates wide open as she convulsed on the car seat beneath me.

“I ... I,” I grunted, sweat forming on my face as I struggled to breathe.

“Uh huh,” was all she said, flashing those eyes as she nodded for me join her in her ecstasy.

And I did.

An uncontrollable eruption of my essence, the electric tingles overwhelming me into uselessness. We lay there across my back seat with our fingers intertwined, our breathing engaged in a slowly fading race. And foolishly looking into one another’s eyes.

“What are we doing?” I asked, once I had sufficient strength to voice it. Spontaneity was something I was unaccustomed to.

“Uh ... having fun, silly,” she answered for me.

“True,” I responded, kissing her again. “But we really need to go now.”

“I know, I know,” she agreed this time.

“Go on in. I’ll be there in a second,” I said as I came to a stop outside the Gentilly Boulevard recording studio we were using. Had stopped at my place and quickly cleaned up. If pressed, I was going to blame our delay on a traffic accident.

“Wanna get rid of that smile from this lovin’, huh? Ain’t mad atcha,” Summer joked before she gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Go ’head and get your hard face back on. I won’t tell.”

I knew she wouldn’t. We’d agreed on the way here that it was just a one-time thing. Any regret that I felt over the agreement, I kept to myself.

When I saw she was safely inside, I took a deep breath. Nervous about the act to which I’d committed. An act of which Summer was unaware. And of which Jason was totally unaware.

I called someone.

“Is you daughter Summer? Still Summer?” I asked when someone answered. Was steady watching my mirrors in case someone was walking up.

“Yes. That’s what she calls herself. Who is this?” the obviously irritated man asked.

“Just listen. Your daughter is associating with the wrong crowd. Signed a recording contract. Do whatever’s necessary to break it.”

“Young man, my daughter is not one to listen. So just how am I supposed to do that?”

“She has a contract with On-Phire Records. If you push hard enough, they won’t push back. Too much trouble and you have the money to put up a fight. Do what everyone else does. Hire a good lawyer. Maybe your daughter was seventeen when she signed her first contract and maybe someone changed a date or something. Look there. But don’t let her stay with them. They’re dangerous. If you love her,” I said, wielding that foreign word love, before continuing, “you’ll do whatever it takes.”

I hung up after that. Now it was on him. Closed my flip phone and went back inside the studio. An intimate crowd of label mates and some local media had gathered to hear On-Phire’s latest artist. An attempt to move the news cycle on from the rapper AK’s death.

“All good, Truth?” Jason asked, wearing a charcoal sport coat and fresh from his law practice on Elysian Fields Avenue. As I took my place in the back of the room, he grinned inside the confines of his goatee. He knew I’d been out with Summer.

“Yeah,” I said as he patted me on the back. From inside the booth, Summer winked at me as she donned her headphones. “It’s all good.”

Jason wanted me to get a read on her.

Well, I did.

Had a read on him too.

This was my first time going against his plans and wishes.

Didn’t know at that time, but it wouldn’t be my last.

“Truth,” she uttered again as if she had trouble believing it and had to convince herself.

Wanted to grant her wish and deny my very existence right to her lying eyes.

But I couldn’t.

Not standing here, facing her on Magazine Street.

“Summer?” I asked of the face I remembered so well, but assumed I’d never see again. Someone had taken the wild young thang I knew, painting it with the brush of experience that only time can give. Those bluish gray eyes still were dazzling, but they were tamed. Tempered.

Cultured.

With hair that was pinned up, her costume to the world consisted of a white blouse with pearls around her neck and a gray skirt with black belt. Legs were still on display, honed from time in the gym no doubt.

“Is it really you?” she asked, my less-than-ideal appearance giving her pause.

“Uh ... yeah,” I responded as the wide smile of hers surfaced. Not the conditions under which I’d want a reunion.

“What ... what are you doing here? How long have you been back?” Summer peppered at me. Then she extended her hands, wanting to embrace, but awkwardly choosing not to.

“Was just going for a walk,” I vaguely answered. “Haven’t been back too long. Small world, huh? You ... you look good.” I said, choosing to end on an honest note.

“Thanks,” she said, blushing. But still blocking traffic. “I ... I need to move. Let me give you a ride. It’s the least I could do.”

Curiosity and courtesy dictated that I accept. No way that she could’ve known I’d been following her from English Turn. Hell, I didn’t know I was following her either.

We sat inside the little corner turquoise building, half a mile down Magazine from where we started. We were seated in the window of Guy’s Po-Boys, a clear view of her Mercedes parked curbside in case her number-one fans returned. A bite to eat while her daughter was at ballet practice was my suggestion. Easier to distract her with my genuine hunger rather than trying to cook up a destination for my alleged walk.

“Married?” she asked. Still was blunt.

“No. Not as lucky as you,” I replied as our hot sandwiches—a hot sausage for me and a grilled chicken for her—were brought to our table by the waiter. Summer insisted on paying for it and I knew better than to let my pride show.

She splashed a dash of hot sauce on her sandwich and her side of potato salad, methodical in her approach. Could tell life was now an ordered affair for her. “I heard about Jason dying in Monaco. Thought about you. And my wild days,” she said, a nervous chuckle as she poured a few packets of Splenda in her tea and stirred. “You’re not still tied up with the label are you?”

“Nooo. Left that long ago,” I said, savoring the good eats.

“So what do you do?” Summer asked as she glanced up.

“Odd jobs,” I replied as a bunch of variables were firing off in my head. Her seeing me like this, had to figure I was down on my luck. Had seen better days. Although she was too nice to admit it, a figure that she once desired was now only worthy of her pity.

If she only knew.

She chuckled. “Same old Truth. Not one for more than a syllable or two.”

“What do you do?” I asked, playing my part. “I mean ... besides pushing a Mercedes, which you do so well.”

“I’m a mother, housewife ... busy with the links and community projects too.”

“Wow,” I responded, wiping my mouth. “Just like your parents wanted for you, right?”

“Fuck you, Truth,” she shot back, giving me the side eye, but with a disarming smile.

I wagged my finger. Started to bring up that fleeting moment on Lake Pontchartrain all those years gone by. But didn’t. “You still sing some?” I queried instead, for various reasons.

“No. That was then. My father got me away from On-Phire. Then things happened after that ... Life ’n’ stuff,” she said, looking out the window, seeing something that wasn’t really there. “Made it through college though. Loyola. Then marriage. So ... what brings you back to town?”

I’m here to kill your husband
. “A friend needed me, so I came back,” I answered.

“Uh huh. Is this friend male or female?”

“Cute. One of my boys is doing renovations. Helping him paint ’n’ stuff.”

“That’s what’s in your bag?” she asked about the backpack I kept near me. “Your tools?”

“Yep,” I said about the electronic surveillance equipment. “That and clothes.”

Torn between wanting to know all about her new life and mining for intel to rip her staid life apart, I went with the job.

“What was that about back there with the fat man? What did he want with your husband?”

“Boy, you really haven’t been around. My husband’s the DA. Youngest one in New Orleans ever,” she said, genuinely proud of his accomplishments.

I mock applauded. “Look at you, Still Summer,” I teased. I’d put her on this path long ago. Saving her from certain exploitation at the hands of Jason North and Melvin. Not knowing that I’d come back into her idyllic life one day ... to destroy it.

“Ugh. Please don’t call me that. Haven’t used that name in forever.”

“What should I call you then?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Taralynn,” she answered.

“Beautiful name.”

“And what’s your real name?”

“Truth. That’s my real name.”

“Get the fuck outta here,” she remarked. Reminded me more of Still Summer than Taralynn. “I always thought that was made up.”

“Nope. My momma had a wicked sense of humor. What’s your daughter’s name? And any photos?”

“Sasha,” Summer ... I mean Taralynn said. “And of course I have photos.”

She reached in her Coach purse, retrieving a matching wallet. Produced a photo of her little ballerina, which she handed across the table to me.

“Wow. Such a cutie. Tall. But she gets all that from her momma,” I said as I handed back the photo of the little ballerina who was an innocent in the games of a man I knew only as Mr. Smith.

“Thank you. Sasha has exceptional talent. Just have to keep nurturing that talent.”

“How old is she?”

Taralynn paused as she placed the photo back in the wallet then returned the wallet to her purse. “Nine,” she replied as she lowered the Coach to the floor once again.

“Wow. She is tall,” I said with a smile. “But moving on to her daddy the DA, do people try to leave
messages
for him through you on the regular? I mean ... you’re lucky I happened to be around.”

“Yeah. I guess I was lucky,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously. Wondered if I’d tipped my hand by being too pushy with the narrative. “Kinda like when somebody called my dad back in my Still Summer days. Told him all about On-Phire. And that he needed to get me outta that sitch. Know anything about that, Truth?”

“Nah,” I said, taking a sip of my Coke. “On-Phire had a bunch of enemies and unhappy folk within the camp back then. Coulda been anyone.”

“Uh huh,” she uttered, fire flaring into those eyes. Then she looked at her watch, moving her along from whatever she was going to say. “I have to get back to the dance studio. If you’d like, I can give you that ride after I pick up Sasha.”

“Nah. I’m good. Need to stretch my legs after all this food. Besides the job I’m working on is in the area.”

“Y’know,” she said as she grabbed her purse and prepared to leave. “I believe in paying things forward. My husband and I have been blessed and have a ton of connections, Truth. Could hook you up with a nice job. Good pay.
Benefits.
What do you say, old friend?”

“I appreciate it, but I’m good. Really,” I replied. She honestly thought me at the mercy of the world.

“Well, we’re going to have to continue catching up later. Okay?”

“Bet,” I said.

We exchanged numbers, Taralynn giving me a kiss on the cheek then zipping out the door to pick up her daughter as I ordered another Coke.

We’d be talking again.

Soon.

For I needed any inside info on Rodney Roy to get this job over with.

One thing I realized though.

I couldn’t kill him.