Unconditionally Single (20 page)

A
nigga had a promise to keep.

Strange how one person’s—out of the billions of people in the world—belief in me changed my heart. Keeping shit real, it was Lace’s belief and the eighteen million she’d given me. Being broke, a nigga had a bad attitude. She hadn’t given me the fifty million I wanted, but less than half was better than being homeless, and a nigga was appreciative.

This was my chance to impress Lace. I’d gone to her banker, got my ends straight, then drove straight to the address on the paper Lace gave me, picked up Girl Six, took her shopping at Phipps Plaza, got her the expensive shit I would’ve had her in if she was still working for me, brought her here to the condo, freshened her up, then dropped her off at Lace’s place.

I wasn’t invited to join them for dinner and sho’ nuff wasn’t inviting myself in. I headed back to the condo. When I opened the door, I found this nigga in the same spot I’d left him.
Smack!
I slapped his feet. “Nigga, get your ass up.”

Benito sprung forward, sat up. “What, V? What time is it? I was having sex with Lace. You spoiled it. She was just getting ready to—”

I flashed a real Chicago roll of C-notes. “Let’s go celebrate.”

“Huh? We got enough money? Yeah, boyie,” Benito said, dancing on the coffee table. “Hit me on the hip with a couple of those Benjamins, V.”

“Nigga, get down,” I told him. “Go get ready. I’ll be right here.”

I grabbed the remote, turned on the television, saw a picture of Grant, then heard, “Grant Hill, an Atlanta business owner, has been arrested. He’s considered a suspect in the massacre of the Broadway family. Hunter Broadway, his wife, and their two children were found dead in a condo at Buckhead Premier Palace. Each family member suffered a single gunshot wound to the back of the head. The call made to nine-one-one was from a cell phone registered to Mr. Hill. Mr. Hill was not at the scene when police arrived. There are no other suspects in the murder at this time. Grant Hill is being held on a five-million-dollar bail.”

“Nigga, get in here quick!” I yelled.

“What! What!” Benito yelled, running into the living room.

“Man, your brother is being charged with the murder of those people that were in the condo over there. How did that shit happen?” Damn, I’d used his phone. Made one brief call to Lace after calling 9–1-1. Hadn’t used it since.
Fuck!
Just when a nigga get a clean slate, shit gets dirty.

“My brother? You sure?” Benito asked, staring at the television.

I switched channels. One thing for sure, Grant’s story was breaking news on every station. The story was repeated almost verbatim on another channel with Grant’s picture on-screen.

Benito opened the front door. “Let’s go, V. We’ve got to get my bro out.”

“Put your ass in a seat for a minute and chill. First off, our helping his ass could backfire. And it’s midnight. We have to think this through before we make a—”

“Get me the cordless phone,” Benito interrupted.

“You can use my cell. Nighttime minutes are free.”

Tired of slapping his ass, I got the cordless phone my damn self. I considered going to Lace’s house instead of calling her. That might backfire too. I dialed her number.

Good, she answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, Lace. Valentino.”

“What number is this?”

“Condo. Landline. What’s up with your boy?” I asked her, not mentioning his name. Never know when the corrupt-ass government is tapping ass or tapping lines.

“He’s not my boy,” she said, ending the call.

Damn. Cold-blooded. Mental note: once that bitch is on your side, keep her there. I made another call. It was only ten o’clock her time.

“Hello?” Sapphire answered.

“You hear about what happened to Grant? Were you setting me up for this shit?”

“You’re a smart man. Wanna be his hero? Figure out a way to prove Hunter had a gambling debt that cost him more than he could afford. That’s the truth.”

“So how do I help Grant?”

Sapphire ended the call.

Damn, how was a nigga supposed to get involved without getting involved? I had to think fast.

“V, what they say, man?”

“Be quiet. Give a nigga a minute to think this shit through.”

With the ends Honey gave me, I could bail G out, but not if it meant trading places with that nigga.

V
alentino had the street sense to do the smart thing. He didn’t have to take the fall, involve Honey, or mention me. The police arrested Grant because they found his business card at the scene. To find the murderers, the local government needed to roll over in their own beds. Hunter’s family massacre was an inside job. Good luck to Valentino and Grant. Honey, like me, would outsmart the men.

It was time for closure to my situation with my stepfather. Permission from my mother wasn’t warranted. Alphonso had raped my mother of me, me of my mom. He stripped us of years of mother-daughter hair days, shopping sprees, spa treatments, birthday parties, graduation, watching movies together, hugging, crying, feuding, and loving one another. Years impossible to recoup.

I sat in my hotel room on Century Boulevard, picked up the phone, dialed the transit office during the morning shift. “Yes, may I speak with Alphonso Allen?”

“Hold just a moment,” a receptionist said.

Gun…silencer…extra clip—I tossed them into my sack.

I wondered what Santonio was doing. I was glad my mom was in her new home and that chapter of my life was closed. I’d never have to step foot in the hellhole she’d moved out of again.

“Hello. This is Big Al,” he answered.

Disguising my voice, I said, “Hey, what route are you on today?”

“Who is this?” he asked.

“You don’t remember meeting me? I’m the sexy young girl who rode your bus recently. You gave me this number.”

“No, I don’t give out my work number, baby. You must have me mixed up with another driver,” he said.

“I wanna ride your bus today. What route are you on?”

Alphonso whispered, “If you do, I’m going to ride you.” He told me his route and hung up.

A cold sweat accompanied my disgust. I ended the call, stood in the mirror naked, remembering his hands on my breasts, his body smothering mine. The pillow he used to silence my cries, smother my tears.

I whispered, “Showtime. Time to get dressed.”

Opaque stockings, a flowered duster, comfortable white nursing shoes. A padded bra, salt and pepper wig, and black framed eyeglasses. I smeared on my red lipstick, slightly crooked, and slipped on my sweater.

“Can’t be gettin’ mad! What you mad? Can’t handle that!…”

“Hi, Ma.”

“Hey, baby. Where are you? You were gone when I woke up.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“In time for lunch?” she asked.

“Yeah, Ma. I’ll be back in time for lunch,” I said, ending the call. Didn’t want to delay my mission or change my mind.

“Can’t be gettin’ mad! What you mad? Can’t handle that!…”

I was beginning to believe I was doing the wrong thing. “Valentino, what’s up? I’m busy. Make it quick.”

“Hunter’s gambling debt was from a side bet in-house, Vegas, on a bowl game.”

“Very good.”

“Grant can get off if I—”

“Not if
you,
if
he
wasn’t so damn onerous and condescending. Jail should humble him. I’ll make sure he’s released tomorrow morning. I sense you’re changing for the better. The old Valentino was all about self-preservation.”

“What about my charges?”

“I’ll take care of that tomorrow too.”

“You’re changing too. Maybe we’re getting old,” he said.

“Speak for yourself. One more thing,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“If you love Honey, tell her.” Valentino’s chances were greater than mine. I wasn’t interested in having a happily ever after relationship with a woman. My love for dick was too strong. But having a special female friend who understood me would’ve been nice.

“Thanks,” Valentino said. “Wish me luck.”

“Real men don’t need luck.” I ended our call, exhaled. My phone rang again. “Hey, I’m on my way to see a dog about not being a man,” I told Santonio.

“I thought if it weren’t too late, I could change your mind.”

“You don’t know me, have no idea what he’s done to me.”

“You’re right. I heard you when we were in Atlanta but I wasn’t listening. Where are you?”

Why did he care? Was this a power play to break me down, gain control? Leave me hanging? Break my heart? I answered, “Los Angeles.”

“I haven’t been able to get you off my mind. I think about you day and night. Do me a favor, beautiful. Don’t kill him. He’s not worth it. I’m on my way to LA.”

I tried blinking away the tears. I was a strong woman. Alphonso deserved to die. I was doing the world a favor. Or was I doing myself a favor? “We’re so wrong for each other. Why do you care what I do?”

Santonio started singing, “If loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be right.”

I laughed out loud. “That was so corny. You cannot sing.”

“Everyone can sing. And I made you laugh. Let me make you laugh every day. I’m on my way. I’ll see you tonight. Bye, beautiful.”

Removing the wig, I threw it in the trash. Did the same with all of my disguise clothing, showered, then called my mother and invited her to join me at the hotel for breakfast, a facial, and a massage. I was excited all over again. Felt like a woman again, knowing I’d see Santonio tonight. “Wow.” The simple things that man did made me feel like a woman, and tonight I was going to make him my man.

N
ever question where your help comes from.

That was my lesson. Jail was no place for me. I was never going back. Not to visit or stand trial for a crime I didn’t commit. The cells were small, beds hard, toilets filthy. I’d slept standing, leaned with my back against the wall all night. The unwritten rule was nine out of ten black men would do time during their life.

I was determined to stay in the tenth percentile, be the one out of that ten that proudly said, “Man, I can’t relate to prison, county, central.” Crossed over before my thirty-first birthday but I was thankful they hadn’t transferred me. One way in, no way out. I’d heard scary stories about inmates who ended up in GSP.

Before I needed Valentino and Benito, I didn’t think much of them. My opinion was they were two freeloading grown-ass men who needed to get off their asses and get jobs. I worked for mine, they could work for theirs. They weren’t handicapped, mentally challenged, or disabled. They were users. I also realized if I hadn’t given them a place to stay, they may have ended up robbing me or someone like me. When I got processed out of jail and saw Valentino and my bro waiting for me, I hugged both of them.

“Not too tight, nigga,” Valentino said, stepping back.

His olive-colored designer slacks, hand-stitched square-toe brand new shoes, buttoned down collared shirt—all appeared tailor made. Benito’s mustard slacks and black shirt with mustard pinstripes were sharp. I’d expect Valentino, being a pimp or a former pimp, to have worn the bolder color.

I hated using the N word, but in a special way, they were my niggas. “Y’all niggas look good,” I said.

Valentino shook his head. “Stay in your lane, nigga. You outta line. Shit don’t even sound right coming outta your mouth.”

He was right. I didn’t feel right saying it, but had to say, “I owe you guys. Can you believe I called Honey and she refused to come get me?” I sat in the front seat of a new black luxury car. “Whose ride?”

“Who’s driving, nigga?” Valentino said, nodding. “And don’t go hating on Lace. You burned your bridge with a ride-or-die bitch that would’ve had your back for life. See, that’s the one thing y’all businessmen don’t understand—hos are loyal. It’s those pretty little rich daddy’s girls and poor undereducated chicks with no street smarts that niggas gotta watch.”

Yeah, guess he made a point, but I’d prefer that pretty little rich daddy’s girl over a ho any day. Thinking of who really had my back, I said, “Benito, please tell me you did not tell Mom or Dad where I was.”

“I heard what you’d done, bro, but I had no idea where you were. V said let’s ride, and here am I.”

“Get it straight. I didn’t do anything,” I told Benito.

Valentino was decent like that? Maybe I misjudged him.

“Clarify that shit for your brother, nigga,” Valentino said, and I was glad he did because Benito hadn’t answered my question. Benito should consider becoming a politician. He had all the qualifications. Every since we were kids, he could respond to a hundred questions without answering one.

Hanging on to my shoulder, my brother said, “I, Benito Bannister, did not tell Mom or Dad that their favorite son is a jailbird and their adopted son, whom they treat like a stepchild, has never been behind bars.”

Interesting. So he could answer when he wanted.

“You got a point there, nigga,” Valentino said.

Listening to Valentino and Benito, I was amused at their unique way of communicating. They were entertaining but I wanted to get home faster than Valentino was cruising along the streets, watching to see who was watching him.

“Bro, guess what?”

“Tell me,” I said. We were ten minutes from my house and I was fifteen away from calling Jada. Listening to Benito helped occupy my mind, made me not think about Honey.

“I’m going to visit Tyra and my son tomorrow,” Benito said with pride in his voice. “If our visit goes well, Tyra said I could start keeping him every other weekend.”

I’d almost forgotten Benito had a son. He’d had a kid before me. He’d never been arrested. And if I got with Jada, I’d have to adopt. I was young, healthy, handsome, and I did not want to adopt kids. I wanted my own.

“That’s commendable, brother. You think you’ll get back together with Tyra?”

“Since Lace won’t have me back, maybe.”

Damn, Benito had beaten me to a whole lot. He’d probably get married before me too. Long as he didn’t marry Honey, I was cool. I’d almost forgotten my brother had dated Honey for three years. I cringed at hearing or thinking her name. As soon as Valentino stopped the car, I opened the door and said, “Thanks.”

“We’ll be out of your spot in a week,” Valentino said. “I’ll deliver your car and keys to you.”

“No problem. Take your time.” I was glad and sad they were moving on. With Valentino and Benito out of my life, that lessened my chances of seeing Honey. I went inside, closed my door. I’d shower in a few. Putting my phone on the charger, I waited for it to power on, then immediately called Honey.

“Hey, Grant,” she answered, sounding exhausted.

“You are one selfish woman. Don’t you ever call me, come near me, or speak to me again as long as you live. If you show up at my house again, I’m calling the police on you. I know you did this to me on purpose.”

“Okay, Grant,” Honey politely said. “I wish you the best,” then ended the call.

What? No argument? Honey took the fuel out of my anger. I listened to my voice mail messages.

“Hey, Grant. Jada. I’m trying not to sweat the small stuff. Truth is, I miss you. Call me.”

That was what I wanted to hear. I called Jada right away.

“Hey, how are you? I—”

“Miss you too,” I said. “Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Pack your bags for two weeks. I’m on my way to get you.”

There was still time to follow through with my initial plans. I showered, changed clothes, grabbed my suitcase, my diamond, and got in my car. En route to Jada’s house, I called my travel agent. “Reinstate my travel plans for LA and Florida.”

I ended the call, then called Honey.

“Grant, what is it now?” she asked.

“Nothing. Nothing,” I said, ending the call before she did.