Chapter 104.5: I Learn to Waltz, Part III
Lesson Two: Dress for Success
Mack’s POV
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Yala sinks to her knees in the middle of the Rikers visiting area and grabs the boys in a tight hug. I see the tears in her eyes and I kneel and wipe her face with my hankie.
She opens one eye and peers at me. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I nod and back away. This is her time. I know how she feels.
-oOo-
Earlier
Javi has my ass working like a cheap trick. I’m starting to get a flava, a style to work the streets, and I’m pulling back bigger and bigger contracts. The street guys are thrilled. We’re certain we’re gonna push past Trenton this month. We just know it.
After watching me handle that, Javi changes my job again! Now he wants me to handle more of Jorge’s stuff while Jorge works with Hector and Danny to get the technical setup for the Business Investigations group really moving. I start participating in the strategist calls and learn my new teammates across the company are good peeps.
Diego is giving me the update on Miami and he puts in a request for me to get access to Miami’s stuff. Hector tells us Les says I can have it in January. He wants me pushing NYC hard. Meanwhile, Thomas is keeping me up to date so I know what I’ll walk into down there.
Manny calls and he and Zip are gonna work with me on our combined Investigations group outside Newark. Right now, they’re concentrating on more PI stuff and they want to ramp up to prep for what Jorge’s gonna bring.
Overall, my ass is hustlin’. The song is on heavy rotation in my RangeMan SUV.
Meanwhile, I told Yala I’d gotten a promotion and I wanted to work out a new custody arrangement. I was moving to Miami and I wanted to see the boys on the regular.
She stared at me as if I’d spoken Chinese.
“You got a promotion?” I nodded. “You’re a fucking hood! How did you get a promotion?”
As usual, I gotta check my temper with Yala. Sometimes she forgets she filed on me. I was in her apartment in the kitchen and the boys were at the table eating dinner. First time in at least two years that I’d been there. Usually I don’t get past the front door. When we hand the boys off, we do it at neutral places, like Ahmed’s soccer games or outside their school.
We try to keep it civil. The divorce was nasty but we share the boys. Or, I make her hand my sons over for every minute I’m supposed to have with them.
“I’m good. My peeps been training me and I impressed the big bosses.”
She rolled her eyes. “More like, you fucked the new bitch in charge—”
I yanked Yala into the living room and away from the boys so fast she yelped. They were looking over, eyes big, and I didn’t want them to hear what was gonna come out of my mouth. I was instantly ashamed they saw me rough their momma like that, but I’m tired of hearing her blast me in front of them.
“Look, you divorced me,” I hissed. “I was faithful and I loved you but what we had is over! I don’t say shit about you and your job and how you conduct your life and I’m sick of you thinking I’m fucking everything that crosses my path. I don’t. I’m trying to show the boys a good example. I already fucked up. I don’t want them to ever think that prison is cool.”
“Let go of my hand.” She glared at me and shook her hand. I backed away. Last thing I need is a domestic charge. I calmed my temper and tried again.
“Sorry. You OK?”
“I oughta kick yo ass out,” she muttered.
“Yeah.” We were both quiet for a minute. “Anyway, I’m not moving for a while, but I wanna start working out visitation. Holidays, summers, all that stuff.”
She sniffed. “So no summer soccer camp for Ahmed? No violin camp for Hamid? Splitting Thanksgiving and Christmas? Sounds like a great life.”
I groaned. “We’ll work it out, Yala, but the boys are important to me—”
“But not more important than the job, right? The job comes first. RangeMan comes first. It doesn’t matter that your family needs you! Gotta work.”
I stared at her. “I’ve never put RangeMan before the boys—”
“But you damn sure put RangeMan before me!”
I was mentally gaping at her crazy ass. “So you divorced me because I was serious about working and trying to make up for not being here?”
She sniffed. “I held it down when you were in. Brought the boys to see you, worked my job, hell, I even slanged a few times to make that money, but you get out and it’s all about RangeMan. No ‘thank you’ at all!”
“What you think me working all those crazy ass hours was about?! I was hustlin’ to make shit right! Tryin to make sure you and the boys had what you needed without me having to slang on the streets. That was my thank you!”
“And now RangeMan’s moving you to Miami! Congrats! RangeMan came first again! Moving away from the boys but you want me to work with you to whip them up and down the coast? What you think? Imma put ’em on La Cubana?” She sniffed again. Had me wondering if she had a cold. “I thought the boys came first for you.”
I was in shock at this chick. What the fuck! She resented RangeMan? Who the fuck else was gonna hire a hood but them? And now that I’m working, making good, movin’ up, she resents it?
“Daddy?” We looked over. Hamid was looking around the corner at us, nervous. “Are you and Mommy gonna fight?”
There’s no quicker way to make me feel like shit than for me to disappoint my boys. “No, Midi,” I replied softly, sinking to one knee. He ran over and hugged me and I picked him up. He’s six, a bit old for that but fuck it. He’s my baby. If he needs a hug, Daddy got hugs. I’da killed for hugs from my Daddy at his age. “Mommy and I are just talking about me seeing you boys. That’s all.”
“Are you gonna stop coming?”
I smiled. “Never.”
That sealed the deal for me. If me and Yala can’t work something out, I’m turning down my new promotion. I opened my mouth to ask her to meet with me, without the boys, to discuss this when the front door opened.
Leon worked under me on the streets. He was a street thug and a blow man when I was dealing and now he’s fucking my ex? I stared at him and he smirked.
“Well, the big man makes an appearance when I’m here. Too soft to come over any other time?” He kissed Yala’s cheek and groped her ass. I was too stunned to say anything and Yala wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Parole violation. Meeting with known criminals.” Well, not anymore. I finished parole and probation four years ago. I just don’t want to associate. I don’t want shit to pull me back into that life. Nothing will take me from my boys.
He snorted. “Right. I guess that means you can’t meet with nobody but yo’ mamí, huh?” I checked my temper. Fucker. He looked at Hamid. “Being carried like a little girl? Your boys are as soft as you are. No wonder I’m whipping they asses—”
“That’s enough, Leon,” Yala cut in.
He glared at her. “Who the fuck you think you talking to?”
“Right now, I need to talk to my ex-husband.”
“I don’t give a fuck who you talking to! You don’t speak to me like that.” He stepped close and I stepped right between them.
“I might not slang, but don’t think the skills are gone, son,” I whispered, holding Midi’s ears so he wouldn’t hear. I shifted so the 9 was clearly on display. I caught Ahmed peeking around the corner. I gave him a quick look and jerked my head. He tiptoed back to the kitchen. “Petey been found?”
Leon stared at me before looking around me at Yala.
“I hope you cooked something, bitch,” he replied. “I’m the one taking care of yo’ sissy boys while that fucker pretends he’s too good to rep his flag now.” He snorted and walked off after smirking at me again.
I turned to Yala. “Is he whipping my sons?”
“No,” Yala said, but I knew she was lying. She looked shifty.
“Yes,” Midi whispered close to my ear.
That’s all I needed to hear. Drug dealer living with my ex and beating my sons? No fucking way!
I left determined to be in family court getting custody of my boys ASAP.
-oOo-
Caro’s scheduled to come in today. She sent in pre-work.
I‘d like each man to bring in two ensembles and dress in a third. I‘d prefer if you came dressed in a business casual ensemble.
(1) Your normal suit and tie look.
(2) Your business casual look, two of them.
I pull my suit from the benefit. I did what Jorge suggested; I got the suit tailored. I’ve worn it a few times since the benefit and it’s like catnip. Every time I wear it, women crowd around me. I’m not short on phone numbers right now and homie’s been out with quite a few of the finer ladies around Brooklyn, but the shit’s getting old.
I miss being married. I don’t miss Yala.
I don’t miss the constant accusations of cheating, the plates flying at my head, and the screaming fits. I don’t miss scooping my boys up and spending a weekend at mi mamí’s ‘cuz Yala’s lost her fuckin mind. I don’t miss wondering who the fuck is calling her and why she’s looking shifty.
But I do miss the good times, when she was my good girl and brought my boys to see me. When she held it down for both of us when I got out and didn’t have a job. When she gave birth to my boys and when she said I do.
But I damn sure don’t miss walking into my house after pulling a double shift at RangeMan to spot some fucker climbing out my bedroom window and my bedroom, and my wife, smelling like sex and cheap cologne.
Yala was my baby, my Dominican Queen. Fierce and no nonsense, she got and kept my attention because I could tell, from the moment we met, that she would tolerate no bullshit. Before Yala, I was definitely a ladies’ man, but after Yala I realized that keeping two and three ladies (OK, maybe four or five) on the go was work. You gotta remember names, habits, nicknames, special moments between you.
Too much work. Better to find one woman and keep it tight.
After Yala got pregnant with Ahmed, I called cold turkey on the player lifestyle. I wasn’t gonna be my Daddy. I loved him but he stayed in and out of prison. Shit, part of the stint I did was in Sing Sing and it was the first time in years I’d seen my old man. My mamí raised me as a single mother, although she was still married to his ass.
They’re still married now. Beautiful, but not for me.
Yala told me, after I got out, that if I ever went in again, she’d divorce my ass and move the boys away. I’d already made the commitment not to do anything that would pull me from my boys, so the extra threat wasn’t needed. I got my head on tight, looked for a job, and got my shit straight.
Yala mighta filed but I signed those papers quick. I took her ass through the wringer to get that visitation and she countered by filing for child support, like I was gonna duck it. She knew how important the boys are to me and she thought that would piss me off. She fucked up, though. I woulda paid her a lot more than child support ordered. Thomas told me to take that extra money and open college funds for the boys. They’ll need that money someday, so that’s what I did.
I keep an eye on those accounts. My boys are gonna be Javi and Jorge. They’ll make it out of the hood.
I guess what I miss about being married is having someone there to talk to at the end of the day. My apartment is lonely. My boys are with Yala’s crazy ass, for the moment, I got no full-time lady, and I can only work so many hours in a day. I get the mail, shower, eat, and watch a little TV and I’m bored. If it weren’t for the boys (and rent control), I’d give up my apartment and live in Javi’s at RangeMan.
I take the suit and look at it. Still fresh and clean from the cleaners. I start looking for a casual outfit and I can’t find anything I really like. I was never into fashion. I finally get two looks together and grin.
Levi will come with six outfits. Fucking clotheshorse. Thinks he’s a model.
-oOo-
I call Family Court and try to get on the schedule. I gotta be smart about this. If I call in Leon as a hustler, they’ll search for where he’s living. That means they’ll search Yala’s and she’ll be arrested. They’ll also put the boys in foster care and make me jump through hoops to get ’em into my custody. Yala may be crazy but she’s a good mom and I don’t want that. I just want Leon’s ass away from my boys.
I contact the RangeMan lawyers after I can’t get anything earlier than right before Christmas and they tell me that, short of Leon moving out, I’d have to wait. I can go to mediation and start working on the plan, so I call Yala and ask her to meet me in mediation.
The cell phone ‘mysteriously’ disconnects and I can’t reach her for the rest of the day.
Now I’m losing my fuckin’ mind. I want my sons out of there before some shit happens. I want my boys safe.
“Yo.” I’m in Javi’s office, looking at the ball. Javi’s staring at it again, trying to figure out how Les moved it while on a plane to Texas.
Poor homie. I can’t wait for him to figure out it was me.
“What’s up?”
“I need some time off.”
Javi looks at me and raises an eyebrow. I tell him what’s going on with my sons and he nods. “Want me to assign one of the newbies to see where his new corner is?”
“Volunteers only.”
Javi snorts and glances back at his ball. “I think the brotherhood will be more than willing to do you this favor.”
-oOo-
Thirty minutes before Caro arrives. I’m checking numbers.
Jorge and I are tied neck and neck. I’m determined to take him down. Javi pokes his head in.
“Yo!”
“Yo.” He grins. “Nice outfit. You remember to check your pores?”
Everyone’s been clowning me about that. Les was taping that shit and now everyone wants to talk about my amazing skin.
Fuckers.
I flip him off and he laughs. “Anyway, outfit looks good.”
I’m wearing a blue button down under a white cabled sweater and my dress slacks. I went back to the Banana Republic and bought another pair of slacks. I noticed Les had my pay upped. I nearly shit myself when I saw my bank account. I have the title and the money. Shit! I hustled harder because we gotta pay for my promotion too!
He passes me an index card and smiles. “I saw this in a magazine the other day and when I read it, I thought about you. Modified it a bit to fit you but this is you, homes, and don’t ever forget it. Read that when you get home tonight.” He leaves and I put the card in my folio to read later tonight.
-oOo-
I walk into the room and stop short.
Levi’s wearing black slacks and a pale pink cabled sweater with a white button down underneath. The Man Card Committee is hesitating here. I’m not sure if I should give him props for his bravery or compliment his style.
“You should compliment my style, son,” he says, grinning. “You know you wanna jack the threads.”
I laugh. “Pink, homes. I’m not sure.”
“Yo, I don’t buy into that ‘pink means you’re gay’ shit. Pink is pale red and I look good in red.” He looks at himself in the mirror set up in the room. Extra gel in his already curly hair, fresh haircut and shave, subtle cologne, Levi’s out to impress today. He looks like a Puerto Rican playa. “Yeah, I’m hot shit.” He pops his collar and looks at my outfit. “Not bad. You played it safe.”
I roll my eyes and The Man Card Committee stands down. They decide to hold the pink stripe and acknowledge his balls. The room starts filling up and we critique each other’s outfits.
Levi’s the winner. Definitely.
Caro arrives and stops short. “Oh my.”
The man with her also stops short. “Whoa . . .”
“What?” Doobie asks. “What did we do wrong?”
“Nothing,” Caro murmurs. She looks at her friend. “What do you think?”
“Heaven,” he whispers.
Every man stiffens. Even I do. Can’t help it. Caro notices and rolls her eyes. So does the friend.
“My wife would be amused,” he says, smiling.
Everyone relaxes. Sorry, son. Your comment had us wondering.
Javi walks in, looks at the man and smiles. “Byron. Good to see you.”
“Thanks. You need to come pick up your suit.”
“You two know each other?” Caro asks, delighted.
“Yup.” Javi looks at all of us. “Guys, this is Byron Mannion, tailor at Mannion and Sons in the Garment district. I’ve known this man for years. He’s the best. He tailors my suits and Jorge’s. Byron, the men of RangeMan NYC.”
Ha! Introduce strangers first and use titles. And he used personal details to enhance his introduction, like Caro’s booklet said. Yup, the rules are automatic. I see how it works. Hood intros are much simpler. ‘Yo, A meet B. B, A.’ Not a lot of info in that. Formal intros like what Javi just did encourage you to trust the newbie. Smooth.
Levi grins. “Really? Then you’re the man we want to see.” He strides forward, confidently. “I’m Levi Batista. Welcome to RangeMan.”
“Thank you.” The man stares at his sweater. “Cashmere?” Levi nods. “Nice touch,” he says approvingly. Ice broken, the man moves forward, dragging a heavy trunk behind him.
“Need some help?”
“No, thank you. I’m accustomed to dragging this,” he replies.
Caro takes her place at the front of the room and smiles. “Well, gentlemen, you are definitely eye catching. I love the looks displayed here, but I brought Byron because I could give you a very dry lecture on personal grooming, but I thought you might enjoy this more.”
We take our seats quickly, curious about what she’s got planned.
Byron stands in front of the room and smiles. “First, I’m glad to be here today. I’m a tailor by trade but I’m also a fashion critic.” He hands each of us a small card with a website on it. “That’s my blog and I only blog about men’s fashion. Now, most people don’t think men’s fashion is that interesting. I find it fascinating. For example, Mr. Batista, your choice of a pink sweater is both bold and avant-garde.”
We all turn to look at Levi. He’s grinning, smug.
“First, you don’t see pink on men, but at the beginning of the 20th century, the 1900s, pink was a boy color. Blue was a girl color.”
“For real?” I can’t believe it.
He nods. “It was believed that girl babies didn’t have the ability to carry off such a strong color as red. Blue was considered feminine and dainty.” He nods at Javi, who hits the lights and turns on the projector. “Can anyone identify this person?”
“Nah, but she’s a pretty girl,” Doobie laughs. “And I bet this is the part where you tell us this is a man.”
We all crack up. Byron nods.
“FDR.”
“Fuck! The President?” I lean forward. “Homie’s in a dress, son!” And curled hair. Poor kid. That’s just wrong.
“With patent leather Mary Janes and shoulder length curled hair,” Caro says, amused. “He’s so cute,” she coos.
We shudder. I can’t imagine dressing my boys in a dress. That’s child abuse.
Byron smiles. “Until WWII, children’s clothing was gender neutral. You dressed girls and boys the same and what mattered was the ability to bleach it clean. Practicality mattered. After WWII, manufacturers were looking to sell products and the industrial revolution this country had gone through for the war meant that we now had ‘convenience’ appliances available for the masses.
For the first time, the average American could afford to buy things like washing machines. Cleaning clothes was no longer a boiling, beating, wringing mess that took all day. Now you could drop dirty clothes into a machine. That was life-changing!”
Doobie snorts and Levi laughs. “Come on, homes. Think about the way you felt the day you got a washing machine in your apartment. No need to wait for a machine. No rolls of quarters. No having to watch your clothes like a hawk to make sure no one ran off with your shit.”
Doobie nods. “Good point.”
Levi’s right. The day Lucia said I qualified for laundry service here at RangeMan was a great day for me! I respect that by making sure I handle her business first and I keep an eye on her pantry, for what she might need.
Byron smiles. “Exactly. Well, clothing manufacturers realized that parents like to dress their children like the same sex parent. Frilly things for girls so she looks like Mommy and Mommy wears pink. Straight lines, masculine tailoring for the little man so he looks like Daddy and Daddy wears blue. Pink for boys and blue for girls flipped during the women’s rights movement, when women started to claim pink as a way of showing their equality with men. It was set in stone in the 80s, with prenatal testing. Once Mommy and Daddy found out they were having a little boy or girl, they rushed out to buy everything they could—”
“In pink or blue,” Doobie says. “I know I bought everything pink with ‘Daddy’s little princess’ on it I could find. I was proud.”
“That one lonely sperm got lucky,” someone mutters, and we all laugh. Doobie flips everyone off.
Byron shakes his head, smiling. “So, why have I given a mini lecture on pink vs. blue? Three reasons. First, because not 100 years ago, pink on a man was not unusual. Pink on a little boy was not unusual. So I’m here to tell you not to allow yourself to live in black, blue, and green. There are other colors! And I’ll bet you men will look good in a lot of them.”
Byron starts showing us pictures. NFL players, NBA players, actors, model, runway fashions. The men are wearing all the colors. We cheer when Byron gets to a picture of Reggie Bush, NFL star, in an outfit identical to Levi’s.
“Exactly,” Byron says, smiling at our enthusiasm. “If Reggie Bush, a gridiron superstar, can wear a pink sweater and rock it, who says Levi Batista can’t?”
“That right!” Levi yells. He grins. “I got this sweater in butter yellow, pretty purple, and a pretty blue. I look good in pastels, son!”
We laugh and flip him off.
“Now, the rules,” Caro says, smiling. We all flip open her newest booklet and wait. “The rules are simple. Your main pieces, like your suit, pants, jackets, those items need to be in a traditional color and made with high-quality, durable fabrics. Stuff that breathes but wears well.”
“In other words, no polyester,” Byron says with a shudder. “Wool suits are still the gold standard.”
“In the summer?” I ask.
“A well-made wool suit in the summer will wick sweat away from you. It’s a misconception that wool is only hot. However, a linen suit is also a good idea but it will wrinkle.”
Caro outlines the rules, which are in her booklet this time. Main pieces in conservative colors, but a pop of color somewhere, like Levi’s sweater, is that little something that puts an outfit over the edge. I remember the way I always had something yellow on me when I was banging and consider that.
“Yo, I got a question.” I look around. “Numbers, yo.” Everyone sits up with a grin. They know I’m about to take it to the streets. “Before RangeMan, when I worked elsewhere,”—I smirk and everyone laughs—”I always had a little sumthin’ sumthin’ in my pocket to identify me. Yellow bandana, mostly. That was my signature, but I wore it with the blue jeans, the button down and the Tim kicks. Anybody else?”
Doobie smiles. “Sub a blue bandana and a puffer jacket in the winter and we coulda passed for twins.”
Only if I gained 40 pounds and shrunk three inches, Doobie. I grin but everyone starts talking. Uniform on the streets was standard but everyone had something. Bandana, hat, jacket, something made the outfit pop.
I look at Caro and Byron. They’re nodding. I look back at Javi but he’s not where he was. I check. He slid behind me.
“You?” I whisper.
He smirks. “You’ve seen my sock collection.”
Yeah I have. Homie has some crazy socks. I wanna know where he finds ’em.
Caro asks for us to change into our second outfit. Byron makes every man stand up and we each critique our outfits for color and pattern. I learn a lot. Levi and Javi stare and tell me they think I should add more green and patterns to my wardrobe.
I hate to say this but I think Levi and I need to go shopping.
Together.
It’s a good day. Byron and Caro cover clothing rules and they tell us to remember that cheap clothes not only look cheap but they’re expensive.
“Pink v. Blue reason #2: Quality matters. In the old days, people made their clothes and they wore them until they were rags, which is why FDR was in a dress. That outfit probably made the rounds in his family and they were rich! Same for you. Men’s clothes don’t change much from season to season. I have clients who have worn the same suits and shoes for decades. Shirt collars and cuffs change. Patterns change. Basic quality does not. You can always tell quality.
Reason #3?” We lean forward, listening. “You need to develop a personal relationship with people who provide you personal services.” We snicker. “Every man in here has a barber he trusts not to screw up his hair.” We nod. “Well, you need that relationship with your tailor, your nail girl, and your shoe repair guy. These people will save you money in the long run.”
Doobie opens his mouth and I glare. “Leave it.”
“Yes, sir.” He snickers. “We won’t discuss your nail girl.”
Everyone snickers but Caro walks over to me. “May I?” I hold my hand out. “Well, you guys are teasing Mack but if I had to choose, I’d rather have Mack’s hands gliding over me.” She pinks. “If I were single and young enough.”
“Whatcha doin’ Friday night, Caro?” I tease. Everyone’s laughing and she blushes and smiles.
“Seriously, men. A man with well-kept hands and clothes automatically signals that he’s meticulous in what he does. He puts care into his appearance and it shows. It’s amazing how many men I meet, and I’m sure Byron will agree, who have on great suits but have hangnails, rough skin, bad haircuts—”
“Overdue for a haircut,” Byron mutters.
“All these little things make a difference. It’s the little things that show class and that’s what RangeMan is. A classy elite security company.” She smiles. “All those lovely handshakes and rough hands?”
Every man immediately looks at his hands.
I turn to everyone. “Joke all you wanna, but those ladies complimented my skin at that Upper West Side party that got us Fashion Week. You don’t think you’ll have to get manicures for that, to fit in?”
Everyone groans and I think about the ladies at Elements. Thirty hoods in floral capes with green gook on their faces and their hands in little bowls?
I lean against the wall and laugh my ass off.
-oOo-
We break for lunch and come back in our suits.
That separates the men from the boys. Levi and I look good. Everyone else? Crapshoot.
Byron takes this time to teach us lesson two: fit. “Well, first thing I can say is that you gentlemen had these suits tailored,” Byron says, looking closely. He taps my shoulder. “Whoever did your tailoring did an excellent job.” He looks around. “Now, let’s examine everyone else.” He starts walking around the room, pinning, tucking and measuring.
“Fit is important, gentlemen,” Caro says. “Especially in business. I cannot tell you the number of times I’ve walked into a boardroom and spotted executives and junior executives wearing expensive suits that just fit them badly. It ruins the entire look.”
Javi stands. “Which is why RangeMan does not do that white T thang. No sloppy clothes. You rep the company, you rep hard. No big t-shirts, no sagging jeans, no lime green kicks.”
“Yeah, ya’ll kill hood fashion,” someone mutters.
“Damn right,” Javi says. Javi’s fierce. “You might be from the hood but you work in Brooklyn, Kings County. You need to dress, act, and carry yourself like a King.” The room breaks into applause at that.
“That was wonderful,” Byron says. “Exactly! Dress the part you want to play. Dress for who you want to be. Don’t let where you’re from dictate your fashion. My father is an Iowa corn farmer but I look like shit in overalls.”
We crack up at that. He’s still walking around the room, moving from man to man, pinning and tucking each man’s suit.
“Corn farmer?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He smiles. “My father is the renegade from the family business. My grandfather, uncles, and I are all tailors.”
I nod. Nice. Family tradition.
“You men are examples of the best in health and masculine beauty. Broad shoulders, strong legs, tall, lean and muscular. Off the rack suits are not going to fit you well. Get them tailored to accentuate your best features, like Javi’s broad shoulders or Mack’s long legs.”
I grin.
He stops in front of Doobie. Doobie looks a mess. “Honestly, I can tell this is a suit you owned before RangeMan.”
“How?” We all crowd around Doobie and stare.
Byron walks around him carefully. “The jacket’s not broad enough in the shoulders and it’s too baggy around the midsection. You bought this for length. Meanwhile, the legs . . .” He stares. “Hell, no other way to say it. Your crotch does not have room. The front rise is too short.” We all snicker. “It makes your butt look huge and it means that your pants pull and droop in the back, so it gives the appearance of your pant legs being too short.”
He motions to me. “You and Mack have nearly the same leg length. I’d estimate you need a 12 inch rise and you only have 10 inches right now.”
Doobie looks up. “Don’t say shit.” Every man laughs. “Can you fix that?”
Byron shakes his head. “No tailor can fix a rise problem. It’s easier to fix inseam or leg length but there isn’t any extra material to fix a rise issue.” He grins at Doobie. “Never thought I’d say this to another man but . . . you need room to let your dick hang.”
I coulda pissed myself laughing. Doobie went bright red.
-oOo-
We got an education from Byron about how to buy a suit. Rule one: never go shopping alone.
“A suit salesman is just that: a salesman. He’s trying to move his product. So always take a friend you can trust to be honest with you.”
I nod. “I bought this suit with Jorge. Homie had me try on at least ten jackets and pants before he was satisfied but this suit got the models.”
Everyone’s eyes widen. “Models?”
Javi grins. “Yeah. Mack brought in a contract to provide security for models.”
“On his own?” Doobie asks.
“Yeah. Before the contract we picked up with Les.”
Levi leaves the room and returns with Jorge, who looks confused. “Yo, we need to schedule some time for you and me to go suit shopping,” Levi says. He picks up his phone. “What’s good, son?”
Jorge looks confused. “What?”
“Mack told them about the models,” Javi says, trying not to laugh.
“Ah.” Jorge grins. He looks around the room. Every man has his phone out. “Did Mack tell you how much he dropped on that suit?”
“No.” Everyone looks at me.
“Five Benjamins.”
“Shit!” Every man is pale.
“Add another hundred to get it tailored,” I add. I look around. Every man is pale. “Investment pieces. Jorge was still rocking his suits from Wall Street until he lost so much weight they didn’t fit anymore and you don’t wanna know how much he dropped on those.”
Doobie moves closer. It feels weird to have him that close and staring but I stand and let him look. At the end, he nods. “Yeah. If five Benjamins means Mack lands models, I’m good. I’ll make that sacrifice.”
“Imma tell your wifey.”
He flips me off. “Just don’t tell my girlfriend.” Old joke; his wifey is the girlfriend.
“Cool. Let’s do this. Let’s go in groups,” Jorge says. “That way you learn how to assess suits. There are a lot of ways to make mistakes with business and business casual attire.”
“Which is a perfect time to announce that we’re going shopping!” Caro says happily. “Load up, men! We need a mall with a Macy’s and a Banana Republic.”
Everyone groans. We’re men. We don’t go shopping in groups!
“Life lesson gentlemen: Always wear clean underwear, just in case you’re in an accident.”
“What if you don’t wear underwear?” Doobie asks.
She turns. “What?”
Every man grins, even Javi. “What if you don’t wear underwear?” Doobie repeats. “We don’t wear underwear with the standard RangeMan uniform.”
“Why?” Caro asks. No one misses the fact that she’s trying to scan our crotches discreetly and we wanna laugh.
“Extra layer of clothing that could be used against you,” Javi says patiently.
Byron and Caro both swallow hard. “Then you men should thank God for good genes,” Byron says.
Caro exits, fanning herself.
Everyone laughs. Javi told us to wear some boxers today. We’d been warned.
-oOo-
We’re in Macy’s.
Store security has been looking at us odd the entire time. We flashed the badges and they backed off.
RangeMan badges are powerful shit!
Levi immediately gets started trying to outfit me better. I stare at his selections. He’s serious and so is Caro. Javi, Jorge, and Byron have the rest of the men.
“I think he would look wonderful in a soft yellow,” Caro says to Levi. “You?”
He grins. “I don’t see Mack frontin’ on yellow. Right, son?”
I roll my eyes. “Yellow’s cool. Red is not.”
“Pink?”
“I’ll tell Javi you’re the one movin’ his ball.”
He laughs. Caro directs me to the dressing rooms and I start trying on stuff.
This is weird. This is just weird. I’m shopping with a thief and an etiquette expert like we’re old girlfriends. Should I make reservations for brunch tomorrow so we can do this again?
If one of Caro’s lessons requires a trip to a hair salon, I’m calling time-out on this. No one will ever catch me under a hood dryer.
After 15 minutes, I have a nice pile of things and I’m getting over my irritation with Levi. Homie picks some nice stuff. Subtle patterns, nice colors, and since it’s right after Halloween, everyone’s trying to move orange and black stuff. They pick up piles for me.
My phone rings. Rikers.
Rikers?
“Mack?”
Yala. I wonder what I’m about to be accused of now. “Yolanda. What’s up?” I examine the slacks in the mirror. I’ll never forget the lesson on rise. Gotta make sure I got room to let my dick hang.
“Mack, oh god, I need your help. Can you go get the boys?”
I freeze. “Wassup? Something happen? They OK?”
I hear her swallow hard. “I’ve been arrested.”
“What?”
“I’ve been arrested.”
“For?”
“Drugs.”
“Leon?”
“Yeah.” She starts sobbing. “Mack, I didn’t know! I didn’t! I swear—”
“Yala, don’t sell that shit to me!” I’m pissed and running for the exit. I hear footsteps behind me and an arm grabs me. I whirl around, fist cocked, ready to explode, but it’s Javi.
“You’re wearing $500 worth of gear right now, son. Shoplifting?” He lifts an eyebrow and I look around. Store security is looking at me. The guys are looking at me. Caro and Byron are looking at me.
I completely fucking lost it.
“Yala, I’ll get ’em. I’ll call you back.” Click. Shit! She’s in jail. I can’t call her back.
I run for the dressing room. “Yo, everything OK?” Javi calls.
“Yeah. Fucker livin’ with Yala had drugs. She and him arrested.” I’m stripping as quick as I can. I slide into my clothes and exit. Javi is calm.
“I called Drake. He’s on his way to her apartment. Calm down. The boys won’t be by themselves. We’ll get there first. You don’t need to have an accident. Gimme the keys.”
I glare at him but Javi is cool. I toss him the keys and we run for the SUV. He’s dialing Jorge.
“Yo! Mack OK?”
“Yala’s been arrested. We’re headed to Rikers. Drake’s got the boys. Don’t stop the lesson. We got this.”
“Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do.” Click.
I sit back in the seat and close my eyes. What the hell!
-oOo-
Javi drives to Rikers. I’m confused and concerned. No I’m not. Leon was arrested and they found out where he was living. Obviously. Just what I didn’t want. I wonder if he set her up. If he set her up, I won’t stop until he’s dead.
“What happened?” Javi asks.
I swallow hard. “She was arrested. Fucker living with her used to work for me.”
Javi nods solemnly. We pull into Rikers and I direct him toward the Central Visit Control Building so we can register as visitors. Once we’re done there, we’ll catch the bus to the Singer Center, the women’s detention complex.
“Leave your weapons, your cell phone and take off your jacket,” I tell him.
“It’s fucking cold, son.”
I shake my head. “Single layer of clothing. They’ll take your coat and make you stuff it in a locker.”
Javi shudders and removes his cashmere and wool suit jacket. I leave my jacket, cell phone, the guns and knives and we walk quickly to the entrance. We register at CVCB then take the shuttle bus to Singer.
The guard looks bored but at the sight of us she grins big. “How can I help you?”
“Looking for Yolanda Mendoza.”
She checks her list. “She was just transferred in. It’ll take a while. Take a seat. I’ll call you,”–she glances at my ID–”Mr. Odom.”
“Thank you.”
I check my watch. The boys’ll be out of school at 1430. It’s 1400 now. I wanna see Yala today and make sure I get her permission to be in her home, but I gotta get the boys too. I know Javi is mad to get his phone and check on the office, but Jorge and Drake got it. Everyone in Caro’s session is concerned and the news traveled fast.
RangeMan brotherhood is ready. Lucia’s making and freezing meals for me and the boys, the guys are pulling boxes to pack the boys’ things, and Tater decided to use his new skills to break into my apartment and make sure it’s clean for the boys and ‘hide the Playboys’, in his words.
I don’t know if I wanna beat his ass or thank him.
We sit for an hour. I’m ready to doze when the guard calls my name.
I walk over. “Yes?”
“They’re bringing her through now.” She hands me and Javi visitor badges and we step into the visitor area. Javi takes a seat near the door and I step over to her table and squeeze her hands.
“You OK?”
She starts crying and I wish I could hug her but I know Rikers’ rules. I fish out a handkerchief and pat her hands. I lean over the table.
“What happened?”
She looks up at me. “Leon left a huge stash in my house.” I close my eyes in pain. “The cops raided just as I was headed to work and found it.”
“Your fingerprints on it?” She shakes her head. “You got a lawyer yet?”
“I can’t afford one.”
Thank you, RangeMan, for the pay raise. “I’ll get you one and check into the police report. Where’s Leon?”
“I dunno.” She looks up at me. “I’m not giving up the boys to you.”
I’m stung. “I didn’t ask you to. Fuck, Yala! Do you really think I’m that much of a shit? I’m doin’ this cuz you Mommy. I couldn’t let you just sit in jail. Not when you held it down for me.” I shake my head. “Imma get the boys from school and bring ’em back to see you this evening. Aigh?”
She’s looking at me in shock. “You’d do that? Get me a lawyer? Bring the boys to see me?”
“Yeah.” I smile sadly at her. “We may not love each other anymore, but I gotta do what’s right for the boys. That means treatin’ their momma right.” I stand and she hands me the handkerchief. “Gotta go. Gotta get ’em and find you a lawyer. I got your permission to be in the apartment?”
She nods. I squeeze her hand again and she smiles. I turn to leave.
“Mack?” I turn around. “I do love you. I never stopped. Thank you.”
-oOo-
The guards bring Yala over and the boys run to her. “Mommy! Mommy!” Yala sinks to her knees and grabs the boys in a fierce hug. She looks like she’s been through the wringer.
I walk over and sink down to wipe the tears from her eyes. She opens them and I see the woman I fell in love with all over again. This is hitting hard.
“Thanks, Mack.”
“It’s cool. I’ll bring ’em every chance I can.”
“Every chance you can?” I can see her gearing up to get pissed but I nod.
“Ahmed’s soccer games and Hamid’s karate lessons. Remember? Trying to keep everything normal.”
She deflates. “Oh. Yeah.”
“Right. So every afternoon they don’t have something going, we’ll be here. I promise.”
She sniffs. “Your promises aren’t worth shit.”
I check the impulse to cuss her out. “You brought the boys to see me on the regular. Why you think I won’t do the same for you?”
Her shoulders slump and she stares at me. Finally, she gives me a grim smile. “Right. Thanks.”
I nod and back away to the bench to let her have time with the boys.
-oOo-
“Daddy, how long is Mommy gonna be locked up?”
Hamid looks unhappy. He hasn’t smiled since we walked out.
“Dunno, Midi. We’ll work with Mommy’s lawyer and try to get her home as soon as we can.”
“Oh.”
I hope we can. Shit does not look good right now. They raided with a warrant, which means they had Leon under surveillance. Yala might be fucked. It was her home. They’ll try to fry her ass with a possession charge if she doesn’t flip against him. They might not even try to plea bargain her, depending on where the drugs were found.
I know Yala. It would not have been in plain sight because of the boys, which means it was in a bedroom or the bathroom. That’ll ruin any defense she might have.
“Are we gonna go home, Daddy?” Ahmed asks.
“Well, we’re going to my home.”
“We gotta get clothes and stuff, Daddy.”
“The guys I work with moved it all to my house.” Med smiles and he and Midi start fighting over ‘shotgun’.
It hits me like a ton of bricks: I’m Daddy. This is all on me now. Fuck! What do I do?
A/N: So I know some of you are asking yourselves: How did Mack not know his ex was living with a known drug dealer? Answer (courtesy of all my divorced friends with kids): Never turn your kids into snitches against the other parent and never ask what’s going on in that house. You don’t want that to happen to you and if you start questioning their decisions, it won’t end well.
Love that Mack’ s such a stand up dad and even nice to his ex. Shs his true character