Chapter 58.7: Will you give ME a chance, Part II
A/N: PPP means “Puff, puff, pass.” Weed Etiquette. I’ve never smoked.
Bobby’s POV
I’m trying my best not to laugh, but this is funny. Chiapas all over again.
Tank’s high as a kite. He’s laid out on the living room floor, passed out, a smile on his face.
Mrs. CJ and Lula are laughing their asses off and the sisters are staring at Tank in shock.
“Is he going to be OK?” Chenae asks, crouched next to Tank. She glares at Lula. “You should be trying to help him instead of laughing at him.”
Lula just waves. “He high, Chenae. Only a few ways to work that off.” She grins at me and I burst into laughter. Fuck it. I start video-taping this. No one will ever believe me if I don’t.
“Well then help him!” Thelma says. They’ve each crouched next to Tank and are fanning him and gently slapping his face. The husbands are biting their lips trying not to smile. Wilma looks confused.
I grin. “OK ladies, here’s the deal. There’s not a lot of ways to work off a weed high. He’s just going to have to let that pass out of his system. You wanna work off a weed high faster?” They nod. “You gotta do something to get the heart rate up. Tank’s ass is too big for me to take him to the track on my own and make him run. The other best way to get his heart rate up requires Lula but I don’t think y’all really ready to know how your brother gets down.”
Barry and David snort and turn to hide laughs. Mrs. CJ and Lula are rocking back and forth in tears. The sisters look uncomfortable.
Lula grins. “Now, I don’t mind helping but—”
“No, no, that’s OK,” Wilma says, looking at her sisters. “Bobby’s right. I don’t wanna hear about that.” Barry and David break and walk outside. I can hear them laugh from here. They duck their heads back in and motion for all the kids to follow them.
“Is Uncle Pierre gonna be alright, Auntie Lula?” Lisa asks, poking Tank with her foot. Lisa has been sitting next to Lula all morning. She’s already in love with her new auntie.
“He’ll be fine, baby. You go outside and play,” Lula says, ushering Lisa to the door. Lula turns and looks at me. “What you think? Put a fan on him and wait for him to sleep it off?”
I nod. “He’s gonna be hungry and horny when he wakes up. Make hotel reservations and get lots of water and snacks. Screw the RangeMan diet. If anything is open, feed him a couple of steaks.” I grin big. “Prepare for him to put in work. At least 4-6 hours. Probably more. Get some Tylenol.”
Lula does a jig and goes to make reservations. Mrs. CJ shakes her head and starts making tea. The sisters keep wincing and I’m laughing mentally. They really have problems thinking of their brother as a sexual being.
“This happened before?”
“At this level? Once.” I grin, remembering.
Only Ranger was more fucked up. That’s how the four of us became a true unit, a brotherhood, ride or die. We transcended individuals and become a force. No secrets between us, nothing hidden, no lies.
Lots of weed in Mexico.
Hours Earlier
Tank’s POV
Between Lula and Bobby, I’ve been convinced to go to Antoine’s music studio and check it out. I’m not sure why I’m doing this, but when I said I would Lula told me she was proud of me. That made it worth it to make the effort.
I arrive Saturday morning and I’m sure I have the right place. There’s a thousand cars outside and everyone is watching me carefully. It’s a nice building, concrete with reinforced doors and windows. I’m sure I don’t want to know why. I step inside and I’m immediately stopped by a . . . attempt at a secretary. One deep breath and her nipples are popping out of that tube top.
“Key!” She walks up and attempts to give me a hug but my voice stops her cold.
“Pierre.” No one bothers with Tank around here.
She looks at me close and her jaw drops. “Oh my god, you are Pierre.” Cue sex kitten. “Hello. I’m Chrishaundra.” And there’s both nipples. Titties on display. Jesus. I’m not fucking or wifeing you. I could have you on your desk for free.
“Where’s Antoine?”
Now she looks offended. “He in studio three.”
I wish my sisters could see this. This is why I demanded they get an education. So they gave a damn about themselves more than this girl does. My sisters waited for the right men. This girl would suck my dick right now if I smiled at her.
I smile at her. Her gaze drops to my dick. I snort mentally. And Les thinks I can’t get women. I can get women, if you classify this chick as one. My problem? I’m picky. I won’t screw just anything.
She tucks her breasts back into her bra and I walk down the hall. I finally find studio three and knock.
“Come in.”
I open the door and I’m hit with the smell of weed. I blink and Antoine stares at me.
“Pierre?”
I nod and he grins. I hate looking at him. I’m looking at Daddy.
“Shiiiiittt! You came.” He stands and pokes the man closest to him. He walks over and we shake. He pulls me into the room, still grinning big. “Yo, this my little brother, Pierre. P, these my boys.” The other three men nod, eyes narrowing.
“Yo’ little brother fucking up the air in here. Bring yo big ass in and close the door. You letting all the smoke out.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but close the door and look down. Heavy bolster at the foot of the door. So that’s how they kept the weed smoke in here. I nod at everyone and take a seat. Antoine looks happy to see me.
“Yo, this is Big D, Santana, and Jorae. We cutting final tracks on the album and gettin’ inspired. What brings you here, bro?”
“Wifey.”
Antoine tries to hide it but I can see the mention of Lula affects him. “Word? Good woman you got. When’s the wedding?”
“May.”
“Smooth. Ranger yo’ best man?”
I nod.
“How many groomsmen?”
“Not sure. Possibly three.” I can see him doing the mental math and not coming up with it. “There’s a man you haven’t met yet. Hector.”
“Oh.” He’s disappointed. “Need a ring bearer?”
“Maybe.” There’s an idea for my nephews. I think fast and nod. “Yeah. But let me talk to ’em, OK?”
He smiles and nods. “No prob. They’d love to see you.”
The other men haven’t stopped the PPP since I arrived and they finally hold a joint out for me. I shake my head.
“Nah. I’m good.” I look at Antoine. “Was hoping to get a tour of yo’ facilities,” I smile and he grins big, “but I see you busy handling business. I’ll come again later.”
“Nah, we good. Lemme show you around.”
We leave and Antoine starts showing me the place. There’s three studios and the other two are full of girls singing and guys rapping. We pass Chrishaundra again (she gives me a sultry look) and climb to the second floor. Antoine has an apartment on one side and his office on another.
“You need better security.”
He looks at me. “Word?”
“Yeah. I see at least five different ways to break into this place with minimal effort.”
“OK. Well, since that’s yo’ business, let’s talk about setting up some time for me to get your professional opinion.” I raise an eyebrow and he nods. “Life lesson. Don’t assume people will do they professional work for you for free, no matter how close you are.” He snorts and mutters, “Or not close.”
“Agreed.” I take a seat and look around. The office is classier than I’d expect of Antoine. It’s a place I feel comfortable in. He has large leather chairs, a big wooden desk, and the room is painted gray. The windows look out to the highway but it’s not loud. I’m thinking soundproofing. There’s pictures of the family (including Daddy, rat bastard), my nephews, and other people, I assume his friends. There’s also pictures from everyone’s graduations, including mine from Tulane. I didn’t think he attended that. If a man’s office is an indicator of who he is, Antoine is unpretentious but deep. People matter. This place doesn’t scream business. “So how’s the business doing?”
“Good. Biggest studio outside Shreveport or New Orleans. I got decent rates and good contacts with labels so if you want my help with promotions, I charge another fee. I’m good.”
“Own the building?”
“Leasing it. The equipment and the ‘assets’,” he finger quotes, “are all mine, but I’m working on the building.”
I’m wondering how much the building cost.
“$250,000.” I look over and Antoine has a small smile on his face. I raise my eyebrow again and he shrugs. “Next logical question. How much is this bitch worth.” He glares at me. “I’m buying it. I don’t need your money.”
Well, that answers that question and I appreciate that. “I’d offer, not assume.”
He nods. “Thanks, but a man’s gotta make his own way in the world.”
I nod and sit back. “How’d you get into this?”
“I lived here after Momma kicked me out.” His jaw clenches. “After you went to juvie.”
Hello, anger. Welcome back. I clamp down on it and listen. Antoine is staring at the ceiling.
“I realized that my Momma kicked me out and didn’t nobody but her give a damn ’bout my black ass. Anyway, I started working here part time, tryin’ to put my feelings, my thoughts on paper.” He grins at me. “The next Illmatic.”
I own Illmatic and there’s a reason it’s a classic. Nas has it. Antoine? I doubt it.
“I was working and rapping and trying to get my shit together and just kinda slid into this. You know? Hustle man. I was selling mix tapes and working concerts and promotions everywhere I could. Junebug, the man who owned this place, told me to quit rapping. I didn’t have it. Work on the business side.”
Knew it. I grunt but listen closely.
“He pointed out that producers get paid for putting together beats. They never had to rap but if you had that musicality, you understood timing and rhythm, you understood business, you didn’t need to rap. Sell beats then move into production. So I got a computer and the right software and started putting together beats.”
Antoine turns to his computer and plays a few tracks. The first few suck but the more he plays, the smoother they are. By the time he stops, I realize I’m nodding along with the beat, sucked in. He grins.
“Exactly. Look at the number of producers who make it big and they don’t rap, or maybe they do but they’re big as producers too. Pharrell. Kanye. Stevie J. DJ Khaled. RZA. Hit-Boy. 40. Birdman and Master P,” we both laugh at those two, “Shit, Dr. Dre. All of ’em made that money off being a producer. Kanye charges six figures for his time.”
My eyes widen. Fuck! Antoine nods. “Exactly. Just making beats, if you sell it to the right person, that’s between $5K and $25K. That’s how I got my start.”
“Nice.” And it is. Antoine found the right hustle for him.
He grins. “I stacked my paper, went and worked for a few producers in New Orleans—”
“Is this when you weren’t answering your phone and Momma couldn’t find you?”
By the time he finally started answering, Momma was sobbing on the phone, begging me to come find his ass. I had the car packed and Ranger was flying directly from Miami to Houston when she called us to let us know he’d been found. Next time we saw Antoine, Ranger popped him in the mouth. He was pissed he’d ever allowed Momma to worry like that. Plus, he’d just gotten back from Bolivia and his head wasn’t completely back on yet, but he was ready to stuff that to the side to help me.
I broke Antoine’s arm. We didn’t speak for two years but he never ducked Momma’s calls again.
He winces and nods. “I didn’t mean to scare her like that, but I was working 16-18 hours days. The boys I was competing against had music degrees, played in the band, knew all kinds of instruments. What’s my musical background?”
We snicker. “Church!” we mutter. We laugh and Antoine passes me a Sprite.
“I was hustling hard. I rose through the ranks but the fact that I didn’t have that diverse a background held me back.” Antoine switches tracks and starts playing something I recognize as Middle Eastern. I narrow my eyes, trying to place it.
“Moroccan?”
He nods. “Army?”
I nod and he smiles. “Impressive. Yeah. Before I left, the producer I was working with told me to start listening to world music. Broaden my horizons. Listen to all the 60s and 70s funk I could lay my hands on. Listen to every genre, even country,” we both wince, “cuz the best beats come from shit no one has heard of or stuff they recognize as familiar but can’t place it.” He smiles. “I ignored the advice to listen to country until Nelly and Tim McGraw partnered up for a song. Remember? ‘Over and Over’? That hit number 3 on the Top 100, number 1 in Pop.” He shakes his head. “Next thing I know, I’m listening to Johnny Cash.” He smirks and I chuckle.
He switches tracks and I listen to the beat. I can hear the Moroccan track he just played underneath it. It’s smooth and familiar.
Damn. Antoine’s got some skill at this.
He plays a few more and I realize he’s right. I’m listening hard and I recognize stuff but I can’t place it, until, “September! Earth, Wind, and Fire.” I grin and Antoine laughs.
“That’s the one everyone gets, but did you recognize the one before it?” He replays it and I have to shake my head. He switches tracks and I slump my shoulders in embarrassment.
“Fuck you.”
He laughs. “Fantasy. Wasn’t that your favorite Earth, Wind and Fire track?”
“Yeah. I loved that.” He plays his beat and I hear it. I’m ashamed I didn’t figure that one out. “You’re good. I didn’t think anyone could hide Fantasy in any way that I’d miss it yet catch it.”
Antoine grins and I realize we’ve been up here talking, without bloodshed and nasty mutters, for 90 minutes. “So, you finishing an album?”
“Yeah. Got my name on it this time, like the big producers. I’m gonna see how this works out. Wanna listen?”
I nod, so we lock up the office and head back downstairs. I nod at his boys and Antoine turns to me. “We tryin’ to decide between, like, 20 tracks.”
I sit on the couch and eye his boys. They got four blunts in rotation and they’re back on PPP. Antoine grins. “Nah, you can’t handle that.” He turns to them. “Put it out. Little bro is Mr. Ultra Clean Living. The weed will fuck up his performance and the last thing I need is my future sister-in-law trying to bust my ass open cuz he can’t handle business.”
They laugh and I glare at Antoine. I look at the blunts. “Thrilla.” That stops all laughs and they look at me. “Mexican. Smooth with a kick at the end. You got anything wrapped in the center?”
One looks me up and down and grins. “You kno’ yo’ weed, huh?”
I grunt. “And I know yo’ weed etiquette is shit.”
Hour one
I’m pleasantly high. Antoine and his boys are fucked up.
“I thought y’all smoked all the time.” I grin slyly and pass my blunt. They all glare and roll another set.
I’m concentrating on the album. I’d listen to about half the tracks, which means Antoine might have a winner on his hands. It’s not bad.
Lula was right. So far, Antoine is someone who, if I’d met him later in life, I might respect. He got his shit together. He has a skill and a business. He and I have been talking about Jayson and Quint. He loves his sons and I’m happy for him.
I’m a little jealous. Antoine had it all when we were kids. I was battling pimples and my voice couldn’t decide if I was going to be Barry White or El DeBarge. Antoine was getting girls to drop panties all over the place. He had Daddy’s love. Even though he beat the shit outta us, Daddy would take him places. He never took me anywhere. He got two boys and even though I’m cool with never having any, a small part of me wishes that Lula and I could have that.
Then again, I got nothing against adoption if she’s interested, and I’m cool with it just being me and her. It’s all on her. I’ll never, ever, make her feel bad for not being able to carry a baby or being uninterested in being a momma. I just need Lula in my life. The time we spent apart clarified that for me.
I’m learning to trust my wife when it comes to people. She’s got stellar instincts for trusting people and her track record ain’t bad. My wife chooses trustworthy people to be around her, and Antoine, well, he hasn’t been so bad today. He got a good business and, well, I don’t know if I’d call these guys friends but he has people around him he trusts. Lula said that he wants in the family.
We’ll see. He is family but one day is not enough for me to look at him and not want to hurt him.
Hour Two
Two of Antoine’s boys are passed out on the floor. I give Antoine my opinion on his album and we listen to my preferred tracks all over again. He admits that all but one of my picks were his favorites so we listen to his favorite track that I didn’t pick. I shrug and point out it’s similar to another track on the album. He listens, nods, and smiles faintly.
“Nice catch but the topic is different.”
“Beat’s similar. If I’m listening to the beat, this sounds like track 12.”
He nods. “Imma think on that.”
We leave the room and check the other studios. Since he’s heavy into the album, Chrishaundra’s job is to ensure that artists leave their studios on time and that they leave it clean. I read Antoine’s list of rules and laugh mentally.
Antoine picked up a few tricks in New Orleans. In short, Antoine’s rules could be interpreted as “I ain’t responsible for shit that goes down. I give y’all a space to work. That’s the limit of my responsibility but I will fuck you up if you break my shit.”
I mention it and he nods.
“I’m not getting into the middle of fights between artists because you left a track on the equipment and someone came in and stole your beat. I’m not mediating fights between artist’s time slots. I’m not getting in the middle of fights about how yo’ bitch is fucking someone in yo’ crew when you ain’t around. I’m not your fucking babysitter.”
“No one’s dropping yo’ ass on Maury?” I ask slyly.
He grins. “You goddamn right.”
Hour Three
All Antoine’s boys are gone. They woke up hungry and horny.
I notice Chrishaundra’s gone. I point that out to Antoine and he nods.
“I warned her, but again, I’m not regulating grown fucking people. She wanna fuck ’em, that’s on her.” He looks at his bag. “How the fuck did we go through three pounds of weed in one day?”
I chuckle and check my wallet. I pass him $1000 and he laughs. “Yo’ knowledge of weed is fucked up and on point.”
We start talking about people we knew in high school (dead, dead, jail, prison, pregnant, got HIV, shit!) and family (no changes there. Leeches.). I tell Antoine the truth about Key and he’s shocked silent. He literally doesn’t know what to say to that. I step out of his office over to the apartment to grab some drinks and so my brother can come to terms with what I just told him. I step back in and it’s clear that, while he didn’t cry, he’s hurt deeply. I decide to say no more about it. If he’s taking it this hard, then our sisters definitely will. I need Antoine to have his shit together before I tell them.
Lula was surprised to find I know ’em all. Antoine and the sisters don’t. She couldn’t understand why Momma and I never told ’em.
“Simple, Lula Bear. They already had enough reasons to hate Daddy. Why give them nine more? He treated his outside kids better than us. And Antoine loved Daddy. Why ruin the man in his eyes?”
“How did you know?”
“I overheard an argument between him and Reverend Fulmer as a kid. I didn’t understand it at the time but when I was old enough to understand I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t know how much that would hurt Momma to know. Why give everyone more reasons to hate him?”
She still thinks I’m wrong there. I’m not so sure about this one. Then again, I’ll talk this one over with Bobby. Let’s see what he thinks. Lula thinks they should know. Momma’s always known. Perhaps I will listen to my wife on this.
Hour Four
I’ve left high. I’m edging toward fucked up and I’m worried. If I hit fucked up, even Lula won’t be able to handle my ass and I’ll eat my momma out of house and home. Why oh why did I get in a pissing contest with Antoine? I think I’ve made it clear I know my weed, but he has primo shit and it’s been (I do some quick thinking) eight years since Chiapas?
My weed knowledge is outstanding because Ranger, Les, Bobby and I had a case in Chiapas. Ranger and I are the biggest and were the best able to handle the intoxication. So while we got completely fucked up and kept the marks busy, Les and Bobby completed the objectives, namely completely ruining an almost $1 million crop. Between insecticide and fire, we fucked that crop up, but my face is known and hated in Mexico. That’s the source of my enemies and the majority of my file.
Ranger and I left Chiapas and hit a brothel. 24 hours later I was still working that shit out of my body. Ranger and I screwed everything walking and I’m sure we didn’t leave any food anywhere. Bobby and Les made the mistake of falling asleep. They woke up and Ranger and I were in the middle of a six-girl orgy and we were keeping ’em busy. They started trading shifts to ensure that shit didn’t happen again, at least not without them being able to participate.
Meanwhile, Bobby kept me running on the streets and made sure I stayed strapped with condoms. Les did the same for Ranger. It took days for us to feel right again. Some of that weed had been laced with PCP, so Bobby was watching me and Ranger for signs of dependency and paranoia. We were OK but it’s one reason I usually stay away from all drugs.
That was our first DEA case after we started RangeMan and the biggest reason they love RangeMan. It’s the reason I don’t take shit in Central America. My face is known from Mexico to Panama. We would take cases, I’d keep the marks busy and Ranger, Les, and Bobby would complete the objectives.
Hell, my face is so well known there, I was on fucking wanted posters. It’s the reason I became the inside man at RangeMan and Ranger started taking Middle Eastern assignments. We needed to allow the heat to die down. That’s my biggest worry with the San Antonio branch. I’m getting this branch up and running because I refuse to put personal considerations ahead of business, but it is a worry for me. That’s also Ranger’s biggest worry with his current case. MS-13 originates from El Salvador. It reactivates his face and, possibly, his true name. We always worked under aliases, but if this case gets tied to his real name, we’re screwed.
Hour Five
I’m fucked up. I’ve been in this studio for seven hours and, between what I actually smoked and the contact high, I’m truly fucked up. Antoine’s boys returned with 10 pizzas and while we finished those off, Chrishaundra’s sucked every dick in this room but mine and Antoine’s. Time to leave before she gets hopeful. I’m hiding how pitiful I find her. Damn, no fucking respect for self.
I text Bobby. Chiapas.
Bobby: PCP?
Me: 7 hours on Thrilla.
Bobby: LMAO! What you want me to tell Wifey?
Me: Gotta hide me. I can’t do that to her.
Bobby: H8 2 break this 2 U but if U don’t tell her, Ull end up sticking your dick in NEthing U can reach. Be real. Time 2 show wifey how U REALLY get down.
Me: She’s had me for hours before. I look over at Chrishaundra, who looks hopeful. Not a chance. I’ve just listened as one of Antoine’s boys fucked you in the studio. Jesus, help us all.
Bobby: Not like this. Antoine?
I look over. He’s passed out. His apt’s upstairs. Let’s tuck him in. Yeah, you got a point. Hoodrat here thinks she’s gonna get a piece. If Lula won’t, I’ll run miles.
Bobby: OK. On my way.
I feel a hand on my leg. “Not interested.”
She sniffs. “You gay?”
I look at her coolly. “Engaged. She don’t play.”
Antoine laughs from his position on the floor. “He got that right. Ms. Jackson bout it bout it. You can’t handle his woman. Leave his dick alone. I’m sure he’s gettin’ plenty of ‘special attention’.”
I chuckle. “Thought you were passed out.”
“Nah, but help me get these suckers outta here.” He sits up and yawns.
“Bobby’s on his way.” I stand but I’m barely steady on my feet. Shit. I’m definitely going to end up passed out.
“Good. Chris, go home.”
“You ain’t shit,” she replies, rolling her eyes. She leaves and I look at Antoine, question clear on my face.
“I don’t fuck employees.” I raise an eyebrow. “No, seriously. No combining work and pleasure. Besides, in this, little brother, we are exactly alike. I want a woman of quality to wife.”
I smirk. “Tamika?”
“Mother of my boys but straight hood rat. You know the saying. I’m not trying to turn a ho’ into a housewife.”
I raise an eyebrow and watch him blush. “Yo woman ain’t a ho’. She mighta sold the goods, but she still got some respect about herself.” He grins. “Besides, I can’t see Lula as a housewife.”
I snort. That’ll never happen.
Thirty minutes later, Antoine and I are standing just inside the door of his studio when Bobby pulls up. I look over at Antoine and think about the day I’ve had. With the exception of the one time I saw Daddy in his face, when I first arrived, I tried my damndest to treat my brother like a stranger I’d just met on the streets. Applying that logic, Antoine ain’t bad. If I’m really fair, this wasn’t a bad day. I’m definitely ending it with more respect for his business hustle than I had when I arrived.
I think about Lula’s last words when I left the house this morning.
“If Steph hadn’t put aside whatever she felt about hookers to save my life then become my friend, our paths wouldn’t have crossed. She put my past to the side and got to know me.” She kissed my cheek and waved me out the door.
I look at Antoine and try to put his past aside. It wasn’t a bad day. We ain’t brothers but we working toward friends. I think.
I raise my hand to shake and Antoine gives me a wry smile and we shake. Men. Equals. I’ll try.
“You coming to Momma’s tomorrow? Everyone will be there.”
He swallows hard and nods. “Yeah.”
I nod and walk out. Barry slides from the Tahoe and I toss him my keys. He sets off and I slide into the Tahoe with Bobby. I look back and Antoine’s still standing at the door. We nod at each other and Bobby drives off.
“Well?”
I look at him. “He’s a serious businessman. Album I’d actually buy.”
Bobby raises an eyebrow. We drive back to Carencro and I tell Bobby about the album. We’re both quietly impressed.
I wake and smell Lula’s hair. I reach a hand out and find curves. Thank you Jesus. I’m harder than I’ve ever been in an instant.
I feel a giggle. “We still at yo’ Mommas. Don’t start if you can’t be quiet,” she whispers. I think about it. Nope. I know me. Imma bust my woman down and these bed springs will squeak.
“Bobby prep you?”
“Hotel room waiting. I already checked in and got the keys.”
“You sure about this? It’ll be rougher than usual.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Besides,” she says softly, turning toward me, “my job and my pleasure to meet this need.”
I love my woman. The sergeant is dying to thank her for her commitment. “Let’s go.”
I slide from the bed, turn on the bedside light and hear a gasp. I turn and Lula’s staring at the sergeant wide-eyed. He bobs a hello and I grin. Midnight. Good. We might make breakfast if I can work this out of my system.
“Yeah. Who stripped me?”
“I did. Bobby helped.” Lula swallows hard. “Damn.”
I give her a completely arrogant grin. Yeah Lula, this is what I look like when I need you. I slip on my sweatpants and a black T-shirt and take her hand. We walk out and run into Bobby. He smirks. “Wait,” he whispers. “The sisters are in the living room chatting.” He turns around and does something, then sticks his hand back through and motions for us to run for it. I break for it and, in a surprise move, hit the passenger seat. Lula climbs in the driver seat, starts the truck, and we drive off.
“I thought women never drove you in your cars.”
I look over at her. “I’d still flunk a piss test right now.” I smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll always be the only woman to drive me in my cars and in my bed.”
Bobby’s POV
Antoine’s arrived. Everyone is shocked and no one knows how to approach his arrival. Something about this actually breaks my heart so I step forward.
“Antoine.” I give him the full handshake and he steps back looking confused and grateful.
“Bobby. Good to see you man. What brings you here?”
“Groomsman duty.” Lord, they did get high on Thrilla. Those dreads still smell strong. “Scouting out places for the wedding.”
Antoine hides a smirk. I look at the mirror behind his head. Chenae has an ugly look on her face. Tank owes me. I’ve been working on his selfish little sister since she arrived.
“So, where’s the happy couple?”
I smirk. “You really need to ask?” He laughs and Mrs. CJ steps over and hugs him. She’s a flurry of motion, cooking breakfast and chatting away. He starts telling her about his album and the sisters sniff.
“You need to get a real job and quit that rap foolishness. You’re nearly 40,” Thelma says.
“And you got Pierre high! What on earth were you and your hooligan friends smoking? For Christ sake, I’ve never seen Pierre walk in and collapse to the floor like that,” Chenae says, completely furious.
“Tank said he’d actually buy the album,” I say nonchalantly. All conversation stops.
“Well, that’s one pity copy,” Wilma says, rolling her eyes.
I stare at her hard. “He meant it.” Antoine has a small smile on his face and the sisters look confused.
“You wanna hear it?” he asks.
“Can I stay sober while doing it?”
He laughs. “Yeah. I think I can manage it.”
“Good. Love to hear it.” I grin. “He said you managed to sample Fantasy and slip it in so smooth he didn’t even catch it.” I wave for him to join me in extending the dining room table. Mrs. CJ looks at me gratefully. It’s not necessary. I love this woman like my own mother.
“Earth, Wind, and Fire? No way. Pierre loves that track,” Wilma says, shocked.
“I’m thinking that’ll be track six. Middle of the album,” Antoine says, smug.
Barry and David jump in with questions and, between us and Mrs. CJ, we carry the conversation, locking the sisters out. Breakfast is ready and we’re sitting down at the table with Tank and Lula appear.
“Morning,” Lula sings cheerfully. I’m watching her. Tank wore her down. She’s stiff and walking bowlegged but the grin tells me she enjoyed every minute. I look at Tank. He looks calmer and is eyeing half the table. I’m glad I told Mrs. CJ to cook triple the normal amount. I might have underestimated. Tank’s got a serious case of the munchies and Antoine’s not looking like he plans to slouch either. Tank nods at everyone and we all sit at the table at our usual seats.
Except Lula and Antoine. They don’t have a spot. I hop up and while the sisters move the breakfast dishes, Tank and I add the last leaf to the table. Now everyone has a spot and we sit and Mrs. CJ says grace. Everyone digs in and I’m amused to see that I wasn’t far off the mark. The sisters watch in amazement as Tank and Antoine put away half the food.
I’m waiting for Chenae to start mess. I’m sure she’ll do it.
“So, Pierre, Antoine was telling us about his album. I was surprised to find you listen to rap, given your feelings about misogyny and inappropriate lyrics.”
Jesus. What a snob. Celebrate the fact that Antoine’s not shit, dammit! He’s about to put himself out there big time with an album!
The table is silent. Tank wipes his mouth and looks down at Chenae.
“First, your brother’s album is more appropriately characterized as hip-hop, in the best of the tradition. It’s slick and he’s been working on it for a long time. Seems to me that you could listen to it before you judge, as I did.”
Chenae’s eyes are wide and she swallows hard.
“Second, it’s good. Lots of 70s and 80s funk, jazz, and Afrobeat.” He grins at Antoine, who’s started laughing hard. “I finally placed it last night. Fela Kuti.” They slap hands. “Damn. That’s obscure to most people.”
“Exactly, but he was huge in Africa. Shame no one knows.”
“Nice,” I reply approvingly. “I have Zombie.”
“Yeah, Bobby hipped me to Fela. How’d you hear about it?”
Antoine snorts. “If you start listening to world music, you hit Africa and everyone tells you to get Zombie. It’s the jump off.”
We nod. Again, we start talking music and we lock the sisters out. Even Lula looks confused but interested. She’s straight hardcore rap. Mrs. CJ’s eyes are bright and shining. She’s thrilled. Her boys finally have something to talk about.
We clear the table and Tank and Antoine move outside to talk. I grab Chenae and pull her outside with me.
“What’s wrong with you?”
She glares at me. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with me? Nothing’s wrong with me.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?”
I grind my teeth together. “You aren’t 12 anymore. This confused look doesn’t work anymore. You’re a grown woman. Act like one.”
“What? You mean like my big brother’s wifey? OK.” She starts pulling off her shirt and I yank it back down and stare at her, shocked. “What? I’m not big enough? Loud enough? Too much class? Too much education? Clearly my big brother wants something different from what he raised all us to be. I’m trying to be his ideal. My brother is my ideal. I want a man like him.”
I step close to her and hiss in her ears. “You know what your problem is, Chenae?” She looks at me, jaw clenched. “Too much fucking ego. Too selfish. You aren’t a child. You’re a grown woman and, instead of being happy for your brother, you’re determined to piss all over his choice when all he’s ever done, all his life, is support you.”
I step back and look at her up and down. “You know why I’d never step to a woman like you?”
“Why? Pierre?”
“Nope. Your brother wouldn’t stop me approaching a woman I was interested in.” Something in her eyes passes but I hope she gets over that. Chenae leaves me cold. Plus, I’m too old for her. I’m not trying to raise grown-ass babies. “I wouldn’t step to you because you’re only interested in my wallet. Fuck the rest of me.” I look at her and she doesn’t look shocked or embarrassed. Yup, I’m still calling this child right.
“You want someone from old money, like me, right?” The nerve in her jaw throbs. “Well, I’ll tell you, in Atlanta, we all know each other. You don’t have the right background. My undergrad is Morehouse. I grew up off Cascade. My family marched for civil rights. I have the right clubs, the right pedigree. I can drop certain words in convos and establish myself in minutes with the groups that would ignore you for years.
That’s what your brother has been trying to teach you. This shit doesn’t matter. Women in Atlanta look at me and see another thug. Black man, with braids and an Army background. They don’t know how I clean up and what my background is. So I choose the women who talk to me when I look like a thug. Because they’re interested in the man they see, not the wallet. Not the degrees. Not the money.
You wanna know why they’re ignoring you in New Orleans? Cuz they know you don’t have that background and you reek of social climber. You’re learning the stuff they’ve been taught since they could walk and talk. Oh!” I pretend surprise. “Isn’t that what you said about Lula? That you gotta teach her simple shit?”
Chenae swallows hard.
“Congrats, Chenae. I’m having to teach you simple shit about human kindness and how to treat people like people and individuals.” I step back and stare at her. “When you pull your head from your ass, maybe your brother will listen to you again. When you pull your head from your ass, the men you want, like your brother, will pay attention to you. You’re chasing after men like me, who know you’re a poseur.”
I walk away. Chenae needs hard life lessons and, oddly enough, I think Antoine needs to take over now. Tank’s not going to be able to reach her at this point and he doesn’t need the stress. Antoine can teach Chenae what life is like when you fall and have to stand back up. Tank’s taken her as far as he can at the moment. Time for Chenae to get to know the brother she despises.
