~7~

The elevator door opened to the vibrant yet monotone hues of the foyer. But what was more conspicuous than the impeccable décor was the number of people crowding it and the threatening shouts.

Mike Brown stood in front of a uniformed man whose back was to us at first. His hands were in the man’s face as he barked, “You don’t know? You don’t know? How the fuck you not gonna know when a fuckin’ reporter on the premises, speaking to one of ya subordinates, my nigga?”

As we stepped closer and Mike continued to berate him, their bodies turned as the man cowered away from Mike as though he was about to be harmed. “That’s like saying you ‘on’t know how ya kids gone eat every day. That sound acceptable to you, Pito?”

They pivoted enough for me to recognize the uniformed man’s profile. He worked in the lobby of the building, always smiling and directing people at the front desk. Mike’s guards were standing over both men, threatening the guy without words. Mike lunged at Pito and he bucked. My pulse kicked up.

“I swear, Mr. Brown. I swear! I had no idea. Barry was new. Only’s been employed with us for three months.”

“And you don’t seem to be doin’ a good fuckin’ job at pickin’ niggas to work here. You ‘on’t tell ya new hires about the celebrities that own here? You only tell them these people are rich fucks that don’t deserve no fuckin’ privacy?” He lunged at him again, to test him.

Pito, once again, balked. Mike’s one guy laughed as he cracked his knuckles.

“What’s going on here, man?” Ragee stepped between them and demanded.

Mike glanced around, I guess not realizing we’d come in. Myisha was in the wings of the hall, anger set on her pretty face and so much more. I knew she despised Mike, and acts like this justified her feelings.

“Plan B,” Mike shouted to Ragee, but more out of frustration than disrespect. He turned over his shoulder and found me standing in the middle of the opening of the apartment, incensed eyes brushing over me before they retreated to Myisha. “Take her back there to get her shit!”

At that, I turned to Myisha. Who in the hell did he think he was ordering around? Myisha’s darkly lined eyes communicated the need for calm and she waved me to her as she turned for the hall leading to the other side of the apartment where our bedrooms were. I paid one last regard to Mike, in an effort to figure out just what in the hell had I walked into. When he began speaking animatedly to Ragee, I decided to drop it and fish for answers from Myisha. 

I glanced up from my phone, face stretched with confusion. “A marriage certificate?” I asked Myisha. “They want my white blood cell count, too, to prove I’m human?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she stepped away from my closet door with her arms folded. She looked every inch a model with her long jet black ponytail, soft pink colored lips, and winged eyeliner.

“Fucking vultures,” she murmured.

“How could one small blog like Spilling That Hot Tea cause a shake up in the camp of a major figure like Ragee’s?”

Myisha stopped pacing and glanced my way. “First, Spilling That Hot Tea may not be the Wendy Williams Show, but they are powerful as hell because of their resources. I told Raj Mike’s plan wasn’t air-tight. It would be like that blog to do a public records search for a damn marriage certificate.”

“Okay,” I argued. “It wasn’t filed. He’s a busy man. Let’s file the damn thing and get it over with.”

I was pleasantly surprised at Mike’s maneuver of not having made the marriage official. It meant I was still a single woman. But filing it now wouldn’t be a major life change because all this time, I’d forgotten it wasn’t final.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and moaned. “It’s not just that, Wynter. One of the bellmen here spoke to TMZ. Told them the first time any of them had seen you was the day you moved in. And the other said they never see you two together.”

“And? That still doesn’t prove anything.” Was I crazy?

“It doesn’t all by itself, but having both the marriage certificate thing and the staff at your home running their mouths about their own doubts makes it suspect.

“But the guy, Pito, just told Mike the one who spoke to them had only been working here for a few months.”

“But the public doesn’t know that. More than that, they don’t care when the narrative is already rooted in their minds.” Her eyes closed tightly. “Ughhhhhhh!” she grumbled so hard it sounded painful.  “None of this shit would matter if Raj would’ve just told Mike to go fuck himself when he came up with this stupid ass plan in the first place!” She took a seat next to me on the bed and massaged her temples.

“So, we pack up and leave town? Are we going to do this every time a stupid blog post surfaces about him? React?”

This was how I ended up at his concert in Detroit, too, back in October.

“We’re not moving,” her voiced cracked when she answered cryptically.

“But you have almost half of my wardrobe on this bed.”

Myisha face spread in a wry smile. “That’s because you don’t have much of one. I’m only taking a bag. I have clothes galore.” Her eyes fell to her fidgety hands as she righted the diamond encrusted Rolex on her mocha wrist. She stood. “We need to go. I have so much shit to do tonight and we have to drive up to the house.”

“What house?”

“Raj’s place in Sparta.”

“Where the hell is Sparta?”

“Out west. It should take us less than an hour to get there at this time of night.” Her eyes swept around the room as though she wanted a recorded memory of it.

“What else is going on?” She was definitely distracted, not as turned up as I’d grown accustomed to her being. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Myisha didn’t answer right away. Her eyes remained to the pointed toes of her suede boots.

“Before y’all got here, Mike said he’s going to push back the international leg of the tour.”

My eyes blossomed. “Raj’s tour?” She nodded. “Because of this bullshit?”

The last show of Raj’s tour was three days ago in Vegas. The next part of the tour was supposed to pick up overseas right after the new year to give everybody on his team time with their families for the holidays. 

Myisha exhaled as she nodded again. “He’d already been mentioning it, but Raj vetoed it last month. Mike putting that out there has Raj’s band making alternative moves just in case they need to pick up a gig in between. A lot of his band members are just touring musicians. Raj employs them for the road. They have to feed their families.”

“Well, how far are we talking?”

“Possibly late spring/early summer.” Her eyes roved up to me.

That possibility concerned Myisha. Why?

“But that doesn’t affect you.”

She sighed, another lamented breath leaving her. “No, but Dale kicking off his tour the first week of January does.”

My face fell in confusion. “Why?”

“Because he’s in need of a keyboardist.”

“And?”

“And currently Vanda is being vetted. He told me the other day.”

“Okay…” The more she spoke the less she made sense. It didn’t help that she continued to the door to leave as she spoke.

“He gave me an ultimatum. If Raj postpones the rest of the tour, he’ll sign per diem with Dale.” She stopped in the doorway. “Mike’s over there now, probably convincing Raj to cancel it and tell the public he’s doing it to have a bonding period with his new bride. Now, I have to go to my boss and tell him I’m going on a hiatus. To be with Vanda.” A soft smile broke out on her face. “I’m going to choose him for once. Say goodbye to the thirty-five-year-old virgin.”

My mouth fell when she closed the door, and not about her venture into womanhood. It was two days before Christmas and I was unexpectedly moving in a hurry like I was in witness protection. Two hours ago, I was sharing a meal with Young Lord and his down-to-earth-ass wife. Now, I was being rushed off to West Bubblefuck instead of preparing for the holiday.

This shit is depressing…

And a depressing holiday season it was.

As I sat, stretched out in the nook of my assigned room, I watched the grounds people sweep, and pick up the last of the falling leaves near the massive inground pool outside my window. There were always people around here cleaning, cooking, polishing, or monitoring something or another. My eyes roved up to the tree adjacent to the window and saw it was almost bare. A dry leaf disconnected from a branch before my eyes and fell slowly toward the working men. Seconds later, it was joined by another escaping leaf.

It was nearly a week after Christmas. When snow should have been falling, the trees were still shedding. It made me think of my life and how the season changing should have brought better days. Instead, I felt stuck in a world I couldn’t identify and gain my bearings to thrive in. I was lonely and…bored out of my mind. Just as I had been on Christmas day. While everyone was together as a family, ringing in the yuletide, I had a hearty meal, thanks to Ragee’s chef—world class, I’d been told by Myisha before she left the country—and ate with his staff, whom I’d just met two days earlier. Ragee, himself, was off with his family in New Brunswick celebrating. Lucky guy.

After filling my belly and smiling and laughing at appropriate times, I retreated back to my room with a fancy bottle of wine—I couldn’t pronounce its name—to stalk relatives on social media. I went to my sister, Reign’s page and saw her children opening their gifts with familiar faces in the background. More family. Her little Haile was getting so big; it swelled my heart with such a contradiction of emotions. I visited my neglected girlfriends’ pages and saw how they spent the holidays. One, Ivie, was on a tropical island that conjured jealous pangs in my heart. Lucky girl. I also went to Van’s kids’ mothers’ pages and saw they were happy with the gifts I was able to give, standing in proxy for him. Playing Santa Claus to four kids and two babies’ mothers was not an easy feat. But it was important for me to make their holiday as special as I could while he was away. That was the only gift that allowed me to fall asleep that night without crying, though I wasn’t much of crier anyway.

My phone rang, snatching me out of my pity-party. My eyes rolled at the name.

“Hey, Mya!” I sighed, fighting for cheer. “Happy holidays, girlie!”

“Wynter! What the hell is going on? Are you really breaking new on people?”

I caught the reference. My girlfriends—the few I had—had been texting me and it was once mentioned in jest I’d gotten new on them because of being married to Ragee. Mya’s tone made me wonder if the accusation was light-hearted after all.

It had to be. Mya’s disposition, among all of ours, had always been congenial and bubbly. Ivie, our other roadie, blamed Mya’s compassionate spirit on her Polynesian and black mixed heritage. I’d known her since high school and we’d maintained a tight relationship throughout college, though I went off first. She was the cooler head.

 “Ivie and I have only seen you once since you’ve been married,” she fired off. “We don’t do anything together, but according to your posts, you’re living better than ever…” Mya went on and on. 

My face fell into my free hand as I leaned into the massive window. I deserved it all. It was a part of my “contract” to have my activity on social media reflect a happy marriage. That was hard, considering I hardly saw Mr. McKinnon. Myisha had access to my accounts and would post random shit that would make you think Ragee was tricking me out on jewelry, bags, and gifts. I’d forgotten about my friends and I hadn’t forgotten about my friends. I just hadn’t figured out how to let them in my new, manufactured world. My life was now fraudulent. A secret. My universe was now a big secret. I hated secrets. It was the bane of my existence. My life had been marked by the weaving power of those six letters from the day I was conceived. And now, it was by my own hand that deception was a thriving theme in my world again.

Even when Ragee was touring and I had the apartment in Jersey City practically to myself, I’d planned to invite them over for cocktails before using the excuse of needing to get on with the activities of the night to get them out minutes later. That would have at least made them feel up to date with me. But here… There was no way I could bring them to the estate. It was a damn fortress here and because of the commute alone, they’d have to spend more than twenty minutes in a place new to even me.

“I’m sorry, Mya. I swear I am,” I tried. “Even if it appears all is great, it isn’t. Van is still locked up and we still don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh!” Her tone had warmed on that shriek and she exhaled, “I’m sorry. So sorry, Wynter. How is Van? I ran into Reign last week at the mall and she had nothing to tell.”

Because there wasn’t anything to tell. I’d still been trying to run down his lawyer through Mike Brown. Since Mike passed on the attorney’s information to me last month, the guy had been to see Van only once. He managed to get his initial court date postponed and claimed he was gathering evidence in Van’s defense. That was just after Thanksgiving. Two weeks ago when I called his office, the secretary said things would slow around the holidays; that’s the way the judicial system worked. Judges and prosecutors took vacations around this time of the year. But when I asked what did that have to do with her boss gathering evidence, she stalled.

“It’s been fucking frustrating. A nightmare, really. He calls all the time and I feel like shit, not having anything for him. I’m thinking about looking for another lawyer after the new year. Maybe that’ll speed this shit up.”

“Damn,” she breathed. “I know how close you two are.”

She would. Mya grew up in the neighborhood my mother’s parents raised me in. When I met my father’s side, Van and the family, Mya and Ivie were right there. They crushed on Van. He’d always been more than an uncle to me—literally. He was my best friend. My brother.  We fought on occasion, and protected each other regularly.

“What else have you been up to other than that?” she tried to ease us into a conversation, something I’d been short on over the past three months.

“Trying to get my music career started.” I let out a dry laugh. “Doesn’t that sound so damn cheesy?”

“Yeah. It does. You sure you’re not using that poor man?”

My laugh was more jovial at that joke. You couldn’t use a man you hardly saw. Mike Brown on the other hand, had promised to help me out with getting into the business. It was a part of our agreement. The studio in the Bronx he’d arranged had turned out to be a total bust. I’d been twice to what turned out to be a makeshift studio in a cramped basement, filled with potheads, smoking the loudest weed. Each time I traveled all the way over there, my car was paid more attention to than I was. The guy, Speed, knew who I was and who sent me, and gave me a seat that wasn’t broken, but that was it. I waited four hours the first day before giving up, thinking he was too mixed up in another project. The next time I went, after two hours of sitting in a smoke-filled basement and possibly having caught a contact, I stomped out of there without even saying goodbye. Not that Speed would have cared anyway.

“Well, that’s been my focus. It’s not been easy either.”

“But it has to be better than the transitional program.”

“Yeah.” I chuckled, remembering how many times Laura, my old boss, had tried calling me since I quit. Her last attempt was two weeks before Christmas. “I don’t miss that at all.”

“Listen,” Mya sounded rushed. “I have to go. My lunch is almost over. I’m so pissed I didn’t take this whole week off. If your poetry turns into music, I’ll leave welfare and work as your assistant.” I laughed. Mya had been working for welfare since she graduated college. “Promise me you’ll call me after the new year and we’ll make plans to get together.”

“I promise, babe.” Half of my face went up into a warm smile.

Hearing her voice comforted me.

“Okay. Love you. Bye!”

“Bye, MiMi.”

I exhaled hard as I settled back into two pillows in the nook. Hearing from an old, trusted friend intensified my loneliness. These eleven days since leaving Jersey had been a slow blur. I was bored. When I called Mike yesterday about the Bronx failure, he told me he was with his kids for the holiday and would get back to me. He was blowing me off again. Mike wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain. That meant I sat in this big ass castle without shit to do.

I glanced out into my new room and sighed again.

Myisha was gone. An hour after she left my room in Jersey City that night, it was like the whole apartment packed up and left for Sparta, a rural town in the western region of the state. We trailed behind each other. I insisted on driving my own car instead of having Myisha arrange to have someone bring it up to me. We pulled up to a gated estate I could have easily gotten lost getting to, and inside of it, if not for her guidance. The place was fucking huge. Its prestige was something like a museum. If I thought Ragee’s place in Jersey City was plush and vast, this mansion he had in Sparta would swallow that apartment whole.

The next morning, before she left for Europe with Vanda, Myisha took me on a tour and introduced me to the staff. There was a gang of them, too many to remember them all the next time I passed them in the hall. The one I committed to memory was Earl, Ragee’s very flamboyant and burly chef. My grandmother always told me to be nice to people who prepared my food, even if they were rude to me. She feared them poisoning her. I was desperate for food, period. I made sure to commit Earl’s name to memory. Based on the twinkle in his eye when we met, I had a feeling he was looking forward to feeding me.

The rooms were endless, their sizes, unimaginable. His stairs on the main level, leading up to the second floor were double curved staircases with black railings and steps. The regal sight of it all was breathtaking. Ragee had a full studio built as an extension to his home, sitting on a sprawling nineteen acres. Myisha said Ragee had the place built three years ago when he’d purchased the land for dirt cheap. She lived here with him, too. Had a suite style bedroom on the first floor that resembled a studio apartment without a kitchen. Similar to his place in Jersey City, his home had a black and white theme he’d chosen. Each room I was shown was immaculately decorated with a particularly keen eye no straight man I ever knew possessed.

My bedroom was larger than the one in Jersey City, making it almost three times as large as the garden one-bedroom I gave up. It wasn’t decorated with me in mind because of the timing. I didn’t care. It was conveniently located on the opposite side of the house from his bedroom, just like in Jersey City. I hadn’t seen that side and didn’t care to. In Ragee’s world, I felt like an interloper.

 He also had a state of the art gym bigger and better than in the high rise. A few days ago, I challenged myself to kill this time by working on my body. I had lots of restless energy I wanted to work out of my system. Today seemed like a good day to get started. I stood and stretched my arms high in the air, attempting a balance on my toes before I headed to the closet to change.

On my way to the stairs, I passed a window with a view of the basketball and tennis courts. There was a group of men playing basketball. One, I was able to identify as Ragee. That one thing remained consistent in the past three months, which was he kept a gang of people around him. Out on the court, Ragee was acting as though he was going to toss the ball to one of them. One though, was just as tall if not taller than him, and I noticed his inappropriate footwear as he stood on the sidelines. When he tossed his head back and laughed, high cheek bones and bright white teeth caught my attention.  I moved closer to the window at that. 

I hadn’t seen this guy since…the wedding. It was LeRoy. It looked as though Ragee was challenging him to play ball. I didn’t think sports was LeRoy’s vibe. He was more refined than athletic to me. But when the ball was tossed, LeRoy’s big hands caught it and, in what was clearly shoe boots, he pivoted and ran until closer to the hoop. Then he leaped into the air like a jaguar and flicked his wrist to release the ball. It swooshed the net, setting off a round of whoops and shouts from the small group of men, though mostly muted from the distance. Ragee cheered him on so loud, I could see the chords in his neck protrude as he grabbed his sacs. LeRoy approached him and together, they engaged in a masculine haughty embrace with LeRoy pounding his chest and Ragee encouraging it. One of the guys in tow was the little one with him the past two times I’d seen LeRoy. Short, frail, and clearly gay.

What was it with their friendship? Was Ragee really gay? Is that why I was here bored out of my mind? LeRoy made clear his sexuality at the wedding, but he gave some ambiguous description of Ragee’s. It was a hard call for me to make even as I watched them embrace for what was clearly a goodbye, as I saw LeRoy leave the court with his two associates sauntering behind him. Ragee resumed possession of the ball and began a game with three other men who appeared as masculine as him. 

Shaking my head, I stepped away from the window and continued downstairs. Midway through, I noticed my shoes were untied and dropped to my haunches to right them. When I was done, I hopped down the remainder. The moment I hit the landing, prepared to travel the foyer for the hall to the gym, I heard voices coming from the opposite end.

“Oh, look,” a male bellowed, “my favorite sister-n-law!”

The grayest eyes I’d ever seen on a black man appeared with big white, perfectly aligned teeth in tow. LeRoy wore all black: a jacket, tee, pants, and shoe boots as his smile led him to my toes. Damn, the man smelled like sin. Then there were the two with him. The small , cropped gauchos, and platform boots. The other was a white girl with green hair and yellow framed glasses. She wore a green plaid, pleated skirt with red combat boots.

When he arrived, the gleam in his eye felt different. It was as though he registered me as familiar. That was laughable. The first encounters I’d had with LeRoy had been filled with his verbal jabs thrown at me. And he was a quick one, didn’t need any provocation.

“Wow.” I breathed, fighting my humor. “If it ain’t my best man. I haven’t seen you since my nuptials. Oh, happy days.” I faux pouted. “I’m sad they’re over.”

His girl-like companion giggled.

LeRoy’s brilliant beam faded at my words. “You wound me with your cold reception.”

“You wound me each time you open your mouth in my presence.”

“But you’ve done so well, tink-tink,” he pleaded and I couldn’t decide if he was sincere or just fucking with me.

“Pray tell.” I played along, cocking my head to the side and widening my eyes with interest.

“You’ve stayed the hell out of his way. He hardly remembers your name when I ask about you. I haven’t seen you in the media. And the staff here tells me you haven’t given them any trouble. Do you know what that means, sweetheart?”

“What?”

A smile blossomed through his greys. “Maybe I was wrong about you.” He shifted closer to me. “Maybe Raj wouldn’t mind allowing me to get to know you better,” his tone was suggestive.

I backed away from his looming presence and shifted to leave. “Fuck you, bestie. You may be his best man, but I only like mine fantasizing about the trap between my legs and not between a man’s ass cheeks. Have a nice life!” I sang from a distance with a fake smile and wave.

 “Damn,” I heard him call after me. “I see you have a prosy garden, too, love. Keep up the good work!”

I kept my pace away from them as a shiver of disgust ran down my spine.

With Korrupt Hearts blasting in my ears, I trekked down the marble-floored hall from the gym. I was certain I didn’t give it my all during my workout, but I sure did tire myself out in there. My thighs throbbed and I knew that was a good thing. I just wished I knew how long it would be before I started seeing results. My eyes met my feet as I ambled.

I could use a new pair of kicks…

My head shot up when I caught moving figures in my periphery. Mike. He was talking to Ragee and it didn’t appear to be a friendly exchange. In my experience with them, it never was. Raj had one hand on his waist, shoulders broad, chin was to the floor, and brows furrowed. Two familiar faces of burly men were with Mike at the opulent foyer of the house. Mike held his hands out as though he was pleading for something. By the time I had the mind to snatch a bud from my ear, Ragee was walking away, heading to the studio suite.

“Oh, it’s like that? Why’re you trippin’?” he shouted after him.

I caught Ragee mumbling something while he trekked angrily down the extension tunnel leading to the studio wing.

“Raj!” Mike called, half a smile on his face.

“Fuck outta here!” I did hear Ragee demand, but he retained his stride.

I pulled the other bud out as I neared Mike and his crew. It was late morning, odd time for him to be here, considering he stayed so far away.

“Glad to see you,” Mike shared when he saw me approaching the foyer from the opposite direction Ragee took off in. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “Got news. I’mma be outta town for a minute.”

“What’s a minute?” I stopped in front of him.

“Guess you could call it a cruise, but just for a few of my peeps. Anyway, I’ll be out there for two weeks then one of my artists in London got a mini tour run happening in the UK. I’ll be out there for a couple of weeks, working on that. For the next two weeks, I’m off. You know what that mean?”

I shook my head, face tight with confusion. Mike’s leaving the country for what sounded like a month felt…wrong. Who would be my contact person? He’d been orchestrating this show. What if something got out? Who would do damage control? Myisha was still out of the damn country.

“It means don’t contact me unless it’s a real emergency.” My neck popped back at that. Mike nodded with hiked brows. “Yeah. I got my peoples on the blogs and news outlets and they know what to do if shit pop off. Your only job is to lay low.”

“Lay low?” I cocked my head to the side. “Doing what?”

“Spending more time here at the estate, staying out of the public eye.”

“My family isn’t on the estate. My uncle ain’t on the damn estate.”

He took a deep breath. “I got Van. I spoke to the lawyer this week. He said he on it.” Mike pulled out his phone. “Matter of fact, I’ll send you his personal cell. You can call him yaself and ask all the questions you want. In the meantime, you parlaying on the estate was already a part of the deal. Ain’t nothing change. You enjoying ya honeymoon period now that he on a hiatus,” he referred to Ragee, as that’s what his public relations team relayed to the media as to why the next leg of the tour had been postponed.

“I still don’t understand what that means. I don’t have shit to do here.” My phone pinged in my hand. Mike’s name lit up on the screen.

“Nothing to do?” He snorted, head jerking back. “Man, this almost twenty acres of land! You gotta five acre lake in ya damn back yard, indoor and outdoor pools, three Jacuzzis, tennis and basketball courts, horse ranch…fully equipped gym, a fuckin’ chef, and your choice of luxury cars. You got a driver and fuckin’ security at your disposal. Fuck you mean ‘you ain’t got shit to do here’?” His eyes rolled in the air, gesturing toward the house. “You could live in this bitch and not run into him at all if y’all made it that way.” He changed stances, appearing irritated. “Look, man, y’all grown ass people. Figure the shit out and let me go get this bag.”

Before he could end the conversation, I turned to make my exit. I was on my way to one of the two double staircases with a quickness.

“A triple fuck you to you and your boat and your fuckin’ UK client! This lawyer better be about his shit,” I hissed, moving closer to the stairs.

I could hear Mike and his entourage snickering behind me.

“Don’t lose that ass in the gym,” humor vibrated in his chords. “You’ll be a’ight!”

My throbbing legs returned to burning before I was midway to the top of the stairs. I stomped my way down the hall, all the way to my “assigned” room. My lungs were beating against the wall of my chest by the time I made it to the set of doors, slamming the one shut behind me. I tossed my body on the lounge chair and ottoman.

Why?

Why had I agreed to this bullshit?

His contagious laugh spurred my excitement as I sang.

“Don’t wanna go through no more changes. From now on I promise I will be a better man…” I sang and danced with his arms as he sat on the table before me.

His head toppled backward as he squealed in laughter. I tried singing over my own.

“I know that one!” His mother swore across from us in my office. She clapped her hands together recalling. “After 7!”

Ignoring her, I kept with the lyrics. “In the heat of the moment, baby I lost my head…lost my mind. I didn’t know what to do…”

“I swear.” Heather smiled as she dropped her chin on her clasped hands. “You can make a song relevant in any occasion.”

“C’mon.” I plucked lil Antwan from my office desk and brought him to a cleared area near the conference table. “Ba-ba-bop!” I started the choreography I remembered from the video. “C’mon, lil butt!” I swayed side to side then jumped into a full body spin.

Antwan laughed, and clapped when he tried his own spin. Heather clapped us on from the chair in front of the desk.

“Heat of the moment, yeah!” I tried staying in key while laughing.

When he clapped his little two-year-old hands above his head and tried singing while he wobbled, my heart expanded and I grabbed him in my arms for a hug. This boy brought me a sense of joy I couldn’t explain, but his conception and birth were some of my darkest days. Putting him on his mother’s lap as he squealed and wiggled, my sentiments matched his.

I walked backwards to the seat across from hers, watching them both.

“You’re so good with kids,” she observed out loud. “It’s crazy you’re almost forty and don’t have any of your own.”

I danced a little in my seat at Antwan as he tried mocking me. “We all know why that ain’t the case.”

“Gee-Gee…,” she warned, singing my family’s nickname for me.

“Heather Taylor,” I mocked her, though mine was with a bite.

It was Heather’s married name. The name she took from another man. It worked. Her eyes skirted around my office that was just as messy as my state of mind lately.

“I haven’t seen this place in over a year,” she noted.

I stood. “You haven’t been around much lately. Busy giving Big Ant babies, and shit.”

“That’s not fair and you know it.”

I turned to her with a smile on my way over to the coffee table where I knew I had candy. “I’m soweee…” I pouted playfully then winked. Finding a lollipop, I called the baby. “Here you go, soldier.” I waggled it his way and he kicked his legs and wiggled for his mother to let him down.

When he ran to me, lil Antwan grabbed my legs. I peeled off the wrapper and handed it to him. On a big gulp, he stuffed it in his mouth. I glanced across the room to find his mother’s eyes, which were fixated on us dreamily. I knew what that was about, but wasn’t beat to go down that road with Heather again. She chose her life. And I’d been trying to make the most out of mine.

“What’re you doing here anyway?” Heather never came all the way out here.

“Checking in on you. I told Myisha I would.”

I raised a curious brow. “That meant you pulling up in Sparta?”

Her guilty eyes looked away. “I wanted to see rather than hear your lies.”

“Lies?” I scoffed, amused. “I lie now?”

“When you want to shut people out, you do.”

“I don’t shut people out. I do me.” I rubbed the top of Antwan’s head. “There’s a difference.”

“What does that mean? You’re not shooting a movie. Your tour is on hiatus, something I’ve never known you to do. I would ask if you’re dating, but you’re so secretive.” She rolled her eyes.

“Can’t date,” I reminded her.

“Why?” She measured the cunning smile on my face.

“Married men don’t date unless it’s their wife. Big Antwan date you?”

“Could you stop calling him that?”

“What?”

“Big!”

My eyes dropped to the lil guy sitting between my standing legs, tearing up the lollipop. “You gave him a son and decided to give him Antwan’s name. This is lil Antwan, making your husband—”

“Antwan. Just Antwan!”

I laughed. Heather hated when I teased her about her husband.

“Who’s that…is that…her?”

I lifted my gaze and amusement left my face when I saw Heather squinting out of one of the windows facing the garage side of the house. I stepped away from lil Antwan, moving closer to the window. Wynter was getting out of her AMG E 43 Sedan, went to the trunk and pulled out shopping bags.

I plopped back in the chair across from hers where Heather was damn near out of her seat, turned around, peeping ol’ girl. My head bobbed as I hummed the “Heat of the Moment” melody while watching, too. Having Heather and my “wife” in the same purview wasn’t ideal. One was chronically judgmental and insecure, and the other I didn’t know at all. 

And by the sight of Wynter in a white tailored trench coat that came to her knees, I was sure Heather’s curiosity had piqued and her self-confidence was seized. If that alone didn’t do it, I was confident Wynter’s high, brown suede boots with high heels in a sexy strut did. Dark silky waves bounced at her shoulders and the bright sun reflected on her hair as she moved. Her made up face was fixed in a scowl as she strutted into the garage and out of our sight.

Heather’s head flew back to face me. Eyes wide with marvel. I nodded with my face resting on my knuckles, it was indeed my fake wife.

“What’s she like?” Her forehead wrinkled with curiosity.

My brows lifted in a shrug. “Like a woman.”

“C’mon, Gee-Gee!”

“What? I really don’t know.” I sat up. “She seems cool to me; she stays the hell out of my way.”

“Really? You two don’t speak?” She gasped.

“What’s there to speak about? I hardly ever see her.” Lil Antwan began to fuss. He finished the small lollipop and wanted more. I knew better. “C’mere, lil buddy. Let me take that sugar off you.” I held out my hands and he wobbled over to me.

“You’re married.”

I put Antwan on my lap. “I know. But she’s been doing her.”

It was true. She’d been laying low around here. I’d been seeing her in the gym, trying to work out. Earl mentioned how she told him she wanted to lose weight. Her determination impressed me. But I knew she wouldn’t see any real results because of the way she ate. I passed by the theater and smelled her B-Way Burger as much as I heard the volume of the movie she watched in there alone. And when I was in the kitchen while she was there for dinner, she’d pile on more food than I thought a woman could eat.

“You’re so cavalier about a woman living in your home, wearing your ring.” I could feel Heather’s perceptive eyes on me as I played a hand game with Antwan. “Where does she sleep?” She cleared her throat.

“In her room, on the other side of the house from mine.”

“I saw on Spilling That Hot Tea when your publicist said you postponed the overseas shows so you could enjoy your new bride. Do you at least go out?”

“Nah.” My attention was fully on the baby as he giggled. “We enjoy each other by giving one another space.”

“Gee-Gee—”

“We’re cool, Heather. I’m off that topic. What’s up with you? How’s everything going at the church?”

It took her a while, but eventually Heather took a deep breath and answered, “Now that the new year is here, we’re trying to catch our breaths. With the Christmas shows, New Year’s shut in and everything, it’s been crazy. Pastor McKinnon’s been running on fumes. Seems like half the church is having some replacement surgery, recovering from a stroke or heart attack, or suffering from diabetes or some heart condition.”

“That’s because half the church is over fifty years old,” I noted while playing peek-a-boo with lil Antwan on my lap.

“That’s because so many young people left,” she snapped.

“This one,” I referred to myself, “needed real ministry.” My tone was more unbothered than Heather liked.

This was an old fight between us. No way would I ever return to my grandmother’s store front as a member. There was no spiritual growth there. My current pastor could preach circles around my grandmother and her ministerial staff.

“If you would come, so many would follow you. It would attract more contemporary ministries.”

“I’m good where I’m at, Heather.”

“I guess you are, where your pastor marries fake couples.”

My hands froze in the air and my eyes rolled up and over to her. Heather couldn’t stop blinking.

“Ain’t gone be much more of your weak ass shots over here.”

“Ragee… Lil Antwan!”

I looked at the smiling baby. “My bad, lil man.” Then I went back to his mother. “When you said you were coming up, I dropped everything and welcomed you. Don’t start tripping, Heather. Ain’t nobody beat for that.”

Her eyes closed slowly and she shook her head. It was her way of cowering. She knew I would only tolerate so much of her shit.

“I’m just stressed,” she mumbled. “That’s all.”

“About what?”

“About things!” she shouted so unexpectedly, the baby jumped in my lap and started to cry.

Heather quickly grabbed him in her arms and bounced him in a hush.

“What things, Heather? You and ya man good?”

She rolled her eyes, turning her back to me. I couldn’t care less what was happening in her marriage as long as she was good. I only brought it and him up to mess with her.

“Among other things…” She sighed. “I’m concerned about the McKinnons. You guys have been popping in my heart when I’m praying. Myisha left for a world tour without you—”

“She’s about to be thirty-six years ol—”

She spoke over me. “You with these fake Hollywood dealings, forgetting about your roots and where you come from. Forgetting about the promise God has spoken to you.”

“Look… Heather—”

“Look at how many times you’ve cursed since I’ve been here. You only use that language when angry or stressed.” She was right about that even though I didn’t recall cursing but one time since they’d been here. “And Pastor McKinnon’s been sick. Evangelist Mary has been trying to push her to the doctor, but the stubborn woman won’t go. She needs to rest.”

When her eyes were on me, searching, my head drew back. “And what you expect me to do? That’s y’all’s pastor. You guys see her a few times a week. I make sure her house is good and her pockets stay laced. The rest is up to y’all. Take care of her.”

When lil Antwan kept crying, I asked, “He sleepy or something?”

“Could be hungry. You got something here ready to eat?”

“I’m sure my chef can whip up something real quick.” I moved for the door. “C’mon.”

As we walked the halls, Heather’s eyes were on alert. Lil Antwan reached for me from his mother’s arms. I grabbed him and tossed his lil body in the air as we strolled.

When he landed on a giggle, I deepened it by singing, “It’s the R, the A, the G, the E, and the E. It’s Uncle Ragee!”

Suddenly, I didn’t feel Heather at my side. I stopped, pulling the baby to my chest before I turned back. Heather stood frozen with wild eyes. When I followed her eye level, it took me down the hall, straight ahead where Wynter was walking with workout gear on and headphones. Her waist was proportioned with her hips and her ass jiggled in fitted pink leggings. That color revealed every curve in her thick frame. Wynter wasn’t a size two, but from what I’d seen of her, she was toned, solid. Maybe she’d been able to stay that way from working out, even before we met. Either way, she had body for days. I just wasn’t beat enough to care.

I turned back to Heather. “Girl, if you don’t come on so we can feed this baby.” I smiled at her.

On a hard pull, it seemed, she tore her gaze from Wynter and her eyes landed on me.

“There’s something not right.” She blinked fast. “I feel it. Something’s wrong here.”

I forced a laugh, extending my hand. “Yeah. I been saying that for years. C’mon, girl.”