White Lines II: Sunny: A Novel Page 2

  Mercedes smiled. “You may be old, Mommy, but you still look good.”

  Sunny laughed, and thanked her for the backhanded compliment as Raul pulled up in front of Mercedes’s school. The Driscoll School was a prestigious private academy on Ninety-sixth Street in Manhattan where Mercedes was learning the basics of elementary education along with Latin, art appreciation and Elizabethan literature. Sunny was determined that her child would have every opportunity to excel in life and there was no better way to start than with a quality education.

  Sunny kissed her farewell and watched as Mercedes climbed out of the luxury car, greeted several of her friends and headed into the school building. Raul pulled slowly away from the curb and Sunny took out her compact and checked her reflection in the mirror. She wiped her nose—an old habit—and returned the compact to her purse just as her cell phone rang.

  “Hello?” she answered the unknown number.

  “Are you on your way?” Olivia asked, knowing that Sunny was chronically late.

  Sunny checked her watch. She had thought she was early but on second glance saw that she was running a little late. “I’ll be there in about ten minutes,” she said before hanging up.

  Traffic made it twenty, so Sunny had Raul drop her off at the corner of Fifty-second and Broadway and then dismissed him. She explained briefly that she had a busy schedule that day in Midtown, and would call him when she was done later that afternoon. Sunny scurried across the street, aware that the light was about to change. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man with a camera snapping pictures of her. She was still getting used to the paparazzi, but she wasn’t vain enough to think that they were fans of hers. Sunny was well aware that they were most interested in her when she was on the arm of an A-list celebrity. It wasn’t her modeling or her bestselling novel that had gotten her most of the press over the years, it was the fact that she had dated football player Sean Hardy for close to a year; that she’d been photographed in the company of high-profile people. Sure the salacious novel she’d coauthored with Jada Ford about their years as the drug-abusing, black version of The Real Housewives of New York City had helped boost her public profile, but rubbing the right elbows, air kissing the right people, being seen in the right hot spots—those were the things that had catapulted her. While Jada played the background, Sunny was out front getting all the press. And Sunny relished the attention. Still, these photographers and reporters were a bloodthirsty sort. She was paranoid that one day they’d catch her doing something she was ashamed of.

  She stepped into the building lobby and waved her hand at the security guard, who knew her from her many visits to Olivia’s office. He waved her on and she scurried to the elevator and pressed for the fortieth floor.

  On the ride up, she adjusted her hair in the mirror. Satisfied that she looked good, she eagerly exited once the doors opened. Olivia was right there waiting for her.

  Shootin’ Crooks’ offices were abuzz with excitement. Interns scurried about eagerly, while Olivia’s, brother, Lamin held court in a nearby conference room with a group of men in suits. Sunny smiled, eyes wide.

  “Things are getting back to normal around here, huh?” she observed.

  Olivia nodded and smiled hopefully. “I think so,” she said. “Since Lamin was cleared of all the charges connected with my cousin’s shooting, and the Feds failed at framing him for money laundering…” Olivia rolled her eyes in exasperation at the thought of all her family had been through. “People are starting to take us seriously as a company again. We’ll be back on top in no time.”

  Sunny followed as Olivia led her down the hall to her office. Once inside, Olivia gestured toward the red sofa against the far wall. “Have a seat,” she said. She walked over to her desk as Sunny got comfortable, and retrieved a big portfolio. Sunny silently admired the wine-colored pantsuit Olivia wore as she sat beside Sunny on the couch.

  “Even though things are looking up around here, the whole situation with Lamin and Zion and their legal troubles was a wake-up call for me,” Olivia said seriously. “I have to establish my own thing, separate from everyone else, or I run the risk of losing everything I’ve worked so hard for.”

  Sunny understood exactly what she meant. Olivia had been a vital part of her brother’s rise to the helm of a music empire. Lamin had started selling drugs when he was in high school and, with the help of his best friend, Zion Williams, had quickly graduated to selling weight. While Lamin recuperated from a gunshot wound, Olivia had carried the torch in his place; in doing so, she fell in love with Zion. She found herself making trips up and down I-95 smuggling drugs for her brother and her man. Lamin had parlayed their success in the drug game into a successful music-production business. Olivia had risen with him, becoming the stylist for artists her brother worked with. While Zion kept one foot in the streets at all times, Olivia and Lamin wanted nothing more than to run a legitimate business.

  But years of trials and bad press had taken their toll on Shootin’ Crooks and the company had suffered as a result. Olivia had decided that now was the time to chase her own dreams. She had already done all that she could to help Lamin and Zion with theirs.

  “Anyway,” Olivia said, fanning her hand, “today is crazy busy for me, so I have to keep this kinda short. Let’s get right down to business.” She smiled brightly. “I want you to be the face of the Olivia Michaels brand.”

  Sunny let her words sink in, but was already smiling. “Why me?” she couldn’t help asking after a few moments. She was aware that, as a woman in her late thirties, she was considered old in the industry. Olivia was taking a risk, to say the least. “Not that I’m not interested,” Sunny clarified. “I’m just saying that fashion is geared toward the young and the skinny. I’m not exactly young and these hips will fill out some skinny jeans.”

  Olivia laughed. “That’s exactly what I’m looking for. The Vintage woman is you!”

  Olivia showed Sunny sample Polaroids of herself posed in different looks she had put together—pieces she had designed and sewn herself. Sunny flipped through page after page of photos and Olivia’s vision was instantly clear. She wanted a model that embodied the badass, bold sophistication and fashion forwardness of a hip-hop vixen. Sunny had to agree that she was born for this.

  “This is my dream job!”

  Olivia laughed at Sunny’s obvious pleasure and flipped quickly through the next few photos, explaining her plans for the label’s launch. As they sat going over the pictures, Olivia’s office door opened and Lamin walked in.

  “Excuse the interruption, ladies.”

  Sunny’s eyes widened involuntarily. Lamin was the kind of fine that makes a woman stop talking midsentence when he walks by. He had the smoothest brown skin, the prettiest lips and eyes that beckoned you closer. His bald head and clean-cut appearance did little to mask the rough and masculine presence that emanated from him.

  “Olivia,” he said, “your new clients are here. That gospel duo.”

  Olivia nodded. “Told you, girl. Today is busy!” She set the photos down on the table and stood up. Sunny followed suit. “So think it over and then we can talk figures with the lawyers and all that if you decide to do it.”

  Sunny smiled at her friend. “There’s nothing to think about. I’m doing it!” They hugged and Olivia clapped her hands excitedly. “Let me know when you’re free and we’ll handle all the legalities.”

  “Okay,” Olivia agreed. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me, girl. I have to go style these lovely ladies for a Christmas show they’re taping.”

  “I understand. Go handle your business and we’ll talk soon.”

  As Olivia headed for the door, Lamin said, “I thought they were supposed to be Christians.”

  Olivia stopped with her hand on the knob and frowned at him. “Of course they are. What do you mean ‘supposed to be’?”

  “One of them got a thong on.”

  Olivia shook her head and Sunny laughed.

  “How do you know?” Oli
via was afraid of the answer, but she couldn’t resist.

  Lamin smirked. “Stephanie the intern dropped a bunch of papers in front of them and the one with the Mary J. Blige hairstyle bent over to help her pick ’em up. And that’s when I saw it.” His smile broadened at the memory. “That’s how they dressing in church now?”

  Olivia shook her head again and rolled her eyes at her brother. “Good-bye, Lamin.” She winked at Sunny as she left, still giggling.

  Sunny noticed that Lamin was still standing there as if he had something to say to her. Never one to beat around the bush, she called him on it. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

  He smiled at her. “Your cat can have my tongue any time.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Now that was corny.”

  “No, it wasn’t. You gotta think about it. It’s a double meaning.”

  Sunny shook her head. “I get it. It’s still corny.”

  Lamin laughed and so did she. “Okay, so let me start over.”

  “Okay.”

  “Say that again. ‘Cat got your tongue.’ Say that.”

  Sunny chuckled at his silliness. She squinted her eyes and said in her sexiest voice, “Cat got your tongue, Lamin?”

  He cleared his throat and put on his best Billy Dee face. “Well, actually,” he spoke in an exaggerated baritone, reminiscent of Barry White, “I was hoping to make better use of my tongue, Sunny. Do you think you could help me with that?”

  Sunny laughed so hard that she was doubled over. Lamin cracked up seeing her so tickled.

  Finally, she caught her breath. “You’re stupid.”

  He winked at her. “Ladies love a man with a sense of humor.”

  She nodded. “We do. That’s true.”

  “So, all jokes aside,” Lamin said. He licked his lips. “You gonna stop running from me or what?” He had known Sunny for years. When her man Dorian had been alive, Lamin had gotten to know Sunny as part of the Family and as Olivia’s good friend. But when Dorian died and Sunny blossomed into a sexy socialite, Lamin—and every other man with a pulse—had taken notice. He had emerged from a messy divorce and scandalous criminal trial unscathed. And all he needed now was a woman who could handle him. He suspected that beautiful Sunny might be up to the task.

  Sunny sighed, drained from laughing so hard. She looked at Lamin, took in all his splendor. He was a beautiful man—tall, dark and handsome. But he reminded her too much of Dorian at times. She couldn’t get past that. The gritty edge, the tall, chocolate Adonis thing … it was too familiar.

  “I never ran from nothing in my whole life,” she corrected him. She retrieved her purse from the coffee table and winked at him as he’d done only moments ago. “But a real lady knows when to exercise her right to walk away.” Sunny strutted her stuff in true top-model fashion as she walked to the door.

  “That shit was corny,” Lamin said, jokingly, though his face was deadpanned.

  Sunny laughed as she called out over her shoulder, “Whatever!” And the door swung shut behind her.

  2

  FOOD FOR THOUGHT

  There are some things that a mother stores up in her heart and never speaks of to anybody; secret thoughts and worries that they never verbalize. For Jada Ford, that was the case from time to time when she looked at her son. Sometimes, when Sheldon was in the middle of laughing at a joke or if he was angry and scowling, his brow would furrow in a way that reminded her instantly of his father. And it sent chills up her spine every time.

  Jada could still picture Jamari’s creepy grins; the way her ex’s lips would spread into a smile that never quite reached his eyes. Jamari’s smiles had been sinister ones. He had been a monster, full of envy, selfishness and greed, and had assisted Jada in nearly destroying any chance she had for happiness. He had handed her crack cocaine with one hand while slapping her with a restraining order to keep her away from their son with the other.

  She still felt guilty after all these years for having gotten high while she was pregnant with Sheldon. His early years had been plagued by illness and pain, and even now he had been diagnosed with attention deficit disorder, and was demonstrating that he had trouble controlling his temper. Sheldon was also in the seventh grade, but reading on a fourth-grade level. Jada felt responsible for all of his troubles. He had been a crack baby and it was all her fault.

  Jamari Jones was dead now, and Jada was happy about that. Still, remnants of brutal memories lingered in the corners of her mind and at times like these, when Jamari’s wicked face crept across her son’s countenance, Jada’s heart stopped beating ever so briefly in her chest. She hated him, even now; hated the memory of him. In some ways, she had managed to convince herself that Sheldon was her child alone, that his father had been merely a sperm donor to whom she owed nothing but what she had already given him—her blood, sweat and tears. But from time to time when she looked at Sheldon, she saw Jamari’s eyes staring back at her, saw his wicked smile reminding her of her past.

  She often sat watching her son and wishing deep down inside that she had given birth to Born’s child instead of Jamari’s. Today was one of those days as she watched Sheldon sitting across from her at the best table in the house at her favorite restaurant, Conga.

  Conga was an upscale, Cuban-style eatery located in the heart of Manhattan, and was owned by Frankie Bingham. Both Born and Frankie had been friends of Sunny’s beloved Dorian, and Conga had been the venue for many of the Family’s functions over the years. Big meetings were held in the ultraexclusive wine cellar, while the bar room hosted birthday and anniversary parties. There was a cocktail lounge for bachelor and bachelorette parties, while the upstairs rooms were for ultraprivate affairs. It was quite an establishment.

  Born was by Jada’s side this night, along with Sheldon, Born’s son Ethan, and his “nephew,” DJ. It was her birthday and they had gathered to celebrate. Born had gone all out, ordering the entire appetizer menu as a generous predecessor to what would surely be a wonderful meal. Jada beamed in the company of her men.

  “So, Dominique wants us to come and meet with some of the movers and shakers she works with. Maybe we can take DJ double platinum this time.”

  Born was talking about DJ’s opportunity to sign with DoughBoy Records, and while talking, he absentmindedly chewed his food and spoke with his mouth full. It made Jada smile because after so many years together (and so many years apart), Born hadn’t changed much. He still wore his hat low over his eyes, still kept his heat on him, still loved her despite all she’d done wrong. He didn’t remind her of her past. In fact, Born was loving her again the way he had in the beginning. She had so much to be grateful for as she entered another year of life.

  Jada ate a quesadilla while listening to Born’s story.

  “She’s good at what she does. The artists on her roster are all multiplatinum; we’re talking household names. That’s what I want for DJ. He’s got a nice buzz, got some fans and a strong following. But I want him at the top. It’s where he belongs.”

  Jada nodded and listened as Born told her that he wanted her to meet this Dominique Storms, who was an A&R—artist and repertoire scout—at Def Jam. Jada thought that the name sounded familiar. She finished her quesadilla and looked for another, but was puzzled to find the tray empty already. Quietly, Sheldon had loaded his plate up with all the rest of them. Born was talking and hadn’t seen it, and Jada saw DJ pretending not to notice. She became annoyed, but didn’t want to interrupt Born’s story. She cut her eyes at Sheldon admonishingly and then told herself that she was being silly. She reached for a tamale instead. But before she could grab it, Sheldon snatched the last one and shoved it in his mouth. The smirk that spread across his face was so sinister that she had to blink twice to get Jamari’s face out of her mind. That face was all too familiar. It caused her to shudder.

  “Here comes Sunny,” DJ said, interrupting Born’s talking and Jada’s trembling. The location of their table offered them a view of the street outside and they could see S
unny and her daughter approaching.

  Jada smiled at the sight of her friend, grateful for the distraction. She wanted to shove the fucking tamales and the quesadillas down Sheldon’s throat.

  “You all right?” Born asked, sensing that her mood had shifted.

  “Yeah,” Jada nodded as if, of course, she was fine. She didn’t look at Sheldon.

  Sunny and Mercedes entered the packed restaurant, looking around for Jada and the gang. “We’re joining Jada Ford,” Sunny explained to the maître d’. The young gentleman nodded and led the way to the best table in the house.

  As Sunny and Mercedes neared, both of their faces spread into radiant smiles at the sight of their loved ones. Born stood up and greeted Sunny with a hug and gave Mercedes a kiss on her cheek. Sunny hugged Jada and the kids and then took a seat beside DJ. She smiled at him and her eyes beamed with pride.

  “You get handsomer every time I see you!” she said, shaking her head in awe, and smiling at Dorian Jr. like a proud mama.

  DJ blushed despite his chocolate-brown complexion. He loved Sunny, always had. When she and his dad were together, Sunny had always been kind to him, treating him as if he were her own child. Despite the many things DJ’s mother, Raquel, had done to hurt Sunny over the years, Sunny had never taken it out on him. And in the years since his parents’ death, she had never wavered in her love and support for DJ.

  Mercedes took the seat that had been reserved for her by Sheldon’s side. She had a big-brother type of admiration for Sheldon, having been raised practically side by side with him. Mercedes smiled at him in greeting and then her eyes scanned the table.

  “So, Aunt Jada, what did Uncle Born get you for your birthday?” Mercedes asked without hesitation as she took some of the quesadillas Sheldon had hoarded off his plate and put them on her own. Sheldon frowned as Mercedes helped herself, but didn’t protest and Jada took notice. At least somebody had Sheldon under control.

  Born laughed at Mercedes’s brazenness while Sunny chided her daughter. “You don’t ask adults questions like that, Mercedes!”