Twisted Page 4

  “What do you mean, ‘Wassup?’” Nina asked. “Where … are … you?” Nina pronounced each word slowly and loudly for emphasis.

  Ishmael pulled his cell phone away from his ear and looked at it as if it were foreign. He was sick of Nina’s desire to know his every move. It was becoming more apparent to him that even though they had been together for years, Nina didn’t completely trust him. Ishmael remained a very private person. He had always been that way, a man of many secrets. Very few people knew the details of his past. So whenever Nina got pushy like this he resisted. “I’m out handling business. What’s the deal?”

  Nina sucked her teeth. “What’s with all the secrecy, Ishmael? I’m only asking where you are because I wanted you to come and pick me up. But if you’re far away, I can get home on my own.”

  Ishmael could hear the irritation in Nina’s voice and he wasn’t in the mood for it. Not today. “I’m not in Brooklyn,” he lied. “So I guess you can get home on your own.”

  “Fine, then,” Nina reluctantly agreed. She wanted to protest, but Ishmael hurriedly hung up the phone. He decided that he would head to downtown Brooklyn. Might as well do some retail therapy to get his mind off of his dead sister and his nagging girlfriend. He was feeling restless. For years Ishmael had been faithful to Nina. Well … as faithful as he was willing to be. He had not been seen with or spoken of another female besides Nina since they moved in together. He had others, of course. In other boroughs and with discretion, Ishmael kept company with several sexy ladies of various shades and shapes and sizes. Today, instead of going straight home, Ishmael was going to prowl. Plus, a shopping spree would give him an alibi for his whereabouts when Nina inevitably interrogated him later on.

  Ishmael drove to downtown Brooklyn and parked his truck. He stopped in Dr Jays and picked up some jeans and a few T-shirts. Then he strolled past Lawrence Street and glanced over at where Celeste’s salon had once been. Ish had had a lot of fun at Dime Piece. Each of the stylists had kept him entertained at some point in time. But Celeste was special. From the moment Rah-lo introduced them, Ishmael had felt more for her than he should have. She was Rah-lo’s shorty. Ishmael wasn’t supposed to be watching her ass whenever she walked past. But he was, from the very beginning. As he grew to know her, he only felt more affection for her. Ishmael liked the way she thought. She wanted more than the average chick and she wasn’t scared to put in work to get it. In Ishmael’s eyes, Rah-lo didn’t deserve her. Ishmael thought about her a lot and he really couldn’t believe that she hadn’t bothered to call him over time. Looking at where Celeste’s shop had been, now the site of a Dominican hair salon, Ishmael headed up the block to pick up a pair of kicks.

  As he walked inside Foot Locker, he was surprised to see Nina’s old coworker Robin Hunter emerging with her son in tow. Ishmael hadn’t seen Robin in a very long time and he smiled at her, pleased with what he saw. Robin had gained a little weight in all the right places. He observed her wide hips and thick thighs, her small waist and perky breasts. He was mesmerized by the transformation. The last time he had seen her, she had looked pretty and simple, nothing to write home about. But now she looked like she could go on that VH1 show Flavor of Love and outshine all those bitches.

  “Hi,” he said, sizing her up. “Long time no see.”

  Robin smiled, noticing him taking in her newly voluptuous physique. “Hey, Ish. How you been?”

  He nodded. “I’m doing all right.” He looked down at Robin’s son. “Hey, little man.”

  “Hi,” Hezekiah said simply, wondering who this man was who was talking to his mom.

  Robin couldn’t help noticing how good Ishmael still looked. He looked like he had been working out and his muscles bulged through his button-up. He looked sexier than ever. “How’s Nina?” Robin asked, hoping that he’d tell her that their relationship was over.

  Ishmael unconsciously rolled his eyes slightly, much to Robin’s amusement. “Nina’s doing good,” he said dryly.

  “I knew you couldn’t stand being locked down with one woman for too long,” Robin said with a chuckle. “Nina got you bored already?”

  Ishmael hated that he had been so obvious about his frustration with Nina. He did love her. But lately she had been nagging him about settling down, getting married, having kids, and the whole thing. He didn’t want that—not yet—and Nina was losing patience. She was a wonderful woman—pretty, intelligent, a talented artist, devoted girlfriend. But she was not enough to get a player like Ish to commit to marriage or kids. The last thing he wanted was to feel like a woman was trying to force his hand. He didn’t want to feel bullied or manipulated into commitment—the way he had watched Tangela bully and manipulate men for most of her life. He wanted a woman who was the opposite of his aunt and his sister. Lately, Nina had begun to remind him of them more and more. “I’m not bored,” he lied.

  “You’re bored,” Robin insisted, with a giggle. “I can tell.” She thought about how good their sex had been the one time they had been together. She would give almost anything for another episode with Ishmael. “Come and find me when you need some excitement.” Robin smiled and walked away, leaving Ishmael to watch her ass as she strolled out of the store.

  Ishmael browsed the sneaker store briefly and didn’t see much that he liked. He drove home with visions of Robin on his mind. Nina was in her usual withdrawn and slightly irritated mood. She wasn’t saying much. Ishmael welcomed the silence, but he was still annoyed that Nina seemed to be wallowing in negativity these days. He wondered what she had to be stressed about. She had her own shop. Nappy Nina’s did good business and she had no major problems on the surface. But something seemed to be tormenting Nina. In the beginning, Ishmael had wondered what it was. But over time he began not to care. Here she was, beautiful and talented, and all she could do was sulk around, wondering if her man was ever gonna give his love to another woman. It drove her crazy, and it drove him away. Ishmael watched her mope around the kitchen for about an hour before he went to bed. He was physically tired and emotionally drained. It was his sister’s birthday, and thinking about her made his heart heavy. He went to bed, making every effort to block Nina’s foul mood and Tangela’s mistakes out of his mind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Time for a Change

  The next day, Rah-lo sat in his car in the parking lot of the United Artists movie theater on Staten Island. He watched as Ishmael’s truck pulled up close by and he climbed out. Ishmael got into the passenger side of Rah-lo’s Benz.

  “What up?” Ishmael and Rah-lo greeted each other with a handshake.

  Rah-lo puffed on the blunt he held in his hand and passed it to Ishmael. “Shit,” he said. Rah-lo leaned his head back against the headrest and gazed off into space.

  Ishmael waited for Rah-lo to say what was on his mind, but Rah-lo seemed lost in thought. Ishmael puffed on the blunt, wondering how long he’d have to wait for his friend to tell him what had him so entranced. He had known Rah-lo for many years. The two of them had grown up together in Brooklyn, and when Rah-lo’s mother had moved her family to Staten Island, Ishmael had kept in touch with his friend. They had been through a lot of things together, and made a ton of money together also. Ishmael knew Rah-lo well enough to tell that something was troubling him now.

  Rah-lo took the blunt back from Ishmael and shot him a sidelong glance. “I got some shit on my mind,” he said, and he sighed. “I been thinking a lot about the old days. Thinking about J-Shawn and how they killed him, how Pappy got killed, and how Harry’s doing twenty-five years.” Rah-lo took another puff.

  “What you thinking about all that for?” Ishmael was surprised at Rah-lo. He was usually so stoic, so fearless and at times ruthless. Rah-lo had always been the stone-faced one who led them into battle. But their crew had suffered severe blows in the past few years. Rah-lo’s friend J-Shawn had been slain after being kidnapped by a rival crew. Pappy, the dust head of the crew, was killed with a gunshot wound to the head. His body had been found on
the roof of a building in a Brooklyn housing project. Pappy had gotten dusted and shot his stepfather. The man had survived, and some suspected that Pappy was murdered in retaliation. With all the enemies that he had, it was tough to pinpoint who might have actually killed him. For both the police and Rah-lo’s crew, Pappy’s murder remained unsolved. Harry, the hothead of their crew, was serving a twenty-five-year sentence for having an arsenal in his home that rivaled that of an army platoon. He had been the stickup kid, the troublemaker, and the one with all the connections. While he was away, Rah-lo had managed to hold the crew together, with Ishmael’s help of course. But it would be a lie to say that things were easy with just the two of them getting money.

  The game wasn’t the same for Rah-lo anymore. The money was slower, the risks were greater, and the allure was fading. Back in the day, he and his crew had been a force to reckon with. They had all gotten money together, came up together. Then it all went wrong so suddenly. Five childhood friends had dwindled down to two. Rah-lo was tired of worrying about who was out to get him or whether or not the police were on to him. He wanted out so badly, yet he didn’t want to come out looking like a quitter to Ishmael. That’s what Rah-lo really wanted to say to his friend.

  Instead he said, “I been thinking about a lot of things.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You ever get tired of this shit?”

  Ishmael pondered Rah-lo’s question, thinking about his own recent developments. Ishmael had been laid off from his legitimate job in a local law firm. His job in the mailroom at the firm had never been his primary source of income. He had kept the job for the benefits and for the illusion of being a workingman. It kept him off the police’s radar and made him appear to be harmless to his neighbors. The hustle had always been his main career, and he loved it more than any nine-to-five. When he was laid off from his day job, Ishmael hadn’t seen it coming. They’d explained that they were downsizing and had given him a benefits package to soften the blow. Since then, he had turned up the heat. He was going harder than ever. Getting money was his number one priority, and he was ready to really grind. To his surprise, Rah-lo was talking about being tired of the life they led. Ishmael was far from tired. He was intoxicated by the game—in love with the grind. Nina had been encouraging Ishmael to get another job, to give her a ring and a baby. That wasn’t the life that Ishmael wanted. He was already married to his hustle.

  “Sometimes I get tired,” he said. “But I think about how I like to live, the way I like to eat, the clothes I like to wear. And I get refocused.” Ishmael looked at Rah-lo. “Why? You getting tired of it?”

  Rah-lo thought he detected a hint of condescension in Ishmael’s tone. He wasn’t sure, though. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “I think I’m just getting tired of my wife.” They laughed, but both of them knew that he was serious. “She just don’t make me happy anymore.”

  Ishmael nodded. “So, what? You got all them other broads you fuck with to keep your mind off shit like that.”

  Rah-lo shrugged. “Yeah, I do. Still,” he said. He did have several women he dealt with outside of his marriage to keep his mind off of Asia’s shortcomings. But none of them compared to the love affair he had once had—with Celeste.

  “So why don’t you just leave her? People get divorced every day.”

  “I would have divorced her years ago if it was that simple. I just worry about my baby girls. I don’t want them to have to deal with Asia’s bullshit without me being there to keep her under control.”

  Ishmael shook his head. “That’s why I don’t want no kids. I don’t want to get stuck with a girl just because we have a child together.”

  Rah-lo lit a Newport. “Nina’s not the one?”

  Ishmael, a true player for real, didn’t answer the question. Instead, he sucked his teeth and looked away.

  Rah-lo laughed. “All right. Let’s get down to business.” Rah-lo sat up in the driver’s seat. “This is yours.” He handed Ishmael his part of the profits from the work they had on the streets. The two of them were responsible for dealing with their connect, getting the work to their street soldiers—young dudes eager for sneaker and clothes money—and picking up the proceeds. They split these duties, rotating so that neither of them was doing the same thing constantly. This time it was Rah-lo’s turn to divvy up the proceeds. The envelope felt a little light to Ishmael and he frowned.

  “Bad week?” he asked, holding the envelope aloft to demonstrate its lightness.

  Rah-lo nodded but didn’t look at his friend. “Yeah,” was all he said.

  Ishmael sat there and looked at Rah-lo for several silent moments before realizing that he had no intention of elaborating. Ishmael’s sixth sense bugged him. He had a nagging feeling that Rah-lo was holding out on him. He hated to think that way about his friend. Ishmael cleared his throat.

  Rah-lo turned to face Ishmael and shook his head. “You know how it is. Some weeks are better than others. It’ll be better.” He lit another cigarette, exhaled the smoke.

  Ishmael looked out the window. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked, changing the subject.

  The two friends made small talk for a few minutes longer before they parted ways. Once out of the parking lot, the two went in opposite directions.

  Ishmael headed for Harlem. As much as he loved Rah-lo, this was no time for money to slow up. Ishmael had bills to pay, moves to make, and he wasn’t going to sit idly by and let the game get the best of him. For years he had been in Rah-lo’s shadow as his foot soldier, even his errand boy. He was tired of that role and now he wanted more.

  The cash that Rah-lo had given to Ishmael seemed significantly less than what he was used to. Rah-lo’s refusal to explain the “bad week” they’d had only bolstered Ishmael’s determination to succeed on his own merit. He had to do his own thing. There were no friends when it came to business. So he went uptown and cut a side deal with Cito—their connect—to get some product for himself without including Rah-lo in the deal. Ishmael had to take care of himself and make sure that the success he deserved would be his. He was tired of playing second fiddle, and Rah-lo was going soft on him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Starting Over

  It was one of those days when winter’s crisp wind gives way to a soft spring breeze, and Celeste Styles and her friend Keisha Russell were on their way to a social event. Keisha was so glad Celeste was finally coming to one of the events she’d been inviting her to for months. Celeste was accompanying her friend to a dinner party being thrown by a women’s group that Keisha belonged to. The group of female entrepreneurs met each month to mingle, listen to guest speakers, and support one another’s business. Among them were publishers, agents, real estate brokers, teachers, lawyers, bankers, and assorted other professionals. Keisha had been trying to get Celeste to join for the longest time, but Celeste was reluctant. To her it sounded like the “Uppity Bitches Club,” and Celeste knew she wouldn’t fit in. After all, she had once lived a lifestyle in which she was surrounded by hustlers and the women who loved them. The last thing she wanted was to sit around a bunch of Ivy League or holier-than-thou women who had nothing in common with someone like her.

  Upon moving to Atlanta, Celeste had gotten back into college, continuing her pursuit of the business degree she had abandoned upon meeting Rah-lo. She had worked at a hair salon in Buckhead and tried to grow accustomed to her new life. But in the beginning she couldn’t help feeling like she had taken a huge step backward. After all, she had once owned and operated a successful salon of her own. Suddenly, she was merely working in one. She found that she had far less money than she was used to having, and frankly, she missed the lifestyle she had enjoyed courtesy of Rah-lo. But she told herself that she was ready for a new day. She wanted a love of her own, when her heart was ready. One that she would never have to share, or hide, or be ashamed of. She wanted her own success. Success that she wouldn’t have to relinquish if a relationship turned sour. What Celeste had pursued—and gained—was a new life, w
ith her own success and triumph to make it sweeter.

  She worked for a marketing firm in downtown Atlanta and she was slowly moving up the corporate ladder. She owned a condo and a nice car, she went to church with her mama and nana on Sundays, and she had a dear friend and coworker in Keisha. Celeste had lost about ten pounds as part of the clean slate she had given herself. She was looking and feeling better than she had in years. The only thing missing was a man to share it with. Keisha was also single and having a great time dating man after man in her search for Mr. Right. But Celeste seemed far more hesitant to get out there and find someone to settle down with. She was testing the waters, but she was in less of a rush to find her Prince Charming. And Keisha couldn’t understand why.

  Tonight, Keisha’s group was opening their doors to men. It was a cocktail party/fund-raiser to support AIDS research, and many male professionals would be there to offer information and services related to the charity. Celeste had broken up with her boo Damon only weeks prior. She had dated him for close to a year, and she enjoyed his company. But after being with him for so long, to Celeste it seemed to be going nowhere. The relationship had lost its thrill and Celeste was wasting no time on a relationship that no longer excited her. She was feeling brand-new, after cutting her hair into a cute and sassy style and updating her wardrobe. Ending her relationship with Damon made her feel alive again. Not that he was a bad guy—in fact, quite the opposite. He was a gentleman and a success story. She just couldn’t help being bored. Tonight, Celeste looked forward to having fun.

  Keisha was driving her Escalade and Celeste hung on for dear life. Keisha had a lead foot and riding with her was an adventure, to say the least. When they arrived, they parked and checked their makeup in the car mirrors one more time before going inside. Celeste wore a breezy white Nicole Miller dress and very sexy Stuart Weitzmans. Keisha was sharp in a tailored red Escada pantsuit with a ruffled neckline. She wore no bra or blouse, and the jacket was cut as low as possible for full effect. She was sexy and she knew it. They both looked amazing. Celeste’s short hairdo was styled to perfection, and Keisha wore her hair long and wavy, with one side dramatically shielding one eye. They stepped out and headed inside, eager to mix and mingle.