That Easy?
Chardell
“Tap out.”
“Never!”
“Then perish.”
C.J. screamed when I flipped his little ass over and pinned him into the couch.
“DADDY!”
“You had an opportunity.”
“You cheating!”
“How I’m cheating?”
“You bigger!”
“That ain’t cheating. That’s genetics.”
He tried to buck me off.
Didn’t move shit.
I laughed.
“Say uncle.”
“No!”
“Say Daddy is the greatest.”
“No!”
I tightened my arm around him.
“Say it.”
“You stink!”
I gasped.
“Oh, now you dying.”
He screamed, laughing when I dug my fingers into his ribs.
“STOP! STOP!”
“Apologize.”
“I’m sorry!”
“Daddy smell good.”
“You smell good!”
“Daddy handsome.”
He stopped fighting long enough to look at me.
“Nah.”
I stared at him.
This little nigga.
“C.J.”
He burst out laughing.
I grabbed him again.
“LIDIA! COME GET YOUR SON!”
“Y’all better not break my damn couch!” she yelled from somewhere upstairs.
“Our couch!” I yelled back.
“Then YOU better not break it!”
C.J. was still laughing when I finally let him go.
He scrambled to the other end of the sectional, hair wild, shirt twisted halfway around his body.
“You got lucky.”
“You old.”
“I’m thirty-five.”
“That’s old.”
I pointed toward the stairs.
“Go find something to do before you get put up for adoption.”
He hopped off the couch.
“You can’t.”
“Watch me.”
“Mama won’t let you.”
He had me there.
“Get outta my face.”
He ran off laughing.
I was still catching my breath when my phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Pop.
I grabbed it.
Pop: Come to the lounge tonight. 8.
I frowned.
Me: For what?
Three dots.
Pop: Cause I said.
I stared at the screen.
Me: Nigga I’m 35.
His response came almost immediately.
Pop: And I’m still yo daddy.
I laughed.
Me: I don’t smoke.
Pop: Nobody asked you to.
What the fuck?
Me: What you want Pop
Nothing.
I waited.
Still nothing.
Then:
Pop: 8.
I stared at it.
This old nigga.
“Litty!”
“What, husband?”
“I’m running to Pop’s lounge later!”
“Okay!”
I frowned.
That easy?
I looked toward the stairs.
“You don’t care where I’m going?”
“What?”
“I said you don’t care where I’m going?”
She appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Chardell, you’re going to your father’s cigar lounge, not off to the fucking Civil War.”
C.J. yelled from somewhere behind her.
“Can I go!?”
“NO!” both of us yelled.
I looked back at my phone.
Eight o’clock.
Whatever.
Alex
“All right, chin down just a little.”
Click.
“Right there.”
Click.
“Good.”
I lowered the camera.
“That’ll do it.”
My client relaxed immediately.
“Finally.”
I laughed.
“You say that like I held you hostage.”
“You took four hundred pictures.”
“Three eighty-seven.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s why you hired me.”
She rolled her eyes, laughing as my assistant stepped in to walk her through turnaround time and final selections.
I checked the monitor one more time.
Good shoot.
Long fucking day.
I glanced at the clock.
Just after six.
Roe’s office was three blocks away.
For half a second, I thought about going back over there.
Didn’t.
Forty-eight hours.
I said handle it.
Couldn’t tell her to handle something and then hover over her while she did it.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Unknown number.
I ignored it.
Buzzed again.
I picked it up.
Unknown: Brande. Paris Baptiste.
I frowned.
How the fuck did this nigga get my number?
Unknown: Come by my lounge tonight. 8.
Me: What lounge?
Unknown: 1501 Capitol St.
I frowned.
Me: That’s an address.
Unknown: Very good.
What the fuck?
Me: How you get my number?
Unknown: Chardell.
Bullshit.
Me: Did he give it to you?
Nothing.
I waited.
Finally:
Paris: See you at 8.
I laughed out loud.
“Everything good?” my assistant asked.
“Yeah.”
I tossed my phone onto the table.
“Old nigga just summoned me.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I started packing my camera away.
Then stopped.
Picked the phone back up.
For a second, I considered texting Roe.
Didn’t do that either.
This had nothing to do with her.
At least...
I didn’t think it did.
