A Rich Man's Baby (9 page)

“W
e have a party to go to!” Adrienne yelled in my ear. “On a Monday night? Where is it at? I have to go to work in the morning.”

“You can just bring your work clothes and sleep in the car.”

She went on to explain that her new best friend Angelique told her about another party at the 40/40 club in Atlantic City. Some guy named Kenyon Taylor who played for the New Jersey Nets was having his birthday party there.

“What should I wear? I don't have anything that would look nice, and I don't really have any money to buy anything, and I don't get paid until Friday.”

“Don't worry about drinks, I have that. And I have a few dresses over here you can fit. You wear like a six?”

“Yeah.”

“Just get ready and stop making excuses,” she demanded.

“All right, I'll go. Let me find out where my daughter's at so she can watch my little one,” I said as I hung up with her.

Alexis came in with her friend Chardae. They both were dressed in jeans and colorful waist hoodies.

“Alexis, don't go back out. I want you to watch your sister.”

“Mom, we had plans. We were going out filling out applications.”

“It is almost five. Can you do it tomorrow?”

“Okay, I'll do it tomorrow, but can I have money for pizza?”

I only had twenty dollars on me. I at least wanted to give Adrienne toll and gas money. I told her to go to the store and get change.

I ran upstairs, took a shower, and curled my hair. My weave tracks were starting to tangle, so I brushed and pressed my hair out as best I could. I wished Adrienne would have given me more notice; damn, but I was going. That last party was real nice. I put my makeup on and brought three pairs of shoes with me. One of them had to go with one of the dresses she had.

After I put Kierra to bed, I drove over to Adrienne's. She answered her door wearing a black corset dress with silver and black accessories. Her heels were black peep-toe stilettos, at least five inches high. She had on candy-pink lip gloss and rust blush that looked great against her butter-color skin.

“You look so nice, like you took the entire day to get ready.”

“I did,” she said as she showed me the dresses hanging up in her room.

“Here, try this one on,” she said as she passed me a tight strapless red dress with a black big belt. The alternative was a short peach peasant dress.

“I hope my breasts don't slip out,” I said as I tried to tuck them in the dress and looked myself over in the mirror.

“They won't. You look real cute.”

“You sure?” I brushed my hair down. I didn't feel like I looked as good as Adrienne. I needed a few more curls in my hair and more makeup. I asked her for curling irons, and she plugged them in and told me she would curl my hair for me. She handed me some papers as we waited for them to get hot.

“What's all this?” I asked, looking at the papers.

“All the men you need to be trying to meet.”

I gave her a look like I didn't understand.

“It is the team roster and photos. Study,” she said playfully.

 

Adrienne parked the car and we walked over to the club. I heard someone say, “Looking good, red dress.” I turned around and said thank you.

Adrienne slightly punched me in my shoulder and said, “I told you. We are going to kill it tonight.” It was a white backdrop where people were posing as the media took pictures of the celebrities entering the party.

The party was so good. Everyone was laughing and smiling. The deejay was on point. I recognized a few rappers and a boxer walking around. Everybody was nodding their heads and circulating through the party. All of the men at the party looked like they were somebody. I was so happy I came. Adrienne patted my chin to tell me to close my mouth. I couldn't help but stare. The men's suits were perfectly tailored on every inch of them. I saw all kinds of white and colored diamond earrings, rings, and watches. The song “I Get Money” by 50 Cent was blasting and I was thinking I know that's right.

Adrienne knew who they all were. She was like, “That's Andrew Jacobs” or “There go Sean Miller.” We went to the bar, and Adrienne ordered our drinks and asked the bartender how much they cost; he said it was an open bar.

I couldn't even hate on the women at this party. They looked like living dolls of all nationalities. There was something for everyone, from extra thick but looking fab in tight pants, to little petite with silicone boobs. I even saw the weather lady off the news trying to land her a baller. The only problem about the party was, there was a VIP area that we didn't have access to.

A lot of the players were walking around the party, but then they would go back upstairs to this VIP area. And they left a trail of women at the bottom of the steps, waiting for them to come back down.

“Fuck that. I want to get upstairs,” Adrienne said as she gazed up the steps with a champagne flute in her hand.

“We need to be on the other side of that maroon velvet rope. I'll be right back,” she said as she switched up the steps and smiled at security. He looked down at her wrist and shook his head no.

“Just catch them when they come down the steps,” I suggested.

“Yeah, but I want us to be up there. This is the little baller section. I want big ballers.”

“W
hat's up, beautiful? Where you been at all night?” I started to snatch away until I looked at his huge diamond cross and his man that was with him, bracelets and rings glistening. They both were big and husky with thick necks.

“I'm just getting here. My friend dragged me out here to this party. I didn't want to come,” I said.

“You didn't want to come? You must not be having a good time.”

“I'm not. I'm about to leave,” I said as I folded my arms and yawned, acting like I was bored.

“Oh, we going to have to change that. Don't leave, come upstairs with me. My teammates have a table.”

Did he say the word
teammates?
Jackpot,
I thought as I smiled.

“No, I can't do that; I can't leave my friend downstairs by herself.”

He told me to go get my girlfriend and to meet him by the steps. I went and got Tanisha. I hoped this dude wasn't faking. I walked over to the steps and met him. Then he pulled out two orange wristbands. I held out my wrist and he snapped it on my arm. It was like he was snapping on gold. We followed him up the steps and passed the bouncer into the good life.

The party was nice downstairs, but we were in exclusive land. We stood against the bar. No one was dancing, just socializing. Thick Neck and his friend passed us two flutes and poured champagne in them. We thanked them, exchanged numbers, and began to work the room.

I saw Derrick Johnson. He was a forward for the New Jersey Nets. Salary, $453,000 per year, and he had a two-year contract. He wasn't rich, but he would do. Pictures didn't do him justice. His caramel skin looked ten times smoother in person. He was dressed in all-black jeans with a black button-down shirt. His Yankees cap was cocked to the side, over his white do-rag. His braids peeked out the back of the cap and a nice-size diamond and platinum bezel chain swung from his neck.

“I want him,” I said to Tanisha as I bit my lip.

He looked me over a couple of times. I wanted to say something to him but was getting a little frustrated because some woman was holding on tight to his arm.

“The minute she leaves his side I'm going to go up to him and give him my number,” I said as I continued to plot.

We walked around the party, mingling and dancing; then Tanisha tapped me on my arm. She saw my opportunity to get my man. The woman had finally unleashed him and gone to the bathroom. I immediately danced my way over to where he was. I knew I didn't have a lot of time, and he might be the faithful type, so I whispered in his ear, “I'll do things that your girl won't do and she don't have to know.”

He raised his eyebrow, smirked, and then handed me his cell phone number while he looked over his shoulder to see if his woman was coming. I got his number and walked back over to where Tanisha was waiting for me. I smiled at her and said, “Got one.”

 

By the time the party was over, I had met the big guy who got us into VIP and my boo Derrick Johnson.

“That party was fire. I can't wait to call him. Did you see his watch? Oh my God, and his chain—there was like hundreds of diamonds in that.”

“Yeah, it was a real good party, I'm just going to be tired as shit tomorrow at work. When are you going back to work?” Tanisha asked.

“Never. Forget that job. Forget working until you get old and all that other stuff. I'm going to be just like these no-good-ass women sitting back, having babies, and collecting a big child support check. Watch, Derrick Johnson about to be a child's father and he don't even know it. And when I'm calling you from the Clearport.”

“The Clearport? What's that?”

“A private runway. I heard it in a song. Never mind. Don't ask me to come and get you.”

“You really want to get pregnant by somebody you don't know?”

“I don't know if I want to straight get pregnant. I don't think that will work. I do want some kind of relationship with my future baby daddy. I don't want him to hate me and know I set him up. I want us to get along. Because he might put a hit out on me or something.”

Tanisha closed her eyes and shook her head as we rode up the highway. She could laugh all she wanted. She thought I was playing. I was about to get paid, and I was not going back to work ever again. I was going to date and have some rich man's child. I figured I should get at least about ten thousand a month. I knew this guy at the hospital, and he had to pay like twelve hundred a month in child support and he only made like forty thousand. Imagine how much I was going to get with someone who made ten times that.

“T
errance, oh my God, why would you do that?” I asked as I started gagging.

“It was an accident.”

“You are never supposed to do that.” I ran out of the bedroom into the bathroom and grabbed Listerine and gargled. I was so mad at Terrance. We were trying to get a quickie before work.

“It is not going to kill you,” he yelled from the bedroom.

“I didn't say it would, but you know I don't like that.”

“I'm not going to see my future wife for another week. You going to let me leave like this?” Terrance asked as he came behind me and tried to hug me in the mirror.

“No, you are not getting any more for a while for that stunt. Get out of the bathroom. I need to get ready before I'm late.”

Terrance ignored me and nibbled on my ear asking me if I was sure. He knew that was my spot. So I gave in and was late for work because of him. And I couldn't afford it. I had so much work to get to. My day was nonstop. My high heels had been replaced by sensible Aerosoles. Not only did I do bail hearings all around the city, but they gave me a bunch of juvenile cases as well. I had all these parents calling me either saying their child didn't do it or asking me to have them sent away because they were tired of dealing with them. I hated the way they clogged my voice mail up, telling me I better call them back. I had too much work for one person, and Martina quit after the third day. Alyssa and Joseph were never around to answer any of our questions, so it was just me and James—the blind leading the other.

Like this fifteen-year-old boy, Jordan Moretti. His father kept calling me, talking about how his son would never steal a car and he was a good boy who went to school every day. But Jordan hadn't shown up for court twice, and I couldn't help him if he didn't come to court.

It was my job to kind of be a caseworker for my juvenile cases. I went to Jordan's house to prep them for the court hearing. His father came to the door in his briefs and a white T-shirt. He was a tall, thick Italian man. He said Jordan wasn't home, but that I could come in. We discussed the case and I explained to Mr. Moretti that if Jordan didn't show up for court I couldn't help him. I gave him the court information and told him he must bring his son.

“Is he going to jail?” he asked.

“Now, I might get him community service. However, you have to get him to show up to court tomorrow.”

“He doesn't steal cars. He doesn't even know how to drive, and he would never vandalize anybody's car. Me and his mother raised him better than that. But like I told him, he has to stop hanging with these knuckleheads. He goes to Catholic school and gets good marks. Here's his report card,” he said as he pulled it out of his dining room cabinet.

“Just bring all of this with you tomorrow and you shouldn't have any problems.”

“I will make sure he shows up. Long as my boy doesn't go to jail,” his father said appreciatively.

I had two cases today. My first client, Jomar Farson, was being charged with receiving stolen merchandise. And after that I had the Moretti case. On the Farson case all I had to have was his bail reduced.

“Your Honor, my client is employed with Morton Bakery. He is married and a family man. He did not know that the televisions his brother brought into the home were stolen. He has a clean record, and we are asking that bail be reduced.”

The judge looked over his file and then said, “Bail is reduced from fifty thousand to fifteen thousand.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” I walked back toward the family.

“We can't afford no fifteen thousand dollars,” his wife shouted.

“No, you only need fifteen hundred dollars—ten percent of the actual bail. Pay that, and he will be out in a few hours.”

I ran to the family court building. I spoke to my client Jordan Moretti and his father. Judge McCollum came in and took a seat, and everyone sat. I presented my case, saying how Jordan was a great young man, that he wasn't violent and hadn't been in trouble prior to this case. I requested that Jordan be placed in the Youth Build Community Service Program. I gave the judge a copy of his last report card and a signed letter from his priest that his father provided me with. I thought this case was cut-and-dry until the prosecutor took the floor.

“Jordan Moretti is a great kid on paper, but I don't know about Jordan Colone or Jordan Paulson or even Jordan Seaway. These are all aliases that Jordan uses. He has done much more than vandalize cars in his Pennypack neighborhood. He has robbed elderly women and shot at rival drug dealers.”

I was taken off guard. “May I approach Your Honor?” I walked toward the judge and said, “I was not aware of these aliases or charges. Can we postpone until I am able to discuss these allegations with my client?”

“The defendant has missed several court dates previously,” the prosecutor stated.

“Ms. Matthews, this case will be heard today,” Judge McCollum said.

I tried as hard as I could, but Jordan was sentenced until he was eighteen to Glen Mills, a juvenile detention center. After the judge made his determination, they grabbed Jordan and he started crying. I went to talk to his father and explain that we could appeal, and he tried to spit in my face. I jumped back, and out of nowhere he just started cussing me out loudly. I told him to calm down when he put his finger in my face and pushed me.

“You useless bitches. You are all in cahoots together. You all work for the city. I knew I shouldn't have trusted you. If anything happens to my son, I swear to God I'm going to kill you, bitch.”

I lost my balance as his fist missed my head by a couple of centimeters. The bailiff came in and arrested him as I got up off the floor.

James was in another courtroom. He came over to see what was going on. I explained to him what happened, and he calmed me down and took me out for drinks. This would have to be Terrance's week to be out of town. I was so upset, I didn't want to go home by myself.

I kept calling Terrance to tell him what happened, but he wasn't in his hotel room yet. I was on my third drink by the time he called me back.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“My client's father attacked me and told me he was going to kill me. Terrance, this is not what I went to school for. He said he is going to kill me if anything happens to his son.”

“He is not going to hurt you. I am so sorry I can't be there with you right now. Who are you with?”

“My coworker James at Cavanaugh's.”

“You don't sound good. I don't want you driving. Won't you go and stay with Camille? Can you get a ride?”

I asked James if he could take me and he nodded.

“Baby, he'll drop me off.” I broke down crying.

“Call me as soon as you get there.”

“Yes,” I said between sobs.

“I'm going to book a flight and be home tomorrow.”

 

James walked me into Camille's apartment. It was filled with colorful, abstract paintings. Her sofa was white with bright red pillows. A glass table sat in the middle with scented square candles on it. She had three big windows with no blinds on them. I introduced them, and I caught them grinning at each other in the middle of my crisis. As soon as James left, Camille asked me his status. Once I notified her he was single, she asked me for his number.

“That's all you care about, Camille, getting a man while people are threatening my life.”

“No, I care about you, but he was cute and an attorney. Now tell me what happened.”

I told her what happened in court.

“That's wrong,” she said, once I finished.

“I know.”

“Well, you can stay here for as long as you want. Let me get you a blanket and a few things that help me when I'm stressed.”

Camille's idea of calming down was taking out a collection of inspirational quotes and reading to me. As shaken as I was, I wished I was home in my own bed, not stuck with Camille.

 

The next day Terrance met me at my office. I introduced him to everyone in the office. He took me straight to a gun shop. There was a big hunter's rifle on the door and a sticker for the NRA that read,
NRA SUPPORTS THE TROOPS
. I refused to step into the gun shop. I didn't want a gun. Terrance dragged me, and said, “You have to get one. People in this city are crazy. He made bail. I just don't want to take the risk.” We walked in the door, and an older white man with a long brown and white beard limped toward us and greeted us from behind the counter.

“Yes, we need to buy a gun for her,” Terrance said as he pointed at me and looked into the case.

The clerk limped over to another case and came back with a little gun. It was cute, something I didn't think I'd be scared to carry.

Terrance flipped it back and forth and said, “She needs something bigger.”

“Something bigger?” the man laughed.

“Yes,” Terrance said with a stern face.

I looked at him like I didn't need anything bigger or a gun at all.

“Well, you don't want anything too big. How do you like this?” the man asked as he pulled a silver and black revolver out of the case.

Terrance inspected the gun and said he would take it. I filled out the paperwork and walked out of the gun shop and went and had a seat in the car. Terrance came out of the shop with a yellow bag and placed it carefully on the back seat.

“I don't feel comfortable about this, Terrance.”

“I don't want anyone to hurt you. At least you will have it at home if you ever need to use it. I'll just feel safer. Okay?”

I nodded my head, but I still didn't agree with him.