AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) (2 page)
Authors: Carmella Jones
THE END
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Chapter 1
“Can I postdate a check for the bill? I will have the money in a few days,” I said.
My internet and phone bill was due, but I had just paid rent and electric. I needed the phone in case any of the jobs I had applied for came through. My daughter, Regina, needed the internet for school. She was always on the honor roll and I wasn’t about to let that change just because she couldn’t research and type a paper.
“No ma’am. Cash or credit only. Check payments process electrically at the time of payment. If the bill isn’t paid by five o’clock today you will lose internet service first thing in the morning,” the woman said.
She sat at her desk, with manicured nails and freshly-done hair, already looking around me to the next customer. I gave her my best stink eye before I turned to walk back to work. There were two Brooklyn libraries that closed at about eight. We lived in Crown Heights, so we would plan accordingly if Regina needed anything. Fortunately for me, like her late father, Regina was early for everything, so she was likely caught up enough that she wouldn’t need to go to the library this week to do her work. She would probably want to anyway, so she could stay ahead on other assignments.
“If only you were here, King,” I said aloud.
I stepped out of the utility company into the midday glow of a Brooklyn winter. The holidays were lean and, despite my resolutions, the New Year had a thin outlook as well. My day job was not going to cut it. I needed to visit King’s cousin, Armand.
I had made good tips this morning. I missed lunch trying to make payment arrangements for this bill, but we were always slow at lunch. People came to us for breakfast and dinner. Soul food at lunch just didn’t suit the Brooklyn crowd or tourists. Our homemade biscuits and gravy brought in a crowd every morning. Fried or cheesed anything at dinner with seasoned salt did the trick at night.
I made a small detour on the way to work, Since Armand lived on the way to the restaurant. I didn’t really keep in touch with King’s family after he died. Well, I had kept in touch with his mother, but she had died a year ago — cancer. My own parents died shortly after Regina was born, when a car accidently hit theirs in an intersection, trying to outrun police. Their car had been crushed into a semi waiting for a turn signal.
I had gone to Armand’s in the past when juggling due dates risked leaving us hungry or worse. Since King had died, things got hard a few times a year. Our savings covered the funeral expenses, the move, and left a couple thousand dollars for a college fund for Regina. No matter what I had to do, that money would not be touched, except to make a deposit, until she was 18 and enrolled at the school of her choice.
After being looked down on by Bourgeois Betty with her fake nails and hair about that bill, I felt in every fiber of my being that this life could not be all there was for me and my daughter. I needed to know what it would take for Armand to set me on track for some big changes.
Chapter 2
When I arrived at Armand’s walk-up, I could smell what was inside before I opened the door. I knew he had just broken his own rule of using what he sells, or was tempting someone to a purchase with a taste.
I should have called instead of just showing up.
I knocked with a little rhythm so he would at least know he wasn’t coming to the door to find a cop. He didn’t say “who is it?” before opening the door, so I imagined he had tiptoed and looked out the peephole.
As it cracked open, I saw just his one eye at first, hesitantly making sure I was alone. Then he swung it open wide, and I saw him in his boxers and a skullcap. He smiled and leaned in the doorway, chewing a toothpick as he gave me the once over.
“Well, hello, D’Vinity,” Armand said.
He was black, Puerto Rican, but most people just thought he was light skinned, high yellow. He acted black as they come, unless getting a piece required him to turn on the flavor.
“You look good today. Working?” he asked.
I was in black slacks and a white button-down with a large overcoat for the weather. It was entirely unappealing, but Armand had had a thing for me since King first introduced us in high school. Since King died, Armand had made it his mission to have me. I don’t know if he really wanted me or just wanted to bed me. I always looked good, and he was always offering to take care of me and my “little girl.”
“Thanks, Armand. Can I come in?” I asked.
“Always. I have company in the bedroom, but I can ask her to leave,” he said, stepping out of the doorway for me to enter.
No, I only need a minute. I’m on my break,” I said.
Once I was inside he closed the door and walked the few feet to the kitchen. His place was always clean and well stocked with whatever anyone would want, but it definitely smelled like the house of someone who used a variety of things. He always assured me he stuck to the naturals, though he had access to “whatever you could need.”
The kitchen was only separated from the living room and dining are by my cornered off with a half wall and bar. He went straight to the refrigerator and got a bottle of juice. He gestured, offering me something as well, but I simply shook my head “no.”
“I take it this is just a business visit, then?” he asked.
I nodded.
“You are family. You know I can take care of you and your little girl,” he offered.
“I know, Armand. You know Regina is 11 now?” I asked, not sure if he did.
“I know. I have only seen her, what, twice since King died? She needs a good male influence in her life. She needs to see her mother with someone who cares for her,” he said, taking a sip of his juice and looking at me across the room.
Other than being a drug dealer and womanizer, there was nothing wrong with Armand. He was educated, intelligent, sort of funny, and fairly good looking. Still, drug dealer was a definite deal breaker, and as far as the womanizing, well, he’d never shown any real interest in change except for me and a girl he dated when King and I got engaged. They broke up unexpectedly and now he never talked about her.
“True, but she stays busy with school. She’s on the honor roll again and constantly going on field trips with her class or different clubs. Very active. Very busy,” I said, starting to feel uncomfortable.
“I understand,” he said, nodding. “So, how much are you looking to get?”
“Well, couple of ounces could nickel and dime out to help me balance the bill due dates this month. It would be good to start the year off on track,” I said softly.
He nodded and started for a back room where he kept his supply and different scales for things. I gripped my purse tightly; I was going to take a leap.
“How much would I need to move to get about ten grand in my pocket?” I asked.
He stopped completely and turned to face me. He eyed me with confusion and took a few steps back in my direction. He straightened up and folded his arms.
“Are you in trouble? Did you borrow money from someone? I told you if you needed anything you could come to me,” he said, starting to pace.
“No, nothing like that. I just think it’s time Regina and I started over by
really
starting over. She will probably want to finish this semester, but I think we should move someplace where the cost of living is better. I can get a pay-the-bills job anywhere, but it should at least pay the bills. Here, I can’t break even, much less get ahead. Every few months I’m right back here selling to get by. I want better for my daughter, but I need to have the money to give her better,” I said.
He looked at me for a moment, then nodded. He understood, and apparently cared enough not to talk me out of it or joke about his affections.
“Where are you looking to go, and what is your plan? I’ll give you a deal on green to get you there by the end of school. When you go, I’ll give you a going away present in case you have a rough start. You’re family.”
I sat down so we could talk. I was going to be late getting back to work.
Chapter 3
At work, I didn’t have long to get my section ready for rush. I wiped down all my tables and gave the area a quick sweep. I restocked my utensils, straws, and change.
Customers were streaming in for dinner. It was Thursday night, a money maker, but not like Friday through Sunday. Tables in each section were filling up, but being turned in a timely manner as well. Tips were steady. I was averaging eight to ten dollars a table. A night like this I could leave with a few hundred dollars, including what I earned this morning.
A large group of about ten came in the middle of rush. It was my turn in the rotation and I had just flipped two six tops. I told the hostess I could make it work and she helped me push the tables together as she led the men over.
“I can get that for you,” said a taller one who led the group.
He in stepped my place to push the table I was moving. Following his example, the guy immediately behind him helped the hostess move hers. The others all arranged their own chairs.
“Thanks, gentlemen,” I said genuinely.
They looked like some kind of white post-collegiate reunion, maybe one was getting married and they were eating before seeing strippers or something. They were dressed in mainly khakis, jeans, button-downs, fitted tees, and the leader had a blazer over his. I was just glad they were courteous. A lot of large groups I get aren’t. If I played my cards right, this was the kind of table that led to big tips, assuming I could keep them and my other tables happy. People liked a waitress who could work a room and please everybody.
Once they were all seated, I put on my best smile and began passing out menus and telling them about our specials.
“Alright, guys. My name is D’vinity and I will be serving you tonight. We have a special on pulled Southern-style pork platters or fried chicken dinners for ten dollars, Brunswick stew is the soup of the day for eight, and bottled beer is three dollars a bottle until eight. Then, it ups to four-fifty. Pitchers of tap are twelve-fifty all night. What can I get for you tonight?” I asked, smiling as nicely as possible.
I tried to make eye contact here and there around the table to the ones who looked at me instead of the menu. The guy who moved my table for me held his menu, but kept it closed. He looked at me the entire time I spoke. He had bright blue eyes that looked good with his grey t-shirt and blazer.
They started with three pitchers of beer and three pitchers of water. They needed a few minutes to order food, so I offered to bring two platters of house fries at no charge. I gathered a tray and filled it with silverware, extra napkins, and a variety of condiments. After setting those items at the tables I returned with their beer, water, and fries.
I freshened drinks at my other tables and cleared a few dishes. Then, a few minutes later they were ready to order.
“Thomas, why don’t you order first since you were the league winner?” offered Blue-Eyed Blazer
Thomas ordered and everyone else at the table followed suit. Finally, Blue Eyes ordered as well. After, he ordered three more pitchers of beer and a specialty shot for the winner.
They were all as courteous as they could be and seemed to really enjoy the food. I heard one or two make comments about the good-looking waitresses and hot black chicks. I had to stifle a laugh a few times. Blue Eyes noticed once or twice, but seemed to find humor in his friends’ comments as well. He mouthed an apology and I shrugged and smiled, continuing to remove things from their table and top off people’s glasses.
One by one they finished their meals and their drinks. Many of them offered a kind word to me about my service or the restaurant.
“If you bring the check, we can figure out who owes what,” said Thomas.
“Well, you aren’t paying, Thomas. This is your big night! One of us will take your tab,” said another.
“Here,” said Blue-Eyed Blazer, “put it all on my card. No arguments or protests, guys.”
No one did. They returned to their conversation as I took the card. I processed the payment and returned to the head of the table with Blue-Eyed Blazer’s card and receipt for signature, and left his copy.
By the time they left we were almost closed and my section was clear with the exception of their table. As I bussed the remaining dishes I saw that they had left a fifty dollar bill among the five dollar bills at the table. As I went to catch them, in case someone made a mistake, I noticed most were gone or at least already in their cars. Blue Eyes was talking to the cooks just outside the kitchen.
“You or one of your friends made a mistake,” I said offering him the money.
“No mistake, I did that. You provided good service,” he said.
“Yeah, but you left a tip good enough for your entire bill and then some,” I said.
“Worth it. Maybe even worth more,” he said with a smile. “Thank you, D’vinity.”
He wished us all a good night and complimented the chef again, as well as the staff that was still there. Then he joined the last of his friends in the driver’s side of a car so nice I didn’t even know what it was called. It had a BMW logo.
We finished closing down. As we put on our jackets I overheard some of the dishwashers talking about bars that would be open late for an after-hours drink. I took the opportunity for a quick sale. Then I grabbed a couple of to-go boxes of leftovers to take for dinner with Regina.
When I got home it was right around eleven. Mrs. Franklin, our neighbor who stayed with Regina after school when I worked, was asleep on the couch. I covered her with a blanket and left her a note to take a plate with her when she woke up. Regina was asleep in her bed, so I kissed her forehead and pulled her blankets up around her.
I weighed the rest of what I had gotten from Armand and counted my tips from the day. A few shifts like tonight and good sales on the side, and I could make enough to leave this place.