Love Delivered (18 page)

Stenton issued a wry chuckle that exposed his teeth as he backed away, making his way to the door.

“I came to tell you Paul has resigned. I have a new assistant, Srey, who will be contacting you to introduce herself.”

My neck jerked.

“What happened to Paul? And what type of name is Srey?”

Paul annoyed me with his snippy attitude, and after I’d falsely accused him of tipping off Stenton about Jordan’s christening, our relationship had improved. He explained that Stenton walked past his open laptop, saw my name, and scrolled up our thread of email exchange. When Stenton called him on the carpet over it, Paul tried to argue breach of privacy, all for Stenton to remind him the laptop belonged to him. 

“Paul is finally prepared to pursue his career in fashion,” he supplied stoically. “Srey is Cambodian.”

“Oh,” I breathed, still disoriented by his presence.

“My best in all your endeavors, Zoey,” were his last words.

I observed his easy gait out the door. Confident, impassive. Then the ruckus he ran into the moment he hit the cement at my door: There were cameras flashing and urgent shouts demanding his attention. When I expected him to bolt, Stenton stood on my mat, opened one of the boxes and pulled out a cupcake. From the back of him I was able to make out him taking a bite out of it. He stood out there for several minutes, taking questions—about what, I didn’t know.  

Later on that evening, while I was soothing Jordan, who had caught some sort of bug, I scanned the news and caught coverage of Stenton Rogers’ latest obsession with cupcakes. He stood at the door of the bakery and I could quickly deduce it was from his earlier visit. They played a sound bite where, while chewing a mouthful of cupcake, Stenton declared, “There’s no cake like Niña’s. I can eat it all day. Mmmmm! The best sweets.”

I busted out laughing so hard, my poor baby jolted in my arms. Was that his plan?
Is that why he stopped through?
Not to inform me of the change in staff?

The coverage included the address of the bakery and somehow our very amateur and underdeveloped menu.

Proving Stenton Rogers was, in fact, more influential than the mayor of Philadelphia, the tiny bakery was flooded the following morning with customers. It was so overwhelming we had to close before noon for a few hours to replenish our inventory. Minutes before we were ready, there was a medley at the door, drawing our attention.

It was Tynisha, full-faced with makeup and donning a complete designer ensemble, including her shoes, demanding to be let through. Just beyond her were struggling cameramen and women, pushing through the crowd. I rushed to open the door.

“What are you doing? And why do you have your crew of producers with you?” It had to be a total of ten of them in all. There was hardly space for everyone.

Tynisha’s eyes roamed behind me then locked into a scowl. I turned, wondering what could have affected her that perceptively. With collapsed lids, I sighed.

“I’m working,” she grated, rolling her eyes from Angela to me.

“Working?”

“Yeah. Irregardless of what you think, I’m not a dry snitch. I didn’t tell Stenton about—”she glanced around, lowering her voice—“Dallas. Don’t get excited or anything, Mascot, but I’ve always been #TeamMascot when it comes down to Erika.” Then her voice lowered even more and she drew closer to me so as not to give away the new plea in it. “That fucking Alton went through my phone when I fell out that night. And he told Stenton that night at the club where you were staying when he was telling him you wanted to leave.” Tynisha backed away and returned to her usual tempo. “Me nuh fuckin’ snitch.” 

And there was where her Jamaican roots wanted to flare. What I wanted to reply was
irregardless
is not a word…
for the millionth time
. I still was stuck at that. I decided against it, considering her humility.
Ughhhh!
I didn’t want to recall that horrific night. I just wanted to move past it, and I had been using the bakery as a distraction.

“Zo, we got customers outside,” Angela reminded with a snare in her tone.

“Don’t interrupt when two business women are speaking business!” Tynisha returned.

“Bitch, only business you got here is these cameras. You betta—”

Tynisha immediately returns, “Cunt, who de hell you call bitch—”

“Hey! No we will not!” I yelled over them. “Tynisha, you are in my place of business. You’re not going to bring that ratchetness here! And Ang, you will not talk to my friends like that!”

Surprisingly, that ceased the fire. It didn’t, however, halt the nasty looks they threw each other.

Needing to stop that, too, I asked, “Ty, you still haven’t explained why you’re here with your crew.”

“I can answer that, Ms. Barrett. I’m Chad Windthral, the producer of
Taking Tips from Tynisha
.” A short man with silky hair falling below his ears, who appeared more indigent than an entertainment shot-caller, moved between Tynisha and me. “Ms. Lang would like to shoot a few scenes here, starting today. This will give diversity in locations. In return, it will bring attention to your bakery…a form of marketing…free publicity.” He handed me a document packet. “We’ll need your consent first.”

My eyes flew to Tynisha. “Did Stenton put you up to this?”

Tynisha flinched. “Stenton? Why would he ask me to do this? He’ll probably kill me for being here with my crew.” I chewed my lips in contemplation. She was right. “But don’t think this will involve you. We have a script already. You just keep doing what you’re doing. You and…” she tossed a dismissive glance over to Angela. “…your people can be cut out on the editing floor if you want. We just need the facility for this.”

My shoulders dropped. This was Tynisha’s way of rekindling our friendship, a friendship she’d always denounced. I’d been ignoring her since Dallas, upset at the world for my decision. And here she was, waving the white flag when she didn’t do anything wrong in the first place.

“No fighting, cussing or arguing, okay?” I begged with a moue.

Tynisha leaped. “I swear! No drama!” She raised her right hand.

“That includes with my cousin. She’s my employee and won’t be harassed on the job…
or
off,” I amended. 

Tynisha growled as she sent another nasty scowl over to Angela, who returned it.

“I’m serious!”

“Yeah…yeah, Mascot! I know how to behave,” she hissed while turning to convene her staff.

Tynisha shot a total of three scenes at the bakery, one including Alton that had Angela gagging. That strategy and Stenton’s forced me to hire a second employee within a week to increase production. Life had turned hectic almost overnight. Between Jordan, school and the bakery, I had no idle time to reflect on my heartache. I used my hunger for success, something I’d lost focus on some time ago, to keep my mind. 

~~~~~~~~~~

~
Stenton
~

“C’mon, man. C’mon! You can do it for Daddy,” I tried appealing to him. After seconds of observing his blank face, I attempted again. “Right?”

“Da-Da…” Jordan inclined on the toilet seat.

“Yeah, man?”

“Wan’ play, Da-Da.” His face fell into a frown.

We’d been at it for some time; I didn’t want to torture him, and adverse my efforts at this damn potty training shit! I’d heard horror stories about it and even read up on all the studies, articles and testimonials. Jordan was a bright kid so far, I was just sure he’d pick this up without delay.

“Did he do it yet?”

I glanced up to find Alton’s head craned into the bathroom door, pinching his nose.

“Not a drop,” I sighed.

“Don’t sweat it. Just keep his bottoms off and let him free ball around this bitch. The first time he feels piss on them legs, he’ll be begging for the toilet.”

“I am not about to let my son soil himself or the apartment. Won’t that fu— I mean, toy with his self-esteem or some shi—thing… I mean—something?”

I loved being a father. It was the best thing for me. It was my best accomplishment and I’d recently started viewing it as my best investment. Jordan was my everything. Yet the most difficult challenge of parenting was protecting him from myself. I didn’t want my vices to rub off on or influence him. He was so young, pure, and…a damn sponge. He picked up on words and cues quickly, and would often mimic them. Oddly, he’s the only being, second to his mother—who I rarely see—who can sense my ill-disposition and turn it around with mere interaction. Jordan does it without words. He simply loves all the bullshit away. So, my language, hell yeah, it was something I tried to curb in his presence.

“Hell if I know. That’s just some shit—”  

“Hey!” I snapped while JR was midair being lifted from the toilet.

“Damn! My bad, godson. I’mma get it together for you. Although I don’t know why I have to.” He was now speaking to me. “He’s gonna be one of us, rolling with us wherever we go soon as he done with them damn diapers.”

“I don’t know about all of that. He’s going to be who and what he wants to be.” I counter Alton then level my eyes with Jordan’s. “You may be an engineer with swag, right, man?”

“Ain’t no such thing as a damn engineer with swag. Show me one of ‘em and I’ll show you a nun that don’t stroke herself to get off.”

My eyes shoot over to him.

“What?” he asks, eyes as big as saucers as he has no clue of what he’s done. “Wanna put some stacks on it?”

Just then, my phone rang. I waited until Jordan’s shorts were pulled up and he was on his feet, running out into his playroom to grab my phone. It was Ezra.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Rogers. I wanted to reach out to remind you about our session this afternoon. I’d really like to improve on the frequency of our talks.”

I exhaled. I’d been shitty at keeping up with our assigned session, and not because I didn’t take them seriously.

“I’m actually waiting on my sitter to arrive now and take over with my son so I can head out to the City. I’m looking forward to our appointment, Ezra.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I will see you later.”

We ended the call, and I headed out to the playroom. Jordan was busy with building blocks, his latest fascination. Alton was in the other corner, lounging in the glider while watching
ET Entertainment Tonight
.

“Yo, Mary Hart can get it! I saw her a few months ago in L.A. at an event. She was with some stiff looking dude, but you know she was checking your boy out. When we were introduced, I had her ass clawing at my arm while cracking up. She want the D,” he so eloquently shared while his eyes stayed glued to the screen.

I squatted next to Jordan on the floor and gathered a few blocks of my own.

“Yirp! JR, look at your twin on TV, bro,” Alton shouted to Jordan, whose head popped up, but within seconds went back to his building.

My eyes jetted over to the screen and I saw a clip of Erika and me leaving Mr. Chows in New York City last night, being swarmed by paparazzo.
Damn, they don’t miss shit.
I rolled my eyes, recalling my argument in not wanting to go there in the first place. Of course, paps are going to be at Mr. Chows. But that’s what Erika wanted. She loved the attention. Thrived on the public knowing her every move. I hated that shit.

“Erika is damn fine! Too bad she prefers body height over cock height. You think Emily would be down for the rodeo ride?” Alton asked, wiggling his brows.

I shook my head and went back to the screen where I observed myself trying to make it into my truck, attempting, along with Barry, to shield Erika who clearly didn’t want to be hidden from the cameras. Not only was a pageant smile painted on her olive face, but she made eye contact with several cameras. I scoffed while shaking my head at the screen

“No, Da-Da!” Jordan snatched a block from my hand that I must have taken from the wrong pile—his pile—while looking at the television.

“You need siblings or schoolmates, JR. That’ll teach you how to share.”

My phone sounded again.

Speaking of the—

“Whadup?”

“Hey, babes. What are you up to?”

“Hanging with the fellas. Playing with Jordan.”

“Oh?” Erika swayed. “Who else is there?”

“Nobody. Just Al.” In my peripheral, I catch Alton flipping me the bird.

“Oh.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No…not really. I just thought you liked alone time when Jordan comes to visit.”

“Jordan doesn’t come to visit. We spend time together. And I do prefer alone time with him.”

“But Alton’s there. When I asked if I could tag along, you shot me down.”

She had a point. She did ask for the millionth time to spend time with Jordan, and for the millionth-and-one more time, I said hell no.

“Alton’s his godfather, E. He wants to spend time with him, too. I’m good with that.”

“But not with me?” she pushed this time. “Is it
still
because of the picture of your tattoo?”