The Family Business (17 page)

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Authors: Eric Pete,Carl Weber

BOOK: The Family Business
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“No, but he said they spoke Spanish fluently.”
“Some of his Bronx beef coming back to bite him. I told him to let the Puerto Ricans have that block,” Lou complained. “He was just too stubborn.”
“No, Uncle Lou, I don’t think so. Carlos said they weren’t Puerto Rican or Dominican,” Orlando retorted. “Pablo’s wife thought they sounded Mexican from their dialect.”
Everybody quieted, probably thinking the same thing as me: Alejandro. This wasn’t common knowledge, but Alejandro was the middleman for most of the Mexican drug cartels.
“Son of a bitch!” LC shouted out, breaking our silence.
“You want me to turn the car around so we can go back and talk to that motherfucker Miguel again?” Lou asked, looking at LC in the rearview mirror.
“No. Let him sit on ice while we figure this all out. I don’t know what it is, but I think we’re missing something.”
“Well, I hope you figure it out fast, or we’re going to be in the biggest damn fight of our lives,” I warned.
London
 
26
 
I took a deep, nervous breath before I stepped out of the cab when it finally pulled up in front of the Long Island Marriott. I’d had the cabdriver circle the block five times before I built up the courage to ask him to stop. I still couldn’t believe I was sneaking around behind Harris’s back to have drinks with Tony. Less than a month ago, you couldn’t have paid me to talk to another man, let alone meet him for a drink, but Harris and his bitch had really pushed my buttons this morning. Granted, I had no intentions of doing anything other than having a drink. I mean, yes, I was meeting him at hotel, but the hotel was nothing more than a convenient meeting place, because it wasn’t likely I’d run into anybody I knew on this side of town at a hotel. After all, who would be hanging out at a bar at the Marriott in the middle of the week other than someone from out of town ... or someone having an affair? We weren’t having an affair, but if I was being honest with myself, it sure as hell would look like it, wouldn’t it?
What the hell am I doing?
I asked myself as I paid the driver and headed toward the lobby. I wanted to believe I was only getting a little payback for the smack I got this morning. So why the hell was I feeling so guilty? I didn’t know which emotion was more overwhelming at the moment as I made my way through the hotel entrance: guilt or fear. I was feeling guilty about sharing my time with another man, but also fearful about what could happen if someone saw me.
“Can you point me to the bar, please?” I asked the bellman, wondering if I looked like someone who might be getting ready to cheat.
“Right that way, ma’am.” He pointed over his shoulder, barely even acknowledging my presence.
It’s just a drink. It’s just a drink,
I kept telling myself as I headed toward the bar. There was nothing to feel guilty about. The man saved me and my daughter, for Christ’s sake. Couldn’t this friendly little meeting be considered just a form of thanks? That was all it was—a drink and conversation. Lord knows I could use a little adult conversation these days. Harris always acted like he was too damn busy to give me the time of day, so I was left to converse with no one but my four-year-old daughter. Hell, if no one else could be bothered with me, I was going to talk to Tony.
It sure wasn’t hard to spot Tony in the small bar. All I had to do was follow the stares of the women in the bar, every one of whom seemed to be ogling him. Maybe it was the light in the bar, or maybe it was just all the attention he was getting, but I suddenly realized just how attractive he was.
“And the lady has arrived,” Tony stated, looking down at his watch and then back at me.
“Fashionably late.” I slid into the seat next to him.
“No worries. I was expecting as much,” he replied with a wink.
“And just what is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, if you’re like most women, you’re always running late. That way, when you make your grand entrance, all eyes are on you.”
“Humph!” I grunted, not sure if I should be offended. After all, there was some truth to what he was saying. “Anyway, I’d say all eyes in this place are on someone else tonight, wouldn’t you?” I teased, looking around the bar at the women who were still staring in our direction.
He ignored my comment and also ignored all those other women as he looked me up and down. “Well, Ms. London,” he said as he raised his glass in a toast, “I must say, you were definitely worth the wait.”
As much as I didn’t want to be, I was flattered by his obvious flirting. He stared at me with those golden brown eyes, which I hadn’t really noticed the first time we met. Here in this bar, surrounded by other women who wished they were sitting in my place, I was starting to think they were the most beautiful shade of brown I’d ever seen. The uneasiness I’d felt evaporated from my body. He was making me feel very at ease, maybe even too much at ease. As a matter of fact, every emotion I might have been feeling before walking into that bar was no more. Now the only thing I felt was—and I’m ashamed to say this—wet.
He gestured to the empty space in front of me on the bar. “So, what can I get you?”
“How about an apple martini?” I’d never had one of those in my life, but I’d just seen a rerun of
Sex and the City
on cable and one of the ladies had ordered one. What woman didn’t live vicariously through Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha?
Tony ordered my drink, and while we waited, I started in on the small talk. “What about you? What are you drinking?”
He picked up his glass and took a sip. “Hennessy.” Another sip. “But I usually drink rum.” He shrugged, looked at the drink in his hand, and then looked at me. “For some reason I felt like trying something different today.” He swallowed the last of his Hennessy.
“So, how was it?” I wasn’t intentionally trying to flirt with him, but I think it came across that way. I’d have to work on that. Be more careful. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. I was just here to talk; that was it. And to get back at Harris for the smack and that bitch he was seeing behind my back.
“It was good, but then I expected it to be. Dark liquor never lets me down. It’s the only thing I drink. I have this thing for dark ... stuff.” While I was worrying about sending the wrong message, Tony was sending his message loud and clear. And it scared the hell out of me that I was becoming aroused by it.
The bartender set my drink in front of me and took away Tony’s empty glass to get him another. I picked up the martini and took a sip, then another, and then a gulp.
“Thirsty?” Tony asked with a chuckle.
I looked down at my glass. On
Sex and the City,
the woman had sipped it, not drunk it down like Gatorade after a soccer game. “Oh, uh, yeah, I guess I really needed that drink.”
“Nervous?” Tony inquired.
“A little. But more stressed than anything,” I replied, taking another gulp.
“Listen, I don’t mean to be stressing you out.”
“It’s not you. I wouldn’t be here if it was you,” I assured him. “It’s my life that’s stressing me out.”
“Maybe we need to change that?”
“Maybe you could start with my husband....” I allowed my words to trail off. Did I really just almost make the mistake of telling another man about my issues with my husband? I wasn’t a cheat, never had been, but even I knew that the rules of Adultery 101 included not feeding the other person information about your spouse.
“You’re married. I figured as much,” Tony said as the bartender placed another Hennessy in front of him. “I mean, you have a daughter. I can’t imagine her father ever letting someone like you get away. He’d be a fool.” He picked up his drink. “Besides, that rock is a dead giveaway.” He winked and took a sip.
“So, it doesn’t bother you to have a drink in a hotel bar with a married woman?”
“Should it bother me? I mean, you did call me. If it doesn’t bother you, why should it bother me? We’re just two adults sitting at a bar, having a drink, talking.” He shrugged, then pierced me with those beautiful eyes. “Why? Does it bother you, London?”
He said my name like he knew me, like he knew things about me I’d yet to tell him. “Yes ... no ... Hell, who am I fooling? Sure it bothers me. I’m a married woman. Tony, I love my husband, and we have a good marriage. It’s just that every once in a while I need someone to talk to and he isn’t there.”
“I believe you, London, and I understand. Everyone should have someone to talk to. So, I guess the only real question is, why me?”
All I could do on that one was call out to the bartender for another drink, because I didn’t have a clue how to answer him. In one of those saved-by-the-bell moments, my cell phone rang, only this was a call I didn’t want to have to take. Adultery 101 again: put that shit on vibrate. I contemplated letting it go to voice mail, but why? I was there only to have a drink and talk. Ignoring my husband’s call would make it look like I was doing something wrong. I hit the TALK button.
Harris’s voice shot through the phone. “Where are you?”
“I’m out having a drink with a friend. Why?” Unlike his angry tone, I kept mine calm and even.
“Get home right now, London!”
I felt my stomach tighten up with fear. My heart was pounding as I searched the bar area for a familiar face. Was someone reporting back to him?
“Did you hear me? Get your ass home now.”
I flashed back to that morning, when he dared to raise his hand to me, and I felt some fire return to my attitude. He was not going to bully me, dammit. Besides, I didn’t see anyone in the bar that I recognized, so there was still a possibility he didn’t know anything. Maybe I wasn’t busted; maybe he was just in one of his macho moods, the ones that seemed to be becoming more frequent the deeper he got into the family business.
Well, I could give as good as I got. I answered him with, “You’re not my daddy. I’ll come home when I damn well please.”
“I don’t have time to argue with you. Now, get home right now.”
If he knew I was in a bar with another man, he would have said so by now. It was safe to say that this particular ego trip was for some other reason. Just Harris trying to force me to do what he wanted. Except this time, I decided, I was done playing by his rules.
“I’m not going anywhere until I finish my drink. Not after the way you put your hands on me this morning. If my father—” I was about to scare him with another threat to tell my father but realized it was best not to get into all of that with Tony next to me, listening to every word. “You know what? Never mind. Just go to hell, Harris. I’m not coming home until I damn well please!” I hung up the phone, pissed that he had fucked up my buzz.
“Wow, sounds like trouble in paradise,” Tony said.
“Who said anything about my marriage being paradise?” Shit! I did it again. I gave him information about the home front.
The bartender had brought me another drink during my phone call. I finished it off quickly and ordered another. “Look, let’s talk about something else. Something nice,” I said to Tony and then proceeded to sit there and say nothing. I was too busy fuming about Harris’s macho ass.
Tony reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, it’s fine. We don’t have to talk at all if you need a minute.”
I gave him a nod to let him know that was exactly what I needed. From guilty and nervous to turned on and then angry, my emotions had been all over the place in the last hour or so, and I needed a moment to sort myself out.
Tony picked up his drink with his free hand, but the other one stayed on my shoulder, patting it gently. Then, ever so subtly, it traveled up from my shoulder to my neck. I felt myself relaxing as he massaged my neck and the base of my head. Before I knew it, his fingers were all up in my hair, and he was stroking it. It felt so good that for a second I thought I moaned with pleasure—until I realized it was Tony who was moaning.
“Uh ... hello?” I said, pulling my head out of his reach and breaking the moment.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologized and dropped his hand into his lap. “It’s just that your hair is so beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Okay, so the hair-stroking moment was a little weird for a public place, but what woman doesn’t like to hear compliments about her hair? And then Tony ruined it by opening his mouth and saying the stupidest possible thing.
“Is it real?”
I snapped my neck around and glared at him, all attitude now. “Excuse me?”
“Is it real?” His tone was innocent, but I didn’t care. First, the comment about me being late, and now this. Until now, Tony’s whiteness hadn’t really been an issue for me, but hair is a sensitive subject for a black woman, and if he didn’t know that, then maybe there was such a thing as being “too white.”
“I heard you the first time,” I said, my voice laced with contempt. “I just can’t believe you asked me that. I mean, why wouldn’t it be real?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “But I do know that sometimes women get weaves, extensions, or whatever.”
“Women, or black women?” I was feeling defensive, but incredibly, he still looked bewildered, like he truly didn’t understand how his question had offended me.
“All women,” he answered. “It seems like half the women in Hollywood are doing it now, aren’t they? I mean, how else did Britney Spears get her hair back so fast after she shaved her head? But to answer your question, it is popular among black women, isn’t it?”
“Humph!” was all I said.
He was right, of course, but he still needed to know that just like you don’t ask a woman how old she is, you don’t ask if her hair is real. But since the question was already out there, now I had to defend myself.
“As a matter of fact, it is real,” I finally added. “I don’t do weaves, wigs, or chemicals. My family comes from good stock.” I took his hand and placed it on my head. “You can pull it if you like.”
“No, I believe you.” His smile traveled all the way up to his beautiful eyes and made me forget that a moment before I’d been offended. I considered the thought that maybe I was just on edge and being too sensitive. It was possible, after all, that he was making innocent conversation that had nothing to do with race. I just needed to chill and let the buzz from my drink kick back in.

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