A Hire Love (12 page)

W
hen I left Fatima, I rushed home to make sure my second pay stub was in the mail. When I first noticed I was being paid by Mayo Enterprises, a part of me wanted to quit, but as I checked my bank account, somehow my reservations disappeared. In a little over a month my account has gone from zip to fourteen thousand dollars. At that rate, I can cope with a little ego-bashing from time to time. Speaking of time, I studied my pay stub and wondered why it was fifty bucks more than the last one. As I scrutinized the stub, I saw fourteen days worked and a deduction of three hours. I rushed into my bedroom and checked the previous one. That one deducted seven hours from my pay.

As I sat on my bed baffled, it dawned on me. I chuckled slightly and shook my head. I laughed harder when I calculated in my head the time I had been late. Collectively, it totaled three hours in a two-week period. I opted not to question her about it and just step up my time game. How do you question free money? Especially now that she has become my sole source of income.

When I sat at my computer to check email, I forgot that I had planned to send Fatima an evite for this evening. After shuffling through different invitations, I found the perfect one. A romantic night out. When she sent a response back of maybe, I was suddenly angered because I’d pulled a gang of strings to get these tickets. I sent an email back asking why in big, bold letters. After waiting five minutes for a response, I called the office.

Now that her assistant knows my voice, she puts me straight through. Fatima picked up. “Hey, Rashad.”

I sighed. “So you’re not sure if you can make it.”

“Work is really stressing me out right now.”

“When will you be able to give me a definite answer?”

“No later than three.”

“Okay. Just keep me posted.”

I thought for certain she’d be available. If she can’t make it, I guess I can look at it as her waste of three hundred dollars, not mine. As I sulked in the destruction of my surprise, I checked the time. I hopped up. I had to schmooze my way into a course at the New York Real Estate Institute; I couldn’t be late. Pacing through the apartment, I tried to decide if I should get dressed or just go with what I had on. Suddenly, I grabbed my backpack, jumped in a taxi and headed down to 35
^th
Street. When I first called the school to inquire about this course, they claimed to be full until the end of the year. Determined not to take no for an answer, I went there in person and practically begged the administrator to make an exception for me. Though no one from City Props had called me back yet, I claimed I’d been given this grant and I desperately needed this course like yesterday. Once I agreed to pay seven hundred bucks, instead of the required three hundred and fifty for the Construction Project Management Certification course, somehow they had one extra seat. This course supposedly provides all the tools and information to put a construction management project into immediate action. Considering that I plan to take action immediately, I was determined to be here.

As I tried to sneak in the class five minutes late, the instructor looked up. “Welcome.”

“Thanks.”

He said, “You may as well keep standing and introduce yourself. Tell us a little about your experience and your goals as it pertains to construction management and what you expect from the course. We’ve already gone around the room.”

How does my resume compare to everyone else’s in here? I began, “Ah. My name is Rashad Watkins. I, ah, I have helped out on a few construction projects. Currently, I’m in the process of purchasing a fixer-upper and I hope this course will help me as I begin renovating the home. If this first project goes well, I plan to do many more.”

“So, where’s the house?”

Damn! Can a brother have a seat and collect his thoughts first? I said, “Harlem.”

“Where in Harlem?”

“Actually, I haven’t found the place, yet.”

“SoHar is a goldmine.”

My eyebrows rose.
SoHar?
Man, once they began to take over, they start changing names. This uncomfortable moment made me really appreciate City Props’ goal of keeping Harlem in our hands. As he took in the look on my face, he added, “That’s everything below a hundred and twenty-fifth.”

“Yeah, I know.”

As the course proceeded, my respect for him grew. He had nearly fifty large-scale renovation projects under his belt and I wanted to learn everything he already knew. After my tenth question, I noticed people becoming irritated, but I paid twice as much and I deserved twice as much attention. Toward the end of the class, the instructor announced that too many questions can prevent completing all the topics in the designated timeframe. As I frowned, he clarified, “I am more than willing to talk to any of you outside the course and you’re more than welcome to visit me at different sites to gain hands-on experience.”

While others gathered their things, I took his comment as a personal invitation. When the rest of the class left, I walked up to him and shook his hand. “Marty, I’m really enjoying the course.”

“Yeah, you made it quite interesting today.”

“Well, I definitely appreciate your thorough answers. I was curious when it would be appropriate for me to visit one of your sites.”

He gave me his business card. “If I’m not teaching, I’m working. Call me and let me know when you’d like to get your hands dirty.”

“I certainly will.”

As I turned to walk away, he called my name. I spun around. He said, “I’ll actually be onsite tomorrow.”

Without a second thought, I got the details and told him that I would be there at eight sharp.

When I took my phone off of silent, it buzzed. Six voice messages. Two text messages. Fatima agreed to meet me at her house. As much as I hoped she would, I had yet to buy the dress I wanted her to wear. I eyed the dress in BCBG from the moment I first saw Fatima, imagining how it would complement her curves. While I attempted to text her to let her know I’d be there at six, my phone rang.

“Hello. Can I please speak with Rashad Watkins?”

“This is Rashad.”

“This is Monique from City Props.”

Her voice sounded optimistic. I crossed my fingers and said, “Hey, Monique. It’s good to hear from you.”

“Did you get the two messages I left today?”

“Nah. I’ve actually had my phone on silent for four hours. I’m just checking it. What’s up?”

“You told me that you would bring the second pay stub to me today.”

Damn! Here I am questioning why she hadn’t called me and I’m the one holding up things. “How long will you be there?”

“I leave around five. What time can you get here?”

“I’ll be there at five sharp.”

I rushed into the BCBG store and didn’t see the dress. My heart pounded. It was just here last week. As I spun in circles, a sales assistant walked up to me and asked if she could help.

My eyes pleaded with her to create a miracle. “I’m looking for this champagne halter dress. It’s—.”

“Oh, we moved those over here. They’re on clearance.”

I wanted to hug her. “Thank you.”

“What size are you looking for?

“Eight.”

She skipped over to the rack. “Guess what. You’re in luck. This was just returned yesterday.”

It had been reduced from two-ninety to two hundred dollars. My lucky streak was shining bright. When she explained that they accepted returns within fourteen days of purchase, it dawned on me that it could possibly not fit. What am I going to do? Oh well, we just won’t be coordinated and she’ll have to wear something in her closet.

By the time I got uptown to get my pay stubs and over to City Props, it was after five. I was practically out of breath when I rushed into the agency. The receptionist told me to go into Monique’s office. As I stood in the doorway, she glanced at me. With the phone glued to her ear, she winked and gestured for me to sit.

I tapped my envelope on my knee and she continued to chat. My head nodded back and forth, inquiring if she could finish that call later. Finally, she said. “All right girl.”

All right girl?
She had me waiting while she talked to her home girl. I was slightly irritated until she looked at me and reached her hand out.

“Let me see your stubs.”

The intensity in her eyes as she studied the pay stubs scared me. “Rashad, you’re an actor, right?”

“Exactly.”

“How long is this job?”

I scrounged for an explanation. “Well, this is an ongoing job. I perform a lot of business negotiations for Mayo.”

My face crumbled. That wasn’t exactly where I was trying to go with that. Then I smiled. She smiled back. “Okay, everything looks good. I’ll set you up for an interview Monday.”

“I thought it had to go through the mayor and all of that before the interview?”

“It does. It’s already been approved by everyone. I just needed to verify your income.”

“So, everything’s good.”

“Yes, Rashad.” She winked at me. “You can actually begin looking for your place.”

“My place, like my house.”

“Yes. You’re going into the interview highly recommended. So, I’m sure it will be okay.”

I strained to contain my excitement. “Thank you, Monique. Thank you.”

“No problem. Just trying to help a brother out.”

“Yo. I really appreciate it. When I get my house, I’ll have to take you out to dinner.”

As if she awaited the offer, she scooted up in her chair. “I could actually help you look at some places this weekend.”

“Uh, I don’t want to start looking until the money is in my hands.”

“How many times do I have to explain that I got you?”

I wanted to reciprocate her flirtation, but I struggled with mixing business with pleasure. Leading her on would assure my grant, but could possibly ruin my income. “I do understand, but my work schedule is hectic right now.”

Disappointment covered her face. “Okay.”

When I noticed the clock on the wall, I mouthed, “Shit.”

She frowned. “What?”

“I have to get out of here. What time is my interview again?”

“Ten sharp. Don’t be late.”

When I stepped out, it had begun to drizzle. It took almost five minutes to get a taxi. My clothes were damp as I headed back to my mother’s apartment to grab our clothes. Then, I headed to Fatima’s house. When she didn’t answer the door, I took a deep breath. It’s better for me to wait on her than have her wait on me.

I
sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee when Rashad decided six-fifteen was the same as six o’clock. My cell phone rang. I let it go to voicemail. Finally, I strolled to the door to find him sitting on a bucket that was in between the double doors.

My weight shifted to one leg as I propped my hand on my hip. I shook my head and mouthed, “Look at you.”

He stood to his feet. His eyes begged me to rescue him. When I opened up, he asked, “Can I get a hug?”

“Can you tell me how you got in my front door?”

“Uh. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” He forced me to hug him. “Your lock is a little tricky. Depending on how you close it, it doesn’t always lock.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

He shrugged his shoulders and I strutted into the living room. “Well, I do. I thought that my leading man would see it and fix it.”

He froze. Finally, he took a deep breath and shook his head. “Already on it.”

“So, what’s in the garment bags?”

He hung one over the back of the chair and handed me a BCBG bag. “For me?”

“Yeah, I want you to wear it tonight.”

When I pulled the gorgeous cocktail dress from the bag, I felt like I wasn’t mentally prepared for wherever we were going. Then again, the McDonalds bag told me that dinner obviously wasn’t included.

I touched the satin fabric. “Rashad, I absolutely love it. You have good taste.”

“No, you have good taste. I just observe what I like to see you in.”

“You sure know how to flatter a girl.”

He pulled the food from the bag. “Here. Eat a little something, there won’t be any food where we’re going.”

“How are you going to take me somewhere where I can’t eat?”

He kissed me. “I’m sorry. We have to hurry up, though. So let’s eat and get it moving.”

After we ate, we both went downstairs to get dressed. While he showered, I arched my eyebrows and began to pluck the hair on my chin. When he stepped out, he grabbed the tweezers from me.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting the hair off of my chin.”

“You don’t have any hair.”

I grabbed his hand and rubbed my chin. “Do you feel it?”

“Yes, I feel peach fuzz.”

“It bothers me.”

He pulled me to him and I wrapped my hands around his damp body. “Teem, it doesn’t bother me.”

“I want my face to be as smooth as your body.”

He kissed my forehead. “It is.”

I continued depilating when he left the bathroom. Minutes passed and he returned to the doorway. “C’mon. We’re going to be late.”

“Look who’s talking?”

“Okay, you’re right. But can you at least try to hurry?”

“I don’t feel comfortable when I’m all dressed up and I can feel hair—”

“That’s not there.”

“Leave me alone. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

When I stepped out of the bathroom, he was stretched out on the bed wearing his boxers and a champagne shirt. I sat beside him. “Wake up.”

He opened his eyes. “I wasn’t asleep. Just waiting for you. There’s no reason for me to be dressed and ready to go when it’s going to take you another thirty minutes.” He looked at the time. “We’re going to be late.”

I tickled him. “Why can’t we be late?”

“I’m just trying to work on being on time.”

We laughed at his joke. He stood and stepped into his pants and adjusted his tie. When I slipped my dress on, I asked him to zip the side. He just looked at me.

“C’mon, baby, zip it.”

He kissed my neckline. I huffed. “C’mon. Stop being so frisky.”

“I’m not. I just think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Although I asked him to do it, I hated that he used that line. It made me question me. Am I really as beautiful as he claims or does he say this stuff to fulfill my requirements? The look in his eye and intense arch in his brow told me he was sincere. What should I go on?

As I fumbled in the bathroom with the final touches, he stood behind me. We looked like we were headed to the Academy Awards and he was nominated for Best Actor. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

My buzzer rang. “Who could that be?”

“The limo.”

“The limo?”

As he tramped up the steps, he said. “Yeah, the limo.”

I made sure the lights were out and rushed upstairs. Rashad was at the front door waiting. He kissed me as I walked past. The limo held up traffic. My heart raced as cars beeped their horns and I skipped down the steps. The driver held the door open and I slid in. I peeked out and watched Rashad ease down the steps and into the car like he owned the world. An opened chilled bottle of Moët sat in a bucket of ice.

When he got in, he pinched my cheek and said, “Happy?”

I nodded and he continued, “I love making you happy.”

Isn’t that the same as saying he loves me? As I overexaggerated his words, he poured the champagne into the flute glasses. When I swallowed, he smirked. I apologized. He raised his glass. “Can we toast, Woodrow the Wino?”

“It was spilling over.”

“To loving each other’s company.”

There he goes with the love word again. I was happier than I’d been in a long time. When the limo pulled up in front of the Broadway theater, I kissed his cheek. “I knew we were going to see
The Color Purple
.”

“You think you know everything?”

When the driver came to open our door, Rashad held my hand and we stepped into the line. When we got into the theater, I asked for a hug.

He bent down and asked, “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m really happy.”

“I’m happy, too.”

When the usher directed us to our seats, I squeezed his hand. He half-smiled at my excitement. I covered my smile, as we took our seats in the private orchestra for six. I peeked over the brass rails and wiggled in my chair. He leaned over and whispered, “I love how the smallest things bring you joy.”

Okay, in less than an hour, the word love has been used to describe four situations. I curled my lips.
Oh, I think he likes me.

As I rambled on about how many times I had watched the movie, he asked me to do the part when Sofia approached Celie in the field. My eyes shifted. “Ah, I dunno know that part.”

He laughed. “Fatima, don’t tell anyone else that you’ve seen
The Color Purple
a million times and you don’t know that part.”

I pouted. “Well, I remember it, but not verbatim.”

“Tell me what you remember.”

I rolled my neck. “Tell me what you remember.”

“I didn’t proclaim I saw the movie a million times.”

I lowered my voice, “You told Harpo to beat me.”

He laughed and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “You are one funny lady.”

My giggle tapered off as I felt his gaze on my profile. I turned slowly and touched his smooth, intense face. He grabbed my hand and kissed it. The lights flickered and we smiled. He nodded to the stage, “It’s about to start.”