Authors: Eric Pete
Crushed Ice (10 page)
“I'm not playing. One dance, then we can go.”
It was too long in one place. Too many people knew I was here. But against my better judgment, I obliged.
We danced to a roaring master-mix by Mark Ronson, close to one another, as Sophia showed me what she was working with. Time slipped by as I gave in to the rush of the moment. Driving bass and Sophia's moving hips could be most persuasive. Besides, the flight back to Dallas didn't leave for several hours. In the middle of business, I found myself having fun.
Sophia wrapped her arms around my neck, slowing her movement during the break in the music. She wanted to kiss me again. As her lips came closer, she abruptly stopped their progress.
“Company. Six o'clock,” she said, gazing over my shoulder. I whipped her around in a turn so I could have a better look.
Jason.
He glad-handed everyone as he approached us, the faux smile never leaving his face.
“I thought you were leaving, Truth.”
“It's a free country. Felt like a dance.”
“True that, nephew,” he teased. Slang always sounded so hollow, so false whenever he attempted it. “You didn't tell me you had a date though. Julesâer, SmithSonian said he'd run into you earlier, so I came down to see if you were still here. Forgive me for being a doting uncle rather than a music mogul just this once.”
“He's your uncle?” Sophia asked. I could tell from her expression that she recognized who Jason North was.
“That I am, my dear,” Jason replied for me. He took her hand in his and kissed it. “Jason North at your service.”
“Tiffany,” she stated in kind, remembering the name I'd used with SmithSonian. Good girl.
“Have we met before?” he asked, as if the memory was on the tip of his tongue. In actuality, the memory was on the tip of his finger when he'd pressed “play” on the DVD player.
“I don't think so,” Sophia replied. Again, something triggered the hairs on the back of my neck. Time to go.
“Truth has impeccable taste whenever he lets others see it,” Jason stated.
Sophia blushed, although I wasn't sure if she was faking it for effect.
“Is there something you wanted? Or do you just feel like fuâ”
I froze. Over the throng of people in the main room, a face stood out. I'd only spent all night looking at it when it wasn't buried between Sophia's legs. As she planted false Hollywood kisses on the cheeks of partygoers, she was working her way in our direction.
“Natalia's here. We have to go. Now,” I whispered, grasping Sophia by the arm.
“Why the rush? I can have a couple of bottles of Veuve Clicquot sent over.”
“Maybe another time,” I offered dismissively as I spirited Sophia away before Jason could sink his fangs in her, or Natalia could see us.
We wormed our way through the crowd, intent on getting out as soon as possible. Fate was on our side, for we'd just exited PURE through one door when Penny Antnee and his boys rolled up to enter the club. That included Loup Garou, who only saw the back of my head as Sophia and I headed in the opposite direction.
Instead of sharing my relief, Sophia chose to pepper me with question after question during the cab ride to the airport. I had no respite.
“Truth,” she called out. “That's really your name?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. Like, âthe truth will set you free,' or truth or dare?”
“Something like that.”
“And Jason North from On-Phire Records is your . . . uncle?”
“Yeah,” I answered wearily as I stared at my reflection in the cab window, a reflection that shared more than a passing resemblance to Jason. I was thinking about the final contemptuous gaze I'd shared with him in PURE. The one Sophia didn't see. “We're family.”
Chapter 18
Way Back . . .
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“Who is the boy's father?” he asked. “Or do you even know?”
She slapped him. Straight up pasted her hand to his face. “How dare you,” my mother spat. I was astounded by her rage, but kept my head down. Grown folks' business. I remember staring at the hardwood floor to his office and thinking how pristine it was.
The place looked more like a house, with its inviting porch and black wrought iron fence outside, than a law office. Although my mother had told me of the city often enough, that didn't prepare me. New Orleans was differentâequal parts magic and madness, triumph and tragedy. More fairy tale than Hollywood even.
What lessons had driven my mother from here?
“A man can't ask a simple question?” my mother's brother asked as he rubbed his reddened cheek. “I haven't seen you since you ran off. Now you show up with this boy. I only discovered you were on the soaps because somebody out here recognized you. Can't say what you were doing before that when you were in New Mexico. Wait. I take that back. I know some of what you were doing in New Mexico . . . which brings me back to my original question.”
“He's my son. I was pregnant with him before I got to New Mexico. And that's all that should matter,” she said steadfastly, her hand on my shoulder as she resisted slapping him again. He looked at me curiously, then back at my mother.
“How old are you, son?” he asked me as he came closer. He made me nervous. When I answered, he stared at me longer. Made me wish we'd stayed in California and never took the Greyhound here, despite how bad things had become.
“We were living out of the car. Then it got impounded. I couldn't think of anyone else. We . . . I need help,” she said, her voice trailing off. I listened to how she skipped over some of the darker aspects of our ordeal. They'd begun to take a toll on her mind. She saw things that weren't there, and rarely slept. Over the years, I would come to comprehend them more thoroughly.
“You should have been called me, Leila. I'm doing things now.”
“The legal business suits you, huh?”
“Not this. It keeps the bills paid, but if you're not knee deep in the politics or ambulance chasing of this place, you can only progress so far. They can keep their old machinery. I'm talking about a new way, using the rich musical history of this city as my tool instead. All these local rappers are on to something, my dear. I have a silent investor with contacts in places I'm unfamiliar with. I'm heading a record label,” he said, beaming with pride.
“Want a job, son?”
“Sir?” I stated, remembering my manners.
“Jason, we just need a place to stay for a few weeks. Just so I can get on my feet. Leave him out of this.”
“Look at you,” he jeered. “You look like shit, Leila. Y'all need far more than a few weeks.”
He looked at me again. “Son, are you in school?”
“Yes,” I said, lying.
“You're lying,” he said as he glanced at my mother again. “You know how I know?”
“No, sir.”
“Because I'm a liar,” he answered. “And a better one than you. Don't ever forget that. Now, let me ask you again: Do you want a job?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he said, placing his hand on the shoulder opposite the one my mother was touching. An angel on one and a devil on the other. At this moment, I didn't know which was which. “What's your name anyway?”
“Truth.”
He rolled his eyes at my mother. “As in, âthe truth will set you free'?”
“Yes, sir. That's what she named me after,” I answered, lying again.
“Interesting,” he said. He bought it. My mother smiled through her haze, proud. I was learning. “And please stop calling me sir. You can call me Uncle Jason. We're family, after all.”
Chapter 19
I dreamed of an old Nissan Altima from pre-Katrina days. The one I drove down Old Gentilly Road in the rain, dodging potholes, with my precious cargo stowed in the trunk. In my rearview mirror, I saw the headlights of the other car that followed me. I jumped around in my dream, going back hours before.
“This yo' fault, North,” Melvin, the real money and power behind On-Phire, barked. A dangerous man with a dark soul, his deep, raspy tone scared both of us. Jason was the front for the cameras, but the final decisions came from Melvin, a ruthless killer and not-so-former drug dealer. Jason's law degree gave an air of legitimacy and class to a company that still had its hands dirty when dealing with its artists. Shitty contracts and outright theft were the normal course of business.
“I had nothing to do with this, Melvin!” Jason yelled as he sidestepped around his massive desk to get some distance from his boss. “That cop was wilding out on his own. You know that.”
On-Phire's rising star, AK, had been feuding with us, and now he'd wound up shot and killed by an NOPD cop who lost his fucking mind. Real talk, AK had publicly thumbed his nose at the label and made some threats to tell all he knew, but Jason hadn't ordered him taken outâyet. He knew better than to do something like that without Melvin's blessing. Besides, Melvin would've been more discreet and personal if he chose to snuff AK. On top of that, there were rumblings of the feds, or at least the IRS, wanting to take a closer look at the label. Between the public AK/On-Phire feud and the shady business dealings, this was the worst of times.
“Too much attention being brought on us. I don't like that. You trying to put the company in the spotlight. I done told ya about that shit. Nigga need to slow his roll before I slow it for him.”
“There's no need for threats,” Jason muttered. “Lord knows how successful we've been with your approach. If you had listened to me in the beginningâ”
“What the fuck did you say?” Melvin asked, his ebony features contorting into a grimace, like he'd just ingested prune juice. I tensed for my uncle.
“I was justâ”
Melvin reached across the desk, backhanding Jason before he could complete his sentence. The reading glasses Jason liked to wear when lecturing someone broke in half from the impact, which left him holding the side of his face in stunned amazement. I think he wanted to cry.
“Thought I wouldn't do that because your nephew here, huh?” Melvin taunted.
The man had only done what I'd felt like doing several times before, but I still felt sorry for Jason. That faint family bond, I guess.
“Next time you want to strut around like a peacock, remember. . . bitches get fucked.”
“You . . . you didn't have to do that,” Jason spoke brokenly as he looked at me to gauge my reaction. I showed nothing other than a raised eyebrow. It was just the three of us, after hours in Jason's new office on Elysian Fields Boulevard, sparing him some embarrassment.
“I say what I want and I do what I want. You might as well stop your crying.” Melvin had moved over to the window, eyeing the storm blowing outside. “Some days I don't know why I keep your ass around.”
“Funny, I feel the same way about you,” Jason suddenly snarled.
Melvin and I reacted to Jason's change in tone simultaneously.
One of us was too slow.
I don't think Melvin felt the bullet as it split his skull, sending a squirt of blood onto the wall.
“Sir, would you like something to drink?” the flight attendant asked, sparing me from the memory of the remainder of that incident. I stared at her momentarily as I realized where I was.
“Whiskey sour,” I replied.
“That will be five dollars.”
“Huh?” Oh, yeah. I was in coach. Had forgotten I'd given up my first class seat to Sophia. Hot towel for her, crying babies and crowded overhead bins for me.
“Five dollars. That's the cost of alcoholic beverages.”
The student in the middle seat mumbled something about airline rip-offs, although he wasn't of drinking age yet. I hoped I hadn't said anything while I slept.
“Sorry,” I offered as I reached in my wallet.
Sophia emerged through the curtain that separated us. Although I had changed into something more casual, she still wore her strapless orange dress. Her lithe form moved as if suspended on air, while her eyes were that of a predator.
“Wish I had a seat next to her,” the student whispered. If I were less of a gentleman tonight, he would've had his wish. I smiled with amusement.
I acted nonchalant, preferring that we not communicate during the flight, but she had a hard head. When she came to my row, she stopped, placing her hand on my shoulder as she leaned over.
“Just came to see how you were doing,” she said.
“Fine,” I replied, not bothering to chastise her. “Just waiting on my drink.”
“Missed you.”
The plane dropped suddenly then leveled off. Turbulence. The seatbelt sign came on again.
“We'll talk when we land,” I said, grateful for the reprieve. After I'd had my drink, I'd be more amenable to what was to come.
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“This is it.” I sighed as the cab pulled to a stop in front of La Trattoria Lombardi. We were on North Hall, blocks from my place. Although it was midnight, people still ambled about on a night of clubbing. We'd shared the ride from DFW without saying a word to one another. Sophia was making the end of this task rather tortured. I instructed the cabbie to take her on to Collette's.
Once he retrieved my bag from the trunk, I paid him then watched the cab pull away. It only traveled a few feet before screeching to a halt.
Sophia exited, the cabbie quickly popping his trunk again and scurrying over to help her.
“I said I wanted to talk,” she called out as the cabbie grabbed her bag for her. “You're acting like this was nothing.”
“It's late and I'm tired, Sophia. You should be too.”
“What about my money?” she countered, needing an excuse.
“You'll get it tomorrow.”
“What do I call you from now on?”
“Chris.”
“Even though it's not your name?”
“It is to you.”
“But what if I want to call you Truth?”
“Easy,” I replied. “Don't. Ever. Goodnight, Sophia.”
“Truth . . . or dare,” she taunted like some kind of schoolgirl as I crossed the street at McKinney. Bread Winners Café had been closed for an hour. Loved their buttermilk pan fried chicken breast. After a bunch of airplane pretzel bites, that would've been right on time.
I kept walking.
“Truth or dare,” she repeated. Louder this time. Attracted the attention of some of the people as they walked by.
My roller bag stopped on a crack, incomplete in its click-clack across it. “Dare,” I called out without looking back to acknowledge her.
“Why? Because the truth is too much? Because somebody's scared? Because you can't handle the truth?” she teased.
“I said dare. That's how the game goes. No questions. Now . . . proceed.”
“Okay. I dare you to indulge me a little while longer,
Chris
,” she said, finally overtaking me. “It's the least you could do.”
Chris
,” she said, finally overtaking me. “It's the least you could do.”
“Okay,” I indulged. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” she answered as she took my hand, placing it on her chest so I could feel her heartbeat.
“What's your ex's name?”
“Ivan. Why?”
“You said I made you cum harder than him. Did I make you cum harder than Natalia?” I asked, paying extra close attention to her heartbeat.
“It's different with a woman. Don't know what else to tell you.” She shrugged. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
She sighed, realizing I would never answer any other way. “I dare you to let me in.”
The muscles in my neck constricted as I tightened my grip on my bag handle. “How?”
“It can't end here. Not just yet. Let me spend the night with you.”
I took a deep breath then led her down McKinney to my apartment.
Reckless. Foolish. Stupid.
I did say dare, after all.
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