Smooth Operator (17 page)

“Listen,”—Arri hesitated as her presence hugged the doorway—“I’m not …” she swallowed, “I won’t be returning.”

“What?” Lyfe said, caught completely off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I’m done. I already have another job.”

“You already have another job?” he said, taken aback. “Since when?”

“That’s really none of your business.”

Lyfe gave a disbelieving chuckle. “I understand that you’re upset with me. I get that.”

“You don’t know me well enough to get shit. Fuck you.”

“We can arrange that.”

“Leave!” Arri attempted to close the door and Lyfe slid his foot in between.

“Come on, Arri, I’m sorry about the other night, and yeah, the way I left here was wrong … and I’m really, really sorry about that. But for you not to come back to work …”

“I’m done,” she said, tight-lipped.

“Ai’ight.” Lyfe stepped back. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“What do you think, this is a joke? I’m finished.”

“Nah, it’s not a joke, but until you accept my apology I’ll be here, every day, at six o’clock in the morning. And you know I’m persistent. Hell, I might start showing up here at lunchtime too, wanting to eat and shit.”

Arri could feel her lips untwisting and laughter filling her chest, which pissed her off even more.

“Don’t make me start camping outside your door.”

“Auntie,” Zion said, tugging on the back of her nightie, “who is that?” He stuck his face into the crack of the door and looked up at Lyfe. “I’m Zion,” he said. “Who are you?”

Lyfe squatted to his knees. “Oh, you’re the man who lives here?” He winked at Arri, and then looked back to Zion. “I’m Lyfe—”

“And he was just leaving,” Arri said.

Lyfe ignored her. “You like Spider-Man, don’t you?”

Zion’s eyes lit up. “I love Spider-Man! You like Spider-Man?”

“He’s cool,” Lyfe said, “but you know who my favorite is?”

“Who?” Zion asked excitedly.

“Iron Man.”

“I love Iron Man too!” Zion looked Lyfe up and down. “Do you know Iron Man? You kinda big like him.”

Lyfe gave Arri a sly smile. “Am I big like Iron Man?”

Bigger
, Arri thought and then twisted her lips. “Look, we have to get ready for our day.”

“All right.” Lyfe looked down at Zion and gave him a pound. He looked back to Arri and said, “Every day.”

“He seems nice, Auntie,” Zion said as Arri held his hand and locked the front door. “Is he a superhero?”

“Zion,” she sighed as they entered the bathroom and she turned the shower on for him, “take a shower so you can get ready for school.”

“Okay,” Zion said, as he removed his pajamas and started
singing what he could remember of the Spider-Man theme song. “Spider-Man / oh Spider-Man / on the ground or in the air …”

Arri couldn’t help but smile at how cute he sounded. She leaned against the bathroom sink, and though her intentions were to listen to her nephew sing and rave to him about how much he deserved a Grammy award, her mind took the wrong turn and traveled the path to where thoughts of Lyfe were stored. She gripped the edge of the pedestal sink as her nipples tingled and her thighs felt weak. She could feel Lyfe sliding his tongue down the center of her belly and just as his tongue curled around her clit, she jumped and realized that her phone was ringing.

“Spider-Man/oh Spider-Man …” lingered behind her as she walked out of the bathroom and grabbed the cordless phone. “Hello?”

“Gurl!” It was Khris. “Mr. Carrington just called here and said we can report back to work this morning.”

“Really?” Arri said, unimpressed.

“And let me tell you,” Khris carried on, seemingly oblivious to Arri’s tone, “I had to catch myself when that smooth-ass mofo called me on the phone. I almost offered him my services.”

“What services?” Arri asked, confused.

“Fellatio, cunnilingus …”

“Oh … my … God, you are going too damn far.”

“What-the-fuck-ever,” Khris continued, “we all have our fantasies. But anyway, I hope you’re getting dressed, because we’re going to be on time today, no more of that running late shit.”

Arri sighed. “I’m not going back.”

“What?” Khris screamed. “You’re not
what
?”

“I’m not going back.”

“Did the recession memo miss yo’ ass? Open the door,” Khris
snapped, “so I can slap you. Have you lost your goddamn mind? Yo’ ass know you be trippin’.”

Arri paused. She knew what she was about to confess to Khris would catch her off guard, but hell, she needed to confide in someone. “Khris, this weekend when you took Zion with you and Tyree …”

“Yeah … and what? You got another job and didn’t tell me—?”

“Would you listen?”

“I would listen if you were making some goddamn sense.”

Arri sucked her teeth. “Listen, Lyfe—”

“Lyfe?” Khris questioned in disbelief. “You on a first-name basis with the overseer?”

“Well, he came over here to my apartment—”

“Oh hell no. Did you fuck him?”

“No, yes … well, it was more to it than just fucking.”

“Your nasty ass was gon’ keep that a secret. Does he have a big dick?”

“Yes—”

“And you couldn’t send him across the hall? Gurl, I know he put it down. Chile, that’s the kind of man I would just let slap me all in the eyes with the dick. Every time I saw him I would be wagging my tongue, going yum-yum-yum.”

“Just let me know when you come up for air.”

“Don’t get an attitude with me—you just better be ready for Erica Kane, for when that bitch flies through here and wanna kick yo’ ass. Don’t worry, we’ll jump her ass, though.”

“Anyway—”

“Wait a minute—ding-ding-ding—something just came to me. You’ve been fucking this mofo and we still got fired? What, you ain’t suck his dick—?”

“You are sick.”

“Oh no, honey, you better jaw-break the shit outta that motherfucker. And anyway, when the hell you get the nerve to be
screwing your goddamn boss? You just a typical li’l slutty-ass secretary, huh—”

“Khris—”

“Oh wait, are you the reason why that bitch came in there and almost got tossed out the fuckin’ window? We all got fired ’cause he was off fuckin’ yo’ ass? Oh hell no, you owe me.”

“Oh my God—”

“But that’s some fierce shit, though, girl, that mofo was gon’ splatter his own wife all over the goddamn street for your pussy! Scandalous. I love it! You think you can fuck our way to a raise?”

“You know what, when you’re done holding this one-sided conversation, call me back. Because I’m trying to be serious with you and you’re ranting and raving about him being fine and having a big dick.”

“You’re trying to hold a serious conversation with me?” Khris said. “Really? Well let me ask you this—do you have another job lined up to take the place of this one?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly.” Khris paused. “Translation, hell nawl. So answer me this, do you still have rent to pay and a child who needs health benefits?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm, okay, and you’re quitting your job because you fucked your boss?”

“Well—”

“Translation—hell yes. And you expect me to think you’re trying to hold a serious conversation? Which part of that sounds serious to you, ’cause all that shit sounds silly as hell. Or maybe it’s just me.”

“I didn’t ask you to pass judgment.”

“I’m not, I’m just keeping it real with you. I love you like a sister, which is why I have to tell you that you’re sounding re-tar-ded,” she said, enunciating every syllable, “cra-ay-zeee. Stoop-id … as hell to me. You fucked Lyfe and now you’re
upset enough to quit your job? Huh? What part of the game is that? That’s why men always beat us at shit; we get too emotional. Listen, you don’t quit your job behind dick. You go to work and act like nothing ever happened. Give his ass the cold shoulder, but you go to work—every day. Now put your goddamn clothes on, so when we take the boys across the street, we’ll be on time for the train.”

Arri twisted her lips and released a deep breath out the side of her mouth; she hated that Khris was right. The mere thought that she would leave her job and not have another at least in the works was crazy. A Smooth Operator was okay, but she wasn’t living the high life or no shit like that. “You’re right.” She sighed.

“I know, girl, but that’s why I’m here to get in that ass when you say some shit that makes no goddamn sense. Now hurry up so we’ll have enough time for you to tell me how big his dick was. Geezuz!” Khris shouted as she hung up.

Arri held the phone to her chin as she looked at herself in her vanity’s mirror. “You slippin’.” She shook her head. “Just handle your business. That’s it. Do your job. Don’t say any extra shit, and keep the thoughts of wanting to slip beneath his desk and suck his dick out of your head.”

Arri stepped away from the mirror and commenced to getting her and Zion dressed for the day. She purposely lagged behind, though, because she didn’t want to have to deal with Khris and her multitude of questions.

By the time Arri arrived at the office, things were pretty much back to normal. The office chatter was afloat, Terell was delivering mail, and Lyfe was standing in his doorway watching her make her way to her cubicle. She shot him a loaded eye that clearly said, “Unless it pertains to business, don’t say shit to me.”

He gave her a crooked grin, and she did her best not to roll her eyes and instead simply took her seat.

A
n early morning crowd moved swiftly through Central Park, as Lyfe sat on a cement bench next to a resting jogger. He tapped his fingers on his Styrofoam coffee cup as he struggled like hell to focus in on the financial section of the
New York Times
. But he couldn’t; especially since his quick and unplanned walk through the park confirmed that two men were following him. And though he only knew one of them—Galvin, the overtanned motherfucker he’d met at the cigar bar—he now knew that both of them, beyond a shadow of a doubt, were cops.

Fuck.

Lyfe rattled his paper. He did his best to present as cool, calm, and collected, but inside he was nervous as hell. He tried to think of all the crimes he’d committed—before he turned his life around—and hadn’t answered to. He wondered if they were following him because of some warrant he forgot he had, or some trumped-up charge the Feds were infamous for creating.

Shit.

Lyfe narrowed in on the financial section of the paper, yet before he could get to the third sentence, his eyes wandered to where Galvin stood by a rickety breakfast truck, dunking his glazed doughnut into his steamy cup of coffee. Galvin smiled at Lyfe and gave him a thumbs-up.

Let me get my ass out of here.

Lyfe closed his paper and tucked it under his arm.

“Lyfe,” Galvin called out to him as he stood to leave. Galvin held up his index finger—an indication that he wanted Lyfe to wait for a moment—but before Lyfe could protest or simply walk away, Galvin was already before him, wearing a tan trench coat with a Burberry lining. Standing next to Galvin was a tall, dark black man with a neatly cropped haircut. “Lyfe,” Galvin said, slapping him on the back, “how the hell are ya?” He smiled and pointed to the man next to him. “This is Keenan.”

Keenan held his hand out and Lyfe accepted his gesture as he looked him over suspiciously. “Nice to meet you,” Keenan said, a little too damn chipper.

“Yeah,” Galvin said, smiling, “seems we keep meeting a lot, you know.” He pulled a pack of Newports from his inner coat pocket and pointed them toward Lyfe. “Smoke?”

“Nah,” Lyfe said, “but help yourself.”

“That’s right, rich man’s stock only,” Galvin said. “Well, a son of a bitch like me can only smoke eight-hundred-dollar cigars during income tax time, ’cause every other time, I’m a living-from-Friday-to-Friday kinda man, ya’know?” Galvin held his cigarette loosely between his lips and flicked his Bic until he caught a steady flame. He puffed the butt until the tip of the cigarette became a crackling light. Afterward he took a strong pull and released an O of smoke from his thin cherry lips.

Lyfe could no longer fake a smile or pretend that he felt comfortable standing here. “Listen, Galvin, Keenan,” he nodded at them respectively, “I need to get to the office. Take care.”

“Certainly, Lyfe, a hardworking man like you, surely we understand,” Galvin said, “but before you go,” he placed his hand on Lyfe’s forearm and instantly Lyfe’s bicep tightened and he shot Galvin such a fierce look that Galvin threw up his hands in defeat. “Pardon me,” he said as his cigarette dangled from between his lips. “No harm intended. I just wanna ask you something.”

“Peep this,” Lyfe snapped. “Don’t ask me shit.” He looked Galvin dead in the eyes and then moved on to ice-grill Keenan. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you tell me something. Tell me why you keep fuckin’ following me? You got something you wanna say to me?”

Galvin took a pull and let out the smoke. “We don’t mean to make you paranoid, Lyfe.”

“Certainly isn’t our style,” Keenan said as he sipped his coffee.

Lyfe snorted. “How about this: if you got something you wanna tell me or some bullshit you wanna charge me with, then you need to bring it. Otherwise,” he looked them over and said slowly, “step … the … fuck … off. Now, excuse me.”

The entire day had flown by and Lyfe hadn’t been able to get anything done. He knew something was plain and simply fuckin’ wrong, he just didn’t know what it was. He’d been unable to think straight all day and between thoughts of Galvin, Keenan, and the unpunished crimes he’d committed, he found his eyes lingering, undressing, and attempting to relieve stress by getting lost in flashbacks of making love to Arri.

All week she hadn’t said more than hello, how many copies, and good night to him. And before he could even think to ask her to stay late, or attempt to hold a conversation with her, she was gone. He thought about showing up at her place, but quickly decided that the thief in the night bullshit had grown stale. And since he was a grown man and had been for many years, he didn’t have time to be chasing her. He’d already sent her flowers every morning and she had yet to say, “Thank you, I appreciate the gesture,” nothing, so to hell with it. He was at a loss on what he needed to do, so he hunched his shoulders, stroked his box beard, and figured,
fuck it
.