The Enclave of Jyme (G Street Chronicles Presents) (11 page)

“I was trying to tell you that I’m heading down too. We can ride down together,” she said in a demanding tone as she stepped into the elevator.

I pulled out my phone. I had exactly three minutes.

“Please,” I stressed to the elevator attendant. He pushed the L button again and the doors finally shut. Ms. Radcliff stood next to me while running her fingers through her long blonde hair. I stepped over a step to give her and her hair some room. When I looked down at the phone, I saw I had a ton of missed calls and bunch of text messages. I didn’t have time to deal with whatever was going on with whoever it was.

“So, how long are you going to be in city?” she asked me.

“Not sure.”

“Well, are you here on business or pleasure?” she asked. The elevator dinged then, but the attendant pressed a button, and we kept going down.

“Well?”

“Well what?” I asked.

“Which one is it?”

“Huh?”

“Business or pleasure?” she asked through gritted teeth. She was forcing a smile on her face and she looked evil. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I rushed off of it and ran to the dining area. I looked around and didn’t see anyone looking for me.

“Mr. Samson?”

I turned to see a bellboy with white gloves holding a white sheet of paper folded. He handed it to me and walked away. I opened the note and read the contents.

Mr. Samson,

You are late, sir!

Zedd

The penmanship was perfect. I looked up and a man in a very well put together suit stood in front of me.

“Mr. Samson, I presume?” he asked with an accent I didn’t recognize. I nodded at the older gentleman. He had a cane and pocket watch hanging out of his vest pocket.

“Mr. Samson, there you are,” an out of breath Cleopatra said to me. I turned and frowned and then turned back to the man in the suit.

“Ms. Radcliff, if your father saw how you were carrying on he’d be ashamed. Good day to you, miss,” the man in the suit said. She huffed and stomped back toward the elevators.

“Thank you,” I said, shaking my head.

“You, sir, are not a gentleman,”

“What did I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do. Come along, we have a lot of work to do,” he turned and I followed him.

“Are you Zedd?” I asked him.

“The one and only,” he replied. He walked out the massive doors and stepped past the man holding the door into a black Town Car. Once Zedd was in, the man shut the door at once. I stood there dumbfounded. He walked over to the other side and opened the door for me. I got in and Zedd was on his phone speaking to someone in another language. The driver got in and we drove away from the hotel. Zedd got off the phone and spoke to the driver in a totally different language than he had spoken on the phone. The driver nodded and Zedd turned to me.

He looked me up and down. He called out to his driver again and pulled his cellphone back out. He spoke into the phone.

“Noni, this is Zedd. Does Moshi have anything open for me today?” he listened and nodded.

“See you then,” he hung up and then dialed someone else. “Yes, Lauren…this is Zedd. Could you please make me an arrangement for Noni and one for Moshi? Thank you, Lauren. Please have them delivered to J’adore Salon. I bid you good day.”

The car pulled into a parking lot and then I saw the restaurant. There were no cars in the parking lot. The driver got out and opened Zedd’s door for him. I opened my door and got out. My eyes landed on the two men standing outside the car. They both gave me stern looks. Zedd looked right down disgusted with me.

“What?” I asked. Neither one of them said a word, but just turned and started for the door. The driver rang the doorbell and then someone from the inside opened the door. I followed in behind Zedd as he entered into the restaurant. There was one round table in the middle of the floor. The restaurant was empty except for this one table. The podium we stood in front of was unstaffed. A waiter stood to the side of us and I’m guessing he’s the one who opened the door. He guided us to the table and we sat down. The waiter walked away and Zedd opened his napkin and placed it in his lap. I didn’t mimic him because that’s not what I do. The waiter brought back two glasses of water and two coffee cups. He poured coffee from his silver pitcher into both cups. He then dropped one sugar cube into Zedd’s cup.

“Cream or sugar, sir?” he asked me.

“Yes.”

He dropped three sugars into my cup and poured the cream from a tiny silver pitcher. Zedd stirred his coffee with the spoon from his napkin. I opened my napkin and did the same. Zedd sipped his coffee and I tasted mine. I wasn’t a coffee drinker. I had nothing against it, but it always gave me the shits. This stuff in my cup didn’t taste like coffee at all. This stuff was fucking delicious and I could drink it all in one gulp. I knew Zedd would probably pass out if I did, so I didn’t but I wanted to.

“What is this?” I asked him.

“Coffee.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve never had coffee like this before.”

“You’ve never had real coffee.”

“I guess not.”

“It’s called The Hacienda La Esmeralda. It’s grown in Boquete, Panama.”

“I want to move there so I can drink this all day long,” I told him. Zedd laughed and settled himself.

“I can help you, Mr. Samson,” he said with a serious face.

The waiter came back then with a tray of different meats, two cheese omelets, biscuits, and crepes. I ate everything he put on my plate. I noticed Zedd ate just as much as I did but much more slowly. I drank almost ten cups of the Hacienda La Esmeralda. I was fuller than shit when the waiter took our plates away.

“Everything was good,” I told Zedd.

“Yes, it was. Now it’s time to work.”

We sat there for the next two hours learning table manners, different plates and silver wear. I had never used anything but a dinner fork and a small spoon before. I learned the salad fork, dinner fork, dessert fork, dinner plate with salad or soup bowl on it, knife, small spoon, and soup spoon. Then Zedd taught me the different cups. He said that at certain restaurants I would see a coffee cup, water glass, a wine glass, and a liqueur glass. After I had mastered the proper table setting and manners, we were off to another appointment. Zedd told me we would call all of our meet ups
appointments
.

“All great men have appointments daily,” he stressed. Our second appointment for the day was a salon called J’Adore. From the looks of the area and the marble front entrance, J’Adore was fucking expensive. They had a valet, a coat check person, an appointment scheduler, two people answering the ringing phones, and a receptionist. Zedd walked over to the receptionist and a tall brunette walked up to him.

“Zedd, there’s no need to check in. Moshi’s ready for you,” the brunette explained.

Zedd gave the receptionist a smile, which she returned. He looked back at me and then strolled into the salon. I followed behind him, like a lost puppy. I had never been inside of a salon before. I’d heard about them, but they weren’t explained like this. I saw a dozen stylists with clients in their chairs. Some of them had little dogs in their laps, and the others were on their phones. No one was just sitting around; everyone was doing something. There was a soft buzz in the salon. No one spoke loudly, no one was running around, and everything was neatly organized. All of the staff wore all black.

I followed Zedd down a hall and into a room. The room was white, wall to wall. There were two stylist’s chairs on the opposite side of the room to each other; both had a vanity mirror in front of them. There was a black leather couch close to the door with two matching leather chairs. There was a huge flower arrangement on the glass table in front of the couch and in between the two chairs.

“Zedd,” a middle-aged Asian woman greeted him. She kissed both of his cheeks and squeezed his hands as they intertwined with hers.

“Did you like the arrangement?” he asked her in a different tone. Zedd had spoken to me and everyone else in a certain way, but with her he spoke much more softly. She gestured toward the glass table, and we all looked. Zedd nodded and then turned to me.

“Moshi, this is Mr. Jamerson Samson; one of my new clients.”

Moshi stepped over to me and stepped on her tiptoes. I bent down and she kissed both of my cheeks. She rested her hands on my elbows.

“It is a pleasure,” she said, and I nodded.

“Zedd, are you working with models now?” she asked.

Zedd laughed. “Yes, he is a looker; isn’t he?”

“Yes, he surely is.”

“I was thinking, maybe four inches or so?” Zedd asked Moshi. I pulled away from Moshi and pulled my hair back in the palms of my hands. Moshi laughed and threw her hands up at me.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the tiny woman told me.

“Mr. Samson, I’m sure your hair is your pride and joy and I assure you if my hair would grow like that, it would be just as long. But we need to tame the mane; it’s unruly.”

“Four inches?” I asked.

“I was thinking six; but by your reaction, yes, just four this time,” he said. I looked from Zedd to Moshi and then I dropped my shoulders and let my hair go. It was only hair, and it would grow back if I didn’t like it. The brunette, whose name I found out was Noni, offered us beverages. Zedd took a hot tea, but I couldn’t stomach anything. I was too nervous about this haircut. Moshi used a spray bottle to damp my hair and then she pulled it all back in a tight pony tail. She apparently found her version of four inches. She didn’t use a ruler or anything. She looked back at Zedd and he gestured for her to go higher, I closed my eyes and gripped the arm of the chair. Two long gruesome clips and then the worst was over.

Moshi pulled my hair out of the hair tie. My hair hung off my shoulders but not a lot. I closed my eyes again and Moshi turned me from in front of the mirror. She did a little more cutting, advising me that she was only shaping the hair. I didn’t believe her for one second. Moshi worked on me for another ten minutes blow drying my hair and then she finally turned me around. I looked in the mirror and I was impressed. My hair didn’t look flat anymore it had shape, and I liked the way if fell in my face. I wouldn’t need to run my hands through it as much. Moshi cut the front of my hair around my face. She misted my hair with an aerosol can and then pulled the apron from around my neck.

“Well?” she asked.

“I like it. Thank you,” I said.

She moved in closer to me and looked into my eyes. “I don’t know who you are, nor do I know your story. What I do know is this man right here is the best. Whatever you seek from him, you will get it and you will master it,” she said.

I gave her a smile and she turned to face Zedd. I turned and looked at the back of my hair in the mirror. I caught a glance at Zedd and Moshi. They touched each other like the electricity between them was sizzling both of them. They didn’t speak but just stared into each other’s eyes. Moshi exited the room first and then Zedd and I did the same. He didn’t say anything on the walk to the entrance. Once we made it to the main floor, I noticed several people staring at us. I wasn’t sure who Zedd was, but he must be an important bastard.

We got into the car and Zedd was still silent. He looked out the window for the duration of the ride. We pulled up to a shop and I was about to open my door when I could feel Zedd’s eyes burning the back of my neck. I turned, and sure enough he was glaring at me. His door opened first. I wouldn’t dare touch my door handle because they gave me the stare of death last time. I waited and then my door opened. I got out and followed behind Zedd through the front door. There were a handful of workers and they, too, were wearing all black. Each one of them were measuring, tugging, or straightening their customer’s clothes. Each one of their customers was a man. I figured it out then: I would apparently be getting a wardrobe. A well-dressed young man walked up to Zedd. He greeted him and guided us to the back.

We walked into a small room covered with floor to ceiling mirrors. An older man stood in the middle of the floor. He wore a full suit and tie with shiny shoes. Zedd walked over to the man and shook his hand, greeting him in a different language. The old man waved me over as the two men chatted. He pointed at my shoes and said something in his language. Zedd translated for me to take my clothes and shoes off. I pulled my shoes and shirt off, and then I hesitated. I was wearing boxer briefs and I knew the beast would shock the two men. I stood there contemplating how I was going to do this. The old man stared at me and then Zedd followed his gaze. I stood there with my hands on my zipper. Zedd cleared his throat.

“My apologies, Mr. Samson this is Moly,” the man shook my hand and both men watched me now. I decided to go ahead and give them both the full Monty. I stepped out of my jeans and boxers at once. Moly reacted first by making a gurgling sound, and then Zedd spoke something in a language I didn’t recognize, but I knew he was saying, “damn,” “shit,” or maybe even “fuck.” They were both looking at the beast. Zedd stared at him through the mirror and I rolled my shoulders back. I wanted to close my eyes, but I fought the urge. Zedd needed to know what he had set himself up for. Moly measured the beast first and then he showed it to Zedd. I felt like a circus freak and the beast was the main attraction. Moly started measuring me and Zedd went and stood by the door to make a phone call. Moly slid a sleeveless jacket on me and used a piece of chalk and straight pins to get the lines straight and for the perfect fit. He did this over and over, putting one arm on at a time. He had me step in a pair of pants with the side open from the belt buckle to the floor. Whenever Zedd looked over at us, he made sure not to look at the beast. I stood there for a long time trying not to fidget.