Heard It All Before (12 page)

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Authors: Michele Grant

BOOK: Heard It All Before
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Jewel smiled and looked back and forth between the two of us. “William Collins, this is Jewel Capwell ... my girlfriend.” Miss Jewel didn't blink when I said it, just extended her hand for the shake. “William and I are working on a golf community planned for North Plano. His company is designing the houses, and Montgomery Design is doing the landscaping and plotting the golf course,” I explained to her, and went into a brief detail of what the housing community was going to be like.
“Small world,” Jewel said. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Collins. What can the Capwell Agency do for you?” She motioned for him to sit down before moving back round her desk. I saw her glance at the chair for a sec before she glanced over at me; we exchanged a quick smile. We were both thinking about what could have been happening in that chair. She sat down pretty quick.
William caught the look and smiled. “Am I interrupting something? I realize I dropped in unannounced.”
Jewel actually blushed. Didn't know women still blushed. But her face turned red, and she looked flustered as hell—that's a blush, right? I thought I'd better save the day. “Jewel and I are going to grab a bite to eat, William. Would you care to join us?”
“No thanks, I really just came by to ask if Ms. Capwell could round up a few people for us to use out at the North Plano site. We need a receptionist or two and at least three administrative assistants with Microsoft Office skills. Oh, I guess in all, we'll need twenty people out there helping us get set up, handling the administrative side, and showing people around.”
My baby had recovered her composure and sounded like a real professional. “Of course, we'd be glad to help out. Tell me, how'd you hear about the agency?” She had a pen and was writing notes.
“Truthfully, we're trying to use a lot of minority contractors on this project. So I got your name off a list.” He smiled over at me. “The same list I got Roman's company from. I must say, you two have sterling reputations in your individual fields.” William was such a good ol' boy.
Miss Jewel smiled. “Thank you, that's nice to hear. Let me work on getting a good group of people ready for you. Would you like to have final screening?”
“No, I'll go with your judgment. Already I know you have excellent taste in boyfriends.” He chuckled at his joke. White folk and they humor, man.
“Yes, well”—she shot me a look—“I'll call you tomorrow morning, and we can finalize the details. I assume you have our package with the basic rate structure and billing procedures?”
William stood up. “I sure do, and I look forward to hearing from you.” He turned to me. “Roman, I'll see you at the meeting tomorrow afternoon. Y'all have a good lunch now.” He left.
The door barely closed behind him when Jewel threw down her pen and glared at me. “Don't you think it's a mite coincidental that Mr. Collins came to see me the very same day you came to take me to lunch? I can get my own clients, Roman.” She got up from the chair.
I shrugged. “Don't go drawing conclusions, Miss Jewel. It's a small world; I didn't have shit to do with it. The fact that we both have a stake in the same project means I'll get a chance to see you more than once every two weeks. Equal time, remember?” Women! They sure could put two and two together and come up with nine. I stood up and walked over to her.
“And what's all that damned ‘girlfriend' stuff?” When she was angry, she gestured with her hands. Waving 'em all over the place.
Now she had my attention. “Well, aren't you gonna be?”
She frowned. “Gonna be what?”
“My damned girlfriend!” I never been long on patience.
“I wouldn't call it that! And why you have to say it like that?”
“Like what?” I took another step toward her. “And what would ya call it?”
“Uhh ... a friend? We're friends?” Her shit was lame and she knew it.
“Ya think I kiss my
friends
like I kissed you?” We were standing toe to toe; I was getting all up in her face. I wanted to make this point clear.
She shrugged. “We've only been out twice. I haven't known you that long.”
“There's a time limit we gotta stick to? You gotta rule book?” Not another one with the damned timetables.
“Well, no, but—”
“But what?”
“You don't know me!”
“I like what I know so far. What about you?”
“You seem all right so far.” We'd have to work on her ego stroking.
“Aw, shucks, Miss Jewel. You'll turn my head with all them flowery words.”
She looked real exasperated. “What if I don't like whatever happens next?”
“Dump me.” I planned to make sure that didn't happen. This was one boy she wasn't gonna dump easy. Just to irritate her, I added, “And if I decide I can't stand ya ass, I'll dump
you
, how's that?”
“Yeah, fine. You make it sound so sexy.” Her face was all tight, like she swallowed something real sour.
“Hey, listen, if it's there, it's there. I think between us, it's there. Two weeks, two months, two years, what's the difference? Why ya gotta kick up drama where there is none? Why make things difficult when they can be real simple?” Poor thing—she looked like she really wanted to believe we could be something, and this wasn't another tired little episode to be pissed about later.
“I guess you're right.” She neither looked nor sounded sure.
“So?” I was losing patience with the conversation again.
“So, let me let it marinate for a minute.”
I sighed.
“What?”
I shook my head. “It's about you women and your li'l insecurities. I figure, hey, if I'm here, I'm here for a reason, right? If I don't wanna be here, I'll leave. Simple.”
“Simple.” She tilted her head to the side and assessed me as if checking my overall mental health.
I met her gaze and held it. “Why not?”
“Why not, indeed?” She smiled some.
I reached out and captured her hand. “Indeed.” Sometimes ya just gotta smooth shit out. “So we're doing this thing, you and me, okay?”
“Okay, then.” She smiled some more. “But, Roman, know this—I don't share.”
My eyes narrowed. “Uh, me either.”
Jewel nodded. “I notice you don't shy away from the tough conversations, a little bit of an in-your-face style.”
“I notice you have a bit of a temper there,” I countered.
“I notice you gave as good as you got.” She smiled, pleased with herself.
I sighed. This one was gonna be a handful. I looked at her and grinned, but whatta handful! “Since ya noticing everything, did you happen to notice I'm starving?”
She picked up her purse and smiled. “Yeah, let's roll.”
I couldn't help but glance back at that chair as we walked out. Another time, no doubt.
11
His Turf
Jewel—Thursday, July 17, 7:35 p.m.
 
 
I
turned left and knew I was terribly lost. I was also scared shitless.
I was rolling through South Dallas, right? Roman was all hung up on this equal-time concept, so I said I'd come over to his place tonight. I had been doing well too. But somewhere I messed up the whole Colorado/Sylvan Road thing, and now I was in deep shit. The sun was about to set, and believe you me, this was nowhere to be lost after dark! Not like gunshots ringing out or anything, just not necessarily your safest neighborhood—hence all the damn crime-watch signs. Drugfree-zone signs. Curfew-for-kids-under-eighteen signs. Friendly little signs reminding us no guns were allowed within twenty feet of certain establishments—not so much of this on the Northside. It was generally assumed that guns should be left concealed and at home.
I passed two more streets, and there was no doubt about it—I was lost. I made a U-turn and headed back for the expressway. But somewhere this road split, and now I had no idea what direction the damned interstate was. Not a good time to realize my sense of direction was for shit. I really meant to get GPS as one of the options in this car. Well, wait, I could use my cell phone. Uh-oh, terrible time to realize my cell phone was dead, and I had no car charger.
Thank God, a gas station. Looked pretty deserted but probably safe. I was pulling in.
The front door was bolted, but I could see someone inside. I pulled up and read the sign:
USE SIDE WINDOW AFTER DARK.
Ah, hell, not a good omen, not good at all. Here I was, rolling a brand-new Lexus and I gotta get out and talk to some man through a side window?
Okay, act grown, girl, buck up! There was nothing to freak about, just get out of the car, set the alarm, and go ask the man for directions. I got out, clicked the alarm button, and jogged up to the 2' x 3' bulletproof glass pane that they called a service window. Service, my ass. An Middle Eastern guy was inside watching a
Seinfeld
rerun. A plaque made with Marks-A-Lot and toilet paper proclaimed him to be Ahmed Davi.
“Hi.” I paused. The man never looked up. I noticed a red button with a sign,
PUSH HERE TO USE SPEAKER.
Lord have mercy, grant me patience. I pushed the damn thing. “Hi!”
He looked over. “'Ello, need gas?”
“No. Can you tell me how to get to Harlowe Lane?”
“Barlawn Main?”
Ah, shit. You tried not to get down on the whole America-as-a-melting-pot theory until you had to deal with it face-to-face two minutes from sundown in the middle of the hood. Then you'd really rather have someone a little less, uh, ethnic behind the bulletproof glass.
“Haaaar-lowe Lane,” I repeated.
“Darling Gate?”
“HARLOWE! H-A-R-L-O-W-E LANE!” Patience and I, we were never all that tight. I tried to strive for it, but even Job would've wanted to choke this guy.
“I can tell ya how ta get there, sugar.” A real smarmy-looking dude was standing a little too close to me. He must've been in the bathroom 'cause he came out of nowhere and he smelled like a gas station bathroom—rank and foul. He was in ripped-up jeans, an oversized T-shirt, and a long jacket. It was a trifle warm for a coat. It was over eighty degrees! I started backing away ever so subtly. Jacket seemed more of a concealer than an article for warmth, and I wasn't trying to find out what he was concealing. I had watched enough crime drama in my day to be wary of army-coated, white-T-shirt-wearing strangers.
“Ah, no thanks. I'll find it.” I smiled prettily and backed away a little quicker.
“Harlowe by Colorado.” The man behind the glass volunteered. Shit, I knew that. I just couldn't figure out how to get back to Colorado.
“You sho, sweet pea? It can be real dangerous out here for a li'l girl like you. You ain't from around here, huh?” Brain surgeon too. I was asking directions at the most decrepit gas station in town, and he thought I might not be from around there?
“Thanks for your help.” I tried to smile wider and turned away.
“That your car?” he asked, and inched closer to me. “That a real nice car. That one of those new Benzos?”
Ah, shit, now I was petrified. I didn't want to open it and get in—what if he tried to jump me once I got the door open? Then again, if I stood out there, he could just jump me, take the keys, and get the car anyway. I looked over at Ahmed. He'd gone back to
Seinfeld
and was going to be no help at all.
What the hell, if he jumped me, I'm jumped. I strode back to the car as quickly as I could without running. Hit the button, climbed in, slammed the locks, started it, and peeled out with tires screeching. I was so freaked, I ran a stop sign and a red light. Where the hell were the cops when you needed one?
Right about now, I was debating about just trying to find my way home and Roman be damned. But then again, I was so lost I couldn't get home if I wanted to. Why, oh why did I not charge the phone last night? Wait a minute, was that what I thought it was? It
was
—Golden Arches dead ahead. Thank you, Jesus! Oh, and thank you, McDonald people, for having a restaurant on damn near every corner.
I turned into the lot. Of course, this wasn't the ritziest Mickey D's I'd ever been to. Matter of fact, it looked worse than Ahmed's station. But, at least there were people inside and a pay phone. Pay phones were a rarity these days; everyone ELSE had the sense to keep a charged cell phone at their disposal. Anyway, this should take me five minutes tops. I got out, clicked the alarm, and stepped inside.
Looked left, looked right; the damn pay phone was right by the playground. There was a ragged-looking crew out on the playground. Kids, not children, but teens. With my imagination, I was immediately thinking gang. Of all the McDonald's in the world, I stumbled into a gang hangout. I was not in the mood to tangle with today's disenfranchised, disillusioned youth ruffnecks.
I went straight to the phone, picked it up, and wiped it down the front of my jeans. Then I regretted doing it because now everyone's going to think I was a snob. Okay, so I kinda was. I didn't look at anyone, hoping that meant they wouldn't look at me either. Renee always said you couldn't be scared of your own people. However, you could be cautious, right?
Not wanting to flash even a quarter, I dialed Roman using my calling card number.
One ring. Come on, baby, pick up for Mama.
Two rings.
“Yo, you 'bout through with that phone?” Dammit, if it wasn't for bad luck I wouldn't have any at all. Three rings. I glanced over my shoulder. A big hip-hop hardhead was staring me down. Do-rag on his head, jeans hanging low. Big baggy plaid shirt (plenty of room to hide a gun, I was thinking), tattoo of a bullet on the side of his neck, and a little skull-and-crossbones earring dangling. Classy.
“Yeah, I'll just be a sec.” Four rings, where was he?
Five ri—“Hello?”
“Roman!” I almost sobbed with relief. Salvation was only a telephone wire away.
“I need that phone for my bi'ness; you tyin' up my line.” The hardhead was getting louder.
I turned around. “Really, I'll only be a minute. I'm sorry.” I tried a smile, but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the youngsters were all standing in the doorway looking at me. I looked around and one of them was making his way to the Lexus. Wouldn't you know, the damn car was like a gangster magnet. He started circling it. I think
casing
was the correct verbiage.
“What you lookin' at?” Some little fly girl asked me. I hadn't even gotten around to checking out her bandana, combat-boot-wearing ass yet.
“Baby, where are you?” Roman asked me. “Baby?”
I looked down, ignored them, and talked quickly. “Rome, I'm lost. I'm at a McDonald's somewhere near Colorado and Sylvan, I think.” I tried to sneak a look toward my car, but the little mobsters were blocking my view. Absently, I wondered how long it took to strip custom hubcaps off a Lexus.
He groaned. “Okay, listen. Take a left out of McDonald's and keep straight through four lights and you'll be back at I-30. Take Thirty west back to Sylvan and turn right, and then follow the directions I gave you. You turned the wrong way on Sylvan last time, okay? Jewel?”
“You gonna give up that phone or I got to make you?” the leader of the pack spoke.
“I still don't like the way she looked at me with her siddity ass,” the bandana chick piped in.
I was so scared, I didn't realize that I had nodded and Roman couldn't hear that. “Yeah, one second.” I lowered my voice and turned back around. “I got it. But, Roman?” My voice was cracking. The little hoodlums weren't moving.
“Yeah, baby. You okay?”
“No, how do I get out of here?” I didn't know proper ghetto etiquette. What did one do when you've tied up a ruffneck's telephone line? Give him a quarter? Apologize? Run like hell?
“Calm down, baby. Just don't say anything and walk fast. Hang up the phone and walk to your car. Wait till you have your hand on the handle before you open it, all right?”
“Okay.” My voice sounded small and pathetic, and he sounded so safe. Lord, I hated being out of my element. Made me feel really weak, silly, and dependent—three ways I tried never to feel.
“You want me to come get you, honey? You want to wait there for me?”
“No!” I almost screamed before lowering my voice again. “I don't wanna sit in here by myself. I'll make it.” Besides, how wimpy was that? Was I some sort of delicate Northside belle who had to wait on her big strong man to come rescue her? Couldn't go out like that ... even if I really, really wanted to.
“Okay, baby, I'm waiting for you. If you're not here in ten minutes, I'm coming for you, okay?”
“I'm there.” I hung up, straightened up, and turned around. I raised my head and without looking left or right, I started for the door.
“Where you going?” The head O.G. stepped in front of me.
Damn. What to do now? What would Renee do? Bluff! “I'm leaving already, all right?”
“You was tyin' up my line. I coulda lost bi'ness 'causa you!”
“Sorry.” I started forward again. He stopped me again.
“Uh-huh, now, my girl didn't like the way you was lookin' at her.”
I didn't look over at her. “What girl?”
“You didn't see my girl?”
“That bitch saw me, even with her high-yella nose in the air; she seen me.”
“Didn't see her. Gotta go.” I stepped around him and took off. Two of his homeys were blocking the door.
“That your car?” another fly girl asked me.
“Leave her alone,” a man behind the counter called out. “I done told y'all I don't want no mess up in here. Let the lady go.”
They obviously respected the man, because they parted like the Red Sea. Feeling in control now, I wanted to stop and take a moment to tell them that if they focused their energy toward school and education instead of all this bullshit, maybe they could buy a Lexus of their own someday with legally obtained funds. I thought better of it, doubting they wanted to hear my public service announcement. Would probably gain a bullet in my “high yella” ass for my trouble. It was time to be out. “Thanks!” I said in general, and in record time was in the car and out the lot.
Six minutes later, I pulled up to a tall, Victorian-style house. Roman was pacing up and down a long redbrick walkway. I barely had time to swing open my door when he grabbed and hugged me as if I were going to disappear. Far from protesting, I held on for all it was worth.
“Ah, babe.” His voice was deep and ragged. “I been freaking out. I imagined all kinds o' shit.”
“Yeah, well.” I tried to make light of it now that it was behind me. I kicked the door shut with my foot and hit the remote button. “Show me the house.”
He pulled back and shot me a look. “Damn the house; we got some talking to do.” He dragged me up the walk, across a lovely enclosed patio, through the front door, down a hallway, and down some stairs to a big living area. He shoved me down onto an overstuffed brown leather sofa, stepped back, and began to pace back and forth in front of me.
“Where was your cell phone, BlackBerry, GPS—something useful?” He spoke slowly with enough emphasis to let me know he was not happy.
“What? I hate BlackBerries, I forgot to charge the cell, and somehow I don't have a car charge. GPS is a waste of money—I'm
from
Dallas,” I protested. GPS, indeed. Even though I'd longingly wished for one not twenty minutes ago, when it was his idea, it suddenly seemed a waste of money when you were just getting around the city you'd lived in all your life.

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