In My Sister's House (21 page)

“The property has been assessed at four hundred thousand, which means I have to give her half of that.”

“Damn! Hey, well, look, between the two of us if that is what we gotta do, we will. I mean we’re not Will and Jada Smith, but we can handle our business. You know I got you, babe.”

“Okay, baby, thank you for that. But seriously—I wouldn’t dare want you to put any of your own money up.”

“Baby, we’re getting married next year. Anything I have, you have,” Sidney said.

“I know, and I’d feel the same way if the situation was reversed. But I gotta do this on my own. I already told the attorney to draw up all the papers. She’s going to meet Storm and me next week in the
office. It’ll wipe me out financially for a while, but I want to get it over with,” Skylar sighed. “It is literally all of my savings.”

“Have you told Storm yet?” Sidney asked.

“I planned on it tonight, when we get to the club. I’m just tired of all the fighting. She had the nerve to tell me that she spoke with a lawyer about the whole thing and, although she didn’t want to go that route, she’d sue me. Can you believe that?” Skylar said, raising her voice.

“Don’t get yourself all worked up, baby. Things happen for a reason. Who knows, maybe when all of this is over you and your sister can begin to rebuild your relationship,” Sidney said, trying to comfort Skylar. “Storm is operating with a broken heart. She’s gonna need you one day, baby. I believe that. You just be there for her. Let her make all the mistakes she needs to. If that means using her part of the money to fund some ridiculous scheme of DuBoy’s, that’s her right. I know you feel that your father worked really hard to even own property, and that what Storm is doing is a waste, but she’s got to see that for herself. You’ll be free from all of it.”

Skylar didn’t respond to what Sidney said, but she knew that everything he was saying was true. She turned the radio to WDAS-FM. The Quiet Storm format was on, and Whitney’s Houston’s “Where Do Broken Hearts Go” played softly. “Where do broken hearts go? Can they find their way home?…”

Sing, Whitney!
Skylar thought.

T
orch had been waiting for DuBoy for the past two hours. He was excited about moving forward with his plans for TorchLight, his proposed dance club down at Penn’s Landing. The state-of-the-art night spot was to be housed in an abandoned ship that at one time was a restaurant called Dock’s Seaside Port.

Lounging back in a soft brown leather chair, he was smoking a cigar and watching ESPN. Sitting at his feet was Gidget, who was giving him a pedicure and foot massage. Every so often he glanced down at her. She was unaware that he was watching her.

“I’ve been thinking about putting you on the stroll for a while,” he said, then waited for a reaction.

It threw her off for a second. She briefly stopped drying his left foot, but then, saying nothing, she moved on to his right.

“I know I told you when we hooked up that I had enough fresh bait on the street, but there’s a sports convention coming in next week and I may need you to do some housework over at the Doubletree on Broad Street.”

Gidget knew that
housework
was Torch’s term for his girls who didn’t usually walk the street but were placed in hotels when conventions came through Philly. The convention clients were more discreet and preferred to do business in their hotel rooms. They usually
wanted women who didn’t look like typical working girls, but would be able to blend in to the environment. Torch preferred these arrangements because they were more lucrative. However, there were only a few conventions that hit Philly during the summer, and fewer still where the majority of the attendees were men.

When Torch and Gidget got together, he bought her clothes, took her to the casinos in A.C., wined and dined her in fine restaurants, and moved her in with him. Sure, she had done a few select dates for him since they’d met, but other than that she was free from being one of his stable of girls. She thought he felt she was special. Torch promised her that she would be the headline dancer at TorchLight. It would make that “little shit” she did while at Legends look like slum work. He also told her that she was his
bitch
. And for a while, all of that was true. No other girls were allowed to stay at the house or drive any of his cars but Gidget.

What she failed to realize was that she was being groomed for Torch’s true intention.

“How many days are we talking next week?” Gidget asked.

“Most likely Wednesday night thru Sunday. I’ll get you a room in the hotel for the week, get you all set up, and have all your supplies in place for each assignment,” Torch said between puffs on a knock-off Cuban cigar that stunk up the entire room.

“Why can’t you send a car to pick me up every night so I can come home to you?”

“Because I need you on call twenty-four. Whenever dem muthafuckas get an urge, I need you to be there, young, willing, and able. What I don’t want is for a john who got that
right now
urge to be unable to get to you, and he hits the street for one of dem forty-dollar hos.”

“I thought Shirley houseworked. You can’t send her?” Gidget asked.

“Bitch, I’ll send who I fuckin’ want to send!” Torch screamed, kicking her in the mouth with his wet foot and causing her to fall backward. She was shocked—Torch had never hit her before.

“Now, like I said, I’ma set you up next week, aight?” He rose from
the chair, staring at her. “And yeah, Shirley gonna be working, too. The redneck cracker boys gonna wanna buck with her, but dem country-ass, suga-coated coons be feelin’ you white bitches. You the muthafuckin’ American dream for dem sports niggas. I need to think about getting Julie up in that bitch, too, next week,” Torch thought out loud.

Julie was a beautiful Asian chick that Torch had found down in Chinatown working in her uncle’s Chinese restaurant, Peking Wok. He could tell by her face the first time he saw her that she wanted out. During their conversation he found out that her New York grandmother had sent her to Philly to live with her uncle and pay her way through school. At first, Torch made a point of frequenting the restaurant at least three or four times a week, so Julie would warm up to him. He made sure she was his server and always gave her a fifty-or hundred-dollar tip. He also gave her his phone number and told her to call him anytime she needed anything.

It wasn’t long before he was picking her up from classes at Temple and she was staying over at his house, telling her uncle she was studying at a friend’s dorm. Shortly afterward, a mysterious fire claimed Peking Wok, and Julie’s uncle told her he had to send her back to New York. She called Torch.

“Ouch! Damn, girl. What’s wrong with you?” Torch screamed as he jerked back his foot. Gidget had cut the nail too close on one of his toes.

“I’m sorry,” she said and started to laugh. “I was trying to clip a hangnail but the clipper must be too sharp…. I’m sorry.” She laughed again.

“Well, bite it off with your teeth then!”

“What?” She looked up at him like he was joking, but his expression indicated otherwise.

Cupping his foot by the heel, she used one hand to steady it and wrapped the other around his toes as she proceeded to put the toe in her mouth. Nipping gently she was able to remove the hangnail with little pain to Torch. Taking a towel and wiping off her mouth she got up to go to the bathroom.

Torch watched her intently, and for a moment he felt bad about the way he had spoken to her.

“Find you something nice and sexy to put on, we going out later,” he shouted back toward the bathroom.

“Okay,” she faintly said.

A knock at the door brought a wide grin to Torch’s face. He knew it was DuBoy. Jumping up, he kicked the basin of water, causing a large portion of it to splash onto the floor.

“Nigga, what took you so long?” he said to DuBoy as soon as he swung open the door.

“Yo, you getting you a foot bath and shit?” DuBoy said, laughing and pointing to Torch’s feet.

Entering the living room, DuBoy’s eyes became fixed on the large flat-screen, where the Sixers were playing the Lakers.

“What’s the score?” he asked Torch.

“Nigga, fuck that! What the fuck was going on? Where we at?” Torch clicked the remote off and threw it on the sofa.

“You got this bitch washing your feet now, nigga? Dat’s what’s up!” DuBoy laughed as he reared back his hand to give Torch a high five. Torch was not amused.

“It’s been almost two months now. What’s up with your lady, man?” Torch motioned for DuBoy to have a seat on the sofa and shot a stare at Gidget to get lost. She quietly excused herself and headed toward the kitchen.

“She’s coming along. I been staying on Storm about what she needs to do,” DuBoy said. “But it’s her fucking sister man; Skylar isn’t budging. So Storm got a lawyer and shit, and she’ll sue her if she has to.”

“Damn! That’s just gonna hold up shit for a while. We don’t have a lot of time. I was hoping for a different outcome.” He stood up and started pacing. “Skylar needs to get the fuck out the way!” Torch lit up another cigar. DuBoy didn’t even want to imagine what Torch meant. He tried to soften things up.

“Yeah, the papers are going to be served first thing Monday morning, demanding Skylar sell Legends altogether or buy Storm
out of her share. Either way, Storm gonna git the money and she’s down with what we doing.”

“Nigga, she better be! Shit, I done dropped thirty Gs on the spot for a
hold
now. But I’ma need the eighty Gs from you before next month. Now she got her a good muthafuckin’ Jew lawyer, or what?” Torch looked at him for an answer.

“Man, I don’t know all that shit! I just know the bitch said everything was straight. So look, yo, I gotta believe that shit,” DuBoy said, standing his ground. “She was feeling a li’l bad about the shit for a minute. Saying she felt like she was doin’ her sister wrong ’cause she knew how hard Skylar had worked to make the spot successful. But we clever, dude. Damn!”

“I don’t give a fuck! I know yo bitch ain’t getting soft on us now! Look, we had a deal, nigga. You said you’d come through with the cash. I could’ve brought some other muthafucka in on this. But you my nigga, so I was like, cool. Me and DuBoy got this. Now you talking sideways, nigga? Yo. Get that bitch back in line like she used to be or some shit gonna get fucked up around this muthafucka, you feel me?” Torch’s anger frightened DuBoy, who knew oh so well that you didn’t fuck with Torch. He almost wished that he had kept his mouth shut and never involved himself with this deal. In fact, he wished he had never mentioned to Torch that he and Storm had been communicating while she was locked down. Telling him that he could get her to do whatever he wanted to do probably wasn’t a good idea. Storm was hooked on his johnson, true, but she still was a smart bitch.

“I’ma hit the head, man,” DuBoy said, starting upstairs to the bathroom. Approaching it, he passed Gidget in the hall. He noticed right away that the fun-spirited spark she used to have was now gone.

“Hey, girl, what’s up?” he said softly, nodding his head as he closed the bathroom door. Gidget barely spoke and headed back downstairs. She had changed into a canary-yellow bare-midriff top, white miniskirt, and white patent leather boots. Sizing up her outfit, Torch liked what he saw.

“That’s bangin’,” he said, moving his head up and down and smiling. “That’s just the kind of shit I want you in next week at the hotel.” Gidget didn’t respond to his comments and went into the kitchen.

DuBoy turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. He was a nervous wreck. Holding onto both sides of the sink, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
Man, what the fuck you done got yo’self into, dude?
His frightened reflection told the whole story. Sitting down on the closed toilet, DuBoy pulled out his cellphone and called Storm. It went directly to her voice mail.

“Yo, Storm, it’s me. Check this, ma’, I need you to make sure we get that situation taken care of wit’ your sista, ummm, as soon as possible. Yeah, we gotta do this, Shorti. Call me back.” DuBoy sounded scared. After making the call, he took a moment to get himself together before returning downstairs.

“Damn, nigga, I thought you fell in, you took so long,” Torch said, laughing. He stood on the landing at the bottom of the stairs in his robe, his cigar in his mouth and a nickel-plated .357 magnum revolver in his hand.

Seeing the gun, DuBoy stopped dead in his tracks.

“Nice ain’t it?” Torch waved it in DuBoy’s direction and then jokingly pointed it at him.

“C’mon, dude, turn that shit away from me fo’ you slip up and that shit go off,” DuBoy said, trying not to sound afraid.

Torch let out a hearty laugh as DuBoy descended the stairs. When they were side by side Torch encouraged DuBoy to hold it and examine it.

“Pretty, ain’t it? Just got it yesterday. Can’t wait to try this bitch out.” He took it back from DuBoy and laid it on the coffee table. “Man, once we get TorchLight open, it’s gonna be on, brotha!” Torch put his arm around DuBoy’s neck and pulled him in to a playful chokehold. “You gonna be glad that you were down with this shit!” he said when he released the hold.

“Aight, dude. I’ma roll out. Catch you later,” DuBoy said, pounding him and heading toward the door.

“Cool. Yo, DuBoy, that new bitch Alexia, she still working over there at Legends, ain’t she?” he asked.

“Huh? Ah, yeah, she there. But I don’t say shit to her, though. She just work at the spot. Why?”

Torch began laughing. “I figured out where I knew her from. Me and Cleet are gonna stop by Legends later tonight to pay the ho a visit. And nigga, you might wanna stop by ’cause it’s gon’ be wild up in there.” He continued laughing as he said good-bye.

DuBoy could still hear Torch laughing halfway out of the building. DuBoy was sweating like crazy.
Where the hell are you, Storm?
Checking the time on his phone, he assumed she must be at work by now. He planned to stop by Legends on his way home, before Torch arrived. What the fuck was that shit about Alexia, the chick at the club?
If it involves Torch, it ain’t gonna be good, no matter what it is, that’s for sure
.