In The Cut
Authors: Arlene Brathwaite
BRATHWAITE PUBLISHING
Books by Arlene Brathwaite are published by
Brathwaite Publishing
P.O. Box 38205
Albany, New York 12203
Copyright © 2008 by Arlene Brathwaite
Library of Congress Number:
ISBN—10: 0-9797462-2-1
ISBN—13: 978-0-9797462-2-2
Kindle ISBN: 978-0-9797462-4-6
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book was printed in the United States of America.
Contents
First and foremost I would like to thank God for making this possible. To all of the readers who purchased my books, and continue to show me love and support. I would also like to thank A & B Distributors in Brooklyn New York, Urban Knowledge Bookstores in Baltimore Maryland, Afrikan World Book Baltimore Maryland, Source of Knowledge Book Store Newark New Jersey, S & M Communications Albany New York, Seaburn Publishing Group/Black Book Plus Astoria New York, Rhonda Bogan of MochaReaders/James PR group for PR services, Kimberly Martin for book layout, Marion Designs for the hot book covers, Curtis Witters of Little Villa Publishing for all you do for me, know that I will never forget.
I would like to give a special thanks to my niece Timeka Dent for her continued support in letting North Carolina know what’s really good. Dr. Funi Kasali MD for representing us as a people, I am so proud of your work. David Douglas, Denise Robinson, Tamicka Ramey, Sherodd Craft, Marshay Brathwaite, Akeama Foulks, Zanetta Motley, Arnita Norris, William Harris-White, Patricia Harvey, Belinda Willingham, Curtis & Morticia Witters, Lenny Thomas, Adrienne White, Egypt Hill and Nicole Wise for spreading the word. There’s no better advertisement than the word of mouth. Keep spreading the word y’all. My daughter Tamicka Ramey for proof reading. My husband Chris Brathwaite for copy editing and critiquing my work. Chris you are definitely my worst critic. To my family and friends who continue to be my backbone, and shoulders to cry on. Success is never achieved without people spewing hate from the sidelines. I will never understand why people are like that, but I drew the strength to deal with it from my husband’s words of advice. “Don’t worry about people when they talk about you. Only worry about them when they stop.” Much thanks goes out to the sagacious advice of contemporary trail blazers Eric S. Gray, Anthony Whyte and to the dedicated readers of Urban Fiction who have come to expect nothing from me but the very best.
In Rye, New York, Saint drove his BMW Z4 Coupe onto the property of a waterfront English Colonial home, framed by a collage of perennial gardens, sculpted shrubs, and shadowing Cypresses. The five hundred feet of waterfront provided a breathtaking view of the Long Island Sound. It wasn’t everyday that he got a chance to rub elbows with the rich and powerful. “There’s no way you’re going to convince me that black people live in this house,” he said to his partner, Glenn.
“Black people don’t live in this house,” Glenn said, checking his face in the rearview mirror. “
Rich
, black people live in this house. Don’t be embarrassing me like you ain’t got no sense.”
Saint looked over at the two-piece orange, yellow, and pink suit Glenn had on and shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about me embarrassing you. I think you got that covered.”
“You won’t be wearing that smirk on your face when you see Puffy wearing this outfit in his next video.” Glenn was a clothing designer who had an eye for fashion. After spending five years dressing mannequins in a Greenwich Village boutique, his big break came when the creative designer for Lane Bryant walked through the door and fell in love with one of his creations. She offered him a job with full benefits and two employees. A job he couldn’t refuse. Within a matter of months, every wealthy plus-sized woman in the New York City area had his number on speed dial. Tonight was the unveiling of his
Beauty-full
clothing line.
“Is that Monique?” Saint asked, as a heavyset woman stepped out the back of a black stretch limo.
Glenn lowered his window as Saint pulled up along side it. “Hey, girl, glad you could make it.”
“Boy, please,” Monique said, “I wouldn’t miss your debut. It’s all about you, tonight.” Glenn got out and started chitchatting.
“Yo, Glenn, where am I supposed to park?” Without missing a beat, the valet opened the car door. Saint stepped out and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a five dollar bill, and held it out to the valet.
“That won’t be necessary, Sir.”
Saint caught Glenn glaring at him. He shrugged his shoulders and slid the bill back into his pocket.
“I’ll see you inside,” Monique said, as she turned to leave.
“Yes, I hope you enjoy the show,” Glenn said, as he backed up a few steps to talk to Saint. “This isn’t the Tunnel or the Underground so keep your money in your pocket.”
“I was just trying to help dude out. He parks cars for a living.”
“
Dude
makes more money in one month than you do in a whole year.”
“Well, shit. See if you can hook me up with one of these valet gigs for the next show.”
“Listen, when we get inside, you’re going to be around some affluent people, so try not to stare. They don’t like when people stare at them, especially at a function that’s supposed to be
private
,” Glenn said, making quotation marks with his fingers.
“I look like a groupie to you? I got better things to do in there than stare in people’s mouths.” “Like what?”
“Like staring at them curvaceous, big-boned women in their lingerie and swimwear.”
“You’re such a man.”
“I better have a good seat this time. Last time, I was sitting so far in the back, all I could see was the back of everybody’s head.”
Glenn and Saint were greeted at the front door by a long-legged, model named Gina who would be their hostess for the evening. She led them through the estate and into the backyard. While Glenn was busy shaking hands and politicking, Saint walked toward the white pavilion that took up a good chunk of the yard. He quickly sized up the crowd and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he was surrounded by money. He didn’t know much about diamonds, but he knew that the marble-sized diamond weighing the finger down of the lovely lady standing in front of him had to be worth at least twenty thousand. He stole a glance at the man by her side, whispering something to her, and immediately envied him. She was the type of sweets he would gladly rot his teeth on. Her spicy-brown complexion set off the silk floral-print dress she was wearing.
“Allow me to take you to your table,” Gina said, leading Saint by the hand. Her hand was cotton soft. Saint stared at her flowing hair lightly brushing against her back as she navigated through the crowd of the rich and powerful. The closer they got to the front, the more surprised Saint became. He was speechless when she stopped at the table only a few feet away from the stage. “If there’s
anything
you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“I need a drink,” he blurted out.
“I’ll be right back.” Saint watched her as she sauntered off, wondering what she meant by
anything
.
Ten minutes later, Gina returned with a bottle of chilled Armand De Brignac, commonly dubbed as “Ace of Spades.” Saint filled his champagne glass to the top and chugged it down. He felt the condemning stares from all around him. He glanced over his shoulder and caught the tail end of a smile as the woman with the ridiculously big diamond ring averted her gaze. Although she wasn’t staring at him any longer, the traces of a grin on her face let him know she found his uncouth act humorous. He picked up the bottle of champagne and stared at the spade embossment and then remembered seeing it in Jay-Z’s “
Show Me What You Got
” video. He filled his glass to the top again and downed it in three swallows.
Fuck’em
, he thought.
I’m not here to impress anyone
. He looked up and noticed his long-legged hostess standing slightly to the side with a polite grin on her face.
