Nude Awakening II (6 page)

“. . . I'm sorry, Trevon.”

“It's all good, baby. You know how I don't like to wake up without you in my arms. And since that didn't happen, I'ma put it on you when you get back—”

“Is Jurnee still there?”

Trevon frowned. “Yeah.”

“I need to talk to her right quick,” she said, impatiently.

Trevon again fought within himself not to check LaToria. Biting his words, he handed the smartphone to Jurnee. Trevon stayed close by to listen in on the one-sided conversation. It turned out to be useless. Jurnee was speechless from the words that filled her ear. This drove Trevon over the edge. He was tired of LaToria and her funny style actions. When Jurnee held the phone out, he snatched it back.

“LaToria, what's going on with you?” he said, raising his voice.

“Trevon, I'm sorry,” LaToria cried.

“Sorry about what, baby? Why are you crying? Better, why aren't you home with me?”

“Don't hate me.”

Trevon turned from Jurnee. “What is going on with you, baby? You are starting to scare me, okay. Just . . . come home and we'll talk things out together.”

A brief spell of silence stood. “Trevon, I'm not coming back home. What we had between us . . . is no more. I'm sorry, and I never meant to hurt—I can't do it no more.”

CHAPTER

Six

Ain't This a Bitch?

Where the fuck this fool at?” Swagga muttered to himself after glancing at his icy Rolex for the fifth time in thirty minutes. He sat up in the black leather seat inside Rick's white BMW 760Li to scan the Fontainebleau Hotel across the busy street. Overlooking the bikini clad women filling the sidewalk, he searched for any sign of Rick. His effort was a waste.

Becoming annoyed, he yanked the white towel off his dreads. Then he turned to look at the empty key ignition. “Fuck!” he shouted.

At least the tinted windows were cracked, and it was needed due to the heat. Swagga ignored the beads of sweat on his forehead. He couldn't step out of the car without taking the risk of being recognized. Sighing, he wondered what in the hell was taking Rick so long. It was only ten minutes past 2 pm, and the ever prompt Rick had arrived on time at noon. Swagga picked up the loaded 9 millimeter that Rick left behind. His sweaty hand squeezed the black polymer grip. Ten more minutes rolled by.

“I got nineteen in the clip an' one in the chamber. I'm bustin' on you fool like my name is anger. Hatin' on me. Nigga, it's easy—” Swagga paused in his freestyle when he caught sight of the black couple exiting the hotel. Wide-eyed, he peered through the window thinking his mind was fucking with him. “Now ain't this some real live bullshit!” Swagga shook his head at the clear view of Kandi in the arms of Martellus. “That greasy, baldheaded, snake ass muthafucka!” Swagga gripped the 9 millimeter tighter at the sight of Martellus all hugged up with Kandi. Swagga's finger itched at the idea of dumping the clip against Martellus' smug ass face. As for Kandi, he'd save the one in the chamber for her phat, pretty red ass. His gaze stayed on them up until the valet rolled up in a roofless glossy black Aston Martin DBS. Swagga didn't have time to assume that Kandi was cheating on Trevon. He saw them just yesterday at his court hearing. Knowing that Trevon was being played eased a crooked grin on Swagga's face. As for it being a fact that Kandi was dogging Trevon, Swagga had a trick to bring that to the light. When the DBS drove off, Swagga turned his attention toward the packed beach. Flat asses were the thing of the past. Real or fake, Swagga was open off a nice swollen ass. From where he sat he could see two white women sunbathing side by side on their stomachs with their pale, bare, sandy feet facing him. Both were topless, wearing a thin bikini G-string.

“Damn, them asses phat!” he murmured, knowing his chances were high that he could fuck them both just off his fame and status. Building a taste for the
white
kind, he figured he could hook up with another groupie that happened to be a cheerleader for the Miami Heat.

Turning back to the Fontainebleau, he was relieved to see Rick jogging across the street.

“Damn, bruh! What the fuck took you so long?” Swagga asked when Rick was inside. “Hot as hell up in here!”

“Shit like this can't be rushed,” Rick replied, removing his Smith & Wesson .40 from his waist. “Fritz is not a man to rush.”

“So er'thang good or what?” Swagga asked, hoping against the latter.

“All we gotta do is go about our biz.” Rick placed the .40 inside the custom built door panel. “Let Fritz do what he do. Trust me on this.”

Swagga waited to speak while Rick removed his backup piece from a holster strapped under his left pants leg. “What kinda heat is that?”

Rick held the sub compact black polymer frame pistol near the steering wheel. “It's a Sig Sauer nine with a 2.9 inch barrel.”

“Shit small as hell,” Swagga retorted, frowning.

Rick shrugged. “It holds six rounds, and it's a major upgrade over the thirty-eight.” Rick nodded at the larger 9 millimeter he left with Swagga. “You done with that?”

Swagga's interest in guns ranked at the bottom of his list. Handing the loaded nine back to Rick eased a heavy weight off Swagga's mind.

“Ai'ight, where we headed?” Rick asked, pulling from the curb. “If it's not back to the crib, I'ma need to call the whole team, and plus we need to switch—”

“Just take me back home ‘cuz I ain't tryin' to go through all that shit.”

“You heard from Kendra?”

“Nah. And I ain't gonna call 'er ass!”

“You should if you want my view.”

“Yo, I've been thinkin'.” Swagga was brushing Rick's last words off. “Look, while you was up with ole boy. Three rides came by thumpin' and none of 'em were bangin' my shit. Them niggas Lil' Wayne, Future, and Rick Ross are eatin'! Here I am on some bullshit when my ass need to be in the fuckin' studio!”

“So get on your grind. Let me handle your safety. You do you and handle it, bruh. Yeah, I don't always agree with things you do, but I got your back and that's on my hood.”

Swagga slid the towel back over his head. “You ain't seen shit yet! I know I can put this rap game on smash. Wayne nor Ross can see me word fo' word off the dome!”

“What up with you going in the
Backroom
on BET?” Rick asked, constantly checking the rearview mirror for anything suspicious.

“Harry ‘pose to be workin' on it,” Swagga replied, trailing his thumb along the fresh crease of his acid-washed Red Monkey jeans. “Yo, can I trust them other niggas you got working wit' you?”

“Relax, bruh. All of them are proven.”

Swagga
tried
to relax inside the sedan while Rick took the long road home by avoiding I-95 North. They rode in obscurity inside Rick's BMW, which was needed for today. Running the AC was also needed, even in the month of January.

“I still need a new whip to replace the Ghost,” Swagga reminded Rick when they reached the city limits for Fort Lauderdale.

“Yes, still got your eyes on the Panamera?” Rick asked, driving through a green light.

“Nah. I think the Aston Martin Rapid look betta—matter of fact. Guess who I saw at the Fontainebleau?” Swagga sat up.

“Um . . . Rihanna?”

“Fuck no! She ain't neva' hit me back, but anyway I saw that nigga, Martellus. I told you about that.”

“Word?” Rick nodded at hearing the name. Upon taking the job as Swagga's chief bodyguard, Rick requested a list of names of people that Swagga had beef with or any type of issue. Those names were on Rick's alert list, and none would ever be within arm's reach of Swagga, nor would they get on RSVP to any function hosted by Swagga. Rick was aware of all beef that Swagga had, with whom and why.

“What is he doing down here?” Rick asked.

“Creepin' wit' Kandi, of all people.”

Rick glanced at Swagga. “Your Kandi?”

“Bitch don't belong to me, but yeah, her. I guess she steppin' out on Trevon.”

“Want me to see what he's up to?”

Swagga cracked his knuckles. “That might be a good move. I know Martellus will do some grimy ass shit, so I ain't puttin' shit pass that nigga. What I wanna know is how long he been fuckin' Kandi?”

“I'll look into it and make some calls.”

“You do that,” Swagga said, narrowing his eyes and looking straight ahead. “'Cause if our boy Fritz come through. I might add Martellus to the menu too.”

CHAPTER

Seven

Moving Forward

Back down in Coconut Grove, the dead silence frightened Jurnee for Trevon's safety. For the last ten minutes she stood anxiously at the locked bedroom door.

“Please make a sound or something,” she begged, her eyes wet from crying. “I know you're hurting over this mess Kandi has done, and I swear to you I didn't know anything about this, Trevon.” She knocked. “Please open the door and talk to me, or just talk to me through the door so I'll know you're okay. Trevon, please . . . I'm really getting scared out here, so don't make me look crazy by calling the police to come kick this door down!” She crossed her arms. “I won't leave until you open this door or say something. C'mon now, Trevon. Please open the door.” Ignoring the coming pain, she banged six times on the door as hard as she could. “I'm calling the police!” she shouted with new tears welling. Just as she pulled up the 911 icon on her touch screen phone, she heard the lock click. Jurnee froze with her heart jumping. Calming herself, she reached for the doorknob and slowly opened the door, taking things in. She stepped inside the bedroom and found Trevon sitting at the foot of the bed with his head down.

“Why do you care?” he asked, looking up at her with hurt showing on his face.

Jurnee closed the door. “I'm sorry this has happened to—”

“What did she say to you?”

Jurnee closed her eyes. She couldn't lie to him. “She told me not to try to talk her out of going back to . . . Martellus.”

“Who the fuck is he!”

Jurnee opened her eyes. “Kandi met him when she was dancing up in Atlanta, and they started an affair back then. And—”

“He's married?”

“Was,” Jurnee answered.

“So, she's been fuckin' this nigga behind my back since day one!”

Jurnee couldn't reply.

“How the fuck she just up and run off!” he shouted. “Ain't done nothing to be treated like this and yet—” He paused, turning his head away.

“I don't like this, Trevon. You gotta believe me, okay?” Jurnee sympathized.

“Where are they going?” he asked, looking up.

“I really don't know. He has a home up in New York and one in Denver.”

Trevon shamelessly wiped his eyes. “Oh, the nigga get money, huh?”

She nodded. “Plenty. He owns a record label, and last year he tried to buy an NBA team.”

“So she left me for money,” he stated, shaking his head.

“Trust me, I'm not standing up for her, but I think it's more than that.”

Trevon looked around the bedroom. Signs of LaToria were everywhere. A pair of her panties were folded up a top a stack of clean clothes. On the dresser, her perfume and cosmetics reminded him of how she would apply lip gloss in the nude. “This can't be real,” he muttered.

“Don't let this break you.” Jurnee moved across the room and placed a hand on his muscular shoulder.

“Ain't—” His words couldn't be found to express the pain over losing LaToria.

Jurnee sat down and waited a few seconds before she spoke. “Why was she going to have an abortion?”

“What!” Trevon came to his feet. “Who told you some bullshit like that?”

Jurnee shook her head. “No one. But I found this in the second bathroom.” She reached inside her jean pocket and pulled out the medical form.

“What's this?” Trevon asked, unfolding the paper.

“She was—or is—still planning to have an abortion later this month.”

Trevon's entire world was crushed. Losing LaToria was one thing, but for her to kill their child to lay under another nigga was out of order. “How the fuck can she do this to me!” He shook the form in Jurnee's face.

“I'm on your side—”

“Fuck being on my side!” he shouted. “She gonna kill my firstborn and push me out of the picture like my voice don't count! This . . . this some bullshit! How can she even look at herself in the mirror!
How
!”

Jurnee winced when he shouted.

Trevon, even in his rage, saw the sudden fear in Jurnee. She had tears in her eyes, but Trevon knew the deeper fear that made her jump. Dropping his hands, he went down on one knee. “Don't be afraid of me, okay? I . . . I shouldn't be yelling at you, and I'm sorry.”

She nodded. “Kandi is wrong.” She sobbed, reaching for his hand.

Trevon didn't know the words to speak. Doing what he felt was right, he took her into his arms. “I can't let her kill my child,” he said, meaning every word. “I can go on without her, but I want my seed.”

Jurnee could agree with him. Making a quick choice, she spoke what was dwelling in her mind. “I'll help you,” she said, tightening her embrace around his neck. In his arms she felt safe. Their closeness also made her feel awkward.

“You don't have to—”

“No.” She lifted her head off his shoulder to look into his eyes. “Let me do this. What she is doing to you. You don't deserve.”

Trevon placed his hands on the bed next to her hips. Her arms remained around his neck, their faces only inches apart. “I don't even know what I deserve.”

“You deserve better,” she said with her eyes intent. “I know LaToria is my best friend and all, but right is right and wrong is wrong. It's like . . . I don't know who she is.”

Trevon lowered his head, closing his eyes. “I don't know what to do, Jurnee.”

“We'll figure it out,” she assured him, easing her arms from his neck only to rub his arms.

“I gotta find a place to stay, and if—”

“That isn't Kandi's place, remember? It's Janelle's name on the title, and I'm sure she'll let you stay here once we explain what happened.”

Trevon stood and then crossed the room. Stopping at the dresser, he saw a broken man in the mirror. “I was a fool to even think she really loved me.” He picked up a picture that he took with LaToria last year.

“Don't think like that. She's the one with the issues, not you,” she told him.

“Where do I start?” he asked.

“You start by moving on with your life. You can't let this eat at you, Trevon. I know it hurts because I know how you feel about Kandi.”

He shrugged, placing the picture face down on the dresser.

“You still have your career—”

“I can't—”

“Yes you can!” She came to her feet. “Don't let this break you!”

He turned to face her. “Why do you even care?” he asked again.

Jurnee looked at him eyes to eyes. “Why shouldn't I care?”

“Don't answer a question by asking one.”

“You want me to be honest?”

He shook his head. “No. I
need
you to be honest.”

She crossed her arms, lowering her eyes to the floor. “I don't know why I care, but I do, okay?”

“LaToria said she cared about me too, so how—”

“I'm not her!” She looked up.

Trevon shifted his feet. “I'm sorry ‘bout that.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“I guess. It just seems like none of this shit is real.” He shook his head. “One minute I'm about to get an engagement ring and the next . . . I just need to get outta this fuckin' house before I spaz out.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, watching him pick up his keys.

He shrugged. “I don't know.”

Standing in place, she wondered how he would feel if she spoke the truth on why she cared about him. Assuming the worst, she stayed quiet as he made his exit.

Trevon was trudging down the hall when Jurnee called out his name. Coming to a stop, he turned. She eased up to him, her eyes still wet from all her crying.

“Do you want me to be here when you get back?” she asked softly.

Trevon sighed. “I don't care, Jurnee. I . . . I just don't care.”

“That's the last thing you should do is not care,” Jurnee said.

“So what do you suggest?”

Jurnee smiled. “Let me go with you. How about we get out of this house and grab a bite to eat?”

Trevon sighed and thought about Jurnee's suggestion. “Why not?” he said as he fought to hide his pain over LaToria. “Let's go before I lose my fuckin' mind.”

***

“She's not answering any of my calls,” Trevon told Jurnee as they later sat inside his XJL outside of the Sushi Samba Restaurant.

Jurnee could hear the pain in his voice. “She can't hide,” she said, rubbing his shoulder. “Like I told you in the restaurant, Martellus has a record company, so we'll just reach him—”

“And say what?” Trevon looked at Jurnee. “You think I'ma ask for LaToria back?”

“But I thought you wanted—”

“It don't matter no more. I mean, really. How can I stop her from having the abortion? Hell, I can't even leave the state without going through a ton of bullshit with my PO! If she don't want to be with me no more then fuck it. And fuck her!”

“Do you really mean that, Trevon?”

“Ain't got no choice,” he said, looking up through the sunroof.

“You always have a choice,” she pointed out.

“Do I really?”

Jurnee reached for his chin, turning it toward her. “Look at me, papi. You can waste your time running after Kandi, or move on with your life and become the superstar in this biz. Kandi made her choice, now you make yours.”

Trevon released a sigh. “I guess this will be a life lesson learned, huh?”

“Damn right! Get money over pussy. Stick with Amatory, and you'll be rich and famous, papi. If Kandi was meant for you, or you for her, then this shit wouldn't be happening.”

“But what about my seed?” he asked wistfully.

Jurnee turned in the seat. “I don't have all the answers, papi.”

They both sat in silence, trapped in their thoughts. Trevon was thinking of the disappointment his mom and sister would feel over the news about the breakup.

As for Jurnee, her thoughts jumped back to weighing the option of telling Trevon the truth about why she really cared about him.

“It's getting late,” she said, looking at her watch. “Don't you have a certain time to be in?”

“Yeah, by ten if I ain't working.”

“I wouldn't mind keeping you company. We could order a movie and just chill if you want to,” she suggested, smiling at him.

“To be honest,” he said, seeing it was ten minutes past 8 pm. “I'd rather stop at the liquor store, get something to drink, and just get fucked up because being sober is the last thing on my mind.”

Jurnee thought his suggestion over. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Minutes later, the XJL exited the parking lot with “Shot for Me” by Drake, pounding in the trunk. As Trevon drove with Jurnee sitting beautifully at his side, he willed himself to become cold-hearted toward that false item called love.