Snapped (18 page)

Octavia wasn’t allowed to date yet. At thirteen, she was supposedly too immature to handle a steady boyfriend and all the emotions that relationships entailed. Yet Dominique had snuck around and dated when she was a teenager. Octavia’s grandfather had regaled her with the stories of her mother’s teenage rebellion and it had surprised her. She had always
believed that Dominique was a Goody Two-shoes teenager who got suckered into giving it up too soon. But Bill’s version of the story was slightly different. He had described his daughter’s carefree spirit—smoking weed in the staircase with other neighborhood kids, missing her curfew, and cutting class—and it had made Octavia question her own obedience. What could possibly be wrong with breaking a rule every now and then?

She rushed nervously down the Upper East Side block, feeling butterflies in her stomach at the thought of seeing Dashawn again. When she spotted him standing on the corner, leaning against a wall with his backpack slung over one shoulder, she smiled instantly. He looked good, just as she had expected him to. He walked toward her with a smile on his face and a single rose in his hand.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, handing her the bright red bloom. “This is for you.”

Octavia was beaming. “Thank you! Oh my God. This is so sweet.” She was nervous, but tried her best to act as if this weren’t unusual for her—hanging out with a boy she liked. Truthfully, she was new to this. She wasn’t allowed to date, despite the fact that all of her friends had boyfriends. Octavia felt that her mother was too strict and was out of touch with reality. It was almost as if Dominique was doing her absolute best to ensure that her daughter had the least amount of fun possible. Octavia had to use her girlfriends’ tales about the guys they dated as a blueprint for how she should act around Dashawn today. “So,” she said softly. “Where are we going?”

Dashawn smiled. “You hungry?”

Octavia nodded. “Starving. I went to my counselor’s office during my lunch break so that I could figure out which specialized high schools to apply to. So I haven’t eaten yet.”

Dashawn raised his eyebrows. Not only had he managed to get the attention of some prissy prep school broad, but she was articulate, and focused enough to skip lunch in order to further herself. He was impressed, since lunch was his favorite part of the program at his school. “Cool. Let’s go get some pizza. Then we can chill at my house until it’s time for you to go home.”

Octavia hesitated. She wasn’t sure that going back to his house was a smart idea. Her grandfather Bill had warned her on numerous occasions that boys only wanted one thing from girls when they were her age. Since she was still a virgin and unwilling to change that, going to Dashawn’s place wasn’t sounding like a good idea. “Well,” she said, then bit her lower lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“I’m just not sure that I should do that. We’ve talked on the phone and stuff, but I don’t know you well enough to go home with you.” Octavia was almost embarrassed to admit that she was too scared of what might happen if she followed him back to his apartment in the Harlem River Houses projects.

“Let me find out you’re scared of the hood.” He laughed. He was only half joking, though. He wondered if Octavia thought she was too good to hang out at his place.

“No!” she assured him. “I’m not scared at all. My grandfather lives in the projects, and I’m there all the time. Don’t let this uniform fool you.” Dashawn laughed. “I just don’t want to rush anything.”

“Okay. We don’t have to go there. But just so you know, I wouldn’t rush you to do anything that you didn’t want to do. I just want to go somewhere with you so we can talk without a whole bunch of people in our faces, being nosy. You said
that you have to be home by six thirty, so that doesn’t give us too much time to chill. And it’s too cold out to sit in the park. But whatever you want to do is cool with me.”

Octavia thought about it. Dashawn was standing there looking so good and being such a gentleman. She sniffed the rose in her hand and saw him smile at her. And she melted. “I guess we can go to your house. Just don’t try to take advantage of me.”

Dashawn laughed. “I won’t. I promise.” He reached for her hand and she gladly gave it. As they walked to the pizzeria, Octavia prayed that she could really trust him. There was only one way to find out.

Gillian impatiently tapped
her L.A.M.B. heels on the floor, waiting for Frankie to arrive. She was sitting at a table in B. Smith’s, a popular restaurant in Manhattan. She had been waiting for half an hour for Frankie to show up, and as she glanced at her iced-out Cartier watch, she sighed in exasperation.

As if on cue, Frankie glided through the door and scanned the room for his friend. When he spotted her, he couldn’t help noticing the pissed-off expression on her face. He knew that Gillian hated to be kept waiting.

“Before you start beefing, let me explain,” Frankie started as soon as he reached the table. He slid into his seat and sat back, looking Gillian in her catlike eyes. “I fell asleep on the couch this afternoon ’cuz I was still hungover from last night.” Frankie and Gillian had gone out the night before to a show at Webster Hall featuring a bunch of eighties hip-hop artists. Along with a few other members of the Nobles crew, they had downed bottle after bottle of liquor
and champagne, and he had suffered a massive hangover as a result.

“When Camille saw me sleeping she left me alone and I didn’t wake up till my brother shook me at like five o’clock.” Frankie summoned the waitress over and she held up one finger, signaling that she’d be with him in just a second. “Anyway, by the time I got dressed and left my house, I ran right into rush-hour traffic. I got here as fast as I could.”

Gillian tried to stay pissed, but it was useless. She could never stay mad at Frankie. “All I’m saying is you could call when you’re gonna be late,” she said. “I hate sitting at a table for two by myself. It’s embarrassing.”

Frankie nodded. “You’re right. Won’t happen again.” He smiled. “But if I saw a woman like you sitting alone at a table for two, I would take that as my cue to go holla at her. None of these men in here had the guts to approach you, huh?”

Gillian smiled reluctantly. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

The waitress finally stopped by their table and took their orders. When she walked away, Frankie smiled at Gillian. “You look nice today,” he said.

She shrugged. “I look nice every day.” She sipped her margarita and Frankie laughed.

“Conceited, aren’t we?”

“No, just honest. Won’t catch me letting myself go, no matter how old I get!” Gillian was telling the truth. She worked out five days a week, ate healthy, and pampered herself with facials, waxing, manicures, pedicures, and all the things that came along with ensuring that she looked picture perfect at all times.

Frankie admired that about Gillian, and couldn’t help pondering the fact that Camille had put on a few pounds
over the past few months. It seemed that she was always eating, especially late at night. And with Shane over at their house more and more often, Camille was going to the gym less frequently. She was starting to let herself go.

“That’s why I hang around with you,” Frankie said. “You make me look good.”

Gillian chuckled, knowing that wasn’t the only reason Frankie hung around with her. The two had been friends for many years and were as close as two friends could be. They told each other everything and spoke to each other every day. So she knew that he was getting bored with Camille. Gillian, for one, had been bored with Frankie and Camille’s relationship since the day it began. She had wondered how long it would take for Frankie to see that Camille was no longer the driven top-model wannabe that he fell in love with. She was, in Gillian’s eyes, just a pretty girl who had gotten lucky and snagged a man with drive and ambition. And Gillian was counting the days until Frankie kicked Camille to the curb.

Gillian and her stockbroker boyfriend had a tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship that was never without its share of drama. With her schedule more open, she and Frankie had been spending lots of time together. Once content to go to a Knicks game together or to play a few holes of golf on a Sunday afternoon, these days the two of them were spending more time enjoying intimate dinners, like the one they were having tonight.

Gillian had accepted the fact that Frankie was off-limits as anything more than her friend. As much as she liked him, she wouldn’t date a married man because she’d been raised to know that she deserved more than just to be some man’s mistress.

Frankie, on the other hand, was beginning to realize he was happier spending time with Gillian than he was with his own wife. In his heart, he knew that he was falling for Gillian and he was falling fast. He was also beginning to notice that his relationship with Gillian was becoming unbearable to Camille. He recalled coming home late one night and finding pictures and photo albums strewn across the living room floor. Thinking nothing of it at first, he had assumed that Camille had been feeling nostalgic. But one photo in particular was on the far side of the room, almost as if it was tossed there angrily. When he picked it up, he was surprised to see an old shot of him, Gillian, and Baron at an amusement park. He could tell that Camille was getting sick of his affiliation with the Nobles family.

Camille was a lady in every sense of the word. She got dressed up all the time, her makeup was always flawless, her hair was never out of place, and she didn’t do anything that might cause her to break a nail. Frankie liked that about her, especially in the beginning. She turned heads when they went out together, and she was always impeccably coifed. She made him proud to be her man. But after so many years together, he wanted more than just arm candy. He wanted a companion he could relate to on his level once in a while. Camille seemed reluctant to do so. If Frankie suggested that she go fishing with him, she would turn up her nose in disgust. If he suggested that they go to a football game, he spent so much time explaining the game to her that he couldn’t enjoy himself. Gillian, on the other hand, balanced her stunning sex appeal and superstar looks with a love for the rougher side of life. To Frankie, Gillian was like one of the guys. She was a Cowboys fan, had season tickets during NBA season at the Garden, and played pool better than
most of the men he knew. These things—along with his love for her father and respect for her brother—gave Frankie tremendous admiration for Gillian. Plus, she understood his business. She was a part of that life herself, so she had a deeper understanding of who Frankie truly was. She was indeed his best friend. But lately, he had begun to realize that she was becoming more than that.

Their food arrived, and they discussed business while they ate. Her cell phone rang during dinner, and Gillian glanced at it. Apologetically, she explained to Frankie that she had to answer it, and he waved his hand as if it was no problem.

“Hey, baby,” Gillian purred. “What’s up?”

Frankie immediately stopped chewing his steak and looked at her. Was she talking to that Wall Street lame?

“Well, I’m in the middle of dinner, so I’ll call you back and let you know. Okay. Bye.” Gillian hung up the phone and flung it back into her bag. She noticed Frankie staring at her and frowned. “What?”

“Who was that?” he asked.

“Why?”

“
Why?
” he asked, as if she had no right to ask that.

Gillian grinned. “Yeah. Why? What are you, jealous?”

Frankie finally finished chewing his food and took a sip of his cognac. “Nah, jealous of what?” He took another bite and thought about it. Swallowing, he said, “I just don’t know why you keep getting back with that corny muthafucka.”

Gillian laughed. “Corny?”

“Yeah. Saddam, or whatever his name is.”

She could hardly control her laughter now. “Sadiq! Not Saddam. And he is not corny.”

Frankie sat back and wiped his mouth with his napkin.
“He corny as hell. What, does he work on Wall Street or some shit like that? Corny.”

She laughed. “Don’t be like that. He’s a good man.”

“So why are you always mad at him, then?”

Gillian looked at Frankie. She sipped her drink. “I hate his wandering eye.”

Frankie chuckled a little, and then shook his head. “He’s an idiot for cheating on you.”

Gillian shook her head. “Not everybody can be as perfect as you, Frankie B.”

Frankie smiled. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” he quoted her.

Gillian smiled back and ordered another drink as the waitress came to clear their plates. Frankie ordered one, too, and he looked at Gillian across the table. Damn, she looked good tonight! She wore a tight linen Michael Kors dress that was sexy as hell, and her long hair was pulled back from her face in a neat chignon. He wanted to take her somewhere, rip her out of her conservative outfit, let her hair fall down around her shoulders, and fuck her till she screamed his name.

“What you thinking about?” she asked.

He was busted. Trying to come up with something to say, he stammered for a few seconds. “I don’t know.”

“Tell the truth,” she asserted, realizing that he was trying to come up with some bullshit to say rather than what he was really thinking.

Their drinks came, and he contemplated telling her what had been on his mind. But by the time the waitress was gone, he had thought better of it. “I was just thinking that this dude better be worth your time. Don’t make me act like your big brother and fuck him up.”

She smiled. “I already have a big brother. Baron is enough. I don’t need any more brothers.”

“What do you need, then?” Frankie asked, the cognac speaking for him now.

She looked at him, wondering if he was ready for the truth. She went for it. “I need you to hurry up and divorce that wife of yours so I can get with a real man and stop wasting time with these lames.” She smiled, and he wondered if she meant it.

Frankie was quiet for several moments. “What would your brother say if he heard you talking like that?” he asked, not really giving a fuck what Baron thought. At this point, he was just happy that she was talking this way. There had been such an unspoken chemistry between them for so long that he was relieved to be finally airing it out.