White Lines II: Sunny: A Novel (11 page)

Abe was smiling from ear to ear. “I like how you think.”

“So, how much are we talking?” Sunny asked, causing Malcolm to cringe slightly.

Abe smiled, liking Sunny’s no-nonsense demeanor. “I think we can make you a sizable offer to tell us your story—provided that you’re willing to be as candid as you are today.”

Sunny smiled, nodded. That was more than she had hoped for. “Candid is my middle name,” she said.

“We’ll meet tomorrow and talk more concrete figures, timelines and all that. But in the meantime, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself. We’ve heard from Malcolm here, but how would
you
describe you? What might we be surprised to know about you?”

She almost blurted that she longed to get high again. Instead, she thought about it for a moment before replying. “I’m not as sweet as I seem.”

*   *   *

When the meeting was over, Malcolm escorted Sunny through the building lobby and out the front door. “Can I give you a ride to your hotel?” he asked. “I rented a car for the next couple of days.”

Abe had outlined an itinerary for the next two days that included a breakfast meeting the following morning with the board of directors, followed by an afternoon of tennis at his opulent Beverly Hills home, and finally an invitation to a charity ball benefiting the Kaleidoscope Foundation for Disadvantaged Youth. Sunny was looking forward to it all.

She nodded. “Sure. I’m staying at the Four Seasons, Beverly Wilshire.” He led her to a white Range Rover and opened the door for her as she climbed inside.

Once behind the wheel, Malcolm undid his tie and tossed it into the backseat. He started the car and pulled out of the lot, glancing at Sunny as she buckled her seat belt. “So what did you think of Abe?”

She retouched her lip gloss in the visor mirror. “He’s cool. Seems down to earth.”

Malcolm nodded. “He is. I did some work with their company a few years ago and he was always a straight shooter. Nice guy.”

Silence enveloped them and Sunny stared out the window, bored.

“So you have plans for tonight?” Malcolm asked. “I could make reservations at a nice … there’s this nice, um, restaurant that my friend owns on Rodeo … if you want to join me for dinner.”

Sunny kept staring out the window, feeling sorry for Malcolm as he stumbled over himself trying to ask her out. She looked at him and smiled sympathetically. “I have plans already,” she said. “But thanks.”

He tried not to look as crushed as he was. “Okay. Wow. You move fast. Got a hot date already?”

Sunny laughed, detecting the twinge of sarcasm in his words. “I’m meeting an old friend for drinks,” she said, not sure why she was explaining herself to her new attorney.

Malcolm looked skeptical. “An old male or an old female friend?”

Sunny frowned, though she was still smiling. “Male.”

“Aha!”

“Aha, what? Just cuz he’s a man … what does that mean?”

Malcolm shrugged, his expression innocent. “You say he’s just your friend. But I bet he thinks tonight you’re going on a date.”

Sunny thought about that and had to laugh at his thinking he had her all figured out. “Well, regardless of what he thinks it is, I’m just looking forward to catching up with an old friend.” Sunny fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable with his line of questioning.

Beyoncé was on the radio singing her heart out. They rode in silence for a few moments.

Malcolm chuckled to himself. “Well, I hope you enjoy your night with your friend.”

Sunny was getting sick of his smug laughter. She decided that he probably thought he was better than her. She had grown up in Brooklyn, snorted cocaine, and been immersed in the drug trade. Meanwhile, he had grown up in Wonderland.

“And what about you?” Sunny wore her own smug expression now.

“What about me?” he asked, confused.

“Who will you be spending your night with? Probably Miss Marketing back there. Or maybe the bubbly receptionist? They seem like ‘your type,’” Sunny said, using her fingers to make air quotes. “Blond, blue-eyed…”

“You got me all wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “Just because I have a law degree doesn’t mean that I only like white women.”

“When was the last time you dated a sister?” Sunny asked, curious.

Malcolm didn’t answer right away, causing Sunny to laugh as if his silence proved her point. “That long ago, huh?”

He shook his head. “No. I just had my divorce finalized three months ago. My wife got caught up in the Matrix once we moved to L.A. and things went downhill from there. So I haven’t dated anybody in a while—white, black or otherwise.” He glanced at Sunny. “But my wife was black, for the record.” He winked at her and turned his attention back to the road. He turned up the air-conditioning. “And I don’t have a type.”

Sunny nodded, accepting his correction. “Well, I sure do,” she said.

Malcolm grinned. “Really?” he asked, intrigued. “What is your type?”

Sunny shook her head. “Rough around the edges, from the wrong side of the tracks and addicted to life in the fast lane.”

He glanced at her again. “And why are you attracted to men like that?” he asked as they pulled up in front of her hotel.

Sunny shrugged, unbuckled her seat belt and sat there thinking about it for a few moments. “I guess it’s like they say. ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’” She winked at him. “See you in the morning for our breakfast meeting with Abe.”

Malcolm watched her climb out of the Range and sashay into the hotel lobby, turning the head of every man in her wake.

6

BROKEN PROMISES

Olivia dialed Sunny’s number and got her voice mail. At the tone, she let loose.

“
Bitch
, you coulda told me you were going out to L.A. on a whim! I saw Jada today and she told me where you are. I would’ve definitely gone with you cuz I could use a few days away. Well, I’m working from home today, going over sample patterns and fabrics. You are gonna love these looks. Call me when you’re back.”

Olivia hung up and tried not to notice her man, Zion, huffing and puffing as if bothered by something she said. “What’s your problem?”

“You can go to L.A. if you want,” Zion said. “You sound like you wish it was you out there instead of being stuck here with me and Adiva.”

Olivia had to count to ten before exploding. Over the years, she had come to realize that she had a hot temper. She got it from her mama, may she rest in peace. Old Olivia would have quickly reacted, saying something slick and uncalled for. New Olivia was hurt by his attempt to lay a guilt-trip on her for something she had said casually in conversation. Zion knew that Olivia loved him and their daughter, Adiva, more than anything else on earth, so she tried to suppress her immediate reaction.

“If it was that serious and I really wanted to go, I would go. I don’t need your permission.”

Zion looked at her. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but he just shook his head instead.

“What’s on your mind?” Olivia asked him.

He kept shaking his head.

“It’s obvious you have something to say. So … I’m listening, Zion!”

“When’s the last time you cooked a meal around here, Olivia?” Zion felt like a dam had burst and all the weeks of watching her flutter about discussing stitching and hemlines spilled forth. “Seriously. When was the last time you lifted a finger in this house for me, or for our daughter? You’re so busy running around Manhattan trying to be Donatella Versace that you ain’t noticing the laundry piling up, the dishes in the sink!” Zion paused to catch his breath.

Olivia leapt right in. “You must be out your fucking mind, Zion! Either I’m going crazy, or we have a
cleaning lady
who comes in here to do laundry—”

“So, when she’s off, what? Just let the shit pile up, like fuck it?”

“—and there’s a fucking dishwasher in the kitchen!” Olivia had stopped counting to ten now. “If you see the dishes piling up, load the damn dishwasher up and call it a day.”

Olivia folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “What’s this
really
about, Zion? Huh? You jealous cuz I got my own brand now? Is that it? You mad cuz it’s about to take off and it’s mine alone?”

Zion didn’t answer her. He thought she sounded ridiculous and hoped that hearing her own words echo throughout the room would help her realize that, too.

Olivia did feel dumb for letting him upset her. She had raised her voice, and she lowered it now as she spoke. “Where is all this coming from? All of a sudden you’re mad about a simple voice message, laundry, dishes … since when is all of this a problem?”

Zion looked at her, really tried to see the woman he had fallen in love with, but she was long gone as far as he was concerned. Olivia was still as gorgeous as she was the day he’d first laid eyes on her. Her deep chocolate skin was flawless, long legs perfectly thick, waistline slim and trim, and she had a walk that still stopped traffic. But while the years had been kind to her physically, they had done a number on her relationship with the man she loved.

Olivia had lost some people who were very important in her life. Her grandfather had passed away, followed by her mother. She had also lost her cousin Curtis—who had been like a brother to her when they were growing up—at the hands of her own brother, Lamin. To add insult to injury, her family had been forced to withstand several criminal and civil court cases in relation to the incident on New Years’ Eve 2000 when Lamin had shot his cousin dead at the W Hotel. She had also been on hand the night that Sunny’s baby’s father was murdered at Sunny’s baby shower. Olivia had seen her share of bad times.

These things had taken a toll on her, leaving her forever changed. They had shown her how fragile life is, and she was determined to make the most of hers by any means necessary.

“It feels like you’re jealous of me, Zion. Like you can’t stand the thought of me being successful in my own right.”

“Olivia, this shit ain’t got nothing to do with you being successful. I’m successful, too, so why would I be jealous?”

Olivia smirked at that remark. “You’re successful
illegally
, Zion. There’s a difference between being a drug dealer and being the head of a company.”

That hurt, but Zion didn’t let it show. Lately, Olivia had been nagging him more than ever about going legit. As she prepared to launch her brand globally, she was nervous about how his lifestyle might threaten the success of her company. If, for any reason, his hustle got in the way of her chance at independence, she would be livid. She had been begging him to abandon his position as a cocaine distributor and do something legal, something safe that wouldn’t threaten her own livelihood.

“So now you call me a drug dealer—”

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

Zion didn’t answer.
This
was the real problem. He felt that Olivia had forgotten where she came from. “You were a drug dealer, too,” he reminded her. “You used to cook that shit up better than anybody. You used to drive up and down I-95 just as much as I did, with the same amount of shit in the trunk; carried the same guns, served the same customers as me.”

Olivia hadn’t forgotten. Together they had made a lot of money before Olivia and Lamin focused their attention on legitimate ways of getting paid. Lamin had parlayed his success on the street into a visual production company, while Olivia had worked as a top stylist in the entertainment industry. Zion, however, had never made any secret of his love for the streets. It was a part of him and he had no intention of changing.

She sounded slightly ashamed of her past as she answered. “You’re right. But the difference between me and you is that I’ve grown. I learned from my mistakes and grew up. You’re still out there doing the same shit you been doing since the nineties, Zion!”

“I told you years ago that this is who I am. This is what I do. Get out of the game and do what?”

“You can do all kinds of things, baby.” Olivia’s voice was pleading. “You can’t possibly believe that all you were put on this earth to do is hustle.”

“There’s nothing else I want to do,” he answered honestly. “I never had no other dreams, no other goals. Just succeed in this game, and that’s it. And I’ve done that. I’m good at it. I’m not changing who I am. But you?” Zion pointed his finger at her accusingly. “You forgot where you came from.”

“I’ll never forget where I came from,” she said.

Zion laughed. “You’re standing here calling me a drug dealer, emphasizing the fact that my money is earned illegally. But when you met me, I was the same ole Zion—selling drugs, packing heat, maneuvering from state to state. I haven’t changed—but you changed a whole lot.”

Olivia laughed now. “I changed?” She thought about it. “I guess I did. That’s what we’re supposed to do. But instead you want to keep living life in the fast lane like that shit is still cute. I’m not the same young girl that was turned on by you strapping your gun into your holster each morning and going out there with your life on the line. I don’t think that shit is sexy anymore—rolling the dice with the Feds to see if you can make one more score without getting caught. Adiva is eleven years old. How do you think she’ll feel if you go to jail?”

“I’m not going back to jail.” Zion’s tone was flat and sincere.

“Dead, then. How do you think your daughter will feel standing at your grave site, knowing that the fast life was more important to you than she was?”

“Nothing is more important to me than Adiva.”

Olivia looked skeptical. “The allure of this fucking drug game is more important to you than anything,” she hissed. “I’m working so hard for
us
, Zion. I want us to have more than just a drug empire to call our own. I want to have something to pass down to Adiva besides some street cred.” Olivia threw up her hands in frustration. “We’re not even married, after all these years!”

Zion frowned. “Why you wanna be married to a drug dealer?” he asked, facetiously.

Olivia shook her head. “I don’t know why,” she answered, honestly. She was beginning to wonder if her relationship with Zion had run its course. “But what I do know is that I’ve been with you since we were kids. 1992 was a long time ago.” She shook her head at the thought of all the years she’d been with him, and no ring, no proposal. “I must be a fool to still be waiting around for a ring after all this time.”