“I didn’t check for a pulse, I just got outta there.”
“It’s okay, Jenna. Whether he’s dead or not, in either case, it will be all right. If he’s dead, tomorrow morning housekeeping will find him and that will be that. You didn’t take any pictures with him, did you?”
“No, not that I know of; but I left there so fast, I left my clutch bag in the room.”
“That’s not good,” I said and immediately found his cell number and tried to reach him. We needed to get that clutch because, other than the obvious reason, the clutch cost me $1,920.00. “He’s not answering.”
Jenna dropped her head. “Oh.”
“What?”
She reached in her cleavage and pulled out the room key. “After the people went in the room, he was just standing there, so I took the key from him and opened the door.”
I laughed. “And that’s where you put it?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah.”
“I guess we’re going to the Waldorf,” I said. And after a quick change of clothes: Dolce amp; Gabbana stretch wool suit with a notched collar, peak lapels, three flap pockets, and one slash pocket; Dolce amp; Gabbana suede covered pumps with a 5-inch heel, and a hidden 1-inch platform, we were on our way.
On the way there, I thought about drugs and Tangela House came to mind. After I saw Congressman Cantifield at Martin Marshall’s party, his assistant called me and I made arrangements to meet the congressman for lunch. Over lobster thermador and cocktails, I assured the congressman that I would be able to service all of his needs, and provide him with those services with the utmost discretion. The congressman agreed and we shook hands on our exclusive arrangement.
Then he started going on and on about how beautiful and charming Tangela was at Marshall’s party, and how he simply had to have her. “If she’s as good as she appears, my exclusive arrangement may just be for her, all the time.” Then he laughed. “Well almost all the time.”
Knowing that she had issues, I tried to convince him that she wasn’t quite the one, but he insisted. So against my better judgment and after a very long lecture: a warning not to blow it, I sent Tangela out on an appointment with my most important client. Thank goodness everything worked out fine that evening. But she was late for her next appointment and missed the one after that altogether.
When she finally resurfaced the next day, I met her for dinner at Bellavitae: an Italian restaurant on Minetta Lane, between 6th Avenue and MacDougal Street. Over dinner, which, by the way, she merely picked at, Tangela explained why she had missed her appointment the night before.
“I can’t use you, Tangela, if I can’t depend on you,” I told her when she finished her fantastic story.
“I’m sorry, Jada. It won’t happen again,” Tangela promised and I signaled for the waiter.
“Check, please.” Once I paid the check I stood up. “I know it won’t happen again,” I said and walked out of Bellavitae. I heard that she hooked back up with Creme, and she got her a job dancing at whatever club she was working at.
It was after one in the morning when our cab arrived at the Waldorf. We took the elevator up the Patrick’s suite and approached the room. I took the key from Jenna and opened the door. She rushed in the room and grabbed the clutch, which was still on the coffee table. Jenna was on her way back to the door, but I had to have a look in the bathroom before I left. I opened the door slowly and peeked in. “Oh, excuse me,” I said and quickly closed the door. “Let’s go, Jenna.”
“Is he still there?”
“Oh, he’s in there. But he is far from dead,” I said as I walked toward the door, feeling a little a bit embarrassed about walking in on Patrick and his friend.
As I paid the driver and got out of the cab in front of my building, I took a minute to think about the fact that Mr. Black hadn’t returned my call. And even if he had, I would once again have to place him on the back burner to take care of business. As Jenna and I walked toward the elevator, I wondered if Mr. Black had even gotten my message. Was he in the arms of another woman?
Jealousy?
Get a grip on yourself, Jada.
Chapter Fifteen
Nina Thomas
Leon went back to Jacksonville and I lied and told him that I was right behind him. I had packed up all of the stuff that I was going to take with me, and was going to have it shipped to Leon’s house. At first, my excuse was that I still had five keys that I needed to sell before I left. It wasn’t like I needed the money; I had over a quarter of a million dollars saved; I was just being a greedy bitch. Leon ended that when he said that he would buy them back for what I paid. Then my excuse became that I had to spend some time with my girls before I left.
Since it was going to be my last night in the city, I met Teena and Shay at Jimmy’s. We planned to get sloppy drunk that night. They were both surprised when I told them that I was done with the game and was moving to Jacksonville. After she got over the shock, Shay seemed to be happy for me, but not Teena. She wasn’t tryin’ to hear it. “What you mean you done, bitch? You can’t quit,” she said.
“Why not? We need to get out before the game turns on us,” I said.
“Nina’s right, Teena. We had some fun, made some money, and y’all killed somebody,” she added softly. “Now it’s time to let that shit go.”
“Okay, just tell me why you think you need to get out?” Teena asked.
“It’s gettin’ hot. And on top of that, we moved the majority of our product through Kenyatta.”
“We can find somebody else to run a spot for us,” Teena said.
“And where are we gonna get product from? I asked.
“Leon ain’t the only mutha fucka that got product. Just because that nigga wanna run scared, that don’t mean we need to quit.”
“He ain’t running scared, Teena. He’s just looking out for me, that’s all,” I said and Teena rolled her eyes. “He just made me see that I don’t have to live the way I’m living.”
“How you livin’ that’s so bad? ’Cause from where I’m sittin’, you livin’ pretty large.”
“You think so?” I asked and thought about all the things I told myself. “Well let’s talk about how I’m livin’ large like you say. I’m drivin’ an old Honda Civic and I lived in a small, one-bedroom apartment in a rundown building.”
“What you talkin’ ’bout, Nina? Your crib is laid.”
“True, but I don’t let nobody in there but y’all, ’cause I don’t have any other friends.”
“What other friends you need but us?” Teena asked.
“She’s got you there, Nina. Friends are overrated,” Shay added and we drank to that.
“I cut out all that shopping for clothes I used to do, mainly because I didn’t wear half of them anyway, because I don’t go anywhere. The only time I leave the apartment is to go to Jacksonville to get product, or when somebody calls talking about real money. I don’t have a man.”
“They are definitely overrated,” Shay said and laughed. “Believe me, I got one.”
“But you got one, Shay.” I looked at Teena. “And so do you.”
“Yeah, but that nigga ain’t good for nothin’ but some dick,” Teena said.
“My point is still the same. This is not the way I planned to live my life.”
“So, what are we supposed to do?”
“Just because I’m done, don’t mean y’all gotta get out. I’m just doing what’s right for me. Like you said, you can get product from somebody else and find somebody to run a spot for you,” I said.
“No, Nina,” Shay said. “If you’re done, I am too. Besides, Gary’s been on me to give it up. He said we can move to a better house and live comfortable on what he makes at the dealership.”
“So, not only are you out, you gonna escape to the burbs?”
“I gotta think about my kids, Teena. Gary wants them to go to better schools,” Shay said.
“What about me?” Teena asked.
“What about you?” Shay asked.
