He pulled up to his spacious but modest home. It wasn’t far from Newark and offered a peacefulness that Newark couldn’t provide. The house was a two-story, five-bedroom brick structure with a large basement that he used for study and prayer.
Rahman entered his home and smiled at the sounds of Ayesha being Mommy.
“Ali! Where is your other shoe and why is this one on the wrong foot?”
“Aminah got it!” Ali squealed.
“Aminah!”
Rahman went into the living room and greeted his family, but Ayesha detected a problem.
“Ali, go get your shoes, boy, and put them on,” Ayesha ordered.
“Okay, Mommy,” he replied, hobbling off in search of his sister with his other shoe.
Ayesha laced her fingers around Rahman’s neck.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” Rahman responded, not realizing his face had betrayed his mental state.
Ayesha smirked knowingly. “That knot in your brow.”
“What knot? I’m smilin’,” he said, putting on a happy face.
“Every smilin’ face ain’t a happy face.”
“Being home makes me happy.”
She saw that he was being evasive, so she changed the subject.
“Are you hungry? I made hamburgers for the kids, but I could whip you up something.”
“A burger would be fine. In fact, let me serve you tonight, my queen,” he said, and scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the kitchen.
“And to what do I owe this honor?” she asked, although she wasn’t surprised. Rahman was a wonderful husband who never forgot the little things.
He sat her at the kitchen table.
“It’s the way of the Prophet, peace be upon him. He helped his wives with household chores, right?”
“True… which reminds me, the dishes need washing, too.” She giggled.
Rahman took four burgers out of the skillet and put them on buns. He sat down with Ayesha, breaking off a piece of burger and placing it gently in her mouth.
“Oh, I know what this is.” Ayesha chewed.
“What is it?”
“You must know I saw your little girlfriend today.”
Rahman chuckled because he knew who she was referring to, Miss Grownie Pants. He also knew Miss Grownie Pants had a crush on him. He guessed his wife knew it, too.
“My little girlfriend? I have no girlfriends, only a wife. But I’m sure you think you know something, so please tell me,” he answered as Ayesha placed a piece of burger in his mouth.
“ ‘
“Can’t they though? You let her know, right?” he asked jokingly, laughing at his wife’s stunned expression.
“Don’t play with me, Rah. Please! I don’t want to have to hurt you,” Ayesha warned, narrowing her almond- shaped eyes into evil slits.
“Yo, the presents weren’t given to that girl by me. They were donated. You know that. Brother Shamzadeen passed out presents to all the single Muslim mothers. Besides, I ain’t even seen that girl. But guess who I did see?” he asked, changing the subject to something relevant.
“Who?” Ayesha asked curiously.
“Angel.”
Ayesha glared at him. She knew what Angel was about, and she knew exactly what his seeing her meant.
“And?”
“And what? You know the rest ’cause you know Angel and you know me,” he said, shaking his head. “She down wit’ some kid named Roll. Roll’s the same dude who murdered Shahid, or so the streets say. I don’t know.” He sighed.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Ayesha inquired with concern because she, too, could see the storm brewing.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“You already there, honey. You already there.”
Rahman checked his watch.
“It’s time for prayer. Go on and get the babies ready.”
Ayesha let it go, trusting her husband to do the right thing and trusting in Allah to show him the way.
“Look at this muthafucka here! They can’t fuck wit’ Marbury. That’s right, give it to ’em!” Roll exclaimed as Marbury dunked the basketball and scored two points for the Knicks.
He, along with his wife, Renee, and Goldilocks sat in the luxurious skybox overlooking the arena at Madison Square Garden. It was outfitted with the amenities of wealth, courtesy of Gutter Records, a label his man owned, thanks to Roll. Roll had invested a lot of money in Gutter Records so his man gave him the skybox as a gift of appreciation.
Roll picked up a Cuban and lit it.
“I should buy a basketball team,” he said to no one.
Angel walked in and slammed the door. She went straight to the bar and poured herself a glass of Hennessey.
Roll glanced over his shoulder. “How’d it go?”
Angel eyed him over the rim of her tinted glasses. “That nigga really on that Muslim shit hard!”
Roll was amused. He thought prison had really broken Roc and mistook his change of allegiance for weakness.
“He’ll come around, though,” Angel assured him.
“I think it’s good what he’s doing. It’s about time somebody tried to do something to help the community and the poor,” Renee declared.
Roll looked at her as if she was crazy. “The fuckin’ community, the fuckin’ poor?” He snorted. “Bitch, since you so concerned, why don’t you donate some of those rocks you wearin’ on your fingers or that Benz you drivin’? Better yet, give the hood your shoppin’ money. Why don’t you do something since you think this nigga is so great?” Roll suggested.
“Look, you don’t have to get smart. I was just sayin’ that it’s a good thing the man tryin’ to do something to help the black community.”
“Renee, shut up,” Roll said, getting up. He walked over to the bar and sat next to Angel.
“So what’s the deal? He really tryin’ to clean up Newark? ’Cause if he come to my spots wit’ that bullshit, he can forget it.”
“I said he’ll come around.”
“And what if he don’t? Then what? I’ll tell you what. He’s gonna be a problem. Shit, he already is.” Roll spat, dropping his ashes into an ashtray on the countertop.
“I’ll take care of it,” Angel answered halfheartedly.
“Yeah, you gonna have to, ’cause if you don’t, I will,” Roll declared, then walked back to his seat to watch the game.
Angel couldn’t stand taking orders from Roll. He was obnoxious, fat, lazy, and arrogant for no reason. He had too many weaknesses, but it wasn’t time to reveal her hand, so she swallowed her tongue.
The blaring air horn sounded the end of the quarter. It was halftime.
“Roll, you worry too much. Look at you. You on top of the world, papi! And all the little people is scrambling for your crumbs.”
“I don’t worry. I prepare. That’s why I am who I am.”
“Well, tonight, I want to enjoy who you are,” Angel replied in a seductive tone that annoyed Renee.
Angel flipped on the stereo and popped in a reggae mix CD. The banging percussion instruments filled the skybox.
