Page 132 of Tito

Reggie

Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any better, it did. For the past few months I’d spent most of my days in a dream-like state, incapable of believing I was deserving of Tito and the love we shared.

Standing on the rooftop of a beachside mansion once owned by the infamous Uptown Abby, I looked around me. Perfectly pruned flowers were everywhere. Apparently, growing them was one of Goose’s many talents.

Two of Tito’s childhood friends were talking with my father. Cash, the tallest of the group, was telling a story.

Baker, once the leader of the now defunct MC, was trying to sync his phone to the sound system. It was the only time of the entire evening that there wasn’t music playing.

I glanced at Goose, who, along with his wife Ally, now owned the home. He was talking to Tito while putting the finishing touches on the meat he was cooking. From what I’d heard, Goose’s cooking was world class. If his cooking was anything like his ability to grow beautiful flowers, I was going to be in for a treat.

Wearing his normal attire of a well-fitted suit, Braxton stood to the side of the rooftop kitchen, talking to Detective Watson. Beyond them, Mel and Raymond were drinking wine and laughing.

“Quite a party,” Hap said, draping his arm over my shoulder. “Gotta love a gathering where they have an Uber pick you up and take you home. Never been delivered to a party before. Especially one like this.”

I chuckled. “I’m surprised you agreed to that.”

He took a drink of his Michelob Ultra. “Didn’t have a choice.”

Cash tossed his hands in the air and screamed boom! Then, he limped away from the group with one hand covering his crotch and the other covering his right ear. Every few steps he glanced over his shoulder. My father and Reno laughed hysterically.

My life had turned into a fairy tale.

“Dance Mix!” Baker shouted.

I shifted my gaze to the “dancefloor”. It was identified by a string of lights that were draped overhead, around the perimeter of an expertly crafted wooden deck. Baker tapped his finger against his phone’s screen and looked up. The unmistakable introduction to V.I.C.’s Baby Wobble began to play.

Ally sprinted to where we stood and grabbed my hand. “Sorry, Hap,” she said. “But we’ve got to dance to this one.”

She took off for the dance floor, nearly yanking me off my feet in the process.

All the women—Ally, me, Cash’s wife, Kimberly, Baker’s wife, Andy, Reno’s wife, Carma, Detective Watson’s wife, Taryn, Mel, and of course, Raymond converged on the dance floor. We danced as if we were puppets being controlled by one master, each taking the same precise steps to the well-known line dance.

With his beer in one hand, Hap sauntered onto the dance floor and into the group. As we danced, he stood amongst us, studying my feet.

After a few steps, he gave me a puzzled look.

“Jump forward,” I said, jumping forward. “Shake your hips. Hips. Hips.”

I jumped back. “Jump back.” I gyrated my hips. “Then, hips. Hips. Hips.”

“Twist to the right,” I said. “Hips. Hips. Hips. Twist to the left. Hips. Hips. Hips.”

In no time, Hap joined the fun. His rhythm was off at first. Convinced his beer bottle was throwing off his ability to dance, he tossed it into the air.

“Heads up, asshole!” he screamed.

Braxton, in the midst of talking to Watson, leaped forward and caught it. He shook his head.

“You old prick,” he shouted.

Hap was right. After getting rid of the beer bottle, he was right there with us, dancing like he was forty years younger.

Halfway through the song, everyone was dancing except for my father and Detective Watson. With their arms crossed, they stood on the edge of the dancefloor watching us make fools of ourselves.

“Leave it to the only cops at the party to stand out like a couple of turds in a punchbowl,” Cash shouted.

Watson glanced at my father at the same time my father glanced at him. Then, they stepped onto the dancefloor and joined the fun.