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“Damn, man! You ain’t happy to hear from your favorite client who you’ve been ignoring for damn near a year?” Messiah, myonlyclient and a certified R&B star said.
I had to smile. “Six months.”
“Same thing.”
“I had surgery.”
“I know.”
“And I got you a replacement manager.”
“And I need you to replace his old ass with you. Your mama said you’re all healed up, brother. I need you back on the job.”
“You talked to my mama?”
“Yeah, we talk all the time. So, what’s up? I got a lot to catch you up on.”
“I…I ain’t ready, man. I’m...my mental is all fucked up right now.”
“That ain’t gon’ get no better by laying around and drinking and shit. Is your pretty ass at least getting you some good ole country pussy?”
I snorted into the phone. “No. Ain’t got the face for it no more.”
“I doubt that shit. Look, you can ease back into this. Old Rev scheduled a call with the folks at the Las Vegas Sable Resort.”
“A residency?”
“Yeah. Hop on the call with us. You ain’t gotta say nothing. Just listen and tell me what you think about what they’re offering.”
“I can tell you right now a residency ain’t a good fit for you. The fuck is Rev thinking?”
“Exactly! Dude is knowledgeable, but he’s an old head.”
Rubbing my forehead, I offered, “I’ll think about it and get back to you. No promises.”
“I’ll take it!”
“Get your ass up!”
I jumped, sitting straight up in the bed with my heart jumping hurdles in my chest. Although “ass” had been a part of the statement, it wasn’t my uncle who woke me up this time. This was a louder, more boisterous voice. A younger voice with just a tad less bass in it than Rabbit’s.
Shaking my head with my arm flung over my face, I grinned. “What the fuck are you doing here, man?”
“I’m here on business, brother. We got a conference call, remember?” the voice returned.
Moving my arm to get a clear view of him, I shook my head again. “You really flew to Mississippi for this?”
“Yep, now get your ass up. Your mom is cooking breakfast,” Joel “Messiah” Bell said.
That was when I knew my mom had set this ambush up. “Man, move so I can get up.”
CHAPTER4
BROOKLYN
Sitting across from her at the glass-topped dining room table, I had to smile. My Aunt Britta was hands down the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and that wasn’t just because I greatly resembled her, from the high cheekbones to the deep chocolate skin tone. We were both tall, but I was less statuesque than her. She was such a stunner.
Her thick, fire engine red-painted lips were spread in a smile as she watched my Bailey’s latest performance, which was actually one of Britta’s many assignments for her. I slid my eyes from my aunt to my daughter as she danced and sang along to Madonna’sLike a Virgin, looking like a miniature eighties’ teen in a white, ruffled skirt, tiny black combat boots, and an off-the-shoulder white sweatshirt emblazoned with the word “Flashdance” in hot pink cursive lettering—a vintage gift from Britta.
