Put A Ring On It Page 4

  Harlow doubted if Talib or any of his guests had gotten any sleep at all. The people aboard The Water Nymph were still in party mode. Talib was obviously tipsy, making the second or third toast to his business venture with Drake. Everyone at the massive table indulged him, cheering and raising their flutes as if for the first time.

  Throughout breakfast, the spoiled rich boy had been monopolizing the conversation, making one toast after another…toasting to everything under the sun. Harlow didn’t think she could stand to hear his slurred, heavily accented voice much longer.

  Flanked by two blondes, Talib behaved lewdly, groping the breasts of one woman, while intermittently tongue-kissing the other. Neither blonde seemed to mind sharing Talib. Money talks, Harlow surmised disgusted. What she felt for Drake was not based on his bank account. If he lost every penny, she’d still love and adore him. Being in the presence of these fake-ass people seemed to cheapen what she and Drake shared.

  She nudged Drake with her elbow, signaling him to excuse them from this disgustingly decadent breakfast.

  “A few more minutes,” Drake whispered.

  “I’m ready to go,” she whispered back.

  “Soon,” Drake placated.

  The ship would be coming ashore in an hour or so. She preferred to spend that time on their private balcony. The blue skies and ocean backdrop formed a perfect spot for Drake to ask for her hand in marriage.

  “I have to tell you a funny joke,” Talib stated. All sidebar conversations ceased as the guests waited for the young billionaire to tell his joke.

  Oh, God! Harlow couldn’t take much more of the spoiled rich boy.

  Talib’s joke went on endlessly, with no predictable punchline. Waiters emerged and began refreshing the champagne flutes.

  I’ve had it! Drake can sit here if he wants to, but I’m not allowing this jerk to hold me captive at this table any longer. Harlow stood. “I have to excuse myself, Talib. I’m feeling queasy. Seasick,” she explained.

  “But today is a day of great celebration,” Talib said, sounding sad as though Harlow’s feigned illness was ruining his breakfast bash. “Don’t leave. I have a physician onboard. He can give you medication for sea sickness.”

  “No, I don’t need medication. I just need to lie down for a while.”

  As waiters busied themselves refilling the champagne flutes, Harlow noticed something glittery at the bottom of her flute.

  A ring! A sound of surprised delight escaped her lips.

  “Feeling better?” Drake whispered with amusement in his tone.

  “Much better.” She sat down and picked up the flute. Mesmerized, she stared at the diamond ring that was resting at the bottom of her glass.

  “Is that a diamond in your glass?” the blonde on Talib’s right squealed.

  “Did he propose to you?” the blonde on the host’s left inquired.

  Harlow gazed curiously at Drake.

  “Will you marry me, Harlow?” Drake’s voice was deep and serious.

  She answered with a wide smile and several enthusiastic head nods.

  “You’re supposed to get down on bended knee,” suggested another female member of Talib’s entourage.

  “I’m good,” Drake said, laughing.

  Too impatient to drink the champagne, Harlow began pouring out the bubbly into an empty glass. She retrieved the huge diamond ring, and held it in her palm. As she gazed at it, tears formed in her eyes.

  Drake took the dripping ring from her hand and began wiping it with a cloth napkin.

  “I love you, Harlow,” he told her, as he took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger.

  Harlow gave a blissful sigh. Drake’s marriage proposal made up for everything. Erased her painful past, promising the happy ending that little girls dream of.

  “Thank you, Drake,” she murmured.

  The blondes rose from their positions next to Talib and rushed over to Harlow, fawning over her large diamond.

  “That’s a hell of a rock,” said one blonde.

  “Looks like four or five carats,” said the other.

  “Six carats,” Drake informed.

  Smiling, Harlow tilted her hand, admiring the way her diamond sparkled as it captured sunlight.

  Abandoned by his dates, Talib looked confused and out of his element. He was accustomed to being the center of attention, not applauding the happiness of others. Talib frowned in disapproval, his dark eyes roving from Harlow’s bejeweled finger to Drake. “What are you doing, my man? I thought you were a player.”

  “Nah, man. I’m out of the game. I’m about to be happily married.”

  “Marriage is for suckers,” Talib said harshly, intentionally disrupting the harmony at the table.

  Reacting to Talib’s anger, the blondes hurried back to their places at his side.

  “A real man cannot be satisfied with only one woman.” Talib grabbed the hand of the blonde to his left and placed it on his crotch. “A virile man such as I, captures women with his manhood, not a promise of matrimony.”

  Drake bristled at Talib’s derogatory remarks.

  The air was so tense, Harlow felt concerned for her and Drake’s safety. “Can we go back to our cabin, celebrate in private?” she stammered.

  The muscles at Drake’s temples throbbed furiously. He made a steeple with his fingers as he glared at Talib. “Tell me, Talib, do you make it a practice of doing business with suckers?”

  “Honey, he’s drunk. That’s the liquor talking,” Harlow said, trying to dissuade Drake from getting into an altercation with their youthful host.

  “Drunk mind, sober tongue.” Drake stood up. He jabbed a finger in the host’s direction. “You got a problem with me, man?”

  “My problem is with bitchassness. I don’t like it.” In his accent, Talib pronounced the slur as beech-ahs-ness.

  “Who you calling a bitch ass?” Drake demanded. Frowning, he tugged on the front of his suit jacket. His legs separated as he assumed a confrontational stance.

  Talib’s goons rushed forward. They surrounded Talib in a protective cluster, their weapons visibly jutting from their waist-bands.

  Drake’s right-hand man, Alphonso, had been posted near the door. He now stepped forward, jaws tensed, quietly seething. His penetrating dark eyes were focused on Drake. Alphonso pulled his jacket to the side, revealing the shiny chrome butt of his gun.

  Wearing a taunting grin, Talib stretched his arms out and embraced his two blonde playmates. “This is the life you’re giving up. You can have all this…like me.”

  “I don’t like the plastic blow-up doll type. I like a real woman like the one right here beside me.” Drake glanced down at Harlow.

  “Let’s go back to the cabin, Drake,” Harlow pleaded.

  “Nah!” Drake brushed her off and returned his attention to Talib. “Man, you got to be crazy if you think I’m gonna sit back and let you disrespect my fiancée and me. Fuck this Water Nymph bullshit. I’m not impressed by this yacht. In fact, you can take this ship, all your little Barbie dolls, and the multi-million-dollar deal we just signed…you can take all of that shit and stick it all up your misogynistic, socially undeveloped, ignorant, Neanderthal ass.”

  The insult to the host drew a collective gasp from the female guests and glares from the thugs who called themselves a security team. The staff of waiters stood frozen in place.

  The head of the security was a fierce-looking, bald African. Reaching for his waistband, he glanced at Talib. “Say the word, boss, and that foolish American will be filled with lead. The sharks will have a good time feasting on his remains.”

  “Yo, y’all muthafuckas ain’t the only ones strapped. I dare any of you jungle bunnies to even think about pointing a weapon at Drake,” Alphonso asserted as he wrapped his hand around the chrome handle. “Go for it if you want to, but I guarantee you that I’m taking Mr. Chitundu out. That rich boy’s not gon’ look so appealing to the ladies with a third eye in the middle of his head.”

  Looking p
etrified, Talib swallowed hard, his eyes locked on the door as though plotting to make a run for it.

  Harlow was wild-eyed and frantic. All of these men…Alphonso, Drake, and the Africans…they’re all acting like blood-thirsty barbarians and somebody is going to get hurt. She appealed to Drake, grabbing his wrist. “Baby, this is ridiculous. Tell Alphonso to chill.”

  Drake shook off Harlow’s grasping hand. “Yo, Talib. I know you’re accustomed to talking to your flunkies any way you want to. You’ve led a pampered life. But it took intelligence, street smarts, business sense, and a lot of hard work for me to reach my level of success. You’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m gonna sit back and allow you to talk trash and attack my manhood. Your people want bloodshed? Well, let me assure you, it’s going to be your blood that’s going to flow, man.” Drake spoke through clenched teeth. “Your blood’s going to rush like a fuckin’ river if you don’t apologize to me and my future wife.”

  Harlow gasped. Had Drake lost his mind? Couldn’t he see that those bloodthirsty African henchmen were eager for an opportunity to open fire?

  In an abrupt change of heart, Talib waved his hand like he was waving a white flag. “Let’s dispense with talk of guns and behave like civilized men. I apologize to you and Harlow. I didn’t intend to give the impression that I was stirring up violence. I thought we were having an intelligent debate. You know, a discussion about our cultural differences.” Suddenly sober, Talib’s words came out in a steady and coherent stream.

  Talib made a gesture with his hand. His bodyguards stepped away from him, reluctantly leaving him open and vulnerable.

  “No more talk of bloodshed,” Talib said. “Drake, my man. We’re doing big business together. You can’t back out on our deal.”

  “I can and I just did. I don’t do business with disrespectful, young punks,” Drake stated.

  “But my people are expecting a shipment of fleets carrying luxury vehicles. My father allowed me to negotiate this deal. He’ll be very disappointed if I don’t deliver.” Talib wiped sweat from his brow.

  “Find another supplier,” Drake said.

  “But we have a legally binding agreement.”

  “Sue me!” Drake challenged.

  The ship’s horn sounded. Through the window, Harlow could see the dock. The ship was coming to port. Please, God, let us get off this ship alive and unharmed.

  “Have a good day, gentlemen.” Drake reached for Harlow’s hand. “Come on, baby. We’re out of here.”

  “Wait! We can renegotiate your terms,” Talib shouted desperately. “I’ll give you a much higher profit margin. Twenty percent! How does that sound?”

  Drake paused. “Forty percent sounds better.”

  “Deal!” Talib shouted happily. “My lawyer will amend the contract.”

  “Yeah, whatever, man,” Drake mumbled as he guided Harlow away from the table.

  “A toast to the happy couple,” the fickle host cheered. “May their union produce many sons!”

  The clapping and cheering and tinkling of champagne flutes became distant sounds as Harlow, Drake, and Alphonso exited the ship’s dining room.

  CHAPTER 8

  The house phone rang out a melody that was loud and annoying. Vangie squinted at the bedside clock. Who the hell is calling me at six-damn-thirty on a Saturday morning? Frowning, she peered at the caller ID. Private. Hmph! She pulled the covers over her head, deciding to ignore the private caller.

  But the ringing persisted.

  “Hello!”

  “Hey. I’m downstairs. Buzz me up,” Shawn said, sounding cheerful.

  Wide awake now, Vangie was fuming. “I’m not buzzing shit! You have a lot of nerve, Shawn. We haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

  “Why do I have to get cussed out every time I try to spend some time with my boy?”

  “Because I’m sick of your shit, Shawn. You can’t pop up whenever you get good and ready. What did you get Yuri for Christmas? Let me guess…another stupid videogame? I hope you know that your son is addicted to videogames. Wanna know why? Because he doesn’t have anything else to do. His father is too busy chasing women to spend any quality time with him.”

  “Vangie…” Shawn spoke her name in a soft, patient tone.

  “What?”

  “It’s freezing out here. Can we discuss this inside the crib?”

  “No! I’m in bed, and Yuri is still asleep. Call later and set up an appointment.”

  “I won’t stay long,” he said humbly. “I wanna drop something off, and I’ll be out. Gotta get to work by seven-thirty.”

  Work? Shawn was an unlicensed barber with no legitimate income. According to Shawn, he couldn’t afford to pay regular child support because the chump change he made cutting hair in his mother’s basement barely covered his own living expenses.

  With a regular job, Shawn could finally start giving her regular child support payments. Envisioning an improvement in her cash flow, Vangie threw on a robe. She made a beeline to the living room, and hit the buzzer.

  Shawn strolled inside her apartment, giving off a whiff of manly cologne. He was wearing a black, fur-trimmed, hooded leather jacket. The leather looked expensive…soft as butter. Designer shades, an oversized chrome watch, stylishly ripped jeans, and a pair of Ugg Butte boots indicated that Shawn’s money was definitely up.

  Vangie looked at him sideways, and sucked her teeth. Yuri and I are barely making it, but this mofo done stepped his game up. I’m trying not to black out on this fool, so he needs to hurry up and pull out a gift card to GameStop or Toys “R” Us or somewhere!

  Vangie pictured herself grabbing a knife from the kitchen. She got an adrenaline rush from the fantasy of slashing through that butter-looking leather. His jeans could use a few more rips, too. Then she’d work her way down to his boots. She’d enjoy poking holes in those three-hundred-dollar boots, and stabbing a couple of toes while she was at it.

  “You take good care of yourself, don’t you, Shawn? Meanwhile, your son might get kicked out of daycare if I don’t come up with some extra money.” Boiling anger put a homicidal glint in Vangie’s eyes.

  Cautiously, Shawn started backing up a little. “I’m not trying to go through nothing with you, Vangie.”

  “You should be ashamed of the way you treat Yuri. It’s bad enough that I’m the only one providing for him, but he can’t even pick up a phone and call you because your shit is always out of service, or the number is changed.”

  “That last number I gave you was on my sister’s plan, and—”

  Vangie motioned with her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. You always have an excuse.”

  She noticed Shawn’s remorseful expression. Good! I struck a nerve. “So, what’s up? Why are you at my door at six-something in the morning?”

  “I told you, I wanted to drop something off.”

  “Well!” She stared at his empty hands, wondering if he had a bike or something in the trunk of his car.

  Wearing a sly expression, Shawn dug into his pocket. He pulled out neatly folded, one-hundred-dollar bills. “I’ve been working a lot. Didn’t have time to go shopping,” Shawn explained as he placed a crisp pile of bills across Vangie’s palm.

  The scent of new money wafted up to Vangie’s nostrils, enticing her into a better mood. In fact, she felt so giddy, she had to fight back a grin. Shawn was finally doing what he was supposed to do, but he surely didn’t deserve a smile from her. Vangie refused to even say thank you.

  “That’s thirteen hundred,” Shawn piped in proudly.

  “I can count!” she snarled. Deadbeat motherfucker expecting some kind of applause just because he finally decided to step up to the plate.

  “I want my boy to have a nice Christmas.”

  “That’s all good and everything, but Yuri is getting older. He needs a man in his life. You only come through on Christmas and birthdays, yet Yuri considers you a hero. I have to play Mommy and Daddy, twenty-four, seven…throughout the year. On top of that, I have to
deal with him crying his heart out whenever he can’t get in contact with you. Your son needs you, Shawn. You need to man-up and start acting like a father.”

  “I’m working full-time,” he said. “Got a chair in this new shop on Girard Avenue. The place is real chill…kicked back vibe. Stays open twenty-four hours. Steady stream of customers around the clock.”

  “You finally got your barber’s license?”

  “Nah, not yet. I’m working on it, though.”

  Vangie gave a skeptical head nod. Shawn had been working on that barber’s license since before Yuri was born.

  “The money’s good at the new shop. They let me cut all night if I want to.”

  “How come the owner is letting you rent a chair when you don’t have a barber’s license?” Vangie was thinking long-term. She didn’t want to get too excited about Shawn’s additional cash flow if it wasn’t going to last.

  “As long as I’m working under a barber who has a license, it’s cool. But I’ma get mine. I want my own place. The young bull who owns the spot is making crazy loot. His name is Brad and he’s only twenty-two years old, but he got a head on his shoulders. Good business sense and he got skills with the clippers.”

  “You have a twenty-two-year-old mentor?”

  Shawn laughed. “Ain’t that some shit?”

  Vangie was shocked that Shawn was being so good-natured about working as an apprentice under a younger man.

  “It’s all good. I don’t mind being the protégé. Brad’s not a hot head. He doesn’t carry himself like a young bull. I guess he’s got an old soul. Anyway, I’m trying to get my act together. Time is moving on; my son is in school now. I want to be a better father than I’ve been. Maybe one day, I’ll have my own shop. Something to pass on to Yuri.”

  Vangie was impressed. She wanted to personally shake the hand of Shawn’s youthful mentor for helping him get some sense into his head.

  “Anyway, Yuri won’t have any trouble getting through anymore.” He reached inside the pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a sleek iPhone.

  “Nice phone.”

  “Thanks,” Shawn said while tapping the luminous touch screen. “I’m calling your cell and the house phone, making sure you got my number on both phones.”