Chapter Forty-Eight
Forty-Eight
I eased myself back into the chair and looked into Abimbola’s expectant face.
“How do you feel?”
I thought about it for a minute. Besides the way my stomach bulged over the rim of my pants, I felt okay. I mean I felt full, in a strange sort of way. “Okay, I guess.”
“Good!” he exclaimed, slapping his hands together. “Very, very good!”
In fact, I felt sleepy. Yes, what I wanted to do was sleep. My eyes drooped.
“I see you have niggeritis, huh?” Abimbola leaned forward and peered at me.
“But you cannot lie down at this time,” he said, his face turning to stone.
“This whole run must be a simulation of what you will be doing on Labor Day.” He abruptly stood up.
“You must remain in a seated position for the next”—he stopped to consider the gold Rolex on his arm—“six hours, at least.”
“Six hours?” I whined. I needed to lie down in the worst way.
“Yes, six hours—no less!”
I rolled my eyes at him and rubbed my stomach.
“No, no, you must not interfere with the packages,” he said in an alarmed voice as he slapped my hand away.
“What else can’t I do?” I said sarcastically.
“Look, come into the living room. You can sit in the recliner there. It’s just like being in first class.”
I perked up. “Will I be flying first class?” I asked.
“No,” Abimbola said sternly.
I settled myself comfortably into the recliner and dropped right off to sleep.
—
I woke to some confusion—the loud voice of Abimbola and Cassius’s screeching.
“I told you, you bitch, that we do not service clients from this location!”
“I told you not to call me that!”
“I’ll call you whatever I feel like calling you!” Abimbola screamed back, and then there was the distinctive sound of a palm making contact with a cheek and then a thump as Cassius’s body hit the wall.
“I hate you!” she screamed and came running from the room. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Now that you’ve already told him where to come, you sell him the shit and get him out of here quick, bitch!”
The bedroom door slammed shut on Cassius’s weeping.
Two minutes later the bedroom door opened again and Abimbola’s voice boomed through the apartment. “I have to make a run. I’ll be back in an hour,” he said and then stormed out the front door.
Cassius screamed something in French that I knew wasn’t “I love you, honey.”
Soon after Abimbola stormed out, Cassius’s cell phone rang.
“Hello? No, you have to come up. I cannot make an exchange in public. Top floor.”
Cassius rushed off to the bedroom. I heard the sound of running water from the en suite and then smelled the scent of Chanel No. 5, Cassius’s signature scent. No doubt she was straightening herself up after Abimbola’s ass whipping.
In less than a minute a steady knocking came at the door.
“Who?” Cassius asked through the five inches of steel door.
“It’s me.”
I opened my eyes a bit.
Cassius pulled the door back on its hinges and said, “Come in.” And when she stepped aside and I saw who it was, my heart almost stopped in my chest.