Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
“And napkins, please.”
The cashier grabbed a wad from the stack behind the counter and shoved them into the paper bag.
“Thank you.”
Ishmael’s days were spent in his office, combing through last minute details and garnering every vote he possibly could. We’d exalted every avenue. Still, he refused to leave any stones unturned. I admired his drive.
The fear had begun to become evident in his fight. The clock was ticking. Daniels was ahead in the polls by a mere 1.2 points. Early voting had revealed the numbers we’d been waiting for. Admittedly, I expected Ishmael to claim the polls during early voting as well as during election day.
Though perplexed, I wasn’t concerned. He would be the mayor of Berkeley. As long as I was in his corner, losing wasn’t an option. It was never an option. Second place was too close to last place. And, in this race, second place didn’t matter.
Absentmindedly, I massaged my breasts. They were still tender to the touch.
The mobile mammogram was a success. Two thousand and twenty six women were examined.
Fourteen were advised to see an oncologist for the masses found in their breasts.
Twenty-two others were advised to monitor small spots noted in their files in the event they became cancerous.
On the final day of the week-long event, we gifted children of those affected by breast cancer the clothes we’d collected throughout the month of October.
Cameras and microphones surrounded us, but there was one I was willing to share a word with or allow Ishmael to do the same.
Jasmine Kade. She wrote the front page articles for Berkeley News.
I wanted Ishmael’s face plastered over this morning’s paper.
“Do you all have any more of today’s papers?”
I was off to a late start this morning. Ishmael had taken off before the sun rose. I cut out of the door around eight. Around seven was when I noticed he hadn’t touched a pot or skillet in the kitchen. The jug of orange juice we’d had delivered with the rest of the groceries was still unopened.
Feeding Ishmael was my first order of business.
Meeting Maylei was my second. Malachi and Mercer would be under the same roof for the better part of the morning, visiting Pops.
I was looking forward to squeezing baby cheeks and being surrounded by Chemistry’s love although it wasn’t him expressing it.
Mercer, Malachi, Makai, and Milo all represented parts of Chemistry that I loved.
“Over there,” the cashier pointed toward the stand near the door.
I slid a twenty dollar bill across the counter.
“Keep the change,” I told her.
The building Ishmael’s office was housed in had the best smoke shop in all of Berkeley.
I blamed him for introducing me to the smoked turkey, egg, and cheese taco.
I grabbed the bag that held three of them.
One for me and one for Ishmael. The third one was for anyone inside of his personal space when I entered with food, just in case their stomachs were touching their back as well.
“Thank you!”
I fixed my eyes on the stand with a single issue of Berkeley news left. As I approached, the bell of the small shop rang. The customer was headed in the same direction. I picked my pace, managing to snatch the paper from the wire rack just before the fragile old man was able to take his sixth step.
Sorry, grandaddy.
I tucked the publication under my arm and exited. My feet didn’t stop moving when I entered the lobby, when the metal detector notified the staff of the Glocks I was toting, or as the news reporters beckoned for my attention.
Their presence was unnerving. There was no reason for them to be here.
There were still four days until the election and there wasn’t a press conference scheduled.
Ishmael didn’t give a damn about being in front of cameras right now.
He wanted to be in front of the people. His people. The people he was running for.
Inside the elevator, I removed the paper from my arm. The weekend anticipation had me on edge. Silently, I studied the front page article. Every part of my body numbed.
My heart slammed against my chest as I read the headline. Every muscle in my face contracted.
MAYOR HOPEFUL: SECRET BABY?
Ping.
The elevator doors opened. My Prada heels collided with the floor. I marched into the office that I’d spent more time at in the last two weeks than I had at my own residence, in a city I saw more of than Clarke since I’d met the man I was in pursuit of.
“Good mor–”
“Morning.”
“Good morn–”
“Um– Royce– One second. He’s in–” Matte stuttered, stepping in front of Ishmael’s office door.
“I don’t give a fuck what he’s in. Step aside before I shampoo your greasy ass bob with these tacos.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Stepping aside, she lifted both hands. With a roll of my eyes, I pushed the door open.
“We’re no longer confident in your ability to bring this thing home, Grayson. This is the second sc–”
Conversation halted.
Two men sat in front of Ishmael’s desk. I recognized them instantly.
“Your confidence in his ability to bring this thing home has been lost, meanwhile, you were confident enough to pair that midnight blue suit jacket with those black slacks? I am confident you will find a better optometrist in the future. And– Caldwell,” I chuckled, placing the brown paper bag on the counter.
“How confident are you that the powder your assistant scores from your favorite dealer on 31st and Sabers isn’t laced with the big F?
How confident are you that your next toot won’t be your last?
How confident are you that your nose will be able to withstand even three more years of your addiction?
Not a hair inside of it has survived. You’re working on the nostrils next? ”
Ishmael’s sigh was the only thing heard around the room. All eyes were on me. My eyes were on Ishmael.
“He is the best chance Berkeley has. Either watch Daniels destroy this beautiful city or get out there on foot, helping bring these votes in. Sitting here bitching and moaning won’t win us this election. Action will.
“No one cares about these scandals. It’s all bullshit.
I know it and so do you. Your skeletons won’t stay in the closet forever.
Tread really fucking lightly when it comes to this one.
He’s mine. And, not even the Lord Himself will be able to save you if you are anything but accommodating until this election is over.
Now,” I cleared my throat and slammed the day’s paper on Ishmael’s desk.
“If you’d excuse me. We have things to discuss.”
Caldwell was up on his feet in a flash. Henderson was right behind him.
“Oh, and, Henderson,” I called out.
He paused, turning around.
“Tell Evelyn and your son, Evan, I said hello. Didn’t Evan just celebrate his third birthday?”
Henderson’s pale skin turned a shade of red I’d never witnessed before.
“See, the difference between Ishmael and you is–well,” I paused.
“You vowed a life of honesty when you married Torri. You’ve been living a lie since that very day.
You’re one family photo away from losing everything you’ve scammed to become.
This man… he’s nothing like you or anyone else in this political circus.
“Put on your clown suits and prepare to perform, because we’re winning this fucking election. I’d drag my naked body over a pool of sharks during my menstrual cycle before seeing Daniels take another term. Goodbye.”
I waved them both off. The same hand flattened against Ishmael’s desk. I peered down. He wore his nerves on his sleeves.
“My ba–”
“What the fuck is this, Ish?”
“Royce.”
He wasn’t talking fast enough. And, I wasn’t getting the answer I needed quick enough.
“I asked you– I asked you if there was anyone I had to worry about. You looked me in my face,” my voice cracked as the words riddled the room like bullets, “You looked me in my face and said there was no one.”
“Because there isn’t. There wasn’t.”
“Then who the fuck is having your baby?”
He shook his head, attempting to rise from his seat. I lifted my skirt and removed my Glock from the holster. I laid it on his desk, never taking my finger off the trigger. He retreated. Hands lifted.
“I don’t want no smoke with you, my baby.”
“Then you better start talking, Ishmael.”
“She’s someone I’ve had relations with.”
“Claiming to be eleven weeks pregnant?”
He nodded. “It’s fucked up, my baby. I underst–”
“Do you fucking understand? Hm? Because I have been in your life for three fucking months.”
“Royce, I’m sorry. I–”
“You’re not saying enough right now, and I’m not sure if it’s her picture on the front page after all the good we did this week or your lack of regurgitation that’s making my trigger finger itch the most.”
“I know her. Her name is Asia. She lives in the building next to mine. Whenever I needed someone to satisfy me, she was the person I called. She was mere feet away. Always picked up. Always was prepared to–”
“Until when?”
“My baby.”
“Since when, Ish? Since us?”
“I–” He tripped over his words. “It–”
I picked up my gun. His words weren’t coming fast enough. My heart was hurting and I needed something of his to feel the same pain.
“Don’t do that, my baby. I won’t be able to forgive you for that.”
“You will. I’m not worried about that. Me forgiving you is what you should be worried about.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Royce.”
“Say the truth. That’s what I want. We’re four days away from voting and the world finds out you’re expecting a child. When, Ishmael Samuel Grayson? When was the last time you stuck your dick inside of Asia?”
I lifted the flap on one of the four Chanel bags he’d purchased me in the last two months. I removed the silencer.
“August.”
“August when because the math ain’t mathing.”
“August, Royce.”
“August when, motherfucker?”
“The day you walked into my office.”