34. Moves like Michael
Chapter thirty-four
Moves like Michael
Lei
DJ Hendrix put on “Finesse” by Bruno Mars. The upbeat tune filled the space, inciting a ripple of cheers among everyone.
Plates of Chef Foo’s food continued to be passed out to the rest of the attendees and the hum of conversation and laughter grew louder.
Beside me, Chen had finally slowed down with eating. “Cousin!”
I raised my eyebrows. “Yes?”
His eyes were wide as fuck and sweat beaded on his forehead. “This. . .is what life is about.”
I nodded. “It is.”
Fen glanced at me and chuckled.
I leaned her way. “Thank you again.”
“No problem, Mountain Master.”
“You’ve earned a special favor from me. Come to me, any time, any day, and I will grant your wish.”
Fen widened her eyes. “I’ll take it. Thanks.”
DJ Hendrix—absorbed in his realm—shifted the atmosphere with a swift transition into another Bruno Mars' popular hit, “Uptown Funk.”
The pulsating bass echoed through the yard.
I swore the lanterns swayed with the rhythm.
Apparently, Aunt Min knew this song well because she began singing the song to Einstein as they ate and played Mahjong.
And Einstein, he looked to be enjoying himself as he roared with laughter.
Suddenly, DJ Hendrix took an unexpected turn, weaving Michael Jackson's “Billie Jean” flawlessly into the mix.
Several from Rowe Street Mob and even the Four Aces wailed in approval.
I checked the Judge’s table and was shocked to see that Dima and Rose were no longer sitting over there.
O-kay.
They had rose, moved to the side and started dancing together.
It made sense because Dima was an insane Michael Jackson fan. When we were kids, I could never quite figure out how he managed it, but somehow, Dima had a new MJ look ready to go, every time.
When we were ten, he was “Thriller” Michael—red leather jacket, single glove, and those black loafers. The wig on his head was absolutely ridiculous. Dima even tried to do the zombie dance down the street, but with his short legs at the time and chubby cheeks, it just looked like he was waddling.
Another year, he was “Bad” Michael, with the black buckled outfit and the serious expression. Dima loved trying to look serious, but he'd always crack a smile whenever he saw someone give him a thumbs up. Of course he would jot whatever down in this sparkling special MJ Halloween notebook.
However, I think my favorite had to be when we were teenagers and he was visiting from his new boarding school. It had been a huge surprise. He showed up to the Killer Crews Halloween party out of the blue looking like “Smooth Criminal” Michael, with a wavy, black wig, perfect white suit, and fedora.
Maybe, we should have a Halloween party this year. I would love to see what Michael Jackson Dima would come up with this year.
It was strange that I was planning for the future, with my father’s upcoming battle just tomorrow night.
Even more, before Moni, I had been ready to die.
Now with her in my life, all I wanted to do was live.
And where is my father right now?
A chill hit me.
I swallowed and did my best to shove it away. No good could come from trying to think about what he would be doing next. When dealing with him, the smartest thing to do would be just to enjoy the moment.
I won’t let my father ruin this cookout by thinking about him.
So I simply watched Dima and Rose dance which was the best distraction I could have ever asked for.
Does she know that he will not sit down until Michael Jackson is over?
And just like that, Dima swiftly turned on the balls of his feet, doing his very bad imitation of Michael Jackson's signature spin.
Shock covered Rose’s face.
I snickered.
Dima grabbed Rose’s hand and spun her hand superfast.
She shrieked.
While Dima was no professional dancer, his sheer enthusiasm more than compensated for his lack of skills. He let go of Rose’s hand, did several sways of his hips, snapped his fingers three times, and attempted by far the worst moonwalk that I’d ever seen in my entire life.
I grinned.
Still, can’t do it?
Rose doubled over with laughter.
I didn’t know why, but Barbara Whiskers watched him the way a regular cat would stare at a dangling line of yarn. Those eyes were wide and head alert while her tail swished back and forth. I wasn’t sure if the cat was confused or captivated.
DJ Hendrix transitioned into Shape of You by Ed Sheeran and Dima immediately turned to the DJ and glared at him in disgust.
Uh oh.
I quirked my brows.
Dima signaled for his men.
“No!” Rose chuckled. “Leave the DJ alone!”
I deepened my grin so much that my cheeks hurt.
God, I forgot how much fun Dima is. We need to hang out more.
Moni nudged me with her elbow. “Are you having a good time, baby?”
Grinning even more than humanly possible, I turned to her and my heart swelled. “I’m having the best time. Ever.”
“Good.”
“Maybe, we will do another cookout.”
She shrieked, “I don’t know about that, Lei.”
“This is fun. Like. . .really fucking fun.” I checked Dima again and it looked like somehow Rose had gotten him to sit down.
Granted, he still appeared very fucking pissed and his men continued to walk over to DJ Hendrix and have a very serious conversation.
“Yeah.” I turned back to Moni. “This is fun. I never. . .”
Moni raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“I never have fun like this.”
“No cookouts?”
“None. We do feasts, but like the formal stuff.”
“Like the one at the hotel in Glory?”
I thought back to that first night when I’d seen Moni all done up in that beautiful blue gown.
Lust hummed through me.
“Yes. Like the feast at the hotel or even on Mount Utopia.” I gestured to everyone partying around us. “But this is different.”
“It is.”
“I want to do more things like this.”
“Well. . .” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Lucky for you, I am all about celebrating when times are good. We just have to make sure that Jo doesn’t get everyone high again.”
“That might have been the best part.” I checked Jo.
She was still licking Chef Foo’s signature barbecue off her fingers.
With a big sigh, she leaned back in her chair and wiped her mouth with a napkin. She caught me watching her and spoke, “Banks is about to lose bad. There’s no way he’s beating these dishes.”
Moni shrugged. “You never know. Banks can throw down.”
Jo popped another piece of cuttlefish into her mouth. “Listen. I’m about to get me a sexy Chinese girl who can cook like this.”
Moni frowned and looked at her sister. “You can’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s fetishizing a race—”
Jo cut her off with a laugh. “And I’m about to fetish the hell out of her if she can make even one of these dishes. Fetish her all night long.”
Moni shook her head. “I’m done with you.”
Jo turned her gaze to me. “You know any single chicks here in the East that can cook, but also like chicks?”
“I do.” I thought about my harem. “In fact, a large group of them are out of a job and might be eager—”
“Eh.” Moni hit my side. “Don’t even think about it.”
Maybe, I am too high.
DJ Hendrix put on Michael Jackson’s Pretty Young Thing , which told me that Dima’s men had finished their conversation with him.
I checked Dima.
He wore a satisfied smirk while Rose frowned at him.
DJ Hendrix roared over the song, “Now who’s ready for our next contestant?”
The crowd roared.
“I just had that duck from Chef Foo, Banks.” DJ Hendrix pointed at him. “I don’t know, man. You know I rock with you, but that duck was doing what duck do.”
Banks munched on Chef Foo’s crispy pork. “His food wasn’t bad! Just need a little bit more soul!”
“Soul my ass!” Jo loudly snorted.
“Alright! Alright!” DJ Hendrix lowered Michael Jackson a little bit. “Everyone get back in your seats because it is time for Banks to shine. I have personally ate many of his masterpieces so I know that the competition isn’t over yet.”
“That’s right!” Banks put his plate down, wiped his hands on his apron and put these dark shades over his eyes. “Chef Foo was good but let me show you all what soul food tastes like at a cookout!”
As Banks sauntered confidently towards the stage, DJ Hendrix cued up James Brown’s I Feel Good .
And I knew that the real craziness was about to begin.