Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Zena dipped her index finger into the loc gel, applied a small amount to Tate’s loc, then rolled her palms together before securing it with a silver clip.
Tate sat on the floor between her knees, engrossed in her phone.
He had appointed himself her unofficial secretary ever since someone posted her Lucky’s performance online, and her notifications went from manageable to overwhelming overnight.
Labels. Influencers. Random people sliding into her DM with “opportunities.” He strolled through it all, filtering out the noise.
Even with the fresh bruises covering his face, he still cared about his appearance, tilting his head just enough to let her work.
Zena yawned, gently running her finger through Tate’s hair.
She was exhausted. When she got home at three in the morning, she found Tate in the bathroom, tending to a busted lip and bruised ribs.
She patched him up with her makeshift nursing skills as he explained what happened.
Someone had caught him leaving the corner store and robbed him.
They took all his money, putting their plans to get their own place on hold.
She didn’t push for more than that.
“So, what do you think I should do? She asked. “A couple of labels reached out for a meeting.”
The positive aspect of her situation was the crazy momentum her music was getting.
“I suggest we consider the label with the most influence. What about Royal Reign? They poppin’ right now.” Tate held the phone up to Zena, showing her an email from an A she would never forgive herself for not taking every opportunity to improve their predicament.
“Write them back. Let’s go to Atlanta! Fuck it!” She blurted it out.
Tate smiled and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Zena reciprocated the hug. Something in her knew Royal Reign wasn’t the ideal label for her, but she was willing to make any sacrifices to save her relationship, just like Tate had for them.
Zena made her way downstairs and groaned at the sight of the living room filled with people.
Since she had been staying with Rodney and Meka, she had quickly learned how Meka made her money.
Meka was a booster, so good at it that she had turned it into her profession.
What should have been a normal living room with a couch and a TV was instead a makeshift retail store.
Racks of clothes were placed strategically throughout her apartment, featuring popular clothing from brands such as Ralph Lauren, Nike, Lululemon, and occasionally Gucci.
She had picked up on Meka’s inventory over time.
Zena quickly sifted through the people, looking among the neatly displayed racks of stolen merchandise.
“How much for this Nike set, Meka?” A woman with long box braids yelled at Meka, who was sitting at the small circular dining table in the kitchen, closely eyeing her group of customers.
“$50,” Meka shot back at her.
“What! This is like $80 at the store…Come on, Meka,” the woman spat.
Meka waved her off. “Then take yo ass to the store!”
“Hey, Meka,” Zena said nicely.
“Hey,” Meka responded dryly.
Meka was a cute, thick, honey-complexioned woman with deep dimples. Always well-dressed, and if it wasn’t for her standoffish attitude, they might have been friends.
Zena rolled her eyes as she opened the fridge and grabbed a container of orange juice.
Zena didn’t know why, but Meka didn’t like her.
Whenever Zena was around, Meka never said much to her, always giving short or passive answers.
It was as if Zena’s presence annoyed Meka, and that was fine with Zena because she didn’t plan to stay at Meka’s house any longer.
“Don’t drink all my baby’s juice,” Meka said snidely, referring to her one-year-old, RJ.
“This is my juice.” Zena’s body got hot as she turned the bottle toward her, revealing her name written in permanent marker. Meka always had something to say. And if she knew anything about her son, whom she neglected half the time, she would know he didn’t even like orange juice.
Meka let out a hard breath, then got up from the table and tended to her customers.
Zena leaned against the kitchen counter, drinking her juice, and watched people filter out.
After the last person left, Meka made her way back into the kitchen. She stopped directly in front of Zena.
“I want to talk to you. I need you to give me next month’s rent in advance.”
Zena eyed her curiously, wondering where this sudden need was coming from. “I just gave you last month’s rent less than a week ago.”
“I gotta get some stuff for RJ. Don’t act like y’all don’t have it. I’ve seen all the new shit Tate’s been wearin’,” Meka spat.
Zena stepped closer to her. “What does that have to do with you? I give way more than your rent costs.”
Zena was sure of it; she had overheard Meka talking to Rodney about her rent, which was only $100 a month. Zena gave her four hundred on the 1st of every month, like clockwork.
“Either give me the money or find a new place to stay.” Meka pulled the one card she knew she could play.
Zena bit into her cheek so hard she drew blood. She was so fucking tired of Meka and her mouth. Her random rules. This conversation only solidified her decision, but for now…
“I don’t have any money for you right now. Give me a week,” Zena gritted through pursed lips. She tried pushing past Meka, but Meka stopped her in her tracks.
“I got a way you can get money and help ya’ man out,” Meka said.
Zena tilted her head. “How?”
She knew it would be something crazy. Meka had a motive for everything.
“Hear me out. I need you to help me hit up this new spot on Broad,” Meka said.
“No.” Zena placed her hand on her hips. “Don’t you have one of yo’ girls that can help you?”
“My main girl gotta lay low for a bit. You don’t need to do much. Just grab something if you can and cause a distraction.”
Zena eyed Meka, considering her proposition. She could always say no. Besides, depending on how the meeting in Atlanta went, she wouldn’t be staying in her house anyway. But on the other hand, Zena also wanted to help alleviate some of the pressure off Tate.
“I’ll do it, but don’t ask me again.”
“Yeah, yeah, just come on. Let me teach you a few things first.” Meka took Zena’s hand and led her into the hallway closet. She pulled out a box of Tote bags and random tools.
“Confidence is key. Don’t go into the store looking all nervous.
When you walk into any store, make sure to speak, but be invisible.
The clerk shouldn’t have to look at you twice until you call for them.
” Meka held up a huge black shoulder bag.
“Ima let you borrow one of my favorite totes. It’s easy to just slide stuff in once you load the bag up enough, thanks to the big opening. Just zip it shut.”
Meka was giving Zena a master class. Her expensive private school lessons didn’t teach her shit about anything like this. This lifestyle was fascinating but also scary. She couldn’t live like this, but she was sure to ride the wave as long as she could.
“I got my stylist, Amari, coming too. She’ll be here in a bit.” Meka gave her the bag and disappeared up the stairs.
A few moments later, a soft knock came from the front door. Zena paced to the door and opened it. A gorgeous, tall mocha-skinned woman stood on the porch with a stoic expression, dressed in a casual jean pantsuit that showed off her lean figure.
“Hey…is Meka here?” the woman asked.
Zena nodded and stepped aside to let her in. “I’m Zena.”
Amari made eye contact with her. “Oh… you’re prettier than I imagined.”
Zena froze, brow furrowed. “Wait, what?”
A light chuckle came from Amari. “Sorry. I just mean, Meka described you as the ugly duckling or something. You are pretty as shit.”
“Thanks. I guess.”
Amari shrugged at her. “I didn’t mean any harm. I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.”
“Well, I think you are too, Amari.” Zena gave her a nervous smile.
“Thanks, girl. So, is this your first time?”
“Can’t you tell?” Zena sometimes felt as if the word “green” were carved into her forehead.
“You do stick out like a sore thumb, but not in a bad way, in a you-gotta-have-a-good-heart kind of way.”
“Why do you say that?” Zena questioned.
“Your aura. You have a good spirit. I do a decent job at reading people.”
Zena wanted to ask her more questions, but stopped when Meka came back downstairs, carrying her big tote, the same one she had given her.
“Okay, ladies. Let’s get to it.” Meka turned and walked out of the door.
Zena bit her nails down to a nub. She worried about the consequences of getting caught; she couldn’t afford to be arrested again. She could back out, but she also knew Meka would never let her live it down. So instead of doing what was right, she sucked it up and followed behind Meka.
Zena, Meka, and Amari got on the GRTC bus that took them into Downtown Richmond.
Zena sat by the window, staring at the landmarks, which made the destination seem closer.
Zena’s heart thumped. Her future, as of right now, was uncertain, but one thing she knew for sure was that if she ever got arrested again, she couldn’t call her father.