Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
Jamilah survived the weekend with Ed. Because of the upcoming catering job, she’d taken the week off from her second gig, and posted a Closed This Saturday/Back Sunday!
on the restaurant website. Later today, she’d meet with Rashad to make the shopping list and a plan for where to purchase what for the biggest bang and best quality product.
Right now she was at her favorite off-price retail chain, getting the shopping therapy missed the other day.
With every item examined, she thought of Rashad and whether or not he’d like it.
Silly, she knew, but since their truce, he’d all but become a permanent fixture in her head.
Conversations with her father were strained.
Yes, Ed worked last weekend. No, Rashad hadn’t shown up.
Yes, she’d spoken with him. No, Rashad didn’t seem to hold hard feelings against her.
Not mentioned was her provocative fantasy of him holding something else, like a particular appendage, hard against her.
The time would quickly come when she’d have to tell her father the truth.
Too many law-enforcement guys that he knew were her customers.
Rashad was too magnetic a secret to hide.
If things went as planned, she hoped to use the catering event as leverage.
How could he argue with success? Three hundred techies from a thriving company couldn’t be wrong.
Jamilah found herself in the lingerie department and had just picked up a two-piece lacy PJ set, wondering who besides her was going to see it, when her cell phone dinged.
“Hmm, three-one-zero…” She almost didn’t answer, then remembered why California could be calling.
“Cheyenne?”
“Oh thank God. You still have my number. I was afraid you wouldn’t recognize it and send me to voicemail.”
“I almost did,” Jamilah admitted to this college friend from back in the day. “It’s been forever.”
“My apologies for being so out of touch. I’ve been busy.”
“I know. Love on the Air is one of my favorite podcasts. You and Donte are relationship goals.”
“Aw, thanks, sis. But don’t believe everything you hear on a podcast.”
“Cheyenne, please don’t tell me what we see is all for show.”
“The relationship comes with ups and downs, but Donte and I are definitely a couple. In fact, make sure your passport is up to date. Next year, you might need it.”
“Ooh, a destination wedding?”
Jamilah rehung the nonsensical nightwear choice and moved on to the housewares aisle. Kitchen knickknacks were like chicken soup, good for the soul.
“Could be, and a romantic getaway for you and Walter.”
It wasn’t lost on Jamilah that these words came just as she stood in front of a selection of oils and vinegars, reminding her of just how much she and her ex had not truly mixed.
“Jamilah? There is still a you-and-Walter, right?”
“No, we broke up.”
“Oh, sis, I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
Jamilah resisted the urge to deliver a Credo Mutwa tome the size of his seven-hundred—page Indaba, My Children and shared a novella instead.
“I was in the relationship for all the wrong reasons,” she finished. “In the end, it’s for the best.”
“You are courageous for shunning appearances and following your heart. Just promise me one thing?”
“What’s that?”
“There’s someone perfect for you out there. Don’t give up on love.”
After agreeing to talk more and see each other soon, the call ended.
Jamilah reshelved a stainless steel salad spinner and a musical teapot and, following her friend’s advice, returned to the lingerie aisle for the lacy booty short set and a silky see-through mini.
She wasn’t completely cured as she left her therapy session, but the dose of shopping and convo with Cheyenne sure felt good.
The food shopping expeditions with Rashad felt even better.
Having him back was a gift from God. He was knowledgeable and sensible and made choices that cut corners and saved money without sacrificing quality.
Two days before the catering gig, the bulk of the cooking got underway.
Jamilah, Rashad, Ed, and Russell, thankfully sober, arrived at the restaurant before daybreak.
Everett, Rita, and a friend of hers named Shelby, who Jamilah vaguely remembered meeting one time before, arrived around nine.
Jamilah was immediately reminded why she’d curtailed her friendship.
Rita was loud and brash, although productive and organized.
Her friend seemed more interested in flirting than food prep, a fact that Jamilah tried without success to ignore.
“You write, too?” she heard Shelby ask Rashad after shamelessly following him back to the pantry. Jamilah quietly fell in step behind them and positioned herself within earshot, for informational purposes only, and held up a nearby wall on the pretext of checking her phone.
“A little bit,” he replied, his tone distracted. “Do you see the tomato sauce over there? I think I remember seeing several large cans.”
“I’ll look.”
Jamilah detected enough saccharine in the answer to produce two cavities. Did the girl plan to search in his boxers for the sauce? The blatant gall of it all! Only Jamilah’s resolve to know more kept her planted where she was, her phone now in Airplane mode to prevent getting busted by a ringtone.
“Here they are!”
An eye roll followed Jamilah’s silent tsk. Girl, you found cans of tomato sauce, not a cure for cancer.
She heard Rashad’s footsteps across the concrete floor. “Thanks.”
“What do you write?”
“Rhymes, mostly.”
“Rhymes? Really? Like rap bars? I’d love to get together sometime. I write novels and am working on a storyline about a rapper.”
That was enough. Next thing, the girl would be filming a movie and wanting Rashad for the bedroom scenes. Jamilah stepped into the pantry.
“Finding everything okay?”
Shelby jumped as though caught stealing.
Rashad had no reaction, almost as though he’d expected her. That thought was reinforced by the twinkle in his eye.
“Did we get that gallon of hot sauce from that big box store?”
“No, I have some here. Shelby, can you help Ed and Rita in the kitchen?”
“I don’t cook,” was followed by a petulant expression that bloomed on Shelby’s face.
“In that case, then, we don’t need you. Today is all about cooking. You can meet us at the venue to help with service. I’ll text you the address.”
Shelby smirked in Jamilah’s direction before looking at Rashad, hopeful. “I’ll see if Rita needs my help.”
Did she just shoot shade to the woman signing her upcoming paycheck?
Any other time Jamilah would have checked her.
But she understood. Men like Rashad could make a woman do crazy things.
He’d made her think crazy things, like how it would be to hold on to his locs while he pounded her.
See? Crazy. Plus, Jamilah was already short on help.
She was still hoping some of Ed’s VFW friends could help them serve tomorrow.
Ignoring the slight, she waited until Shelby had left, then walked over to a metal cabinet, opened it, and pulled out two large bottles of hot sauce.
Rashad reached for them. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She prepared to leave. He stepped in front of her.
“Not for the hot sauce,” he continued, his seductive eyes affecting her like a dimmer in the bedroom, the one you turned down just before panties got dropped. His gaze made her feel like she’d drank the hot sauce straight, no chaser. Her body threatened to catch fire.
He cocked his head toward the door Shelby just exited. “For rescuing me. I appreciate it.”
She chuckled and worked not to sound all gushy like Shelby had just seconds before. “No problem.”
He motioned for her to go out first. Walking through the narrow doorway, she brushed against the side of his body. The hardness didn’t surprise her. It was the spicy scent with hints of patchouli or something equally earthy that made her want to bury her head in his chest.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on Jamilah’s changing thoughts, the next two days were too busy for her to inhale anything but the smell of food.
By the time Saturday and the catering event arrived, Jamilah was almost too tired to think.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to. Rashad stepped up and into the leadership role as though he’d been born into it.
“All right, everybody, listen up. It’s game time. I want everyone focused on the task at hand, while remembering to have a good time. People don’t only like food because of how it tastes, but also because of how the person serving it makes them feel.
“Ed, because of the dishes we’re dropping to order, it’s going to get hectic. I’ma need you to stay cool and have my back. Heard?”
“Got it.”
“Everett, I need you to be the floater.”
“Heard.”
“Servers, keep the trays full and makes sure the food is hot. Rita, you’re in charge of knowing when to change them out. Shasta, I need you to make sure all of the napkins, eating utensils, condiments, and stuff like that are always ready for whoever needs them.
“Russell, no bottoms up until we pack up, feel me?”
“I got you, boss.”
“I want everybody to remember to encourage everybody to scan the QR code for the website. There are a couple poster boards hanging and cards on the tables. We want the people eating here today to be at the restaurant tomorrow. We’re all here because of Jamilah.
We’re all representing Side Chic’k. Let’s not let her down. ”
Jamilah was impressed, and moved. Rashad truly belonged here. She wished her dad could see him in action.
There were a few challenges with set up, but once everything had been unloaded, set up, and Rashad had assigned stations, the process he’d organized began to flow.
From the first crispy wing until the last pumpkin-spiced cookie served, Jamilah heard nothing but compliments.
The crowd, many dressed in wacky Halloween garb, came back for seconds and thirds.
One man whose brother owned a bar in Olathe tried to hire Rashad on the spot.
“Appreciate that, brothah,” Rashad had glibly replied. “But I’m a side chick.”
Everyone around cracked up.
Although exhausting, their job was a success. All evening she saw people aiming their phones at the QR codes. Several people promised to visit the restaurant. Everyone, especially the women, loved Rashad.
“Next Friday at Side Chic’k?” she asked once they’d packed up and were ready to leave the venue grounds.
He didn’t immediately answer. The few seconds of hesitation felt like days.
When he nodded and answered in the affirmative, Jamilah could have kissed him.
Later that night, when remembering how good he’d looked in his bandanna, black jeans, and black T-shirt emblazoned with Side Chic’k across that patchouli-scented chest she wanted to explore, she almost wished she’d kissed him for real.