Chapter Thirty
Thirty
Rashad barely slept that night. The next morning after leaving Jamilah’s house he jumped on the phone.
A groggy voice answered. “Rashad?”
“Sorry for calling so early, Zara. I waited as long as I could.”
“Did something happen? What’s going on?”
“I’m dealing with a situation over here and need your help.”
“What kind of help?”
“A loan.”
A beat of silence and then, “How much?”
“Five bands.”
“Five thousand dollars?” Zara shouted. His sister was wide awake now.
“What kind of trouble have you gotten into?”
“No trouble, sis. Seriously, everything’s good. It’s where I work, Side Chic’k. The business I told you and Mama about.”
“You want me to lend you money to lend to the person that’s supposed to pay you? I know it’s early, brother, but make it make sense.”
Rashad gave Zara the rundown on what had happened. He also shared his idea for a start-up next door.
“This time next year, Zee, both spots will be jumping! We just need a little help getting over the hump.”
“I can give you something, Rashad, but I don’t have five thousand just lying around.”
“What about taking out a loan, or cosigning for me?”
“No can do. Jason and I are saving up to buy a house. This is Cali, where homes cost more than some countries’ GNP. I can’t upset my debt-to-income ratio. I’ve got to maintain my credit score.”
Rashad was discouraged, but he hid it from Zara. “That’s cool. I get it. How much can you spare?”
“Five hundred, maybe a thousand. Let me check and call you back.”
Zara called back before Rashad could step in the shower. It wasn’t good news. Her fiancé had put a quick ix-nay to the oan-lay. Said they had no money to spare.
“All that belief bullshit,” he mumbled, feeling dejected.
Everyone said hard work paid off, but how long did it take?
Twenty, thirty years? In his old life, he could clear twenty thousand in a week, ten days tops.
That was no longer an option. Neither was failure.
He needed a job. Jamilah needed a break.
Leon was waiting on the green light to design a hit game room.
Young men in the system needed a chance.
Mr. Turner believed Rashad could provide it.
“This has got to work,” he insisted to whatever entity listened. “I believe in myself. I believe in this dream. It’s got to happen. Something’s got to give!”
Rashad took a long, hot shower. His mind never shut off.
He stood there, water streaming, imagining his dream realized.
Saw the black walls, gold lighting, rugged interior.
A long bar, small stage, enough space for dancing.
Closed-off game room with high-speed internet and plenty of outlets.
Rashad remembered Leon’s excited face and broke into a smile.
Reaching for the shampoo, he imagined the menu.
Stuff the patrons could eat with their hands.
Reasonably priced but pulling a profit. There wasn’t a place quite like what he envisioned anywhere that he knew of.
Just a chance, he prayed to whatever God might hear him, while toweling off and heading back into the bedroom. He heard vibration mode and reached for the phone.
Another notification from the dating site. He’d meant to block his fling’s new profile, but with all that was going on he hadn’t had time. He clicked on the site, blocked the new profile, deleted his profile all together, then angrily tossed the phone on his bed.
Pacing, he racked his brain for an answer to Jamilah’s dilemma.
He’d left another message with Tyson, and even hit up his uncle Melvin whom he’d rarely spoken with since getting released.
No responses yet. Frustrated, he went upstairs to grab what for him was a rare beer from the fridge.
He returned to a missed call from Tyson, and remembered the bad taste their last conversation left in his mouth.
“Yo, Tyson. Sorry I missed your call.”
“No problem. Got a question, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you believe in miracles?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“Good. ’Cause I got one that just might be headed your way.”
Jamilah reached for the brush to tame her long curls.
She was meeting her father at the bank and wanted to look like a business owner.
He was transferring money out of his IRA, something that he could have done over the phone without her present.
But for some reason, he wanted to handle the transaction in person and wanted her there.
After securing her hair in a high ponytail, she reached for a rarely worn navy pantsuit.
It had been a splurge purchase when business was high, a light Merino wool that breathed and stayed cool, paired with a white, sleeveless top and gold jewelry.
She returned to the bathroom to apply a light powder, a touch of mascara, and gloss on her lips.
“Be happy,” she told her sad face. “Side Chic’k is still standing.”
Rashad would land on his feet. He hadn’t left her. He cared about her beyond the restaurant. The thought brought tears that she quickly blinked away. He was her ride-or-die for real!
Jamilah walked into the living room and gathered her purse and keys.
Her eye caught on a trinket she’d held on to from the Thanksgiving dinner with her father.
Was it just a few weeks ago when they’d enjoyed fine dining, seemed to bury the hatchet, and told each other how much love was still there?
Hadn’t she told him that, no matter what, she’d always be his daughter?
Was that declaration not enough to restore his trust in her, to know that she was smart enough to not do something dumb?
Evidently not. Time to get what felt like blackmail over and done. She reached for the tote carrying a change of clothes. If the transaction went smoothly, she could make sure her personnel were all set for Friday and still work her server shift.
The bank wasn’t far, ten minutes away. She lucked upon a nearby place to park, got out, and fed the meter. She didn’t see her father’s car and assumed he’d parked in the garage. Taking a breath, she mounted the stairs, reached the door, and pulled the gold handle.
Her phone rang. She stepped inside, quickly pulled it out of her purse, and read the screen.
“Hey, Rashad.”
“Jamilah, where are you?”
“I can’t talk now. I’m at the bank. My dad—”
“Has he completed the transaction?”
“Rashad, what are you asking me—”
“The money. Has he given you the loan?”
“No. I just got here. I’m going in now.”
“Don’t do it, Jamilah. I’ve got you.”
“Got me? What do you mean?”
“Is five thousand enough to keep Side Chic’k going for, like, a month or so? There’s an opportunity for how you might get more funding. All legit, Jamilah. Nothing illegal. I’ll explain later, Boss Lady. Just please, if you want to stay out of your pop’s prison, don’t take that check!”
Jamilah stared at her now-blank screen. She looked up to see her dad walking toward her.
“We’re waiting on you,” he said, in greeting. “Let’s go.”
She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Rashad’s message had frozen her on the spot.
“Come on, now, baby girl. My friend managed to squeeze me in, but he has another meeting.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I can’t.”
His brow creased. “Can’t what?”
“Um, something’s come up. An emergency. I’ve got to go now and figure it out.”
“Figure what out? Who was on the phone?”
Jamilah heard the questions but didn’t have time to answer. She was off and running, already halfway down the steps.
When she arrived at the restaurant, Rashad stood in her parking space. She jumped out. He rushed over, pulled her into a bear hug, and held on tight.
“Rashad, I can’t breathe.”
“Oh, sorry, baby.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s crazy, Jamilah. Come on. I’ll explain everything.”
Rashad sat her down and did just that. Told her about a friend named Tyson with business ties in Las Vegas.
About a partner who’d met two young Asian guys with more money than they knew how to spend.
How’d they got talking about music and hip-hop, and gaming and tech.
One thing led to another, and Tyson broached the subject about becoming investors.
Which led to Rashad spending over two hours on a conference call, and getting five thousand dollars wired in good faith toward their future plans.
“This is overwhelming,” Jamilah said when he finished. “If they’re interested in helping start up your business, how can you use that money for mine?”
“That’s the crazy part, Jamilah. It’s not so much about what business I’m pushing.
These guys believe in me! First off, Tyson can sell life insurance to a dead man.
He obviously talked me up before the call.
Told them about my life as a chef. My music and connections.
I’m still reeling myself from everything that happened.
They’re all flying up next week to help me figure it out. ”
Jamilah stilled, even as her heart began an erratic thump in her chest.
“A week?” she asked softly, her nerves stretched to the limit and feeling like they’d break if she yelled. “I don’t have a week, Rashad. That money is needed now.”
“It’s already been wired to Anna’s bank. I made sure that she got it before I called you.”
“How did this happen?” she asked him.
Rashad shrugged. “Tyson called it a miracle the way all this went down. And you know what, Boss Lady? I believe him.”