Chapter Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
The month of December passed in a blur. Other than a text from Anna inviting them to a holiday bash at Monique’s house, Rashad and Jamilah barely noticed.
Jamilah quit working at Gusto and joined Rashad to better manage the increased foot traffic at Side Chic’k and Rashad’s catering gigs.
Thursdays were added back to the restaurant schedule. Ed was hired part-time.
When not cooking his sexy ass off, Rashad was consumed with the expansion and ways for Side Chic’k and Behind Bars to mutually survive and thrive.
There were regular conference calls with his partners in Vegas and visits with Mr. Turner outside of those regarding parole.
With Rashad’s diligence and marketing prowess, business continued to grow.
Most companies now relied solely on the internet to advertise.
Rashad pulled on his street marketing prowess and created colorful cards that were placed everywhere.
With the help of Mr. Turner, an army of teens blanketed the area, touting what he and Jamilah called their Holiday Hookup, an expanded menu that ran throughout the month of December.
Thanks to Steve, Side Chic’k’s books had been completely overhauled and automated.
Both businesses would run through an app that he managed, which he guaranteed would prevent any future tax trouble.
The overall atmosphere was festive, but not everyone sang “Jingle Bells.” Jamilah and her father were still fighting.
For two weeks after the infamous bank meeting, he ignored all calls and texts.
Jamilah returned to his house and saw lights on inside, yet no one answered the door.
Then finally, as Rashad and Jamilah dressed for the holiday brunch, Jamilah’s phone flashed a familiar number.
“Hey, Daddy.”
She heard a heavy sigh before he responded. “Jamilah.”
Clearly, James wasn’t going to make this easy. “I’m glad you finally got back with me. So much is happening. I wanted to share.”
“We’ve both been busy.” A pause and then, “How are you?”
“Fine.” Horrible. “I hate us not talking, and fighting like this. You’re the only parent truly in my life.”
“Yet even that didn’t stop the betrayal.”
“How did I betray you, Dad? I made a business decision, based on knowledge and belief. Why does a decision I make in what I believe to be my best interest have to be a strike against you?”
Rashad walked into the suite from the bathroom. The last thing she wanted was those two to fight.
“Listen, Daddy. I’m on way to an engagement, but I’d love for us to clear the air, see if there’s some way to reach a resolution before I head to Denver for Christmas.”
“I’m not sure what good it will do, Jamilah. We’re on different sides of the street, and I don’t see any middle ground.”
“You might, after hearing what’s happening. Maybe breakfast one day next week?”
“Sure. I’ll call you.”
On the way to Monique’s, conversation was muted. She didn’t expound on what her father had said, and thankfully, Rashad didn’t pry. At one point, he reached over and squeezed her hand. For Jamilah, that simple move was the best way he could have responded.
They arrived at a home loudly broadcasting the holidays. Elaborately hung lights twinkled from the roof and nearby trees. Solid white lights lined the walkways. Jamilah reached for the holiday bag containing a bottle of creamy peppermint liqueur and a crystal mug set and looked at Rashad.
“Ready for the interrogation?”
“Not at all, babe. I should have prepared. So tell me. Are we coworkers, business partners, or two grown folks fucking and minding our business?”
Jamilah’s mouth dropped as she punched him. “Rashad!”
They were still laughing as Rashad rang the bell.
“Did I tell you that you look good enough to eat?” he whispered, nuzzling her neck and slipping hands where they didn’t belong in public. “I think I’ll skip dessert and have you instead.”
“Ooh, baby, stop that! But later, bon appétit!”
Just as Rashad removed his hand from under Jamilah’s coat, the door swung open and Monique announced, “Happy holidays!”
“Hello, again,” Jamilah said, with a hug and air kisses. “Thanks for inviting me to another one of your parties. I had such fun last time.”
Monique looked beyond her to Rashad. “So I hear.”
Before Jamilah could react, Monique winked, took the gifts Jamilah offered, and led them inside. Jamilah was about to join Charles and Anna across the room when she caught the blur of a bright red ‘fro in the kitchen.
She hurried toward her friend. “Blair!”
Blair turned, laughed, then gave Jamilah a big hug.
“Oh my goodness! It’s so good to see you. I had no idea.” They hugged again.
“I know. I told Leon not to say anything in case my day off turned into another day called in to work.”
Jamilah looked around. “So you’re cooking today, on your day off?”
“No, thank goodness. It’s from my work, but catered. This spread is compliments of the head chef himself.”
“How swanky!” Jamilah set down her purse on a chair and pulled up her sleeves. “Here, let me help you.”
“I see you and Rashad arrived together,” Blair said.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know why you’re trying to keep what is an open secret. The fact that his pickle has filled your pita pocket is written all over your face.”
The old friends caught up on each other’s lives while arranging the ritzy fare from Blair’s place of employment. Soon a group that included two women from Anna’s ladies’ organization sat down to a table laden with goodness.
At first, conversation centered around the food.
Blair had chosen exquisitely. Juicy lobster.
Perfectly cooked scallops. Spicy crab legs.
Porterhouse steaks. And sides that, while delicious, Jamilah felt were not better than Side Chic’k.
Of course, she might be biased based by a certain affinity for the cook.
The conversation changed to the upcoming fundraiser that Anna and the members of their social group were organizing.
“Mom, tell me more about this contest or whatever you’re planning,” Blair asked her mother-in-love. “Leon says it’s a Soul Train line.”
“Not just any line.” Monique wiped her mouth and set down her napkin. “But one of the most exciting things to happen in our city since our guys won the Super Bowl. One long enough to break the Guinness World Records book.”
“There’s actually a record for that?” Rashad asked.
“Absolutely,” a woman named Latonia said. “It happened in 2021, through a BET-sponsored event in New York City.”
“Harlem,” Latonia’s friend Roslyn added. “Marcus Garvey Park. It was BET’s fiftieth anniversary, I believe, and the awards show was being hosted in Harlem. They won with an official number of five hundred and thirty-six, with a Guinness person there to document it and everything.”
“An adjudicator,” Latonia clarified.
Jamilah noticed Rashad being especially intrigued. “Where is this happening?”
“We’re still working on that,” Anna answered. “The committee has floated a few ideas. The Plaza, of course. Union Station. Downtown.”
Rashad made a show of being pseudo-annoyed.
“I can’t believe y’all aren’t stating the obvious answer. This needs to happen near our businesses, Boss Lady.” He looked from her to the others. “An area known for soul music. Black musicians. Black music. This party has to go down at Eighteenth and Vine.”