Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Seven
Anna’s call for all hands on deck came sooner than Jamilah expected.
St. Patrick had not yet had his day when she was asked to join their meetings.
By then, Jamilah considered Anna a friend and was the first one Rashad and Jamilah admitted to being a couple to.
Somehow, it was easier to tell her than someone in Jamilah’s circle.
Most days, the thought of being Rashad’s woman sent her over the moon.
At other times, her pesky issues reared their ugly heads and sent her second-guessing.
Side Chic’k, for instance. When around Rashad, Jamilah put on a brave face, all excited about the Behind Bars venue.
Privately, though, she worried about him opening up next door.
Would the result be as they hoped, with both businesses solvent?
The preparations to open had them barely seeing each other.
What would happen once the doors opened and the customers came?
When attractive women inevitably patronized his establishment, female artists or musicians who shared his creativity, or like Shelby, dreamed of making him the main character in their personal story?
Rashad was handsome, sexy, and now a business owner.
Any one of those traits could give him his pick of women, and now he had a trifecta.
Throw in that he was an expert in the kitchen and the bedroom?
They’d become like DeeDee the Stalker and camp out at his venue. Jamilah shuddered at the thought.
And the biggest concern? What happened if what Jamilah and Rashad had didn’t work out and they were forced to dissolve the partnership? Hers was the established business, yet in that scenario, depending on the time frame, Jamilah couldn’t help but believe she had the most to lose.
Thank God for Anna and the SOS—the Society of Sisters—the group organizing the Soul Train event.
Talking and laughing with Anna or listening to the ladies throw shade and gossip was the perfect balance to Rashad and his testosterone-driven team.
What started out as a fundraiser centered around besting a record had morphed into an all-day event.
Jamilah never knew so much went into what had been submitted to City Hall as a parade.
The festivities would take place in and around the intersection of Eighteenth and Vine.
There would be vendors and food trucks. Singers and steppers and other creative acts.
High schools had signed up marching bands, who would also be counted as participants.
While she was focusing on Soul Train and Side Chic’k, Rashad juggled everything else.
Overseeing the Behind Bars renovation. Working with Mr. Turner on the detention/parolee program.
A grant had been submitted that, if approved, would cover training and hiring for Behind Bars, Side Chic’k, and other businesses where a trade could be taught or a skill learned.
Unfortunately, in getting BB off the ground, Rashad’s catering business became a casualty.
However, the former hustler and natural entrepreneur had gathered contact information everywhere he fed people.
Once his website was up, this information would be entered into a database.
Rashad would have a customer base from day one.
Jamilah’s phone rang, bringing her back to the present. She rose from the couch, stretched, then hurried to grab her cell phone off the counter.
“Hello?”
“Jamilah, it’s Anna.”
“Hey, Anna. How are you?”
“The truth? Overwhelmed.”
Jamilah walked into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve handled most of the details for the line and set up an application process for businesses that want to participate.
Now comes the hard part, working out all the logistics.
There are so many moving parts. Because of how many people we’re anticipating, our permit may take longer to process.
I’ve learned there may need to be a preapplication meeting and a neighborhood meeting with all of the businesses along the route.
We have to work with the City Planning and Zoning Committee. The mayor’s office.”
Jamilah heard Anna getting more frustrated. “Trying to break a world record. What the heck was I thinking?”
“It does sound like a lot. But, Anna, we can do this. Over the past several months I’ve watched your godson do the impossible, over and over again. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s taught me a lot. Including how to eat an elephant.”
Anna laughed. “One bite at a time. That’s his granny talking. It sounds simple enough, but I can’t figure out what to bite first.”
“Me either, but I might know someone who does.”
Jamilah hung up from Anna and scrolled her Contacts for a number she hadn’t used in almost a year. Her hesitation was brief before she tapped the number.
The call was answered on the second ring. “Jamilah?”
“Hi, Walter.”
“This is a surprise.”
Jamilah chuckled. “For me, too. When I saw you at the Blue Room, you said to call if there was ever something I needed.”
“I said that. And I meant it. We were friends before we started dating. I took that friendship, and you, for granted. I owe you an apology.”
Jamilah was caught off guard. This was a completely unexpected direction from where she’d planned to lead the conversation.
“An apology for what?”
“In short, for being an asshole. Through my current engagement I’ve learned that much of what happened that led to our breakup, well, it wasn’t you, it was me.”
“Wow, apology accepted.”
“Good. What can I do for you?”
Jamilah was reeling from Walter’s revelation. She almost forgot why she’d called.
“It’s, um, yeah. It’s about a fundraising event happening in July involving a Soul Train line…”
Jamilah believed she’d fully gotten over Walter.
For the most part, she had. But something about his apology, acknowledging his role in the demise of their relationship, gave Jamilah a validation she didn’t know she’d needed.
She’d been right all along. She wasn’t crazy.
Justification replaced insecurity. Confidence replaced trepidation.
Even though she’d ended the relationship, a part of Jamilah had still felt abandoned.
She’d been underappreciated and undervalued.
Leaving Walter had been the right thing to do.
Nowhere was that fact more evident than when she was with Rashad.
Tonight they entertained Leon in Jamilah’s condo, happily stuffed from one of Rashad’s dishes labeled Cellblock Cuisine, made with Ramen noodles, canned tuna, and crushed tortilla chips.
The ingredients sounded simple enough, but it wasn’t a run-of-the-mill tuna casserole.
Rashad always had secret ingredients that he refused to reveal.
Jamilah was still waiting for the magic contained in that long-ago wonton dish.
“Is Blair going to be able to get off for the Fourth?” Rashad asked.
“She’s already put in the request, so we’re hoping.”
Jamilah stood and began gathering dishes. “It’s so cool that the Fourth actually falls on a Saturday. A round of fireworks is the perfect way to celebrate breaking a record.”
Leon drained his glass and handed it to Jamilah. “How many dancers do you need to break the record?”
“A lot,” Rashad said.
“Around five-, six-hundred,” Jamilah added.
“Are y’all ready for the crowd that’s going to be on your block? You’re gonna need hella chicken in that joint.”
Jamilah sighed dramatically. “I’ve dreamed of the day that I’d need hella chicken.”
Rashad followed Jamilah into the kitchen, grabbed a water, then pulled Jamilah back against him.
“That is the official opening weekend for Behind Bars,” he announced, fondling Jamilah like they didn’t have company. “I’ll be ready for anything.”
As usual, Leon’s eyes were glued to his phone. Knowing he’d be enthralled in whatever game he played for hours, Rashad quietly led Jamilah into the bedroom and softly closed the door.