15. Turk
Turk
“Ay.”
Two sets of eyes look up at me, but while one person scowls, the other breaks into a beautiful smile.
“Uncle Tookie!”
I bend down to catch Ana?s as she launches herself into my arms.
“Why you not at school? You keeping your grumpy daddy company?”
Lil Mama scowls just like her pops and tries to ball up my lips. “Daddy’s not grumpy! Be nice.”
“That’s right, mamas. Handle my light work!” Nutty calls from his desk.
I nip at her little fingers, making her giggle before I set her down and she goes back to the couch in Nutty’s office.
I can’t help but take her in as she goes back to her dolls.
After Tati passed, Autumn and Deuce moved in with Nut to help him with Lil Mama.
At one point she was just a lil cherub, crying and pooping and shit.
Then she went through a phase last year where she wanted to be a chef, and we’d have to wear tuxedos and gowns to her imaginary restaurant and shit.
Overpriced ass fake steaks.
But shit, in a couple years if my own mini Paypay wanna open a restaurant at the crib, muthafuckas gone show up decked out ready to taste some fake steak, too.
“Nigga, you come in here to play dolls or what? ‘Cause if that’s the case she can go in yo office so I can finish up this shit.”
“Nah, Dub.” I walk to his desk and take a seat. “I came to see if you’ve talked to Shad. Nigga ain’t sent the contracts for BirchFest.”
I’m in charge of talent and logistics, Nut is handling vendors, set up, and operations.
I’m fasho more personable, and rappers are bigger divas than actual singers and shit, and I have the patience for that shit.
Whereas Nut can barter and haggle and intimidate and downright demand quality shit for the lowest price.
Our methods have worked this long, as evidenced by our padded bank accounts.
“Nah, that lil nigga been MIA since Set’s birthday. Only reason I ain’t rolled up on him is ‘cause his dot be moving so I know he not dead. He performing at the game tomorrow, get up with him there.”
“Nigga gone be performing. He the only nigga that hasn’t turned in a signed contract and I need that before this weekend.”
Nut looks at me like I’m dumb. “It’s BirchFest Big Turk. Shad not finna miss a festival his bros are putting on. You sure you ain’t got pregnancy brain like Pay?”
I wave him off. “Fuck you, nigga.”
His eyes do that weird twitchy thing when he’s trying to see right through me. “You ready to tell me wassup with you and my lesbian friends? I ain’t seen Autumn in that much green in years.”
“Daddy, what’s a lesbian?”
“A lady who loves another lady like Mommy Dally loves Daddy. Play with your dolls, mamas,” Nut says without missing a beat.
I smirk at my boy and shake my head. “There you go, in my business again.”
He just shrugs. “Somebody gotta be. You and Set would be in a ditch somewhere if it weren’t for me.”
Eh, that’s debatable.
On one hand, Nut always comes in clutch. If you make the cut and end up on the list of people he cares about, he will always make sure you’re straight.
On the other hand, if you be around Nut long enough, he’ll have you into some shit you have no business being in. The nigga don’t like being alone, not even to do his dirt, so most of the time he’s coming in clutch off some shit he dragged you in, in the first fucking place.
Somehow I ended up in a Mexican jail fucking with that nigga.
The only reason I got out was because he’s fluent in Spanish and audited enough of Tati’s political science classes to fake as my lawyer.
“Autumn’s been Foe Dub since we started damn near. She passed the tests, same as everyone else.”
Nut grins, showing off his open-faced top grill. “Her, Sean, and Shad are my star pupils. Be that as it may, though nigga, first you got Pay staying with you for whatever reason. Now you got Autumn on ya lap rolling ya weed and shit…”
His eyes expand and I take my leave, hopping up quickly. None of us have even begun to map out shit, and I be damned if I let Nut try to lace me with horrible advice. Nigga swear he Dr. Love.
“Get back here, Turkey!” he booms.
I chuck up the deuces and hightail it all the way out the office to my whip. He won’t chase me when he has Anais, and he won’t play up the group chat without confirmation, but my phone’s still vibrating from our personal thread.
That nigga is nosy as fuck.
I try Shad twice as I zoom home but he’s still not answering, so I make a detour. He lives in a highrise down the block from Set, and we all on the guest list so it’s nothing to park my shit with valet and take the private elevator all the way to his penthouse.
When the elevator opens to his foyer, I notice him on the couch nursing a beer.
“Ay nigga. I been calling you.”
He doesn’t turn toward me, just takes a swig and keeps his eyes closed.
I make it to the couch, taking in the state of his crib. Shad’s always been a little scatter brained, but his crib has never been this dirty. Empty beer bottles and pizza boxes and shit. There’s a blanket, which means the nigga’s been sleeping on his premium Italian leather sofa.
You don’t sleep on those.
Not to mention his hair’s in a frizzy bun on the top of his head.
“Nigga, the fuck is up witchu?”
Shad empties his beer and leans his elbows on his knees. His eyes are glassy and red, and the emptiness in them… I never seen him looking like this.
Shit kinda makes me step back. I take a seat on the matching chair.
“For real, Shad,” I say more softly, “you good?”
He wipes his face and smiles slightly. “Yeah, Dub, I’m straight. My bad about the contract, but you know I’m headlining regardless.”
“I mean, that’s important, but this is also a welfare check. I been meaning to get up with you since Set’s birthday… what’s going on with you and Wynter? Ain’t you still fucking with Sahara?”
Shad leans back on his couch and covers his eyes with a hand.
“To be honest… I don’t even know anymore.
Sahara keep dropping hints about getting married but I’m not on that at all.
And Wynter… the night of her accident we had words.
She leaves the party and next thing I know she all fucked up.
This industry man, it eats muthafuckas up and spits ‘em out and she on a slippery slope with them Get Money niggas.”
“Thought you hated Wyn,” I smirk, knowing he never did.
If anything, he’s been feeling her since he first seen her.
“Yeah, bro. I thought I did, too.” He gets up and starts trying to clean up his living room so I get up and help him.
“You gone end this shit with Cochise?” I ask as he walks me to the elevator.
“Fuck that wannabe Indian Chief ass nigga, Dub, straight up. Only reason he still breathing is because Patience wanted to be Captain Save a Ho. Wassup with that anyway?”
“Now you know Paypay a pacifist foreal. Except when it comes to me.” The lie tastes funny on my tongue but Shad still chuckles as the elevator doors close.
First thing Monday I’m meeting with Apache Beverly at Paradise.
I was scarce with details over the phone, but that didn’t detour the leader of the First Nations.
Long ago he told me if I ever needed anything to hit him, but I never pulled that card because I never needed to.
Besides Paradise, I stayed out of East Kenton.
Now, I’m glad I was even on that with Autumn way back when.
Lying to my bros ain’t ever been my style, but the beef with Shad and Cochise already got Set on edge.
His priority is forever gonna be Shad, and I’m not involving him in no shit I can handle myself.
Pay’s shit with Cochise and them has nothing to do with Shad, and once I speak with Apache and straighten this shit out, we can get Cochise and Shad to sit down.
I’m greeted by the lovely smell of garlic when I make it home. Deuce is already at the island digging into his spaghetti.
Pay turns toward me and the smile that takes over her face… man shorty is beautiful. She’s playing this old Erykah Badu song Autumn used to wear the fuck out when the video came out, still subtly nodding her head as she takes me in.
“I was just making your plate, too. You can eat with us.”
She’s in one of my tees again. This one’s an old Tournament of the Towers shirt. Wavy hair pulled into a short ass ponytail at the top of her head. No makeup.
Before I know it I’m in front of her, pulling her to me. Her arms wrap around my neck as my hands rub the small of her back.
“What are you doing?” she smiles, cutting her eyes to Deuce before coming back to me.
“Giving my honey crisp a kiss,” I say before making good on what I said.
“Honey crisp, huh?”
“Yeah, ‘cause you so sweet.”
“Honeyyyyyy,” she sings off key, making me laugh.
“Mama Pay, you cannot sing.”
Pay turns out my arms to face Deuce and gasps. I just move behind her and palm her stomach.
“Deucey! You don’t think I can sing?”
He just shakes his head. “No, but it’s okay because you can cook and you save lives.”
“That’s right, Deucey Doo. Mama Pay’s perfect like Mommy, huh?”
Deuce smiles at me and nods before shoveling more spaghetti and garlic bread in his mouth.
Pay just simpers, and hands me my plate before making her own.
We spend the rest of the night eating and singing all of their favorite songs off-key. My son spends entirely too much time with G-Pops, because his favorite song is by David Ruffin.
He was carrying a tune, too. I got a video of it and sent it to my cinnamon apple.
By ten my boy’s tucked in and I’m rubbing Pay’s feet in the bed.
Ever since I got back from Deuce’s birthday trip we’ve been sharing a bed.
I rub her down every night to relax her, and she spends that time telling me little anecdotes about her life.
So far it’s only been the craziest things she’s seen in the emergency room, but I’m on her time.
I know it’s a lot for her to even open up.
So the nights she doesn’t feel like talking, I tell her about me.
“If you’ve always lived in Raleigh Park, how did you always end up in the Projects? I know G-Pops wasn’t just dropping you off.”