Chapter 46 #2
“Eden was hungry. I took her to a seafood place, and she ate there because I wasn’t tryna have my car smell like the ocean.” Marlon’s shoulders relaxed and I assumed that meant this discussion was over.
“So there’s no attraction at all?” he pressed, like a TMZ cameraman. I could only squint at this, irritation beginning to rise up from within. I was really not trying to have an hour-long conversation about the likelihood of me fucking Eden, of all people. “Eden’s a pretty girl.”
“Which ain’t exactly rare,” I countered. If he thought he was making a point, I’d be sure to let him know he had none. I could get pretty any day of the week. “I don’t want your sister, bruh.”
Marlon nodded at this, offering up a terse, “Good.”
Even though it was a short response, I could see him gearing up to add on to that. From the way he shifted uncomfortably where he stood, I could tell he was about to come at me with some bullshit.
“What if the label doesn’t release a statement?”
Right. Just as I suspected. Some bullshit.
I caught on quickly.
“Don’t involve me on some media marketing project theory. You wanted the label—I invested. We not about to go back and forth on some ‘All publicity is good publicity’ shit. Release the statement, or I will.”
Marlon stood up straight, going into negotiating mode. I rose to my feet as well because I was not about to be pulled into this argument literally sitting down.
“Look, Eden’s album shot up three spots on the charts. And the single that she released months ago is back in the Top 20. It’s being played all over the city, too. This is organic growth with staying power. People who have never paid attention to her before are—”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Okay, we’ll release a statement.” Well, that concession was quick. “But let it be vague.”
Skeptical, a single eyebrow rose. “How vague?”
“We keep everything as is, but we cut out the part about how you see her as your sister.” Marlon could sense me about to decline, and so he continued.
“Eden is the only artist on the label with mass market appeal right now. When her career takes off, then we can really begin leveraging her influence for other artists. Right now, it’s a money drain and just because you don’t care about blowing millions of dollars on a gamble, doesn’t mean I don’t.
Even if it is your money—I did not get my PhD in this shit to not see results. ”
Marlon eyed me cautiously, bracing himself for an adamant refusal. I was just short of dismissing the idea once and for all, when I remembered my visit with Silas a few days prior.
For months, the new record label had been exactly as Marlon described it, a money drain.
The money lost wasn’t breaking anyone’s bank, but the biggest takeaway from all of that wasn’t in the fact that the label was expensive.
The fact of the matter was that hopes and dreams wouldn’t justify the losses forever.
I could funnel as much money as I wanted into this project, but until the label started to keep itself afloat, I really had nothing to show for it.
Everyday that we remained in the red, I lost my excuse to distance myself from the high risk businesses my family was known for.
I pushed out a sigh, something that Marlon immediately took for a yes, a triumphant smile spreading across his face in response to my scowl.
***
“So you’re not dating the pop star,” Dr. Eloise gathered, scribbling something onto that notepad of hers. Many times I’d been in her office in the past year and a half, wondering what kind of notes she was taking about me.
My last two semesters before graduating from FSU had been made up of exclusively online classes.
After the news coverage of what happened with Joshua Caplan at my father’s trial last year, I hated being out in public.
The constant eyes on me, curious as to what I’d do next, took their toll and after speaking to my university’s academic advisor, exceptions were made so that I could finish up my last year of school remotely in Miami.
The option of staying in my home city gave me the option of seeing a therapist regularly—Dr. Eloise, come highly recommended by my older sister, Monique.
Every Monday at noon, I sat for an hour session where, from a brown leather chaise, I cut the front and got honest about my innermost feelings.
If someone had informed me that someday I’d be at some shrink’s office, talking about the contraindications of my childhood, I would have laughed my ass off.
But I made a promise.
It was a promise I could have easily broken, but when you bargain with the universe and the universe delivers, a little part of you will fear what may happen if you don’t hold up your end of the deal.
Last year, in Lauren’s hospital room, I promised some unseen higher power that if she woke up in decent health, I would do something I didn’t want to do in return.
Lauren ultimately did wake up, ultimately shutting me out over what could’ve only been a misunderstanding, but a promise was a promise.
So every Monday at noon, I watched Dr. Eloise scribble her notes after just about everything I’d say.
“I’m not dating the pop star,” I revealed from where I laid.
The scratching of her pen against paper could be heard, as she made a quiet sound that urged me to continue.
“It’s a publicity thing. She has her first American tour starting December 16th, and the more people payin’ attention to her, the higher the likelihood they will see she’s touring. Noise marketing. Tickets get sold.”
“And this was…” Dr. Eloise’s weathered brown eyes squinted to remember names. “…Marlon’s idea?”
“Clearly.”
She cracked a smile at my tone, scribbling something down.
The gray of her curly ‘fro flopped forward, slumping a stray curl along her forehead. The older woman was likely in her early sixties, a veteran therapist specializing in African-American focused mental health needs. Even though we’d likely come from very, very different backgrounds, there still remained an undercurrent of mutual understanding between the both of us.
She didn’t cringe when I called my friends “niggas”, understood when I said certain things to be funny, and allowed me to leave my new persona as “Silas’ replacement” at the door. The foundation of racial similarity that we started on, however flimsy, was worth something, at least.
“And what about law schools?” she pressed, bringing her note-taking pen between her teeth.
“I’m about to say something that makes me sound real ungrateful,” I warned her.
She smiled, getting her ink ready. “Try me.”
“I got into my first-choice school,” I revealed, with an unexcited sigh. “They sent the acceptance in the mail earlier than I expected, offering up a whole care package to go with it—shirts, pens, folders, all of that.”
Dr. Eloise, ever the professional, didn’t scream her congratulations at me like just about everyone else. I was actually grateful for this. With a nod of her head, she simply issued a poised, “Congrats.”
I nodded.
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know if they accepted me because I actually earned it, or if it’s because just about every law school in the country wants to be able to say they accepted the witness from that trial that went viral last summer.”
A look of understanding crossed her features before quickly dissipating into her usual neutral expression. “Kain,” she started as if gearing up to scold me, “remind me what your graduating GPA was again.”
As much notes as Dr. Eloise took, I knew she wasn’t asking because she didn’t remember. She was asking so that I would be forced to speak my credentials out loud. I only looked at her, unwilling to blindly fall into this long practiced choreography of getting me to answer my own questions.
“It was perfect, if I’m not mistaken,” she answered when met with my silence.
“Yeah,” I confirmed.
“And your LSAT scores were very high as well, correct?”
“They were.”
“Then you earned it, sir.” My therapist shrugged as if this was more than obvious. “And when you show up for class next fall at Yale, you better act like it. But, somehow, I get the sense your apprehension has nothing to do with a question of qualification.”
And this is why I pay her…
Dr. Eloise was very good at her job, exactly the kind of person I would recommend to those I cared about if I was the type of dude who went around suggesting therapists.
She leaned forward, giving me her undivided attention when she continued, “New Haven, Connecticut, is very far. Can we talk about your reservations about leaving Miami?”
“My reservations?”
“You haven’t left the city for an extended period for about sixteen months. If I’m not mistaken, you also completed your last year of university online.”
“But that’s only because I never wanted to miss an appointment with you, doc.”
Dr. Eloise chuckled, halfway rolling her eyes at that response. “Let’s explore your unwillingness to leave, Kain. What’s keeping you here?”
“It’s a lot of things.”
“Are you sure about that?” She was skeptical.
I got defensive. “Silas is locked up. If I leave, his whole operation goes to shit.”
“You don’t care about any of that,” she said quietly.
This was the part of therapy that I hated the most—being told about myself by someone who purported themselves to somehow understand my decisions better than I did.
“Yes, I do.”
Dr. Eloise rose from her seat, walking over to a filing cabinet and searching through it before pulling out a folder. When she returned to me, the folder opened to reveal a stack of handwritten notes in chronological order of date.
“Now that I’ve got my receipts—” I cracked a half-smile. “—let me ask you again. What’s keeping you here, Kain?”
The truth remained frozen on my tongue, and that hollow feeling emerged yet again in the pit of my stomach.
“My family sits at the head of a billion-dollar drug ring, situated in the heart of Miami-Dade County, and if I leave, the business will suffer.” Patient-doctor confidentiality is a beautiful thing. The elderly woman didn’t even flinch, instead running an impatient hand through her gray short cut.
“That may be true, but—” Dr. Eloise pulled out a sheet of paper from her stack, and read “—on February 20th, 2017, you told me that if the whole empire crumbled tomorrow, you’d just have one less thing to stress about.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t sound like a person who cares if business suffers. ”
When I only shrugged, she continued to press harder.
“Is this about Lauren?”
“No.”
This was an obvious lie, which my therapist picked up on quite easily. She carried on with her questioning as if I’d answered with a yes.
“Do you feel like if you leave for New Haven, you’re only making the separation between the two of you stronger?”
“I have a legal document that says I can’t get within 100 feet of her,” I reminded. “The separation is damn strong.”
Dr. Eloise cracked a smile and replied, “Your family sits at the head of a billion-dollar drug ring. Kain, there are men breaking the law on your orders as we speak. You expect me to believe you draw the line at breaking a restraining order?”
“It’s not the law I’m respecting,” I informed with a shake of my head. My therapist raised her eyebrows expectantly. “She wants me to keep my distance. If that’s what she wants, then that’s what I’ll do.”
When Lauren was in the hospital, I made her a promise as well. If she woke up, I promised to do whatever she wanted me to do. Even if that meant staying the fuck away from her.
“There’s a small part of you that hopes she reaches out on her own. And that part of you is why you’re wary about moving to New Haven. Am I right?”
I didn’t answer the question, a habit of mine when questions with blaringly obvious answers are asked. Dr. Eloise continued, taking my silence as a yes.
“However, you know that she only filed the papers because she believes you betrayed her, yes?”
I nodded, knowing this to be true.
“Don’t you think you’d get closure by telling her the truth?
” Dr. Eloise didn’t know the truth, either.
The fact that Joshua Caplan was the person who shot Lauren was something I’d kept to myself for a year and a half.
The only other person who knew the truth, besides me and Silas, was the person who’d helped me realize it, Vance.
“Telling the truth is easier said than done.”
“Because?”
“I can’t tell you,” I told Dr. Eloise for what might’ve been the hundredth time since I started seeing her for sessions.
I couldn’t tell anyone. What Joshua Caplan had done to his daughter—regardless of it being an accident—was criminal.
Dr. Eloise would not be bound by patient-doctor confidentiality if I gave her that kind of information.
She would be legally obligated to report it.
And at the end of the day, the whole motivation for keeping the horrible truth to myself was for Lauren’s sake. So I had to be careful about who I gave it out to. I could fix a lot of things, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to fix whatever damage revealing the truth to Lauren would cause.
My therapist shut her folder full of notes, sensing that she was about to hit a wall with me. She was absolutely right.
“So what’s the word on law school in New Haven?”
She let that be her last question for me.