Mahogany: The Love Drought Series Read online

  “God, please let this car start up,” she sent one up to the big man. She couldn’t be late anymore. The owner of the diner already didn’t trust her since she was known around the way for scamming and stealing. She told him several times that she would never take anything from him. He gave her this job when everyone in the small town she lived in turned their back on her. But he still watched her with a careful eye. Anytime she had to swipe someone’s card to pay for their food, she had to get another waitress to do it. She didn’t let it get to her, she had bills to pay and had to do what she had to do. Mahogany humbled herself real quick once the money dried up. She even told her nigga that she couldn’t keep cashing out on more hours for his lawyer. He needed to sit down and do his time because it led her to being broke. He didn’t talk to her for a few months, which ended up being a blessing because it gave her the boost she needed to bounce back and get back on her hustle. He was full of broken promises and bullshit. She should’ve been known that, but it took her going to surprise him for a visit and seeing a girl that they argued about throughout the course of their relationship coming out of the visitors’ room. This was a bitch that he swore he wasn’t stunting. On top of that hurtful situation, he’d betrayed her in the worst way. One thing she learned from him was that actions always speak louder than words and if a nigga isn’t matching your energy and effort, then it’s time to get a new nigga.

  Thankfully, she made it to her destination. Some shit she didn’t really want to do, but she had no choice. It was hot in the streets which meant that she couldn’t really do much of her side hustle, so she had to punch the clock. Not only was she trying to keep herself fed, but two more mouths as well. She never complained though. Something was going to give and real soon. Mahogany told herself that every time she stepped inside of the diner and took an order from the same bitches and nigga she could probably shit on when her man was still in the streets. It was another reason why she moved far away from Florida once he went away. She refused to be another one of those “That girl used to live her life” stories.

  “Do you want fries with that?”

  η

  He moved on his own time, that’s the kind of man that Porter Bavay was. His mother was a Queen in her own right. She never technically graced the stage of the Moulin Rouge, but she was the showrunner. Nothing moved without her say-so. The lights didn’t turn on, the music wouldn’t start, the doors wouldn’t even open without her permission. She raised him in that same way. Confidence was key. She used to tell him that people could smell your weaknesses before you even opened your mouth. It was all in the way you stood. You had to command the attention of the room. If all eyes weren’t on you…it was a problem. she liked the mysteriousness that surrounded her. everyone wanted to know who she was and what did she do. She would hear the murmurs and whispers. She heard the questions and never stopped to confirm anything. It was the same way with Porter. He was the guy in the pictures with your favorite celebs such as Jay-Z, Diddy, even crazy Kanye. He rubbed shoulders with Yara & QB. Had a personal relationship with Miko and Nasir King, but he was the guy in the flicks that you didn’t know what he did or how he ended up at these low-key events. However, he was at all of them. Baller Alert tried their hardest to dig up his past after the crashing of that plane since so many celebrities had poured out their love on social media. Porter remained silent. No press release, no statement given. None of that. He mourned in silence in a whole ‘nother country. And now he was back.

  After he stepped off the commercial flight, he shook the anxiety away. His stomach turned the entire plane ride. He kept feeling like at any minute it was going to go down and when they experienced a little turbulence, he really lost it. When they finally landed, he was relieved.

  New York still smelled the same. He inhaled deeply and exhaled peace because he knew that he needed it. No one knew he was back. He didn’t bother notifying his old assistant or even his best friend. He planned on popping in to naturally see everyone in their element. When the head honcho was around people tended to perform at a higher rate. He wanted to see who was really grinding. Porter had no problem returning from his “sabbatical” and firing niggas. He could do that. It was his shit.

  He caught an Uber to his place and prayed that the keys he somehow was able to find in a suitcase still worked. When he walked in the lobby, it was like time stood still. His favorite buddy who worked in Hospitality tuned out of the conversation he was having with another one of the residents and immediately ran up to Porter.

  He didn’t get a chance to react or greet him. The short man wrapped his arms around Porter’s waist.

  “I’ve been praying for you, sir,” he told him with so much concern in his voice.

  He heard the authenticity.

  “Bobby, long time my man.” He patted his back because he honestly didn’t know what else to do. It was an awkward moment, but he knew how much this guy probably missed their morning talks.

  They shared books and coffee amongst each other and every Christmas, Porter would give him a cash envelope for him and his family who he often talked about.

  “How have you been?” he asked him with glee in his voice.

  “Maintaining.” That was the only suitable answer he could think of.

  Porter was gracefully taking things one day at a time. He missed his wife and kids, tremendously.

  “Do you need any help with your bags?” He looked around for luggage, but there wasn’t any.

  “Nah, I’m going to go up, shower, and come back down. Busy day today. Do you know if they kept the place clean?” he asked because he had been paying for it.

  He nodded his head. “Certainly, I’m who lets them in. They only come in once a month. The normal schedule seemed absurd since you weren’t here anymore,” he filled him in.

  Porter nodded his head.

  “Can I have some breakfast sent up for you? The usual.” He would do anything for Mr. Bavay.

  “Yeah, that’ll be great.” He rubbed his grumbling stomach.

  It had been ages since he had an American coffee and a good ass omelet.

  “Double up the vegetables and extra-”

  “Cheese. Yes sir. Coming right up. I’ll put it in now. Do we need to have your car washed for you as well?”

  Man, Bobby was on it.

  He smiled at him. “That’ll work. Thanks.” He dapped him up and then headed for the private elevator that came with his penthouse.

  Porter flashed the white card to grant him access. He was nervous about seeing his place. It had been ages and he couldn’t even remember what he had done the last time he was home. Were the kids toys and shit everywhere?

  His anxiety skyrocketed with every ding notifying him that they were inching closer to his home.

  Once he arrived, the doors slid open and he stepped over the threshold allowing the plug-ins to greet him. The lavender and vanilla smell was pleasant.

  He stuck his phone on the charger and hurriedly skirted towards his bedroom after seeing one of his daughter’s shoes behind the couch in the living room.

  Porter’s closet was full of his things, mainly since Kim and the kids were rarely in town.

  It was nothing like your own shit. Bed, toilet, even that one spot on the couch is something you’ll never be able to find in a hotel, no matter how plush it is. Being comfortable and cozy in your home is something that people really take for granted. Porter was so happy to shit in his own toilet, he literally sat there in deep thought. He spent more time in the shower than he planned on. His mind was everywhere. He still couldn’t believe he was back in the city, but how long did he really plan on staying in France? He had no idea. Until his heart felt better. With time, things slowly came together, but he was still broken.

  He finally turned the water off, knowing that he couldn’t stay in the walk-in massive shower stall forever. He wrapped a towel around his waist and followed his keen nose into the kitchen where his breakfast awaited him. It took him a small second to rememb
er where everything was, two minutes later he had said grace and dived in. The food tasted the same; divine. After he ate, he went back towards his master suite and stepped into his closet to find something to wear.

  Joggers and a t-shirt would look to ‘laxed and for Casey to call him in for reinforcement meant business, so he needed to look like it. He also could go for a line-up, so he would go there first then swing by the office. Porter’s weight fluctuated over the past two years, but thankfully, one of his older suits fit him perfectly. The ash gray suit draped right over his size fifteen Fendi dress shoes. He found a periwinkle button down that still was in plastic from the cleaners and stuck his engraved cuff links, a gift from his late wife. He added a watch and a lil’ cologne along with his suit jacket in the crook of his arm.

  “Phone and keys,” he mumbled to himself before realizing he was leaving the house empty handed.

  Porter stepped off the elevator feeling like a new man. He was smelling good and looked like a walking lick. Some of the residents recognized him and others didn’t. Without him exerting any effort, he captured the attention of everyone in the lobby of his building.

  His car was in the front, windows tinted and rims shining.

  “Good looking, Bobby,” he thanked his buddy and gave him whatever money was left in the pockets of his suit. Porter needed to go to the bank as well or hire a new assistant. A lot of things were always done for him without him having to think about it, thanks to Jillian.

  He slid into the leather seat of one of his favorite cars and revved the engine. That motherfucker sounded better than wet pussy first thing in the morning. Porter was almost happy…almost.

  Traffic was light since it was a lil’ after ten, so he made it to his barbershop in perfect timing. Smack dab in the hood, he pulled his whip into one of the few vacant parking spots on the side of the street.

  “Who the hell that is?” one of the girls who braided hair in the shop asked.

  His barber was finishing up one and had four or more lined up. Even though it was a Wednesday morning, the shop was in full swing. He looked out the window to see who Jazzy was talking about and a big smile crept across his face.

  He whispered to himself, “Ain’t no way.”

  Porter Bavay, back? His favorite client. Off him alone his pricey rent was covered. He missed him tremendously when he left. The conversation they had the morning of the funeral when he came by the crib to spruce him up was one that he’d never forget. In fact, it was the only reason why he married his longtime girlfriend.

  “Maurice, how long you been with your lady?” he asked him.

  Porter’s eyes were blood shot red. His shoulders were slumped. He was hungover and high as a kite.

  Maurice brushed some hair off the back of Porter’s head. “Shoootttt, ‘bout eleven years man. I don’t know.” He couldn’t remember.

  “Marry her. This year.”

  His barber said nothing as he continued doing his job.

  “You heard me?” his words were low. He had no energy. His wife and kids…what the fuck. The only thing that made it real was the suit that was hanging a few feet away. The funeral was in a few hours and he wasn’t prepared to say his goodbyes.

  “Yeah, but we not on that. We’re good.”

  Porter shook his head disagreeing. “Nah, she’s the one and you know she is. Give her your last name, commit to her, love her. It don’t take forever to know that someone is the one. You care about her, right?”

  “More than anything in this world,” he sounded so sure.

  “So why wait?” Porter wished that he had one more encounter with Kim.

  We never knew the time or the hour.

  Maurice instructed him, “Sit back.”

  He cut his hair in silence while debating on what his big homie had told him to do. His words resonated with him. He loved his shorty and really didn’t know why he hadn’t dropped to one knee. Perhaps, he was comfortable. But she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

  When he finished, he told Porter, “I’m going to marry her.” He had made up his mind.

  Porter nodded his head. “Good.”

  He tried to pay him, and Maurice looked insulted. “Come on…you’re my guy and today is…” he didn’t have any words. He couldn’t imagine how he was feeling but he saw it on his face. His heart was compressed.

  “At least let me tip you.” Porter held out the hundred-dollar bill.

  Maurice wouldn’t take it, so he walked off and left him in the room by himself. He needed another shot to numb his pain. His high was wearing off and he smoked the whole zip that he copped less than two days ago.

  “I’ll see you later,” that was his goodbye after packing up his things.

  Maurice told the guy whose hair he was about to cut, “Let me do him real quick then I got you,” and went outside. Porter locked his doors with the key fob and stepped onto the sidewalk.

  “I need to skip the line,” he greeted his barber with his hand outstretched for a shake.

  Maurice wanted a fuckin’ hug. He missed his nigga.

  They greeted each other warmly.

  “Looking good. Who been fucking your hairline up though?” His face was frowned up as he examined his cut.

  Porter chuckled. He hadn’t smiled or laughed this much since…

  “Mannnnn, I got one cut since I’ve been gone. It is not that bad. Come on, I got somewhere to be,” he said before going into the shop like he hadn’t been gone forever.

  He spoke to who he knew and nodded to those that he didn’t, then sat in Maurice’s chair ogling the guy who was most likely next.

  “You want to cut him first?” He had no problem waiting but preferred not to and the way he tipped over the years… Porter was low-key questioning his barber right now. If he would’ve made him wait, he would’ve done so, but wouldn’t have returned. That’s why he tipped the way he did on a regular basis because it gave him last-minute perks such as cutting the line after being away for two years. Doing good deeds on a consistent basis went a long way in business.

  Maurice wasn’t stunting that nigga. “You good. What made you come back?” he questioned.

  Porter rarely came into the shop. Maurice would come to him, so he damn sure wasn’t about to get into such a personal conversation in a shop full of niggas.

  “We’ll rap. I’ll be here for a minute…I think.” He wasn’t sure what his plans were as of yet. Depending on how things were looking when he went into the office would determine a lot.

  Maurice knew what that meant, so he quieted and handled his business. Porter may have thought his hair wasn’t in bad shape, but it was. He needed a conditioner and everything. He was one of those niggas that had good hair and it needed to be treated properly.

  “We got some work to do, but for now, you’re good to go,” he told him as he snatched the cape off him and sprayed his head with some sheen.

  Porter stood up and glanced into the mirror. “Yeah…” he agreed. His hairline was sharper than Steve Harvey’s when he was hosting the Apollo back in the day.

  He slid some money into his Maurice’s hand and told him that he’d see him soon.

  “I don’t have your new number.”

  He wasn’t giving it out either, as he was not ready to be accessible.

  “I’ma swing back though here after hours.”

  The shop also served as a gambling spot once the clients were taken care of. Porter was one of the heavy hitters that came through and would easily throw forty thousand daring anyone to match him. It had been awhile since he indulged in his bad habits.

  “You know them niggas still be here talking shit, slide through.” They dapped up and P was finally on his way to take care of business.

  He parked out front and took the elevator up. He owned the building. He actually owned the block. Life was beautiful. From being an abandoned baby in one of the most famous art museums in the world to a gotdamn self-made billionaire. If no one was proud of him, he damn s
ure was patting himself on the back. He came from nothing and turned it into everything. Porter worked day in and out, convicted felon, jail bird, orphan, he had all kinds of issues and knew that one day therapy should be considered. Aside from the bullshit, he was such a blessed and beautiful man. The place was booming and bumping, but were they making moves though? That’s what was really important. He didn’t recognize the receptionist and the fact that there was no security on the main floor bothered him. Since when was it this easy to walk in his shit without showing no kind of ID or being on a list? Yeah, things had definitely changed.

  “Um, excuse me sir, you can’t just walk through here. Who you do have a meeting with?” the woman attempted to stop him, but she didn’t even stand up or leave her desk to do so. She would be fired in a few minutes.

  “Do you know who I am?” Clearly, she didn’t, so he only asked to amuse himself.

  “No and who are you here for?” she asked him again.

  Porter informed her kindly, “I’m the man that signs your checks and the man that just fired you.”

  Her eyes squinted at him. She knew his dark ass looked familiar.

  “Oh my God, Mr. Bavay, my apologies. I don’t have my glasses on,” she tried to clear it up, but it was too late. He didn’t like her vibe.

  He walked off and went down the hallway. Music was on loudly. Food everywhere. It smelled like salt and vinegar chips…and weed?

  Were they smoking in here?

  He shook his head trying his hardest to keep it cool. He peeked into every office there was, some vacant and others were not doing shit.

  “Mr. Bavayyyy…” a few greeted him, full of surprise.

  One of his employees checked her email to see if she missed an announcement that he was returning.