Mahogany: The Love Drought Series Page 4

  Porter found the ‘leaders’ in the conference room. Casey’s voice is what led him there.

  When he opened the door, all eyes landed on him and he didn’t look happy at all. In fact, he had a scowl on his face.

  Casey smiled happily to see his nigga, but Porter didn’t return the gesture.

  “WHAT IN THE FUCK DID Y’ALL DO TO MY COMPANY?”

  It went down the drain.

  He felt his blood pressure rising.

  He was enraged.

  No one said anything, which only infuriated him more.

  “All of y’all are fired. Get out.”

  No one moved.

  He wasn’t going to repeat himself. It wasn’t gotdamn happening.

  Porter walked out of the boardroom and slammed the door so hard that the glass broke.

  Casey looked at them. “Go home, I’ll send an email.” He would do damage control, it was actually what he got paid to do.

  Porter’s office remained untouched and he was thankful because if it was he would’ve really went off on their asses. He was trying to control his rage.

  Casey stepped in and closed the door behind him. He shut the blinds because all eyes were on them right now.

  “P, why didn’t you tell me you were flying in?” He wanted to add that he called him weeks ago.

  “I trusted you with my shit… Where is-”

  Before he could ask where the President and his other best friend was, Casey went on and told him, “Rehab.”

  The muscles relaxed in his face.

  “Huh?”

  Rehab…not his friend.

  “It was too much…he overdosed, and Jill found him… Man, sit down. We need to talk. It’s a lot going on and I’m going to tell you now, all of it is going to make you mad.” He sighed as he removed his suit jacket.

  Porter was stumped.

  Did he make the right decision by ducking off to France? Was his business still standing? He had no idea.

  C H A P T E R 3

  A rose is still a rose – Aretha Franklin

  After a long, excruciating, muscle clenching session with his trainer, Porter was refueled and ready to face the music. He showered and dressed casually before heading into the office. He figured he’d be here until the wee hours of the morning which is why he didn’t bother with a suit.

  The conference room was full of…the important people. Porter wasn’t too happy to see any of them.

  “I was actually serious when I fired y’all.” The look on his face was emotionless and held no expression. No one could read him.

  Casey slowly lifted from his seat, “P, these people have been here forever.”

  He tried to plead on everyone’s behalf. For goodness sake, who the fuck lets go of a whole company? Porter Bavay, apparently.

  He nodded his head. “Exactly, motherfuckers are too comfortable. I want hungry people in here, late night grinders. The youngins that are desperate to catch a break. The ones that are yearning for success. All of y’all are rich, y’all are lazy and…you’re fired. Everybody get out.” He was serious as a heart attack.

  He had a problem and he didn’t hesitate to admit that he struggled with keeping his cool. It wasn’t necessarily an anger issue, it was more of being a perfectionist. When things weren’t perfect, he grew extremely irritated. And he hated it, seriously...it killed him how bothered he could be about things. Everything irked him, and it was because he wasn’t a patient man. Ported liked things to be done in decency and in order. Everything had to start on time and he prided himself on being everywhere at least five minutes before he had to be. The downside of this, which made him shameful, was that he was always late when it came to his family. He loved his children, they were his peace after a long day. However, being the responsible one in his company came with a lot of duties. The ones closest to him were the ones that had to suffer. Bout time he made it home, he was drained and didn’t have the energy to do anything other than wash his ass and sleep. He’d give it all up to hear Kim complain about being tired and needing a break.

  Truth be told, he was half-listening as she paced the floor with her hands on her slender hips. She had her head down and he figured it was because when he came home, she seemed to already be on her second or third glass of wine. Porter was responding to Jill, updating his calendar, and a text message from a former client asking if they can do lunch this week. The answer was no. If it wasn’t beneficial or profitable, he didn’t make time for it. Porter only moved things around for people that would do it for him. Call it selfish or whatever, he was a businessman.

  “Babe, I’m overwhelmed… I think I need a nanny or something,” she exhaled.

  Porter shook his head. “No need.” He wasn’t hiring no damn nanny; her ass didn’t do shit. She was flustered and had one long day, all she needed was to lay down. She’d be fine in the morning.

  “Well, what about an assistant?”

  He laughed. She was funny. A real damn comedian, that Kim…

  “For what?”

  She wanted to tear his head off. He didn’t take her role as a mother serious at all. He assumed that it was easy getting up at five thirty in the morning, making breakfast, ironing clothes, doing hair, going back behind the kids to make sure the boogers were out of their noses and that they washed the boo boo off their asses. Then hauling them to school, speaking to the teachers, oh, and don’t forget packing lunches, telling the kids not to hit each other or kick the back of the seat. And it wasn’t like she could come home and lounge around like a desperate housewife because then her needy husband, who swore he didn’t ask for anything, would send her a list of shit he needed done by some magical hour so that was another four hours’ worth of errands. Plus, maintaining her own image, grocery shopping, keeping the house clean, picking the kids back up, taking them to every extracurricular activity there was, to finally coming home and making sure homework is done and correct. She had to still make dinner, fold laundry and say prayers with the kids. When her husband waltzed his fine ass in the house after hours, she had to keep a smile plastered on his face because for sure she didn’t want to bitch about her day while he worked day in and out to give her the lavish lifestyle that they had. Oh, and don’t let him come home wanting her to turn into a porn star…

  Only a mother would understand how she felt every day. She wanted a nanny and a damn assistant. She deserved it.

  “I think I want to go back to work…soon,” she also added.

  Porter didn’t have time for this conversation. “Yo, are you going through menopause or something? Go back to work for what? The kids need you.”

  She was two seconds from throwing a vase at his big-headed ass.

  “They need you too! When was the last time you made it home before they went to sleep?”

  “Man don’t start. I had a long day.” He huffed and puffed. He wasn’t in the mood for her bitching tonight.

  She was so sick of him using that line. Hell, she had a long day too.

  “Oh, and what did I do today? Paint my toe nails and drink lemon drops by the pool?” she was being extremely sarcastic. True Kim Bavay nature.

  He kept his comment to himself, knowing it’ll hurt her feelings.

  “Fuck it, I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

  He was always giving up. She was lonely. Kim was growing tired of doing this marriage and mommy thing by herself.

  “Porter, I think I’m moving to Atlanta. It’s nothing up here for me. I want to be around my family. You’re never home and honestly, I’m over it,” she blurted out, tired of holding on to that thought.

  He couldn’t honestly care less right now. He needed sleep.

  “If that’s what you want to do then cool, Kim. I’ve got a lot going on right now, so call the realtor in the morning.”

  He didn’t face her before he walked out of their room and that was the last night she slept in their suburban home.

  Nine months later…she was dead.

  η

 
Beauty By Bavay was a multi-million, close to a billion, dollar company. What he enjoyed the most about his company was that the name threw people off and that’s what inspired him to do more. To be more. To create magic. When a person first heard of Beauty by Bavay, one would assume that it was a cosmetic company or maybe a hair salon. A person would also think that it was ran by a woman because what man would tie his name to beauty? Without risking the speculation of being a gay man… Porter Bavay did. He wasn’t just the nigga that signed the checks, but he was once the CEO of his company. Beauty By Bavay served as an agency for all kinds of platforms and careers. Porter and his team of almost sixty were the go-to for new models, artists, designers, DJ’s, high-profile actress, and with YouTube and Instagram giving people fame overnight, his company was now accepting social media talent. They were primarily responsible for beautifying the image of their clients. His company wasn’t to be mistaken for a public relations firm because Porter didn’t clean up messes. He didn’t do damage control, nor could he get you killed. The talent came to him. Record labels outsourced him and his team to come in and do the work to possibly make the client the next big thing. Porter had his hands in several honey pots, on top of Beauty by Bavay, he was into real estate, stocks, and the music industry. He was extremely passionate about everything that he did. He had a sound ear for good music, so as another side hustle that brought in about four million dollars a year and a few awards. Oh yeah, P was a Grammy winner. He did A & R when his time permitted him to do so. His mother had several hustles, so he did too. There was enough money for him to make more than one of his dreams come true, so his ambition drove him to obtain it all.

  Beauty By Bavay was his baby. His pride and glory. His blood, sweat and tears. He worked hard for his shit too. Porter had done a lot of illegal things to build his company into what it was, well what it used to be. These ungrateful niggas didn’t care about his hard work. They didn’t care that he sacrificed time and memories with his family to make sure that food stayed on the table, not just for his peoples, but theirs as well. No one would never ever love your shit like you do, he saw that today with his own eyes. He always had this thing where he would always remain the hardest working employee of his company. No one could outwork him, but those that tried would be rewarded for their dedication and commitment.

  Six hours had passed, and he had been holed up in his office, on the floor with piles of files stacked against the walls. What had happened and why did they wait so long to contact him?

  He wondered when Jillian was coming back into work, he was hungry and only trusted her to handle those kinds of tasks for him. He promoted her before he went to France, so another assistant would have to be hired soon.

  “I can order my own damn food,” he said to himself as he got up and went down the hallway to see if there were any menus that delivered in the break room.

  The building was empty. He sent Casey home with the rest of fallen soldiers, but he couldn’t fire him. Casey had a lot going on and didn’t technically need to remain on his best friend’s payroll, but he knew that he was passionate about his job and couldn’t carry the company on his own, which is why he thought that he had chosen the right man for the job. Porter knew that eventually he would need to go see Burke. It was still difficult to believe that one of the strongest men he knew weakened due to addiction. Casey shared with him that it was the hard-core shit too. Heroin and a lot of alcohol. What happened to a lil’ blunt before starting your day and getting high to go to sleep? Porter knew that his enterprise was a handful, but never did it become so overwhelming where he felt the need to take a drug to numb the stress. Burke must’ve been dealing with some other shit. He asked him where his wife and kids were, at one point they were all one big gang. He had last seen them distraught at the funeral, since his wife and Kim were relatively close.

  He told them that he wanted to be alone and to mourn in solitude and they respected his wishes. Should Porter have at least checked in with Burke on a monthly basis? Perhaps via email, or something. He literally left this big ass company in this man’s hand…

  He blamed himself for his friend’s demise and sooner than later, he planned on going to see him. They were going to get through this together.

  Although he had refused any support or sympathy when he lost his everything. His entire world came crumbling down when that plane crashed, and he wanted to…fucking die. Bereavement or a hug wasn’t necessary, but he and Burke were two different men.

  Porter had old school music playing loudly through the Bose speakers. Mainly, he wanted to reconnect to his purpose. His passion. The reason he started this thing in the first place. It wasn’t like any other agency around. He had done things based off how his mom ran Moulin Rouge; with an iron fist.

  η

  How in the world did he let Casey and them talk him into going out? He didn’t have fun anymore, let alone find enjoyment at a place such as this and especially not at Shakers. The strip club wasn’t entertaining to him.

  “Do any of these women wear bras at home? They ain’t got no money to get no breast lift…saggy ass titties,” his comrade, Ashton, complained. No one in here appealed to his senses or maybe he was madly in love with his wife.

  Casey shook his head. “Nigga, I know you’re not talking…” He wouldn’t come on out and say it, but his wife’s boobs were damn near hanging to her belly button.

  Ashton straightened up and looked his friend right in the eye. “I’m listening.” He wanted him to speak on his wife because he was gon’ shoot his ass with no hesitation.

  Porter tuned them both out. “Do we at least get a private room, section or something?” He didn’t want to sit in the midst of everyone else. Not that he thought he was some hot shot dude, but because he didn’t want any attention on him. Nor did he want to run into anyone that would try to hold him hostage in a conversation he wasn’t in the mood to have.

  “Excuse me,” she snapped. These old ass niggas saw her trying to pick up the loose dollar bills and they had the nerve to not even move out of her way, so she could do this stupid shit as quick as possible. She felt lower than low, but the rent was due, and her car had given out on her. Mahogany felt as if she was left with no other choice at this point. She had the hips, titties and ass to swing on the pole.

  Mahogany was too bourgeois to be dancing in the strip club. The whole money falling on you and then you gotta pick it up after your set made her uncomfortable.

  What was crazy was that she had the biggest scowl on her face, which led Casey to nudge Porter. “There go a lil’ pit bull for ya,” he smirked. He wondered how his friend was really holding up. They still hadn’t had a chance to talk on a personal level. Porter was so business-minded, he still wanted to check on his homie’s heart and to see where his head was.

  They used to joke back in the day that Porter attracted bitches. Literally. The mean, angry, feisty women were his type. He didn’t like soft-spoken women, but always denied it.

  “No one in here is…” He shook his head. He wasn’t going there with Casey’s mannish ass. He still didn’t know how he folded and allowed him to drag in here.

  He stuck out like a sore thumb. Casey was dressed to the nines. Ashton looked like a younger version of his father, with a Cashmere sweater on and slacks while Porter had on joggers, Nikes, and a fitted V-neck. He asked the “Pitbull”,

  “Can we get a private room? Near the DJ booth.” He wanted to still be able to hear the music.

  She jerked out of his reach. “Fuck nigga, do it look like I sell pussy to you?” she snapped. Eyes bucking damn near out of her head as she thought about hitting him dead off in the mouth simply because he disrespected her, but she needed the money.

  He was so fucking tall, and she was already in seven-inch platform heels…it still didn’t help her.

  Porter was extremely shocked by her outburst and attitude. He held his hands up and stepped back from her, thinking to himself, did she really call me a fuck nigga? Yeah, he was
officially back in New York.

  “Whoa, I thought you worked here… guess not.” He knew that she did but decided to save face. She looked as if she was two seconds from slapping fire from him and he didn’t want the smoke.

  “I’m not the one and besides, you couldn’t afford me no way,” she said, almost immediately judging him by his appearance which wasn’t much. Unlike, the other men standing around Shakers, he had on no jewelry nor was there a stack of ones in his hands. She assumed he was a broke, local joker which was the complete opposite of the niggas that she gave dances to. It was only her third night and she knew that she wouldn’t be here longer. Her goal was to make at least fifteen-hundred to get a cash car from this dude that had a dealer’s license, so she could make it to work and home. Uber wasn’t an option, it ate up the little money she made in tips at the diner.

  He was amused. “Yeah, I bet. Carry on sweetheart.” He turned around and told Casey, “I’ll catch y’all later. I’m tired and still got a lot of work to do.” Shorty had blown him.

  She rolled her eyes and went back to stuffing the money into her green Crown Royal bag.

  “Man, we just got here. Don’t let her mean ass fuck up our night,” Ashton chimed in.

  Porter sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. For whatever reason, he looked back at her on her knees scooping the money up and felt bad for her. She didn’t want to be here, and it was quite obvious. She was a beautiful young woman and he could tell that they were worlds apart. She had a permanent scowl on her face and had a higher possibility of being more successful at this venture if she smiled more. Her pouty lips appeared edible, they probably tasted like heaven. Her low, chinky eyes were covered in heavy blue metallic eye shadow and were outlined in black eyeliner, he could do without the makeup. He preferred his women to be natural goddesses. Which led him to wonder what she looked like without all that shit on. Her frame was short, thick, and petite. Something different for him as well because he mainly dated models. Well, his wife was once one and Kim was tall. Lil’ mama damn sure had some ass on her, which is what had to get her the job because it wasn’t her amazing bubbly personality. The blonde hair worked for her, but with her shitty mood, it gave him Lil Kim “Nasty One” vibes which wasn’t a good thing.