Love UnCharted (Love's Improbable Possibility) (2 page)

Chanell squealed, breaking my attention away from Azmir. That’s when I noticed the heavy anticipatory expressions across the table—I mean,  I saw mouths open and some even looked as though they were holding their breath!

I turned to see Azmir pulled out a five by seven sized wrapped case and was handing it over to Kid.
More jewelry? Is that Kid’s thing?
Kid seemed to have taken forever to open the box and I realized that I wasn’t the only one to feel that way when one of Syn’s girls yelled out, “Hurry the fuck up, Kid!”

I can’t lie, a nervy side of me brought on by the mimosa shot her a look of,
Shut the hell up and stop acting like a damn hood rat!
because I knew much of the reason for her suspense was due to the fact that
Azmir
was the gifter. Shoot! Even
I
was on edge in anticipation.

Kid opened the box and discovered a car key fob with a huge emblem on the ring that I wasn’t familiar with. He read from a piece of paper, barely audible to those at the table. That was until he screamed, “A fucking Aston Martin One-77?”

The table went up in a roar. I was frozen at the table, steeling in my seat, unable to move.

What in the…?

“Holy shiiiiiiiiiiit!” Wop screamed and jumped his five foot seven inch frame from his seat at the opposite end of the table from me.

The other
Clan
guys were right behind him in their shock, approval, and envy of this over the top gift that had just been bestowed upon Kid. I really didn’t know much about the dynamics of this group, or
The Clan
for that matter, and felt that it was an odd phenomenon.

I swear, I felt like I was at the table of an organized crime family with their interactions, but knew the thought was silly and didn’t wrestle with it long.

Honestly
—
you’re living with the man, if there was anything illegal going on you’d know!

I recalled some of the things Chanell told me in Puerto Vallarta about Azmir being the leader of
The Clan
, but I never thought to ask what was the mission behind the group. I suddenly questioned where all the money was coming from. Things started feeling weird—cognitively and
physiologically
.

Azmir tenderly rubbing my shoulders hurled me from my ruminative thoughts. He took to his seat next to me. I peered over and found him searching my eyes for answers.

“You okay, Ms. Brimm?” he whispered in my ear so low that I doubted if even Kim to the right of me could hear.

“My stomach’s feeling a little queasy, but I should be okay.” I was telling the truth. My stomach had begun bubbling and I couldn’t figure out why.
Could it be the eggs?

“We’ll be leaving soon enough. I’ll have you home resting.”

I gave him a slight smile, trying to force politeness. I also noticed Syn all in our faces. I may have even cut my eyes at her.
I don’t know
. 

Eventually, everyone resumed their individual conversations. I saw Kim turn toward Petey. Kid was looking down the table, chatting with Wop and the other guys. Azmir bent his long upper torso down to my ear and continued to ask me about what I was experiencing and offered to order me ginger ale. I obliged, feeling like the sensation wasn’t slowing down. He ordered the soda and took to his phone—the personal cell, which was his iPhone.

Chanell blurted out, “Yoooooo! Was that private party dope as hell or what on Thursday night, yo!”

“Yeah…yeah! Yo, Chanell, man, you did yo’ thing!” Wop yelled in concert with the other guys.

“Yeah, good looking, C! ‘Dem bitches was right!” Kid blurted before freezing under Azmir’s cautionary glare, apparently signaling him to use discretion and I’m sure because they were in front of mixed company.

“Oh, my bad,” Kid mumbled apologetically. “But for real, Chanell, that was dope of you. Good lookin’!”

Syn narrowed her eyebrows, mad
. At what though?

“Oh, nah! That was all Crack over there. I just held him down,” Chanell shouted, attempting modesty.

Kid reached across the table and gave Petey dap.

“Divine, did you get a lap dance at da party?” Syn brashly quizzed Azmir.

All eyes went to Azmir and then to Syn. I swear, I’d never seen dynamics like I was witnessing among this group. I guess it was out of order for her to ask him such a question. I could see how it was inappropriate, but why was Azmir revered the way that he was with these people? It’s like he had the presence of a king or someone of royal priesthood.

What the…?

“Nah, Divine wasn’t there. He was working,” Chanell answered, trying to circumvent Azmir  addressing Syn.

“Oh, cuz I know he like ‘em,” Syn proclaimed. At first process, I was thrown by her statement. It took a minute for it to penetrate. “Ain’t you a dancer, sweetheart?” My head jolted back when I saw she was looking me square in the eyes, expecting an answer. It was clear that Syn was drunk.
But how, so soon?
We were barely into the afternoon.

I felt Azmir’s hand grab my thigh underneath the table.
And here it begins.
Honestly, I thought I’d be able to make it through this function without any production from Syn knowing that all the men were with us. I’d guessed her liquid courage mixed with the padded comfort of her family being present gave her the audacity. I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t easily scare—especially from someone of Syn’s mentality and non-threatening stature. I just didn’t want Azmir and
his
family
to see me in
that
element—an element that they were all too familiar with and subscribed to, no less. If I could get just ten minutes alone with Syn, I’d acquaint her with the soles of my Manolos. She wouldn’t have to worry about upsetting Kid or Azmir, I’d make sure of it.

With fortitude, I chuckled, much to myself before speaking. “If you mean in the
pole
sense, no. I practice the artistic form of it. No dollars involved,” I said calmly yet directly.

You could hear a pin drop.
Lord, keep me from snatching this broad from across the table!
Syn was probably only a hundred and five pounds—soaking wet. I knew I could drop her quickly.

“Man…Syn, shut the fuck up before you find yo’ ass in sum shit you ‘on’t wanna be in,” Kid barked, giving her the look of death. Syn, unmoved, slowly rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth.

“I’m just saying,” she hissed, suddenly ruffled by now at Kid’s verbal discipline. Her girls giggled in the background. I’m sure it was at my expense. Azmir’s face was set in a scowl. I really didn’t want a scene.

“What da fuck is you sayin’—Divine girl is a fuckin’ go-go dancer? Is you crazy! Don’t fuckin’ try to come up in here fuckin’ up the cipher and embarrassing me. You can take yo’ trick ass friends…or cousins and drive y’all ass back up to the Watts!” Kid was obviously livid and it made me incredibly uncomfortable.

I don’t know where the thought came from, but before I knew it I announced, “This brings me back to an idea I’d already had. I would like to invite you to my show next weekend. It’s a fundraiser and all proceeds will go to dance lessons for underprivileged children by my dance coach. It would be great if you all could join Azmir.”

I knew Azmir wouldn’t approve because he was almost as private a person as I was when it came to our relationship, but I didn’t care. I felt like I had something to prove at this point. This was clearly Azmir’s inner circle and I was attempting acceptance on both sides—mine and theirs.

“Rayna, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone at this table. One of us seems to have lost our manners, but that’ll be handled immediately. I’m sure of that,” Azmir vowed, looking directly at Syn whose face was ashen in fear. He was trying to give me an out.

“No,” I shook my head. “This is your family. I’m very comfortable with them and I would like to allow them to get to know me better,” I murmured, piercing into his examining eyes then turned my attention back to the table. “Please. You all are invited.”

“I can’t let you invite all these knuckleheads here, but some of us’ll roll through,” Petey accepted, being sure to inform
The Clan
that they all were not allowed to oblige even though I’d put the invite out there.

Kim nodded her head in agreement. I could tell she wanted me to know I had her support against Syn’s foolishness. She wasn’t a woman of many words, but her presence had always been strong.

“You know I’m in ‘dat mufucker, Rayna!” Chanell championed. I smiled at her enthusiasm.

I shot my eyes across the table. “The invitation is open for you, too, Syn. Maybe you can gain a little culture, aye?”

I had to clap back at her for taking that jab at me unexpectedly. She never looked at me, just kept her head in her plate. But the act of her rolling her eyes and letting out an exasperated exhale didn’t miss me. I had no idea what was her beef with me.
I mean
—
seriously!

“Now if you good people will excuse us, I have to get the little lady home and rested for tomorrow,” Azmir bode in much of a snarl as he rose from the table. “Peace-Peace.”

His hidden brash scared me. I could tell Syn’s words did not sit well with him. I was just glad that things didn’t get out of hand.

One by one, everyone—with the exception of Syn, her crew, and Chanell’s girls—got up and exchanged farewells with Azmir. Kim gave us hugs while Petey hugged only me. Petey and Azmir exchanged a few brief and muttered words before parting ways.

We took off for the airport.

The ride there was a little thorny. My stomach hadn’t improved and my head began to throb. Azmir kept a watchful eye over me during the trip to the airport and while on the aircraft. I tried drinking more ginger ale, but at some point I couldn’t ingest anything. I just wanted to sleep, which was finally possible when we were seated on the plane.

I was so grateful for first class that morning; I needed the space and the comfort of the larger seats. Azmir kept his hand on my thigh the entire flight that, fortunately, wasn’t long at all. He was concerned, but decided not to go the prodding route with repetitive questions about my sudden ill state. The sickness progressed. My stomach groused and my head started to spin.

As Azmir was gathering our carry-on luggage from the overhead compartment, I felt the bile threatening to rise from my belly. I tugged at the hem of his sweat jacket, trying to inform him of my need to make a dash to the bathroom. Suddenly, unable to wait, I sprinted past the captain and the flight attendants who were alarmed by my urgent fleeing.

Once out of the gate and into the airport, I searched frantically for the nearest restroom. Luckily, it was just ahead of me. I burst through the stall door and barely made the toilet, vomiting my guts out. Within seconds I felt a strong hand on my lower back.

“Brimm, baby, are you okay?” I recognized Azmir’s firm voice laced with hidden fret.

“Is she okay?” was another voice that wasn’t familiar.

I couldn’t speak, neither could I believe Azmir followed me into the ladies’ room. Another round of vomit came up. My abdominal muscles ached and I used the stall walls to balance myself. Azmir rubbed my lower back and I didn’t know if it was soothing or annoying from moment to moment.

“Was it something she ate?” a male yelled from outside the bathroom. I’d guessed he wasn’t as bold as Azmir to enter the ladies’ room.

The female voice just beyond Azmir spoke again, “I hate to be so personal, but is she pregnant, sir? It would help to know how we can best help her.”

PREGNANT?

God, no!

That shocked me into some level of stability and I thought to stand so that I could clean my face and get out of there.

“I just ate something that didn’t agree with me I’m sure,” I was able to weasel out, on my way to the sink. I washed my hands and rinsed my mouth.

Someone ordered a wheelchair, which was the best idea because it felt as though my ribs were cracked. I was handed another ginger ale that I could only bring myself to hold in my hand while being wheeled out to the car that Ray had waiting. Azmir helped me inside and it took me a while to find a comfortable position in the back of the Bentley. I decided on one that allowed me to lay my head back.

It had become clear that I had been holding my stomach because Azmir reached over and pushed his big hand underneath my arms, resting it over my abdomen, “Is it your stomach? What do you feel?”

With one eye, I found his concerned face and breathed, “My head and stomach. I don’t know what it was specifically that I ate—the eggs or fruit.”

His eyebrows were knitted and delicious mouth set in a grim line. He didn’t say anything. We just rode home in silence. When we were on the ride up in the elevator at the marina, the bubbling in my stomach was joined by abdominal spasms that told me I needed the bathroom and right away.

We were barely through the inside the apartment when I sprinted to the closest bathroom to the front door. I slammed the powder room door behind me, hoping Azmir would get the
do not
enter
hint.