The Trophy Wife (3 page)

“That's that four years of jail talking. Anything probably looks good to you right now.” Quinn called over a waiter and ordered a bottle of champagne and continued to converse with his cousin.

In the middle of their conversation, Peanut approached their table with a bottle of Dom in his hand. Kalil checked out his former worker and realized how much he had stepped his game up. The iced-out pinky ring and the Jesus piece on his necklace had to easily cost him around ten stacks.

Kalil respected it and knew that he was only following in his footsteps. Kalil ran the streets before he got locked up. If he didn't have anything else, he knew he had respect in the streets. He had put in too much work not to.

Peanut sat the bottle on the table and leaned toward Kalil so he could hear him over the music. “Yo, Hova sent you this bottle. He heard you were down here and wants you to come up and holla at him.”

Kalil really didn't want to see Hova because he knew the conversation was going to lead to street business, something that Kalil wanted no part of. Every time he thought about entering the drug game and potentially leaving his daughter again, he turned cold toward the streets, but out of respect for Hova, he decided to talk to him.

“No doubt. Where he at?”

Peanut looked at the upper level and pointed to the glass office overlooking the club. Kalil followed his finger and saw Hova overlooking the club with both of his hands behind his back. Kalil took a drink of the Dom and then leaned over to Quinn to tell him that he was about to have a word with Hova and would return shortly.

Quinn nodded his head nonchalantly, but on the inside he was beaming. As Kalil got up and headed toward the wraparound stairs, Quinn began to rub his hands together, thinking about the money they were about to get.
Kalil is a mu'fuckin' hustler. He's going to get back in the game. That hustler's ambition is going to kick in sooner or later.

Kalil sat in front of Hova and his crew, better known as his twelve disciples. Kalil could feel the tension in the room as Hova's disciples tried to read him. He sat and waited for Hova to speak. Hova's stare was intense, but Kalil wasn't intimidated. He knew that they had unfinished business, but what he didn't know was whether he was in good or bad standing with the stone-faced white man sitting in front of him. Hova's aqua blue eyes scanned the room as he sat back in his leather chair, his legs crossed. His blond hair and tan skin would make most men underestimate him. However, Kalil wasn't one of those men. He'd witnessed firsthand the repercussions of go-ing against the grain and was well aware that Hova was a killer. In fact, he was a cold-blooded murderer. He could touch whoever he wanted to, and Kalil had heard of him murdering innocent women and children just to prove himself to his majority black clientele.

Bottom line, most people didn't want to be made an example by Hova. He didn't have love in New York, he didn't receive love from the streets—he was feared by them. That was what separated him from his competition. He didn't seek the street fame. He wanted people to fear him, and most did, but Kalil was one of the few men who didn't.

“Give us a little bit of privacy,” Hova said to his loyal disciples.

The men walked out slowly while Hova and Kalil eyed each other intensely. Kalil shifted in his seat. It had been four years since he'd last seen Hova, and the silence in the room was beginning to make him uncomfortable. Kalil was naked in the club. He wasn't strapped that night because he knew that he couldn't bring his gun inside. He was well aware of Hova's tactics and knew that there were weapons stashed in various spots around the room, and that if they'd had beef for whatever reason, he would've been in trouble.

Hova got up and walked over to the sixty-inch plasma television that hung on his office wall and pressed a red button. The TV lifted, revealing a loaded minibar behind it. “You want a drink?” Hova poured himself a glass of cognac.

“Nah, I'm good,” Kalil replied.

“I heard about the deal that you were offered.” Hova took a sip of the yak (cognac). “I appreciate your loyalty.”

“I got myself into that situation. Wasn't no point in pulling another man down with me, nah mean?”

Hova nodded his head and paced around the room as if he were contemplating a big decision. He pointed a finger at Kalil. “You see, that's why we get along—we understand this business.” He went over to the bar and pressed the red button again, but this time, instead of the TV sliding back into place, a safe came into view. Hova discreetly entered the combination and opened the safe, revealing the gold mine inside.

Hova removed a 9 mm pistol and four kilos of cocaine from the safe. He sat the items in front of Kalil and watched as Kalil's eyes danced curiously on the objects in front of him. “It's good to have you home, Kalil. That right there is everything that you need to take back what is yours. We can easily put our business together back in motion. Just say the word.”

Damn! I could flip this
. Kalil picked up the gun and admired the chrome. He quickly put it down and slid it back across the table toward Hova. “Thanks, man. It feels good to be home. I don't have too much use for that, though,” Kalil stated. “I'm trying to keep my hands clean, you know?”

“You're a smart man. Never make the same mistake twice.”

Kalil nodded to acknowledge what Hova had said.

“Well, when you're ready to step back into the game, I'll be here. There is a lot of new money to be made in New York. I'll even give them to you at a discount, to show my appreciation.”

Kalil thought about the money and seriously contemplated Hova's proposition. “What type of discount we talking?”

“Twelve a joint.”

Hova was practically giving Kalil the weight, considering he charged everybody else he dealt with $19,000 per kilo. Thoughts of luxury living quickly filled Kalil's head, but they were just as quickly replaced with thoughts of his daughter's face.

“Nah, Hov, I'm gon' fall back for a minute. I just got home, so I'm trying to lay low for a while.”

“You know I had to give it a shot. You copped more than all of my other clients put together.” Hova stood and walked to the two-way mirror, which allowed him to see the dance floor beneath him. He pulled a platinum cigar case from his pocket and removed a Cuban cigar, which he held between his fingers as he talked. “Well, I'll tell you what, you know how to contact me. You call me when you're ready to get your feet wet again. If you need anything, just let me know and it's done.”

Kalil stood and shook hands with Hova before he exited the room. He shook his head in astonishment as he walked back down to the main floor of the club was.
Damn, twelve a fucking kilo and I ain't trying to fuck with it?
Kalil felt like a fool for walking away from a deal like that.

He located Quinn by the bar, where he was kicking game to some chick. He approached him and waited until he was done speaking with the female before he said, “Let's get up out of here.”

“Everything all right, fam?” Quinn asked, ready to handle any beef that may have surfaced.

“Yeah, everything's one hundred, man. I just want to scoop Jada before she drives Roxi crazy.”

Quinn ditched the chick he was kicking it with, and they walked out of the club. He was eager to hear what happened in Hova's office. “What did Hov have to say?”

“Not much. He just welcomed me home.”

Kalil knew that Quinn would call him crazy for turning down Hova's proposition. He turned up the stereo as 50 Cent's debut CD pumped through the speakers. Kalil and Quinn still bobbed their heads to the classic song, “Many Men,” and rode in silence the rest of the way home.

 

 

“Bye, Daddy!” Jada yelled as she ran into school the next day. She had been attending the performing arts school since kindergarten and she loved it. Before she got to the entrance she ran back to her father, who was standing on the curb. “I love you. Don't forget about my dance lessons after school.”

Kalil kneeled so they could be eye to eye. He took his thumb and cleaned some leftover sleep out of her eye. “What time you get out?”

“Five o'clock. You're going to pick me up, right, Daddy?”

“Yeah, I'll be here. Be good today, baby girl.” He kissed the top of her head, and she ran off with a huge smile on her face.

Kalil began to walk back toward Quinn's house. Quinn had some business to take care of, so Kalil had to walk Jada to school that morning. It wasn't a big deal, since Quinn only lived six blocks from Jada's school, but it was embarrassing, to say the least.

Kalil was used to being on top. In his twenty-seven years, he'd earned hundreds of thousands of dollars, and there was a time when he could get anything he wanted. Those times were long gone, though, and he was having a hard time adapting to his newfound struggle. He wanted to do the right thing. He was trying his hardest to walk a straight line and stay out of the game, but nobody was willing to give him a break.
I just need a job, yo, for real. I can't stay down like this for too much longer.
He knew that he had to take care of his daughter. He refused to let her go without and realized that the older she got, the more she'd need. He wanted to be able to give her the world and more.

As he walked back to Quinn's house, he noticed the construction zone that took up an entire block, and the sign: EXPERIENCED WORKERS NEEDED—$24/HOUR. He looked up at the large half-constructed buildings and decided that he didn't have anything to lose. He needed a job, and if this was a paying gig, he was willing to do it. He walked into the construction zone and made his way to the trailer that sat in the middle of all the ruckus and knocked loudly.

Someone shouted, “Come on in!”

Kalil stepped inside the office and saw a short man sitting behind a desk and puffing on a cigar.

The man looked up from the paperwork that sat in front of him, his deep brow wrinkled in a frown. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked in his Italian accent.

“I'm here to apply for the job.”

The man looked Kalil up and down. “Apply for the job, huh. Do you have any experience?”

“Yeah, I'm familiar with this type of work. I did some construction in Jersey some years back,” he lied.

The man continued to eye Kalil with contempt. It was almost as if he looked down at Kalil, like he thought he was better than him. But Kalil ignored the man's degrading demeanor. He was just looking for a job.

“We really need some help around here. Think you can handle it?” The man pointed his cigar at Kalil, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, I know how to do the job,” Kalil replied through gritted teeth. He could tell that the man didn't like him much, but he didn't care. He needed to make some money, and this job was his last option. Quinn was being very understanding by letting him crash at his spot, but Kalil didn't like to depend on anybody for anything, even if it was family.

“What's your name, boy?”

“Kalil,” he replied, shifting his stance uncomfortably. He didn't appreciate the man's blatant disregard, but he bit his tongue. “Yo, do you got room for me or not?”

The man looked at him harshly. He didn't like Kalil. In fact, he didn't like anybody whose skin was darker than a temporary suntan, but he needed workers.

Just from the looks of Kalil he could tell that he wasn't a part of a union, which meant he didn't have to pay him union wages. His eyes scanned the young man before him. He quickly noticed the jailhouse tattoos on Kalil's arms and smirked to himself. He could sense Kalil's desperation. Since nobody in New York was trying to hire an ex-con, he knew Kalil would accept the bogus offer that he was about to make.

I'll pay him peanuts just to get this project done.
He rose from his desk. “Look, kid, I don't usually hire your people, especially since you got a record, but I'm going to give you a shot. You start today. Be on time, and don't come in here with your baggy pants and your fucking black slang. My name is Mr. Moretti, and don't ask me any fucking questions. You keep up with the other men, then maybe—just maybe—I'll keep you on board. You'll make thirteen dollars an hour. Here, fill out this application.”

At the sound of Moretti's name, Kalil instantly knew who he was. The Moretti family was infamous in Manhattan for their extortion and cocaine business. He knew that the construction company had to be a front business. He remembered back when he was Moretti's competition. Now he was trying to be his employee.
Ain't this about a bitch, Kalil thought.
“Thirteen dollars? The sign out front says twenty-four.”

“The sign out front is for good Italian men. I know your type. You've got to find a job to keep the parole officer off your ass. I'll help you out, but we do this on my terms. You I pay thirteen dollars. Take it or leave it,” the fat man huffed.

If this had happened a couple years earlier Kalil would have left the man slumping in the gutter, but those days were long gone. Now he was broke and just trying to raise a little girl. He had to accept the job, wack wages and all.

“I'll take it.”

Kalil filled out the application and threw it on Mr. Moretti's desk. Then he walked out of the office and looked around the construction site before hesitantly making his way over to a cement truck. He stood around and watched the men work.

“Why are you just standing around?” one of the foremen yelled to him as he struggled with a long metal beam. “Give me a hand with this.”

Kalil grabbed one end of the beam, and the two men spread wet cement evenly across the ground. That was just the beginning of a long and exhausting day.

Kalil worked for nine straight hours in the beaming sun, cement and sweat covering his shirt. For the first time in his life he experienced a hard day's work. Money usually came very easy to him, so hard labor was an eye-opener for him.
Damn! Man, I been working all fucking day and I only made a hundred dollars. This shit ain't worth it.

Exhausted, he stopped to take a break. He walked into the boss' trailer to grab some water and noticed the time.
Damn! I forgot about Jada.
He took off the borrowed hard hat and tossed it to the ground, rushed out the door, and took off in a sprint to get to his daughter's school.

He arrived there around six o'clock and found it almost deserted.
I was supposed to be here an hour ago.
He entered the school and could hear the sound of classical music coming from the auditorium. He was hoping that the class had run late so that Jada wouldn't think he'd forgotten about her. He walked into the auditorium and stopped as his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the woman onstage, her dark brown skin tone glistening from the sweat that had formed on her body, and her long chestnut-colored hair swinging wildly as she danced across the stage in her black leotard and ballerina shoes.

Kalil had never seen a ballerina before, but he figured that the woman before him had to be the best. The way she moved her body was nothing short of amazing. Almost hypnotic. He quietly took a seat at the back of the auditorium, making sure not to disturb her. He watched her slender, flexible body spin and bend to the violins in the music. He couldn't help but stare at her. There was a passion in the way she danced that intrigued him. Not to mention, she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. An exotic beauty, she wasn't your average around-the-way–type girl, but seemed to be filled with class and elegance. And there was a sophisticated sparkle in her eye.