Rating: PG, PG-13
A/N: the dirty version is available via email to agent47achavez@hotmail.com. This is the clean version.
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Mike and I are the last to hop into the limo. He's spent the last hour and a half getting ready. I can tell because he's got his "good cologne" on and he gets upset when I joke about his hair being out of place.
Inside the limo, which seats twelve, are four other guys. You sit by the window that separates us from the chauffer, and on your right is our resident child, (He hates it when I call him that, by the way), Nicolas Vaughn, Mike's younger, half-brother. To your left is Dean Lipton, one of our analysts, who we've worked with for years, and no, no relation to those tea people. Next to him is Brothah Jackson, the one responsible for introducing Vaughn to Jenna Langston, the "sistah from da 'hood". His real name is Marcus Jackson, but we call him "Brothah Jay" or "Brothah Jackson" because he turned preacher on us. Jackson used to play ball with Mike back in the day. I played once, but you know… basketball isn't really my sport. Maybe I just don't like running.
Anyway, we brought out the wine and begin the festivities. When the wine has flowed from our glasses to our bellies, it's time to bring on the embarrassing stories.
"Brothah Jay," I leaned over, and tapped him on the leg. "Do you remember when you brought Jenna around?"
"Jenna…" Nicolas was jogging his memory. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't come up with a face.
"Oh, you wouldn't know," I said. "You're too young. Besides, I doubt Mike ever brought her home to meet your mom."
Mike blushed and shook his head no. "There's no way my mom would have approved."
"You think?" I joke. "In fact…" slyly, I reach into my back pocket and withdraw my wallet. Inside, there's a picture of Mike and Jenna. "I just happen to have a picture."
"Oh, no!" Mike covered his face with one hand and groaned. He already knew what I'm talking about.
"Remember that time a few years back when Mike was growing out his hair?"
Wide-eyed with curiosity and intrigue, Nicolas nodded and held out his hand for the photograph. Instead, I lifted it for all to see.
"He let her braid it."
The picture was definitely Mike, but at first glance, you wouldn't think so. His hair was pulled back in a pattern, braided in cornrows. He was decked out in black athletic pants with a Sean John shirt half tucked-in. Jenna, who stood about 5'7", was wearing a tight, revealing leopard print dress.
After the initial shock passed, the boys started laughing and Mike was half-yelling trying to be heard above everyone else.
"She convinced me to let her do it!"
"Coerced." I corrected, patting him on the back congenially. "It's okay to be weak when it comes to women."
"Weak?!" he blanched. "Weiss, if I remember correctly, I wasn't the one who let that one girl from Philly dupe me into letting her stay rent-free in my apartment for two months."
I shrugged. "How was I to know that she was an underage runaway?"
Before I could continue with my defense, Dean and Mike simultaneously said, "You run a background check."
In all seriousness, I never thought about it.
"I'm used goods," I joked. "What can I say? Do you take damaged products?"
It was only meant to illicit laughs, but I clearly remember when Yvette (the aforementioned 'girl who duped me') took off, leaving me without a clue of where she went. I remember that hollow feeling she left behind and the desperate search to find her… only to uncover the fact that she was a seventeen-year-old runaway.
Mike's eyes only shone with laughter. The glib expression on his face really had to be wiped off…
"Hey, at least I didn't walk around thinking I was a brothah for eight months." I threw a gang sign and posed for a mug shot. "I didn't wear hip hop clothes and pretend I could rap."
"You rapped?!" Nicolas howled.
Brothah Jay nodded, smiling. "Back in the day, when Jenna was around, Mike could spit as good as… Eminem."
"More like Vanilla Ice," I nudged Mike. "Give your brother a sample."
Dean, a half-black and half-mexican mix, leaned forward in interest. "I'll battle you, Mike."
"Battle?" Mike laughed. "I haven't rapped for years. And I only did it to joke around."
"Don't lie, you rapped to impress Jenna."
"I did not." He turned to me indignantly. "I didn't have to impress Jenna. She came after me, remember?"
"Brothah Jay introduced you once at Club Ecstasy, and you strolled by her like four times."
"She came after me, okay?"
"Holla," Brothah Jay interjected. "She holla'ed your way, dawg. She didn't 'come after you'."
Mike smiled. "Look, I just walked by maybe twice, and she pinched my backside and said,--"
I had to join in with my falsetto. "—Hey boy, why don't you back dat ass up?"
"—And I did." He finished.
"And you rapped," I reminded him.
"C'mon, Mike. Spit a little sum'tin sum'tin for us," Nicolas shrugged. We just started laughing. At twenty-two, little Nick liked to impress us with his knowledge of the world be it academically or hip hop street talk.
"Yeah, do that one… what was it?" I paused, thinking. "Yo' mama so fat… no, that's not it."
"Alright," Mike chuckled and rubbed his nose with his index finger twice. That's his trademark move when he tries to rap. "Give me a beat, Brothah."
Brothah Jay and Dean began beat-boxing and Mike banged his head with it for a moment, searching for something to say.
"Dawg, I can't do this," he looked at me.
"You called me 'dawg', Mike. You're already moving to that mindset. Just think a little harder. Be the beat, feel it in your soul," What kind of crap was I talking about? I'm not really sure, but I think I might have heard it on some self-help yoga channel or something.
He turned away from me, sighed and closed his eyes. Thirty seconds later, his hand was waving in the air, two fingers curled in, two straight out slicing the air in swift movements. "Yo', yo'… it's bout time I busted dis flow. See, it's been a long year, and I got all this fear, I'm on the edge, ball and chain comin' full fledged, ain't gonna be single no mo', ain't never tried this befo'. Hand in hand, me and girl Syd can, do anythin' we please, cuz homie don't you see? She's the only woman meant for me, we's meant to be, if it weren't for syd-ney, I don't think I'd be me. Maybe be dead in some pool of crap, all cuz of some Russian trap, goddamn, it's been a long time since I've done that."
"Ohh," was the only I heard in the limo for a good three minutes. Okay, so lied, Mike can rap… a little.
Jenna was the only girl I remember who was able to manipulate Mike into changing the most. Shortly after their break up (a very friendly one, by the way), Mike reverted to the old suit and tie we're all so used to seeing.
"She was fun to hang out with," I smiled, my mind already off of Mike's rap skills.
"Yeah, she was," Mike smiled. "Brothah Jay, how's the wife doing?"
"Strong as a horse, as usual. Still throws down," he laughed. "but thank God she stopped messing with me. Now she messes with our boy, Cole."
"Cole…" I smiled. That little runt was every bit as wild as his mother. A few years after Mike and Jenna broke it off, Jackson became Brothah Jay and ended up dating and marrying her. It all worked out for the best, as we see.
"Don't worry, Weiss," Brothah Jay patted my shoulder. "You'll have one of your own one day."
"What?!"
Mike found immense humor in this. "Eric? With a wife and child?!"
I scowled. "I wouldn't be talking. You're the one walking down the aisle tomorrow, Mike. Don't get cold feet, now…"
"About what?" his eyes shone brightly. I narrowed my gaze.
"Ball and chain. Lifelong commitment. Wife and child."
"Wife, yes. Child… on the way."
"What?!" I hooted. "You didn't tell me, you bastard!"
"You didn't tell me what you've planned for this evening."
"I'm not going to. It's all very top secret, Mike. Besides, I think you'll understand as we go."
Suspiciously, he asked, "There's no Jacuzzi involved in this, is there?"
I made a tsk tsk sound and said, "Shame on you, Michael. You ought to know better than to ask."
"What about the Jacuzzi?" Dean asked, pushing up his glasses.
"Bianca Juarez." I sucked in my breath and shook my head. "She loved Jacuzzis…"
The limo slowed to a stop and the chauffer announced, "We've arrived at our first stop." Over the intercom.
"Food," I say longingly, already forgetting the story I was about to delve into. "I've been starving myself all day just for this."
"Where are we?" Mike asked just as I open the door.
"Hooters!" Nicolas calls out cheerfully.
Mike smiles and slowly shakes his head. There are memories to go with this one too, but for now…
"Brothah Jay, we'll try to keep the lust factor to a minimum." I smiled, leading the way. "You know, I think I'm in love."
We entered the building and a cheerful blonde named Britney greeted us. "Hi, welcome to Hooters, party of six?"
"Reservation for Vaughn."
"So soon, Weiss?" Mike smiled at me. "Thought your last love was enough for you."
"The veal?" I turned to him. "Oh, no. She was last weekend. This weekend, it's all about my darling T-bone."
"What's the Jacuzzi thing?" Nicolas brings it up again once we're seated.
"Slow down, Turbo," I lift the menu. "The lady calls… and then we'll get back to the ex-girlfriends and the never-fail-to-embarrass legends they left behind."
Ahh, see? Food.
Food is so much less complicated than women… and they satisfy every time. If someone plans on getting me hitched, they better make sure she loves to cook.