“Hello, Ashley. My name is Mahasin St. James. I need to see Mr. Gage Blaque. Could you call him and let him know I wish to speak with him? It’s an emergency,” I said, politely but firmly.
“What kind of emergency?” she asked, rolling her eyes like I’d just told her I was applying for a job I had no business getting.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked, blinking slowly.
“Oh lord, a slow one has found her way to the king’s palace,” she muttered. “Look, honey, this building houses only millionaires, from doctors to baseball players and actors. I see women all day and all night come up in here all with the same motive: to get sponsored. Hell, even the old ones with saggy balls have some of the prettiest sugar babies on their payroll. But I can tell you right now—Mr. Blaque, although fine, rich, and successful, ain’tthattype of man. He’s classy, barely has company, and runs a tight ship. You’d come off better attending that party that famous football player is throwing at Max’s and catching your lick there.”
Her little ignorant ass just kept going.
“Why, you little—” I started, but Amber stepped in front of me and cut me off, pushing me gently to the side.
“Moore, is it? As inAshley Moore,Pastor Moore down on 12th and Maddox’s granddaughter? The same Ashley Moore who’s had more kids sucked out of her than a nigga at a low-budget strip club?” Amber fired off, eyes sharp and voice sharper.
Ashley’s mouth dropped open so wide, I was tempted to toss one of the free mints on the desk into it.
“Now, I’m going to say this one time and one time only,” Amber continued, adjusting Ashley’s collar with a tightgrip. “Get your using-someone-else’s-Medicaid-card ass on the phone, call Mr. Blaque, and tell himDr. Mahasin St. Jamesneeds to see him—and it’snon-negotiable.And if you say one more out-of-pocket thing to my friend, I swear I’m going to your granddaddy’s church and publicly testify on your behalf…afterI beat your ass. You get me, bitch?”
Ashley’s voice came out in a shaky whisper. “Um… yes. Please forgive me. I meant no harm.” She quickly picked up the phone to dial.
I turned to face the opposite direction, partly to mask my laughter, and partly to grab Amber by the arm and whisper, “Bitch, that’s against HIPAA laws—you can’t be bringing up that girl's abortions!”
Amber rolled her eyes. “Oh, calm down. She ain’t never been toouroffice. I got my info from the streets—it ain’t credible in a court of law no way.”
“Amber!” I hissed, still trying not to laugh.
Before I could dig into her messy ass further, Ashley interrupted our whisper-fest. “Um… Mr. Blaque doesn’t appear to be home now. Can I leave a message for him?”
“No, little bitch,” Amber snapped. “But do me a favor and stop talking recklessly to women you don’t know. This time, it only costs you your pride. Next time, it’s going to cost you your teeth. Feel me?”
“Let’s go,Rocky,” I said, tugging Amber away and out of the building. Once we were outside, I let out a breath. “Well, we tried. If we leave now, I can send the OB on call home and see the rest of my patients.” I started walking toward the parking garage.
“Hold on, Miss Thang,” Amber said, stopping in her tracks. “What’s the info for the film studio he’s working at?”
“Oh, come on, Ambs. Let’s call it a day. I’m hungry and tired of being a damn detective,” I whined, stomping my feet for dramatic effect.
“‘Come on,’my ass.Cumming onis what got your ass in this situation in the first place,” she clapped back, already unlocking her phone. “You know what? I don’t need you to tell me a damn thing. Google is a bitch’s best friend, and Iknowdamn well this city doesn’t have more than one production studio.”
A few quick taps later, she held up her phone proudly. “Boom.Blue Glass Productions.Only five miles away. Now get your ass in the car. We gon’ stop and get you some fries and a chicken sandwich and then go jack up your baby daddy.”
I didn’t rebut. I just got my ass in the car.
Blue Glass Productions resembled the Apple Store—but without the counters, instead featuring moving green walls and high-end equipment. I’d never seen so many people multitasking in one space. One girl looked like she was prepping wardrobe, ordering lunch, and valeting cars all at once. I adjusted my sunglasses as Amber walked beside me. We didn't blend in at all, and I just knew security would be on us in no time.
“Here comes trouble,” Amber whispered. A guard started toward us—you know that quick, high-pitched walk security gets when they’ve been sitting on their asses all day but finally get a little action? That walk. I instinctively reached for the mace on my keychain. I’d seen too many Piksta videos of guards rough-handling women, and ifTop Flight of the Worldthought he was going to have a moment on my behalf, he had another thing coming.
Just as I took off my sunglasses and prepared to light his ass up like a Christmas tree, recognition lit up his face before my mace could.
“Dr. St. James?” he asked, looking genuinely starstruck.
“You sure, Gage, the only nigga we here for?” Amber muttered.
“Shut up, bitch,” I said, nudging her lightly.
“Yes, I’m Dr. St. James,” I responded cautiously.
“I know you don’t remember me—it’s been about five years—but you saved my wife’s life. You weren’t her delivery doctor, but when the nurses ignored her complaints of chills and pain, I ran out into the hall and you were the first doctor I saw.” His eyes filled as he started to tear up. “When I begged you to check on her, you didn’t hesitate. You rushed to help, and she ended up needing emergency surgery because she had—”
“Pre-eclampsia,” I cut in softly. He nodded.
