“You trifling as hell. This ain’t?—”
“Aye, man. The disrespect ain’t necessary. State your business or get the fuck on.”
Victor was no match against Graham, and he knew it, so he got to the point of his visit.
“Keelan starts football camp tomorrow night. I need to take him to get new cleats and a few other things.”
“Keelan doesn’t want to play football or basketball. I signed him up for an art class.”
“What? Get the fuck outta here. A fucking art class? He’d rather draw than play ball?”
“That’s what he told me.”
“That lil nigga don’t know what the fuck he wants, and it’s my job to tell him. Send him out so we can?—”
“He’s not here. Victor, he’s not doing football camp.”
“I paid five hundred dollars for?—”
“Get your money back because he’s not doing it, and you can’t make him. He’s old enough to tell us what he’s interested in, and football and basketball didn’t make the cut.”
“You probably feeding him some bullshit. I swear, Black single mothers are the downfall of Black men. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer about custody real soon.”
He always threatened to call his lawyer, but there hadn’t been a time when he’d followed through. Like the unreasonable, immature idiot he was, he put his tail between his legs, hopped in his car, and sped away.
“Sorry about that, and thank you for stepping in again.”
“I’ll always step in when you need me . . . even if you don’t.”
“I appreciate you. I’ll see you in an hour.”
He kissed my lips before responding. “An hour.”
“I’ve never been inside, so I have nothing to compare it to, but what you’ve done so far looks amazing.”
Graham brought me to his studio, and although the renovations weren’t complete, it looked great.
“Thank you. The building has good bones, so I didn’t have to demolish anything. Most of the changes were cosmetic, and I’m replacing a lot of equipment.”
“I love it. What do you have left to do?”
“I’m looking for someone to paint a few murals of the greats like Ali, Sugar Ray Leonard, Tyson, and Holyfield. It’s not pressing and won’t delay my reopening, but if you know anyone, let me know.”
I knew someone, but I had to talk to him before putting his name in the hat.
“Where’s your office?”
“In the back. Come with me.”
He took my hand and led me to the back of the studio. His office was spacious, but not too big. It was decked out with a brown leather couch and a matching love seat. The office furniture was dark wood, tying it all together.
“You did a good job in here too,” I complimented.
“My father and brother gave me good guidance.”
He sat at his desk, and I stood in front of him, leaning against it, leaving about two feet between us.
“Would it be weird to say I’m proud of you?”
