I slipped back into my car and placed my head on the steering wheel. Before I could get deep into my thoughts, my phone rang. I lifted my head and saw Karina’s name flash across the screen. Sitting up in my seat, I accepted the FaceTime call and relaxed in the seat.
“So how was your meeting with your lawyer?”Karina inquired.
“Frustrating,”I muttered, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips. “Allegedly, I signed a prenup and he doesn’t want to give me anything but the condo in Key West.”
“What do you mean, allegedly?”Karina’s eyes doubled in size as she brought her face closer to the camera.
“It looked like my signature, but I never agreed to a prenup. It was never a topic. When have you ever heard of a prenup among our families?” I asked, my hands flying in frustration.
“Never,”Karina exclaimed.
“Exactly,”I huffed, placing my car in reverse and backing out of the parking spot.“I’m supposed to attend the fundraiser with his mama tomorrow, and I’m going to bring it up. Hopefully she can talk some sense into him.”
My phone notified me that a call from Lil Q was coming in.“This is Lil Q calling me. I’m going to call you back later.”
“Okay. Breathe, don’t let him get to you. Handle the rest of your business and get back to Tampa with your boys so they can love on you. I love you, bestie.”
“I love you too.”
I quickly clicked over for Lil Q. “Hello.”
“Ma, you saw that shit I sent you with Yaseer Haynes?”
“Ughhhhh, no. Who is that?”
“That fuck nigga who owns the Gulf Coast Vipers was talking cash shit about Quincy. I’ll slap the taste outta his mouth if I see him out,”Lil Q fumed.
“Huh?”
“You know he wants to play for Tampa, and the scouts been on him heavy. Yaseer owns the minor league team he’d play for if he stays in Tampa. Everybody knows that Yaseer’s opinions carry weight when it comes to Tampa.”
“Well, why would he be talking shit about Quincy?”I wondered, trying to make sense of everything.
“Go look at the video I sent you. I’m about to go to his apartment. They got my brother fucked up. He was all excited talking about his chances of staying in Tampa last night, then this shit dropped.”
“Okay. I love you. Let me know when you get with Quincy.”
“Love you too,”he replied.
We ended the call, and I maneuvered through traffic until I stopped at the next red light and played the video to see what Lil Q was going on about. A dark skinned bald man was in the background of a video where a girl was doing her makeup with the phone to his ear ranting.
“I don’t know why the hell we are having this conversation again. I said all of those niggas we saw last night were sorry as fuck. Garbage!” He paused for a moment and looked up at theceiling, annoyance all over his face before he took a deep breath. “Yes, even Quincy Bentley. If I’m not mistaken, that’s the one who overthrew third by a mile and struck out swinging on a damn changeup like he’d never seen one before. He’s not ready. He’s not our man.”
The video ended and I rolled my eyes, pressing the gas to speed through the green light. I was not a baseball girlie. Sports in general weren’t my thing. I could be next to an NBA player at dinner later and have no idea. This is exactly why Quinten’s trifling ass needs to get his shit together and be here for this shit. I was listening to everything Lil Q was saying, but I really didn’t understand.
Not to toot my own horn, but I know I birthed a future MLB superstar. He was currently receiving national attention for being one of the top three in batting average, and his fielding game was just as clean. I didn’t really know exactly what that meant, but the men on ESPN kept saying that about my son, and scouts have been calling him a natural since high school. The only reason he didn’t go straight to the minor leagues was because his father really wanted him to get the college experience. Just for his bitch ass to not be around to help me navigate none of this shit. The last time I spoke with a scout, they asked me about his diet and workout routine, and I didn’t have a clue what to say.
Although I didn’t understand what the hell that man was saying about Quincy, I knew he was speaking real negatively about my son and Mama Bear was coming out. My husband was playing with my boys, and now this nigga. I was on the verge of starring in a three-part mini-series episode of Snapped, and the only thing that would keep me from going there was a strong drink.
Instead of heading to my gynecologist appointment that I was in town for, I would pay the missed appointment fee andreschedule for a later time. Right now, I needed my go-to coping device, and my hotel had one of the best espresso martinis around.
After fighting through traffic, I pulled my car up, and the valet attendant opened the door while I gathered my purse. Once I had my ticket, I strutted inside the W hotel and went directly to the Living Room.
“I’m sorry ma’am, there is a private party this evening and we would need to verify that your name is on the guest list,” a tall young man greeted me.
Holding my composure, I couldn’t believe this shit. After the shit show of a day I had, the only thing I wanted was an espresso martini. The rich, velvety blend of bitter espresso and smooth vodka, with a hint of sweetness, always made me feel bourgeois and reminded me of my late grandmother. She went crazy for an espresso martini and loved this spot when she would come visit me as well.
“Is Marilyn still one of the bartenders?” I questioned, leaning past them just enough to see inside.
