I stayed quiet while staring at the box in my lap.
“Listen, if we find them and they ain’t shit, we can walk away. Orrrrr we can find them and beat they ass for what they did to you.” She shrugged, and I burst out laughing.
“Jaz!”
“I’m serious!” she yelled. “You know I’ll beat a bitch in the face behind you. Oh, yeah, and when I see that ugly pie-face ass nigga Chauncey again, I’ma cuss his ass clean out. I still can’t believe you ain’t call me that night y’all ran into each other.”
Jaz hated Chauncey with a passion. Honestly, everybody who loved me did.
“Okay. I’ll take it.” I sighed. “Did you ever get yours back?” I asked.
“Nah. It take like six to eight weeks,” she stated.
“Okay. Once we finish this, I’m taking a nap. Then later we can figure out dinner.”
“Nah, you rest. I’ll grab us something later. I gotta pick Hanii up from school in a little while anyway and take her to Five Below. This lil’ girl know how to hustle me outta money. And we not gon’ talk about Amazon. She think they’re supposed to load the truck up and make sure they got some shit on there for her daily. Da fuck! Me and that lil girl gotta set some boundaries.” She shook her head.
I smiled just thinking about my baby girl.
“Yeah,” I laughed. “She know not to play with me though.”
Jaz whipped her neck in my direction so damn quick, I know that shit hurt.
“I know you fuckin’ lyin’! That lil girl got yo ass wrapped around her whole damn body. Fuck a finger.” We both fell out laughing. I guess now was as good of a time to ask Jaz for a favor. It was something that I thought about last night. Didn’t know how she would feel about it. But it was worth the try.
“Jaz, I need for you to do me a favor. It’s a big one, so please hear me out.” I smiled. “Fev, don’t come out yo mouth asking meto give up pussy ’cause I ain’t doing it. I love pussy and pussy love me. Ask me anything else, and I'm on it, but not the pussy,” she said with her face twisted up.
“Jaz, shut yo ass up. I need for you to try and convince your dad to review Legacy’s artwork. Please, Jaz. Your dad is the biggest art dealer in the world, and his connections are bigger than life. Pleaaseee,” I pleaded.
“Hell nawl! 'Cause if I ask his Caucasian-Italiano ass for a favor, he gon’ think we cool cool. And even though I love him ’cause he be sending me my bread every month, don’t mean I wanna be cool enough to have dinner and stay the night with him and that lady. You doing too much, Fev. Asking me to hang with them is like asking me to give up the pussy. They go hand in hand,” she fussed.
“Please. fren! I’ll put a good word in with Lana.” I smirked, ’cause I knew that would get her. She’s been trying to get at her for the longest. Lana works for me, and she’s into men and women.
“Oh, bihhh. You playing hardball. You better hook me up too. I’ll do it, and you better leave me the hell alone about them folk for the rest of the year. Seeing them on the holidays is good enough for me. Send me his work that you stole.” She sighed
“Thank you, best!” I was so excited.
Eventually, I completed the test while Jaz packaged everything back up so she could mail it off for me. After she left, I headed upstairs for a quick shower before crawling in bed. The rain was still falling softly outside while my notebook rested open in front of me. Once again, I found myself thinking about Legacy Porter while reaching for my pen.
10 /LEGACY
Two Months Later
I was sitting herea little pissed at myself for getting caught up in this secret admirer shit. I’m an artist, and the muthafuckin plug! I’m the nigga who moved weight, made deals, and handled business without emotion clouding my judgment. One who will put a bullet in your head for looking at me wrong. I can get pussy at the drop of a dime, these women were waiting in line to be the one on my arm. This was not a bragging moment, but more of an observation. Yet here I was sitting around, damn near checking the mail every fucking day like I worked at the post office delivering mail. That shit sounded crazy, even in my own head.
For the past three months, I’d gotten a letter every single Saturday without fail. It had become routine at this point. I wake up, eat breakfast, and check the fuckin’ mail. This shit was like clockwork, and if the mail doesn’t come in the morning, you better believe I’m checking that shit at noon. I know the damn mail lady by her first name; she doesn’t even get a chance to put the mail into my box because I’m right there to get it. You see how crazy that shit sound, like I’m some lovesick puppy? What was really fuckin’ with me is that she missed a week.Last Saturday I didn’t get a letter. I hated how much that shit bothered me.
At first, I tried convincing myself I didn’t care. Told myself maybe she got bored. Maybe she finally realized how insane this whole thing was. Maybe she moved on. The truth of the matter is, I missed her. I guess what I’m saying is, I missed the version of her I created in my head. This woman had grown on me through words, and I couldn’t even explain it if I tried. It seemed like with every letter I was pulling back a layer of her soul. It seemed as if I knew her, like I’ve been knowing her all my life. I knew about her childhood, like being in foster care. I knew she loved the rain and was scared of the thunder; she was afraid of spiders, she was allergic to coconut, she absolutely loved seafood, tacos, and pasta. She’s a dreamer.
The way she viewed love, being in love and properly loved was a big one for her. She wanted to be married, and every so often, she would go try on wedding dresses. I even knew her favorite songs; as a matter of fact, ‘Peace Is Gold’, ‘Use Somebody’, and ‘What You Need’ are played in rotation and on repeat several times a day. It was playing in the background right now. All of these things about this woman had me so intrigued. This was a dangerous game because, man, I don’t like my heart being involved in some shit that I couldn’t see or touch. I couldn’t call her. I couldn’t text her, and I couldn’t even respond to these damn letters. All I could do was sit around waiting for her to decide when she wanted to reach out to me again.
I never in a million years thought I’d be caught up over a woman whose face I’d never seen. Yet, here I was losing sleep, wondering who she was, what she looked like, and why the hell I felt so connected to her. The need to meet her was wearing my ass out, my mental was fucking with me over this. I just wanted to see her. Hear her voice in person. Look in her eyes while sheexplained the ‘why me’ part of this. It’s so many damn men in this world... why did she decide I was the one she wanted to take through this? What’s even crazier is she had me so eager to meet her daughter. I knew she loved pizza, she wasn’t a morning person, and she loves Amazon. I’ve even found myself wondering what cartoons she liked. Like, did her laughs make you laugh? Whether she acted like her mom or the bitch ass nut that helped create her? For some reason, hearing about how he treated her, had me ready to beat that nigga’s ass. I tried to remain poised, but the truth was, I’ma unhinged nigga. I go from zero to a thousand in seconds.
Gizelle’s heels clacking against my marble tile jolted me out of my thoughts. I rubbed my hands over my face before leaning back in my chair with a frustrated sigh.
“Fuck! This shit got my mind all fucked up,” I whispered. Deep down I already knew no matter how hard I tried to say fuck this shit, I wasn’t reading no more of those letters. I’m not getting caught up in this shit, I’m Legacy fuckin’ Porter. I was too far gone, and I’m not going to rest until I knew who the fuck was sending these letters.
“Morning. Why the hell you look so stressed?” Zelly questioned, walking into the kitchen. I chuckled ’cause this girl had on a Versace pantsuit with this jacket that dragged against the floor, and of course a pair of red bottom stilettos. Zelly didn’t go nowhere without a pair of red bottoms gracing her feet. Her hair was flowing down her back, not a strand out of place. And her makeup looked like she just stepped out of the MUA’s chair. I would bet my entire net worth that she got twin burners strapped on her sides. I don’t even have to ask her where she’s going because that didn’t even matter; she would be dressed like this even if she was going to the grocery store. To the naked eye, all you see is a beautiful woman, but underneath all of that, she’s a woman that would slice your neck while you’re sittingthere slicing your next piece of porterhouse steak to put in your mouth.
