***
If I tell you
If I tell you now
Will you keep on
Will you keep on loving me?
***
February 02, '01
Twiggy's POV
***
Sean and myself had locked a big deal with Sony, Apple, and UGM some days ago. I had hired an accountant, Andrew Lawson, a Morehouse brother. He opened up multiple accounts for me, including a credit union type, ensuring the safety and longevity of my money.
"I've got a few do's and don't's for you, brotha. First of all, don't do anything for the next 60 days. Don't go buying any luxury items too quickly, so that chain, Lambo, and mansion gon' have to wait. Don't sell nothin', too. I'm sure you're aware that, despite having had money before, you're in a next level tax bracket here," he'd said to me.
He continued, "I've made a complete inventory of everything you already have, drafted a simple financial plan to follow, and planned out a due diligence period before you go makin' any decisions. Now, one thing you can do is clear any and all debts. Yours and others close to you. You're in the clear from what I can see, but you got a mama drownin' in credit debt? Go help that woman out ASAP. Your money will be worth a lot more to you post-tax if you pay your debts now, rather than sit on 'em. You're new money, so we can swerve an estate tax and all the other complex inheritance taxes, but all the basics plus your new income tax? Gotta keep that in mind."
"Also, I'll work on ways to get you tax cuts. About 3 to 4 months from now, make a donation. A big one. I'll get you a tax deductible, hopefully about 50-60% on your net income, as well as a 10% federal tax credit, maybe 15. Make sure to make it a habit. You'll get your money back and then some. And finally, if you really itchin' to buy somethin', a car, boat, or that chain, do it now and that's it. I'm just given' you the best advice: take it or leave it, but please don't go messin' this up," he finished before leaving me in the Starbucks, dazed at our conversation.
You can read a book or two, hear a story here and there, but nobody really knows or tells you what happens when you get rich. I just woke up one morning and felt like the world's best kept secret.
Sean got a big payday, too. Something he could take home to his dad, something to finally make him proud of him: his American dream. Up until now, Sean and Willis had been the only people involved with any of my success.
Knowing I had no debts to pay and owing Willis big time, I took my accountant's advice and wired one of my accounts over to them, a tax-free $20 million for Willis and his wife, Sinéad. I'd bought Willis' shop for him, and paid off any other debts they needed cleared. Sinéad had expressed wanting to move back to New Orleans, where she came from, and settin' up in an Antebellum property. Hatin' to crush her dream for the moment being, I spoke to Willis and got him to convince her they travel the globe for a few months before really settlin' down. Heading my accountant's advice was the smartest thing I could do right now; plus, it was a win-win for us all.
Aware of my financial limitations for the moment being, I remembered Andrew saying how I could splurge on a single toy. I had a nice ride. I didn't care for a boat, not yet. And a chain? I had my share of jewelry, namely, a whole lotta watches: leather Cartier, Panerai, and a collection of IWC Pilot's. That and a few simple gold links and chains, including a diamond Cuban link. But jewelry got me thinkin' 'bout Yana and I knew just what I'd do tomorrow, ealry Saturday morning.
***
"Yo Rat, my man," I called out after gettin' buzzed into Howard Ratner's diamond shop. He was a diamond jeweler and a fuckin' debt-ridden mess, but his shop was still the only one I fucked with in the whole Diamond District. Personally, I liked the nigga, despite the constant trouble he got himself in.
"Aye, Twizzler, man, what's up? How ya doin'?," he said out loud, dismissing his current clients for a moment and for good reason. Yeah, I bought all my watches here, but also put a lot of upcoming artists lookin' for a signature chain onto his shop. Shit, only reason he had debts was 'cause he gambled 24/7.
"Doin' aight. Imma need your help wit some'," I said, glancin' around his shop. "I got this girl, a special one, and I'm tryna get her somethin' nice."
"A special girl? Since when you get a girl? What happened with Madi?"
"Since a couple of weeks or so. And stop talkin' bout Madi. She been a dub."
"Fine. A couple weeks, though? You know her well?"
"Yeah man, I know her heart. Know she cute, smart, and she works hard. She deserves it."
"Aw, that's nice man, mazel, really," he commented, a bit surprised. I've never come into his shop purchasin' jewelry for a broad, not even my ex, Madison.
The truth was, I'd been a little distant wit Yana lately and I could feel her slippin' away. We had our little lunch meetings 'cause she went to school at night, leaving no chances for any dates, so we found a lot of time to speak openly. Over a lunch date, there ain't no romantic mood to kill, so anything goes.
We spoke a lot about her dreams and aspirations, not because she was full of herself but 'cause I'd refused to let her in. She usually wanted to know personal shit about my life, but it was just too early to throw some scary shit on her shoulders and she knew it. Why give her a reason to run so soon?
Nope, all she knew was that I owned my own company. At least she knew I wasn't no broke ass nigga, so it wasn't like she was wasting her time. Matter fact, I had yet to tell her about my deal wit' Apple, Sony, and UGM. She'll be proud of me, I know that for sure.
That was just the kinda girl, scratch that ... woman Yana was. I was shocked to find out she was only 19, 4 years my junior, but you couldn't tell from her manner of being. If anything at all, she was a hustla. Everything that girl owned, she'd worked for. Shit, most of the money comin' into her house and supportin' her family was her money. She'd told me about all the jobs she worked; I actually asked her at some point if she ever considered dropping everything and just start strippin'. She'd make a lot more money doin' that, but she'd laughed and told me she wanted to be famous, so she couldn't have that stuff poppin' up in her future life.
In my mind, she'd worked hard enough to deserve some luxury in her life. A nice piece of jewelry and a day outside, away from work and school would have to do for today. It'd be my apologies for bein' a lil' distant and, hopefully, to show her I was serious about movin' onto the next steps of our thing we had goin' on.
"So, she's a beauty, huh?," Rat asked me, already opening up cases of iced out necklaces and watches.
"Of course, man, let's be clear," I chuckled, dismissing his stuff.
"Oh, this won't cut it?"
"Nah, man."
"Ok, what about this?," he asked, opening cases of simpler, plain, gold necklaces.
"Nope," I said. "You got any high end designers? The latest Dior, Chanel, Bvlgari?"
He raised an eyebrow before saying, "Oh shit, man."
"Yeah, nigga."
"Alright, look. You're family, man, so I'll be honest. I don't have what you're asking me, but Bloomingdale's does. Go there and look for Lieberman. Dennis Leiberman. He'll hook you up with the new shit. Just tell 'em Rat's Ass from the Diamond District sent you," he told me. At my sudden laughter, he said, "Aye, don't laugh, man. It's high school jokes, don't laugh."
I told him, "Stop lettin' niggas walk all over you, Rat," before noddin' out his shop to Bloomingdales.
***
Shopping for tip top jewelry in a high end Manhattan store as a Black man is a fuckin' movie. Not only were niggas "not entirely sure" they had what I was lookin' for, of course, I was bein' followed every fuckin' step I made.
Lieberman popped up about 20 minutes into my search, effectively putting me on to a nice set of jewelry for Yana. After asking him for the latest shit for my girl who loved fashion, he actually suggested I get her vintage pieces instead. In the end, I walked out with a vintage set of Gianni Versace pieces, a Greek mythology themed set, complete with 3 pendants, a choker, a pair of ear studs, 2 bracelets and a ring. The guy who rang me up asked if it would be cash; it took everything in me not to throw my debit card at him.
I stepped out the place, on my way to surprise Yana at her Macy's shift. Looking at the Versace pieces carefully in my car, I figured she wouldn't be iced out (yet), but I knew she'd appreciate the vintage pieces more than any basic diamond links.
I drove to the Macy's and after spending 10 minutes lookin' for parking, made my way up to Yana's floor, where she was folding Polo shirts for little boys. I snuck up behind her slowly before asking, " 'Scuse me, miss. What's your name?"
She whipped her head around wit a quickness and rolled her eyes when she saw it was me.
"Hey," she said, sounding tired, as usual.
"Hey girl," I said. "You look like a Sabrina from the back."
"Ha ha," she replied dryly. I heard her mumble "stick bitch" under her breath, a new name she'd come with to clown my nickname. I'd never tell her, but shit was catchy.
"Aye, you gon' stop callin' me that," I joked.
"Or what?," she huffed, throwing down a hanger on a display table.
"Yo, you good?"
"No. I'm not 'good'."
"Okay... You wanna elaborate on that or I gotta ask for that, too?"
Letting out a deep sigh, she rushed out, "Why are you here? Like, for real, what do you want? What, you want to take us over to some place where we eat, I talk, and you disappear? Or did you come here to tell me that you 'not inna mood for lunch' with me today, as if I started this whole lunch thing? What Michael am I dealing with today?"
Huh?
Pausing a moment and makin' a face at her, I shook my head and took the high road, replying, "Aight, I understand. You a lil frustrated, I get it. Maybe I'm puttin' you through a lil bit of an emotional rollercoaster here, but I'm done with allat. Issa brand new life for me, Yana, you wouldn't believe the shit I have to tell you. I promise you, after today, you'll only be gettin' a level-minded, consistent Michael, aight?"
She looked at me curiously before asking, "What's up witchu'? You met your Fairy Godmother today or somethin'?"
"Yeah, you could say that," I answered. "So, tell your boss you sick, girl. We breakin' you outta here."
Laughing, she mumbled, "Who is we?"
"We is us. We goin' to Eleven Madison Park tonight; I already made reservations. But first, we spendin' the day out in the city. Unless you tryna do some other shit, 'tcho nasty ass."
"You mean your nasty ass? And I told you I can't miss class or my job for a date. It's just not happening."
"You tellin' me you can't miss one class? Not one class, out of all the ones you've been to? Can't miss one day at Macy's?"
"No. Stop bein' a bad influence."
"I'm not. I'm just sayin', you gotcho' shit together in that class. At this point, you just doin' it for the degree, baby. You can miss one class. Plus, they don't look understaffed 'round here"
"Nooo."
"They got good food, girl. And it's new, with the Art Deco style you really like."
"Mmm mm."
"Whatchu' bein' scary for? Good food and a day out inna city. You scared you gon' fall in love or some'?"
"That's not funny, Michael. Don't play with matters of the heart."
"Well, you playin' wit my heart. Come wit me, Yana. Ain't there somethin' in the city you been dyin' to do but never had the time to?," I asked, fluttering my eyes like a bitch at her and poking my bottom lip out.
"C'mon, you gotta nigga beggin' and shit on a Friday afternoon and it ain't even for pussy."
Laughing, she looked around the floor. I could see wheels of logic turning in her head, trying to convince her to stay. But after a minute, as usual, she conceded for your boy.
"Okay. Fine. But you're not doing this again. For real."
"Okay, Mrs. Jackson. Whatever you say," I said, bitin' my bottom lip. "My baby compliant for a comedian, huh? Imma have to watch out fuh dat," I joked.
"Shut your mouth," she replied.
"Aight, so imma call you and say you've got a family emergency. Pass the phone to your boss if she needs to hear it from me."
"You're such a scammer."
"And what about it?"
***
My little plan worked and Yana's boss gave her the rest of the day off, wishing her Nana "a safe recovery". Yeah, okay, that woman been dead.
I was waiting downstairs when Yana stepped out the Macy's in her belted Guess jeans, a lime-green and yellow tie-dye knit sweater that hung loosely from her shoulder, revealing a brown bra strap. She held in her arms a wool jacket the same color as her jeans and a small black handbag. She even wore lime-green kitten heels, with the square toe. With that bright ass color on that worked for her, she stepped out the joint lookin' like she just came back from a crazy shopping spree, but I knew she'd made the top and jacket at home.
"What?," she asked me in response to my apparent once-over.
"Nothin'. I was just thinkin' how, if I ever lose you, it won't be inna crowd."
"You critiquing my style?"
"I would never."
"Mhmm."
We walked over to my car and settled in. I'd left the "little brown bag" on display in the back, wondering if she'd ask what was in it, but she glanced at it and turned her head back forward, unfazed. She messed wit the radio before deciding on Hot 97 and asked where we were going.
"Ion know," I said.
I could feel her staring at me from the corner of my eye, ready to go off on my ass.
"Ion know 'cause I thought we could do somethin' out the blue. Spontaneous shit. Like, what's somethin' you've always wanted to do?," I asked her.
Blinking at me, she said, "Kill you."
"That's not possible."
"Really? I dunno, it feels doable."
"Nah, Yana, for real. Some bucket list shit. We can do anything."
"Anything?"
"Anything, girl."
She thought a moment before randomly coming out with, "Rowing a boat."
"Rowing a boat?" I laughed, thinking she was joking, but when she didn't join me, I looked at her seriously. "Out of all the things you could do?"
"What's wrong about rowing a boat?"
"Nothin'. I wasn't expecting you to say that, but if that's what you wanna do, let's go.
"Yay!" She clapped her hands and grinned like a dummy, before doin' a lil Harlem Shake in her seat, shimmyin' her shoulders and all.
I laughed out loud, starting the car and mumbling, "My lil ghetto, bougie, green light."
***
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RACONTEUR
It isn't unusual to spy a couple or two strolling into Central Park on an early Saturday morning. Such was the case when Aiyana and Michael slipped past children sailing model boats and the bronze Alice in Wonderland sculpture on their way to The Loeb Boathouse, all the while chatting.
Michael, Aiyana noticed, seemed in a talkative mood today; he told the story of how his former "employer" had helped him after Michael had broken his arm in an altercation with 3 other men. His former employer, Michael said, had not only seen but heard his arm break during the fight. Essentially, it was the story of how he'd come to be "Twiggy".
"So, that's it?," Aiyana asked.
"Whatchu' mean 'that's it'?"
"I mean, it's not as deep as you made it seem."
"Nah, it's not. I was playin' witchu' that time, but you didn't know me that well," Michael replied briefly, closing the subject.
Aiyana suspected there was more to the story, specifically his "employer", but before she could pry some more, they'd reached the boathouse. It was empty, compared to the summer crowds it usually drew. Certainly, chilly February mornings weren't popular boating conditions as Michael thought so himself, but he was sure Aiyana would see that for herself.
She did not.
Shuffling quickly towards the boathouse, she greeted the half-asleep staff and asked if there were any boats available. Once told there were more than enough boats in attendance, she shouted an excited 'hurry up' to Michael, who pressed on towards the staff and rented a boat for 2. They stepped inside as the staff member warned them to keep their hands and feet within the boat at all times and reminding them to never let go of the oars. Waving him off, Michael rowed swiftly away before Aiyana protested.
"I wanna row," she exclaimed suddenly.
"You sure? Cuz this shit is heavy as fuck," Michael asked her skeptically.
Rolling her eyes, she replied, "Please, I can carry up to 5 big-ass encyclopedias at a time."
"Aight, but you betta' not lose the oars, Aiyana," he warned, placing the oars into her hands before letting them go.
Hating to admit he was right, Aiyana rowed the boat slowly, struggling within. In an attempt to take her mind off of the laborious rowing, she pointed out, "The park looks bad anytime between summer or winter."
Scrunching his face, Michael answered, "Really? I don't come here a lot, so I wouldn't know."
The silence that fell between them was expected, at least by Aiyana. Michael, resolute on opening up to her, huffed out, "I mean, I used to go to Morningside Park a lot more. It was right outside where my apartment was, so when my parents died and I got sent to foster care, I spent most my days there."
"Oh--," Aiyana exclaimed befor he cut her off, saying, "No, don't say nothin'. This only works if you don't comment."
Puzzled and slightly offended, she nodded quietly. He took another deep breath before forcing the next words out his mouth. Would he regret this later?
"Before they died, my dad was messin' wit some woman behind my stepmama back for a while. So, she woke me up one day and sent me to wait for her at some address wit a bag full of clothes, money, and some pictures of us. Before that, she had me knock on the two other families on the top floors and tell them there was a gas leak, so they had to evacuate immediately, which they did. While I was on my way to where she sent me, she slipped a sleepin' pill in my dad's coffee and waited 'til he fell asleep. Then, she took my dad's old ax and made her way to our boiler, where the gas line was. Knowing my her, she probably recited a long ass prayer begging God for forgiveness before she swung at it."
He paused a moment before continuing, "So, it took one swing. Our place exploded and the building crumbled into itself. Just like that."
At a loss for words and beyond shocked, Aiyana wished she hadn't asked for the oars. How was she to console him? Searching for tears in his vacant eyes, she asked him, "What happened to you?"
Shrugging, he said, "I found myself at a precinct. That's where my she sent me. By the time I got there, a commotion had started about the fire department and some explosion. I sat outside the place until some guy asked me why I was there. I told him and they put two and two together. Next thing I knew, I was in the system. That's it."
"Didn't you have any relatives or something?"
"Nah. They were all dead or MIA on my dad's side and my stepmama was an only child."
Completely engrossed in Michael's story, Aiyana stopped rowing and finally recognized why Michael had refused to divulge it earlier. It can't be easy telling people the story of how your mother singlehandedly murdered you father, committed suicide in the process, and sent you away for good.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
Chuckling a bit, Michael said, "Nah, it's ok. You couldn't have known."
"Yeah, but I really shouldn't have pushed you," she admitted.
"It's who you are so I get it. You curious; I'm not. I'll take an unsolved mystery anyday, but you pick at them. That's just you and I'm not mad at that."
She looked down at the water below and saw a few turtles swimming by the boat. Suddenly letting go of the oars, which Michael immediately retrieved while kissing his teeth, she scooped one up swiftly. Placing it in her lap, she caressed it slowly, softly, playing with the drops of water across it's back. Her jeans darkened as the water dripped slowly onto her lap from her hands and the turtle.
"You said something about noticing how I don't talk about my daddy," she softly muttered to Michael, who looked at her strangely.
"You don't have to tell me anything. You can tell me when you're ready."
"No, I know," she said. "I just wanted to say that you're not the only one whose parents died. So when I say, 'I know how you feel', I hope you don't roll your eyes and think I'm just saying that. I really do know how you feel and I kow that stuff like 'sorry for your loss' really only annoys you, like it does for me. And you don't look like you talk about things but maybe you'll trust me enough to do so one day. I'll be there."
Inquisitively looking at her, Michael fought back a smile and rowed them back to the dock. A funny high, like the one that came when he smoked his first joint, had clouded his mind for a brief moment, before the boat violently hit a column right below the dock. Jolting suddenly, his mind stirred up just enough to hear Aiyana singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" to the tiny turtle she kept in hand.
Handing the oars to the staff, he clapped his hands violently and said, "Let's go, Yana. Say bye-bye to Franklin for me, please."
He stepped out and onto the dock, extending his hand out to Aiyana to assist her out the boat. She looked down sadly at the turtle, whom she'd named "Pyro" because of a flame-shaped orange on his back, before bringing it up to her lips to kiss. She released him into the water and made her way onto the deck with Michael's help. Looking up, she saw Michael's face and asked, "What?"
"You kissed that turtle."
"So? I've kissed worse."
"Really? You kissed something coming straight out of a pond in New York?"
Laughing briefly, she responded, "Nope, but I've kissed "ain't shit niggas" straight out of New York's dirtiest buroughs. Honestly, I might live."
With that, they walked their way slowly out the park.
...to be continued...
***
A/N: so, it's just part 1 because writer's block, but i also kept touching this part so i figured i might as well publish it before i self-sabotage.
the next part will come idk when, but in the meantime, i'll work on the book's aesthetic because it's a lil ghetto out here chile 🥴 that's neither here, nor there tho, just to say that if you see the chapters getting updated (i'll let you know when i do) ignore it.
thanks for reading y'all! i literally love you much ✨
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