Page 26

“Okay, you’re good.” The set makeup artist for Dough Boyz finished touching me up.

“Don’t have me looking like I got on makeup, Tia.” I peered around her as she laughed.

“You know I don’t ever do you like that, Nique.” She finished putting her shit away. “I’ll let them know you’re done.”

“Aight.” I nodded, checking my phone for any messages or emails one last time before I had to work for a few hours straight.

The door to my trailer opening grabbed my attention, making me look up from my phone to see Tamira. When she noticed I was alone, a salacious smile covered her face.

I’d been bringing Kabrina to set with me every fucking day usually unless I knew for certain Tamira wouldn’t be there.

Part of the reason for that was because I just liked being with my wife and would be feeling off—as crazy as it sounds—being away from her for hours on end. I didn’t know what it was about my baby, but I hated being separated from her for any lengthy ass period of time.

The other reason, though, was because I knew Kabrina was like Tamira repellent. She wouldn’t come near a nigga when my wife was here, partly because she didn’t want no smoke, but also because what she and I did was supposed to be a secret, beneficial for both parties.

Only reason Kabrina wasn’t here with me today was because she was at a lab testing out the formula for her lip glosses, and I would never try to interfere with what she had going on for herself, for my shit.

“Hey. I see you decided not to bring wifey to work today.” Tamira leaned against the kitchenette counter, popping a grape into her mouth.

“She was busy.” I stood up, making Tamira lean up off the counter and come closer.

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m happy. I’ve missed you and this.” She reached to grab my dick, but I gripped her wrist to stop her ass. She was surprised but quickly covered it up with a smile.

“We not doing that.”

“Unique, we start filming in fifteen minutes. I don’t have time for the hard-to-get bullshit.” She folded her arms, her brown skin becoming flushed with irritation.

“This ain’t no fucking act. We not doing that shit no more.” I started around her, but she blocked me. I could’ve easily gotten pass her ass, but regardless, she was still the boss around here and on the biggest payday and role I had at the moment.

“Are you sure you wanna do this, Unique?” Her brow heightened. “Because if you walk out of that door and cut me off, I will have to cut you off.”

“You wouldn’t do that shit. We already got rid of Ramonté. You take me off, too, and the show is over.”

“So.” She shrugged. “This show has run for five seasons. That’s plenty in today’s climate. Plus, I just got hired onto a whole new series. I don’t need Dough Boyz anymore. Therefore, this could be both of our last season, considering I have another job lined up. What about you?”

I stared down at her, wanting to choke that fucking smug smile off her face. I hated that I hadn’t been able to get something bigger than this shit. Sure, I had the Night Walker series coming, but they were still casting everybody else. Not to mention, the pay I would receive from that first film was one hundred grand less than what I got from Dough Boyz per episode.

However, I was never the type of nigga that you could make do some shit I didn’t want to. In the past, fucking Tamira meant nothing. I got to keep my career and got extra pussy on the side—no biggie. But now, it meant jeopardizing and losing the shit I had with Kabrina, and this show wasn’t worth that shit. While I loved it and appreciated the show for catapulting me, the work environment had become toxic, and what used to be fun, exhilarating, and fulfilling for a nigga had now become taxing.

“Do what the fuck you gotta do, Tamira,” I said, flooring her ass, judging by the look on her face. Swaggering on, I paused by the door and said, “Keep thinking my marriage is a muthafuckin’ game and you gon’ regret it.”

With that said, I left out.

For the rest of the long ass workday, Tamira ignored me. I didn’t know if she was tone deaf as fuck or what, but I preferred her paying me no mind, so her antics weren’t hurting a nigga.

AJ was on his best behavior, thank God. I wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to get paid or he was scared, but either way, I appreciated the shit. He and I only interacted when the camera was on, and so long as he didn’t pop hot shit or bother my wife, we could remain cordial in the workplace.

Though I felt good about cutting Tamira’s ass off instead of just dodging her, I couldn’t help but wonder what the next few days or weeks would bring. Since the beginning of this show, I’d never worried about my place on it because I had Tamira in my back pocket, and she ultimately made all the decisions. But now that we’d in a sense declared war on one another, I was low-key sweating.

Tamira Weathers was more than just the showrunner for Dough Boyz . She was the biggest showrunner in the industry, and if she didn’t like you, you didn’t work. And it was easy as fuck to blackball a black actor, because muthafuckas wanted a reason not to cast you anyway. So a person handing them a reason was worth more than gold.

“You don’t like it, huh?” Kabrina quizzed as we sat on the couch, eating some pasta dish she’d gotten from my sister-in-law’s cookbook. She’d made a point to go through it page by page, and I couldn’t lie; I was enjoying the shit.

“I do. It’s perfect like everything you do.” I smirked, scooping some of the truffle pasta into my mouth.

From the time I left the set, during the drive home, and all throughout my shower until right now, that shit with Tamira had been on my fucking mind.

“Thank you, but don’t lie. I know you, and you are way more animated when you have good food.” Her hazel eyes sparkled as she drank some of her wine, peering over her glass at me.

I could only half smile as I took her in.

“It’s crazy.” I set the empty plate down.

“What?”

“How you can make a nigga smile even when I ain’t having the best day,” I revealed.

“What happened?” Her brows furrowed.

“Tamira tried to get… active, I guess you’d call the shit, and when I told her no, she threatened to take me off the show,” I said.

“I hate her. We need to expose her ass. I bet you there are a bunch of other actors she did this to.”

Shrugging, I replied, “Who knows. I don’t give a fuck about them niggas. I care about my checks and my career.”

“You have the superhero series though, and that is gonna take you where you need to go which is much further than Dough Boyz .”

“Yeah, but the pay is trash.”

“Just for the first movie. The second one will be way more.” She kissed my face.

“We don’t know that, love. That’s a projection based on how they think the first movie will perform. If that shit don’t happen then…” I couldn’t even finish my sentence. The thought of losing Dough Boyz and Night Walker failing would be my worst fucking nightmare.

Because of how I was raised, my mind immediately ventured to offing Tamira’s ass, but I knew that would have the same effect. Without her, the show would be cancelled regardless, hence her fucking job title.

“So what are you going to do, Unique? Sleep with her?”

“No.” I frowned. “You know damn well that’s not what I’m gon’ do. Unless you want me to.” I smirked, but her serious face made me wipe the shit off. “I don’t want to, anyway. Her shit garbage, and she sound like a muthafuckin’ seal when she cumming.”

“TMI.” Kabrina shut her eyes in disgust. “I still think she needs to be exposed. She shouldn’t be able to go on doing shit like this.”

“No. If she gets exposed, cool, but I won’t be the fucking poster boy for that shit.” I shook my head. “What grown ass man complains about getting pussy? I got a gay father too? Nah.”

“Unique, it’s not about getting pussy . It’s the fact that she used her status to prey on you. Then when you didn’t want to have sex, she threatened your career. It has nothing to do with that masculine shit.” She rolled her eyes.

“My brothers would clown me until I was eighty if I got up there crying about some shit like that.”

“No they wouldn’t. They love you.”

I shot her a look, and for the first time since this conversation started, she laughed.

“One time Shakur wore gloves to change oil in his wife’s car, and we called that nigga Mary Poppins for a year straight.”

Kabrina tossed her head back to crack up. I loved when she did that shit, making me kiss her neck.

“Men are so immature. I’m sure he had a reason for the gloves.”

“I mean, he had somewhere to be and didn’t want the shit on his hands, but still.” I shrugged. “Bashar wore a raincoat because it was about to rain, and we got on his ass ’bout that too, singing ‘One Wish’ by Ray J every time we saw that nigga.” Kabrina cracked up. “Don’t no real nigga wear a raincoat. You thug it out in that damn rain, even if you gotta ‘go to court.’”

“But if it was about to rain…” Kabrina chuckled with her brows kissing.

“So. Me and my brothers are the most mature yet immature niggas you will ever meet.”

“I get that, but I think they would take this seriously.”

“Well, I’m not about to find out, love, and I would appreciate it if you leave the shit where it is. I wanna move on from this shit if I have to, and letting the world know will mean that this will follow me for years to come, and I don’t want that. I wanna make money, act my ass off, and lay low when I can. I don’t wanna be involved with shit.”

She stared into my eyes like she was processing it, then said, “Okay.”

* * *

Cemone’s car was the last to pull in, and once he parked, the six of us climbed out onto the rocky gravel of the church’s parking lot.

The building was huge, and I just took the shit in for a moment, seeing just how successful this nigga Devante had become.

A part of me hesitated for a bit, thinking Shakur was right to leave the nigga be and let him do him. But the shit left my mind as quickly as it came when I remembered my mother struggling and how the nigga would barely even pick up the phone to talk to us well before Prime came around.

Regardless of everything, I couldn’t respect Devante Compton, and had he not changed his name, I probably would’ve found it difficult to carry that surname myself.

“Aight. We starting shit as soon as we walk in or what?” I asked once the six of us stood together outside of the large double doors.

“Ain’t no point in sitting down listening to a fake nigga preach,” Khari said, and everybody bobbed their heads to agree.

He led the way, and we all followed, through the double doors, passing the quiet hallway where I could hear his voice booming over the congregation as if he was a man who hadn’t abandoned his children or cheated on his wives.

When the second set of doors opened, I could see Devante at the podium preaching. He sputtered a bit upon seeing Khari and then the rest of us, mobbing down the long aisle toward him. The church was packed out, every pew filled to the brim to hear this fraud ass nigga preach about a lifestyle he surely didn’t live.

Bold ass Khari walked up onto the stage like it was nothing, dwarfing our biological father, even though he, himself, wasn’t short. Devante stood at about six feet even or maybe six feet, one inch, but his cowardice was showing at the sight of Khari beside him, making him appear way shorter than my brother’s six-foot-four stature.

“Good morning, everybody.” Khari smiled at the church, having basically bumped Devante off to the side like he was Dennis Edwards and Khari was David Ruffin.

“Morning,” the congregation replied in a confused tone as they looked at one another, whispering about.

The rest of us climbed up onto the stage as well to stand nearby.

When Devante tried to wave for security on the low, Khari said, “Security, I suggest you stay right where the fuck you at, or everything is gon’ go left, homie.” His words made them halt. “I’ll be quick though.”

Devante tried to move the microphone from Khari’s face, but Lequay came to the other side, bumping him even further and creating a barrier between Devante and Khari.

“What the heck is going on?” I recognized Sharon, Devante’s new wife, asking as she stood from her seat.

“What’s going on is that your preacher, Kyle is it? Yeah, his actual name is Devante Compton. And me, along with the five other men you see up here on this stage, we’re his sons.” The congregation gasped at Khari’s words.

Devante, seeing where shit was going, tried to bypass Lequay to get to Khari, making Cemone assist in blocking his ass.

Though it hadn’t been discussed, I think my brothers and I just naturally decided to let Khari take the lead in the actual oration of the exposure.

For as long as I’d known the nigga, he was always the most outspoken, no matter the time or place. Cemone was right behind him in that department with me third. Our other brothers showed a little bit of decorum, depending on the environment. By saying that, it was natural for Khari to do the talking.

“He is lying!” Devante shouted louder than I’d ever heard the nigga yell.

“Yeah, of course he’d say that ’cause he don’t want me to tell you how our mother caught him getting head from another nigga inside the church.” Khari shook his head, gripping the podium like he was disappointed and preaching himself. The sight made my brothers and me chuckle lowly.

“What the heck are you all talking about? Unique, what is this?” Sharon came up from behind the preacher’s podium to the front.

“Yo’ husband is a closeted homosexual, that’s what the heck this is about,” Cemone replied.

“And the fact that after our mother divorced him, he decided it’d be best to abandon us all and go make a new life with the first lady you see here today.” Khari gestured toward Sharon, whose mouth was on the stage floor.

“Honey, I swear this is a lie.” He shook his head at her, unable to break free from Cemone and Lequay.

“It’s not, Sharon,” I stated lowly to her while Khari talked into the microphone.

“My point in coming here today isn’t because he’s gay, because I couldn’t give less of a fuck. I’m here today because I want y’all to know exactly who you receiving the word from. This is a man who abandoned his kids and for no other reason than so he could reinvent himself and make money.

“I gotta give it to the nigga; he did well. And if you wondering, nah, he ain’t kick none of this shit back to us. But we did well regardless, which y’all may be able to see from the few of us you recognize,” Khari continued.

“They didn’t need me! They replaced me!” Devante tried to explain to his wife and church, head whipping in different directions out of panic.

“We did replace him but only ’cause we had to. With a much better man that, honestly… who knows where we’d be if our mama didn’t meet him.” Khari nodded and said very lowly, “I almost ruined that shit for her, but a nigga ain’t know what to do with all them fucking emotions. It took a true father figure to show me how to process that shit maturely.” He sighed. “I don’t know if Kyle, Devante, whatever is still on the down low, but a couple years ago, my other brother hired a PI who showed proof that he was.” Sharon snapped her head in Devante’s direction, but he shook his head to say no. “Y’all do with that information what you choose.” Khari walked off stage, and we followed, Cemone and Lequay releasing Devante.

“Y’all will burn in hell for your lies!” Devante shouted in the microphone as we headed back down the aisle and out the doors, the church members watching us with wide eyes and mouths.

“Keep talking and I’m gon’ knock you the fuck out, nigga,” Cemone threw over his shoulder on our way out.

Devante shockingly didn’t respond. I guess he could hear the seriousness in my brother’s voice.

As soon as we stepped outside of the church and into the parking lot, two security guards followed.

“The police has been called so?—”

“We leaving, nigga. Shut the fuck up,” I spat, cutting his burly ass off as my brothers and I went to our respective cars.

As we pulled out onto the street, I could hear the sirens in the distance, making me shake my fucking head.

The plan after showing up to Crossroads Church was to go to my mama’s home so we could inform her of the shit. We knew if we said something beforehand, she would be against it and possibly do something to stop it, which we didn’t want.

After parking anywhere we could in their big ass driveway, the six of us headed inside in search of my mother.

“Oh my gosh, no! My friends are coming, and Mommy didn’t make enough food for y’all big, greedy asses!” Banks exclaimed, running into us as she came down the stairs.

“Nobody about to eat, baby girl,” Bashar replied, smirking as much as he could. “We not even staying long.”

“Where Mama at?” Lequay quizzed.

“In the kitchen cooking,” Banks replied hesitantly, her phone glued to her hand like always. “I’m serious about the food!” She shouted to our backs as we started toward the mouth of the big ass kitchen.

“Smells good in here.” Shakur smiled as soon as we walked into the bright kitchen with high ass ceilings and too many damn ovens.

“Yep, but it’s not enough for you guys. Y’all eat too much, and Banks is having company,” she replied, chuckling as she hugged and kissed each one of us.

“We know. Yo’ mini me told us that already.” Khari leaned against the counter. “Let me know when you got a second.”

“I have one now. I’m just waiting for the timer to go off.” She cut the burner off then pointed to the oven timer to show us. “So, what’s up?”

For a minute, silence hung in the air, and low-key, a nigga was transported back to my childhood when I was scared to tell my mother something. She never spared the rod majority of the time, so nine times out of ten, you was getting yo’ ass beat.

“We went to Devante’s church and kind of told everybody who he is and everything else,” Cemone spoke up finally.

“What?” Her brows furrowed as she absentmindedly took a step backward. “Why? Why the fuck would you do that?” She whipped her head around to look at each of us. “I’m asking a fucking question!” She blew up when no one had said shit yet.

“Because he needed to be put on fucking blast for what he did, Ma,” Lequay answered, worried eyes on our mother.

“That was so stupid! Y’all have had a great life, and now you went and did that shit, making him think you need him and that you care!”

Her yelling could clearly be heard over this mansion because Prime entered, brows kissing as he eyed us all, already blaming us for his wife’s displeasure.

“Fuck is going on?” Prime queried.

“These fools went down to Devante’s church and told them his real identity and everything else. Whatever the fuck that means.” She shook her head.

“We told ’em he was gay, he left his kids in the dust, and that though he was married, he was still doing dirt,” Shakur summarized as my mama shook her head constantly.

“I don’t get what the point of that was. Where this even come from? I ain’t even know y’all still thought about that nigga.” Prime frowned in confusion.

“We don’t. Not really,” I replied, sitting at the big marble island. “But my girl, she invited me to her family reunion, and her aunt’s best friend is Devante’s new wife. When he acted like he didn’t know a nigga, calling me son like he was trying to be funny, I got mad all over again. I told them about it, and we came up with the plan.”

Prime digested my words but had no response.

“And now, he thinks y’all have been worrying about him and caring or needing him this whole damn time!” my mother barked, cutting the timer off before it could even sound off and snatching the buttery rolls from the oven then tossing them on top of the stove.

“Because we do care, and we did need that nigga,” Khari replied calmly, making everybody look his way. “It has nothing to do with you or Pop, because I couldn’t have asked for better parents, but if you think for a second that the nigga who was my father consistently for seventeen almost eighteen years ghosting me and my brothers ain’t gon’ bother me, then you mistaken, Ma.

“I get he was ya husband, but it ain’t the same. And shit only got worse when I had kids of my own because I couldn’t fathom doing some shit like that. Everybody else had to deal with the fallout of his bullshit except for him. He got to go off and be happy and start a new family. Then had the nerve to double down on his actions when Shakur reached out. He’s a coward, and the only way he ever gon’ have a chance at changing is if muthafuckas stop acting like he never did the foul shit he did. So yeah, I am bothered, and if any of these niggas in here tell you they not, they lying.”

My mother’s demeanor had visibly relaxed a little bit as she took Khari in, while Prime hugged her into his side, his lips pressed to her temple.

“I understand. But maybe it didn’t have to be in the church and so public.” She replied in a calm tone that she hadn’t had since we told her this shit.

“Nah, he needed to be embarrassed the way he embarrassed everybody else,” Bashar said.

“Exactly, and nah, I don’t need that nigga, but I can’t say what he did don’t still get me tight on occasion,” Lequay added.

“Maybe this is what he needed to pull him fully up out that fucking closet then,” Prime said.

I didn’t know what he needed, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a bit better.