Page 60 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

Chapter Thirty-seven

Harper

As six more days in Ghana passed by, with no progress made on the studio pitch, Harper left his hotel gym ready for his reckoning with Stan. Stan, who thought he was in Hawaii— making progress —had aligned time zones for a check-in call. In Accra, now, neither was true.

“What the hell are you doing in Ghana?” Stan’s voice came through loud and clear on Harper’s phone speaker. “You’re not supposed to be there until next month…”

Harper looked at the phone on his hotel bed and reached for a clean shirt in the drawer. He shook the wrinkles out and pulled it on over his head.

“I know, Stan.”

“Is everything okay? With Robyn, with Mia?”

Harper took a big, long breath before responding. That answer was still complicated. “Yes, fine.” Harper had no way to gauge how true that was without getting into the details of everything that had happened in his life over the past month. And that was something he didn’t want to do now with Stan.

Over the past six days, Harper had been at his hotel, settled in as he would be on a regular visit to see Mia.

But this was no ordinary visit. Not only did Robyn think it wasn’t a good idea for him to stay at her place, even with Kwesi out of town, but two nights on her couch weren’t exactly the most comfortable accommodations Accra could offer.

More than that it wouldn’t be good to send Mia any mixed messages, especially now.

Robyn had clearly stated, “We’re not changing for this little girl.

” Harper agreed. Mia needed to understand that Mommy and Daddy are not together, that Daddy only visited when he was supposed to and if he was needed.

After the stunt she pulled, best to keep the routine.

Stan paused for a bit, but Harper wasn’t offering any elaboration to fill the silence. Stan got straight to the point. “So…how are the pitch pages coming?”

“Fine,” Harper responded. Stan also didn’t need to know that Harper hadn’t really worked on it, especially since he’d already blown through the three-week deadline he had promised the studio.

Things had gotten thrown off track. Everything.

He hadn’t even gotten real clarity on Jackson and Kendall until he’d reconnected with Jordan.

But then Mia called. And he was in Ghana.

Something about that, about leaving, about when he left or how he left, had ruined the closest thing he’d had to a “flow.” Now every time Harper approached the page, he couldn’t focus.

Especially not after Jordan had texted him, Leave me alone.

It was clear, definitive, much worse than silence.

And then she’d blocked him. He was writing their love story.

The notes he took while with Jordan, none of it translated without the real-life inspiration.

Harper had always been able to compartmentalize, but with no more messages or flowers to send, he’d been in a veritable tailspin and unable to return to authentic storytelling about Jackson and Kendall.

So “fine” was certainly not accurate and Stan must have heard it in Harper’s voice.

“?‘Fine’ sounds…untrue,” Stan posited.

“Stan…” Harper tried to protest. Even his real reasons didn’t sound like a good excuse.

“Look, the studio is hot on this idea of yours. And they are up my ass.”

“I get it, Stan. I really do. But I have a lot of shit going on with the family.”

“Okay. Got it. Is there anything I can do?” Stan asked. Harper thought, Yes. Find a way to clone me. Two please. One to work on the pitch, another to help Robyn, keep my daughter happy, and send the real me back to Jordan.

“No. Thank you. I’m handling it.”

“Good. Family is most important, so prioritize that. But let me just say this to you—found family is also important,” Stan said. Harper sighed as he slid his pantson.

“I know…”

“And I know what this title means to you. We fought for you to protect your found family, several of whom weren’t happy with the first go-round of this project.”

“I wasn’t happy either,” Harper said.

“I remember. We got you your shot to protect your vision this time around; so you need to deliver,” Stan stated plainly. Harper exhaled hard. “When do you think you’ll be done?” Harper shook his head and searched for the right answer.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. Now Stan sighed loudly and paused. Harper’s “I don’t know” was clearly not the answer Stan was looking for.

“Look, Harp, you have a golden opportunity here, buddy. You need to deliver—and soon—or else they’re going to move on. And it’ll be out of our hands.” The words sat, hanging there in the air. Harper knew his agent of twenty-five years wasn’t bullshitting him. He was serious.

Then brrrrnnngg…brrrnnggg… Harper’s hotel phone rang, breaking into the silence.

“Hold on, Stan.” Harper stepped over to the desk phone and pressed the speaker. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Mr. Stewart, your guest has arrived,” the operator said.

“Okay, thanks. Send him to the restaurant please. I have a reservation under my name.”

“Very well, sir. We’ll let him know.” Harper ended that call and turned to his personal phone. “Stan, I’m just not sure. I just—”

“Listen,” Stan said brusquely. “I’ll tell them two weeks? But you have to give them something. And at this point you gotta blow them away.” Stan’s voice had a tinge of desperation. Harper knew he was going to bat for him and he hadn’t been making it easy. I can do it.. he thought.

“I hate to put pressure on you…” Stan added.

“Do you really?” Harper half joked.

“Harp…”

“I’m just kidding. I’ll handle it. Bye, Stan,” Harper said before hanging up.

On his way out the door, he looked at the wall of notes he’d taped to the hotel room wall, wishing that the ending was clear.

As he closed the door, he mused aloud, “Housekeeping must think I’m a serial killer.

” All his ideas were a jumble and nothing was sticking.

His best ideas seemed stupid. Notes that had sounded insightful and entertaining a week ago now felt half-baked.

Harper meditated, journaled, and brain-dumped, sometimes for hours.

All his journaling was about Jordan. Jordan who now wanted him to leave her alone.

For Harper, this was the worst kind of writer’s block.

He sighed and threw on his suit jacket while walking down the hallway.

Fully dressed now, he entered the elevator to head down and meet his guest.

The doors opened on the ground floor lobby, and Harper walked over to the restaurant where Robyn’s landlord was waiting for him.

Harper was “inserting himself” again—hoping to have an honest conversation, “man to man,” with Aboagye—but all to alleviate stress on Robyn.

Even though he didn’t say a word about it to her, even though she hadn’t spoken about it directly to him, he felt like he had to, that he owed it to his ex-wife.

He had tried all the other ways to help—picking Mia up from school, running errands, pitching in with dinner.

Sometimes she’d let him, sometimes she wouldn’t.

But it pained him to see her stretched so thin, when she was otherwise flourishing so beautifully.

It made him rethink his first set of doubts about her coming to Ghana.

It seemed like she’d made a good home here, but the way she was doing it was robbing her of the point.

She was supposed to be here to have an easier life.

And why else take his daughter away from him?

—

Entering the restaurant, Harper got a look at Aboagye.

The man kind of stood out sitting at the coffee bar—colorful outfit, tubby midsection, sunglasses indoors, and already indulging himself with a caffeinated drink of some kind.

After some pleasantries and ordering a latte of his own, Harper got straight to the point.

“Listen, sir. I don’t know how things work here but what’s happening is affecting me in America.

I just want to make sure my family has what they need.

And that includes the ability to market and promote the restaurant.

A leaky roof, flood damage, and a secondhand backup generator is bad for business. ”

Aboagye sipped his cappuccino. “Maybe your wife can’t afford to be there anymore,” he said simply.

“ Ex -wife…”

“Ahhh. My apologies. But once a wife always a wife. You are still responsible for her, no?” Aboagye eyed Harper over the rim of his shades, above the brim of his cappuccino cup. Harper couldn’t really argue with that.

“If Robyn thinks she belongs here and can handle it, then she can.” Harper was firm in defending her. “I know that much about her. We were married for a long time, and I owe it to her, and my daughter, to see how we can work something out. Man to man.”

“Look, brudda, I like your wife,” Aboagye said. Harper returned a look of impatience. “Sorry. I like Robyn. She is a good cook, but not very good at business.” Harper bristled at another man’s opinion of his ex-wife’s skill set. “Maybe she is ‘in over her head,’ as the saying goes.”

“Robyn is a chef. Not a cook. And she’s very passionate about what she does, she’s smart, and her heart is in the right place.

If the rent is paid you shouldn’t have anything to say about her business acumen.

” Harper looked Aboagye squarely in the eye.

Aboagye raised his chin, returning Harper’s gaze with a slight grin.

“ Ex -wife, eh?” Aboagye finished his last sip.

Harper impatiently tapped his foot on the bar step.

“Look, brudda, as I told Robyn I can rent that space for more than I’m getting now, but she has brought a good service to the area,” Aboagye stated matter-of-factly.

“So I am inclined to keep renting to her. But the price is the price. If she wants to keep it, then I’ll let her stay. ”

“So, if you get the money—a year of rent in advance—you’ll stop harassing her?” Harper leaned forward toward him.