Jumping on the 110, I headed to Sunset Blvd in Hollywood. When I arrived, I was taken by the amount of people out and nearly blocking the entrance. Most of them were gorgeous women. The more I saw the angrier I became. I knew this wasn’t a good idea! I went in and scanned the main room. There were three levels at Cobalt but I recalled my manager telling me that only the first floor was being used tonight. I went up to the administrative area that was on the third floor. My office oversaw the entire main room and faced the stage.
From the time I entered the reception area, all eyes were on me waiting to take cues from my demeanor. I wasn’t in the best of moods that night. Hell—I hadn’t been in good spirits in months. Because I was aware of my disposition caused by my life’s unhappy state as of late, I tried to develop a conscious to be as pleasant as possible to the staff.
Tracy, my assistant manager, had Filemina’s Soul Food waiting for me. As I walked into my office she was unloading the “to go” order onto the plate at the table next to the window that provided the view of the club. My stomach growled louder than a motherfucker.
I greeted everyone and asked for a rundown of the evening. Tracy, a dark-skinned, petite woman with a punk-rocker Mohawk haircut, informed me that I had quite a few messages—most of them from Tara. To change the subject I asked about tonight’s function and how that was flowing. She assured me everything was running smoothly and on time. I went into the bathroom located in my office, on the opposite side of the conference area, to wash my hands so that I could eat. I sat down to feast on baked catfish, macaroni & cheese, candied yams and cabbage.
“Ms. Filemina had Johnny put some peach cobbler in there complimentary,” Tracy said while tapping on her electronic tablet.
“Okay, thanks.” Ms. Filemina had always been gracious to my staff and me over the years. We’ve always thrown her business anytime we could.
Kareem, the club manager, came in with a few housekeeping questions and updates that I provided direction on. In the middle of my last sentence to him I hear, “Yo, Divine! The crew is coming through tonight. We need to meet about ‘dis basketball league we tryna’ start in Inglewood. You asked me to line ‘em up and ‘dis was the best time. ‘Dat alright wit’ you?” Petey came in announcing as he gave me love by way of dap.
My brows knitted as I tried to recall authorizing such an arrangement. Petey was my man, a hundred grand. I’ve known him for about fifteen years. He was ten years my senior but always kept it fresh. His loyalty was unrivaled. He did a ten-year bid in Detroit and moved to L.A. to take care of his ailing grandmother. We crossed paths in the streets, he attached himself to me and we’ve been that way ever since. Everywhere I went, he went. For every thousand dollars I made he earned five hundred dollars. When I started legitimizing my game I stuck him anywhere I could on the payroll to make sure he ate legally. We’ve been through so much together—shoot outs, stick ups, deals gone bad, unwanted pregnancies, births, even a marriage which, was his, of course.