“We’re all, or at least should all be, comprised of more than one component. That’s actually the secret to my success, if I may. I wear many faces, particularly two. One face is urban, street-like, underground, you know…ethnic. The other is corporate, cultured, mainstream, traditional business, etcetera. The common denominator is a hustler’s spirit—hunger, commerce-minded, paper chasing, and trend setting. Many people can’t respect that. There are times that I’ve passed up opportunities because associates tried to get into my head by wanting me to say I was one over the other.” My eyes jotted over to Tara. I knew I was wilding the fuck out but kept going.
“People aren’t comfortable when they can’t figure you out. I have my corporate contemporaries wanting me to explain my relationships with well-known rappers and rebellious athletes. And on the other hand, I have my goons from the streets wanting to test my chin assuming I’ve gone Hollywood. It’s tough. The true challenge is maintaining who you are while not allowing those around you to classify you or question your essence,” I continued.
“Well Az, which hat are you most comfortable wearing?” Danielle asked entranced. I knew she loved this type of analytical exchange.
“Which ever hat is going to win me a dollar in that opportunity. I’m a hustler, baby.” There was a pause at the booth as Danielle and Steve looked at each other approving what they could quickly process of my summary.
Petey broke it by saying, “I hear dat, Divine and on dat note Im’ma get sum‘in’ wet from the bar. You want sum‘in’, Ma?” he called out to his wife, Kim.
Thinking a break from the tense energy at the table sounded appealing I rose from the table. “I’m with you, Crack. You want something?” I asked Tara. She rolled her eyes and shook her head no. She knew that was a subliminal message for her. As slow as this process was, she was getting the hint. She knew the end of the relationship was nigh.
We walked over to the bar and I felt gentle nudging at my arm. “Mr. Jacobs! I was wondering if I’d see you here tonight! I’m Michelle Smith from—” I interrupted her.
“…Smith, Katz & Adams Sports Medicine. I recall.” Michelle’s eyes were bright with unadulterated enthusiasm. I could tell she maintained good energy from her well-applied smile. “Yes, I’m out tonight. Good to see you patronizing the place. You’re not here alone are you?” I vividly remembered her because of the dame that gave the presentation that day at the rec. I knew it was a long shot but I had to ask.
“Oh, no! I’m here with some friends…a few from school and…oh, Rayna! You remember Rayna Brimm the one that gave you the proposal that day?”
I felt a chill cross my shoulders. Oh, shit! That had never happened to me before. I don’t even know this broad and I’m getting this excited?
Almost as if she had known, Michelle grabbed my arm and damn near pulled me over to their V.I.P. booth. I could tell she’d been drinking. Her demeanor that night was a far cry from the woman I’d met in my boardroom. It was cool though. I let her lead me up to one of the V.I.P. booths where I assumed her friend, Rayna, was. I fought the anticipation that was building with each step I took.
She introduced me to her friends…and there she was, still as lovely as ever!
We exchanged a few words and I left. I had to remember I had people waiting on me because I could easily stare at her all night. I found my way back to the bar and Petey was still there waiting for me. I gave him the 411 on old girl. He couldn’t get a close up on her but remembered her from the dancing she did a few weeks back there at the club. We took our drinks back to the booth.
There was a performance by a newcomer on the R&B scene. I’d asked my manager here at Cobalt to book him as a favor for a producer friend of mine. After hearing his performance and seeing the crowd’s reaction. I textedmy boy:YOU GOT THIS ONE. I NOW OWE YOU. He textedme back saying,YES, SIIIIIIIR!