“Chill out, Jacobs,” I hear her mumble from behind me.
I slowly turn towards the steps and see her smoothing her dress. There’s a twinge of nervousness in her eyes although her scowl is fixed. That aside, Rayna is gliding gracefully down the stairs in five inch Sergio Rossis. Her toned thighs that are somewhat glistening hooks my attention as she takes the last step and hits the marble floor.
“Goddamn…” I mutter.
“Hey!” she chides. “You’ve been getting better with the language!”
“I know…” I admit apologetically while my eyes flutter. I’ve got to get myself together.
“Last week at church, little Dasu told his friend he’s the fucking man. Who do you suppose he got that term from?”
I arch a brow. “Well, I am the fucking man. You know this. And he’s my legacy.”
“Azmir, baby,” she drags out exhaustedly and pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Let’s go, Mrs. Jacobs. We’re late thanks to your diva antics.” I go to grab her hand. I can’t say what I’m really feeling…that if I keep looking at her in that dress and shoes, we may not make it out of here.
“Wait!” she exclaims. I turn back to see her shifting in her dress, once again smoothing it down. “Do you think this is too much…like…for a mom…of two?” she asks timidly.
The dress is fitting her like second skin, just as I want it to. Rayna curves are on full display, reminding me of how hard she’s worked to regain her body after the twins. She keeps a tight workout regime and eats conscientiously. I never complained about the weight she put on right after the kids. Shit, she carried three people on her feet for nearly nine months. Who was I to tell her how to get motivated? I didn’t have to. After the kids turned one, Rayna began working on herself rigorously. I couldn’t believe the determination she put forth to get back down to her pre-pregnancy size within a year. By the time the kids turned three, Rayna was back to herself.
“Absolutely not,” I answer and take her by the hand, successfully this time. As we’re approaching the door I inform, “You look like the wife of a luckiest son of a bitch around.”
I hear Rayna suck in a breath. “Azmir!’
On the ride to our destination, we’re both quiet. I have no idea what Rayna’s thinking about, but I’m anxious about this “news” she has to share with me. Rayna has solidified herself as my life partner over the last five years. She’s never tried to run since learning about my former profession. She’s been a devoted mother to hour son, Dasu Azmir, and daughter, Kennedy Michelle. So devoted that I have to do things in the fashion of what I’m doing tonight, stealing her away from them for her undivided attention.
Rayna’s also been a warrior for me, like when an indie documentary hit the streets last summer by D-Struct’s best friend that suggested my former role as a kingpin. The premise of it was how aspiring rappers get into the game today versus ten years ago. The documentary included how to do a demo, to marketing, to signing with a major label, to funding, and that’s where I’m highlighted for four minutes and sixteen seconds as a drug lord with investments resources. It was totally fabricated, loosely woven together. I’ve never funded anyone’s career, only lent out cars and jewelry for shoots. That forty-five minute short film caught the attention of urban radio stations and bloggers. His inch of validity was a former dope acquaintance of mine, Black, that went missing just before my trip to New York six years ago when I took Rayna with me to reunite with my mother. There were even rumors about HBO picking it up.
Needless to say, last summer was one of the most trying periods of my life. Although Chesney was on it right away, I feared Rayna’s flight habit resurging. However, she didn’t waver. Instead, she arranged for our family to be packed and off for a two-week vacation, all in the span of eight hours. The twins were discharged with their grandmothers and Chyna to Hawaii while Rayna and I headed the opposite direction to the Caribbean. Rayna stealthily kept Chesney and his team on course while she tended to me with hours of lovemaking and tourist excursions to bide the time for the scandal to blow over. I was concerned about her being away from the kids for so long. She’s so attached to them. However, Rayna never uttered a word of complaint, just stuck by my side. And when we returned home, by way of some rare miracle, things had blown over. Rayna was absolutely amazing.
But I’m still nervous when she says we have to talk. I can’t imagine what about. As I look over to her, she’s staring out the window, seemingly just as pensive as I am right now. I go with the silence because I’m just happy to be back at home with her after two weeks of being away. I’ve missed the hell out of her.
We pull up to Mahogany and the marquee reads: Mahogany welcomes Raheem DeVaughn.