My eyes go wide. For Kim, it appears that she’s dropping jewels on me that I’ve never heard a whisper of, but in all reality, I’m surprised at her candor. Kim reaches over and grabs another shot glass and downs it before I can give away my secret of knowing.
“Yeah, girl! I couldn’t believe that shit either. I mean, I know that nigga ain’t no saint, but to be cheating on me like I don’t give head all the time. Like I don’t give up the twat whenever he brings his tired ass in the house at all hours of the morning,” she snorts. “Ain’t nothing that dude asked me to do in the bedroom that I ain’t give. I couldn’t believe he tripped out on me like a starved man!”
I mask my shock by shutting my mouth. Simultaneously, Chanell shoves another shot into my face. I’m nowhere near drunk, barely tipsy, but I know I’m already over my limit. Nonetheless, the pure excitement Chanell displays when handing it to me, doesn’t allow me to deny her. Plus, Kim has started on a chatter course that I can’t yield.
I down the third shot, and while enraptured in Kim’s tale, I feel someone tap me. I immediately think it’s Chanell, offering a fourth. I’m prepared to risk hurting her feelings as I turn to my left to find an anxious Petey with an antsy John right behind him. I squint my eyes, wondering where in the world Petey has come from.
He leans into my ear. “Yo, Rayna. The duke just called me a brolic and shit. He saying you can’t stay. John here gonna take you home, a’ight?”
“Come again?” I can barely hear him over the loud music and quickly decide that he isn’t kicking me out of his club.
Petey isn’t the type to play coy, even if the edict isn’t coming down from his general. He stares directly into my eyes messaging his solemnity. I turn to Kim who’s totally oblivious to my exchange with her on duty husband. I tell her I have to go as I grab my clutch.
She then looks behind me, I guess sensing my frustration. “What the hell is he doing here?” she asks, surprised by her husband’s abrupt appearance.
Okay…I’m not crazy for thinking it’s odd.
We make it out to the front of the club where I’m past embarrassed, I’m bordering on pissed. “Petey, what in the world is this all about?”
Petey is yelling to someone outside as John leaves for the car; he drove me here in my car. There’s an insane amount of activities going on out here and my buzz is thickening. A young woman saunters past us belting, “We be all night!” Petey calls out for someone to address the ruckus she’s making.
Petey draws closer to me and murmurs, “Yo, Ray, as much as I think my spot is legit and all, the homey done reached a status that he gotta protect his brand. And his fiancée being here without him ain’t a good look, nah mean?”
W-what? I can’t break down his many words. “No, I don’t, Crack. I’m an adult and can hang out at a friend’s establishment if I choose. Why is it not safe for me, because it’s in the Watts? It’s apparently safe for Kim.” I argue.
“Nah…nah, it’s different for—”
We’re interrupted by bulbs flashing in our faces. They come in successions followed by clicks. Talk about buzz kill. I try covering my eyes and ducking my face.
“Rayna!” one calls.
“Ms. Brimm! Who this guy you’re with?” someone else asks.
“This way, Rayna!” another yells out.
“Fuck!” That’s Petey. “Where’s the car, Ock?”
Petey pulls his jacket over the both of us to hide our faces. Out of nowhere, my midnight blue Mercedes pulls up.
“Unlock the damn door!” Petey yells after trying unsuccessfully to pull the latch, scaring the crap out of me.
He urges me inside and I quickly scoot inside the backseat to the other side. Not that it matters because paparazzi is on that side of the car, too. Petey ducks his head inside.
“Petey! What’s all of this?” I ask him urgently.
His face goes from cold to apologetic. “It’s the new lifestyle.” he shrugs. “You gotta take it up with the duke for a real answer. Get home safely.” He moves out of the doorway and shuts it. I then hear him and a few other voices shouting at the paps to move or get run over.
My phones trills, frightening me as if that were still possible.
“Azmir!” I cry into the phone, feeling a smidge of comfort from his presence, even if telephonic. “What’s going on?”
“Rayna, you cannot go out to a club in Compton without my knowledge,” he advises. I can’t miss the undertone of terse.
“It’s not just any club! It’s Petey’s club,” I inform him, exasperated. He knows this. He’s had the owner himself drag me out.
“And you’re not the fiancée of just any man. I’m sorry, honey, but apparently my status has just risen to a new plane and the media has taken an interest in me…my life. This means they are aware of my pending marriage and it will be reported come tomorrow, on several blogs, that you are a classless bird, gallivanting in a hole-in-the-wall strip club in Compton.” It doesn’t take much to gather this is Azmir’s CEO mien I’m on with.