After I closed the door behind her, I headed back into the kitchen to grab my coffee from the breakfast table. Chef Boyd broke from his melodic whistling to offer, “You’re going to marry that young lady, Mr. Jacobs.”
It stopped me in my tracks. I took a split second to consider his words. My concentric and ruminant eyes traveled to his large frame. Boyd was robust man. He towered me a few inches and his shoulders stretched a bit wider than mine. He’d always been mannerly and prepared with appropriate responses to trivial exchanges as well as formal conversations, which is likely why I entertained his comment.
“If I can slow down my life just enough for her to see that I’m a formidable candidate, I just might have a shot,” I admitted with candor. “There aren’t enough shopping trips that can push her hand in that. Turns out she isn’t that type of catch.”
“That’s very true, sir, but I’m confident that you’ll find a way. Just know that time isn’t your friend, it will never be,” Boyd heeded and went back to whistling a tune. After several beats of contemplation, I headed to my office for a conference call with a head filled to the brim with Brimm.
After my conference call concluded, I made my way into the master suite to wash and dress for my flight. I was in the closet when my cell phone rang. The tone was distinctive, I immediately knew it was the iPhone. It wasn’t Rayna’s programmed ringtone, “Nasty Girl” that I had my I.T. guy install some way that only techy freaks would know how to do. Instead, it was a generic ring. I crossed the closet over to the island and answered it.
“Peace-Peace,” I greeted.
“Divine, my man, long time no hear!”
A wide ass smile splayed across my face, “David. How are you?”
“It’s D.J., D. You know I don’t like that David shit,” I could hear the petulant pouting in his tone. He still had lots of growing up to do.
“David is a strong universal name. I told you to never hide from your legacy. That cool shit is whack. You’re twenty-eight years old and are on the road to success. Your name is David. Fuck a D.J.,” I recited sternly. My intent wasn’t to condescend, but to reaffirm the strengths of his reality.
“Ye-yeah,” David sputtered, suddenly sounding lowly. “I know. It’s just that I want to be my own man. Build my own damn legacy—”
I cut him off, “You do and you are. You’re making profound strides. Don’t trip off the small shit.”
“I know, D, man. But every time I hear his name, it makes me feel like a peon.”
I could hear ruffled sounds in the background, making wonder where he was. I’d usually hear from David on a weekly basis and sometimes saw him just as much. He hasn’t been to Cobalt to visit me in a few weeks. I would have been more concerned if I didn’t get him hooked up with a job at the movie theater I’m part owner of. I’d hoped he maintain his struggle on the straight and narrow.
“Have you been keeping your visits with Dr. Halsom?” I quizzed as I adjusted my pants to zip, button, and belt. I was extremely cognizant of the time. I had less than fifteen minutes to be out the door.
“Yeah, man!” David cried, his voice was high pitched. I knew he was petrified of losing my faith in him, and I hadn’t, but I still wanted to make sure he knew what was expected of him.
“And the job. How’s working as an assistant manager? Are they treating you right?”
“Y-yeah…yeah, man!” he spoke emphatically. David’s a former meth junkie and his voice is always so shaky, but I believed him. I would’ve heard if he’d fucked up at his sobriety or job. “Everything’s all good, bro.”
“Good. Thanks for checking in. Next time don’t space it out so fucking much,” I warned as I grabbed my wallet, keys and pocket watch from the island draw.