Honestly—you’re living with the man, if there was anything illegal going on you’d know!
I recalled some of the things Chanell told me in Puerto Vallarta about Azmir being the leader of The Clan, but I never thought to ask what was the mission behind the group. I suddenly questioned where all the money was coming from. Things started feeling weird—cognitively and physiologically.
Azmir tenderly rubbing my shoulders hurled me from my ruminative thoughts. He took to his seat next to me. I peered over and found him searching my eyes for answers.
“You okay, Ms. Brimm?” he whispered in my ear so low that I doubted if even Kim to the right of me could hear.
“My stomach’s feeling a little queasy, but I should be okay.” I was telling the truth. My stomach had begun bubbling and I couldn’t figure out why. Could it be the eggs?
“We’ll be leaving soon enough. I’ll have you home resting.”
I gave him a slight smile, trying to force politeness. I also noticed Syn all in our faces. I may have even cut my eyes at her. I don’t know.
Eventually, everyone resumed their individual conversations. I saw Kim turn toward Petey. Kid was looking down the table, chatting with Wop and the other guys. Azmir bent his long upper torso down to my ear and continued to ask me about what I was experiencing and offered to order me ginger ale. I obliged, feeling like the sensation wasn’t slowing down. He ordered the soda and took to his phone—the personal cell, which was his iPhone.
Chanell blurted out, “Yoooooo! Was that private party dope as hell or what on Thursday night, yo!”
“Yeah…yeah! Yo, Chanell, man, you did yo’ thing!” Wop yelled in concert with the other guys.
“Yeah, good looking, C! ‘Dem bitches was right!” Kid blurted before freezing under Azmir’s cautionary glare, apparently signaling him to use discretion and I’m sure because they were in front of mixed company.
“Oh, my bad,” Kid mumbled apologetically. “But for real, Chanell, that was dope of you. Good lookin’!”
Syn narrowed her eyebrows, mad. At what though?
“Oh, nah! That was all Crack over there. I just held him down,” Chanell shouted, attempting modesty.
Kid reached across the table and gave Petey dap.
“Divine, did you get a lap dance at da party?” Syn brashly quizzed Azmir.
All eyes went to Azmir and then to Syn. I swear, I’d never seen dynamics like I was witnessing among this group. I guess it was out of order for her to ask him such a question. I could see how it was inappropriate, but why was Azmir revered the way that he was with these people? It’s like he had the presence of a king or someone of royal priesthood.
What the…?
“Nah, Divine wasn’t there. He was working,” Chanell answered, trying to circumvent Azmir addressing Syn.
“Oh, cuz I know he like ‘em,” Syn proclaimed. At first process, I was thrown by her statement. It took a minute for it to penetrate. “Ain’t you a dancer, sweetheart?” My head jolted back when I saw she was looking me square in the eyes, expecting an answer. It was clear that Syn was drunk. But how, so soon? We were barely into the afternoon.
I felt Azmir’s hand grab my thigh underneath the table. And here it begins. Honestly, I thought I’d be able to make it through this function without any production from Syn knowing that all the men were with us. I’d guessed her liquid courage mixed with the padded comfort of her family being present gave her the audacity. I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t easily scare—especially from someone of Syn’s mentality and non-threatening stature. I just didn’t want Azmir and his family to see me in that element—an element that they were all too familiar with and subscribed to, no less. If I could get just ten minutes alone with Syn, I’d acquaint her with the soles of my Manolos. She wouldn’t have to worry about upsetting Kid or Azmir, I’d make sure of it.