She looked as if she was battling something internally. How did she know?
“My uncle did a seven year bid when I was eight. He was so vibrant and charismatic. He would play with us kids for hours on in. I'd never forgotten him; he was that cemented into my heart. When he came home he was so withdrawn and timid. It has never set well with me.”
Her tone was somber. Rarely did Rayna discuss her past. I wanted to ask more to clear up the mystery of her, but felt in my gut that it wouldn't have been a good move. So I continued talking in hopes of her feeling comfortable enough to reciprocate eventually.
“Yeah, she seemed so lost and unsure of herself.”
“Where is she living?” Rayna asked with a hint of concern in her voice.
“With a family friend. She’s working at Momma D's restaurant for pennies. I have to think of what to do to help.”
She slowly reached her arm across the table to caress my hand. “We'll think of something.”
“It’s not that I can't hook her up, but it’s just that my life...” my voice trailed off.
“No...I know.” Rayna shook her head soft and sympathetic to my undertone. “You have to think of a way to include her. Throwing money at her isn’t the best solution. She must be carefully integrated if this has a shot at working.”
Rayna was on point more than she knew. That was exactly what I was feeling, along with the fact of keeping my mother away from my street life as well. She was, after all, being monitored by the FEDS and I needed my distance from her for that reason alone. Speaking of throwing money...
“Rayna, I...I'm sorry for my...reclusive behavior this weekend.”
Her eyes shot up to me like a child in need of affirmation from its parent. Fuck! That confirmed my actions affected her. But I felt she had some level of culpability there as well.
“It's just that when you...flout me for spending money, it makes me feel rejected and that I'm not good enough. Hell, I now know how defeated a broke man feels when he can't approach a high maintenance woman or one who out earns him. I just want to make you happy, and more often than I prefer, I feel that I'm not the man for the job.”
She looked confused across the dining room table with now cold surf and turf between us.
“Azmir, you’re more than good enough,” she muttered just above a whisper in a “don't-go-there” manner as her eyes met the table. She seemed so torn. After a beat, she nervously scratched her eyebrows while her gaze was fixed on the table.
“There was this girl back at home...older than me—Corinne. And Corinne was sought out by the flyest dope boy in the game. He had the money green Beamer and the fattest gold rope with matching teeth. Whenever he pulled up into the projects his sound system would announce his arrival and everyone would be looking down from their terraces or coming from around the building to check him out.” I saw a hint of a smile on her flawless and makeup free face.
“Well, he had his eyes set on Corinne, a quiet, polite…beautiful young girl. It took him months to win her over. He’d buy her every color of the Classic Reeboks, the latest Jordan’s, the gold plated necklaces and bamboo earrings with her name inscribed—you know...hooked her up!” Rayna exclaimed with a bellyful chuckle. I had to laugh myself at the visual.