Page 92 of Don Caselli

She blushed and kissed me back. “Thank you, Birthday Boy.”

Greene and Bean looked at us both. “Yeah, that shit cute and shit. What we getting into today, Grizzle?”

Greene looked at him with a smile on her face. “Well, you claim that you wanted to show me how to cook snapper.”

“You really holding me to that?”

Greene folded her arms. “Yep… talked all that mess, I wanna see it.”

Beans smirked. “Then we out today to the market.”

“I can gather the ingredients for you,” Gera, our cook, offered.

“No worries, Gera. You can actually sit with me while Beans cooks us a beautiful lunch. Do you like wine?”

Gera looked over at me to make sure it was fine, and I nodded. “Yes, I do, Miss Greene.”

“Perfect. We’ll have a great time by the pool while the man slaves… ‘cause why would a man be there?”

Apparently, it was an inside joke between her and Navy because she busted out laughing at her cousin’s joke. Gera sat Pooh’s plate down, and she said a quick prayer before she ate. My phone rang, and I looked down and saw it was Menace calling me.

No matter where I was in the world, he always made time to call me for my birthday. He called all of us, Zoya’s ass just choseto ignore his calls, and wait until the last minute to call him for his birthday.

“Yeah?”

The line was silent for a second, which was typical Menace shit. “Happy birthday, Don.”

“Thanks, appreciate it.”

Silence again.

“At twenty-five, I was doing shit I had no business doing. Proud of the man you become…” he cleared his throat, “have become,” he corrected himself.

I looked at the phone and walked closer toward the pool. “Mens, you sick?”

“You wishing death on me, Don?”

I chuckled. “Nah, never that. Just ain’t never heard you sound so choked up, pussy.”

He snorted. “Why you hate my son, Don?”

“Menace, the fuck you chatting about?”

He sighed into the phone, as I sat on the edge of a lounge chair. “Dennis told me he felt some kind of way.”

I held the phone away from my ear. “Who the fuck is Dennis?”

When I was over his house, I remember Jeffie and Corleon kept mentioning Dennis, but I wasn’t even tapped into their conversation. I was more concerned with why I was there.

I was met with silence again.

“My fucking son.”

“His name is fucking Maverick Jr… where the fuck Dennis come from? Just like that Wanda shit… the fuck you calling Stevie Wanda?”

“I paid all that money for school and he’s slow…shit,” he muttered.

“Mens?”

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