Page 3 of Keeping Busy
“Well, in the interim, can you have Brandon contact me?” Sydnie asked. “We’ll need to draw up a contract, because regardless if this person is a friend or a professional, we need to make sure that she signs an NDA. We don’t need any surprises when she decides to write a tell-all book five years from now.”
“Got ya.” I agreed easily.
Later that evening, the doorbell rang at my grandmother’s house. I wasn’t expecting anybody, as True and Sydnie were long gone. My security guy, Heavy, was out south with his family during his time off, so I was alone in the spot. I normally didn’t have trouble when I was at home, but as of late, Chicago had been a little unpredictable, so I needed to be smart. I walked over to the window, and moved the drapes, so that I could see the front porch. Standing there, as petite and as fragile as ever, but holding a huge wooden tray that looked heavy as hell, was my grandmother’s 72-year-old former neighbor.
I moved to the door quickly, swinging it, and the screen door open - taking the tray from Bonita Watson-Granville’s hands.
“Why thank you, Busy. Always were such a gentleman.” She stated, following me into the house that had been her second home for all of the years she had been neighbors with my grandmother.
“You’re welcome, Miss Bo. What brings you over here?” I took the tray into the kitchen, and set it down on the granite island that I’d had installed when I updated my grandmother’s kitchen several years earlier.
“Well, I knew you were over here, and I figured you hadn’t eaten, so I brought you dinner.”
As soon as she said that, I noticed the scents wafting from the tray I was just carrying.
“How’d you know I was here?” I asked, lifting the cloche from the platter to reveal fried chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus spears, and a gravy boat filled with the smooth, creamy brown liquid.
“Boy, I’m an old lady. I spend a lot of time looking outta my windows. I saw you last night when you pulled up in that fancy truck of yours.”
I smiled, as I pulled her into a hug. “You’re not old. You know you’re a spring chicken, still got these men out here sniffing behind you.”
She threw her head back with laughter as she took a seat at the island. “Get on with yourself, Boy. Only thing men my age can smell is Icy Hot and Ben Gay.”
I eyed her. “You want me to introduce you to somebody? There’s some guys on my team that would…”
“Leave me alone, Busy.”
I chuckled as I walked over to the sink and washed my hands.
“Look at you. Vera would be so proud of you.”
“I don’t know about all that.” I mumbled, as I took the platter of food from the tray and placed it in front of myself.
“Why do you think she wouldn't be proud? Because you made some missteps here lately? Believe me, she still would’ve been proud of you. You’re such a good man, Busy. You’ve taken care of Brandon and Xavier. You look after this house. You run your sports camp. You donate your time and your money to things that are important. You care about people, Busy. That would make her proud.”
I gave a half-hearted shrug as I bit into a piece of chicken. Nobody could fry chicken like Bonita Watson-Granville, not even my own beloved grandmother, and my grandmother could cook her ass off.
“Man, this is good, Miss Bo.”
She chuckled. “My best friend was good at a lot of things, but she never did master the art of frying chicken.” She teased.
I grinned, and took another bite.
“So, what’s going on? Talk to me, Maddox.”
I froze, the chicken stopping in mid-air on its way to my mouth. The only time my grandmother or Miss Bonita ever called me “Maddox” was when I was in trouble.
“About what?” I hedged, resuming my assault on the food in front of me.
“About what you plan to do about the scandal that little young heifer caused you. I saw Ayana Truesdale over here earlier, with some little black beauty of a girl. She gonna help you?”
“That’s Sydnie Whitmore, my sports management rep. She’s helping me get a handle on my public persona.”
“Good. Good.” She nodded her head. “Vera’s been coming to me every night in my dreams.”
I kept eating. I knew she would keep talking, so there was no reason for me to interject anything.
“She’s worried about you.”
