Page 8 of The Perfect Verse
As Rell started to run off, she halted him.
“Rell? Grab your brother’s hand right now!”
Surprisingly, he retreated slowly, extending his hand toward him. Travis looked at her again, his tiny fists balled up. He wasn’t used to someone else barking orders at Rell, but the smile on his baby brother’s face had him refraining from acting on how he really felt. As soon as they had everything she paid for, he planned for them to take off.
“Run again, and I’ma hurt you.” His eyes slithered her way as he reestablished his role. “Don’t get grown, Rell,” he spat. “Just follow my lead.”
“Yeah, follow his lead and stay hungry,” she muttered, rolling past them. “Oh, and my name is Miss Kaleela.”
“Miss Kaleela, do you like kids?” Rell probed, his brown eyes wide in anticipation as they made their way into the store.
“Naw, but I do kinda like you two.”
“For real?” Rell beamed. “I knew it. See, Travis, and you wanted to rob her.”
“Boy, hush up,” he muttered, staring straight ahead.
“I wish he the fuck would have.” Just that quickly, she was ready to give up this parenting stint before it started. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
They both pumped their fists, then dashed toward the shopping carts until she called their names. Like two little soldiers, they immediately stood at attention and damn near melted her heart. She wasn’t sure if it was God helping her do the work she ran from, but she was glad she found them. They’d stopped her from picking up.
Chapter 5
Verse Five
It had been almost a month since Kaleela had made amends at the studio and crossed paths with the two little boys she never knew she needed. There were times, though, her mind traveled back to that day, especially after she’d ignored Scooter. He’d been nothing but kind and supportive, and she’d repaid him by putting up a wall.
He felt snubbed, but instead of being in his feelings, he and Donovan had been working nonstop. He was the beatmaker, the deejay, and the heart of their sound. When Donovan rapped to it, his delivery had a quick tempo akin to that of Busta Rhymes but with a rasp sound similar to that of DMX. They brought a sound from the south that was unique, their own. They both knew they had no choice but to make it, and they had.
However, anytime he was alone, she’d crowd his mind. He thought they’d made a connection; he liked her vibe, too. She was like the perfect homeboy he could kick it with, yet so easy on the eyes that all he could imagine was eating her pussy. He knew it was untouched. It had to be, and he wanted to be the first nigga she gave it to.
“Scoot, you don’t hear me talking to you?” his baby sister, Mango, yelled. She was excited she’d finally bookedan appointment at The Palace. She’d been on a waiting list for months, but jumped to confirm an appointment once the receptionist reached out.
“Damn, girl. I do now. Why you have to be so loud?”
“Because you’re about to miss my turn. I told you, Tram is taking me out tonight, and if I’m late, it’s cancelled. I need my feet and my hair done. All day, you’ve been zoning out. Who did it?” Rarely did he ever allow shit to bother him, so when he half-listened to her rant about wanting to go off to college and needing a car, she knew something or someone was bothering him.
“Mango, mind your damn business.”
If anything, he regretted agreeing to drop her off before he knew the salon was on the north end. It was saturated with high-end stores and tourists who came for the beaches, despite the many robberies, carjackings, and even murders that happened in that part of town. The cops were eager to put a nigga down, and he didn’t want to be that nigga. He kissed his teeth, then turned up the music on the radio.
“So rude, ugh.” She pulled out her cell and texted her boyfriend. “I’ll just have Tram come pick me up. I can’t take this little attitude. Whatever girl has you in your feelings will get her ass kicked by me. If you plan to wife one, at least teach her how to behave. And trust, I know it’s not Serita. She annoys you.”
She smirked, easing into his face, mostly because it was true. In fact, Serita was the furthest from his mind and still would’ve been had Mango not brought her up. She was his old work, who went to college in Georgia, and didn’t know she was old news. After two years of being away, on top of two years of dating, she became too damn clingy. He couldn’t keep up with all the FaceTime calls and lives where she proved Solomon “Scooter” Black was her man, along with rapper Lil’ Dread Man, or Dread Man, being his cousin that she grew up with.
“Everything ain’t about a woman, Mango. There’s more to life than fucking, getting your hair and nails done, and going out. You would know that if you did more than watch reality TV and those damn lives on IG or TikTok bullshit. And if you’re serious about college, all that has to come second.”
Mango, or Monesha from birth, was the baby and almost eight years younger at seventeen. His other two sisters, Leah and Erika, were just as spoiled. She, however, acquired her nickname because it was the only thing she’d eat without teeth as a baby that would keep her quiet.
Years later, her mouth operated off attitude sprinkled with lots of sass, yet Scooter wouldn’t change a thing about his baby sister. She was yet another reason he was motivated to push his role in the music industry to the next level. He wanted her to see life outside her immediate environment, and he had every intention of ensuring that occurred by the time she went off to college.
He opened the door as Mango walked inside the salon, and was immediately impressed. She might have gotten on his last nerves, but one thing he appreciated was Mango’s desire to have the best in life, even if her methodology of acquiring better annoyed him. Oftentimes, he had to remember that he was once her age and had done far worse than wanting the latest pair of Jordans or to be clad in the latest high-end fashion.
“Got damn,” he whispered. He nodded as he took in the coral and shell-colored marble, Italian tile floor, white washbowls, pedicure chairs, and hair stations. In the waiting area, there were several white, leather sectionals, tables, and an eating area with fruit, cheese, crackers, and glasses filled with a beverage he assumed was wine.
The owner, Shonasia, had elevated the salon game, and it showed. He felt the presence of elegance as he sat down and rested his arm on the back of the sofa. It was soft leather too, yetfirm enough to support the traffic that came in and out daily. On any given day, The Palace served at least thirty to forty patrons with eight beauticians, three barbers, and three nail technicians.
After Shonasia and X became an item, he started sending clients her way, which naturally expanded her visibility and demands to service men. He even secured two of the barbers that were former clients of his. They’d acquired their trade during their time of incarceration. One thing Shonasia and X knew was that the streets took care of their own.
