Free Power & Beauty by David Ritz, Tip "t.i." Harris Page A

his blond hair was dyed. He wore a gold chain around his neck and an oversized watch on his right hand. I couldn’t tell whether it was a real Rolex or a fake.
    “Power,” said Judy, “meet my boyfriend, Dwayne.”
    I tried not to show surprise. I offered Dwayne my hand. When he shook it, I nearly winced in pain.
    “Dwayne owns a gym just a couple of blocks away,” she said. “Dwayne’s the one who told me about this neighborhood.”
    “Any time you wanna work out,” said Dwayne, who sounded a little like Rocky, “the first workout’s on me.”
    He handed me a card that read, “Mad Muscles, Dwayne ‘Ace’ Foster, Owner and Chairman of the Board. Mr. Muscle Himself.”
    “Actually,” said Dwayne, “I ain’t the real owner. Judy’s dad is the real owner. You know Mr. Wasserman?”
    “I’ve met him.”
    Judy turned to Dwayne and said, “Daddy hired Power as the security guy for the salon. Until we open he’s helping the crew put up drywall and stuff like that. He’s from Atlanta.”
    “I never been to Alabama,” said Dwayne.
    I started to correct him but didn’t see the point. I kept quiet as Judy unlocked the door. The space was unfinished, a complete mess.
    “The crew’s off on another job,” she said. “They come back tomorrow. They usually get here at seven in the morning. Be here then. Me and Dwayne got a party to go to. We gotta run. Bye.”
    The first day was hell—absolute fuckin’ hell. I had never done that kind of work before and hated it from the first minute. The contractor looked at me like I was dirt. All day long I was breathing in crap. Putting up drywall is a disgusting job, and I was no good at it. When the contractor saw that, he had me hammering. When I was through hammering, he had me sweeping, then mopping, then running to McDonald’s to get the crew’s lunch. In the afternoon, I was carrying in lumber that weighed a ton. By the end of the day, I was dead tired and irritable. I didn’t like the contractor, I didn’t like the crew; I hated everything about the job and wasn’t going back. I didn’t care if Judy Wasserman did have an incredible body and threw the best fuck in Chicago. Judy Wasserman was a complete bitch.
    When I got back to the loft, I barely had the strength to get into the shower. I was drying myself off when the phone rang. It was Slim.
    “I was just getting ready to call you,” I said.
    “I talked to Irv. He couldn’t be happier with you. Says he’s putting you in a key position.”
    “Irv’s a fuckin’ liar and his daughter is a fuckin’ nymphomaniac.”
    “Slow down, boy,” said Slim. “Slow the hell down.”
    “I’m not going back.”
    “Going back where?”
    I explained what had happened—how Irv had turned me over to Judy, how Judy had screwed my brains out and then got me mopping floors.
    Slim laughed.
    “How can you be laughing?”
    “ ’Cause it’s funny, motherfucker.”
    “Laugh all you want, but I’m coming home.”
    “For what?”
    “I don’t know. That’s for you to figure out, Slim.”
    “I already done figured it. That’s why you’re in Chicago.”
    “To do shit work?”
    “To do whatever Irv tells you to do.”
    “Irv’s a space cadet. He talks shit for hours. He goes in one direction, then he’s off in another. I don’t think he’s playing with a full deck.”
    “You don’t need to think, boy. You just need to go along with the program.”
    “What program? Fucking his daughter behind her boyfriend’s back? Breaking my back hauling wood? I don’t think so.”
    “Believe me, after you saved Irv’s ass like that, he’s not letting you out of his sight. He’s gonna take care of you.”
    “When?”
    “That’s Irv’s call, not mine. Look at it like this, Power. When you start a chess game you can’t plan a strategy in advance. You move according to however someone’s moving on you. You act and react according to what’s happening in real time. You in real time.”
    “I’m in real