Free What a Sista Should Do by Tiffany L. Warren Page B

police. I do have a doorbell. I look out my little peephole and see . . . Luke Hastings.
    “Open this door.”
    I don’t know who Luke thinks he is. “Luke, you’ve got me confused. This is not your house, and I’m not your wife. You don’t tell me what to do.”
    “I said open this door.”
    “Luke, you’ve got five seconds to leave, or I’m calling security, then I’m dialing nine-one-one.” I’m a little bit afraid, and I hope that Luke doesn’t hear the faint quiver in my voice.
    “You ain’t even got to do all that. I just want to talk to you.”
    “Then talk.”
    “Through the door?”
    I wish he’d just go home to his wife. “I can hear you just fine.”
    “Oh, you done put the white man in our business, now you want all your neighbors to know?”
    “What do you mean the white man?”
    “You know what I mean! The courts. Why did you even keep the baby? If you had done what I asked, I wouldn’t even be here bothering you.”
    “Luke, take your sorry tail back home. I don’t have anything else to say to you.” I’m disgusted with this whole situation, and I’m tired of Luke. My God! I wish I’d never met him.
    “You’ll never get a dime out of me, you know.”
    “Whatever, Luke.”
    “Even if I have to quit my job and work under the table, you ain’t getting nothing!”
    “Sure, Luke. Whatever you say. Just get away from my door.”
    Luke stands outside my door for a few minutes more. He punches and kicks on the door. I hope he hurts his hand. Shouldn’t I be the one mad? I’m over here struggling, and he has the audacity to act like he’s offended.
    I bet his snotty wife put him up to this mess. She seems like the type. I bet he’s told her that Joshua is not his. Probably has me looking like some kind of gold digger or whatnot. I think I’m going to pay Sister Yvonne a visit. Seems like she needs to know some things about her husband. And obviously, what she doesn’t know is hurting her, and my son.

Chapter 13
    Pam
    S ome things feel like a dream even when you know you’re awake. Just yesterday Troy came to me all excited. I’ve learned not to get caught up in his enthusiasm, because most of the time it turns out to be a letdown. He told me that Bonzai Records wants to sign Lisa to a recording contract, but first they have to buy out the contract that she already has with Troy. I half wondered why anyone would want to sign the little heifer to anything.
    Troy and I are sitting in the lobby of Bonzai Records waiting to see Mr. Shane Bevins. Troy asked me to come along and help with the negotiations, since he doesn’t know the first thing about a contract. I was surprised that he even had his artists signing anything.
    The lobby is huge, and the furniture is ornate and modern. The plush carpeting is so thick that our feet seemed to sink as we walked in the door. There is a large, flat-screen, plasma television in the corner playing music videos. This company obviously has some money to burn.
    Finally, the young blonde receptionist speaks. “Mr. Bevins will see you now.”
    She points behind her to Mr. Bevins’ office. Troy and I move quickly as if the dream is going to evaporate if we move any slower.
    When we step through the door, Mr. Bevins looks up at us and smiles. He’s not what I expected. I was thinking of an older, distinguished, white-haired gentleman, but Mr. Bevins is no older than Troy. He’s wearing a coordinated jean outfit and tinted glasses. I never thought I’d be facing a young African American man as the head of Artists and Repertoire for a Japanese company.
    “Please have a seat,” says Mr. Bevins.
    “Thank you, Mr. Bevins.”
    “Please call me Shane. Is it all right if I call you Troy?”
    Troy replies, “Yes, of course. And this is my wife, Pam.”
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
    “Likewise.”
    Shane sits forward in his chair and clasps his hands together. “Let’s get directly to business. I want Lisa. She’s going to be the