The Rhyme of Love (Love in Rhythm & Blues Book 2)

  by Love Belvin

  MKT Publishing

  Copyright © 2018 by Love Belvin

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences are fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination.

  Cover design by Visual Luxe

  Table of Contents

  ~1~

  ~2~

  ~3~

  ~4~

  ~5~

  ~6~

  ~7~

  ~8~

  ~9~

  ~10~

  ~11~

  ~12~

  ~13~

  ~14~

  ~15~

  ~16~

  ~17~

  ~18~

  ~19~

  ~Love Acknowledges~

  ~Other Books by Love Belvin~

  ~Extra~

  “Damn…” I hear grunted from the stool next to me as we face the action on the stage.

  I nod with a cocky smirk. I want to say, “Told you so,” but know it ain’t necessary. Instead, I pay attention to the range of the kid on the stage, killing Teddy Pendergrass’ “The Whole Town’s Laughing at Me.” His pitch is perfect.

  “Yo.” Mike leans into me again. “This a old ass cut—a hit, though. Came out in like seventy-seven…seventy-eight.” I nod again while keeping up with the kid, Tye, on stage, singing his soul out. “Damn, he nice!”

  Tye is. Even the ladies in the club seem to have shifted closer to the stage, wanting to be nearer as though that would better the volume for them. I know these subtle but feel-good markers of killing a small stage. The place is packed at the new club I bought, against my manager’s advice.

  “You know he only nineteen, right?” Edgar, his supposed manager standing to my left, asks. “He’s been around. I got him lined up for Amateur Night at the Apollo.” He nods with crossed arms, proud of himself.

  “Oh.” Mike laughs. “Old school route, I see!” He elbows me over the table. “‘Member them days of grinding, Raj?”

  I snort, but my attention is fastened to the stage. His juxtaposition to the microphone, his interaction with the audience, and ultimately his delivery.

  “Even your keys guy is nice. Who he?” Mike wants to know.

  “Vanda. A gypsy from Ukraine. I met him while we played the Refresh the Venue.”

  “Word? In Istanbul? I ‘on’t remember him…” his voice drops as he considers it.

  Both our attentions are on the stage when I answer. “The night before you flew in, we was out clubbin’. His people brought him in and we kicked it. He flew out to New York a few weeks ago and I saw his work at Bastu’s studio.” I shrug. “He was dope. I invited him to play here. Told him if he get his work up, maybe we’ll pull him into touring.”

  Mike nods, and for a while we watch Tye in silence. I find myself humming in a higher harmonic register. “He sound a lil like you, Raj,” Mike theorizes with hiked brows.

  He’s impressed. Right, too. Tye’s delivery with bass tone and baritone register is similar to mine. He’s using two octaves in his range. I would be more impressed if he knew more, but know it’s something only experienced singers are aware of and can achieve.

  “But do that nigga play an instrument?” Mike challenges Edgar. “Do he play four like Raj?”

  Edgar doesn’t respond, which makes his answer clear. It doesn’t matter to me. Tye can sing and his voice is rich and near the bottom of the register. There aren’t many out there like us.

  My phone vibrating steals my attention. It’s a text from Dwayne, the vocal director at my church.

  DChords: Ez says he’s down for the jam session tomorrow. My place or yours in JC?

  Quickly, I think about my schedule for tomorrow. Dwayne and I had proposed getting together and both agreed tomorrow would be best. I thought to invite our pastor, Ezra, but we didn’t name the place. Dwayne and I write a lot together. We’ve made more unpublished songs than I can recall. Some of our gospel pieces we’ll try out randomly in church during Sunday services when I’m not off working. A few of my R&B cuts are co-written by him. Our pastor is low key passionate about music, too. He plays a little piano and has one of the best voices out, but only uses those talents when kicking it with us, freestyling in a studio. Dwayne has a homemade studio in his basement. We all know it isn’t half as equipped as mine.

  Me: I can have my chef whip up something at my crib.

  “Yo, Raj, ya peoples outside getting rowdy and shit again.”

  I glance up to find one of the guys that works the door over my shoulder.

  “Who?” I ask absentmindedly, because only one person is crazy enough to come to my club or anywhere I am, demanding to see me.

  This is getting out of hand. I finalized on the paperwork of this club here in Montclair eight months ago, just before leaving for tour. It was just a local club that became a pocket drainer for the previous owner. For years, I’d been considering opening up a spot for raw talent. No big names or established performers. Just a place for the unsigned to come and flex on a stage. I even gathered a live band to legitimize the vibe. I left to tour and just got back in town a month ago. I’ve been here at least twice a week since, enjoying the atmosphere when usually I’m a recluse, preferring to create in my private time and space. But this place inspires me. Makes me forget a check is on the other side of the art. The word has begun to spread about me being the new owner, though I’ve had my PR people stay low on confirming it. The good in the rumor is the caliber of talent coming in.

  The bad is people knowing where to find me.

  “Yo, man,” Mike grates. “You need to handle that shit. It ain’t good for business.”

  “I will.” I turn to go.

  Mike’s right on me when he grabs my arm and speaks so only I can hear. “I knew once word got around you bought the place, the good and the fuckin’ ugly would come. That bitch belong in the pits of hell, yo. I can send her there.”

  He knows. He knows because, over a year ago, she offered to suck my dick in my grandmother’s kitchen for money when she thought no one was around. Mike walked in on us as soon as I swiped her tiny arm, tatted with needle marks when she tried to grab my crotch. He heard her say, “You know you like when I suck that thing, Gee-Gee.” Mike knew because normal aunts would never go for their nephew’s dick unless they were sick with more than just a dope habit. Since then, we’ve never spoke in detail, but he’s made it clear he gets the scenario.

  Our eyes meet. This isn’t the first time he’s offered. But no way can I allow that blood to be on my hands. She’s been out of control with her heroin habit and her mind was already feeble before her addiction. My grandmother doesn’t know what more to do for her and put her out a few months ago. And she’s been wilding out, getting bolder and bolder. This is her fourth time in two weeks coming to the club. All those other times, she’d wait outside in the back for me and my crew to jump in a waiting car. She asked for money and made bold threats when I told her no. Tonight, her showing up at the front door, demanding to speak to me is a new set of balls. Big ones.

  As I move, Danny G is two steps behind me. I walk into Lil Bruh, who just got up from the bar.

  “Clear the basement out back real quick,” I speak in his ear.

  He takes off and Myisha approaches me from my left.

  “Who the hell is the white dude on the keyboard?” Her eyes are dark, lips glossed, and lashes long.

>   “A new key I’m testing out.”

  My’s eyes won’t leave the stage. “Has he been in the studio?”

  I know what that means. My cousin stays on one hundred with her thirst game—but only with dudes. Every time I think she finally got a taste from one, something slips, letting me know she’s still a virgin.

  “You look cute, My.” Her eyes whip to me finally. Slowly, I nod convincingly. “I like the sandals. Them joints fire. New?”

  Truthfully, everything she wears is new to me, and I couldn’t care less about her shoes. But I say these things to affirm her. Myisha’s on shaky ground with her self-esteem and self-value. This is because I’ve been the only male figure in her life, and I’m just now understanding those needs of hers. She suffers from depression. I still can’t believe this. This knowledge came after I sent her to see a therapist when she had a meltdown. It was the day she learned about me and her moms. It was the day she understood why I’d kept her so protectively close all these years. Abuse has so many damn layers.

  A slow smile opens on her face. “Thanks, Gee-Gee,” I can hardly make out. “Thanks for everything.” Her beam is wide and bright now.

  “Just sit back and chill. A’ight?” I wink before walking off.

  Myisha catches me at the arm, the muscles in her face tighten. “Everything okay?”

  The grab tenses me at first because my mind is already back on the trouble at hand, but quickly, I relax my face and force a smirk.

  “I’m good now that you back at my side, being my headache again.” My face opens more and is successfully contagious because she smiles, too. “Chill out. It’s good to see you back on the scene, baby girl.” She nods as she takes a step back, allowing me to leave.

  I wave Danny G closer and whisper we’re going to the basement and he’s to watch the door. When he gestures he’s with me, I head to the back. There’s a door leading to a staircase for the lower level. The music is muzzled out here. I drop down the steps until I see the cracked door of the basement.

  “Yo!”

  That demand has me looking over my shoulder.

  Mike’s at the top of the step.

  “Poppy on his way. He around the corner. I’mma hit you when he pull up with that.”

  My mind stumbles for a minute. I only knew one Poppy. He earned his name because he could “pop” up anywhere at any time and had pills and powder to escape people. Not responding to Mike, who can be aggressive as hell when he wants to, I continue down the stairs, dumping that coincidence in the back of my head. I don’t need help with my family. I’ll scare her off and end this bullshit tonight.

  I push inside, creating a loud creak, catching the attention of Lil Bruh and Patty. I nod to my security as Patty’s eyes light in recognition. He heads out right away.

  “Damn, I thought he was gone fuck me up!” she starts, and I can see even more teeth are missing. There’s a healing scar on her chin, too.

  “You can’t keep running up on me here, yo.”

  “The fuck I can’t!” Her neck snaps back. “Your bish ass forget who I am?”

  “Nah.” I chuckle, stomach turning over at the familiar scent of her. Before she started coming around here, I didn’t see Patty for almost two years, avoiding holidays at Grandmother’s. After all these years, I would have never imagined her getting worse. Grandmother has spent years praying for breakthrough and deliverance. So much so, I believed in it, too. No matter how much I hated her, I never wished bad on her. “But I’ve tried. Trust.” I brush the back of my head with my hands. “Look,” I start, widening my stance and cupping my right wrist with my left hand. “You can’t come around here again. Matter of fact, you need to stay the fuck away from me and Myisha.”

  Patty’s yellow, glassy eyes blow wide.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “She told me you got her new number from cousin Ronnie. I had it changed.”

  “Motherfucker!” Spit slings from her crusted lips, the bottom one warted. “You always tried to keep my baby away from me. Putting shit in her head, getting the fuckin’ story wrong. You try to act like you wasn’t down with everything. I can’t believe you lied to my baby girl like that!”

  “I ain’t tell her shit. You did.”

  “No. No. No!” she shouts, squeezing her eyes close. “Motherfucker, I was there. You wasn’t. She was acting funny as hell on the phone. Mommy ain’t the only one who know shit. My spirit man tell me shit, too! You finally ran ya mouth with filthy lies to my baby. I ain’t know till then why she been so cold to me since she was a baby.”

  “She wasn’t cold, she just didn’t know you. Mothers’re supposed to be around to take care of their kids, not out getting high.”

  “Bish,” she slurs from the missing teeth. “I knew you told her. It was time for her to hear my side of the story—” She shakes her head, puts a hand in the air, pausing the thought. “I ain’t come here for this bullshit. I came to get some dough. Cough it up, bish!” She flexes her hand to demand money.

  My brow arches. “I ain’t giving you shit. I only came down here to tell you to have a nice life.”

  Patty throws her head and shoulders back and waggle them. “Oh, you gone give me my shit, nigga. If you don’t, I’mma tell everybody how nasty you is.”

  That shit tightens my chest.

  “Yeah, and while you at it, tell Grandmother. She’d love to know, too.” I shrug. “I’m sure it’ll mess up her head to know she gave birth to a fucked up individual, especially after making someone as perfect as her first daughter. But she’d be interested in knowing, no less.” I try hard as hell to play it cool. I can’t let her call my bluff.

  For years, I’ve allowed this woman to manipulate me to the point of using my body for her pleasure and giving me the worst kind of it along the way. Since I was twelve, she could command my body to do twisted shit my mind and heart knew was wrong. Now, I’m a grown man and have to stop this mind fuck.

  Patty steps closer, her lips twitching involuntarily and nose sniffling. “You tried to threaten me with that shit before—”

  “And I thought it worked.” It was mad years ago, after the last time she touched me. I was still in high school. “Thought you finally got ya mind right.”

  She laughs. “You think that’s why I stopped fuckin’ witchu? I stopped fuckin’ witchu ‘cause you’s a lame just like ya momma. I only fucked witchu to fuck with her in her grave.” A heap of air gets stuck in my throat and fists clench at my pelvis. “You ain’t no different from Debra. She was a Miss Goody Two Shoes when it came to Mommy. She thought that bitch walked on water, holding Jesus’ luggage. If the years added up, I’d believe that was true. Mommy always been more wrapped up in that church than anything or anybody else. And you know who was right behind her, holding her fuckin’ cloak?”

  Her eyebrows lift on her face. “Ya dumb ass mother. She always followed behind Mommy. Even when I told her about Deacon Caldwell touching me, your momma said to my face, maybe I should think about what I’m saying before I say it out loud. She said I was fast. Said I should remember that before I get ready to mess up a good man’s reputation. But she ain’t say how she caught me coming outta the choir room with him, crying!”

  I blink hard, mind jumps over hurdles of information.

  “Then the bitch had me committed. Told the people I was a danger to my only child. I shoulda killed her that time I jumped on her ass when she found me in the trap house. I had her ass pinned to the ground until Cut’s ugly ass came out of nowhere, being the stalker ass he is, and threw me off her. Nigga yelled she was pregnant and shit. Going crazy and shit. He killed my boy, Andy, who tried to help me with him. Beat that man so bad, he died a few weeks later in the hospital!”

  Patty nods, looking over in the corner of the dusty space. “That’s when she was carrying you. I knew I was gone fuck up her world with you.”

  “You fucked with me because of some petty shit with my moms?” I can’t believe it.

  All the hell I’ve been going through is beca
use she was mad at her sister?

  “What you think? It was because you cute?” Her shoulders snap back again and she chuckles “‘Cause you damn sure ain’t. You look like ya daddy. Arnie cuter than your funny looking ass.”

  I can’t explain why that cut like a blade. The logical part of me can give a shit what she thinks of me. The other…needy ass side aches from that jab.

  I turn to walk toward the door. “Bitch, please.” I snort.

  “Where the fuck you going?”

  My phone vibrates. I chance a look.

  Mike B: Poppy here.

  I make a mental note to hit him back and with a negative on my way out. Then I’ll cuss his ass the fuck out later for even offering again.

  Without turning back, I answer, “To Grandmother’s. You’s a sick one, we all know. She needs to know how sick.” Then I stop and turn my head over my shoulder. “This shit stops today. You tell anybody about that, they all gone look at you for the crazy ass you are. They’ll pity me for having a thirsty ass aunt that ain’t in Greystone Psych. This ‘funny looking ass’ boy comes out on top, finally.”

  She pops her neck and her hand slams on her narrow hip. “You keep saying you telling Mommy like I give a damn.” Patty leans her head to the side. “You know why I stopped fuckin’ witchu for real, Gee-Gee?” I didn’t answer with my mouth, but couldn’t hide the curiosity on my face. “It wasn’t because I was scared you was gone tell Mommy for real. It was because your dumb ass got me pregnant.” My face opens in confusion and Patty must sense it. Her forehead stretches. “I got pregnant. By you.”

  I fucking gag, my hand flies to my mouth.

  Patty laughs menacingly, the same way she did when I used to come in her mouth. The reminder makes me lightheaded. “That’s when I knew I had to stop with your weird ass. No fuckin’ way I’m giving birth to your spawn.” Her extended arms cross over each other like the sign of an X and swings out. “No more ass for you.”

  Rage is what rises in me and I buck at her sick ass. “Yo, man! The fuck I look like wanting your nasty ass—” Patty leaps back, horror in her eyes. And I catch myself. I take a deep breath, though every tendon in my body is wound to the point of popping. “I used to think I did something wrong. Thought I let off some imaginary signals, or some shit, telling you I wanted it.” I shake my head, embarrassed by my lack of discernment all these years. “You’re just a evil, broken woman, trying to break me—an innocent kid. You’re sick, Patty. There’s this…like…” My eyes sweep the ceiling. “…demonic hold on you. Seems to me you don’t wanna shake it.”