A Love of My Own by E. Lynn Harris Read Free Book Online Page B

patrons heard the sudden change in his language from business-speak to straight from the ’hood.
    â€œSo your relationship isn’t strictly business?” I asked.
    â€œShe’s one of my women,” Davis said. “But someone like me got a lot of bitches who think they can serve me up some good pussy and get over because I got both wealth and power. Women love that shit. Even though they think they’re the only one, they don’t know I have more than one box of diamond studs in my safety-deposit box. My assistant makes sure everyone gets fresh flowers every week, especially my wife.”
    I didn’t know what to say next, so I changed the subject again.
    â€œSo what sports do you enjoy besides golf?” I asked.
    â€œI like sailing and riding horses. I just bought a new mare. She’s a beauty,” Davis said.
    â€œI’m anxious to improve my tennis and golf games, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to have a lot of time, between getting adjusted to the new job and the temporary living situation.”
    â€œYou don’t like the corporate apartment? I can get a designer to come and redo it to your taste,” Davis said.
    â€œOh no, it’s great. But I know I can’t stay there forever.”
    â€œStay as long as you like. It’s a write-off, but when you’re ready to find your own place, let me know. I have a great real estate guy,” Davis said.
    â€œThanks,” I said, knowing full well I couldn’t afford anyplace Davis’s real estate agent might show me, even on a good day.
    The waiter served the meal, which ranked as one of the best I’d had in a long time, not counting my mother’s fried chicken. Our lunch was interrupted several times by Davis’s two-way pager and his cell phone. Once, during the meal when both were in play, the waiter brought a phone over and said he had an urgent call for Davis.
    Davis took the phone and after a “Yes. Sure. I can make it happen,” he asked, “How much do they want for it?”
    Then Davis hung up the phone and said, “I need to get back to the office. If you want dessert, you can stay, and don’t worry about the bill. I have an account here, so everything’s taken care of.”
    â€œNo, I’m fine. I’ll just head back with you if it’s okay,” I said.
    â€œSure. My driver’s out front.”
    We walked out of the restaurant and were greeted by two young lanky black guys with their pants hanging off their butts, holding boxes of candy.
    â€œExcuse me, sir. Would you like to help support our youth basketball team by buying a box of candy? We’re trying to buy new uniforms.”
    As I stuck my hand in my pocket to see if I had any singles, I was disappointed when I heard Davis’s response.
    â€œWhat are you kids doing out here harassing this restaurant’s clientele? Where are your parents?” he demanded.
    â€œWhat?” one of the kids asked. He looked like he was ready to challenge Davis to a duel.
    â€œDon’t question me. Why don’t your parents pay for your uniforms?”
    â€œDawg, you gon’ let him talk to you like that? Who dat short niggah think he is?” the other one asked, laughing.
    â€œDavis, is that your driver over there,” I asked, trying to intervene.
    Davis made eye contact with a middle-aged white man dressed in a black suit and black hat and said, “These little project people better be glad I’ve got business to handle, or else I would show them. Raymond, do you want to ride back with me?”
    â€œUh, I think I’ll just walk back,” I said. I didn’t know what had made me angrier, Davis’s behavior or the young boys’ foul language and disrespect. Still, I couldn’t resist giving each boy a ten-dollar bill after Davis’s limo had pulled off.

5
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    I walked into the bar, greeted by the chalky glare of