ImPerfectly Happy

“Mr. Porter.” I folded my arms across my chest and paced the floor of the holding room.

I stared at my client, who was dressed in a neon orange jumpsuit. His large dark hands were cuffed, feet shackled, and his eyes were cast on the stainless-steel table in front of him. “What did I tell you to do?”

“To go to work, go home, and keep my nose clean.”

I nodded, my irritation slightly soothed by his contrite tone. “That’s what I said. Because when one is currently on the docket for possession of marijuana, one must keep their nose clean until the plea bargain has been negotiated.” I stopped pacing the floor. “But here we are, at the county jail, just days later.” I waved my hands in the air. “I could’ve gotten you off easy with a plea bargain. Probation for maybe a year, and if you’d played nice, we could’ve had the misdemeanor stricken off your record. But, Mr. Porter, you’re making it hard for me to do my job when you get locked up for assault.”

“I’m not one of those guys, Ms. Njeri. I’m not a criminal,” he whispered. His voice sounded hoarse and earnest.

I settled into the chair in front of him. “Then who are you?”

“I’m a husband, a father. A son, a . . . a brother. And when my little sister stumbles into the house, shirt torn, lip busted by her deadbeat boyfriend, it’s my job as a big brother to make sure that idiot knows she is protected. And that she’s loved and is to be cherished.” His chocolate eyes were determined. He showed no remorse.

I wanted to reach over and squeeze his hand. Scratch that, I wanted to give him a hug. I knew he was a good guy with extremely bad luck.

“I know you aren’t a criminal, Desmond. I get why you did what you did, but I . . . sometimes you need to take a step back and think of an alternative. Like calling the cops on the guy instead of going to his house.” I balled up my hands and lifted them. “And using your fists.”

His lips quirked. “Duly noted, Ms. Njeri. I just wanted you to know what kind of man I am. I know you got a lot of people coming and going that don’t care, but I do. I see the looks in the cops’ eyes, and the other folks that work at the jail. They think I’m just another nigga.”

“Don’t say the N-word,” I quickly scolded. “If you don’t want them to look at you that way, don’t say things that make them feel okay to label you as such.”

He smiled, but I didn’t. I hated the word, even though it was a part of some of my friends’ and family’s vocabulary. I didn’t want to give people the excuse to ever use a racial slur. Hearing us say the word made people who weren’t black feel comfortable to say it as well.

“You were the first person in all of this to look me in the eyes and ask for my story. You’re a good woman.”

I shrugged, this time smiling. “It’s my job.”

He shook his bald head and gave me a small smile. “Sure, it is. But you care.”

Standing, I smoothed out my skirt and reached for the manila folder. “Let me see what I can do.”

“Do you think you can get me out?” His voice was shaky, just above a whisper, sounding vulnerable.

“I’ll do my best.” I didn’t want to lie to him.

My heart stalled when his eyes dimmed. He nodded, looking at the wall.

“You know why they call me the Gladiator?” I asked, walking toward the door.

“Why?” he responded, eyes still averted.

“Because I’m a warrior and I’ll fight to the bitter end for my clients, like my own life was on the line.” I didn’t wait for his response, just pushed open the door, ready to work my black girl magic.

* * *

My dogs were barking. And my shoes, although cute, had pinched my toes. Limping into the townhome I shared with my fiancé, I pushed the door open, kicked off my heels, and yelled, “Keith, I’m home!”

A caramelized sweet-and-spicy scent greeted me in the foyer. I followed my nose to the kitchen. “Please, God, tell me it’s Pad Thai from Thai Village.”

“The name is Keith, not God, except in the bedroom, and yes, I got us some takeout from your favorite place.”

“Did you get the—”

“Prix-Pow with the basil sauce. Veggies only, of course.”

“Thank you!” I went straight for the brown bag and tore it open. “I’m starving. I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch today.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Keith ran his hand over his baby face. “You need to take better care of yourself, sweet cheeks.”

He was right. I was ten pounds lighter than I was in law school, but with a caseload of fifteen to twenty per month, I was overworked. I didn’t have it in me to not give my clients the defense they deserved. Everyone deserved a chance.

“I know, I know.” I broke away from the food and gently tugged his red and blue striped tie. “I appreciate you taking care of me.”

He kissed my lips and squeezed my ass. “And I always will, baby. You know that, right?”

I wiggled my ring finger. “Oh, I know. This is forever. Till death.”

His kissed my fingers. “Till death.”

If the ladies were here, Raina would roll her eyes, Nikki would snort, and Kara’s eyebrows would be to her hairline. Unlike me, they weren’t into second chances.

A few years back, right after law school, he’d cheated on me with a paralegal at his firm. The woman had reached out to me on Facebook and sent me a bunch of dick pics. I was devastated. My friends had rallied around me, calling him everything but a child of God.

But no matter how much he’d ripped me to shreds, I couldn’t let him go. Or rather, he was determined for us to stay together. Over the past few years, he’d been the perfect boyfriend and now fiancé. He cooked, cleaned, cared about his fellow man, despite his very privileged upbringing. His parents were rich attorneys and had made their fortune in Florida. They were the most disconnected black people I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And admittedly, some of that had rubbed off on Keith.

When I first met him in law school, I’d loathed him. Despite what my friends thought, I wasn’t blind to Keith’s faults. I knew he was slightly arrogant like his father and a bit imperious.

After two years of fruitless efforts of asking me out, I had finally snapped and told Keith that he was a self-serving, know-it-all jerk. But then he’d said something that had given me pause. “I know I can come off a little brusque. But just give me one hour. One hour of your time to prove to you that I’m worth it. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?”

It was something Baba, my father, had always said. When he was a young boy in Kenya, he’d been caught stealing. Mr. Ochieng, the shop owner, threatened to call the police, but after some pleading, and the explanation that he only wanted food for his family, Baba convinced the shop owner that he would work off his debt. My father worked at the shop and eventually used the money to pay for college. Years later when Mr. Ochieng died, he left my father a nice inheritance, having no children or heirs of his own. My father had used the money to move to America, and days later, he met my mother, who also was born in Kenya.

So, I was a softy for second chances, and if it weren’t for second chances, I wouldn’t be alive. My Baba’s story is what had made me to want to make the world better. I wanted to help instead of condemn, because you never know others’ circumstances.

It’s true that Keith had squandered his second chance when he cheated a year later with a friend of a friend. And that time, I didn’t tell my friends. I couldn’t stand to see the look in their eyes or hear their well-meaning words. Keith loved me and he’d promised to never do it again, and this time, I raked him over the coals. It took three months for him to get back in my good graces, and for the last four years, we’d been solid.

“Let’s eat.” Keith broke into my thoughts. He scooped my dinner to put it on a plate. “Go sit down. I’ll bring your dinner and a glass of wine.”

“Thanks, sweetie.”

“So what poor soul did you save today?” he yelled from the kitchen.

I sat down at the dining room table and then massaged my feet. “My clients aren’t poor souls. We all can’t work for the rich and fabulous.”

Keith was an intellectual property lawyer in tech. Atlanta was booming in the tech scene, and so business was booming for Keith.

“You could always come work with me.”

I shuddered and Keith chuckled.

“I know you’d wither away and die if you were stuck reading contracts and litigating all day. But it pays.”

It sure did. I took home nearly half his salary. And not to mention the salary he took home as a city councilman.

“How did the fund-raiser luncheon go?”

“It was good.” He scooped up rice with his chopsticks. “Would’ve gone a lot better if you were with me.”

“Sorry.” I twirled my noodles. “I had to bail out a client.”

“Hope they were worth it,” he mumbled.

“Of course he was. Every client deserves—”

“The best legal representation. I know, I’m sorry, baby. I just missed you. You know you’re the best at coaxing people to write a check. And Chris, as great as he is, is not a people person.”

“Ah, Christopher. I will crack that nut one day.”

His campaign manager-slash-consultant was a challenge. He was brilliant, and the strong, silent type. Thanks to Chris’s brilliance, Keith had won his first election by a landslide. Now Keith was the incumbent, but for some reason Chris hadn’t fully committed to working with us again and I couldn’t figure out why.

“So he’s working on the campaign?”

Keith shrugged. An annoyed look marred his handsome face. “Still hasn’t committed.”

“I’ll talk to him, maybe squeeze in a dance with him at the Mayor’s Ball in a few months.”

“Don’t worry about it, baby. You know just as much about campaigning as Chris. Hell, he even said it himself.”

“Really?” I asked, oddly pleased. Chris didn’t seem to like people and really didn’t seem to like me. But he was astute and thoughtful and, when no one was looking, kind. I was determined to win him over.

“I wish I could help more, but running a campaign is a full-time job, and the PD office has me swamped.”

“I know it is, sweet cheeks. I just want you to focus on being my first lady. In four years or so, I’ll run for mayor. Then governor.”

Running for public office used to be my dream, but if I ran, I know it would be too much of a strain on our relationship. I pushed the thought away.

I leaned in and kissed him. “I would be happy to be your first lady.”

His phone buzzed against the refurbished white wood table. He swiped his phone, answered it, and walked away. I heard a few groans and mumbles, something about a meeting with a client. He didn’t sound all that pleased.

He bent over to kiss my forehead. “Speak of the devil. Chris is out at dinner and wants me to meet a potential donor.”

“Nice! If he’s calling about donors, then he must be interested in running the campaign.”

Keith shrugged. “Yeah, hope so.” He checked his phone, shook his head, and stuffed the cell into his slacks. “Okay, let me get out of here, baby.” He turned toward the door.

“Beg if you have to!” I yelled at his retreating back.

* * *

“Have you figured out what you want to do for the Mastermind group?” Raina asked me as she passed around the agenda at our inaugural meeting, hosted at Kara’s place.

I shrugged. “I’m still thinking it through, but I really enjoy helping out with campaigns. And with the city council election coming up soon, I think I’m going to get even more involved this time around.”

Raina shook her dreads and returned to her seat. “Sooo . . . you want to base your goals off your man’s dreams?”

Irritation swarmed in my chest. I drew on my patience. “No. I enjoy campaigning. I like the strategy, fundraising and I—”

“Then do it for yourself.” Nikki jumped in. “Look, I’m all for supporting your man. Hello,” she did a Vanna White wave toward her body, “I busted my ass and worked two jobs while James was in grad school, with a newborn, so I get it. But you’ve always wanted to run for office. What’s changed?”

Kara brought over a tray of wine and settled beside me. “Shitting on Sienna’s goals isn’t part of the agenda.”

Nikki snorted. “And color me impressed that Raina created an agenda.”

“Girl, you know I didn’t create that. Kara’s type-A ass sent me the agenda last night.”

I chuckled into my wine glass. Kara was a bit of a stickler for rules and order.

Raina clapped her hands as if to call the meeting to order. “Let’s talk about our accountability structure. I suggested we meet once a week, we can Skype most times, and maybe meet in person once a month.”

Raina paused, I assumed to get our feedback.

“Works for me.” I pulled out my iPad, which contained some notes I’d jotted down the other day. “I do have a suggestion about the meetings. When we were in college we met for hours, which made sense because we lived together and had more free time, but I think we need to add more structure. We could give ourselves ten to fifteen minutes to discuss what we’re doing, what works, and what we’re struggling with. And we can provide each other with feedback and resources.”

Nikki raised her hand as if she were in the classroom. “Question. We’re all over the place as far as expertise. It’s not like you guys can tell me if my voice is flat or if a song isn’t flowing well.”

I sipped my wine, placed it back on the tray, and put on my defense attorney hat. Nikki was trying to slip herself out of this group, and it wasn’t happening on my watch. “I think it’s a good thing. We have diversity of thought. Just because I’m a lawyer doesn’t mean I can’t help you brainstorm through an idea outside of law. Sometimes having someone who isn’t in the weeds is helpful. And like I said, we’re also sharing resources that will ultimately help in our personal development.”

Raina threw me a smile. “Thanks, girl. Now, let’s go around and share what we want to achieve, the timeline, and how we plan to do it. I’ll start.”

Raina discussed outlining a historical fiction novel about a former slave’s journey to finding her kids.

I clapped my hands, excited by the synopsis. “I like it, Raina. Sounds like a tearjerker.”

“Thank you, Si-Si. I’m going to start the outline this weekend.” She pointed to Kara. “You’re up next.”

Kara squeezed her hand around a notebook. “Well, I’m gonna go for it again. Hopefully the fourth time is a charm.”

“You know that’s not the actual saying, right?” Nikki smirked.

“Shut up.” Kara rolled her eyes, used to our friend’s ribbing.

“Darren is on board?” I asked. I knew the last time she’d tried, it had caused some tension. As much as I wanted to be upset with my friend’s husband, studying for the master’s exam was stressful for the significant other as well. I’d lived with Kara a year after college, while she’d been preparing for the advanced test. Kara had spit buckets and wine stains everywhere. I shuddered at the memory.

“He says he’ll support me and that he just wants me to be happy. The final test is in the fall of next year, but I’ve already been studying, so I’m not behind. I may have you guys help me with blind taste tests. But mostly I have a few partners I’m working with. It’ll be crazy busy the next few months, so it’ll be good to do some Skype meetings.”

Raina nodded at me. “Okay, Sienna. Give us your update.”

“We’ve already discussed what I’m doing. I’m going to get with Christopher, Keith’s former campaign manager, to see if I can shadow him.”

“With his fine ass,” Nikki muttered not too softly into her wine glass.

“Yaaaas!” Raina fanned herself. “Those Michael Ealy eyes and Goldilocks dreads. He can get it.” She shivered.

“He can more than get it. Homeboy can have lifetime access to the uterus.” Nikki pointed to her own to further drive the point home. “Well . . . he could get it if he didn’t have those crazy eyes.”

“Oh, Lord.” Raina shook her head.

“I’m serious. Black men with light eyes are usually crazy as hell.”

I rolled my eyes at the Nikki-ism. The woman had a backwoods theory about everything. “That simply is not true, Nik.”

“Yes, the hell it is. I’m telling you, men with light eyes are straight up touched.”

“Touched?” Kara tilted her head. “What does that even mean?”

Nikki lifted her fingers to tick off her points. “Touched in the head. Not all the way there. Boiling bunnies crazy.” She snapped her fingers. “You remember Mark from school? Gorgeous green eyes, fine as hell, but we found out later that dude was running over squirrels and wearing women’s panties.”

I shook my head. “He did not run over small animals. Now, the women’s panties thing may be true.” My sorority sister had told me one time he’d bent over and pink thong panties rode up his back. With sparkles. “That doesn’t make him touched. That just means he likes to wear women’s underwear.”

Nikki continued as if her points were valid. “I’m telling you, don’t trust the light eyes or men who don’t have facial hair.”

This time, the other women nodded, including Kara, who was typically the sane one of the bunch.

“No, ma’am.” I shook my head. “That, too, is factually incorrect and is not gospel. Case in point, Keith doesn’t have facial hair.”

“Exactly,” Raina muttered.

Nikki snorted. “Girl, please. Just because you use your lawyer’s voice doesn’t make it true either.”

Kara shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not sure if Chris can help, seeing as he doesn’t speak.”

I smiled. Leave it to Kara to stay on track.

“Keith mentioned the other day that Chris thought I did really well last time. And yeah, he doesn’t seem to talk, or care for me, but I think I can turn it around.”

“If anyone can, it’s you,” Nikki agreed.

Raina twirled her fingers in the air. “All right, Nikki. You’re in the hot seat. What do you have for us?”

Nikki grabbed her glass of wine and gulped. “I, uh. Well, you know, I want to be a singer and songwriter. And, well . . .”

Raina rolled her eyes. “Duh. Tell us something new.”

“Okay. I kinda sorta looked up Tattered Souls the other day and saw they were performing. So I . . . I went to the concert.”

“With who?” Raina looked offended. They’d always gone to concerts together.

“By myself. I told James we had a girls’ night.”

“Cheese and crackers, Nik,” I admonished. “You lied to your husband?”

“Yeah. That’s not the interesting part.” Nikki gulped her wine again and then took a deep breath. “Trent saw me in the crowd and convinced me to come onstage. Long story short, there’s a video floating on the internet of our performance. Their record company wants me to write a few songs. Trent even hinted at a reunion of some sort.”

We were all quiet. Even Raina didn’t have something to add. On one hand I was excited for my friend. Not only did she have the gumption to reach out to her band, but she performed and killed it. Although Nikki pretended to be rough and tough, she was a softy on the inside, and she needed the boost in confidence about her talent.

Writings songs was fine; however, being in the band meant being around Trent Masters, and he was bad news. And with Nikki’s incredible talent and Trent’s manipulative nature, it was only a matter of time before they gave her an offer. The other girls and I used to call him Hurricane Trent. He blew in and jumbled Nikki’s emotions with lots of rain and pain. She didn’t need him to be successful, but knowing Nikki she went that route because it was the easiest path.

Nikki squeezed her eyes shut. “Guys. Say something.”

Kara answered her quietly. “Do you want to go on tour with them?”

Nikki drummed her fingers against her lap. “I dunno. But that’s not on the table. For now, I want to write. I can’t lie . . . it felt so good to be onstage. But I don’t know if I can drag my family into that crazy life.”

Kara nodded. “Okay, when does the record label expect an answer?”

“They didn’t say.”

Kara tapped her chin. “How about joining a band locally? Or something else around Atlanta.”

“I have a gig at a coffee shop called Rev and Go.”

“Damn, girl.” Raina snapped her fingers. “You aren’t playing any games. Go, you!”

Nikki smiled. “I can’t let y’all asses outshine me.” Her smile slipped. “Do you really think I should drop Tattered Souls?”

“I get why you’d want to work with them.” Raina tilted her head. “But let’s be real, James is gonna lose his shit at the thought of you traveling to God knows where with Trent.”

“True. Very true,” Nikki conceded. “I’ll stick to writing the songs for now.” Her voice was high pitched and rang untrue. It was the same tone so-called eyewitnesses from the prosecution’s side used in court. Whether Nikki admitted it to us or not, she’d made her decision.

“See, this Mastermind group is helping already.” Raina smiled. “Now we just have to get Sienna off Keith’s nuts and doing her own thing.”