Author Vincent L. Manor was in his driveway washing his customized four door convertible Chrysler 300c SRT-8. His two German Shepherds, Rocky D and Rex, were laid out in the shade under a palm tree. The sky was cloudless, with the beaming sun poking its chest out. Both dogs came to their feet when Celisha pulled up to the nickel plated, wroughtiron gate.
Vincent used a remote attached to his key chain to open the gate. He was shirtless, wearing a pair of long shorts and Nike slip-ons. His bald head and torso was covered with a heavy sheen of sweat and he looked much younger than a man reaching his mid-thirties. His brown eyes were hidden behind his tinted designer prescription frames. He continued to wash his vehicle as Celisha was welcomed by two wagging tails.
"Dina Blain called me last night," he said, with the water hose aimed at the front, left 22-inch chrome rim, after he closed the gate again.
"Good news or bad news?" Celisha stood behind him squinting and shielding her eyes from the glare of his ride. She then took a few steps back when he started spraying the sparkling rim.
"Good. Said I will have a chance to write a fulllength novel for her imprint if I'm open to it. I told her, fo' sho. Gotta return the love you know. Dina was one of the few authors that came to see me when I was in prison." He glanced over his sweaty shoulder for a second at Celisha in her Sunday best. "How was church?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Uplifting," was Celisha's reply. "I took my aunt with me. She's not one of your fans, you should know." Celisha chuckled.
He turned to look at her while spraying off the hood. "Has she even read any of my books?"
"No, but according to her, all the women at the shop where she gets her hair done have. Let's just say that my aunt is not a part of your target audience." She smiled briefly at Vincent.
He shrugged his broad shoulders, turning back to his work at hand. "I gave you the day off." He moved around, spraying the roof. "I hope you don't think I can't handle this speaking engagement alone today?"
"Yes. . .I know...of all people, I fully know what you're capable of doing alone." She was fiddling with the diamond engagement ring on her finger.
He looked over the cloth roof of his car, smiling. "So I assume you want to put in some overtime then?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I just stopped by to make sure that it was cool. I need to go change though," she said. "I'll be back in an hour."
Vincent nodded, and opened the gate as she backed out moments later. "Holler," was all he said as he finished up, glad that Celisha had decided, in spite of him giving her the day off, to have his back.
Let Vincent tell it, he owed his success around his career to his dependable personal assistant. Celisha was always on top of her job. If he was doing any type of public appearances as an author, she wanted to be by his side. In the author community, the two were quite a pair and had endured the false allegations that they were secretly sexually involved.
Celisha was a stunning, black, highly attractive woman with the warming looks close to Elise Neal. She was a devoted Christian Monday through Sunday. She didn't have any kids and could speak French and Spanish. She was also engaged to be married to a man named Aaron. She dispelled the allegations of an affair with her superior with grace and prayers. As for Vincent, he was viewed as handsome, and the title of being a bestselling author only added to his influencing attractiveness.
Minutes later, after Celisha was gone, Vincent's young, bubbly soul mate appeared in one of the open Dutch doors. She was wearing one of his linen button down shirts fully open, revealing her olive tanned body.
"Brunch is ready," she said. The small yellow diamond stud in her belly button twinkled briefly when it caught the sun. It was no way near as bright as the twinkle in her hazel eyes and pouty smile she gave him before going back inside.
Vincent had left the streets, living the life of just another hustler, over a decade ago. But now, after putting the life he had once lived on paper, he was a famous author and his adjustment had not been easy. His readers wanted to know so much about him and he felt it was right to open up to them. Without his readers and their support, there would be no bestselling author, Vincent Manor. Yes, he was humble, but there was one aspect of his life that he managed to keep private-his love life.
He had met the outgoing twenty-two year old model only ten months ago at a huge book conference that was held in California known as BEA, short for Book Expo of America, but lovingly nicknamed by authors in the industry as the Book Zoo. Micki was biracial; black and Argentina. She was the book cover model on a popular urban trilogy, plus she had over ten music videos to her credit. She was also a die-hard fan of Vincent's books. Micki had approached Vincent at the BEA seeking his autograph, which led to a brief conversation, leaving both interested in the other.
After BEA, the two headed their separate ways across the map. With miles between them, the two started up contact via the Internet. After they traded a few friendly emails, Vincent later reached her through her manager to see when she would have some free time. To his surprise, two days later, Micki called him back personally. Vincent invited her to spend the weekend hanging out in his neck of the woods, and she boldly told him that she could be on the next flight out of New York, where she was currently living, to see him. Once she got off the airplane, their chemistry was too strong to ignore. Her weekend visit turned into her moving in with him; something they both wanted.
"Have you made up your mind yet?" Micki asked as Vincent entered the kitchen and sat down. She was seated across from him at the glass and bamboo table. She maintained her stunning looks miraculously twenty-four seven as if every day was a photo session. For her effort, he made it a point to tell her how beautiful she was twenty-four seven.
"Not really," he said, cutting into the stack of buttered and maple syrup covered pancakes.
"Baby, I'm going to New York next week. Why haven't you made up your mind?" Micki asked. "I know how you feel about keeping our private life, well. . .private. But I wanna tell the world that you're my man. You know the people, I mean, the ones that will do the interview, will ask if I'm dating anyone. They ask all the models they feature in their magazine that question." She pushed back from the table and stood with her hands on her inviting hips. She now had on a pair of tight, lacey boy shorts gripping her tiny, twenty-five inch waist line. "I need an answer, Mr. Manor!" She pouted her glossy lips. "Now."
Hearing his last name, he knew she was getting upset. He calmly laid the fork and butter knife down. "Who are you yelling at?"
"You! And I'm not yelling. . .not yet." She folded her arms. She stood a short and spirited five feet four inches tall with long, soft, curly, brown hair framing her exotic face.
"C'mere for a second," he said, pushing back from the table.
Micki continued to pout as she made her way around the table and onto his lap. Her arms eased around his neck.
"Can we speak on this tonight?" He kissed her softly.
"I knew it," she said as she attempted to get up.
Vincent pulled her back to him. "No, really, this time I'm not brushing you off. We really will talk about it, okay?"
Micki hesitated. "Promise?" she murmured. "Promise," he said, kissing her on the nose.
"Fine," she said, managing to get up from his lap.
Vincent acted like a spoiled baby when she pulled herself free from his caress. He could have sat there and held her forever, but he had plans. "I need to go take a shower anyway and get dressed. If I'm late for that speaking engagement, I'll never hear the end of it from Celisha." He took a couple more bites of food, then jumped in the shower. About a half hour after that, Celisha showed up as promised, ready to take him to his engagement.
In the passenger side of Celisha's car, Vincent opened the laptop that sat on his lap as Celisha backed out of his driveway. He was checking his My Space page since Celisha was behind the wheel. Normally she checked it for him.
"How's Micki doing?" Celisha asked. She now had on a pair of white, ankle-length pants with a white chiffon blouse and some open-toed heels. Even when she tried to hide her curves, her effort was lost.
"Still bugging me about letting her put our relationship on blast in the interview she has with that magazine in New York."
"I don't think it's such a bad idea, Vincent. That's major pub; pub you can't buy," Celisha reasoned. "Did she find out if she's getting the cover?"
"Yeah. The editor called her last night. They picked her over Ester Baxter. She's going to get the cover plus a ten page spread inside." He glanced up from the laptop. "Can you open the sunroof?"
She nodded as she touched the button to open the sunroof.
"Thanks." He returned his attention to his laptop.
"So, why the big deal about going public with the relationship? It's not like you have a woman on the side," she kidded.
"And how would you know?" he smiled, closing his laptop as a plane flew overhead.
"Please, Vincent," she laughed. "Not only am I your faithful, and might I add, trusting personal assistant, but I also happen to be your friend." She turned to smile at him. "You love Micki and she loves you as well, so why hide it? And as for you having a woman on the side, you're not crazy. But back to the original concern; it's really not a bad idea to go public. You write so hardcore and street. Your supporters will see that you're a man that's not afraid to love."
He shifted in the leather seat. "I just don't want it to come off as a publicity move."
"Have you shared your thoughts with Micki? I assume she would be upset for you to feel that way."
"Nah. We're going to discuss it fully tonight. I guess I'm just. . .you know. . .nervous about making it public; making it official." Vincent's voice trail faded.
"Making it official? Now we're getting somewhere," Celisha surmised. "Vincent, she's been living with you for almost a year now. I believe you two are past the point of being official. Let me be frank with you; I think you're acting silly about the entire issue. Micki loves you and I know this. Both of you have careers that are public to some degree. I know you also wanted to keep your love life private, but Micki isn't going anywhere and you know it."
Vincent took the glasses off he was wearing. "So, as my personal assistant, you're telling me it's okay to let her go public about our relationship?"
"No," she smiled, "as a friend I'm telling you that it's okay."
He slid his glasses back on. "Okay. I'll think about it."
"Thanks for having an open mind."
Their conversation switched to business as they rode up I-95 North. Celisha later changed lanes to make an exit on 62nd. Rolling past Edison High School, they made a left at the light.
Childhood memories inflated Vincent's mind as he entered his former stomping grounds. The familiar scent of diesel fuel from the city buses reminded him of the many miles he had traveled by public transportation. He would always take the city bus over the small, always crowded Jitney van. He was deep in thought as he went back to his past.
Being poor wasn't a big deal to him when he was a child. Standing in line at the corner store on 62nd and 12th, everyone carried food stamps. There was no embarrassment in that. Liberty City, a.k.a. Pork & Beans Projects was his home and playground. Back then, nights were filled with random gunshots, police helicopters, violence, crime, drugs and death. Today he was returning to Liberty City to speak to a small group of kids ages ten to sixteen at a recreation center.
Through a street campaign led by Celisha, Vincent's public image was put on blast as a positive role model from the inner city. He was received with love and support from the hood with his moniker, Mr. Hood Legend. He gave a kid with a faint dream a firm belief of hope. Vincent knew about the pain, the loss and the stigma of the streets. He knew about the suffering and oppression behind bars. He knew how to fight for what he believed in, and that was his right to write and to seek a positive change in his life. As for those Jim Crow prison rules that he defiantly broke to keep writing, his drive was unbroken with their worthless punishment.
At the Rec center, Celisha stood in the far corner watching Vincent with faultless respect and admiration as he spoke to the kids. She could see in his eyes that his heart was behind every word he spoke.
"In all my life, before I became an author, I would have never imagined to be where I stand now. I once played outside at the same park where some of you spend your time. I grew up and became lost at some point. I deeply regret screwing up in life, but I've been given a second chance, and I'm taking advantage of it. I'm saying this to prove that I was given a chance to become something. All of you before me have a chance."
Vincent looked out at the young faces and then continued. "A chance to succeed, and many chances to fail. I failed when I foolishly embraced a life of crime. I ruined my life; betting on my freedom as well as my life. I lost my freedom when I messed up bad and found myself in prison, where I came close to losing my life on more than one occasion. Sometimes you'll. . ." he paused when a young girl raised her hand. She looked to be no more than twelve . Her name tag indicated that her name was Shana. "Yes, Shana." Vincent nodded toward her.
"Ummm. . .should we go to church every Sunday, Mr. Manor?"
That question came out of left field for Vincent. He stole a furtive glance at Celisha, wishing she could step up and help him. She would always have the right words whenever it came to stuff about God, church or religion. Typically, she would have stepped in at an opportunity to "share the good news," but not today. Vincent was on his own. He didn't know what to say. This was supposed to be a discussion about positive thinking, not religion.
"Do you think it's good to go to church, Shana?" Vincent decided to turn the question back on her.
"Yes, sir," she nodded.
"Do you enjoy going to church?" She nodded again.
"Then I guess as long as you enjoy going, then it's good to go."
"Then can you and your. . ." she looked over at Celisha, "your girlfriend come to church with me next week? You two can be my guest for Friends and Family Day."