Page 46 of Save Room for Us

“Old man, what you doing in here?” I entered my father’s office.

“It’s my office, ain’t it?” He looked my way briefly as he held onto some papers.

“I know but you retired.” I sat down across from his desk.

“Just throwing out some old shit. I wanna clean it out so I can come up with some new shit to put in here.” His head whippedaround to take in the big ass office as if he hadn’t seen the shit millions of times. “You want a drink.” He stood, smiling.

“I can sip a little something. What’s so funny?”

Walking to the small fridge, he grabbed an iced tea for himself, then poured me some of the whiskey from his decanter before nodding for me to come sit near the fireplace where he was headed.

“When you were born, I couldn’t wait to ask you that shit, and now, I don’t even drink. Stopped before you even became of age.” He handed me the glass once I was seated next to him.

Chuckling into my glass before swallowing the strong liquid, I said, “You don’t want a quick taste?”

“I’m straight.” He sat back into the butter leather couch.

“You not missing nothing,” I admitted. “I smoked and drank way more a few years ago. Now, I need my head clear on a lot of shit, so I refrain unless I’m chilling for the night. Gotta keep my eyes peeled and shit.”

My family always fucked with me on how I was suspicious of everyone, everybody and their intentions who didn’t rock the Compton and St. Thomas name, but I didn’t give a fuck. Niggas and bitches alike couldn’t be trusted.

Before jumping into this game and running into other muthafuckas from all walks of life, every man being out for himself, I assumed people were inherently good. Not women but people. Women were more difficult for a nigga, just from having a mother like I had. I knew if a bitch could dog out her own flesh and blood, she could definitely do it to a random nigga.

My father looked over at me, staring, before nodding approvingly.

“You just like yo’ pops, you know that?”

“Except better. You forgot that part,” I jested, sipping again. “Anybody mentioned Anastazia working for me?”

“Leeci’s sister?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, watching the fireplace though the shit wasn’t on.

“She’s pretty.”

“I know, Pop.” I laughed, holding the glass to my lips but not drinking. “I feel like a fucking hypocrite, telling them niggas not to even think about getting with her, when that’s all a nigga been thinking about.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“It’s part of it. I don’t want her feeling like I gave her this opportunity in order to fuck on her. And I don’t want them niggas around thinking she only there because I’m fucking on her. I want her to be respected and for them niggas to understand that she’s knowledgeable, she deserves the position, and she’s not to be disrespected. She’s not some pretty nurse that they could potentially get their dick wet with. Or some pretty chick fucking the boss.”

“Is she?”

“Nah, not at the moment.” I smirked. “You nosy, old man,” I said, making him snicker slightly as he took down some of his tea. “I want her, but I wanna protect her more. Don’t want her thinking she gotta come to work with electric fence material on her panties.”

We chortled in unison.

I was laughing with my father but serious. It was clear to me by the shit Anastazia said that she wasn’t used to being protected or hadn’t been in a long time. When I’d asked her to come work for a nigga, her main gripe was that she didn’t want to be thrown into a lion’s den of salivating street niggas. And from what I knew, her father had passed, and she had no male family members and had been residing with a nigga who resulted to putting shit in her system so he could have his way with her.

“I feel you. Just keep shit separate if you can. When she working, treating her like an employee, mainly in front of them. When she clock out, shit, do you, young nigga.”

“That might work.” I set the glass down on the coffee table. “On to business shit. I wanna see about implementing a scholarship program for black underprivileged kids so they can go to school. Only stipulations will be shit like grades, not no unattainable shit like straight A’s though, and they have to attend a black college.”

“I like it. But what if they don’t wanna leave home, assuming they’re from LA. Ain’t no black colleges here.”

“That’s the stipulation.” I shrugged. “Majority of the black race that’s here migrated from southern states anyway. They need to take their asses over there and learn about the roots most of us got down there any fucking way. Then, bring their asses back home when they finish.” When my dad nodded, I added, “That and something for black homeowners. We gotta get our people some more fucking property ’cause all that shit contributes to generational wealth.”

“You just might be the better version of me, young nigga.” He patted my back with a grin.

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