Page 54 of Invisible Bars
At first, it was simple; three days a week—just to cook. I paid her the equivalent of two weeks' salary every Friday because survival shouldn’t be a struggle for women like her. But it didn’t stop there.
The more we talked, the more I wanted her around. Her presence felt like something I didn’t know I needed—soft, solid, grounding. She didn’t flinch at my silences or try to "fix" me. She just saw me,the real me, and stayed.
Eventually, I had my team extend the guesthouse and make it hers— private kitchen, wraparound porch, full garden… everything. Not because I owed her. Not because she asked. But because she deserved peace, safety, and rest, without clocking in or sitting in traffic. I wanted her close.
Truth be told, I respected her more than I ever respected my own mama. Ms. Shirley gave me what my Giselle never did:unconditional presence.
I could be bleeding in front of Giselle, and she’d ask if I wiped my shoes before coming in. That lady would hand me a mop before a bandage. With her, love came with a list of requirements, respect was reserved for appearances, and pride only showed up when someone else clapped for me first. Not with Ms. Shirley, and for that, I vowed to take care of her until the day she couldn’t cook another biscuit and still after that.
When I pulled up in front of Blu Notes, the place was already drawing attention. Two men stood outside, posted on the sidewalk like they were waiting for someone to explain what happened to their favorite after-hours spot. The club looked lifeless. Over the kind boards were nailed across the front windows, and the neon sign had been unplugged—courtesy of some of Chi’s men who wanted to make a quick buck without asking too many questions.
The second I stepped out of the SUV, watch glinting and shoes shining, both of them clocked me.
“Ain’t that…?” one of them muttered.
“Yeah. That’s Imanio Kors,” the other whispered, not even trying to hide the awe in his voice.
I walked up slow and calm; no need to rush. I carried myself like I owned more than the building behind me—because I did. I owned my name, my silence, and the fear that followed both.
“Y’all got business here?” I asked, voice even, but with weight.
“Nah,” the older cat replied quickly. “We was just wondering what happened. One minute the place is open, next it’s gone.”
“This property is under transition,” I informed them.
“Transition?” the younger one retorted. “You mean like new management? Or is it shut down for good?”
I rolled my shoulders, slow and intentional. “Let’s just say… some things needed to be restructured. So it’s closed… permanently.”
“Ah, man.” The older cat shook his head in disappointment.
“Right,” the younger one chimed in. “This spot used to be jumpin’. So what? Blu just disappeared. No warning. No nothing. Joe said he ain’t even answering his phone. And ain’t nobody seen or heard from him since Friday night.”
I cocked my head. “Do you hear fromghostsoften?”
That shut him up.
I continued. “Whatever Blu had going on, it caught up to him. You won’t find him here… or anywhere,” I clarified.
The younger one let out a low whistle, understanding exactly what I was implying without me needing to spell it out.
The older cat, who I assumed was Joe, mumbled a low “damn” and backed away without a word, walking off down the street like he’d heard all he needed. But the young nigga stayed. He lingered a second, eyes narrowed, then took a cautious step closer.
I didn’t move.
“I know who you are… not the billboards and commercials; the other you… Gatez,” he revealed, voice low.
I said nothing.
“I ain’t stupid,” he continued. “Blu ain’t just vanish; he crossed the wrong nigga. And you? You the type who doesn’t leave no loose ends.”
We stared at each other for a moment—just two men in the open, one trying to measure the distance between bravery and stupidity.
“I’m not here to snitch, though,” he added, holding up his hands. “I ain’t got no death wish. I just…know things. That’s all.”
I glanced around once, then let my voice drop to something far more dangerous.
“You right. Blu crossed thewrongnigga. And yeah… I’mexactlywho you think I am.” I chuckled then added, “Actually, I’mworse.”
