Alone didn’t mean he was lonely. He was simply waiting. He knew his queen would come.
His father had practiced the Muslim faith all his life, claiming Islam as a way to live righteously. Said it was those lessons that taught him discipline and what it meant to be a black man in America and how to survive. He instilled a lot of the Muslim principles and teachings in him, but Ty wasn’t an active Muslim man. He didn’t do salat—daily prayers, he never fasted, and he surely didn’t read the Quran. Not anymore. When his father died, it was as if he’d taken Ty’s faith with him. He’d learned life was about heartaches, trials and tribulations, and he’d been taught that a man is measured by how he weathers those storms. So he knew he’d failed that test when his father died. It was just too hard. Now all he could hope for was that his good deeds were being counted so that he’d still be blessed. Hoped his triumphs were more than his mistakes.
“Mo, your three o’clock is here,” Sharain said when she came in, bringing a robust scent of curl activator and white musk with her.
Mo shoved her plastic container back inside the small refrigerator and pushed the door closed. “Damnit. I thought I’d get a chance to nibble on my lunch. Geez. Black people don’t know how to show up late anymore?” She grumbled on her way out, leaving Ty alone in the room with her boss.
“You got my order?” she asked, coming to stand beside him. Close beside him.
Good afternoon to you too. Instead of being concerned for her lack of manners Ty opened his book bag and pulled out a tightly wrapped package the size of a shoebox.
“Yes.” She grinned at him and began tearing up the plastic.
“Whoa.” Ty hovered his hand over hers. “You know my rules. I don’t see or know what’s in the packages you request from Cheddar.”
“Oh you and your rules,” she cooed. “It’s only new sheers.”
Ty gritted his teeth. His pseudo-employer, Cheddar—nicknamed appropriately because of his clout to get any merchandise a business needed—made sure Ty never saw what he acquired and packaged up. Ty didn’t want to know. Still, he wasn’t a fool, he understood Cheddar most likely didn’t get his merchandise from the retailer, it was more like from underpaid, immoral warehouse workers. But if a person had a privately-owned business and needed cheap merchandise fast, then Cheddar was the man to go to. Ty sometimes made deliveries for him because Cheddar wasn’t into guns or drugs, and it paid well enough that he never had to touch his savings.
It wasn’t easy for Ty to stay under the radar. Everyone knew of him but didn’t really know him, not even his real name. No one did. Not even Cheddar. When Ty made a delivery, he was in and out before they even opened the box. Gone without as much as an ‘enjoy your purchase’. He didn’t work for Sears, he could care less if they were happy with what they got. Cheddar didn’t have a return policy.
“I understand your rule. I didn’t mean to upset you, Ty. I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t anything crazy.” She touched her hand to her chest but Ty kept his eyes on hers. “I run a respectable business. Always have.”
“Have a nice evening.” Ty slung his bag onto his back and went to move around her, but she stopped him before he could reach the door. He heard loud laughter outside and the music had gone up a few notches, indicating more customers had arrived. He needed to go.
“I was wondering before you hurried off, if you wanted me to maybe tighten your fade up. No charge.” She went to smooth her palm over the deep waves in his hair but he pulled back.
“I’m good. Appreciate it.”
“Who cuts your hair anyway? I always meant to ask you that.”
I do.
“They do a good job. It’s healthy. Do you go to a shop?”
“Cheddar said the order you placed this week will be in on Monday.”
She nodded, taking the brush off, still standing in front of the door. Ty wasn’t an intimidating man at first glance. He stood at six-feet-one and his frame wasn’t overly muscular, with a natural build. He had stamina, definition and cut but he didn’t have to spend hours in a gym for it. Just damn good genes. He had on dark blue jeans and a white tee under his black fleece-lined jean coat. His fresh white Jordans set off the smooth, harmless ’brotha look, the façade he used to lead others to believe he was.
“Look. I know you’re one of the good ones around here, ya’know. I don’t see you on the corner slinging, or hanging with the thugs, you just do you and I like that. You’re polite and you don’t call any of us ‘hoes’ and ‘bitches’ when you come in.” Her hand slowly grazed his before she pulled away. Her eyes were downcast, but her body language didn’t say she was meek or mild. Ty could feel the heat rising from her and knew what she really wanted. “I hear what they say about you. That you’re waiting on the perfect woman to compliment a good man as yourself.”