Chapter 6
Two weeks had passed, and the friendship forged between Marshall
and Vanessa progressed dramatically.
Vanessa curbed her attitude without much thought, feeling no need to
display it, while Marshall proved
to be a hard and efficient worker—on stage and off.
The phone rang suddenly, and Vanessa glanced at her digital
clock, “Who the hell is calling at eleven at night?”
She reached for it groggily, as she had just slipped into her
bed fifteen minutes prior to the disruption.
“Hello?” she ground out.
“Hey, yo, you okay?”
“Who’s this?”
“Oh, Marshall.”
“Oh, hi. Sorry, you just
woke me up.”
“Yeah, sorry I’m callin’ so late. Can you leave tomorrow?”
“Leave?” she squeaked.
“For New York,” he
added.
“Uh, yeah, sure. How long
are we going to be gone for?”
“A week.”
“Okay—when do we leave?”
“I’ll pick you up at six am
tomorrow.”
“Six am?”
“Don’t look at me! Shit,
I don’t think it’s a fuckin’ day in the park to wake
up at the crack of dawn, but you learn, yo.”
“It won’t be a problem…just, it’s so early. You’ve spoiled me; I’m no longer used to
getting to the office by seven.”
“Days don’t even start ‘til noon,
I swear,” he said firmly.
“Agreed. I’m gonna hit
the sheets, then. See you in the morning—wait,
you know where I live, right?”
“I have it somewhere…” he mumbled.
“Let me give it to you now to save you some time,” she replied
and rattled off her address.
“Got it,” he affirmed and they hung up.
She yawned and stretched before drifting into a restful,
dreamless sleep—that is, until her alarm clock screamed at four am.
“Damn, only four hours of sleep. I’m going to be dead on my feet today; I hope
Marshall won’t notice…”
Not putting too much thought into her attire, she threw a variety
of ensembles into a midsize piece of luggage—she wasn’t sure of the purpose
behind their trip to New York was, so she made sure to pack different types of
clothes.
She also hoped that while she knew the trip was for business,
that she could partake in a little pleasure by visiting her family, as they lived
an hour outside of New York City, and she hadn’t been able to see them in a few
years due to the state of her finances.
As she finished zipping up her suitcase, which was filled to the
maximum capacity, the rap at her door came.
“Yo, it’s Marshall. You ready?”
“Yeah, hold on,” she yelled from her bedroom.
She opened the door to see a rather haggard-looking Marshall
on the other end. “Come in, I have a few
things to throw together, and we can go.”
“So, this is your place?
This is what my pay goes to?” he gestured to the meager commodities such
as furniture, or lack thereof. “No,
you’re paying my way to grad school,” she said as she walked back to her
bedroom—with Marshall hot on her
trail.
“Grad school?”
“Yep.”
“For what? Doctor? Lawyer?”
“Lawyer,” Vanessa said.
“Damn, I hate lawyers.
They’re all a bunch of egos with their dicks in their mouths.”
“In the business you’re in, I figured you’d be used to that by
now,” she teased.
“Not everyone’s an ass, y’know.”
“Whatever; I’m ready.”
“Good, let’s go before someone sees me.”
“Why’d you come up anyway?”
“Nobody’s up at six am—not anybody who gives a shit about who I
am.”
“I guess so. There aren’t
too many tenants here, actually.”
“Yeah, I can see why—sorry.”
“I can afford a better place, I know. I choose to put more money aside for my
schooling than my living quarters since I’m away from it most of the time.”
“I see,” he muttered.
“What? You disapprove?”
“Let’s just get going, we’ll miss our flight,” he said angrily.
She would let him stew for a few minutes, just long enough to
get to the car so he wouldn’t be able to complain that she was the reason they
missed their flight.
As they sped down the freeway, she voiced her question
again. “What’s so wrong with where I
live?”
“You shouldn’t live alone in that part, to begin with.”
“Didn’t you live in worse?”
“I’m a man, honey.”
“I’m a woman, bastard.”
“Touché. That doesn’t
mean shit in the hood, serious.”
“It’s pretty safe,” she grumbled.
“Not safe enough.”
“Why are you so goddamned concerned?”
To be honest, he didn’t know why he was so concerned. Normally, he could care less where his
employees lived, but despite his mind’s constant berating, he was starting to
feel more than he had anticipated. Marshall
looked forward to seeing her in the morning, had grown accustomed to discussing
important business deals and happenings with her. He enjoyed their lunches, and all the exotic
foods she had introduced his palette to.
“Fuck,” he swore.
“Vanessa, we’re friends, right?”
“Uh…I guess,” she replied uneasily. Just what is he getting at?she thought.
“Friends get concerned.”
“Well, I assure you, I’m all right where I am,” she replied
stubbornly.
“Fuck it; if you wanna get raped and
killed, be my fuckin’ guest,” he yelled while
gripping the steering wheel and stomping on the accelerator.
“Don’t get all nasty about it.”
“Fuck you,” he spit out.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,
don’t go so fast,” she screamed as he sped through traffic, dodging cars
lightning-quick; barely missing some in his lane changes.
“Never thought I’d hear the word fuck come out of your mouth.”
“I swear to god, Marshall, if you don’t slow down—“
“You’ll what?” he mocked, staring at her.
“Look at the road!”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
He was furious, she could tell.
But what was there for her to do?
She had to get him to slow down and pay attention to the traffic
before they got into an accident—and got killed.
Chapter 7