A Hire Love by Candice Dow Page B

genius.”
    By the time we left, we were two pissy-drunk geniuses. Though this intoxication could hardly compare to the one I felt when Rashad’s face crept into my mind. Boy, I wish I could bottle him up and sell him. His deep set eyes still pierced through me from hours earlier. As I prepared my nonchalant speech, I dialed his number. I used the divide-and-conquer method to avoid inviting him over. By the time I got in the house, I was tempted to call him back, but I couldn’t even stand up straight, so I did the smart thing and fell asleep on my couch.

Scene 11
RASHAD
    W hen Fatima decided to hang out with Mya, that was my get-out-of-jail-free card. Though I had thoroughly studied the script, I was rather rusty on the investment requirements. If I’m going to do this, I plan to be the best. I chuckled to myself as I reaffirmed my father’s words of wisdom: “If you’re going to pick up trash, I want you to be the best damn trashman you can be.”
    I stood in Barnes & Noble searching for books on investing, home improvement, and real estate. When I paged through some of the home renovation books, it surprised me how much I already knew. My summers laying concrete and putting up Sheetrock in Trinidad would come in handy for something.
    I proceeded to the investment and real estate sections. The two topics seemed to correlate. Buy low, sell high. Real estate was the primary focus in the investment section. As I flew through the pages, it was like reading a good script and I was inspired to play the investor.
    Though I was tempted to call Fatima and spit out verbatim what I’d just absorbed, I resisted. Instead, I spent my last three hundred bucks on books. Is it inappropriate to ask when do I get my bonus? I trotted home excited about finishing my reading.
    When I entered the apartment with a goofy grin, my mother looked up inquisitively. I bent down to give her a kiss. She asked, “Why are you so happy, boy?”
    “I got a gig.”
    “What kind of gig?”
    “Well, it’s like an assistant to a movie director.”
    “So, you aren’t going to be in the movie. You’ll just be running around for some director, buying coffee, getting lunch, and kissing his behind?”
    “Exactly, but they’re paying well.”
    “I guess that’s a start.” She snickered. “My son, the ass-wipe.”
    “Ma, why do you always have to go there?”
    “Because I love you. I send you to college and you have to kiss some director’s ass. That’s not fair. They should see how good you are.”
    She acted as if I were the only man in New York trying to get a job. Did she ever think about the competition? I know she wants the best for me, but damn. She called one of her many phone buddies and I heard her talking: Why can’t that boy just work a regular job? Do you know he graduated magna cum laude? He’s just like his father.
    She lived in the past and it troubled her that I have yet to amount to her expectations. It hurt me to hurt her, but ultimately I have to be happy. It’s one thing to try and fail, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t commit at least five years to this. I pulled out a book and plopped on the bed. I folded a pillow around my ears to drown out my mother’s negativity.
    Fatima called around nine to say she would see me in the morning and to remind me that we forgot to get the HIV test. Considering I haven’t had sex since my last test, I wasn’t worried about the results.
     
    When my alarm clock went off at six-thirty in the morning, I rolled back and forth. Damn if I wanted to get up just to get coffee. After a ten-minute internal debate about whether I could really be a servant, I got up, showered, and was out the door in fifteen minutes. As I stood in line at Starbucks, the aroma refreshed my excitement. My heart raced as I anticipated knocking on the door. What do I say?
    She opened the first of the double doors. Action. The second door swung open. I hugged her and inhaled her freshness. “Good