CHAPTER XVI

12:40

Kingson was on his way home when he decided to stop by his office first. He took his time getting there, in no real rush. He arrived at a quarter past one. Delilah was at her desk taking a call. When she saw him she smiled and continued her conversation with one of his colleagues who was asking if Kingson was around. He made back and forth swiping motions under his chin with his hand and she relayed to whomever it was that he still wasn't available. She took a message and hanged up the call.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jackson," she greeted. "How are you feeling today?"

"Could be better, Delilah... But I'm alive and in good health."

"That's the spirit, Mr. Jackson. There's always something to be grateful for and there's always someone wishing to be in your shoes, sir."

"Thanks, my dear. I'll try to remember that. Is there anything in the Petty Cash stash?"

Kingson paid her decently but thrice a week, he allowed her ten dollars for lunch which was, at most, one hundred and fifty dollars a month, plus the fifteen hundred dollars monthly flat rate salary he paid her.

She deserved every penny.

Punctual and meticulous to the point of being "persnickety," Delilah was certainly a human compartmentalization machine. She created, collated and memorized Kingson's diurnal, weekly and monthly schedules; took and tracked calls (before, during and after which she would brief him on anything else he might need to know) and picked up packages; arranged conference calls, in-house and out-house meetings - she was Accounts Payable, Accounts Receivable, Human Resources, the Executive Administrator, Finance and Budgeting, and she kept her area, the waiting room her area was in, the chairs in her area, and other electronic gadgets, spotless. As well as regularly putting order to the organized confusion which was his office. He wished he could pay her more but the rents for his office and apartment alone was becoming a headache to calculate. Let's not even talk about the gas guzzling ass Excursion. Fifteen hundred dollars a month was the best he could do. And, in today's world, it wasn't bad at all. She didn't complain because she was a student and there were plenty of days she came late or left early. There were even times she would come to the office at any hour just to get accumulated work done. The job was demanding but her salary was also no mean amount. There were plenty of other college students who would work for much less, he knew, but neither was he a slaver.

"There's a lady who stopped to see you yesterday, sir." He turned around at the entrance to his office, eyebrows raised. Yesterday, he had also told Delilah to take the day off but she had still come in to work. She reached for the Rolodex, an ancient manual device that held a terrific number of Contact Information and which "rolled" on a short cylindrical wheel - thus, rolo dex. Delilah found the gadget quaint and had taken to using it, even though he had acquired a laptop, a Samsung Note and a cellphone for her to use for office errands. That she used any or all now for her personal business was none of his concern. As long as she could handle the volume of calls that came in for him at any hour, he was fine with her appropriation of official materials for personal use. "Here it is!" she announced, plucking a card from the selection. Delilah went and handed the card to Kingson. On it was a name in computer's feminine cursive: Kenesha Struthers, Executive Secretary.

"Fuck is this?" Kingson murmured to himself.

"It's the lady from a few floors up, sir." Aaah! Yes. How could he have forgotten, he thought, smiling. Ms. Thang. He had bumped into her when he was leaving the building a few days ago, almost bowling her over. But he had caught her. A quick conversation followed and he had given her his card that she might have lost (or something), which was likely why she had left her calling card with Delilah. He went into his office and half closed the door. For the next few hours, Kingson made headway on catching up with some old messages and took care of the most exigent cases in his workload. He would go to Rikers Island on the weekend, as was his wont, in order to touch bases with detainees for whom he was counsel.

It was quarter after four when he leaned back in his chair, yawning. He decided to call Kenesha then, who had been growing in his mind the whole afternoon.

"Good afternoon," answered a familiar and pleasant feminine voice.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Struthers, how are you doing today?" He was using a nasally voice.

"Fine, thank you. Who am I speaking with?"

"You're speaking with Mr. Jackson at the outstanding debts collection agency here in California." She had lived in California many years ago.

"And what is this in reference to, sir?"

"This is in reference to the fact that you owe us a few thousand dollars and I'd like to invite you on a date to cancel these debts, ma'am." Her voice became cool as a fan and the 'hood started coming out of her.

"Look, I don't know who you people are but I don't owe anybody anything, let alone an explanation. And I damn sure ain't going with you nowhere."

"Ms. Struthers, I have to warn you-"

"Miss me with the bullshit. Whatchu gonna do, huh? Fly all the way to New York City to collect some money I don't know the slightest bit about me owing?"

"We have an office in New York City, ma'am."

There was silence on the line.

"Man, you must owe them people a couple of racks, huh, Kenesha?" Kingson asked, bursting out laughing.

"Who is this?"

"Your future baby daddy." Another brief silence ensued before she started laughing also, much in relief, Kingson noticed.

"Boy... You is a nut! Had me thinking I owed somebody when I know, good and damn well, I don't owe anybody anything!"

"We'll run with that narrative for now. In any case, it's been a few days. Why didn't you call me?"

"That same day when I left work and got home, I did laundry, including the clothes I had on, wuere your card was." The excuse was plausible, or she was a good liar which, he thought, remembering Mia, most women are.

"Hm. Yeah, okay."

"'Hm, yeah okay' what, sir? You sound skeptical."

"Until you show me otherwise, I'm taking your every word as Gospel truth." There was silence.

"That's an interesting and pregnant and mysterious statement, all in one."

"You're an interesting and mysterious woman."

"Aw, thank you. I thought you were going to ask if I'm also pregnant." Now Kingson was silent. "I'm not, silly man."

"Phew! But seriously, what I told you about accepting your word until you prove otherwise, right? It's actually one of my life's philosophies."

"I'd like to hear some more about your philosophies. What are you doing this evening?"

"Hopefully you."

"What?"

"Talking to you. I'm talking to you this evening."

"Mm-hm! Sho you right."

"Kiss my converse."

"Ooh, okay. An aficionado of old Kung Fu flicks?"

"And blaxploitation, of course."

"And Donald Goines?" Kenesha asked, leaving Kingson astonished.

"What do you know about Donald Goines? Holy shit!" She laughed, and the sound was pleasant to his ear. "You ever heard of Guy Jackson?" Kingson asked trepidatiously.

"Maya Angelou's son, yes. Of course." Who was this woman pressing all the right buttons? Mia had read some of the books but her lifestyle of being a fashionista and micro social medial influencer didn't allow time enough for her to really get into the books."

"Standing at the Scratch Line?"

"Oohwee. And what's the name of his next book?"

"Echoes of a Distant Summer, which is actually a prequel," said Kenesha, a well-read and learned Black woman in America, a necessity in today's day and age. She was also pleasantly surprised at Kingson's enthusiasm.

"Um... So, you said something about me being completely at your disposal tonight?" She laughed again, throatily this time, in a low sensuous tone.

"I didn't but you just did, and since you are available, there's a fairly well known restaurant at Union Square called Picola Cucina-"

"Osteria," Kingson said at the same time as she did.

"Wow, that's good!" Kenesha complimented him. "What time can you be ready?"

"Yeah, thanks. I went to Washington Irving for special summer classes. I got to know the area pretty well, especially after we would sometimes smoke and want to eat after, of course."

"Of course," she mocked him drily. He laughed a bit. "Can we meet there at eight o'clock?"

"Sounds good to me, Ken."

"Please not that! I was tortured with that nickname as a child."

"My fault. Sounds good to me, Kenesha."

"That's better, King son." He grunted amusedly as they hanged up. Wow - what a woman.