Jodie
"Nah, I can’t tell you alla’ that," I shook my head, taking a bite at my ice cream bar.
Sure enough, I’d gotten her to have lunch with me; she had to anyways; I wasn’t about to lose them reservations. Once she had a bread roll or two, she totally opened up—which I didn’t expect so soon, but aye. We bounced from topic to topic; how she stays in the buildings not too far from Reebie’s, her friend, Zhane [which only confirmed my theory], her attendance at NYU. See, I molded the conversation in a way that had me listening, and her talking.
The more we spoke, the more I figured the essence that is her and I realized there is a show she puts on for daily life, and a second personality she keeps stowed away; except, it peeks through ever so often, I could see it in her eyes.
I’d mention something, and it’s like it was a trigger for her. Her eyes would become far off, she’d bite her lower lip, the left corner specifically, and fiddle with the silverware, arranging and rearranging them—which also corresponds with her habit of swiping down the counter at Reebie’s—a sort of O.C.D habit to occupy her mind. She suffers from bouts of mild anxiety, all obvious from having just one meal with her.
But when her eyes weren’t dull and lost, they were definitely gleaming and alive. She’d laugh and lean in toward the conversation, totally engaged. Strange to say, she kept me engaged and for a moment, it ain’t feel like I was working at all. I had it reel it the hell back before I lost sight as to why I was out here on a lunch date with some woman I don’t much even know.
Part of me found her..interesting, outside a work aspect, another part me said ‘nigga finish lunch and take her back to her job; that’s enough “questioning" for today’. So I satisfied both annoying ass voices; I took her for ice cream—I got to keep her around, but I was still working, still having her talk a mile minute. I’m right, right? It didn’t seem like she minded neither; she didn’t mention having to return to the diner either.
"I’ve been talking this entire time, and I haven’t learned a thing about you," she squinted up at me. She catches on quick. I shrugged. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but my real name? Nah," I shook my head, laughing.
It was probably early evening, the sky fading to pinks and oranges as we walked back to my car, parallel parked, about 2 blocks away. She glared up at me; she got fed easily and it was funny to tease her with it.
"Aight, aight," I started, giving in, half way. “The name’s Jay," I emphasized to annoy her, “turned 25 a couple of months ago, went to Cornell Law School, uh, and my favorite color’s black?" I looked down at her to see if she was satisfied. Surprisingly, she shoved me. I laughed, taking that into account. Physical contact = comfort level rose.
"Law school?" she pondered. “You don’t look like no lawyer," she said bluntly and I squinted at her. “What do lawyers look like?" I threw back. “Offended?" she snickered, and I dropped it, smiling in defeat.
"Bu nah, I’m not really a lawyer," I admitted.
"What do you then Mr. Cornell?"
I opened my mouth to answer..and I felt weird. As an Undercover, you don’t ever blow your cover, for anything—ever. So I normally lie about my profession straight through my teeth. I keep them knowing as little details about me as possible. But I was feelin’ weird as hell fixin’ to lie to her like..I shouldn’t, but why?
"I’m an assistant to a paralegal," I lied uncomfortably. It’s the same lie I keep with every suspect I get close to. “Speaking of work, how did someone with a Business degree from NYU end up at Reebie’s?" I switched the direction of the conversation, to which she unknowingly obliged.
"I’ve only been around her 3 months," she sighed, “I’m just working my way up," she shrugged.
3 months.
"Oh word? Where’d you move from?" I asked, chucking my wrapper in a near by trash bin. She was hesitant in answering, almost like she debating and it was either a lie or the truth that would spill forth. Of course I knew; but whether or not she’d lie would tell me a lot.
"Brooklyn."
Lie.
I nodded, unlocking my car from a far with the key. “Why’d you leave, if you don’t mind me asking?" I tread softly before she caught on that I was slowly invading into her personal business. She blew air from her lips, looking down, not seeming to notice. Another lie would ensue.
"Just wanted a change," She looked up at me. “It’s good to..to get away, you know?" she said quietly, and her tone let me know she was serious. It wasn’t really a lie; Carter or what she did to Carter might’ve been a motive to want to ‘get away’.
I nodded. I’ve got 3 weeks left to figure why Aaliyah Scott left Brooklyn 3 months ago; so I can answer why Mrs. and Mr. Carter disappeared 3 months ago, from Long Island.
"I understand."
-
Zhane
"He’s named after a letter?" I squinted at Liyah as she combed through her mass of hair in the bathroom, clad in her bath towel.
I had started pressing my bartender uniform for work tonight at Club Zer0 around 5 o’clock and in walks Liyah around 6 o’clock; she’s normally home by 4:30, her end shift at Reebie’s. Normally, I wouldn’t care—but then when Roxy started calling up the house phone about some “Where’s Aaliyah, she never came back after lunch." and after I begged her to cover for her— I had to ask as soon she walked in.
And the reason for it all is behind some nigga whose parents named him after a damn letter.
"Nae," she glared at me dully as she brushed past me down the hall. I followed. “Well what do you want me to say when you come home telling me you were out with some ‘regular’ at the diner? I asked bluntly and she just rolled her eyes. I continued.
"Mind you, you spent the rest of the afternoon with em’; Roxy called up in here looking for you when you didn’t show after break; I had to beg her to cover for you."
"And I’m forever indebted, your highness," she said curtly, curtsying at me as she bunned up her hair. “Ha ha ha," I fake laughed at her, making a face as I plopped on her bed.
"Alright, alright. Who is he, even?" I digressed, giving her a chance to explain without judging, and her face lite up.
"His name is Jay, only because he won’t tell me the real thing," she rolled her eyes. “He’s a paralegal’s assistant, he’s 25 and he’s been coming into Reebie’s over a week now, and that’s how I know him" she said like she’d just shared with me this niggas life story.
"That’s it?" I rose the corner of my top lip in dissatisfaction. “Well..yeah," she answered shrugging. “We talked about everything! He’s really easy to talk to," she gleamed, continuing on her fantasy bullshit.
"Aaliyah." I changed my tone and she understood. “I moved here 3 months ago, I’m from Brooklyn, and I wanted to get away—I know, I know," she crossed her arms at me. “I didn’t say anything important."
"You like you some letter J, don’t ya?" I said abruptly.
She pointed to herself as if it was other people in here. “Me? Nooo, he’s just a friend."
“Just a friend?"
“Just a friend."
I threw my hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright. I still think it’s risky to be getting close to someone you don’t know shit about who just so happens to swoop through your job daily out of the blue, that’s all I’m sayin’," I stood up, exiting her room.
I just didn’t like the way it sounded..
at all.
