The Illest, page 1
The Illest
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. The author can be contacted through his website www.ranwalker.com.
© 2014, 2019 Randolph Walker, Jr.
Cover image used courtesy of Judeus Samson
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45 Alternate Press, LLC
Hampton, Virginia
The Illest
A Novella
Ran Walker
Contents
1. Brooklyn
2. Solo
3. Hittin'
4. Flava
5. Perspectives
6. Heat
7. Choices
8. Trust
9. Dreams
10. Denouement
Bonus Story
Bonus Story
Other Books By Ran Walker
About the Author
1
Brooklyn
Even after a week, Troy Dobbs still had yet to completely adjust to Aunt Flo’s brownstone. It was far more spacious than the dorm room he had occupied over the past four years, and it was also much nicer than anything he had lived in, including his parents’ house just off the bay in Gloucester, Virginia.
The decorations throughout the brownstone reflected an entirely different level of cultural sophistication than he was accustomed to. There were carved masks from Nairobi, signed prints by various African-American artists, and black & white photographs that were matted and framed featuring Aunt Flo alongside celebrities, politicians, and potentates. The furniture was sparse, yet fly, and ceiling-high bookcases stretched along two entire walls of the living room, packed with books from a myriad of African-American, Caribbean, and African writers. There was even a piece of a wood (part of a door maybe?) with Jean-Michel Basquiat’s discernible handwriting, accompanied by his trademark crown. Against the rest of the artifacts of Aunt Flo’s Cabinet of Curiosities, Troy didn’t need to question its authenticity. He was, after all, in Brooklyn, and such things, as he was learning, were not completely unheard of.
The Notorious B.I.G. had passed away only three months earlier, and Brooklyn was wrestling with one of its most significant losses in years, yet it was still poised on the verge of declaring itself the new, undisputed capital of Planet Hip-Hop. Of course, Biggie’s home neighborhood of Bed Stuy was a far cry from the Huxtable-like comfort of Aunt Flo’s Brooklyn Heights neighborhood, but to Troy it was still technically Brooklyn and therefore good enough to embrace and throw his hands in the air whenever he heard Biggie rap the famous phrase, “Is Brooklyn in the house?”
Aunt Flo was out globetrotting with her latest male companion (a French model fifteen years her junior, Troy had heard), this time on a European cruise that departed from Barcelona. Her graduation gift to her only nephew was to leave the keys to her brownstone, a building of which she occupied all three floors (and basement) by herself, and have him housesit for the month that she would be away. And even though he had not yet gotten used to the amazing view of the skyline of Manhattan from the promenade view outside the kitchen window, he was gradually acclimating himself to the neighborhood, having found a breakfast diner on the corner of Henry and Clark and several great lunch and dinner spots along Montague Street.
His bedroom was on the second floor of the house, just off from the den area and down the hall from the kitchen. This was also the floor that housed the master bedroom and, from the clear look of things, the floor Aunt Flo occupied most. Artwork filled the halls, and personal photographs in small frames rested on the edges of freshly polished shelves.
Troy was not completely sure he knew what Aunt Flo did for a living, but he knew she had been married to a media mogul for ten years and had come away from that situation pretty well off. Since then she had become a bon vivant in a family full of people who neither had the time nor the interest in hedonistic socializing.
While Troy had been to Aunt Flo’s home once several years back, he never imagined he would have the full run of the place. Each morning he awoke pinching himself and reminding himself of his amazing fortune. This awestruck state occupied most of his first week, and by the time he made it to Sunday morning, he had collapsed on the chaise lounge in the first floor library, a copy of Gloria Naylor’s Mama Day opened across his chest, Coltrane’s A Love Supreme playing softly in the background, telling himself he would one day have a place like this for his own.
The doorbell startled him, as the sound seemed to ring throughout every floor of the house all at once. He stirred, rolling himself off the chaise, and headed for the door. He wasn’t expecting company—he didn’t know anyone in New York—so he contemplated not answering the door. But wasn’t the point of housesitting to let people know the house was being occupied? He reluctantly went to the door and pressed the intercom button.
“Yes?” he answered.
“Is Florence in?” a woman asked.
“She’s out right now. I can take a message, though.”
“I just came by to drop off a book I borrowed,” the woman said.
“You can leave it with me, if you want.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Troy, her nephew. Can I ask who you are?”
“Eris.”
Troy hesitated.
No way. It couldn’t be. But he only knew of one person named Eris, and he thought he remembered seeing a picture of her in the house somewhere.
He nervously clicked the button to let her into the brownstone. Opening the second bolted door behind the front door, he watched in awe as Eris Perry walked into the room, a large coffee table book tucked under her arm. Troy wanted to smile nonchalantly, but his nerves got the better of him. He mentally settled on just trying to avoid coming off as wack.
“Hi, Eris,” he said, unsure of what else to say.
She handed Troy the book, and he took it, examining the cover. It was a collection of nude photography by Marc Baptiste.
“So you like Marc Baptiste?” he asked.
“Yeah. He asked me to pose for his next book.”
Troy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Eris Perry, with her beautiful, flawless deep brown complexion and the most incredible legs since Tina Turner, would be posing nude for Marc Baptiste. He did his best not to stare at her body through her orange and gold cotton sundress and the light scarf that hung from her neck, but because of the large tinted sunglasses she was wearing, he couldn’t tell if she noticed him trying not to steal a glance at her.
“I think you’d be a great model,” he said.
The exhalation from her mouth was part laugh, part sigh, as she shook her head. “So when will Flo be back?”
“She’s in Barcelona about to take a 14-day cruise. She should be back at the end of the month. I’m housesitting for her.”
He realized he was telling her a lot, but at this point he would have told her his social security number had she asked. This was Eris Perry, after all.
“Well, just tell her I came by,” she said.
“Hold on,” he said. “I didn’t get a chance to offer you something to drink. I want to make sure I’m being hospitable.”
“Nah, I’m good. Just tell Flo I came by.”
“Yeah. Okay,” he said. “I will.”
Troy could feel the moment quickly slipping away as she headed toward the door.
“Hold on, Eris,” he said. His nerves were finally settling out and now he was left only with the remnants of embarrassment.
She turned around, and he was unsure if she was perturbed by his attempts at delaying her departure. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry. Can we start over? I’m Troy Dobbs, and I just graduated from Ellison-Wright College in Atlanta, and this is my first time being here in New York on my own, and I don’t know anyone here, and it’s been real quiet this first week, and, well, you’re the first person I have had a conversation with since I’ve been here. I’m not gonna lie to you and say that being around a movie star like you isn’t intimidating on some level, but on the real, this is the best thing that has happened to me since I arrived, and I guess I’m just trying to make it last as long as I can.”
Eris listened to his rambling introduction and nodded. “It’s cool,” she finally responded. “I guess I can get some tea, if you don’t mind.”
Troy sighed. “Thanks. I really appreciate it, Ms. Perry.”
“Just call me Eris,” she said. “Troy, right?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling at the fact she remembered his name. “Right up this way,” he said, ushering her up the stairs to the second floor kitchen.
Eris took a seat at the table just off from the kitchen, while Troy pulled down the box of Tazo tea Aunt Flo kept in a cabinet next to the stove.
“Ellison-Wright College, huh?” she said.
“Yep. I finished last month with a major in mass communications.”
“What do you plan on doing with that?”
“I just got accepted to USC for film school, so I’ll be headed out there in August.”
She smiled. “A filmmaker? Okay.”
The obvious thing for him to do would be to ask her to be in one of his student films, but he fought the urge to come at her like that. From what little he knew about the
“I start shooting a new film in another month. Vancouver again,” she responded.
“Must be nice,” Troy said, setting the water kettle on the stove. “I think I’ve seen just about every movie you’ve been in.”
“Thank you. But can I be straight up with you, Troy?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t really like to talk about work and all that stuff when I’m kicking back and chilling. All of my friends are good about this. Your aunt is one of my closest friends. She’s been around the industry for a while and she’s been like a mother figure to me since I moved to Brooklyn. She’s definitely one of the people who helps keep things normal in my life.”
Troy took down two mugs from the curio cabinet against the wall of the kitchen. “I had no idea my aunt was even cool like that.”
“She’s definitely cool like that.”
“Okay. So movies are out. What is there to do around here? I’ve been to a few places, but I’m still branching out slowly,” he said.
“This is New York. Honestly, you can do whatever you’d like.”
“Well, what do you like to do?”
“Seriously?” she asked, biting her lower lip. “Probably walk down the street to the promenade and look across the East River. It’s the best view of New York, bar none.”
“So do you live in Brooklyn Heights?” Troy asked, pouring the water and then dropping in the tea bags. “Chai okay?”
“Sure. And no. I live in Fort Greene, but I like to come over here every other weekend for a change of scenery.”
He placed the mugs on the table and sat down across from her. For a moment they sipped their teas in silence.
“I really appreciate your company,” he said.
“No problem. I’m actually enjoying just chilling out.”
“Well, if you ever want to come back by and hang out, I’m definitely available.”
She laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
When Eris finished her mug, she stood. “Well, it’s been nice. I have to run.”
Troy stood. “Yeah. I understand. It’s been cool.”
Eris nodded.
“Let me walk you out.”
“Thanks,” she responded, following him down the stairs.
Four hours later and Troy was still floored by the fact that he’d hosted Eris Perry in his aunt’s brownstone. He had wanted to ask for her phone number, but didn’t want to pressure her after things had gone so well. Plus, she knew how to reach him if she wanted to.
Troy had graduated from Coltrane to A Tribe Called Quest’s Beats, Rhymes and Life album, with “1nce Again” looping on repeat. He tried to read more of his book, but he found his mind unable to sit still. Instead, he turned off the lights, reclined on the chaise lounge, and nodded off to the dopeness of the J. Dilla beat filling the room.
2
Solo
The Twin Towers punctuated the Monday evening skyline, the financial district glowing like a cluster of stars against the purple and pinkish hues of the evening sky. Across to the left, the Statue of Liberty stood in the sparkling blackness of the East River, almost like a rocket preparing to shoot off of Ellis Island and up into the dusky stratosphere. Troy stared in awe, his right hand planted firmly in his pocket, his fingers dancing along the nine and seven of the keychain he purchased several months ago alongside his graduation robe.
The gourmet ice cream in his cup was beginning to melt, and he wondered whether his introverted nature would cause him to miss out on what could be a great vacation. He had gone to the tourist-centric places, but hung back in the shadows, hoping to blend in with the locals. There were just so many people, none of them friends, associates, or even people with whom he would consider exploring his surroundings. It was then that this one reality dawned on him as he stared out into the night sky: for there to be eight million people who populated the metropolitan area of New York City, he could not possibly feel any lonelier than he did at that moment.
He knew Eris probably would not come by the brownstone until after Aunt Flo returned, and he doubted he would cross paths with her on the promenade either. Not now anyway. She had been the only person with whom he had shared any meaningful moment, and he dreaded that he might have come off as a starfucker in how he gushed over her.
When he returned to the brownstone, he picked up the phone and called his parents.
His mother answered in her warm, inviting voice on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Mom,” Troy said, hoping that his voice did not sound too winy.
“How are you doing, baby? How is Brooklyn treating you?”
“It’s nice. How are you and Dad?”
“Oh, we’re just fine. Your father’s in the den watching some action movie on HBO. You know how he gets when he’s watching his movies.”
“Yeah,” Troy said.
If he had been home with his parents, he would have been watching that movie with his father. It was part of their ritual and one of the reasons he fell in love with movies in the first place. When Troy’s father found out that he had been accepted to film school, the old man could not have been any prouder.
“Are you okay?” his mother asked. “You sound a little down.”
He started to lie to her, but his loneliness wouldn’t allow him to. “It’s just slow. I don’t really know anyone here, and there’s only so much I can do by myself. It’s like going to Busch Gardens alone on the Fourth of July. You know what I mean?”
“I see,” she responded. “I’m sure you’ll find someone to do things with. You’ve only been there for a week.”
“Well, I did meet someone yesterday, but I doubt I’ll hear from her again before I leave.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she’s famous, Mom.”
“Is that one of Flo’s friends?”
“Yes.”
They sat quietly on the phone for a few seconds.
“So are you going to tell me or do I have to ask?” his mother said.
Troy chuckled, enjoying the fact that his mother was not one for suspense, very much unlike his father. “It was Eris Perry.”
“Are you talking about Victoria from that movie with Denzel?”
“That’s her.”
Troy found it curiously ironic that his mother only referred to actors by the names of characters they had played in movies she liked—well, actors other than Denzel—when she actually knew the actors’ real names.
“Well, did you ask her out?”
Troy laughed. “Are you serious, Mom? This is Eris Perry we’re talking about. What would I look like asking her out on a date?”
“Like a man who’s interested in getting to know her better.”
Troy started to respond, but he realized that his mother actually had a point. He could have asked her out, and while she might have turned him down, at least he would have known whether the mental energy he spent analyzing the previous day was really worth the effort.
The bottom line was that he was scared to ask her out. He knew that—and his mother probably knew that, although she would never say it directly to his face.
“I tell you what. If I see her again, I’ll be sure to ask her out,” Troy said.
“You do that,” his mother responded. “And you know, if you wanted to, you could always lock up the brownstone and come back home for the rest of the summer. We’d love to have you here.”
“Thanks, Mom, but I want to make the most of this opportunity. I’ll still have a few weeks when I get home before I head out to Los Angeles, though. Maybe when I get back, Dad can gas up the boat and we can all go out on the bay and do some crabbing.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
“Okay. And Mom? Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine. Things have just been a little slow. That’s all. I promise I’ll get out and have an adventure tomorrow.”
