Page 55 of The Brooklyn Way
“I’m so glad we came together, Brooklyn.”
I chuckled. “You’re just saying that because I’m driving.”
The plan I made with Carrington to meet at the airport worked out perfectly. I only had to wait for about forty minutes to spot her disembarking her plane. We hugged, squealed like we hadn’t seen each other in ages, instead of just days, then we hustled over to baggage claim. Once we had our bags and our rental car, I navigated us to the high-rise building that Cameron called home in Chicago.
“I’m an island girl. Chicago intimidates me,” Carrington admitted. “I get all… discombobulated trying to follow the GPS without hitting a pedestrian or a reckless driver. With you here, I can sit back and be a passenger princess, while you deal with the stress of getting us where we need to go.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I made a left-hand turn on to Cicero Avenue so that I could pick up I55. We were headed past downtown and over to the north side of the city where Cameron lived.
Carrington had full access to her brother’s building. Instead of having to circle the block repeatedly, waiting for a spot on the street to open up or utilizing one of the over-priced parking garages, I was allowed to pull the rental car onto the private parking lot connected to his building.
When we got to the bank of elevators, Carrington was in possession of some kind of badge thing that allowed us access to the penthouse. When we got to his door, she entered a code and placed her hand on some super high-tech looking screen. Once her hand was scanned, we heard the locks disengage.
“Wow,” I commented. “It’s weird seeing all of these security measures when he doesn’t even lock the door on the house on Jackson Island.”
Carrington shot me a knowing gaze. “Chicago is not Jackson Island.”
She wasn’t lying.
We stepped into Cameron’s living room. The first thing that came to mind was the theme song of The Jeffersons.
“Damn, Cameron done moved on up, Weezy,” I joked.
Carrington gave me a blank stare. “What?”
“Uhm, we’re moving on up, to the east side… to a de-luxe apartment in the sky,” I sang. “It’s from The Jeffersons.”
“What is The Jeffersons? A reality show?”
I threw up my hands. “I know it’s an old show but you never watched Nick at Night as a kid? Or BET?”
Before she could answer, a feminine voice hollered out from the back of the apartment. “Cameron told me you were coming.” The voice got closer to us with each word. “I’m just finishing up in the kitchen. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”
Carrington and I stood frozen in shock as the pretty, curvy young lady came into view, stepping into the living room.
“Who are you?” Carrington found her voice first.
I was still in shock. It had only been thirteen days. Had he already replaced me? He already had some pretty, curvy heifer living in his house? I stared at the woman, really stared at her. She looked familiar.
“I’m…” she began, before I jumped in.
“You’re Genesis Upton. You’re Christian Upton’s wife.” I was giddy with excitement at realizing that I was standing face-to-face with Genesis Upton. “My father was a huge fan of your husband’s. Christian was his favorite player… behind Michael Jordan, of course.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “It’s nice to meet you.” She gave her attention to Carrington. “You have to be Carrington. You look just like Cameron. I mean, as much as a woman can look like a man.”
“Yeah, I get that all of the time. We definitely favor, but I’m the pretty one.”
“You definitely are.”
“This,” Carrington gestured toward me, “is Brooklyn Waverly. She’s a gown designer and Cameron’s girlfriend.”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” I protested.
Carrington eyed me. “How would you describe your position in his life, Brooklyn?”
Once I was on the spot, I really didn’t like any of the descriptors that I could give myself. “Okay,” I relented, “I’m his girlfriend.”
Genesis chuckled. “I’m his personal chef.”