Page 103 of Madam, May I
“Whaddup, Mademoiselle?”
“Nothing much. Congrats on the win last night,” she said. “I’m sure you and the team will get the championship this year, so congrats on that in advance.”
“You sound like we won’t speak again before that.”
Her eyes went to the windows. “We won’t,” she said. He fell silent.
“You there?” she asked.
“I’moffthe list,” he said, his deep voice incredulous.
“No, no, no, no,” Desdemona said. “I am. I’m done. I’m out.”
“Wow,” he said, his surprise obvious. “You good?”
“I am fucking great,” she said. “Just going out on top. That’s all. I’ve been at this for more than half of my life. Time to try on a new coat. You know?”
“You about to shake the game up,” he said. “Is this on lock or spread the word?”
“I’m calling the entire list today, so I’m sure shit is about to get mad hectic,” she said. “I’m calling you first, though.”
“You know what, Angel?” he asked, reverting to her old alias. “I’m happy for you. I’m not judging, but you’re a dope girl and still young as hell, and you deserve more than lining up pussy for us knuckleheads and keeping all our secrets.”
“Thanks for that, and please know those secrets will remain locked away, and you can let everyone know that I willnotsell my list,” she assured him, rising up enough to untuck her feet from beneath her.
“Damn. No more Mademoiselle.”
“That hoe dies today,” she said, chuckling. “Angel, too.”
“And the phone?”
“Clean and burn,” she said. “Cover me like I have covered you all these years.”
“Got it. Clean and burn.”
They fell silent.
“I hear someone coming,” Number One said. “I gotta go, but I feel like I don’t wanna let you go yet.”
“I will take that as a compliment, Champ. Goodbye,” Desdemona said before ending the call.
One by one she made her calls. The morning shifted easily to late afternoon by the time she was done. Celebrities. Athletes. Politicians. Heirs and heiresses. Even royalty. Most took the news with the same nonchalance as learning orange juice instead of apple juice was being served for breakfast. Some tried to buy her back in. A few were angry. Many wished her well. Over the years they had cultivated an odd but necessary relationship with trust at its very core.
She grabbed her keys and slid on her dark, round-framed shades, leaving her apartment behind. During her drive to Riverdale, she put Cardi B’s “Best Life” on repeat and danced in her seat as she drove, feeling light-hearted and happy. “I made a couple M’s with my best friends, turned all my L’s into lessons,” she sang along to the chorus, lightly pounding her fist against the steering wheel.
When she finally parked in front of the sprawling home, she was happy to see Denzin’s motorcycle parked by his side entrance. She couldn’t deny the apprehension she felt. “Now or never, Desi,” she said before climbing from the car with her keys in hand.
She paused and took in the warm weather and sun shining.
“Whaddup, boss?”
Desdemona turned her head to find Denzin standing in the now open doorway in just a towel. “Just the man I wanted to see,” she said, walking toward him.
Denzin stepped back, pulling the door open wider before she entered and strolled into the foyer.
The scent of his soap, deodorant, or cologne was nice. It reminded her of Loren.
“I have some good and bad news,” she said, turning to face him as he closed the door and crossed his muscled arms over his broad chest.