Reality Check by Eric Pete

had lunch delivered, because I don’t have much time.”
    “Oops. Well, I didn’t have anything delivered except for what’s on my desk there,” he replied, pointing over my shoulder.
    On Lionel’s desk were airline tickets, as well as brochures. I saw the words “Miami” and “South Beach” and went crazy.
    “Lionel! No! Is this the secret you mentioned the other night?”
    “Yeah.” He chuckled, sounding sexier than usual. “You like?”
    “Do I like? Of course!” I jumped in his arms again, getting the kiss he’d intentionally put off before. “Um, when are you planning this for?” I asked, catching my breath.
    “This weekend. We fly out of LAX Friday and return Monday evening.”
    “Monday? But I have to work.”
    “Guess you need to go back to that office and tell them you need Monday off, huh? Or you could just quit ...”
    “Nope. Nice try. I’ll take Monday off.”
    “Good. Now we’ll have some alone time. No distractions, just rest and relaxation and time to talk about us.”
    That last comment bothered me slightly, as I knew what that “talk about us” entailed. I needed to start acting my age and shake off these irrational doubts that plagued me.
    “I look forward to it,” I answered with as honest a smile as I could muster.

14
     
    Max
     
    Friday night had me dancing around my living room in my drawers to Al Green’s “Love and Happiness” with a hot iron in my hand. As I spun around the rickety ironing board, I placed a perfect crease on the sleeve of my shirt. Having some ends in your pocket and someplace to go will do that to you.
    After picking up our paychecks, Smitty had tightened me up with a fresh haircut. I’d showered, and my Kenneth Cole cologne was just right. I wanted the ladies to smell it, not choke on it. Jay, who was going to be our driver, was selecting our destination. His volunteering was a rarity. We usually went in separate cars, giving Jay the freedom to break out and get his “whap-whap” whenever he wanted. Knowing Jay, he probably wanted to use my apartment or something.
    Speaking of Jay, he arrived bearing gifts. Heinekens in hand. Maybe I misjudged him this time.
    We all agreed to go kinda casual for the night, so no suits. I ignored the “kinda” and tried to do some Kanye shit—a black sweater vest atop a white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves, my most expensive denims, and some black Chuck Taylors. Oh, and a loose black necktie
    “What the fuck?” Jay asked at my failed experiment. We’d said no suits, and he still wore one. Fuck him and his hatin’ ass.
    “Just give me a beer,” I said as I locked up and led him upstairs to Smitty’s. Whatever me and Jay had on, Smitty, true to himself, rocked a bright-as-hell silk shirt with black slacks and shoes. Fool looked like he was ready for Dancing with the Stars rather than the club. So much for stealth. I guess it was best that the womens knew we were coming from a block away. It gave them time to prepare—and run for cover.
    “Awww, my eyes!” I screamed before Jay could beat me to it.
    Smitty slammed the door on us—until he found out we had beer.
    We killed the Heinekens while telling the traditional tales of the women we’d had and of the ones we hoped to get. Smitty’s stereo had the walls shaking with Keri Hilson and that new album from Tha Dogg Pound, but I wanted to hear some Lil’ Wayne and some classic UGK. I stumbled downstairs and grabbed a couple of their CDs for Smitty to jam. Jay couldn’t help but come with the “country” cracks, but it didn’t faze me. I had my buzz on and I was in L.A. Haters be damned.
    Jay let us in on the destination once we were rolling. We were on our way to hang with the beautiful people at El Ami in Hollywood. Normally, we had a slim chance of getting in the joint on a Friday night, but Jay went to high school with the brother at the door. That made our chances a lot better. Well, that and forty bucks that we’d thrown together. Jay