Chapter 6

Six

P retty

Never had I ever wanted to get home fast enough, so I could get to the bottom of my husband's insane decision making. He hired this… person to become my son's nanny. Without even asking me first.

It was bad enough the man was a sexist pig. Felt like he had to challenge me at every turn, trying to humble me for simply being a woman. If he thought he'd have the power to run over me, he had another thing coming. Once I found my husband, he was going to either explain the meaning of this, or Mr. Sullivan would be on his way.

The moment Mr. Sullivan parked my car in the garage, I didn't even waste a single minute before I was storming to my husband's study. I did my best to let this man lead, but sometimes, if I didn't proceed with caution, he would lead us right over a cliff. A decision this questionable we should have discussed together first.

Vernon was going over paperwork, nursing a scotch, as I snatched the drink right out of his hand to keep his attention. "Did you hire a male nanny?" I asked, unable to hide the frustration in my tone.

"Don't start with me today, Pretty," Vernon warned, attempting to reach for his drink back until I put a respectable distance between us.

"What do you mean ‘ don't start with me '. You're the one inviting some strange man into our home!"

"Well, I wouldn't need to hire a man if you didn't fire or chase off all the female applicants," he snapped back, feeding my insecurity. I swear he did it on purpose, just to win the argument.

"I just don't see why you can't just hire a nice little old Eastern European lady like I've been saying." One thing I knew about my husband is that he appreciated them foreign, but not that foreign.

"Pretty," Vernon started, under a deep breath. "I'm convinced you'd have a problem no matter the race, gender, age, body type or creed. To you, each and every one of them will be a hussy." He stood, plucking his drink from my hand.

What he said had some validity to it, but it was hard to be a self-made woman. When I wasn't working, I was advocating for myself. When I wasn't advocating for myself, I was in constant competition. I didn't want to feel like I was competing with other women in my own home.

If given the chance, I could be a softer, much more obedient wife, but Vernon gives me next to no support outside of the product Pretty Washington .

Granted, he had done a lot to amplify my career. But that support fell short when it came to being the mother of his children. And it was virtually non-existent when it came to being his wife.

When Pretty Washington needed something, he made damn sure that version of me had it. But when the wife and mother of his son was drowning, his only suggestion was to hire a nanny so that the workload didn't fall back on him. It was like he didn't even hear me half the time, so yeah, he was getting an argument.

"That's right. I don't want some scallywag around my child." Hoping to get a lick in before he closed the conversation.

"Well, the man I hired ain't no scallywag. He'll probably be better at the job than a woman. Men who've served the military have order. Can cook. Provide discipline."

"You ain't never served the military. So, a woman's gotta wonder, how do you know all that?" I challenged.

"Pretty you got a million and one questions. Why can't you just see that this is the solution to our problem? Plus, ain't you always complaining that it scares you to be left alone so much. Having another man in the house when I'm not here solves another problem," he said, as if he didn't want me to have an opinion about it.

"Well, he don't look like no nanny I've ever seen," my pacing suddenly matching his own so Vernon couldn't run away from me."

"A nanny don't got a look, Pretty."

"Vernon, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that man looks more like a gangster than a caretaker," I interrupted through gritted teeth. Too many things pointed to my theory to ignore it.

"Plus, I saw a hint of a tattoo near his neck. Ain't no clean-cut factory worker dressing themselves in tattoos."

"Pretty, don't tell me you've gotten so bougie, we're judging people by their looks?—"

"And their style. And their demeanor. And their accent," I interrupted, ticking off each trait with my fingers. "The man is rude. He didn't treat me with a lick of respect the entire ride."

"Wait a minute, why were you with him the ride here?"

Playing with my freshly painted manicure, I confessed my guilt. "I may have hit his car on the way here?—"

"You what?"

"Baby, it's settled. I handled everything. We just have to reimburse him since he paid everything up front himself."

"Pretty you are so impulsive!" Vernon yelled.

"Well, it ain't like I hit the man on purpose. Only reason I wasn't paying attention was because I was rushing home to you and Elijah."

"So now I have to pay him more than what we already agreed to." Of course, he's more upset about the money than anything else.

"Vernon, you wouldn't have to pay him at all if you just helped out more. I don't mind doing the bulk of the load, but if you could just be around for Elijah more, I wouldn't get on your case so much. That boy is drowning and needs his father. Even when you're home, you barely pay him any attention."

"Pretty we've gone over this. I give that boy what he needs. A roof over his head. Fine clothes to wear. A chance at a good education and neighborhood to be proud to live in. That's a hell of a lot more than my daddy gave me."

Every time we had this discussion, he'd just say the same thing. That he was already doing more than what most fathers did for their children. "But boys are different. When they have their fathers, they look to them for validation, not just for their ability to provide."

Which if we were being honest, was really me providing, since none of those things would be possible without my music paying for everything.

"Well, I have to keep this wheel going. Otherwise, how can I keep you in pretty dresses, diamonds and pearls?" The comeback comment I'd had for that argument, I kept to myself to spare Vernon's ego. Truth be told, I'd be in nice things whether he was my manager or not. But when I was winning the argument, he'd find some way to make me come off as more emotional.

All of a sudden, he'd come down with a bad case of amnesia, because whenever it pertained to him and money, he forgot that I fell for him broke.

A knock on the threshold to his study diverted both of our attentions to the door. In all our arguing, I'd forgotten I'd left him in the garage. He must have followed the arguing.

"Would you two prefer I come another time? All it would take is a ring to one of my brother's?—"

"That would be best?—"

"That won't be necessary—" My husband and I said in the same breath.

"What my wife meant to say was, you're already here. Why don't we give you a tour?" Vernon suggested before joining him in the hallway.

"How do you handle the mouth on that one?" Mr. Sullivan laughed in a condescending manner.

Vernon was lucky all he said was, "She's not always like that." Otherwise he would have had another subject we'd be arguing about later.

There was something off about that man that clearly my husband was too blind to see. He even strut like a criminal. Mr. Sullivan was young, or at least he didn't look very seasoned to me. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five but he could have just had good genes.

In my industry, you could never trust a man that handsome. Quite often, they were snakes in the grass. Interestingly, I'd never found myself attracted to blonds much, and while I'd never admit it out loud, blond hair never looked so good. You could tell he wasn't bottle blond either, as the color of his neatly trimmed beard matched.

But outside of that self-satisfying smirk he wore, I knew nothing about him. So, you better believe I was paying close attention to his every step, because if anything turned up missing, the authorities would be getting involved.

The phone rang from a distance, prompting Vernon to excuse himself, leaving me alone with the nightmare with dangerous dimples. "Not bad." A comment I assumed was due to the tour of the house.

"Not bad for what?"

"Stop taking offense to every damn thing. I'm only complimenting the fact you've got a nice place. You must be talented, if you could put all this together." Truth be told, talent paid for most of it, but I will admit it was a little bit of luck, and a whole lot of hard work.

"Well, Vernon is a good manager. Kept me booked up until Elijah. Now, he juggles a few clients and new gigs just to pay for the luxuries."

Mr. Sullivan looked to each side of him before asking, "By the way, where's the kid? Figured if I'm going to be working with him, might as well rip the band aid off?—"

Before I could answer, Vernon stormed back into the hallway wearing his suit jacket over his forearm, assumingly in a hurry. "Listen, Pretty. Something came up at the office, and if I don't handle it, I'm going to lose a contract."

"But baby, I just got home. I was going to make something special for you and Elijah."

"If anything, I'll just heat it up when I get home," he dismissed, kissing me on the forehead in a rush. "Honestly, depending on how my night goes, I may be catching dinner with a colleague, so no need to waste a meal on me. I'll try to be as quick as I can, but I don't want you to wait up for me."

"But Vernon!" He didn't even give me a chance to convince him before he was already slamming the garage door. Our reunion was off to a beautiful start.

Forgetting there was a stranger in my home who had witnessed that exchange, with an attempt not to lose face, I insisted Mr. Sullivan follow me in hopes it masked the fact Vernon's absence bothered me.

Even though I held back tears of loneliness, who I was most upset for was my son. I was an adult, so I could recover from rejection. But Elijah didn't understand why his father didn't make time for him. And I couldn't get Vernon to see how much it was affecting Elijah's self-esteem.

"Elijah's a sensitive kid, so he doesn't just take to anybody," I gently warned. "No hard feelings if you're not a good fit for the job," I said, as we approached Elijah's room.

"We'll see about that." Mr. Sullivan spoke with a little bit too much confidence for my taste. I'd made it clear that Mr. Sullivan wasn't to approach until I brought up the possible caretaking arrangement. If Elijah rejected him, gave me one bad feeling, or even looked at him with fear in his eyes, he was out the door.

His door was open, so my heart hurt a little bit witnessing Elijah playing in his room by himself. He looked so sad and lonely, and while this neighborhood suited our needs best, it was hard for him to make friends since there weren't many Black kids in Back Bay.

Elijah's face lit up when he saw me, as I kicked off my heels and bent down to hug him at his height. This little boy didn't care what I gave him, how much weight I gained or how much money I made. He was just grateful when I was here.

"Mommy! How was Chicago?"

"It was cold," I overemphasized, gesturing with a burring sound. "But I brought you something," I said, reaching into my pocket for the Chicago keychain I got him. At his age, he was too young to go on the road with me, so I made sure to always bring something back from the cities I played until he was old enough and we could revisit them together.

"How has school been?" Suddenly his demeanor went from optimistic to monotone.

"It's been okay."

"Just okay?"

"I don't really like my new school that much," he admitted, the once-happy-to-see-me kid withdrawing into an isolated shell.

"Is there a reason why?" I asked, hoping he would be honest with me. He just shook his cherub face and assured me that he hadn't made any friends and that he wished he could go back to his old school.

His old school had been a public one, but Vernon wanted Elijah to get a good education so he could attend college one day. Show business paid our bills, but Vernon didn't want to chance his future on talent, so he wanted him in the books so he could make something of himself.

Vernon didn't say it, but sometimes what I heard when he was so adamant on him getting an education was "so you don't need a nagging woman to build you."

But I suspect it was my insecurity thinking that. Before I missed the opportunity to, I decided to ease the thought of Mr. Sullivan to Elijah.

"Hey, Elijah, you know how we're always talking about having someone around when me and daddy are working?"

"Maybe?" he said, assessing to see where I was going with the shift in conversation.

"Well, I wanted you to meet someone. But if you don't like them, or you prefer me or your father, you can be honest. I would respect your opinion," I reassured. Mr. Sullivan strut into the room, wearing his suit jacket over his forearm as he laid it on the floor and bent down to shake Elijah's hand.

"I hear you're Elijah. Your parents wanted me to meet you because there's a chance we might be spending time together." Mr. Sullivan looked to his dresser and pointed to his signed baseball. "You like baseball?"

"I love baseball," Elijah said a little bit too excited.

"What's your favorite team?"

Despite his hesitation, Elijah eventually answered, "The Red Sox."

" See , I can't trust a man who doesn't answer with the Red Sox." Mr. Sullivan's demeanor went from someone stern to one of shared camaraderie.

"Are you even from Boston if your loyalty isn't to the Red Sox. Who's your favorite player?"

"Babe Ruth."

"Babe Ruth? See, I'm more of a Joe Cronin man myself. But that was only after Ruth betrayed and cursed us all by going over to the fu—the Yankees," Mr. Sullivan stopped himself from swearing.

Sports weren't my expertise. The way reading music confused the average person, talking about baseball was like a foreign language to me. Even Vernon wasn't much a sports fan, but since they were both male, I just figured he'd eventually take in an interest in it for his son.

Watching Mr. Sullivan and Elijah talk about their favorite plays, favorite home runs, whether they'd ever sat at a game live, I was just in awe. Elijah never spoke this much to strangers. It was like Elijah came alive in the conversation. The only shitty thing about it was, Mr. Sullivan was likely going to throw it in my face.

"Elijah, I was going to start dinner soon, but me and Mr. Sullivan need to discuss something. When I come back, I'd like to hear more about school."

"Okay," Elijah replied disappointed.

"Hopefully this isn't the last time I see you kid. I look forward to talking more about baseball."

"Really?" Elijah squealed, as Mr. Sullivan held his hand out for him to receive a high five. Elijah's face lit up at the idea of having someone to talk to. Now I actually have to hire him.

"I'll be back, honey," I said with a kiss to his forehead as I excused the both of us out the room. Making sure we were a respectable distance so Elijah couldn't hear what we discussed, I brought Mr. Sullivan to my play room, as Mr. Sullivan looked around the room in wonder or awe, I couldn't tell which one.

"Cute kid." Mr. Sullivan shrugged.

"I'm going to give you one chance not to fuck up. But if you fuck up, you're gone."

"And I'm going to make one thing clear. I do not work for you . It's your husband that hired me. Not you . As long as Vernon wants me here, that's not your decision to make. And it's clear as day the kid wants me here?—"

"Mr. Sullivan, do you want this job?" I interrupted, being subject to that condescending laugh and dimpled smirk. "Because if you plan to keep it, it's going to start with respecting my household, including the people in it."

"I can do that. As long as you can agree not to be so bloody sensitive. Everything ain't an attack on you. I'm Irish. You can't take a joke around us, you'll never know when we're flirting with you."

Flirting? Was…Mr. Sullivan flirting with me? "We'll work on that. But you'll also be expected to adhere to some house rules?—"

"Like what?" He interrupted.

"Wake up times to ensure you're getting Elijah up and ready. A curfew?—"

"Curfews?" He smirked once again, interrupting. "What do I look fourteen?"

"Look, I'm not going to let some stranger come and go as they please in my house."

"Fair enough. Is there anything else?"

"Naturally you'd get weekends off." Unsure of what other incentives Vernon offered.

"Weekends, huh? Does it come with benefits and raises with satisfactory behavior, too?" He smiled sarcastically.

"Mr. Sullivan, I'm taking a chance on you. On the strength that my son, against his better judgment, seemed to like you. I was serious about only giving you one chance."

"And I was serious about you not being the one that hired me. See, that's the problem with women. They do more talking than listening. I know what I'm doing Mrs. Washington."

"I'm reminding you," I said through a fake, forced smile. "You have one time to fuck up. I don't care who the hell hired you. If I'm trusting you with my son, I won't give you two chances to give me a reason not to make sure you're out on your ass."

"Mrs. Washington, I wouldn't give you the satisfaction. The look on your face alone? The fact that I won't be giving you a reason to bitch will be way more satisfying than what your husband's paying me."