The Family Business

As big as he was, Junior could be as gentle as a lamb—unless provoked. He was in charge of our car carrier and transportation fleet of trucks, along with overseeing our service mechanics. He wasn’t involved much with the financial end of our company, but he could drive and fix anything with an engine, which in our business made him very valuable indeed.

“Humph. Daddy, you’d let that girl get away with murder if you could. I don’t recall you ever saying anything like that to us when we were growing up,” London said with a slight attitude as she took a seat beside her husband, Harris Grant. He and my daughter had met while she attended George Washington University in Washington, D.C., and Harris was attending Georgetown University Law School.

Harris was always thinking, and that keen mind of his had allowed him to graduate magna cum laude from Georgetown. In the years since he and London got married, Harris had become an integral part of all our business affairs and was now the company’s in-house legal counsel. This allowed London to happily relinquish her duties as sales manager and focus on being a loving mother and devoted wife, something she took very seriously and sometimes to extremes.

“Y’all were my kids. It was my job to raise you right. Mariah’s my granddaughter, and it’s our job to spoil her.” I smiled at my daughter, then lifted my hand to my wife, who gave me a high five.

“Well, that ain’t making my job any easier. That girl is just as spoiled as can be.”

“Ha! That’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ about, Mariah,” Paris, Rio’s twin and perhaps the most attractive of our children, blurted out inappropriately as she walked in with some man I didn’t know behind her. “Let them spoil you, girl. You gonna be just like your aunt Paris, aren’t you? Kiss the boys and make them motherfuckers cry!” Paris laughed, but no one in the room—other than Rio—joined in.

London glanced at her younger sister and rolled her eyes. “Could you please stop cursing in front of my daughter? What is wrong with you?”

“Stop tripping, London. She hears much worse than that just sitting out in the service area with Junior and them.”

“Well, I haven’t heard that, but I heard you—”

Harris gently took his wife’s arm and mumbled, “London, it’s not worth it.”

London glanced at me and my wife and then at her husband before she sat back in her chair obediently. “This is some bull. They’d never let me get away with this.”

“Daddy,” Paris said in this gushing voice that customarily rose in pitch when she was seeking my approval. It usually worked, too, except when it had to do with men. Yes, she was a daddy’s girl; there was no question about that. I didn’t know why, but I had a weakness for my youngest daughter, despite the fact that she always seemed to be getting herself in some kind of trouble I had to bail her out of. “Daddy, I’d like you to meet Trevor. Trevor, this is my father, Lavernius Duncan Sr.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir. Ma’am,” he said, greeting Chippy as well. “You have a wonderful daughter.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. Still holding the young man’s hand in mine, I turned to Paris, who was smiling like she’d won the lottery. “So, in what hole did you find this one, Paris? Please tell me you didn’t buy the suit he’s wearing, like you did the last one.” I spoke loudly to be sure the young man understood I didn’t care if he heard my insult.

“Daddy!” Paris shrieked. Her pretty, high yellow face turned beet red from embarrassment. I loved Paris dearly, but I never was one to mask my disappointment in her, especially in her choice of men.

“We met at Antun’s catering hall in Queens Village, sir, and it’s not like that at all. The suit’s mine,” Paris’s date asserted, to my surprise. The rest of the family was taken aback, too, from the looks on their faces. Most of Paris’s little male friends were, unfortunately, bad boys, thugs, or sheep, and were intimidated by me. Surprisingly, this one wasn’t.

“Oh, really? Tell me how it is, son,” I urged, my curiosity piqued by the nature of the stranger in our midst.

“We were having a fund-raiser for my father’s election campaign when I met Paris, sir. Nothing improper. I believe your wife was there also.”

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