Page 36 of Rich and Rotten

Her thick Queens accent was one of my favorite things about her. It didn’t matter how long she had been in high society or how much money she had; she never cared to bow down to what society expected from her. She kept her thick Howard Beach accent.

“How have you been, Ma? You know I can find you a condo closer to me. This house is too big for just you,” I said.

She continued to wipe her hands on the dish towel, then flipped it over her shoulder. I watched as her diamond and pearl earrings shimmered in the sunlight coming through the kitchen window.

“This is my home, Jonah. I can’t leave my home,” she replied, leaning on the counter with a sigh.

I cut into the eggplant parmesan she had set on the counter. “I worry about you, Ma.”

Carlotta Sterling wasn’t just Karim’s mother; she was also mine and had accepted me as her own. From the day her son came home talking about a friend he met at a charity event; she never looked down on me.

I met Karim when he attended a charity event his father was involved in. He was standing off to the side while I sat on the steps nearby. Even back then, I hated being pitied. I wasn’t a charity case, but you couldn’t tell that to my mother. She was being honored for her contribution as a foster mother. My mother never turned away a child, making our home crowded and chaotic. While she focused on giving other children love, her biological child was often overlooked in the shuffle of new children coming in and out. She even adopted some. Our home was like a fucking pound for abandoned kids.

I went from having my own room to sharing it with three other boys. Nothing was mine anymore, and I never got my mother’s attention. Whenever I voiced wanting to spend time with her, she would remind me of how fortunate we were to be able to help other children in need of love.

At times, I looked at her and wanted to yell, “Fuck them kids.” I needed her, but she was so caught up in the high she got from helping people. My mother was one of those who got a high from doing good for others––so much so that she started neglecting herself.

When I met Karim, we clicked instantly. I could tell from his shiny dress shoes and miniature tie that matched his father’s tie that he wasn’t from around my way. No sooner was he away from his Au pair and father, the good boy act dropped, and I saw the little wannabe hoodlum.

He might have had a silver spoon shoved in his mouth, but the boy was dying to pull it out, put that bitch on a scale, and break it down to sell.

When he left the event that day, I just knew I wouldn’t see him again. The center where the ceremony took place was a place I spent a lot of time. My mother was always volunteering, and it was somewhere she could take us kids to burn off the energy she was always talking about.

I always knew I wanted more than what I had been handed. My mother wasn’t rich by any means, but she still gave her last to help those in need. Her sacrifice wasn’t just hers; it was mine, too. I was the one who went without since we couldn’t afford to do it. The problem was, we could have afforded it if she hadn’t kept taking in more mouths to feed. School field trips, new sneakers, and just a second helping of dinner were always denied. I was made to feel selfish because I wanted more.

Fuck that.

I never asked to be brought into this world, so the small shit I was asking for as a kid, I should’ve been able to get that shit. It made me hate others because I was the one getting the short end of the stick. My mother had always been an unkept woman, always giving everyone her all when she had very little for herself. She taught me a valuable lesson at a young age.

Growing up, the streets were all I knew. If I wanted better for myself, I knew I had to get it out the mud. Having a friend who could snap his fingers and get whatever he wanted was inspiring. I wanted to build a life like that for myself, and I didn’t want any help doing it.

It wasn’t until I was older that I learned that the long money the Sterlings had wasn’t all legal. Raphael had his hands in a little bit of everything, and at one point, our hands were in the same jar. When he realized what I was doing, he brought me onto his team, and it’s been up ever since. Raphael treated me like his second son and knew my loyalty toward him and his family was solid. It was the reason Carlotta would always be taken care of; I would make sure of it.

“Eat more.” She pushed the bruschetta toward me. “I have the security, and they keep me safe. I go and visit the spa when I need to get out. Tatiana makes sure the girls treat me nice, eh.”

“It doesn’t help me worry any less. I hate you being in this big house. Karim would hate it, too.”

She paused for a moment, then leaned on the counter. “He would hate you worrying about me. Do I miss my husband? Sureee,” she said, dragging out her words. “But he was sick.”

Instead of harping on things that neither of us could control, I continued to eat my food.

“What do you get into being in this big house?”

“Read and cook. Malcolm came by to check on me. God bless him.”

I tried to hide my disgust because she was excited he had come to visit. But I knew Malcolm didn’t give a fuck about Raphael when he was sick. The nigga didn’t even attend the funeral. He gave some bullshit-ass excuse about why he couldn’t make it.

“Oh yeah?”

“He declined food, but we sat on the back patio and had some tea. Told me that he broke up with his girlfriend––you know, the one he got with after his divorce.”

“He’s a rich Black man. I’m sure he has plenty of women to keep him company.”

Carlotta smiled and shrugged. “Should have never let his wife leave him. Men like Raphael and Malcolm need strong women by their sides. I was by Raphael’s side until his last days.”

“And he loved you till the very end.”

My guard was up when I heard Malcolm had come to visit Carlotta. Malcolm wasn’t the type to just come and shoot the breeze with you. If he came to see you, it was because he wanted something. I couldn’t think of what he could possibly want from Carlotta.