Make It Last Forever. Gwyneth Bolton
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other young people at the center—the ones Clarence had tried to sell drugs to.
No. No, he had to go.
“Whatever, Ms. Williams. You just like everybody else. You ain’t really trying to give a brother a chance. You just talkin’, you don’t mean that shit you be saying.”
“That’s not true, Clarence! You have to take some responsibility here. That’s the problem. You’re not taking responsibility. You just want to blame others.”
Clarence pushed his chair back harshly and leaped out of his seat, knocking the cherry-stained wooden chair he’d been sitting on to the ground. “This place was wack anyway. I got better stuff to do with my time than waste it here.”
“Clarence, don’t leave mad. Let’s talk about the other options available to you. I can’t let you continue to hang out here. But there are—”
“Man, fuck this! I’m out.” Clarence went bursting out the door.
Torn between following him and hoping that his leaving would help things remain on an even keel, Karen took a deep breath and placed her head on her desk instead. She wondered if she had done him any favors by just barring him from the center and not calling the cops. She told herself it was just weed. But she wondered if calling the cops on him would have ensured that he didn’t move on to other drugs in the future.
As she mentally went over the reasons yet again why Clarence had to go, the phone on her desk rang, jolting her.
She picked up the phone and paused before answering.
“Shemar Sunyetta Youth Center, Karen Williams speaking.” Dragging a halfway pleasant greeting out was easier than making her voice sound like she meant it, so she settled for brevity.
“Hello, Ms. Williams. My name is Cullen Stamps, and I represent Darius Rollins. He’s a rapper. You might have heard of him?”
“Yes, I’ve heard of D-Roc.” Twirling her locs with a pencil, she waited for some sort of explanation.
Who in the world hadn’t heard of hip-hop’s golden boy turned Hollywood movie star? A person would have to live under a rock not to have heard of D-Roc, especially a person in the East New York section of Brooklyn. He was the boy from the hood who had made it out and done good.
“Yes, well. He is interested in devoting some time to your center as a way of giving back. You might have heard that his young cousin was just murdered and—”
Cutting people off was rude, but she didn’t have the patience to let him go on.
“Don’t tell me… He wants to spend a few hours here as a part of some publicity stunt, right? My goodness, what celebrities won’t do for a little bit of attention. Is he really trying to turn his cousin’s death into some kind of image or marketing opportunity? Sheesh.” She clicked her tongue in disgust.
Not that her center couldn’t use a little free publicity, but she was really protective of the kids, and allowing a celebrity—no matter how fine that celebrity was—to use them wasn’t going to happen on her watch.
“Ms. Williams, I know that you are probably overworked, and we certainly appreciate the good work you’re doing with the youth. That’s why Mr. Rollins is determined to volunteer at your center. He has researched several, and he likes what you’ve done in such a short period of time with so few resources. He intends to volunteer a large amount of time while he is between films. He’s even holding off getting right back in the studio for his much-anticipated third album. Against my better judgment, I might add. To be frank, Ms. Williams, you really could stand to gain a lot from his presence at your little center. The publicity would work both ways. He’d put you on the radar, and you might just get more donations for your little cause.”
Each time the man said the word little in reference to her center—her life’s work—her skin crawled. If this was the type of person D-Roc had representing him then she didn’t want any part of him.
“Tell Mr. Rollins thanks, but no, thanks. My little center can get along just fine.”
Something about the manager’s slimy voice made her skin crawl. She didn’t like Cullen Stamps. And no amount of free publicity was worth dealing with the smarmy man. D-Roc clearly surrounded himself with questionable people. And that was all the more reason not to be lulled by a shot at some free publicity.
“Well, now. Ms. Williams—”
“Well, now, what? I’m not interested in helping Mr. Rollins enhance his so-called positive image by letting him waltz through my center and these kids’ lives for his own grandstanding. Goodbye!”
It felt so good to hang up the phone in his face. But as soon as she did it she realized that she might have done so in haste. Free publicity might mean more donations. She really could have used the publicity, because in these economic times the grants weren’t coming in as frequently as they used to.
D-Roc personified the words media darling. Not since Will Smith had a rapper been able to totally enrapture the American public. He certainly was loved, and he might have brought some of that love to her center. But if he hired slime like Stamps, it probably wasn’t worth it. She was right to turn Stamps down.
She was trying to instill values in the youth, not slick Hollywood images and media-induced frenzies. And there was something about the snarky sound of Stamps’s voice that rubbed her the wrong way. After the run-in with Clarence, she just wanted to be able to tear into someone. Stamps just picked the wrong time to call and plead D-Roc’s case.
The rest of the day went on pretty much uneventfully, and Karen couldn’t help but feel glad. Usually running a center and doing “hood work,” as she liked to call her activism in the community, made for more drama-filled days than she desired. But most days, when she could look at the kids and know that she was keeping them off the streets and exposing them to things and ideas that would help them stay off the street, she knew that it was all worth it.
After her very small group of staff and volunteers left and she got the last kid away from a computer and out the door, Karen went over to lock the door so that no one else could come in while she worked on some more grant applications for a little while. Before she could lock the door, it came bursting open, pushing her back. She looked up to tell whoever it was that the center was closed for the day.
Depending on who had so rudely barged in, her tone might have been pleasant or it might have been filled with attitude; she reserved the verdict until she got a good glimpse.
Looking at the muscled form and devil-may-care smirk that crossed a deliciously chocolate-brown face, she realized that she suddenly couldn’t decide. Standing in front of her, in a pair of jeans, polo shirt, expensive sneakers and a fitted New York Yankees cap, was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen.
Stunned, she could not find her words.
D-Roc apparently wasn’t one to give up easily.
Darius Rollins came into the youth center all set to pull every trick in his playbook in order to make this Karen Williams person allow him to volunteer at her youth center. The thought of just finding another youth center in which to volunteer never even crossed his mind. He’d researched the few youth centers around his old neighborhood, and he liked this one. Even though he hadn’t known Shemar Sunyetta personally, he felt that the fact the center was named for the murdered rapper was a sign of some sort.
He honestly didn’t know why he bothered paying Cullen. The man couldn’t get him a volunteer gig! He could only surmise that if it wasn’t something Cullen could make a commission off of, then he wasn’t pressed to work as hard.
Cullen had said that the woman running the center was a bitch, and she wasn’t trying to be helpful at all. Darius just figured Cullen lacked finesse. Darius knew he had to go down to the center and work his magic on the woman. Cullen had said that the woman was probably some uptight, ugly prude with an attitude who hated men. Darius didn’t care what she was or how she looked. He’d have her eating out of his hands in no