by Bailey Thomas, Cynthia,Thomas, Peter,Short, Rochelle,Saunders, Keith
The following year, I reconnected with my friend Melrose, who’d recently moved to Atlanta from Miami. She was working as Peter’s administrative assistant while he was building his new restaurant, Uptown. I considered it a blessing in disguise when she told me he was looking for a truck. I remembered Peter from the plane ride in ’92, and over the years his name had come up several times in industry conversations. From dating Russell and hearing him talk about Peter, I knew Peter was a man that he respected. One year, Russell even served as a keynote speaker at Peter’s “How Can I Be Down?” music convention.
I told Melrose she could pass along my phone number to Peter if he wanted to call and make arrangements to see the truck. I still smirk remembering the first time he called pretending to only be interested in the vehicle. He asked all kinds of inappropriate questions that made it clear to me he was looking for more than just a ride. “How’s your career going? How old are you? What agency are you with? How long have you been in New York?”
His questions had absolutely nothing to do with buying my truck. I thought, “This man is either truly curious about my life or really interested in me.” But I liked the tone of his voice and felt some kind of connection in that first call. He spiked my curiosity, similar to how a person’s smile or walk can grab your attention at a glance. He also initiated a lot of small talk, but seemed comfortable being direct. His approach was very assured, very bold and very confident. I found it all rather obnoxious, but I was inexplicably enticed by his style.
Despite his allure, there were some contradictions in his personality that occasionally threw me. Like the time I had to take an incoming call during one of our conversations and told him I’d call him back. When I did, a female answered his phone and said, “Peter’s eating right now.” Really? This man who’d called me daily and asked me every personal question short of when I had my last period was now playing me like he was King Henry VIII? All of a sudden he was too occupied to bring his black ass to the phone? Wow!
I was accustomed to a man sprinting to the phone when I called. I was surprised when Peter didn’t drop what he was doing to talk to me. It wasn’t the reaction I was used to receiving from the opposite sex. Despite those contrasts in his disposition, I was always giddy when his number popped up on my call display. But I refused to read too much into my feelings. I knew no matter how much we connected by phone, I still needed to assess my level of interest face-to-face. At best, I was intrigued and excited to see what he’d be like in person.
The day we finally met turned out to be a close encounter of the strangest kind. Melrose was supposed to pick me up from the airport but got stuck at work. Instead, she sent Peter to the rescue. The bigger issue was that I’m a girl who’s big on comfort, and I never fly pretty. When I realized Peter was filling in for Melrose, I texted him and lied that my flight had been delayed. I needed to stall him long enough to get my cute on. My backstage runway skills came in handy that day, and I evoked my sixty-second-transformation superpower.
I had this unnerving feeling in my stomach that I use to get when I was younger; some people refer to it as butterflies. I felt so silly and high school. I couldn’t figure out why I was so nervous and fidgety to see Peter. Why did I want to make such a lasting impression on a man I didn’t really know? I wondered if my feelings were all over the place because it was such a weird situation or because I was starting to like him. I tried my best to remove all expectations from my head, but my brain was on autopilot.
Everything felt so new and peculiar. There were definitely reactions going off in my body that I hadn’t experienced before. The element of the unknown was starting to tempt me. I was going to Atlanta for two days, this guy was picking me up and the experience would either be really triumphant or really tragic. As crazy as it sounds, I felt like I was going to be on the next flight home or never going back at all. I just knew something life-altering would happen that weekend.
I was standing outside at baggage claim when I saw my truck pull up. Newsflash: it was not love at first sight for me. Peter looked different (juicier and rounder) than I recalled from our plane encounter. Sitting next to him, he looked like a bigger, more mature version of himself. I wasn’t physically attracted and remember thinking it would definitely be one of those weekends where beauty would be in the eye of the beer-holder.
He asked if I needed to be anywhere or minded rolling with him to run some errands. Again, here comes the crazy. I didn’t really know this man and shouldn’t have even been alone with him in the vehicle. Yet, there I was, about to run errands with this stranger behind the sexy phone voice. He asked with such a sense of normalcy that I felt comfortable going along for the ride. I figured at least one of us had to be out of our minds or on something, because it just wasn’t usual behavior.
Not even five minutes after agreeing to ride along, Peter’s Alex Trebek hat was on and in full effect. He was firing off questions as if I was a Jeopardy! game show contestant. “Why aren’t you married? What kinds of houses do you like? How much longer do you plan on modeling? Do you want more kids? What happened in your last relationship?” It was as if I’d stepped off the plane and right into the twilight zone. His questions were over the top and as prying as they were, I answered every damn one. My heart told me they weren’t the kind of questions a man asked if he was just trying to hit it. I knew I was talking to a grown man who had been through some shit.
Everything shifted for me as we talked during the ride. I became more attracted and involved in getting to know him. He continued his rapid-fire ambush of questions. “How do you like the brick color on the front of that house? How do you feel about the master bedroom being on the main level?” This man took intrusive to a whole new level, but strangely, I was enjoying our conversation. If I can even call it that!
It was very much an out-of-body experience for me. I was starting to lose control over my responses to this alpha man. I found myself over-answering questions and being super chatty – something I only do when I’m out of my comfort zone. Truthfully, every minute I spent with Peter left me itching to learn all I could about him. It was time for me to activate my A-game.
From that point on, I knew I needed to sound good, smell good and look good. How in the hell was I going to do it all, without A-game fragrance, gear or shoes? Originally, my plan was just to dip into Atlanta, close the deal on the truck and head back to New York. I was staying at the home of Boris Kodjoe and Nicole Ari Parker Kodjoe.
Boris and I modeled together and had been friends for over twenty years. After they married, Nicole and I had also grown close. They would always invite me to visit them in Atlanta, but the weekend I finally decided to come, they were out of town. With them gone, I had planned to just rough it for the weekend and kick back at their place – minus the glam factor. But the matter had officially been upgraded to a state of emergency.
Peter’s Boarding Pass (Part II)
I circled around the damn airport three times waiting for that woman to come out. On the last round, I saw this beautiful, gazelle-like specimen stick her long arm out in front of oncoming traffic. Her head was wrapped in a scarf and she was wearing a gray shawl. She was a straight up, USDA-certified woman. I parked at the curbside long enough to put her bags in, ask how her flight was and begin some small talk. I didn’t care what she said; I just wanted to hear her talk. I was reminded of that intoxicating phone vixen and affixed on every word coming from the sexiest lips I’d ever seen. Knowing Cynthia now, her sugary tone is one of the tricks she uses to reel in bruthas and mess with their heads. That shit is like a spider’s web.
Before she arrived in Atlanta, she mentioned she’d be staying at Boris and Nicole’s house. I’d crossed paths with Nicole in New York and was amped to remind her that we’d met. I was also looking forward to meeting Boris for the first time. It was disappointing to learn from Cynthia that they were out of town and had only offered their place for the weekend. Sinc
e I was just dropping her off, I asked if she would ride with me to take care of some business. When she agreed I thought, “This is going to be easier than I thought.”
Our first stop was to meet one of my boys. Fortunately for me, he was the type of guy who would swear he was ten minutes away, but would really be on the other fucking side of town. I figured I would use the time wisely to put Cynthia through The Peter Thomas Inquisition.
I didn’t have time for no bullshit. I was focused on asking questions to determine where she stood. Did her daughter live with her? How much longer was she planning to model? I needed to figure out if this woman knew her next move. Her responses would determine if she was someone I wanted to move forward with. It would be hard for her to mess up, because I was more than interested at that point. She was insanely hot. I kept thinking, “Even if she gives me a whack answer, I may try to make this shit work anyway.”
She wasn’t resisting my inquest and by allowing me to grill her, I knew that she was interested. I was floored when it hit me how beautiful of a woman she was, not only on the outside – but where it counted the most for me – on the inside.
Cynthia was a New York girl, who could have shut my shit down in a heartbeat. Being a New York guy, I would’ve taken the brick and kept it moving. Sitting in the parking lot that day (waiting for my lying-ass friend), I came to the conclusion that I wanted to give it my all. Whatever we were about to do, however it was gonna pop off, I was prepared to give 100 percent. It was Friday evening, she was leaving Sunday afternoon and I had forty-eight hours to close both deals (the vehicle and her).
CHAPTER II
Companion Pass
Our First Date
Cynthia’s Buddy Pass
On a scale of one to five (with five being the pinnacle), after meeting Peter my interest was at a two, but my curiosity was a four and rising. His magnetism was the only reasonable explanation for why I’d allowed a virtual stranger to pick me up in a truck that he’d not even purchased. Even weirder, I was sitting next to him in a part of town I knew nothing about and still under the veil of his interrogation. If his strip mall probe was our unofficial first date, it had to be the least charming I’d ever experienced. I’d had more romantic pap smears.
We spent most of the time talking about me, with him being careful not to reveal too much about himself. He was skilled at saying a lot while telling nothing. He had this uncanny ability to be direct and vague at the same time. I sensed there was more to him than he was sharing. I’m also woman enough to admit my actions were a true indicator of how much I’d started to let my guard down. At that point in my day, I’d planned to be sitting somewhere in a swank bar having cocktails with Melrose. Yet there I was, still with Peter, in a Kroger parking lot.
Several hours after being kidnapped and surviving my unsolicited tour of Atlanta, we finally reached Boris and Nicole’s house. As I got out of the car, Peter reminded me he’d return later to pick me up for the dinner party he was throwing for Melrose’s birthday.
Getting dressed for dinner, our day together kept replaying in my head like a scratched record. My reflecting created more contradictions than clarity. Over the years, I’d gotten both favorable and less-than-desirable feedback about Peter. Some of it left me with an impression that he was a made-guy from the streets who’d come checking on a John Gotti tip if he had a problem with somebody. I’d heard he was a hard worker and a hustler who took the music industry under his wings. He wasn’t one of those guys from the suburbs that the industry sucked in as an intern, pushed up the corporate ladder and manufactured into a cookie-cutter executive.
Peter had street cred. Even though other industry guys I’d dated were bosses, they were behind-the-desk guys. Men who lived in a fantasy world, selling music about things they knew little about. Making songs about hustlin’ ain’t the same as being a hustler. From dating Russell, I knew Peter was legendary in the industry and a man no one wanted to piss off. Peter was respected by business moguls for not taking shit. His rep was that if he had beef with someone, he’d go see them – and if it got physical – it got physical. The guy I’d unexpectedly spent the day with was very different from my grapevine impression. I was becoming more and more enthralled with the man behind the myths.
By the time Peter picked me up later that night for dinner, I’d been in Atlanta for eight hours and he was the only person I’d seen. He looked better than our initial meeting at the airport and cleaned up well – wearing Levi jeans, a crisp white dress shirt and nice leather shoes. Everything looked brand spanking new, like he’d made a mall run before picking me up. The shirt and jeans were on trend, but both were starched stiff enough to stand up on their own and strike a mannequin pose on a dime. Real old school.
In New York, starch and creased jeans were serious crimes of fashion. The slim-cut, skinny jean was on the rise, and the oversized look was being laid to rest. Peter’s jeans needed to be dropped at least two sizes, the creases belonged on a military uniform and the starch had to go altogether. He reminded me of an old guy trying to rock a younger look, but all the dots didn’t connect.
I gave him major props for smelling really good. Well, maybe he was wearing a teeny bit too much cologne, like he should have sprayed two pumps instead of four. Fashion was my thing, and in my opinion all his faux pas were easy fixes. He wasn’t even my man, yet there I was, already making him over in my head. Hell, technically we still hadn’t been on a first date.
The ride to the restaurant was pleasant, not excessively chatty like before. We had real conversation and much-needed moments of silence for me to process the occurrences of the day. Melrose called to say she was working late again and running behind for her own birthday dinner. The rest of our party was also late, so we perched on a pair of seats at the bar to await everyone’s arrival. Our anticipated group of twelve was starting to feel more like an intimate party of two. Every part of the day that was supposed to involve others, kept reducing to just the two of us.
We were both really relaxed after a few cocktails, and Peter was getting finer and finer by the minute. We knocked back about four rounds without food, and it didn’t take long for the alcohol to kick in. We weren’t drunk but we were feeling real nice. The room was spinning in a welcoming way. When Melrose and the other guests arrived two hours later, we were having such an enjoyable time that neither of us had missed them. Their presence gave me that “damn…damn…damn” kind of feeling that teenagers get when the chaperones turn up the bright lights on a slow song at the homecoming dance.
It was awkward finally seeing Melrose after almost eight years of estrangement. Outside of her call a few months prior, we hadn’t spoken or seen each other since our unjustified fallout. According to her, she’d gone through some recent things that prompted her to reach out and clear the air between us. Before our hiatus, we’d been great friends and I felt the break in communication was over silly, childish insecurities. Hers, not mine.
She was the first friend I’d made in New York City. When our careers were climbing at the same pace, things were fine, but I felt a shift in our closeness when my success began to inch past hers. After starting our careers on an equal playing field, witnessing my rise seemed difficult for her. Funny how things turn out, because I never felt I had greater odds of making it. I wasn’t skinnier. I wasn’t much taller. I wasn’t more connected or prettier. We were equals with the same shot at making it big.
We always envisioned ourselves being top models together, jet-setting around the world inseparably. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way. She responded to my success by placing distance between us. She went out of her way to make new friends, and I was compelled to do the same. Not a lot of words were exchanged. It was just one of those salty situations where we both knew what went down but neither ever spoke of it.
Seeing her after so many years, she was still as beautiful as I remembered. We hugged and exchanged pleasantries, “Oh
my God, you look great! You grew your hair out!” Blah. Blah. Blah. She seemed eager to pick up where things had left off. We spent the whole night playing catch-up, and Peter seemed perfectly content being excluded from the conversation. He just sat there taking it all in, probably plotting his next move on me.
I sensed Melrose was surprised to see that Peter and I had become rather chummy. Their exchange during dinner seemed friendly, but the more interest I showed in Peter, the more I felt her plans for him exceeded friendship. I got the vibe that my presence was infringing on her Plan B. Peter swore nothing was going on between them, but girlfriend’s body language was screaming that she wasn’t happy with the obvious attraction brewing between him and me. I didn’t necessarily notice any sexual energy between them. However, it was pretty apparent that Melrose wanted to keep her options open with Peter. I smelled sour grapes and wine wasn’t on our table.
Peter’s Buddy Pass
On a scale of one to five, my interest in Cynthia was a ten and my curiosity was at fifteen. I was a serial dater, but I liked being committed because it kept me grounded and focused on my business. Single life had the opposite effect and tempted my idle mind to wander. I’d always been picky where women were concerned, but just the thought of being in a relationship with Cynthia symbolized stability for me. I’m admittedly a difficult guy who can find ten different reasons in ten seconds not to like a woman. Even if I didn’t, most found a way to annoy the hell out of me in the first five minutes of conversation. Not Cynthia. She passed all my preliminary tests with flying colors.
I liked how generous she was in our conversation – answering question after question while we sat in that parking lot. Her face would downright light up every time her daughter Noelle’s name came up. I even managed to sneak in a few indiscreet questions about her daughter’s father. The sale of her vehicle was the springboard that brought her to Atlanta and back into my life. I had no doubts about the truck; my hesitation was if she was a deal worth closing. I didn’t know much about modeling, except it eventually slowed down with age. I couldn’t imagine why it would for her because she was more radiant than the first time we’d met in her twenties. Until I was able to determine her willingness to be in a committed relationship, I couldn’t even see the possibility of her being my woman. I needed to find out everything I could about her.
