Taken By The Forbidden Highlander (Scottish Highlander Romance)

by Kaley McCormick

  “You’re making a scene and that’s why you’re being asked to leave.”

  “Oh I see, dog. I see how it is. A black man’s expected to come in here and say nice things. Speak eloquently. With respect for all the great things white people have done.”

  His face suddenly went cold. “Well fuck that shit. The truth is, nobody here cares about black lives. All you rich motherfuckers are sellouts. And you middle class black men that are helping to spread these lies? Shame on you.”

  “All right let’s go,” security said.

  But Thelma was beside herself. Never before had she been exposed to anyone from the hood. The way he spoke, he seemed like an ignorant man. The kind of man society left behind and never nurtured into an adult. She had to say something.

  “Excuse me?”

  Anton eyed her in curiosity.

  “What’s your name?”

  “What’s my name?” Anton laughed, looking back at his posse and grinning. “You don’t know who I am?”

  “No, I don’t, young man,” she said boldly, standing up and walking up to his face. “I don’t pay attention to any gossip. I only know what a man shows me. Now if you were a member of this school, why didn’t you come in and take a seat? We could have discussed this like civilized people. Instead you have to cause a scene.”

  The posse looked angry as hell and the security guards were ready to jump to make a save. But all Anton did was laugh generously.

  “My name is Anton Bridges. I’m a felon. I’m a bad seed. Born under a bad sign, you feel me?”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “Lady you don’t what you’re talking about. What college did you go to?”

  “Berkeley.”

  Anton chuckled. “Your daddy pays your tuition, you fuck one white boyfriend and then you make it into politics with your C+ grades. And you think you know shit about life in the hood.”

  “You call me by my name, Anton,” she said firmly. The crowd hushed and the onlookers were mumbling nonsense. All that was missing was the popcorn for this black on black battle.

  “My name is Thelma Grayson. I am an alumni here and we are having a civilized party. I have a master’s degree in business and my aim is to provide consistent employment to our neglected poor black communities. What the hell are you doing for our people, Anton? Besides interrupting parties like you’re Kanye West.”

  Anton laughed again, though this time he wiped the smile from his face quickly. He looked her in the eyes and nodded.

  “Miss Thelma Grayson. It is my pleasure to meet a woman of class.”

  He paused and blinked. “But with all due respect, you still don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “Okay, let’s go!” the security team insisted, trying to push and pull Anton’s posse and disperse the crowd.

  “We’re going,” Anton said loudly. “No need to make this into another Ferguson. Whitey.”

  Anton motioned to his bodyguards that they were going to live. “The truth is people,” he said to the room, “some of the best memories of my life happened in this school. Though you can try to cut my name from the records, I know what I’ve lived.”

  He looked around at a few of the more irate white folks who were already looked like they were in mid-stroke. “And just because I chose to stay in the ghetto and help my people from the inside, doesn’t make you people any better than me. You chose the comfortable life. I stayed and I suffered. So take those fancy mocha lattes and shove them up your asses.”

  “All right, last warning.”

  “Come on,” he ordered, as he and the boys walked out of the school in bruised pride.

  “I cannot believe that,” Stella said, patting her heart. “Some niggas just got to do crazy shit like they got to breathe. I’m sorry you had to see that. It figures the only time you come out for a night on the town and you run into Anton Bridges of all people.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “Know who he is? Thelma, do you realize what you just did?” Stella said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “What?”

  “This wasn’t just a common thug. I mean, he’s organized crime.”

  “What? What do you mean by that?”

  Stella rolled her eyes. “Like the Godfather, only black. Have you never even seen a hood movie, darling?”

  “No. I avoid stereotypes. They’re ridiculous and insulting.”

  “Except when they’re true! He is a pure thug. An egotistical motherfucka if you’ve ever seen one.”

  “Well, if he paid his debt to society…”

  “Yeah, right. His lawyer bailed him out is what that shit is. I just pray to God he didn’t take your attitude seriously.”

  “My attitude? Stella, in my world a man greets a woman with respect. I didn’t threaten him. I was merely communicating like an intelligent person. He’s not an ape. He needs to learn to be civil, especially if he thinks he’s fighting for the community.”

  “Yes, but darling, he’s a terrorist. A gangster. A criminal. We do not negotiate with criminals.”

  “A terrorist?” Thelma asked. “Good Jesus, Stella. Everyone and their brother has to throw that word around today. Truth be told, if that man had the guts to put away his guns and his defensive line and sit down like a human being, I would be happy to debate him in any forum.”

  “Now you’re just talking crazy.”

  It was ironic that Thelma said that. And like they always say, be careful what you wish for. Because once you give chaos the attention it wants, you’ve already lost the game.

  Thelma and her three other friends walked down the long service road to find their car; it was Thelma’s car in fact, and she loved that black Hyundai.

  “Well that was quite a show today,” Stella said.

  “Yeah…”

  Before they could even finish the thought the women were alarmed when five men suddenly showed up in the parking lot, looking as dark and cold-minded as death itself.

  “RUN! RUN!” cried Brandye, who took off running in the opposite direction. The other panicked and grabbed on to Stella.

  “Shit!” Stella said, cowering in fear, leaving only Thelma in front. Thelma stared in wide-eyed alarm, while Stella freaked the hell out and slapped Shaniqua on the shoulder repeatedly.

  “Let go! Let go!”

  Shaniqua finally let go of Stella and took off running hollering for help. Stella started crying and collapsed to the floor.

  “Lord help me!” he screamed.

  “Miss Grayson,” Anton said with a deep voice and in a more reserved manner than before.

  “Mister Anton?” she said, a little startled but still not on edge.

  “Girl, get the hell off the floor,” Anton said with a squint of his face.”

  “I ain’t got no money!” she screamed.

  “I don’t want your Donald Trump-ass money. I came here because I wanted a word with Miss Grayson.”

  “All right,” Thelma said, a little nervous but standing tall and staring straight into his eyes.

  “What I was trying to say before I was so rudely interrupted by the hospitality of the school, was that we all have different roles in society. Just because I have been kicked out of Lincoln High, doesn’t mean that I cease to exist.”

  “I understand, Mister…”

  “Anton. Call me Anton.”

  “Anton. I just think there was a better way to present yourself, that’s all I was saying. Are you going to rough me up just because I have an opinion?”

  “No ma’am,” Anton said. “But I still stand by my remark that you don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway…I came here to let you know that if you ever want to talk, woman to man, about these issues you can always text me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What, Oprah never explained to you what a cell phone does? It works on the same frequency for rich white folk as it does niggas in the hood.”

  “I know what a cell phone is,” she said wit
h a curt face. “But you said woman to man…like what, a date?”

  “Doesn’t have to be a date,” Anton said. “I just meant if you want to talk about the issues sometime.”

  “Oh…I see.”

  “And maybe we can go out to some place nice. And you can wear a sexy dress. And maybe we can dance at a really VIP club. Feel me?”

  “Ummm…”

  “But not a date.”

  “Not a date?”

  “Nah. I just think you’re hot. I’d love to dance with you. Put on some R and B, Netflix and chill know what I’m saying? But not a date.”

  Thelma suddenly laughed. “You are fresh, Mister Anton! ‘Not a date’ my foot…”

  Anton finally smiled. “So we good then? Let’s do it Friday.”

  “Well…” Thelma hesitated, even while Stella was making puppy noises on the other side of the car, scared to death. “I…I don’t date, Mister Anton. And even if I did, what makes you think I would date someone like you?”

  “It’s cool, I get it. You’re shy. You’re afraid. But here’s the deal, sugar. I don’t date no hoes. You understand? I treat a woman like a woman. And you showed me something here tonight. I don’t settle. I want only the best.”

  Thelma laughed softly. “And I’m the best?”

  “You have ambition in your eyes. The same way I used to have. I recognize it. Maybe the only difference between you and I, Miss Grayson, is that we took two different trains to get to the same place. Feel me?”

  “Mister Anton…” She shook her head. “You know what? Fine. I will go with you on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No guns. No bodyguards. If you’re going have this discussion with me like a real man, then get rid of the cast of Barber Shop.”

  “Owww damn,” Anton laughed it up with his boys.

  “Am I Ice Cube?” said one.

  “You Cedric the Entertainer,” laughed another.

  “I can’t afford to do that. I have to be protected.”

  “Uh, uh,” she said. “I’m the one that should be protected. You’re supposed to be a man. An important man. Why do you need your brothers following you everywhere? Do they watch you while you do everything under the sun, including what goes on in the bedroom?”

  “Nah, we get the entrails of hoes,” laughed one guard.

  Anton snapped, demanding silence and respect. He stared Thelma down.

  “You know what? You’re right. I’m going to trust you this once, Thelma. And I hope you trust me when I say I cannot reveal any information in case this is a set up. No talk of business.”

  “I don’t want to talk about business.”

  “OK. Where we meeting, Your Majesty?”

  “Somewhere nice, Anton. But not like a ‘date’ place. No clubs, no twerking.”

  Anton laughed quietly. “All right. Let’s go to East Thunder. It’s a restaurant. Highest prices in town. But it’s a good place to talk. Soft jazz music. Best steak in town.”

  “All right…” Thelma said with a flinch, not believing what she just did.

  III

  And she heard about it too. Stella just about lost her wits and let her have it all the way to the car. Thankfully, Brandye and Shakiska found their own way home…not that a story about a couple of hoes matters that much.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” Stella said, crying into her hands. “A thug ass nigga ask you out and you say yes? Are you crazy?”

  “It’s not a date, really,” Thelma said with a bob of her head. “We’re just going to talk.”

  “Huhh…” Stella muttered. “Anton Bridges doesn’t talk. When he asks a woman out he expects something from her. What are you going to do, get mixed up in a bunch of gangster shit?”

  “Stella,” Thelma said in annoyance. “All men expect something from women. That’s why a woman with self respect stands up for herself and doesn’t give it all away.”

  “Yeah but-”

  “I don’t care if he’s a gangster…” Thelma flinched and corrected herself. “That is to say, I am not intimidated by a gangster trying to talk shit to me. I don’t back down.”

  “Huh. Sounded like you were saying you don’t care if he is a gangster, you might still get up on his dick.”

  “Whaaat!” Thelma asked, blushing at the thought. “You are terrible!”

  “Uh huh, you’re laughing now. You better not be coming back with two of his babies and chasing him down for child support.”

  “My goodness, Stella. You just have to throw every black stereotype in the book at me, don’t you?”

  “You’re the one who’s dating a gangsta!”

  “It’s not a date.”

  “Oh my…uh uh. I’m not even getting involved with this shit. I have a clean record! What if I want to run for governor one day?”

  “Hell,” Thelma replied, “you’ve done so much pot you’re already ineligible.”

  *

  Thelma decided to wear something sophisticated-sexy, not sleazy. Not only was that not Anton’s type, but it didn’t feel like her either. She wore a one-piece designer dress in white with a knee high slip and turtle neck top. She had her hair styled and wore subtle makeup. Nothing about Thelma was fake and she always had a way of bringing out “the real you”, crushing the layers of fake sympathies beneath her high heels.

  She smiled as she saw Anton approaching, alone and dressed in a black suit. He saw her and immediately walked over. She stood up and he helped her into her chair before sitting down.

  “Miss Thelma Grayson. I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “Me too,” she said a bit nervously. “I see you got all dressed up.”

  “I dress for the occasion,” he said. “Like I said, you deserve my full attention.”

  “Why is that, Anton?” she said with a smile.

  “Because you’re beautiful.”

  “Oh, now. Now you’re just flattering me.”

  “Hey, accept a compliment,” he said with a calm smile. “Don’t be questioning my tastes. I have only the finest. And you are the finest woman I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “Oh come on, what a line,” she said with a giggle. “Playing me, and so early on in the night!”

  “I’m not a player. The truth is, I could have any woman I want. And I did.”

  She listened cautiously.

  “But I lived the life of a foolish young man. Now I’m almost thirty years old. And as I age like a distinguished gentleman, so too do my preferences change.”

  “You expect me to believe you’re a gentleman?”

  “Of course I am. I have self-respect. And when I go out, I make sure it’s all about my lady.”

  “You sound like a player to me,” Thelma said folding her arms. “I have self-respect too. And I don’t treat dating so casually.”

  “I am a man of great desire. I don’t hesitate and I go after what I want. I tell you one thing. Every single woman I’ve ever dated chased after me first.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s the element of danger. It’s a turn on. It’s the next best thing to being a celebrity. I have money. I have power. And I have momma’s disapproval. Oh yeah and the fact that I’m black is just the icing on the cake.” He winked.

  “I’ve never understood that, you know,” Thelma said, leaning in and resting her chin on her hand. “As soon as a black man succeeds in life he’s got to marry a white woman.”

  “Boys will be boys,” he said with a snicker. “But if it gets to be a thing then that nigga just have low self-esteem.”

  “See, now why you always gotta say the N word?”

  “It’s our word, that’s why. We took it back. I grew up watching Richard Pryor on television. He was my hero. Told the world where to stick it. He had no fear. Or to put it another way, he never let anyone talk down to him. Whether it was a white nightclub bouncer or the host of a talk show.”

  “You have a lot of anger, don’t you?” she said, looking into his intense eyes,
which were constantly staring at her.

  “I have passion. Is it a bit of a roller coaster to be part of my life? Of course. But the quality of life is not determined by how long we stay alive. It’s about creating good memories. Memories of love, compassion, and yes, sometimes it’s about sex. The kind of intense and mind blowing sex that we accidentally experience once in a lifetime.”

  Thelma flinched and crossed her legs.

  “I’m not going to get to heaven for my abstinence,” he laughed. “So I try to be extra kind to people. You feel me?”

  “I get it,” she said, silenced and in deep thought.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just find your lifestyle so opposite to my own.”

  “Opposites attract.”

  “Not always.”

  “Are you attracted to me?”

  “No.”

  “Liar,” he said with a grin. “I can sense when a woman wants me.”

  “Oh really? You have a lot of nerve, don’t you?”

  “No. I’m just an expert at reading people.”

  “Oh, well it just so happens I am too. I studied body language in college.”

  “So you can read my thoughts?”

  “Sure, I could if I wanted to.”

  “And what am I thinking now?” he asked with a sneer.

  “I really don’t care to know…”

  “Sure you do. I’m thinking you’re a beautiful woman and I’m happy that you’ve brought joy to my dark world of mayhem and treachery. Now, let’s dance shall we?”

  “I thought this was a classy place? No dancing or…”

  “It is a classy place. Classy dancing. Slow dancing. Come on, Miss Grayson. I won’t move too fast.”

  “Yeah…like I believe that,” she said with a guarded smile. She eventually accepted the offer and joined him on the dance floor. It was a quick dance before dinner but it did give the two opposites some time to feel the attraction.

  Whatever it was, it felt real. Polar opposites forced to reconcile and compromise, all the while envying the other person with desperation. She admired his power to get things done. He admired her class and position of prominence, legitimized gangsta shit he called all this talk of politics.