Date Cute Marry Rich

by Alexis Nicole

  “I just wanted to show you a little bit of my world.”

  “So, do you live near here?”

  “Yeah, not too far away from here. In SoHo.”

  I laughed every time I heard that name. “That sure is a funny name for a city.”

  “It’s not a city, just an area in Manhattan. Stands for South of Houston.”

  “Oh! No one ever told me that. I’m still trying to figure this city out. I mean, there’s New York City and New York State, but then some people, when they say ‘New York,’ they’re just talking about Manhattan. But there’s more to the city than Manhattan, because there are five boroughs . . . and, anyway, what the heck is a borough?”

  Antonio laughed at my analysis. “So, what brought you to all this confusion that’s New York?”

  “Well if you’re serious about being a hairstylist, New York or L.A. is the place to be. Not that I have anything against my hometown of Atlanta, but you know what I’m saying.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And then I have some friends who came up here with me from the ATL. All three of us want to make it big, and we know there ain’t no place better than the concrete jungle.”

  Antonio frowned when I said that—like now he was jealous.

  I couldn’t help myself. I chuckled and decided to play with Antonio a little. “Oh, yeah, my friends. We’re real close.” When his frown deepened, I said, “Yeah, Skye and Chyanne. Two girls. Two very heterosexual girls.”

  And just like I’d done a moment ago, Antonio grinned and relaxed.

  Just then Little Miss Thang came swishing back to the table with our platter of wings and beers in her hands. After arranging our plates, she left us alone, and as the music played and the people did their thing to the reggae jams, we ate and chatted and people-watched the night away.

  Antonio, the native New Yorker, told me about all the hot spots. “I don’t hang out at too many gay clubs. That’s not my scene.”

  I was glad to hear that, ’cause I wasn’t into that, either.

  “I like places like this—where everyone mixes together.”

  I let Antonio do most of the talking, and as he talked, I just watched . . . those dimples. I could get lost in there.

  “Devin?”

  “Huh?”

  The way Antonio was looking at me, it was like he had already called my name a couple of times. “I was just thinking . . . You wanna go do a little somethin’ to work these wings and this beer off?” He pointed toward the dance floor.

  “You know how to do a little something?”

  “I can show you better than I can tell you.” Antonio laughed.

  Oh, it was on now. I let Antonio lead the way. Not only because this was his spot, but I could sure tell a lot about a man from behind. So, I watched Antonio sashay and sway onto the dance floor, and I was beyond pleased.

  And that man just continued to move his groove thang for the rest of the night. I couldn’t believe the way we danced to song after song, changing partners sometimes, but always ending up back together.

  It was just a regular Saturday night, but the folks in Club Reggae were partying like this was a major celebration. I could get used to a place like this.

  By the time we finally sat down, my little 160-pound frame was at least ten pounds lighter. And by the time I told Antonio that I was ready to go, it was two o’clock in the morning. The folks were still going strong, but this dude was ready to go home and find that soft spot in my bed. Not that I wasn’t having a good time—I just needed to crash.

  “You can stay if you want to,” I told Antonio. “But I’m gonna head back to Brooklyn.”

  “Nah, I’m ready, too. We’ll walk out together.”

  We were still moving as if we were dancing, but when we stepped out into that brisk April wind, all the good times went away. I was already dreading the long trek back to Brooklyn. It was probably going to take over an hour—most of it spent waiting for a cab.

  But we weren’t out there for a minute before a cab stopped in front of the club.

  “Dang!” I said.

  As if he knew what I was thinking, Antonio said, “This is New York.” He opened the cab’s door for me. “Thanks again for coming. I had a great time.”

  “I did too,” I said, then paused. So, what was I supposed to do now? You see, for all my big talk, I hadn’t really done this thing seriously with guys. Most of the time in high school, it was all about curiosity. And after I graduated, I was so into learning my craft that I didn’t have time for building any kind of relationship.

  So, really, I didn’t know how Antonio and I were supposed to say good-bye. But he took over and just hugged me. I can’t tell you how relieved I was. Not only because Antonio handled this, but there was no pressure for anything else.

  He said, “So, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Definitely.”

  I slipped into the cab and waved as the driver maneuvered away from the curb.

  When the car made a right at the corner, I leaned back and smiled.

  Oh, yeah. I thought I was really gonna love New York.

  Chapter 8

  Chyanne

  God is gooder than good!

  I know, I know . . . gooder is not a word. Well, it was definitely not a word for someone with eighteen years of education. And it was not a word that a first chair should be using on this Ferguson v. Household’s Best case.

  That’s right—you heard it. I was the first chair . . . for the first time; I was leading the legal team. Now, I’d been on lots of important cases before, but now that I was the lead, it was a must that I made a great first impression. And that meant I had to win.

  That was why I’d been working mad-crazy hours over the last three weeks. So many hours that I hadn’t had a chance to hang out with my crew. Though that seemed to be okay with Skye and Devin. Seemed like they were caught up in their own little New York world, too. Skye—with some guy that she’d met at the art show. And then Devin was doing God knows what. But we’d promised that we would all get together soon.

  This case, though, was even affecting my relationship with Malcolm. I still saw him on the regular at the firm, but the two of us hadn’t had much alone time. It was impossible to get together in the office, of course. And now our lunch dates were all about business. Malcolm had appointed himself the coach for my case.

  Now, don’t get me wrong.... I was not complaining. Someone who really loved me was preparing me for my first battle, and I was really happy about that. I just missed the little bit of time Malcolm and I used to have for just each other. It was hard sneaking a quick hug here or a quick kiss there. But once this case was over, it would be on. Malcolm and I would be back to doing our thing.

  I was so deep into my thoughts that the knock on the door startled me.

  “Hey, you got a sec?” Nicole West sauntered into my office.

  Nicole was another junior associate, though she’d joined the firm a year behind me. But she was already building up quite a reputation. Many called her “the Gopher,” because she could dig up information that no one else could find. And the thing was, she helped you win. Even though she’d never been first chair—at least not yet—she’d never been on a losing team. Many attributed that to her, and because of that, even the senior associates clamored to get her.

  And for my first case, she’d been assigned to my team!

  See what I mean? God is gooder than good!

  “What’s up?” I asked her. If Nicole was knocking on my door, then I was sure that she’d come bearing some news. And the smile on her face let me know that it had to be good news. “You have something about the case!”

  My eyes searched her hands, but she held nothing.

  Slowly, she sauntered toward my desk, took a seat in one of the leather chairs, and grinned even wider.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. In fact, everything is right. I just heard Tyler Paxton talking.”

  Tyler Paxton—one of the partne
rs.

  She continued, “I was in the elevator, but you know how they are. They barely notice us younguns. Anyway, he was talking to someone on his cell, and he said the partners are really interested in this case because some legal precedent could be set.”

  Oh, God. My stomach began to rumble.

  Nicole said, “The way he was talking, this is big, Chyanne. We win this thing and there will be nothing but good things ahead . . . for both of us.”

  Part of me wanted to get up and dance a jig. I mean, the partners’ eyes were on me. But I couldn’t stand up—because I was sick to my stomach with that thought.

  “You don’t look so well,” Nicole said.

  “No, I’m fine. You know, just nerves.”

  Nicole pushed herself up from the chair. “Girl, don’t worry about this,” she said. “You got this. I’m on your team, right?” She always spoke with such confidence. I just prayed that she was right.

  When I was alone, I replayed Nicole’s words in my head. The partners were watching me? Oh, God!

  That was when I decided, I wasn’t even going to go home. I was going to stay right here in the office and work through the night.

  Chapter 9

  Skye

  Smart, sweet, kind, fine! Was there anything else? Oh, yeah . . . fine! I’m talking about the kind of fine that comes only once every hundred years or so. The kind of fine that was as rare as a solar eclipse. The kind of fine that you saw only in movies or in your dreams. And the kind of fine that was all mine.

  Not that I was being superficial about Noah. His kind of fineness was more than his juicy lips and thick eyebrows. His kind of fineness was more than the way his locks swayed when he laughed or when he talked with such passion. Noah’s fineness was wrapped up in his being. It was in his swagger and went right down to his bones.

  I had hit the fine-man jackpot!

  They say it takes twenty-one days to create a habit. Well, Noah Calhoun was my habit for real. It had been three weeks since I’d met him at the art show, and from that moment, we’d been just about inseparable. We weren’t able to see each other every day—even though we wanted to. But we didn’t let many hours pass between our phone calls. Many nights I stayed up well beyond midnight just so that his voice would be the last thing that I would hear. And he’d wake me up early in the morning so that he could greet me with the sun.

  It was official. Noah and I were definitely having a relationship.

  What was best about my man was that he made every minute of our time together count. Our dates were never over the top. Of course, Noah—as an artist—wasn’t working with the Benjamins that some of the other guys I’d gone out with had. But that didn’t matter, because Noah made our time together all about us. Wherever we went was the backdrop. We were the main attraction. Like the very first time we went out for that stroll through Central Park. The park was magnificent, with the joggers and the bikers and the rollerbladers mixing with all the pedestrians. But it was all about Noah showing me a good time. He took his time pointing out all famous park landmarks; the Loeb Boathouse and the carriage houses, the zoo, and both lakes. It was a beautiful sight on a beautiful day shared with the most beautiful man.

  Three days later Noah took me to a club called Basement Groove, which was literally a basement—a small club in the bottom of a brownstone up in Harlem. But it was one of the best places I’d ever been, not only because it was an open-mic spot where lots of creative types hung out—musicians, designers, artists like Noah. But the best part was that half of the people in there were Noah’s friends. It was only our second date, but Noah was ready to introduce me to his friends.

  It was a great place for me to be. Not only did I get to meet the people who were important to Noah, but just being around those kinds of people boosted my own creativity. We jammed that night, listening to what had to be some of the most talented poets in the country.

  Tonight, though, was the best date of all. Twenty-one days after our first meeting and I was having dinner at Noah’s studio loft. And Noah was cooking for me!

  Like I said, jackpot.

  This was the first time I’d visited Noah’s home, and being here was a full-on assault on my senses. The naked brick walls were amazing; the artifacts that represented the countries of the world were beautiful; the soft beat of the African drums that played through the speakers that sat in every corner was almost hypnotizing.

  And then there was the scent of the jasmine incense that burned throughout the space and mixed with the aromas of the pots that simmered on his stove. Was there anything else?

  “Here, taste this.” Noah handed me a flute filled with a yellow liquid.

  “What’s this?”

  “Trust me. Taste.”

  I took a sip, closed my eyes, and savored the ginger. “Is this wine?”

  He nodded. “Something like that. A drink from my native land.”

  “Ah, Jamaica,” I said before I took a bigger sip this time. “I like it.”

  He smiled and returned to the kitchen area of the loft. The space wasn’t very big—Noah was only about five giant steps away from me.

  “Do you want me to help with anything?”

  “Oh, no!” he said. “Tonight is all about me serving you.”

  See what I mean? There was never a moment when Noah didn’t say or do something that was absolutely wonderful.

  I curled up on the couch and wrapped my fingers around the glass. “So,” I began as I kept my eyes on him, “where did you learn to cook like this?”

  “My mother. I was blessed with the best of both of my parents. I got my mother’s love for serving her family, and I got my father’s work ethic.” He chuckled a little. “You know what they say about Jamaicans, right?”

  I shook my head.

  “Jamaicans work fifteen jobs each beginning when we’re in kindergarten.” He laughed as if he’d just told the best joke. “In fact, most in my country would consider me lazy.”

  I laughed, not so much because I thought what he’d said was funny, but because he was just so tickled by what he’d just said. “So, what are we having?”

  “Ah . . . something, I think, that you probably haven’t tasted before . . . a lamb stew . . . Jamaican style.”

  I smiled, but to be honest, that didn’t sound too appetizing to me. I mean, I hadn’t had that many lamb dishes . . . and a stew? Wasn’t that something that retirees ate?

  “Trust me,” Noah said as if he heard my thoughts. “You will like.”

  Twenty minutes later he served me dinner in beautiful bowls that looked like coconut halves. I opened my mouth, and the first spoonful of stew passed from my lips to my tongue and melted.

  “Oh my God!” I exclaimed as I took another taste. Surely, this was the type of food we’d have in heaven. “This is wonderful.”

  “I told you that you’d like it,” he said, full of confidence.

  “You were right. So, this is Jamaican stew?”

  “Yes, you can taste the curry, right?”

  I nodded.

  “And the cayenne pepper. You know we like things hot in Jamaica.”

  I laughed.

  He added, “And of course the wine.”

  “In stew?”

  “We use wine in everything.”

  “And I’m glad that you do.”

  We both laughed. As I relished each bite of my dinner, with the beat of the drums still filling the air, Noah told me about his native land. I hated to admit it, but I didn’t know a lot about Jamaica beyond hedonism. And, I wasn’t about to go anywhere and take off my clothes.

  However, Noah painted a totally different picture of the home that he loved. Through his eyes, I saw the lush island that sat in the center of the Caribbean Sea, with full trees as tall as skyscrapers and beaches that framed the crystal clear ocean. I met the hospitality of the natives and the love and loyalty of the families that inhabited the island. He took me to his home with his words, describing a place that I couldn’t wait to visit,
a place that I hoped to visit with him.

  Noah cleared the table of our bowls, then took my hand and led me to the couch. Now a different music, some kind of flute, accompanied us as we sat next to each other, staring at the paintings that hung on the wall opposite us.

  “So, tell me about yourself, Skye,” Noah whispered in my ear.

  I squinted a little. What else did he want to know? We’d talked about me a million times. “I’ve told you everything.”

  “Oh, no,” he said. “You’ve told me everything that you wanted me to hear. But now tell me those things that you don’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The essence of a person”—he rested his hand against my chest and I shivered—“is right here. Inside that place in your heart is where you keep your secrets . . . the things that are difficult to share. That’s what I want to hear from you.”

  I stayed quiet for a moment, until he lifted my hand and kissed the inside of my palm, sending more tremors through me.

  “Tell me, Skye, what is it that you don’t want anyone to know?”

  The seconds that passed were filled with my thoughts and the realization that there were many things that I hadn’t told Noah, many things that I hadn’t said to anyone. Yet this man gave me a safe space to speak, so I began with my family, and how I’d never been able to please my father.

  “The first memories I have are of him looking at me in some kind of displeasing way. And as I got older, it got worse. He was never happy with me, never proud of my choices.” I held nothing back as I told Noah about how a couple of years had passed when my father wouldn’t even talk to me. “All communication came through my mother. As far as my father was concerned, I was not a part of his family.”

  As I talked, Noah stayed silent, moving only to nod whenever I needed affirmation, whenever I needed encouragement to continue. I kept on, telling him my story of how I continued to fall short in Pastor Davenport’s eyes.

  “It’s this designer thing,” I finally said, ready to close out my soliloquy. “My passion was to the detriment of my relationship with my father. He wanted me to follow him into the ministry, and I never had any desire to do it.”