Wives, Fiancées, and Side-Chicks of Hotlanta

by Shereé Whitfield

  Her husband. That thought made Sasha stop in her tracks. She couldn’t help but remember when she’d replayed the entire night to Norman how he’d acted when he found out that Eric had shown up on the scene at their ladies’ night out. Norman had thought the whole evening had been comical, up until she got to the part about Eric popping up. That seemed to have made Norman a tad uneasy. Although he didn’t just come right out and say anything negative about Eric, Norman’s entire demeanor and attitude had shifted and he began questioning Sasha about Eric’s presence. He asked her why he was there, and not with a turned-up nose, but with concerned eyes. That in itself concerned Sasha to some degree. Not enough to really speak on it and drum up something that really wasn’t there.

  Besides, even though she hadn’t known Norman that long and vice versa, she couldn’t see him allowing her to put herself in a position that would cause her any arm. On top of that, from what Sasha had seen from Eric, he came across as a pretty cool dude. Harmless. But still, there was just something about Norman’s reaction that gave her pause . . . or maybe just made her curious.

  “You okay?” one of the paralegals asked Sasha, seeing her standing in the middle of the hallway.

  Sasha shook herself out of her daze. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’m fine,” she assured the paralegal, then made her way to her desk while taking a sip of her coffee.

  A few minutes later Sasha received the text, as promised, from Casey. The gathering was to be this upcoming Thursday, 6:30 p.m. at Casey’s house.

  Eric and I can’t wait to see you again were the words that ended the text.

  Sasha couldn’t explain why, but all of a sudden a part of her wished she hadn’t agreed to attend the gathering. A part of her wanted to take heed of Norman’s unspoken warning, urged her to text back, telling Casey she couldn’t make it. Then there was the part of her that killed the cat every time: curiosity. So without pondering over it any longer, she replied back to Casey.

  I’M THERE!

  Hopefully she’d made the right decision. The last thing she needed was one more “I told you so,” from Norman or a final meow from the curious cat.

  Sasha sat on the stool by Norman’s clothing rack waiting in anticipation. Her knee was bouncing while her intertwined fingers tapped her knuckles.

  “Chile, will you relax? She’s going to love it. Trust me,” Norman said. “When I came over to your house and saw you working on it, I knew exactly which one of my clients would slay in it!” Norman snapped his fingers.

  Sasha had finally finished the jumpsuit she’d been working on. She couldn’t believe one of Norman’s clients was trying it on. Sasha prayed the woman liked it. Norman hadn’t told his client that the actual designer was sitting right there with them, so Sasha knew that the woman’s opinion was going to be genuine.

  The curtain that enclosed the dressing area in Norman’s in-home studio opened.

  “Oh, my God! I just love this little jumpsuit number right here!”

  Norman’s client, Jessica, spun out of the dressing area and to the front of the full-length mirror like the Tasmanian devil.

  “This fabric.” Jessica fingered the soft, silky fabric. “It’s so light, comfy, and carefree.”

  “And with these right here.” Norman held up a pair of six inch stilettoes that only someone with Jessica’s shorter than average height could pull off and not look like an Amazon.

  Jessica grabbed the gold strappy shoes from Norman’s hands. “Yasss!” she exclaimed. “That’s it. I don’t even need to try on anything else. This is what I’m wearing to the class reunion.” She set the shoes down next to her and continued admiring herself in the mirror. “I’ll take it.”

  Norman looked to Sasha with saucer eyes and a pleased look on his face.

  “Yes!” Sasha lipped to him.

  Norman in turn lipped, “I told you.” He then continued fussing over Jessica.

  “I have a standing lunch appointment with my mother,” Jessica said, “so, Norman, can you ring this up for me?” She headed back into the dressing area. “Oh, wait.” She stopped in her tracks. “How much is it?”

  Norman looked stumped and Sasha knew why. When he’d asked her to allow him to present the piece to his client, the two had never discussed the cost.

  “You know what? Never mind.” Jessica shooed her hand and pulled the curtain closed. She then said through the curtain, “If you have to ask, then you don’t need it. And I need this jumpsuit in my life, yes, Lord.”

  Sasha pumped both fists in the air. She could not believe this. She’d been in Atlanta all of three months and had already made a sale. She’d lived in Ohio all of her life and not one person had ever purchased anything from her. Oh, she’d made items for others before, but no one had offered to pay her. They may have purchased the material and supplies needed, but Sasha had never been paid for her services. She’d never sold one of her pieces and been paid.

  “Thank you so much, Norman.” Sasha stood from the stool and threw her arms around Norman’s neck. “You have no idea how grateful I am to you.”

  “Chile, it ain’t nothing,” he said. “Besides, I should be the one thanking you.” He then leaned in and whispered, “You cut that crotch area of that jumper just right. Ever since Jessica got her dick removed, it’s been a bitch finding the right cut that doesn’t make her look like she still has one.”

  Sasha’s mouth about dropped to the floor.

  “I know, right,” Norman said, in an even lower whisper than before. “Trust me, I was sick, shocked, and depressed all at the same time. I mean, you should have seen that dick.” Norman spread his hands a foot a part. “Girl, I begged her ass to ask the doctor could I have it.”

  “Ewww, Norman,” Sasha said, scrunching her face up.

  “Girl, not for that,” Norman said. “I was gon’ bronze that shit. But instead we had to have a funeral for it. May the biggest dick I’ve ever seen in my life rest in peace.” Norman then turned toward his register. “How much you charging for that thang?” He went on back to business as usual.

  All Sasha could do was shake her head while saying, “Priceless.” Not the jumpsuit, not the moment, but Norman. He was indeed priceless.

  Chapter 8

  Walking into Casey’s home, for Sasha, was like walking into the mansion where the charity event had been held all over again. She almost felt like her little Honda brought down the property value by being parked in their driveway. Even upon pulling up into the circular driveway, it looked more like an all-inclusive resort in Cancun, thanks to the Mexican-style stucco accent. Not to mention the beautiful landscaping. Sasha felt like she had driven to a small, private island somewhere, and not just because the drive from Sasha’s place to Casey’s was about an hour. Sasha had already learned that nothing in Atlanta was close; there were so many suburbs and sections of town. Come on, two downtowns? Never mind that one was referred to as Midtown. It was two downtowns as far as Sasha was concerned. From the look of things, Casey and Eric even had a town of their own.

  After ringing the doorbell, Sasha was greeted by the housekeeper, who was dressed in the typical black-and-white uniform.

  “Sasha?” the housekeeper said with a Spanish accent.

  Sasha nodded, surprised the housekeeper knew who she was. “Yes.”

  “The others are expecting you.” She smiled and moved to the side so that Sasha could enter.

  This must have meant that Sasha was the last one to arrive. How else would the housekeeper have known who she was? As the housekeeper closed the door and then led Sasha through the foyer and into the sitting area, she hoped the other guests didn’t take her for a diva attempting to be fashionably late. It was only 6:45. So she’d gotten turned around a couple times. Hopefully everyone would understand that she was still new in town and had to learn the city. Or in this case, the island, because this joint was in the boondocks for real.

  “Sasha, you made it,” Casey greeted as she walked over to meet Sasha at the entry of the room. “I was just
about to call you to make sure you weren’t lost or anything.” Casey gave Sasha a hug. When she pulled away, she gave her the once-over. “Oooh, look at you. What’s that? Donna Karan?” She pointed her index finger up and down the length of Sasha’s body.

  “Actually it is.” Sasha smiled. Norman had been right insisting that she borrow a Donna Karan original that had been created specifically for one of the clients he was working with.

  Sasha had never even been one to borrow her best friend’s clothes when she was growing up, let alone borrow a stranger’s outfit. But Norman had convinced her that she really wasn’t borrowing. In fact, the celebrity client had not even worn it yet. Sasha’s body would be the first the suit hugged.

  “Besides, celebrities borrow stuff all the time to wear on the red carpet,” Norman had added to make Sasha feel even more comfortable about wearing the suit. “Just don’t let anything happen to it. You fuck up the dress, then you’re fucked.”

  “Me?” Sasha said. “But you’re the one who is responsible for the safekeeping of your garments.”

  “True, but in the court of law, I will lie like O. J. and say you stole it off my rack when I turned my back.” He pointed to his serious facial expression. “Straight face like O. J. You know I’ll do it. I’ll be in the courtroom like Johnnie Cochran talking about, ‘If the suit fit, that bitch did that shit.’ ”

  Sasha laughed so hard she got a cramp in her stomach.

  “Oh, you go ahead and laugh, but mess up that dress and watch an Oscar performance of a lifetime. I will throw you under the bus and roll over you twice before I mess up my reputation in this business. Folks gotta know their stuff is safe with me.”

  “Then if it’s all like that, maybe I shouldn’t borrow it.” Sasha had intended on wearing one of her own pieces in the first place. Sasha’s aesthetic wasn’t formal, though. It was dinner-wear, after-five, and Kentucky Derby, but not red carpet, which is what Norman had insisted she wear. She valued Norman’s advice.

  “Trust me, hunty, you are going to the Cortzes’. I don’t care if the only guest there is Stevie Wonder, you better go looking your best in the top-of-the-line, latest high-end fashion. Betchu that bitch Casey gon’ be snatched.” He snatched the air and snapped his fingers. “I have a saying,” Norman continued. “I don’t care whose castle it is, you make sure you are the belle of the ball.”

  Norman hadn’t steered Sasha wrong to date, so she couldn’t see why he would start now. The way Casey’s eyes lit up as she walked around admiring every inch of the Donna Karan suit, Norman had not yet been made out to be a liar.

  “Sasha, you are wearing the hell out of this suit,” Casey said. “If you weren’t six feet tall, I’d have to borrow it myself.” She laughed.

  “Thank you,” Sasha said, definitely feeling as if she’d made Casey proud, not that she was a people pleaser. She had to admit, though, Norman was indeed right. It did feel good being the belle of the ball in someone else’s castle. She looked around the grand room with its vaulted ceilings.

  “Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet.” Casey grabbed Sasha’s hand and pulled her over to the sitting area where there were two gentlemen.

  Sasha looked around slightly puzzled. Where was everyone else? From the way the housekeeper made it sound, all the guests had already arrived. Sasha quickly thought back to whether there had been any other cars in the driveway. She had been so mesmerized by the beautiful home that she hadn’t paid much attention. There may have been one or two cars parked out front. She wasn’t sure.

  Sasha tried to listen to see if maybe there was the sound of music or chatter coming from another area of the house. Maybe that was where the real action was going on, but she heard nothing. Casey had said it was just going to be a small get-together, but as Sasha noticed the candles lit throughout the room, she realized there was a difference between a small get-together and an intimate one. And this looked more intimate.

  Once the two gentlemen saw Casey and Sasha approaching, they stood.

  “Sasha,” Eric greeted, extending his hand.

  “Good to see you again, Eric,” Sasha said as he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

  Eric looked rather lavish in his deep royal blue suede cigar jacket. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Eric then turned to the gentleman standing next to him. “And this here is my boy, Terrance.”

  Sasha looked over at the larger-than-life being that stood next to Eric. Eric was a nice size guy, being a tall guard on a basketball team. But dude next to him looked like he could break Eric in half. If it was true that muscle weighed more than fat, ole boy was tipping the scales.

  “Sasha, this is my teammate and best friend, Terrance,” Eric introduced. “Terrance—”

  “Sasha,” Terrance said, cutting off Eric. He extended his hand.

  Sasha took note of how he’d taken over the introduction. He didn’t need another man doing for him what he could do himself.

  “I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” the tall, dark cocoa man with a neat and freshly trimmed goatee continued.

  Sasha slowly slid her hand into his. He lifted it to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on it, staring at her the entire time, not even blinking.

  Once upon a time Sasha would have been turned off by his intensity. Some wanna-be Idris Elba guy had performed this same scene back in Ohio once, leaving his disgusting slobber on Sasha’s hand. She supposed it was his way of showing her what he could do to her lower set of lips if given the chance. She didn’t want his big, crusty lips on any parts of her body. There was nothing attractive about a man with crusty lips. Malik Yoba might have had a tad of ash on his in some of the episodes of Empire, but he was fine, classy, tranquil, and elegant. The fool who had tried to play smooth operator with Sasha had reminded her of Jerome from Martin. He had been trying way too hard and his tactic didn’t come off as natural at all. There had been nothing genuine or smooth about this kiss. But this Terrance guy, he was no Jerome or Malik Yoba. As a matter of fact, with a quick once-over, once Sasha was able to pull herself away from his hypnotizing eyes, she saw he was unlike any man she had ever met before.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Terrance said, letting go of Sasha’s hand.

  She looked down at her hand, which had definitely just been kissed by a prince rather than a frog. Perhaps Sasha was coming to this conclusion a little too fast. She’d only been around him all of one minute. But he just came across so natural, not as if he was trying too hard, but hardly trying.

  Sasha rubbed the back of her hand. It was dry. Yes! She wouldn’t have to worry about excusing herself to hurry up and get his saliva off of her hand before it dried up and left a breath odor.

  “And you look just as stunning as you did the first time I saw you.” Now it was Terrance who was giving Sasha the once-over.

  “Well, thank you,” Sasha started, trying not to blush, her eyes smizing—the term Tyra Banks coined, which meant smiling with one’s eyes—at this handsome fellow in front of her. She was able to come up for air out of his compliment just long enough to realize what he’d said. “Have we met before?” Sasha asked in a confused tone.

  “He was at the charity event,” Eric interrupted.

  Sasha thought back long and hard. She didn’t recall seeing him at the event, let alone being introduced to him. He was not easy to forget. Unless someone had slipped something in one of her drinks that erased from her memory portions of that evening, there was no way she had met him and didn’t remember.

  “I remember you introducing me to Paris,” Sasha said to Eric, “but not Terrance.”

  Even though Sasha was looking at Eric, through her peripheral vision she saw how quickly Terrance’s head shot in Eric’s direction. Sasha looked to Terrance to see him giving Eric a look as if he couldn’t believe his friend had introduced a woman like Sasha to a woman like Paris. Sasha had to admit that she felt flattered. See, Sasha never had to think she was too good or better than folks when she had other people
who thought it for her. Sasha was humbled that it was obvious she came from good stock.

  “That’s because I didn’t introduce you to Terrance,” Eric replied to Sasha. He turned to Terrance, giving him the opportunity to take over the conversation.

  Realizing Eric was waiting on him to speak, Terrance turned and said to Sasha, “I asked him who you were once I saw you heading out. Eric offered to make the introductions, but I figured since I hadn’t been able to get you to notice me earlier that night, I definitely wasn’t going to get you to say hello.”

  Sasha smiled, even though she had no idea what this man was talking about.

  Noticing Sasha’s confusion, Terrance clarified. “When you entered the party, you walked in. You were looking right at me, or so I thought. I waved, but you just kept it moving.”

  “Oh, no,” Sasha said. “I promise I must not have noticed you.”

  “Ohhh, man.” Terrance grimaced, grabbing his gut as if Sasha had just punched him in it.

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” Sasha grabbed his hands to get him to stop overreacting. “It’s just that I was feeling out the space we were in. The place was fabulous and had all of my attention. I’m so sorry. I would have never been so rude as to completely ignore someone trying to greet me.” She let go of his hands and her eyes begged for him to believe her. She remembered Paris saying that when she first met Sasha she thought she was going to be all stuck-up and funny acting. That’s the last thing Sasha wanted anybody to think about her, especially this man. She wasn’t desperate, she wasn’t dying to get people to like her or to be accepted into the in-crowd, but she wasn’t a rude bitch, either.

  “I was just joking, I know what you meant.” Terrance laughed.

  “Well,” Casey said, “now that you both clearly acknowledged one another,”—she looked to Sasha—“Sasha, this is Terrance.” She then looked to Terrance. “Terrance, this is Sasha.”

  “Nice to meet you, Terrance,” Sasha said with a nod.

  “Same here,” Terrance said, returning the nod.