Her Savior

by Vera Roberts

  “Keisha.”

  I stop walking. I recognize that voice. It’s unmistakable. It’s like a tattoo on my heart. I have it memorized, recorded, and forever on the DVR on my brain.

  It’s him. Mr. Man.

  Seven

  I’m mortified. He probably thinks I am a street walker getting away from her pimp. And I have the internship freaking tomorrow. Shit, there goes my opportunity.

  “Get in.” He orders.

  The driver gets out and opens the backseat door. “After you, Ms. Jones.”

  I’m hesitant but I don’t have any other choice. Tasha is back at the club getting her party on so I doubt she even noticed me gone. I drop my shoulders down and reluctantly enter the car.

  Mr. Man is dressed in a dark suit with matching tie. He looks and smells wealthy. Not I’m-a-trust-fund-baby wealthy. Not I-just-won-the-lottery-and-I’m-balling rich. I can’t explain it but I get the feeling Mr. Man owns the world and we’re just all living in it.

  There’s an air of sophistication and sexiness surrounding him, as if he knows the affect he has on women but carefully wields it. I get the feeling he is curiously picky about who he spends his time with – in or out of the bedroom.

  He turns to me and wipes my face with a silk handkerchief. His hands are soft and his brown eyes are studying my face as he carefully blots it. “You smell like you had a bad night.” His voice is quiet and rich with concern.

  I’m sure I smell like false hope and hidden presidential tax returns. “I rather not talk about it.”

  Mr. Man silently nods as he continues to wipe my face. “Understandable.”

  I’m trying to focus on him wiping my face but my punani is asking me when is he coming to visit? “Who are you?”

  Mr. Man chuckles and I feel his baritone down to my bones. “Savior Ellison,” he quietly replies.

  Ellison, Ellison, Ellison…the name sounds familiar. It then dawns onto me – he’s the Ellison of the long-ass name law firm. He looks very young to be in charge of such of a prestigious law firm. “You own the firm?”

  “My father does. I’m one of the partners. Eventually, it’ll become mine once he retires, which will be soon.” He looks up at me and there is a twinkle in his eyes. The light hits the amber just right and I melt. “It’s interesting being one of the youngest people at that firm but you’re everyone’s boss. People gave me shit because I was the boss’s kid until they saw the pedigree and they realized I knew what the hell I was talking about when I cited certain cases. Then they give you respect. People love and resent you at the same time.”

  My memory jogs back to yesterday when Savior walked through the hallway like he commanded it. A group of lawyers followed him as he doled out instructions and commands. He had a presence that told everyone they would respect him, regardless if they wanted to. “I hear that.” I finally open my eyes and I see staring back at me. “Thank you for blotting my face.”

  “Anytime,” he settles back into the Rolls Royce Phantom like he owns it. Judging by his appearance and the driver, I’m sure he does. There’s no question he’s the McDonald’s and everyone else is a franchisee. “So, where do you want me to take you?”

  I look like ass and will eventually smell like it if I don’t get home and shower. “Home.”

  “Fair enough,” Savior nods. He pushes a button that pulls down the privacy shade. “To Keisha’s home, James.”

  “Yes, Mr. Ellison.” The driver nods.

  Savior pushes the privacy button back up. We sit in a comfortable silence for a while, only the Christmas soulful sounds of Luther Vandross and Teddy Pendergrass filling the air.

  “I have to ask…” I carefully begin.

  “Go on,” he encourages.

  “Savior?” I’ve heard many Jesus and Messiahs but those names are usually relegated to brown folk.

  He chuckles and the entire backseat comes alive. “My mother wanted a name for me that no other kid had. This was before the Kaiden, Jaden, Aiden phase of the 2000s. My mom’s wet nurse was a Southern black woman and she took one look at me and allegedly said, ‘That boy was blessed by the Savior Himself!’ The lightbulb went off in my mom’s head and well, that’s it.” His mouth curved into a delicious smile. “How do you like Inglewood?”

  I shrug. It has its fair share of problems. I lost count the number of friends and neighbors I lost due to random gang violence. I’ve been to more funerals than I’m comfortable admitting and to say it hasn’t had an impact on my life is a lie.

  On the same tip, it’s the only hood that’s for us. I know everyone there and they know me. I don’t have to put on my white voice and pretend I’m something I’m not because I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable. “I like it but it could be better.”

  “I hear that,” his voice is smoother than the fade on his head, “I have friends who grew up there. My family lives in Bel-Air.”

  “You have friends who grew up in Inglewood?” Savior looks like a real-life Ken Doll. He’s the type of rich, white dude who probably collects cars, and has an interest in motorsports, yachting, and all that other bullshit white people with too much money and the equal amount of boredom have.

  Savior looks over at me and peruses my body from my painted toes to my equally painted lips. He did it so quickly, I wouldn’t have noticed it if I wasn’t staring at him. “I have a lot of friends everywhere.”

  He was cryptic enough about his response that told me that was the end of that particular discussion. “So, where do you live now?”

  “Bel-Air, down the street from my parents. Same area, just a different and bigger home.” He winks at me and my knees feel weak.

  I nod. “I feel you.”

  “What made you pursue law as a study interest?”

  I slightly shake my head. “I just wanted something better. I always loved the law and studied torts for fun. I would read Supreme Court cases to see why they came to such a decision.” I shrug. “I decided to just go for it. I have the full blessing of my family.” Minus one person but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “Good, good. Keep that attitude and you’ll go very far.”

  I certainly hope so. I don’t like the idea I have to be inside my home by a certain time before I hear the random gunshots ring out. But it’s my Granny’s home. I feel I have to stay there even if I don’t want to be there.

  We arrive at my home and I quickly gather my things. “Thank you for the ride home, Savior. I really appreciate it.”

  He quickly gets out and opens the car door for me. Shit, Jalen never even did this. This is new. “My pleasure,” Savior extends a hand and I grab it.

  We walk up to my front door and it’s not until I get there I realize I never let go of his hand. Maybe I just didn’t want to. It felt so…right. I never felt so protected by someone and I wonder what’s really going on. “I guess I’ll see you at the internship tomorrow?”

  Savior closes the space between us and I become so alert of him at that moment. I feel the energy exchange between us; a push and pull. My nipples become hardened and my body is so aware of his masculinity.

  I never felt like this strongly towards anyone. What is going on here?

  “Keisha,” his deep voice feathers against my earlobe. He holds my waist and stares into my eyes. “Don’t feel you have to stay here if you want more. You can always give back to your community in other ways.”

  I see his lips are moving but all hear is Charlie Brown’s teacher voice. Wa-wa-wa-wah.

  “Keisha?” Savior calls again and I finally become coherent. “Moving out of the ‘hood doesn’t mean you sold out.”

  His advice is coming from a place of experience and I appreciate the knowledge. “Thank you.”

  Savior looks up at my bald head and smiles. “Tomorrow, no wig. I like you better like this.”

  Jalen hated my fade and told me every chance he got. Savior worshipped it. The difference isn’t lost on me. “Will do.”

  Savior softly kisses my forehead and fl
ashes that panty-dropping smile at me. “See you tomorrow, Keisha.” He walks back to his Rolls Royce as the driver waits for him.

  I watch him get into the car and sigh. I don’t know what I’m feeling, what I’m supposed to feel, if the emotions that are running through my body are even allowed.

  But with Savior by my side, I can’t go wrong.

  Eight

  I wake up to a grip of text notifications. Between my social media accounts, I have around 1500 friend requests. When my mother decided she was going to be a groupie for life, I made sure no one knew a damn thing about me. I don’t accept friend request unless I actually know that motherfucker.

  I finally know why.

  No surprise that word about our notorious fight hit the gossip blogs early. I don’t even have to wonder if my mother was the one that contacted all of the blogs or someone on her behalf. But since there were eyewitness accounts to what happened, someone blabbed.

  And of course, my internship might be in trouble.

  I rub my eyes and my head is pounding. After the nightclub, I went home and showered. And then I killed a fifth of Henny. I hate Henny. But I drank it because I know Andrea hates it too, and well, somewhere in that fucked-up mind of mine, I drank it in spite of her.

  Yeah, it didn’t make sense last night and it makes no damn sense this morning.

  I wish I didn’t listen to Tasha’s knock-kneed ass about attending that wack-ass party. However, I did, and today will be the last day of my damn internship because guess what? My black ass is all over the fucking blogs.

  TSR Exclusive – Hip-Hop Wives cast member Andrea and daughter in a knockout fight!

  That Hot Sauce Exclusive – HHW member Andrea and daughter come to blows!

  Facebook Wenches and the Fibroids Who Love Them Exclusive – HHW member Andrea and daughter fight!

  Okay, so maybe I made up that last one.

  I quickly clear my notifications and keep everyone in purgatory waiting hell. In a few months, they’ll forget about my ass and hopefully, they’ll rescind the request. At least I hope so. I ain’t got time for stalking-ass niggas wondering how they’re gon’ beat their dicks to my latest upload.

  I hear a knock on my door and Tasha just lets her ass right on in. Thank God I mostly sleep with some clothes on or she would’ve seen something else on me that’s bald. “Good Morning to you, too, bitch.” I greet her.

  Tasha waltzes right in with a small box in her hands. She hands it to me and sits on my bed as she stares at me. Her eyes are as pink as Barbie’s dream house, and she’s probably still tipsy from last night. I hear a toilet flushing and know that’s SoundCloud’s non-rapping ass using up my plumbing. I need to get away from these niggas for real.

  “You have a package,” she lightly taps the box, “Me and Junie were up baking when I saw a SUV pull up. Some older white dude got out and left the package at the front door without ringing the doorbell. I thought it was some dude about to serve some papers because I’m late on some credit cards but nah…” She taps the package again. “…it’s for you.”

  I look down at the package and my name is handwritten on it. I open the box and it’s a small vial with a handwritten note. “Drink this before you go to the internship. Once you arrive, see me immediately.” I flip the card and it’s signed by Savior.

  I quickly drink the vial and notice it tastes something like regret, love spell, and fish. It goes down easy and I’m hoping it stays there. I put the vial away and get out of bed. “I need to head to my internship.”

  “Are you going to talk about last night?” Tasha inquires. I know she’s acting like concerned friend but I also think she wants to sell my ass out to the highest bidder. I know she’s late on her phone bill.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I go into my closet and pull out some slacks, a pink dress shirt, and those kitten heels that white girls seem to be into nowadays. I pull out my Vickie Secret’s bra and panties and call it a day. “I really have nothing to say.”

  “Nothing? Nothing at all?” Tasha pushes. Yep, I definitely know her ass is going to the blogs. With a friend like her, why have enemies?

  “Nothing,” I tighten my lips. I’m going to be on my best behavior because I don’t know if word got back to the firm about what happened last night. I damn sure don’t need to give Savior any reason to let go of me. “I’m about to shower and leave. See you later, Tee.”

  ~~~~~

  I arrive at the Ellison law firm and I immediately see people turn heads. I can’t tell if they’re looking at me with sympathy because of Andrea, amazement because I’m not wearing a head full of India’s finest, or they know my black ass is about to be fired and I’m not even hired.

  How do you get fired on your day off?

  “Good Morning, Keisha,” a young, slim man walks up to my desk. He’s wearing a V-neck sweater, tweed slacks, and black shoes. He looks like the type that would eat caviar for breakfast, lobster for lunch, and more caviar and lobster for dinner. “Here is your schedule for today. You’ve been requested to attend this afternoon’s meeting by Savior.”

  I look down at the schedule. I’ve been scheduled to go to several meetings, meet with a few lawyers for 15-minute increments, and help with any task the lawyers need.

  All of that is fine and dandy, but it’s the one schedule meeting that has me on alert:

  I have a two-hour lunch with Savior himself.

  I’m used to having 30-minute lunches with fifteen-minute breaks. Maybe 15 minutes. Sometimes it’s not even that. This fool has me on the schedule to meet him in three hours for a two-hour lunch. Who in the hell takes two-hour lunches?

  I already know the answer – people who own law firms.

  I try not to freak out about the schedule. I just know I don’t have time to fuck up today. “Thank you,” I quietly reply.

  “Not a problem,” he grins at me, “I’m Easton, Savior’s assistant. If you ever need anything, you contact me first.”

  I watch Easton walk away and I feel his words linger in the background. He wanted me to personally contact him if I needed anything. Contact him.

  Him.

  Him.

  Savior.

  ~~~~~~

  Lunch time comes and I’m starving. I powered through several meetings where I listened to lawyers discussing strategy. I met with a few of them who were glad to be talking about something other than a case or a client. And I finally got a feel for what it’s like working in a legal firm.

  I’ll tell you this much – it ain’t nothing like what the TV and movies have you believe. A lot of these lawyers have never seen the inside of a courtroom and the majority of the time, they settle or reach an agreement out of court. If they have to go to court, they asses are dreading it every step of the way.

  I’ll worry about all of that later. I have a lunch date with Mr. Man and well, I can’t be late. I pick up my purse and slip into my mustard-yellow Adidas when I feel a presence beside me.

  It’s him.

  It’s weird how I know it’s him without looking up. It’s like I felt his presence before he said a word as if my body was attuned to his. “Mr. Ellison…” I slip on the last shoe and look up at him. “Hello.”

  “Are you ready to go?” He asks.

  The way his eyes sparkle as they meet mine tells me he might have a mischievous streak in him. Not evil or hateful. But the type of guy would put ‘Honk if you want me to suck your penis’ bumper sticker on the back of a straight dude’s car. “Yes,” I grab my purse, “let’s go.”

  I walk with Savior through the law firm where various people stop him with questions. He answers them all. He doesn’t dismiss anyone and gives quick, succinct answers. I’m somehow charmed by that. He could’ve been an asshole but chose not to.

  We walk down to the garage and he leads me to a Bentley convertible. Of course, it’s his. “Are you in the mood for sushi?”

  Raw fish doesn’t sound appetizing to me but I also know they have other things I can ea
t. “Sure,” I make sure my white voice sounds cheerful and excited as if I had blonde hair and an affinity for the word like. “Sounds good.”

  ~~~~~~

  I’m in a different world.

  There are sushi joints that are Mom and Pop shops and hidden in a corner you have to know what you’re looking for to find it. And there are sushi joints that specifically cater to the white and wealthy that you already know once you see the menu and don’t see any prices, your black ass can’t afford it.

  I’m the latter.

  Sure, I can afford the sushi if I really wanted to. Daddy always made sure I had some money no matter how much I told him I would want to do things on my own. Yet, I don’t want to do something that would…I don’t know…make me feel less black, you know? I know it’s silly to think of but I’m being one-hundred percent legit when I say that.

  I know how some black people feel when they get into a different tax bracket and act like they don’t know where they come from. They are usually the first ones to complain about “them” (meaning us) and how they always complain to their white friends about how we’re acting when they don’t realize their black asses are always skating on thin ice until Becky feels threatened.

  I hope to never become that.

  “Have you decided what you wanted, Keisha?” Savior asks.

  Something fried and dead is my thought. I hold the heavy leather-bound menu and I’m thankful Savior is the one footing this bill because I know I won’t be able to afford anything but the damn water. “I’ll have the fried tempura and miso soup.”

  “And what else?” He challenges. His eyes are still on the menu.

  My eyes search from side to side. I was supposed to order more? I know these slacks are already tight on me but I think this motherfucker wants me to bust out of them. “Um, I don’t know. I never really ate sushi before.”

  “I’ll order for you,” he declares and closes the menu. Somehow, I think he was going to do that regardless of what my answer was. His eyes stare down at me and I feel he’s undressing me without actually doing so. Somehow, I don’t think I would mind if he did. “I wanted to talk to you privately, Keisha, and away from everyone else.”