We head back home and are greeted with a Bentley SUV again. It’s only six p.m. and I wasn’t expecting Savior to come over for another two hours or so. I quickly park the SUV and go to the Bentley where Savior’s driver, James, is standing outside. He’s a young black man who wears the standard black and white uniform.
Despite being a chauffeur, James isn’t giving me Driving Miss Daisy tease. He has a small goatee and always seems to have a smile on his face. He genuinely likes Savior and they have a good friendship with each other. “Mr. Ellison has requested your presence, Miss Jones. Your friends can attend if they so wish.”
“Hells yeah, we’re going. Hold on for a minute. Let me go bake real quick and I’ll be right out.” Tasha instructs.
“Tasha…” Why do I take her ass anywhere? I turn to James. “Where are we going?”
“Mr. Ellison doesn’t want you to pick up dinner since he’s not sure if he’ll like the choice.” James nervously explains.
Oh, so white boy had a second doubt about eating soul food? Color me shocked. “Oh really?”
“So, he decided upon a restaurant of his choosing.” James opens the passenger door. “After you, Miss Jones.”
I stare down at the brother for a minute and then back at my clothing. I’m wearing a hoodie and blue jeans with my Jordan Spikizes. Clearly Savior doesn’t want to take me to a high-dining restaurant but I’m wonder how casual he wants me to be? “Like this?”
“Mr. Ellison wouldn’t want it any other way.” James smiles. “After you.”
I hop into the backseat with Junie and Tasha (who didn’t get a chance to bake so she’s a little salty. I’m like, bitch, try not being high for once and see how productive you are, but I ain’t one to gossip so you didn’t hear it from me).
James drives us to Sweet Potato, a new soul food restaurant that’d just opened up not too long ago in far Studio City. There’s always a long line and huge waiting list. It’s supposed to be a classy version of soul food. I don’t know about alladat. I don’t mind eating on chipped, wooden tables, drinking out of plastic cups that are also chipped, and listening to someone sing “Leaning on Everlasting Arms” as other people join in.
Now I’m about to go to a fancy soul food restaurant….those actually exist?
James pulls up to the curb and two valets greet us. James also joins us and escorts us past the line of patrons and directly inside. Once we’re in, we hear Donell Jones’s voice crooning about how a woman knows he loves her and the mood is totally chill.
It’s bit more upscale but it doesn’t feel any less black. If anything, it feels more black, if that makes any sense. The walls are covered in a slick, dark purple with pictures of old Black Hollywood decorating them. I see Lena Horne, Dorothy Dandridge, Harry Belafonte, Sammy Davis, Jr. and jazz greats like Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, and Duke Ellington.
As we walk through the long hallway, I notice the theme has progressed from the Harlem Renaissance era to the Motown era to the Black Power movement of the 60’s and 70’s, and finally the BLM movement of today. A lot of history on those walls.
We finally arrive at the main dining room and it seems more like a juke joint than a restaurant. People are in the middle of the dance floor bumping and grinding to some blues. A few tables to my left, a few men are playing Dominoes. Another table has a small crowd of men watching a chess game.
A couple on a date is snuggling up to each other in their private booth. Another party is celebrating someone’s birthday at another booth. The waitresses are fully dressed with Afros and braids like an Outkast song.
It feels like home.
“What is this?” I ask to no one in particular.
“You wanted fried catfish,” Savior appears suddenly next to me. “I know this place has the best fried catfish in town.”
I turn towards him and smile. “You own this place?”
“I’m a quiet and private investor,” his smile is warm, “I come here once a week to see how it’s being run but I normally stay out of it.”
Savior the executive. I don’t know why I’m surprised he owns a restaurant, let alone a soul food one. Almost all of the employees are black, with a sprinkle of Latino here and there. I later learn another rich investor by the name of Scott Reed also owns the restaurant.
Woke white boy has proven he’s about that life and not just retweeting hashtags on Twitter. “You know you could’ve had fried catfish in my neck of the woods?” I reply.
“I know, but I think you and your friends would like this.” He holds out his hand. “Shall we?”
I glance down at his hand and back up at him. Professional Savior is still a little present, but the sensual and intimate side of him has started to come through. Here he feels at home, and it seems everyone knows who he is and gives him respect.
Still, holding hands in public? FWBs actually do this? Now’s not the time to wonder about what Savior’s intentions are. I take his hand and Savior guides us to our private booth.
We’re immediately greeted by a server, who promptly serves us the best libations probably in all of California. Appetizers shortly follow and it’s a thigh-fattening selection of wings, oysters Rockefeller, clawfish dip, and fried okra.
Savior and Junie talk about music and whatever else in life while me and Tasha take in the atmosphere. Savior may have been a quiet and private investor but it’s clear this restaurant has his touch. Little bits of Savior are evident by the classiness of it and the respectfulness of black history.
It’s clear his family’s history has shaped his life and why he went into law alongside his father. A part of me does wonder if he does all of this because he truly wants to be a changing force in the black community or if liberal white guilt is playing a role.
“You’re quiet,” he whispers in my ear and my heart stumbles a little, “what’s on your mind, gorgeous?”
I haven’t gotten used to the nickname Savior has given me. I finally conceded it’s something he means and he’s not just saying it for shits and giggles. “I’m just taking in the scene, that’s all. It’s a lot to discover here and I’m just amazed by it all.”
“Is that all?” He stares into my eyes and I lightly sigh. “You seem troubled, gorgeous. I don’t like it when my girlfriend is bothered by something.”
Girlfriend. Second time he’s referred to me as such. “Girlfriend, huh?”
“You’re not?” He replies. “If it bothers you, I’ll stop.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” I let out a small sigh. “…I don’t even know if you like coffee or tea?”
Savior chuckles and once again I feel his rumble in my loins. “Both. Espresso in the mornings to wake me up and tea at night to soothe me. Chamomile.”
I have neither in my home. I guess I’ll be making a trip to the store soon. “Got it.”
“Anything else?” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and caresses it.
“I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know your fears, your hopes and dreams…I know none of that.” I reply. “I don’t know if you want me to know.”
“Why?” He hastily adds. “Have I said I didn’t want you to know anything about me?”
“You said you didn’t want romance, and you didn’t want a relationship but you’re calling me your girlfriend.” It’s not lost on me the overhead speakers are now playing “Adore” by Prince. “So, I’m not sure what to believe.”
Savior sweeps his lips over mine and my worries dissipate into the air. His lips claim me, branding me again, telling me I belong to him and daring anyone to say anything about it. His other arm snakes around my waist and he softly pinches the tight fabric of my shirt, anxious to get it off me but patient to wait until we’re home.
He pulls away from me and my body wants more. “Keisha…” he lightly touches my lips with an index finger. “…I’m a complicated man. My career comes first and it always has. But I’m more than willing to make you a priority.”
He said with such a declaration, I felt a chill. It felt too right. It felt too perfect. Our date on Saturday will be our official debut in front of the world. Every society page will have us pictured. Every black IG gossip blogger will have me shown.
I thought of Andrea and how she was getting desperate for a storyline. She went on a rant calling me ungrateful and how I should’ve been thankful to have a mother like her, though everyone knows she never did anything for me.
She’s low-key salty I haven’t appeared on a single episode of her reality show and I never will. She wants the fame and popularity, and will do anything to achieve it. I’m content staying at home and eating my Fruit Loops and watching Netflix.
A guy like Savior doesn’t date a girl from the ‘hood. And a man like Savior damn sure wouldn’t date a woman who has a drug dealer father. I don’t doubt for a second, all of that will come in within a few days of our picture being posted.
“Savior, before we can continue with this arrangement we have…”
“It’s still an arrangement?” His eyes dance. “I could’ve sworn I called you my girlfriend and you didn’t argue.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that. He’s right I didn’t argue but I’m also slow to accept whatever is going on between us. I finally decide now is the time to tell Savior everything and be completely raw with him. He has to know the truth about my daddy. And then he can slowly break my heart.
“Savior, I have something to tell you. It’s about my daddy. He’s a…”
“Well, well, well!” The world’s most horrible womb-holder alive, Andrea, aka my birth mother aka Satan’s Spawn aka Lucifer’s Mistress, is right before our eyes. In tow is her paper bag-passing, broke-ass boyfriend, King J. Also attached to Andrea, is Chermica’s mother, Charmaine. “Look who we have here?”
My night had the potential to end badly. Now it’s a guarantee.