It’s hard to love your city when it’s constantly on the news.
The news broadcasters are nice enough to call it South L.A. so they can mean a broad term of cities. But everyone who lives in or close to L.A. knows South L.A. usually means black. Except now, it can also mean brown.
Once a week, there’s a shooting, a hit-and-run death, or some other bullshit that gets reported. I used to go jogging around the neighborhood during the afternoons until I heard there was a rapist on the loose. Now I go home and do yoga in front of my TV.
There’s a lot of good in the neighborhood that doesn’t get reported like how the dance academy just went to Spain and performed in front of kings. Or how every Saturday, there’s a small Leimert Village farmer’s market where I can get the best white sage in town and listen to African drums.
Good news doesn’t make people tune in at night. It’s the drama. The anger. The rage. The pity. Who wants to turn on the TV and hear about a good story of kids selling lemonade to buy a puppy when they can turn the channel and watch another police-involved shooting?
I think about the differences of my city and wonder why in the hell would a guy like Savior actually want to come here? It’s not like he can never get a date. I have Google alerts set up on him and trust, his fan club grows by the day.
He’s very popular in the wealthy segment of the country. After all, a billionaire’s son is bound to make him a hot commodity. I read he was also featured in a listing of most eligible rich men and I’m sure all of the golddiggers’ secure the bag scheme went up like a flag on Independence Day.
There’s something amiss about the arrangement Savior is proposing, as if it’s too good to be true. And of course, we all know if it feels that way, it’s more than likely a possibility. Still, I have to wonder, why would Savior go through the trouble of sending me to college when he could’ve just left the sex part out.
I want to fuck you, Keisha. Hard. Fast. Slow. All night. Quickies. In my office. At your house. Everywhere.
His declaration burns in my memory like an open flame and I don’t want to extinguish it. Not now or ever. I can still feel his lips as they parted my cleft and sucked on my budding clit. I can remember his fingers exploring my body. As I received yet another Google alert about him, I open it and shake my head.
There was Savior and presumably, an ex-girlfriend.
It was a recent photo and it looked like they went to a gala of some sort. He’s sharply dressed in a tuxedo and she’s wearing this gorgeous red gown that probably came with a comma between the numbers.
She’s a white redhead. The realization stuns me like a Taser.
As I go through more photos of Savior at past galas, he’s never showed up with someone with darker skin. There was one girl would could’ve passed for Indian (dot, not feather). Another gala he went with a woman who had what I like to call the Debarge – she’s biracial but she looks Latina.
I don’t know if Savior goes to these things because he’s expected to or if it just another way to keep the press entertained on his love life while he handles legal cases. All I know is that he’s about to take a drug dealer’s daughter to the fancy ball and there’s no amount of glass slippers in the world that will make this all right.
Ninety days. That’s all I’m giving him.
~~~~~
“‘Face,” Daddy greets me with a big hug and smile. Looking every bit like Idris’s doppelgänger, Prince Daryn Jones is the man who has always had my back no matter what day.
He named me angel face when I was a baby because I reminded him of a cherub. Over the years, it’s been shortened to just ‘face, but it’s all love, no matter what. I’m the only girl out of four children he has with two different women so I get a bit extra attention.
My Daddy isn’t the typical dad, unless the typical dad is a drug dealer specializing in opioids. My daddy used to sell weed until he heard how white people would practically sell their newborns for a hit of meth. He’s never looked back.
My daddy is a drug dealer with morals, though. He won’t ever sell to the black folks but he has no problem if Becky and Tyler from Malibu want a Xanax. His justification is something about getting his 40 acres and a mule one way or another.
He built his rep being ruthless in Inglewood before he moved on. My father was known to get an enemy’s mama, sister, and auntie high on drugs to prove he runs everything in Inglewood. He never did get out of the game, but he’s definitely not as hardcore about it like he used to be.
It’s why everyone still respects him and why Jalen, for whatever reason, wants to be like my daddy. The difference between Jalen and my daddy, however, is my daddy is quiet about his gangsta. Jalen, on the other hand, is that type of nigga who thinks being the loudest in the yard makes people respect him more.
One thing my daddy has definitely taught me – if you’re going to be loud, don’t be wrong.
“I haven’t seen you since you started your internship. I was wondering if you were so used to the fancy white folks in downtown, you forgot about your poor old daddy here in Ladera Heights.” He chuckles.
“Now, you know I could never forget about my number one,” I give my daddy a big hug and we sit down in the living room to watch the Lakers game.
There is nothing poor or cheap about Ladera Heights. The wealthiest of black families live there and it’s not uncommon to see athletes, celebrities, and CEOs walking their dogs. But that’s my daddy’s sense of humor. He’s always had a depreciating side that made me realize he never takes life too seriously.
“Where’s Ashley?” I ask.
My daddy motions behind him past the stairs. “She’s showering up. We’re getting ready to head to a steakhouse in a minute. She just landed a big account so I’m going to treat boo-thang and take her out shopping for some new jewelry.”
My brothers’ mother is a sweetheart and always has a little bit of money for me, even though I don’t need it. Ashley looks a bit like Vanessa Williams (the Miss America one, not the Soul Food one) and has the mouth of RHOA peach holder.
She was the one that taught me how to beat my face. She was the one that embraced my natural hairstyle. She was the one that taught me about sex and warned me about boys (of course my stupid ass didn’t listen but you gotta be stupid at least once in your youth, right?)
She ignored all of my daddy’s drug dealing and cleaned up his financial affairs so no feds could ever trace anything back to him. She was the Bonnie to his Clyde before Bey and Jay made it cool.
Things didn’t work out between her and my Daddy due to a variety of reasons – he wasn’t ready to settle down while she was. Daddy’s had numerous forgettable girlfriends and Ashley’s had boyfriends that never lasted long because of my brothers. But Daddy always took care of Ashley and made sure she never went without.
They’re still very close to this day. Close as in Ashley is a regular overnight visitor at my daddy’s home. Me thinks they might be getting back together sooner than they want to admit. He’s been talking about settling down and with three boys between them, I can’t see why not.
“I heard about you and Andrea,” Daddy says as he watches the Lakers game. He winces when Lonzo Ball misses a shot. “What’s your version of events?”
My mother, Andrea, has never been a mother to me. Hopping from one dick to another until she landed the grand prize of the biggest piece of human waste known as King J, she invited me to celebrate her birthday along with the other black-famous Z-list celebrities from VH1.
After telling me I should lose weight and get some of India’s finest yaki on my head, we got into it. I’m sure me telling her to fuck off didn’t help matters. “She insulted me and I didn’t put up with it.”
Daddy is silent for a long while as he watches the game. “I don’t know why they didn’t just offer Phil Jackson another contract and paid him whatever the hell he wanted. It ain’t like he’s doing anything in New York messing up that team over there.” He mutters before he addresses me again. “So what are you going to do about Andrea?”
“Ignore her and hope she doesn’t ruin my life,” I reply. Some kids wish for toys, others wish for new clothes. When I was child, I wished Andrea would come home. Have you ever felt like you weren’t wanted? That’s how I felt with Andrea.
Daddy is silent again and is watching the game. I can’t tell if he’s impressed with this version of the Lakers squad or he’s disgusted. He’s still a diehard Lakers fan, no matter what. “You tried your best. She’ll come around eventually.”
I don’t know why my daddy is so insistent that I have a relationship with Andrea. This woman left me alone when I was four with milk, corn flakes, and the TV on the Cartoon Network while she went clubbing trying to land a baller. I blame the fact Andrea had me when she and daddy were 17 so she never got all that thotting out of her system.
When my daddy found out what she did, he cursed her out six ways to Sunday and had a look on his face that signified he could’ve killed Andrea. From that moment on, I always lived with my daddy. I still believe the only reason why he didn’t kill her was because she was my mother and he’d hoped she would see the error of her ways.
That day never did come and I believe, it never will. “If you say so.”
Daddy is silent again. He’s not a man who rattles off nonsense because he wants to make conversation. Either he has something to say or he doesn’t. He’s like that uncle everyone has, always looking either entertained or annoyed, and wears that particular mask depending on the circumstances. “I drove past your Granny’s home the other night. I noticed there were three cars there – the Honda, a BMW, and a Bentley SUV.” He adjusts the frames on his nose. “You wanna tell me before the streets do?”
I didn’t want to tell Daddy about Savior until I could figure out where he was in my life. For all my Daddy is concerned, I just went out and got a BMW with no questions asked. “I’m seeing someone.”
“I’m assuming his name isn’t Jalen?” He asks and I shake my head. “So, who is this one?”
I’ve never lied to my daddy and I’m not about to start. But I don’t think he has to know exactly who I’m seeing. “A guy at my internship.”
Daddy pays more attention to the game than what I said. He’s silent for a bit more and gets up to stretch. He stops next to me and looks down at me. “Be careful, ‘Face.” He then walks away.
Daddy’s words are loud and clear. He knows I don’t have to give him details unless I really need to. I take his advice to heart.
“Is my baby girl, Keisha, here?” I hear Ashley’s excited voice and I jump up to greet her. Looking like a goddess personified, Ashley is dressed a dark green sleeveless dress with Louboutin heels. Her brown locks are up in a French roll and she’s wearing these ginormous diamond earrings my daddy got for her. She gives me kisses and the biggest and best mama bear hug ever. “How is my darling?”
“I’m doing great, Mom.” It’s weird to call Ashley mom when I should be calling my own mother that. “How are you? You look lovely!”
“I just landed a huge account. Those boys over at the plantation love my work so they’re going to pay me the big bucks to handle their money.” Ashley is one of the most respected accountants in Los Angeles.
She just also happens to be one of the few black female ones so she really gets a lot of business. She had to hustle and fight for her claim, though. She may be light-skinned but she didn’t have it easier. If anything, she had it a lot tougher because people thought she was a pushover.
“I told those fools if they want my business they need to do what I say.” Her voice is soft and breathy, kinda like Erykah Badu. “Like that song from Lil’ Kim, I don’t have time for fake ones.” I love how lowkey gangsta Ashley is. No wonder her and Daddy are a perfect fit.
She double-checks her Saint Laurent clutch and closes it. “How are you doing, ‘Face? Prince tells me you started an internship downtown! How’s it going?”
I’m currently sleeping with the boss’s son on the promise he’ll pay for my tuition to any college in the world I want to go to. “It’s going great,” I reply. I don’t think Ashley needs to know the other details.
“Good, good. You’re a bright, young woman with a beautiful future. I think you’ll do well. Now I hope your brothers can follow your lead but I digress.” My daddy approaches Ashley and they kiss. Awe, #blacklove for the win, y’all.
“Ready to go, sweet potato?” My daddy is so gushy when he comes to Ashley. He drops the hardcore drug lord for a moment when he’s around her and becomes all googly-eyed and bashful. He worships the ground she walks on and would drink her bath water if he could. It’s like he can’t help himself.
“I’m ready after you, Big Daddy.” Ashley caresses my daddy’s goatee and I sincerely hope I’m not going to get another sibling out of them. They’re both young enough where it’s still a possibility and just ew.
“Lock up everything when you leave, ‘Face.” Daddy calls out to me as they leave.
I watch a bit more of the Lakers game before I turn it off and get ready to head home. I set the alarm and leave in my BMW, thinking about the interaction between my daddy and Ashley.
My daddy lucked out finding a woman who was so ride or die. She never tried to convince him to stop dealing nor did she demean him in any way. She just told him to be smarter about it and he listened.
As I drive my car, I wonder why it took the appearance of Savior to make Jalen act like he cares.