Seven
“Have I told you how sexy you look with glasses?”
I’m trying to focus on buying some more property and I have my eye on an apartment building up for sale in Inglewood. Ian’s in the kitchen experimenting and we’re leaving each other be with only Luther Vandross’ “At Christmas Time” between us.
It’s like we fell into a tried and true routine – I do work while he’s cooking. Sometimes, it’s reversed. But it’s a familiarity I’ve longed for when my world seemed to change every few moments. Just a few years ago, I was a high school student. Just two years ago, I graduated from college.
Now I’m engaged to one of the world’s wealthiest men and creating my own empire.
In case the body and hair line doesn’t work out, I need something else to fall back on and what better thing to fall on than real estate.
“You’re the perfect distraction,” I say over the song. The room fills up with aromatic spices and I feel my stomach rumbling.
“You are damn sexy,” Ian calls out from the kitchen. “How’s the market research coming for your hair and body line?”
I’m not researching that, at least not yet. My focus is still on this dilapidated building. It’s rundown, going to cost a small fortune to repair before I can even think about renting it out to potential renters.
Yet, I’m in love.
I envision a lot I can do with the building. Freshly painted walls. New carpets and blinds. Nice appliances in the kitchens and bathrooms that don’t have cracked floors.
I send an email to Rasil and close that window. Now I can refocus on the researching for the hair and body line, though Emma has that covered. “It’s going well. The market is saturated, though. I don’t know how I’ll make an impact.”
“Try Etsy,” Ian suggests, “you might have more success there before you try the bigger markets.”
“You know what I just might do that.” I close the laptop and stretch. I have so much to do before our plane leaves for New York tonight. I should’ve been packed already but I’m nowhere near ready.
Then again, what does one pack when they’re about to go to one of the world’s finest BDSM clubs? Whips? Cat o’ nine tails? A ball gag? I mean, should I even pack any underwear at all?
“Angel, do you have a minute? I want you to try something.”
“Coming!” I love it when Ian test-drives dishes at home. I get to experience some of the world’s finest dishes that Ian sells for a price that’s probably someone’s rent or car payment and I get it for free. Love my talented bae.
I walk into the kitchen and I’m shocked, but not in a good way. I recognize the familiar scent of the oxtails and I sigh. Oxtails and BDSM? Sounds like a great combination to me.
“I’m testing a new appetizer at Sentiment and I want you to be the first one to see how it tastes and if I need anything.” Ian stirs the large pot. “It’s going to be oxtails in a canapé.”
The proverbial record scratches and only TLC belting out “Sleigh Ride” is saving my throat from yelling. “What?” I cautiously ask.
“It’s another way to serve oxtails,” Ian grins at me, “taking something and adding a new flavor to it.”
“Taking something and adding a new flavor to it,” I repeat. This sounds familiar. This sounds like gentrification. “Okay.”
Ian turns to me and I guess I’m not hiding my emotions because he looks concerned. “Is there a problem, angel?”
“I’m just like…” I sigh. This is going to be the start of a forever argument between us and I just hope the Lord grants me the serenity to accept stupid. “…why must you people always come into black culture, take what you like, and then put your own spin on it? Like why must you Elvis Presley-Pat Boone-New Kids On the Block-Justin Timberlake-Miley Cyrus it up?”
Ian curiously blinks at me and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused. I especially hate how his blue eyes are staring into my soul, silently asking me to remove my panties so he could lick me otherwise. Is he actually thinking that? Probably not. But I’ll think it for him.
“So, you don’t want me to serve the oxtail in a canapé?” He softly blinks.
We both know I have no idea what a canapé is but mama didn’t raise no punk. “I’m just saying if you’re going to serve soul food at Sentiment, the patrons need to know it’s soul food. Emphasis on the soul.”
Ian scoops a little of the oxtail onto the canapé and puts it on a small dish. “Try it,” he dares.
I’m hungry. I’m always hungry but I’m starving right now and that oxtail smells hella good. They smell like an 850 credit score and clean mountain air. My stomach rumbles with anger, wondering what in the blue hell is taking me so damn long, and my legs are about to give up and walk over to Ian their damn selves if I don’t move.
Reluctantly, I walk over and grab the plate. Damn, my knees buckle and my mouth waters. My stomach is about to jump out of my body and start force-feeding me if I don’t do something quick.
Before I take a bite, I examine the plate closely. I’m doing this just to be dramatical but I have to pretend I’m serious, even though I’m about to start licking the plate. The gravy looks like perfection. The garlic, onions, and chile pepper are tickling my nose. And that beef? Father God! I’m about to go HAM on this shit.
Ian can’t know that, however. With a calm and collected demeanor on the outside, I give him a polite grin and take the canopy or whatever the hell it’s called, and take a bite out of it.
I done died and went to heaven.
Mouth-watering, praise-break dancing, ten thousand orgasming, flavor in my freakin’ mouth and I’m about to stop eating so I can blow my man in the middle of our kitchen. He got it perfect and I feel my ancestors actually standing up and clapping.
Instead, I just slightly nod. “It’s good, baby.” Don’t lick the plate, Domi. I repeat: you will not lick the plate. “You did a good job.”
Ian slightly grins at me, though I think it’s a smirk. He got my black ass. “Did you want another? I made plenty.”
My stomach is about to knock me the hell out if I don’t accept. “Um, sure.”
“Just one thing,” Ian puts the craps on bigger plate and holds it. “Repeat after me, okay?”
“Um, okay?” I shrug.
“I’m sorry, baby, that I accused you of cultural appropriation but I promise you I’ll give you the best blow job ever to make up for it.” Now Ian’s soft grin is now a full-blown smirk and he’s dead serious. Big dick bastard.
I sigh and fold my arms. “Can I just give you the blow job later and avoid saying all of that? I’m hungry.”
~~~~~
“Your father is worried about you,” my paternal grandmother, Delilah, begins as she serves me tea cakes and coffee at her home. She’s one of the old-school grandmamas that still uses Foldgers because they don’t make Sanka any longer.
She reminds me a lot of Madea. Maybe not as sassy and with a smaller butt, but still the type that will knock (and sometimes literally) some sense into somebody. Maybe she won’t now because Courtney also came with me. Ian was right – wherever I go, Courtney goes as well.
My Granny is a woman who has weathered many a storm in this country, protested during the Civil Rights Movement and offered shelter during the Watts and L.A.riots. Delilah has a regal air about her because she always thought of herself as a queen, no matter what anyone said about her.
Short, black hair, light almond skin, and a penchant for the red lippy, my granny could probably beat up yours.
“Did he forget to mention the part where his wife and her blonde squad ambushed me and Adrienne?” I respectfully reply.
“He told me about that,” Delilah nods, “and I told him it was stupid and that blonde bitch deserved to get cussed out.” She rolls her eyes. “Class-A heifer.” She turns back to me. “You only have one father, Sister. Your father is going through a tough time right now and he could use his children’s love.”
“We’ve given him nothing but love,” I defend. “All we’ve ever wanted was our father to love and accept us both.”
“Sister, you need to understand something. This transgenderism thing is very new to the old-school generation. This isn’t something we talked about back then because it didn’t exist. Gay people? Sure. Men who dressed a little feminine and women who dressed a little masculine? Sure. But actually saying people were born in the wrong body? That was unheard of.
“When Adrian came out as gay, your father had a very difficult time accepting it but was slowly coming to terms with it. When Adrienne came out as a woman, your father couldn’t accept it at all. All of the hopes and dreams your father had for your then-brother and now-sister were dashed the moment he saw Adrienne in a dress. Do I think your father reacted harshly? Yes, I do. Do I understand his reaction? Yes, I do.
“I’m not saying you should make up with Samuel right this instant, but I do want you two to come to some sort of terms with each other or at least call a truce. If your father won’t accept Adrienne for who she is, then that’s his right. But you can’t force him to accept something he doesn’t believe in.”
“This has nothing to do with Adrienne, Granny.” My voice is firm. “Sam wasn’t a good father to me as well. Did he tell you how he shamed me after the pole dancing video went viral? That was the whole reason behind the Great Blonde Ambush! They both thought I would’ve been so ashamed of how they felt I would’ve paid for Candy’s entire fifty thousand dollar baby shower!” I take a deep breath and remind myself I’m speaking to my grandmother. “Sam has reduced me to a dollar sign, that’s how much he thinks about me. There are a lot of different paths I’ve could’ve taken after my mother died. I’ve known people who’ve become drug addicts, prostitutes, alcoholics, and live pretty reckless behaviors upon the death of a loved one and I chose school. Sam hates fat women and can’t stand the fact he has a daughter who’s a bit husky. He also can’t figure out why Ian is with me out of all women and you want to know why that is? It’s because Sam only sees the bad within me.
“I remind my father too much of my mother and that is why he hates me.” Tears slowly fall down my cheeks and I don’t bother to wipe them. “And until my father realizes that I am not his enemy and that I’m only his daughter who just wants a relationship with her father, we’ll forever be at this impasse.” I get up and gather my belongings. “It’s time for me to leave.”
“Sister, wait…” Delilah begins. “I’m sorry I made you upset and baby girl, that wasn’t my intention. I brought you over so I can talk to you for once, without seeing you on the internet and wondering why you’re not calling your Granny.” She gives a sad smile. “There’s also something else I need to tell you.”
“Oh? What is it, Granny?” I hear a door opening behind her and I see my father come out one of the bedrooms. “What’s going on here?”
“Candy wasn’t being completely honest as to why they were moving to Ladera Heights.” Delilah admits. “They lost the home. They’re temporarily staying here with me until they can get back on their feet.”
I look at my grandmother with shock. She knew this all along and didn’t bother to tell me at any point during our numerous conversations. She knew I would’ve never stepped foot inside her home had I known my father was here. “Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”
“Watch your mouth, Genesis.” Sam warns me.
“Or you’ll do what? Kick me out of here?” I declare. “No problem! I wasn’t planning on coming back, anyway.”
Sam comes after me but Courtney, who throws him against a wall and holds him there with a large knife, quickly stops him. Delilah screams and begs for Sam’s life while I just watch the drama unfold before me.
If I wanted to, I could give the directive to Courtney and she could turn Sam into a Pez dispenser. My mouth is strangely muted. My legs are still. And I’m just staring at Sam like a person who’s looking back at the past and wonder how far she’d come along.
Just when I was about to speak, the decision is made for me. “Let him go, Courtney.”
Ian appears at the front door and Courtney releases her stance. Ian makes eye contact with me to assure I’m okay but his eyes are anything but happy. The normal, soft and loving bluish-grey hue they have turned murderous and icy. The room suddenly became chillier and I’m curious about his reaction.
Sam rubs his neck and Delilah rushes over to him. Ian slowly walks over to my granny and Sam and just sighs. I feel Ian’s anger and I wonder what’s going to happen between him and my father. I’m afraid they’re going to come to blows and that’s a scandal I don’t think anyone in this home wants, no matter the side.
Ian removes his aviator sunglasses and carefully holds them in his hands. He looks into my father’s eyes and speaks very slowly. “The next time you come after my fiancée like that or make her feel any way but loved, I will burn this bitch down.” He puts his sunglasses back on and escorts me to our awaiting car.