“Wow!” Taylor marveled in a whisper. “Your property is endless.”
Enola laughed. “My husband needs the room to run free.”
“A big kid, huh?”
“More like a wild animal,” Enola rebutted with a grin.
Taylor giggled. “I heard that.”
“I love this dress,” Enola complimented.
“Oh, thank you,” Taylor responded, thinking about the back and forth she’d had with the stylist about what to wear. Samantha had tried to pair her black off-the-shoulder gown with white sandals. Her new stylist needed to learn a little bit more about Taylor’s style or they were going to have to part ways. Looking over at Enola in her haltered, champagne, beaded gown, Taylor guessed she didn’t have issues with her stylist. “I love your dress too, and your hair… stunning. I’ve been thinking about getting my hair loc’d.”
Enola raised a brow. “Now, your man is running for president. He’s already married to a black woman with a dope-ass afro. Locs would be asking too much from White America.”
Taylor laughed. “Girl, tell me about it.”
Enola leaned closer. “But I’m guessing you being black might push him across the finish line.”
“That’s what his campaign seems to think, but this is still America. White people won’t be happy to see me on his arm, and black men are gonna be hash tagging my picture with “bed wench.”
“I hear that.” Enola sighed. “Imagine living in the south, marrying one of their richest, longtime bachelors. Let’s just say they were not pleased.”
Taylor looked over at Gideon and shook her head with a chuckle. “I’ll bet you don’t give fuck.”
“And don't!” Enola responded with a neck swivel. “Zero fucks!”
Together, they laughed with the fervor of two women who really understood each other.
“So, you were a cop?” Enola inquired. “I’m from Chicago too. I used to be a CPD dispatcher.”
Taylor’s eyes grew wide” Get outta here.”
Enola nodded. “Yep. I was the voice in your head.”
“What a coincidence. How did you end up in Louisiana?”
Enola shrugged. “Family shit. My grandmother died and I inherited her estate.”
Taylor looked around and smiled. “This is one-hell-of an estate.”
“Yes, but it's not without its drama.”
“What can I get you?” the young bartender interrupted.
Enola turned to Taylor. “You?”
“I’ll have a Moscow mule.”
“Jumping right in, huh?” Enola teased. “I’ll have a glass of sangria.”
The bartender smiled and tossed a towel over his shoulder. “Coming right up.”
“Hey, thanks for doing this. I normally hate these events, but you have made it a pleasure.”
Enola smiled. “The pleasure was ours. It’s really great to meet you, Taylor.”
Her smile fell before Taylor could respond. She turned to see what had changed her mood. It was the secret service, bum-rushing their little chat. “Mrs. Creed, please come with us. There’s been an incident.”
