The lyrics from the old-school rap come to mind, and I can’t help but agree. I’m tired of the same old status quo of men. I want and need some adventure in my life. I also need a man who can make my toes curl and my back ache the next morning. A man who doesn’t mind telling me I’m wrong and putting me through a mattress when I’m right.
“I see the deviance in your eyes, so I’ll see if I can get my brother to agree to a date.”
“Ooh. You have a single brother. What’s he like? Please tell me he’s not a cornball. I’m tired of those kinds of men. I need someone with some edge who will make me want to run into danger instead of running into a fire.”
“Yes. He’s older than me by a few years. He’s the type of man who will make you want to run to a church altar.”
“Ooh, he sounds perfect. Sign me up. Here, take my number and text me the details of our date.”
“I said I would try. There’s no guarantee that he will even be open to this, especially given who you’re connected to.”
“I trust that you can make it happen. My number is 380-728-1120.”
Nicole rolls her eyes before she adds my number to her phone. I ignore the defeat in her shoulders, because the possibility of going on a date with someone not hand-selected by Mom delights me. Nicole is also a beautiful caramel-skinned bombshell, so hopefully, her brother won’t be a toad. Although, at this point, I might be open to kissing one to see if it results in a prince like the one Princess Tiana ended up with.
“I’ll text you when I know something, but don’t be surprised if the answer is no. My brother isn’t the type of man who likes being set up. He prefers to chase a woman on his own terms.”
“I love the sound of that. Never mind on the food; I’m going to get out of here because I have a date to prepare myself for. But I’m looking forward to hearing from you soon.”
When I stand from my seat, my shoulders feel light, and my feet are weightless as I walk toward the exit of the diner. For the first time in who knows how long, I think the sun will shine again. I have been stuck in the same rut regarding my love life and dating for far too long. Hope blooms within me, and I have enough of it to suffer through another engagement at Mom’s house.
“Damn,” I say when I stare at myself in the floor-length mirror in my bedroom.
The black one-shoulder, slit dress with a glittery effect molds to my body in the best way. The gold strappy, open-toe heels on my feet not only complement the dress but also match tonight’s color scheme. Leave it to Mom not only to host a shindig at her residence but also to put a color specification in place. I chosethe black dress as a rebellious act because this isn’t the first time Mom has chosen gold. At this point, I think it’s safe to say it’s her favorite color.
This is one of four dresses that I bought for tonight’s festivities. But it’s the only one that has given me a reason to compliment myself. Unlike the other three dresses, I bought this dress from Muller’s Sophisticated Goddess Boutique. The owner, Letrice, picked it for me, and as I stand in front of this mirror, I can admit that she did her big one. I feel sexy while still wearing something elegant that Mom will appreciate. While I’m too old to care what she thinks about my attire, I know she always expects me to represent her well.
“Alright, Jariyah. You have killed enough time. It’s time to go face the music.” I blow a kiss to myself and then turn to grab my gold clutch before I leave my room.
One of the privileges I don’t complain about with being the mayor’s daughter is my ability to live in one of the new high-rise apartment buildings in Downtown Ribax. I didn’t want people doing crazy things to get to me, so I live on the sixteenth floor instead of the penthouse level. As a favor to Mom, the owner of this building has made the other units unavailable for rent, which gives me the privacy I desire. Five minutes or so later, I walk out of my front door and toward the elevator. As if the odds are in my favor, the doors open a second after I enter the shaft.
The ride down and the walk to my car are unproblematic, so I’m on my way to Mom’s residence within minutes of leaving my apartment. The journey to Mom’s place is quiet and somewhat long since I live downtown. Mom lives in the uppity area of town where guards are necessary. Music plays throughout the interior and provides the distraction I need, but it quickly evaporates when I turn into the long, winding driveway of the mayor’s mansion. My skin prickles and my stomach tightens when the countless vehicles come into view.
I should have been here, but my indecision about a dress delayed my arrival. I pull behind a luxury vehicle and quickly grab my clutch before I exit my car with hurried steps. Thanks to Mom’s keen efforts, no one can tell how much my legs are trembling from the confidence in my stride to the entrance.
“She’s been looking for you,” one of Mom’s bodyguards says a second after I cross the threshold.
The classical music echoing through the mansion has me incapable of replying to the man as I sashay toward the ballroom on this level. The music selection instantly grinds my gears because I want to yell at the top of my lungs,We’re Black. Where is the jazz, Mom?Surprisingly, Mayor Owens pretends to enjoy classical music for her prestigious friends during events, yet she plays jazz or old-school R&B on Saturdays. The current song feels like a shot of Nyquil mixed with a glass of red wine. Perhaps this is why the people who attend these events often seem to lack personality, rhythm, and foresight, and struggle to entertain without limitations.
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes when I enter the room and see various couples dancing to the hideous ballad playing.
“Good evening, Jariyah. I have been waiting for you to get here. Your mother said you would be arriving soon.”
Lord, have mercy. Of all the people to greet me first, why did it have to be this man?
“Good evening, Montana.”
Montana Gibson is one of the men Mom has been attempting to set me up with. Montana is an investment banker and the son of one of her constituents. But in my eyes, Montana is nowhere near my speed. Even now, I fight the urge to snarl when I see the bow tie and tuxedo that fit him too snug for my liking. Not to mention the pants hit Montana’s shins and look like they should have been sent to a thrift store instead of being worn by him.
“Can I have this dance?”
Hell no!
The two-word response echoes in my mind faster than I can process his question, and I fight the urge to giggle.
“I’m sorry. I need to find Madam Owens so she knows I’m here.” With a fake smile in place, I wave and continue toward my parents, who are off to the side of the makeshift dance floor, chatting with another couple.
A sigh escapes, and my shoulders drop when I see a passing waiter with a tray of champagne. I grab a flute and take a dainty sip, so as not to draw attention to myself. The cold liquid slides down my throat and fills me with a calm reprieve that I know will be necessary to survive the night. By the time I reach my parents, my glass is nearly empty, and I’m at ease.
