Sweet Nectar (Ellison Brothers)

by Vera Roberts

  I can’t worry about the opinions of strangers commenting or liking a photo. Now I actually have a job reporting legitimate news. I don’t have to worry about what YouTuber is beefing with who or if some celebrity is doing blackface despite knowing it’s bad.

  I can talk about the abortion issue that might cripple Georgia’s economy.

  Or I can talk about how black women need to stop being mules for the Democratic party.

  Or why white people speaking AAVE but not participating in black issues is a no-no.

  I have a freedom unknown I didn’t have at Sista Gal and I’m excited about the future. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll become Barbara Walters or Tamron Hall or Robin Roberts. Or even Bryant Gumbel.

  I take the subway to the Metropolitan Times offices and I feel a wrinkle of emotion pop up in my throat as I stand outside of the famed building. This is what I’ve always wanted and hoped for. It’s finally here.

  I go through security and take the crowded elevator to the fifth floor. I’m expecting chaos and clutter; loose papers and tempers flying everywhere. Instead, it’s calm and collected. Everyone is busy working on their assignment. There is a bit of a quiet rush that is present, but no stress balls are being thrown or fists flying.

  Everyone is professional. Everyone is busy.

  I make my way to HR and meet with the director. She quickly shows me around and lets me know where certain things are after we sign off a bunch of paperwork. Then, she hands me off to my boss, Julie.

  Julie is a pale-skinned Jewish woman with curly hair and an affinity for 70’s eyewear. She looks much older than her 45 years and I’m not entirely sure if that was intentional. She gives off Devil Wears Prada vibes.

  “Welcome, Ariana!” Julie greets me with a firm handshake. No hug. No smile.

  “Thank you, Julie.” I walk inside of her office and sit down before her. I’m dressed in a business casual outfit of slacks and buttoned-up pink dress shirt. I’m wearing flats and my hair is in a tight bun. This is very different from my Sista Gal days where every taping felt like a runway fashion show.

  “I’m glad to have you onboard.” She gives the faintest hint of a smile. “I told you I was going to put you in Current Events but I think you would be more suited for Pop Culture.”

  And once again, I’m resorted back to talking about YouTube celebrities. “May I ask why?”

  “Your experience is why I want you in that division. I replayed some past episodes of that show you were on, and you were very knowledgeable what was going on with what’s current. We need to reach younger readers. Everyone gets news from third-party, friends, family, and it’s not always accurate. You can present a fair and balanced account.”

  “On what?” I ask, hoping the edge in my voice isn’t obvious. “Every one thinks millennials are lazy and uninspired. That all we care is about avocado toast. Meanwhile a lot of us are graduating college with huge, monstrous debt and getting jobs that barely pay fifteen an hour.”

  Julie is unfazed by my pleading and dare I say, she looks annoyed by it. “What is the current crisis that is affecting your generation right now other than what you just told me? That topic has been done verbatim.”

  I silently go through the numerous issues and there’s plenty. The #metoo and #TimesUp movements. The various attacks on Women’s Rights and from within. How social media has become increasingly danger for those who have anxiety.

  Yet, one issue stood out that no one is talking about. “ Well, I can talk about how the illegal immigration crisis is affecting the black community, yet we’re still not convinced by the GOP to vote for them.”

  Julie’s eyes lit up as if I just hit the jackpot. “Now, you have my attention. Everyone keeps talking about gentrification and how it’s so bad but you should talk about the comparisons with both and how the black community remains the most copied and most hated. You’re going to use comparisons to prove your point. Beyoncé and Taylor Swift. T.V. shows. Awards shows. Why doing twice the work for half the recognition is no longer just good enough when you’re being pushed out.” Julie snaps her fingers towards me. “Go, go, go! Give me something I can chew by the end of the week.”

  I DON’T EVEN WANT TO look at my computer screen right now.

  After writing, and re-writing, and re-writing just the opening sentence, I’m stuck.

  I have a ton of notes but getting them on paper is another monster. How can I make this congruent and sensible? Will anyone actually care what I’m going to say or will I be dismissed as another whiny-ass millennial?

  “Hey newcomer,” an older white man who goes by Danny Thomas, approaches my desk. He is the epitome of hipster extraordinaire. Beard? Check. Flannel shirt with distressed jeans? Check. Converse sneakers? Check. A curious number of weird tattoos? Check.

  Danny looks like the type of guy who would make one of those insane, nothing short of a trip to Bellevue Starbucks orders because he just wants a little foam and not a whole lot like the last time, Susan. Contrary to what I just said, he’s actually hella cool.

  “Whatchu working on?” He asks as he stands over my cubicle.

  “An article I came up with – how the illegal immigration and gentrification has effectively pushed out black Americans but also how it’s impacted the music industry as well. You know how a few years ago, the top artists in the music industry was Beyoncé and Rihanna. The top rappers were Future, Jay-Z, and Ludacris. Now, you have white artists taking over. The death of Aretha Franklin was more than just losing a music icon; it’s the death of old soul music as we know it.”

  “Wow,” Danny is impressed, “first day on the job and you’re already knocking it out of the park like that, kiddo? Good for you!”

  “Well, here’s hoping,” I look back at the screen, and shake my head, “but I need words on the screen first, though.”

  “Take a deep breath and go for a walk.” He suggests. “Walking helps the ideas flow out.”

  I nod and stand up. “I’ll take that advice.”

  “I know an awesome sandwich shop not too far from here. Let’s go there.”

  THE CAFÉ AU LAIT COFFEE shop was more than that. They also served breakfast and lunch to a crowd that gladly waits around the corner of the two-story brick building.

  Once we get inside, the shop embodies someone’s Grandma’s kitchen and I think that was the intention. Drinks are poured into small Mason jars. Customers have to get their own utensils and napkins. The servers seemingly know all of the regulars and ask questions about their lives.

  With its super-high ratings on Yelp, I can see why it’s so popular.

  We manage to find a seat in a secluded corner and I look over the menu. On the back of it, is a picture of a young woman holding a newborn and a caption beneath it. My heart breaks to read she died just after giving birth and she used to work there.

  “Have you decided what you’re going to order?” Danny asks me.

  “Not yet, I’m reading this on the back of the menu.” I continue to read the caption. If customers order the woman’s favorite meal, all of the proceeds will be donated to a charity in her honor to help disenfranchised women get the best prenatal and post-natal care.

  I was about to turn the page when the last name catches my attention. “D’Amato.”

  “Oh, Ana?” Danny asks and I nod. “Yeah, so terribly sad what happened to her. Just got married to the youngest son of the D’Amato family and gave birth when she suddenly died.”

  “Tony?” I look up at Danny and he nods. “I know him. He’s friends with my boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, the D’Amatos are good people here. A lot of people give them flack because of the show and what-not but they’re active in New York. They could be like so many of those other rich families that don’t do anything but they’re always giving back.” Danny replies.

  I can’t help but to ask. “Any dirt on the Ellison family? I know one of them is here in New York.”

  Danny shakes his head. “They’re not clean, but nothing
jumps out. No whispers on anything. The usual stuff. Everyone can’t stand Thomas, but they somehow love and respect him. No one knows anything on Savior. Ocean is the famed #SenatorBae but he’s also very private.” A waitress comes by and takes our order. She introduces herself as Drea and is very thankful when I requested Ana’s dish.

  “And Soul?” I’m curious but I don’t know why. I guess a part of me wants to know how others see him in New York. I know he’s a god in Harlem but what does the rest of the word feel about him?

  Danny shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t get a good read on the dude. He seems like a good guy and he’s also very private. Like the D’Amatos are out there with their business, at least three of them are, you know? But The Ellisons are a different breed. I know it’s because of the politicking and what-not, but it seems strange you know? One of the most famous families on the planet, yet no one hardly knows anything about them.”

  Two years ago, I would’ve considered it strange. Two years later, not so much. “Right.”

  “What about you? How does your boyfriend know the D’Amatos?” Danny asks.

  “They grew up together so they’ve been very tight for a while.” It’s not exactly a lie but it’s not the whole truth.

  “Good friends are hard to come by like that. They’re the ones that will stick by you in your time of need. Everyone is your best friend when you’re doing well, but it really matters who is your friend when the cards are stacked against you.” Danny adds. “It’s like what Kendrick rapped – when shit hits the fan, are you still a fan?”

  “True that.” Our order quickly arrives and we dig in. Lunch is delicious and I’m hungrier than I thought I would be. I find out Danny has a wife and young daughter. He grew up in Brooklyn and could remember when he was the only white guy on his block. Now he’s just another number like so many who have moved in.

  After lunch, we walk back to headquarters and I see a monster bouquet on my desk as I approach it. Two dozen red and white long-stemmed roses are in a vase with a note attached:

  You’re beautiful, wonderful, and incredible.

  -S.

  I hold the card to my chest and sigh. Could I fall more in love with that man?

  “Seems someone is sweet on you,” Danny approvingly nods as he walks back to his desk.

  “I hope so,” I smell a rose, “I certainly hope so.”

  Chapter Two

  Once six o’clock rolls around, I’m out of the building. I got some much-needed inspiration from going to lunch with Danny and doing research on my article. I went to work and didn’t bother to look up until it was time to leave.

  The article is going to be more complicated than I had intended but it’s okay. I can’t talk about why an A-list actress chose to wear Gucci instead of Prada forever. I need to talk about things like why she chose to take a role despite being advised not to.

  It’s an excitement I haven’t known in a long while. I haven’t been this excited since I did work back on

  As I exited the building, I see a placard with my name on it. I cautiously walk towards the driver, who’s standing in front of a sleek Mercedes. “Ms. Woodward?” He’s an older man with a goatee, and balding head that’s still trying to hold whatever little hair he has.

  “Yes?”

  The man opens the backseat door. “For you, from Mr. Ellison.”

  Soul spoils me but even this might be a bit too much. “Just one moment.” I step away to call him and Soul answers on the first ring.

  “The car is for you, baby.” His deep baritone makes my knees weak again.

  I always thought I would be the same girl no matter who I dated. I would have the same car, the same clothes, and the same energy. With Soul, I’ve already gotten used to being a rich bitch. “I can handle going on the subway just fine, boo.” I remind him.

  “Maybe I don’t want you to.” He says. “We’re going to meet at Julian’s with Tony and Eli and their ladies. See you then, baby.” He hangs up.

  Just when I think I have Soul Ellison figured out, I truly don’t.

  I get into the back of the car and relish in the sleek interior of it. The AMG is just as rich, dynamic, and powerful like Soul is. A man would be just as comfortable in his Timbs at a Knicks game as he would be at a ballet. He would be wearing sneakers with his dress wear.

  New York is the city that never sleeps. The hustle and bustle of the day just begins at night. Angry horns, screeching tires, profanity-laced rants are all the norm. There was always a siren in the distance and a small prayer whoever was injured was okay, while a selfish thought of they wouldn’t impede where you’re trying to go.

  This is Soul’s world.

  He owned New York and treated it like it was his personal playground. Despite people knowing him for his fashions, Soul was also a real estate magnate and owned several buildings in and out of Manhattan.

  I’m still trying to figure out how to be a native L.A. girl in a New York world and Soul is making the transition easier than I could imagine. I have a lot to thank him for, even if I’m being stubborn on finding out things my way.

  The driver navigates through traffic and makes a sudden stop at another building. “I’m picking up Mr. Ellison,” he mentions. “He’ll be here shortly. Feel free to help yourself to the mini-bar.”

  This car has a mini-bar? What the...? “Thank you.” I smile at him. “And your name is...?”

  “Mario.” He smiles back.

  “Mario?” I question. The guy is whiter than Ed Sheeran.

  “I’m from Germany,” he winks. He gets out of the car and waits by the passenger back door where I’m sitting. Moments later, Soul exits out of the building and I feel my heart stop again.

  Wearing dark jeans with a matching turtleneck and grey jacket, Soul embodies big dick energy as he strolls towards the car. His swag is insurmountable and I feel the tingles of arousal already forming.

  How can this man make me lose control and he’s not even close to me?

  Mario opens the passenger door for Soul and I slide over to the other side. Mario closes the door behind Soul before he gets behind the wheel and peels off again.

  Soul doesn’t even waste time to greet me with a hello kiss, sweeping his lips over mine before sliding his tongue inside. His hands wander all over my body and land between my thighs. I’m kicking myself for wearing slacks today.

  One of Soul’s hands cups my sex while the other massages my breasts. His mouth is on my neck and sucking lightly against the hot flesh. “How was your first day at work, baby?” He asks with a confidence of a man who knows he got me where he wants me. Damn him.

  I’m trying to concentrate but it’s becoming increasingly difficult. “It...it...it was....”

  Soul pulls away from me and holds me. “I’m distracting you.”

  “That wasn’t a demand to stop.” He just smiles at me. “It was great until someone made me aroused and left me hanging,” my eyes cut to him and he blows me a kiss.

  “Later. That was an appetizer.” He winks. “Did you get an assignment yet?”

  “Writing on how illegal immigration and gentrification has impacted the black community not just in life, but also in music.”

  “Damn, that’s a mouthful.” He nods. “You’ll kill it, though.”

  “I hope so,” I love the confidence Soul has for me, even when I’m unsure. “How was your day? Conquering New York one design at a time?”

  “Always,” his dark lashes blink and my resolve breaks, “nah, had a meeting with Roman about our Pablo Santiago x Sweet Nectar collabo coming out. We both have a lot of great ideas flowing so we’re both excited about it. It’s something for everyone this time around so very, very excited about that.”

  “I’m glad.” I cuddle up to him in the backseat. “So, where are we going?”

  “Julian’s nightclub and bar. Going to catch up with everyone for a bit. It’s about to be hectic with Eli since he’s about to do all of the holidays coming up and Tony is crazy busy during th
at time. It’s just a nice quiet place to just chill and kick it. They have great wings and music.”

  “Liquor?” I ask.

  “Liquor’s on point, too.” He rubs my shoulder. “Let’s have some fun tonight, baby. You deserve it.”

  Julian’s is everything a lounge should be. Part bar, part nightclub, part eatery, Julian’s has a downhome vibe only reserved for the Deep South. Patrons drink out of mason jars, break crab legs outside around various campfires, while others talk about sports or watch the old heads play dominoes.

  People are dancing with each other to Motown, while the younger crowd is on their phones taking pictures and trying to look important to whoever cares. I’m almost embarrassed for my generation but it’s par for the course. Why go to a lounge and enjoy it when you can floss that you were actually there?

  Soul leads me to a private booth and I see Krista and Tony along with Eli and Faith are already seated. The girls are eating chips and dip while the men are conversing on sports. We’re in the middle of football season and they’re talking about how unstoppable Caleb Kelly has been despite the protest.

  “Ariana!” Faith gets up to greet me and Krista is not far behind. Faith is petite, but big on personality. She changes her hairstyle depending on what mood she’s in and I have yet to see her look busted. Right now, she’s rocking a short blue bob with matching blue lipstick.

  Krista, however, is dressed like a bohemian goddess. Her hair is in a bright yellow wrap that is in contrast to her dark lounge pants and tank top. She smells like patchouli and jasmine.

  Now I don’t feel so overdressed. “Hey Faye!” Eli and Tony also scoot out of the booth to give us hugs. “How are you guys?”

  “We’re doing great.” Faith answers as everyone gets back in to make room for me and Soul. “You know how it goes...ain’t nothing going on but the rent.”

  “I hear that.” A waitress comes by, takes our orders, and quickly leaves. “So what’s up?”