Finesse

by Vera Roberts

  Brand-new orange leather seats to contrast to the midnight black exterior. A sound system that could only be described as a cross between concert and deafening. Initials – I’m assuming are his – are on the headrests of every seat.

  This is not a rich man’s car; this is a wealthy man’s vehicle.

  Semantics aside, I’m relaxed as Ginuwine is blasted in my ears and Cameron is focused on the road. I live pretty far from the club, yet Cameron doesn’t mind the drive. It seems to relax him as if he needed a small getaway.

  The music suddenly turned down and I look over at Cameron. His broad and muscular frame fit comfortably in the car. He had a swag that was cultivated by the streets, and not by inheritance. His cologne is fresh and spicy, setting off my scenes every time I breathe in.

  This man knows he has it going on.

  “What’s on your mind, baby girl?” His voice is deep and soothing.

  I slightly shrug. “You don’t seem like the type to hang out with a bunch of black guys.”

  Cameron slightly shrugs and a hand taps the steering wheel. “I’m sorry if I don’t speak with a blaccent and my AAVE isn’t up to speed.” He purred.

  I shake my head. He would know the acronym stood for African-American Vernacular English, the politically correct term of saying ebonics. “I mean, your whole steelo…it doesn’t scream I regularly hang out with the brothers.”

  Cameron has one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on his chin. “And what does my steelo scream, Ms. Taylor?”

  My body sighed before I could. “I’m not sure yet. I’m still trying to figure you out.”

  “You can ask me anything.” He shrugged. “I’m not shy about anything I do.”

  Shy wasn’t the term I thought of, neither was discreet. Underhanded and shady seemed more apt. “So, exactly what is it that you do? You were super vague back at the club.”

  Cameron slightly shrugs as if what he does wasn’t a big deal. I will come to find out later that was a whole-ass lie. “I’m a businessman. I’m a partner or investor in many businesses.” He replied.

  Just like the dozens of other IG “businesses.” “You’re pretty young to have all of that responsibility.” I noted.

  “I knew the value of a dollar early,” he turned a corner, “my father made it clear not to expect an inheritance.”

  “Poor rich boy,” I rolled my eyes. I’m almost positive his parents will leave him something in terms of a trust to go around the legalities. “Most people nowadays are lucky if they even have those problems.”

  “More money, more problems.” He quotes B.I.G. “I know it sounds like a rich man’s problem, but everyone can relate to it in some form. You buy a new car, that’s another bill you have. You upgrade your furniture, you need to upkeep it. Any time you spend money to improve your lifestyle, you need to upkeep it in some form.”

  “But I don’t think you’ll be filing for unemployment anytime soon.” My eyes glance over to him. He wore his confidence like a tailor-made suit. His whole persona screamed of swag. “So, you don’t have the same problems as a regular person.”

  “So, I’m not a regular person?” He questions me as if I insulted him.

  “Your car has custom made interior. This car is probably worth more money than I’ll make in a several years, working full-time. And let me guess? You paid this with cash, didn’t you?” I’m met with silence and I already knew my answer. “You have the world at the palm of your hands while many of us are struggling to get by. I’m trying hard to feel sympathy but I don’t. You don’t have to lay off employees if you don’t want to.”

  “No one wants to lay off employees,” he corrected me, “no one goes into their business and is so excited about laying off a man who has a wife and children at home. If my businesses do well, everyone eats. If my businesses suffer, I have to make hard decisions and they’re not fun.”

  The song on the stereo switched to “Bitch, Don’t Kill My Vibe” and the irony wasn’t lost on me. “So, you’re a different kind of millionaire, then?”

  Cameron chuckles and I feel the sensation all the way down to my yoni. “I’ll make sure everyone is fed and paid.” He glances over at me and winks. “I’ll take care of everyone close to me.”

  My body shivered before I could react. This would’ve been the part where I would say something slick but the goofy girl who just found out the popular quarterback likes her came all the way out with my reaction:

  I giggled.

  Fuck my life.

  We pulled up to my apartment a short time later. He walked me to my door and we both felt the eyes from all of the nosey-ass hoes staring at us. I normally wouldn’t refer to another woman as a ho but in this case, it fit. Some bit their bottom lips, other fluffed out their lacefronts.

  Cameron wasn’t my man – not yet – but damn.

  I can tell Cameron is the type of man who is used to having women fawn over him. He’s also the type to ignore the attention. “You’re popular.” He said to me as other girls watched from a close distance.

  “No, these hoes don’t care about me.” I shake my head. “They’re staring at you.”

  “That’s funny because you’re the only one I care about.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and body naturally responded. “I don’t care about all of these other distractions.”

  “Distractions?” I repeat as I try to regain my train of thought. “I thought you would want to be distracted.”

  “By someone who is worth the distraction,” he closed the distance between us. He placed his hands on my waist and I felt my heart sped up. “I don’t care about the others.”

  “So there are other women?” I raise an eyebrow. “Good to know.”

  “If there were, I most certainly wouldn’t be this close to you. I wouldn’t have all of my business all on front street like this.” His eyes slowly blinked at me.

  My stomach fluttered while my head remained firmly on earth. “Thank you for dropping me off, Cameron. I really appreciate it.”

  “Not a problem.” He paused for a beat. “I would love to take you out sometime. A date.”

  Nervousness pinched at my spine as I tried to keep my feet on the ground from doing a praise break. “What is a date with Cameron like?” I shrugged. “I don’t even know your last name.”

  “Page, look me up.” He replied with a steely gaze that cut right through me. “And whatever you want to do, we’ll do.”

  “And what if I want to do nothing but look up at the stars all night?” I asked.

  Cameron leaned in and brushed his lips against my earlobe. “Then we’ll do nothing but look up at the stars all night.” He pulled back, gave me a wink, and left.

  Three

  I wasn’t about to go on a date with just any man; I was about to go on a date with a Senator’s son.

  I took Cameron’s advice and Googled him. I was prepared to see him in the club, poppin’ bottles, posing in front of his expensive BMW, and the like. Hell, I might have even see some rich white people shit like yachting, skiing, and Friends party.

  Instead, I saw a man who was prim and proper with his parents and other influential public figures. He was always sharply dressed in a suit, yet he was never flashy. He always smiled and was happy to stand aside so his father could shine.

  On Cameron’s IG account, he was equally subdued. He always had an unlit cigar and had a curious habit of posting pics of whatever food he was about to consume. He seemed to be an excellent cook and showcased his newly-renovated kitchen, which is bigger than my entire apartment.

  There were a few shirtless photos of him, but he wasn’t all thot-tacular about it. He didn’t pose wearing grey sweatpants or the focus wasn’t on his junk. But I would be lying if I said his body didn’t impress me and I wasn’t trying to look for a hint of a dick print.

  His body is muscular and streamlined, completely toned. His tawny skin has the slightest hint of smooth brown hair. He didn’t overdo it at the gym, but he wasn’t lanky
. He was rather perfect.

  As I scrolled more through his IG, Cameron didn’t seem like the type to pose pictures with his money pretending it was a phone. There were no pics of him showing off the latest J’s, or anything other than humblebragging. And there were definitely no photos of him with any women.

  He wanted people to know enough about him, and everything else was none of their business.

  He often posed with his parents and he seemed to have a close relationship with both. He didn’t post anything regarding politics, though his father is a staunch Republican. Seeing they live in Buckhead, it’s not a surprise.

  People need to understand there are two Atlantas – the Love and Hip-Hop, Real Housewives, everyone is an aspiring YouTuber-hairstylist-barber-actor-singer-rapper-choreographer-playwright-dancer-producer-cartoonist-creative artist-owns a restaurant type of Atlanta. Hustling is a way of life. It’s the rule, not an exception.

  And then there’s the other side of Atlanta – where the wealthy don’t have to worry about hustling because their families are born into wealth. They own million-dollar homes transferred to them from their ancestors who only had those homes because they were built on the blood, sweat, and tears of slaves – who are the ancestors of the aforementioned hustlers.

  There’s not a question on which part of the fence we’re both are on.

  Cameron’s father, Eric, is the typical Southern senator. He’s all second amendment. He’s all pro-life. He’s all ‘pull up your bootstraps’ type of man. His Facebook account will show him at the golf course, in his wife’s garden, helping teenagers with their car wash drive, serving homeless people at every Thanksgiving and Christmas.

  With the occasional sprinkle of a Negro or two, you’ll definitely see a common theme in Eric’s life – all white everything. His parents, his grandparents, his friends, other extended family members, his wife, and his children.

  That is how people with old money view Black folks. You can date them, but you won’t marry them. You can be friends with them, but that’s the extent of it. You can even adopt them and raise them, but you have to make sure they’re not raised like those others.

  Cameron’s mother, Heather, is the same way. Blonde, silver-blue eyes, and enough trips to the plastic surgeon to ensure she’ll never be bigger than a size 6. Her IG and Facebook feed is full of her garden bounties, the different types of pie she likes to make (apparently she knows no less than twenty pie recipes), and her massive shoe collection inside her walk-in closet.

  Nothing but Gucci, Vince Carmuto, and red bottoms.

  They live in a palatial estate and my mind boggles upon thinking how long it would take to actually clean that home from top to bottom. Cameron doesn’t live too far from his parents, but it’s clear he’s a frequent visitor judging by both of his parents’ feeds.

  I don’t know if Cameron is trying me on for size, but I hope not. We’ve texted every day, and when we do talk on the phone, our conversations last well into the night. Then we’ll do the same thing all over again the next day.

  We’ll talk about serious things. We’ll discuss rather stupid things. We learned how much we have in common and how different we are from each other.

  He’s an avid jogger and swimmer. I’m lucky if I remember to do yoga. He’s read well over a hundred books this year alone; I’m lucky I even get through five. He’s very close to his parents as I am with Daddy, and we’ve shared stories about our various childhoods.

  I told him Daddy taught me how to play softball. Were you any good? Not really, but I tried to swing. I was better at basketball. Were you good at that? I’m 5’10 so I better be. We laugh.

  My father taught me how to play golf. Surprise, surprise. More laughter. Were you the next Tiger Woods? Not really, but I can hang with the big boys. I’ve made a lot friends with retirees on the golf course. Hmm, I bet.

  Would you like me to teach you how to golf? How many women have you fed this line to? Just you. Hmm…okay. You might like it. I’m sure I won’t.

  We decided on mini-golfing, which was my idea, and he surprisingly went along with it. Now I’m looking cute in my fitted jeans and tee, and deciding if I want to be comfortable in my J’s or go with a more stylish Adidas.

  Why should I care? It’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything.

  I didn’t know what I was afraid of. He knew I wasn’t going to put out yet I also knew I wasn’t like any woman he’s dated before. Dated? No, this is just a simple date.

  “Don’t you look cute?” My other roommate, Meadow, watches me as I admire myself in the mirror. She’s a dark-skinned girl with a figure I can only get by eating crap and undergoing surgery. Full hips and thighs, and plump lips. She always dresses her shape and not by size. It’s no wonder seemingly every man on campus is on her jock. “Getting ready to impress the Senator’s baby boy?”

  I shrug. “Do these jeans make my ass look too fat?” I wonder aloud.

  “I’m sure he loves your ass just the way it is.” Meadow smiles at me through the mirror. “Nervous?”

  “First date.” I reply. “Ever.”

  Meadow’s mouth hangs open. “You’re kidding?”

  “I’m not a virgin, but I never went on a date.” It’s not something I’m proud of and I can definitely count the number of men I’ve been with on one finger. I don’t know if it makes me a prude or frigid, but it’s not something I want to think about as I’m about to date some Senator’s son.

  I continue to admire myself. I think this outfit is a winner. I don’t look frumpy but I also don’t look like I spent two hours getting ready. Classically comfortable, I guess? “I know it’s ass backwards but that’s what I’m used to. Guys just want to kick it and that’s it. Maybe spend some money here and there but not too much. I’m used to it.”

  “But now you’re going out with a Senator’s baby boy and…” Meadow shakes her head and whistles. “…he got that long money.”

  His father’s net worth is already in the nine figures. Long, old money. “I don’t care about his money. I’m not his girlfriend.” Saying the words creates a disappointment in me and I ignore the feeling. “We’re just hanging out.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Meadow chuckles. She doesn’t believe it, neither. “Just remember once the press gets a hold of it – and they will – your entire history is going to be full blast. People who knew you from kindergarten will be selling you off to the highest bidder.”

  “I’m used to that already.” Once Daddy’s coffee shop took off and he was shouted out in many a rapper’s songs, people began to dig up who I was. My IG account had very few followers; now I’m at over thirty thousand and I barely even know ten people in real life. “I’m good.”

  “Let’s hope.” Meadow gets up from her bed and looks at me from behind. She studies my appearance like she’s trying to find something wrong and she spots it instantly. “A nude pink lippy. He’ll go nuts tonight.”

  That’s my girl. “Got it.” I quickly apply the color. I give my lips a pout and smile. I’m looking in the mirror and thinking, ‘Bitch, you my boo!’ like what Beyoncé said. “Damn.”

  “That’s right.” Meadow grabs a couple of condoms out of her purse and hands them to me. “You don’t know if you need them, but you don’t know if you don’t.”

  “I doubt it but better safe than sorry.” I quickly grab them and stuff them in my clutch. “I seriously doubt we’ll even go there.”

  “I’ve seen pics of Cameron, Tay. He’s fine. I also heard how he acted towards you when he dropped you off the other day.” Gossip travels faster here than an Olympic Jamaican sprinter. “He digs you.”

  Maybe. It might be me dreaming. But is it really dreaming if we’re up all night on the phone every night? If we’re sending random texts to each other throughout the day?

  Of course, this could be completely one-sided. Cameron could see me as another conquest while I’m too busy sounding out Taylor with Page and wondering if I should hyphenate or completely get rid of my ma
iden name altogether?

  And how would I fit in Buckhead society? If the Atlanta Real Housewives live there and they still don’t mingle with the Karens, Beckys and Susans, I know I won’t, neither.

  Why am I thinking about all this and we still haven’t even gone out on a single date?

  “I’m not getting my hopes up. I don’t want to be disappointed and start writing my name with hearts and smiley faces when I’m just something to do for him.” I throw caution to the wind.

  “Then just have fun. Go mini-golfing, canoodle, and then peace out.” Meadow shrugs. “Ain’t no thing than that.”

  Ain’t no thing…yet, it felt like one.

  There was a knock on the front door and Meadow smiles. “I’ll go get it while you finish up in here. Oh, and wear Angel by Thierry Mugler. He won’t be able to resist you.” She leaves the bedroom.

  I spray Angel on my neck and wrists before I glance my ‘fit one last time. I look cute. My melanin-rich skin is nice and supple with shea butter and my thick body is filling out this ‘fit like it was made for it. Yet, I’m nervous.

  It’s just jeans and a t-shirt with some J’s. Is this too casual for mini-golf?

  I walk out of the bedroom and the sight steals my breath. I smelled him before I saw him and my body tingles with arousal. Cameron is sitting on the sofa making small talk with Meadow, and he looks every bit like a Buckhead preppy boy.

  He’s wearing slacks and loafers with a sweater vest – completely opposite of what I have on. Yet, he owns the outfit. An expensive watch completes his look. He doesn’t flash his money but he subtly wants everyone to know he has a lot of it.

  New money screams; old money minds its business and controls the room.

  Cameron looks up at me and flashes a beautiful smile at me before he stands up. He picks up a bouquet of pink roses on the table and walks over to me. Looking at me up and down, I’m nervous to see his reaction about our wildly different outfits. Is it too casual?

  “You look…” He shakes his head. “…absolutely breathtaking.”