Not About That Life

by Vera Roberts

  We’ve never had a conversation about mom because we were too busy processing our mother dying and our father’s subsequent betrayal. Yet, I’m compelled to have this conversation in the Christmas aisle while “Last Christmas” is playing overhead. “How were the last couple of years like between you and mom?”

  Adrienne slightly chuckles. “Lots of prayer and tears for both sides. I was praying to God to keep Mommy alive and she was praying to the same God to make me a heterosexual male.” She faintly smiles. “Once we both realize things were going to be the way they were, we accepted it. I accepted her dying and she accepted me as a woman. It wasn’t easy for neither of us. For a while, whenever she saw me, she grimaced before she smiled. I picked up on it, so I started dressing down. Remember that? Whenever I saw her, I was in masculine clothing.”

  The memory is clear to me. While Adrienne did dress more masculine, she didn’t hide the fact she wasn’t straight. She walked with a twitch and spoke with a Michael Jackson-lite tone. “So why did you change?”

  “Well,” Adrienne clears her throat, “one day I went to see Mommy and I was dressed masculine. Now, Mommy’s scowl was even bigger. I finally relented and said, ‘What is it? You wanted me to dress like a man so here I am.’ And you know what she told me? She was like, ‘Adrienne, baby, I was scowling because I hated that awful shade of lipstick you kept wearing!’ This woman removes the blankets, gets out of bed, and starts getting dressed. She was like, ‘C’mon, let’s go to Sephora! I can accept you as a woman but I cannot accept that hideous shade you’re going to wear to my funeral!’”

  It was much-needed laughter as we fell out in the aisle. Even other customers joined in the infectious banter. “Thank you, I needed that.”

  “Anytime, sissy.” Adrienne finally turns to me. “What’s going on, Sister? You’re getting pretty emotional and moody yourself.”

  “Planning a wedding and realizing mom isn’t here,” I swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.”

  “It does suck,” Adrienne nods. “I shed a lot of tears when I was planning mine. Every fabric swatch, every floral sample, every cake tasting was a reminder that someone I wanted to be there wasn’t going to be.” She pauses briefly. “You and Ian have that in common. I also imagine he’s feeling emotional because there are similar feelings. He’s about to embark on a very huge and personal change and Lula Jean isn’t here to guide him and give him advice.”

  Point taken. I didn’t realize how much the upcoming wedding would have impacted Ian as well.

  “Is everything okay between you two?” Adrienne asks. “This doesn’t sound like it’s just the wedding you’re concerned about.”

  “Ian’s taking me skiing,” I sigh.

  Adrienne snorts. “You? Skiing?” Even Adrienne knows this is will be the whitest thing I’ve ever done. “Since when?”

  “Since I decided that getting with a white billionaire was a good idea,” I slightly shrug, “so there’s that. I need to go shopping for French Alps-appropriate ski outfits.”

  “Well, I have nothing better to do all day than to laugh at you so I’m down for the ride,” she responds and I shoot her an evil look, “What? You don’t think this is hilarious?”

  “What in the hell am I going to do on a mountain?” I faux cry before a chuckle escapes my lips. This is pretty funny. I don’t even know how to roller skate and I’m going skiing? “Since when have you ever caught a brotha or a sista on a slope? That’s stuff white people like!” I pull up the website with the same name. “It even says it here!”

  “Well, it makes sense.” Adrienne nods. “You introduced him to soul food and trap music; he’s going to introduce you to Martha’s Vineyard, John Mayer, and trips to Portland. I say you’re even. You’ll be quoting Friends episodes and having Mad Men parties in no time!”

  “Fuck you,” I laugh as we turn the corner and run straight into Michael. “Hey!” I give him a big hug and he reciprocates.

  “Adrienne and Dominique! Two of my favorite people in the world!” Michael’s dressed in tweed pants with a crisp white shirt. He screams money. “How are you ladies doing?”

  “We’re doing well!” Adrienne beams. “Just picking out some gaudy décor for Ian’s lovely home.”

  “And what a better place to do it in!” Michael smiles. “Oh, Domi, I’ve been meaning to call you. A certain someone has been inquiring about you.”

  “Oh?” I turn to Adrienne. “Who?”

  “A certain someone named Kwesi.” Michael blinks. “Me thinks he’s interested in you.”

  “Kwesi knows I’m engaged.” I reply, though my cheeks are burning hot. “Besides, I don’t even know his last name.”

  “Kwesi Agbo,” Michael explains to me. The look on my face told him I had no idea who the hell that was so he clarifies, “one of the sons of the world-famous Ghanaian Agbo dynasty. His mother is Queen Esi.”

  “Okay…” I slowly speak. Channeling my inner Mariah Carey, I don’t know her.

  “They’re one of the last royalty families in Ghana. They’re worth billions.” Michael begins, “Kwesi always comes in to purchase jewelry for his mother.”

  A man who loves his mother always has a small spot in my heart. “How lovely,” I reply.

  “He’s also single,” Michael bats his eyelashes.

  “She’s also engaged,” Adrienne reminds him.

  “It’s funny how the heart might want something completely different than what the brain says it should?” Michael nonchalantly replies.

  “Domi is engaged to one of the world’s wealthiest men, sis,” Adrienne reminds Michael, who shrugs, “she already has a billionaire.”

  “But is she with a billionaire her age?” Michael points out. “Kwesi is 25, I believe.”

  “He is?” My voice is a couple octaves higher than normal and I quickly correct it. “I mean, hey, that’s cool.”

  “Ian has been good to her and why the hell are you trying to be a messy bitch and convince Domi otherwise?” Adrienne asks. “Isn’t Ian Frank’s boss?”

  “I saw the way she acted around Kwesi.” Michael holds his ground. “The giggles, the bitten lips, and the sporadic breathing. Shit, I thought the bitch was about to orgasm in the damn store and I don’t have any more towels to clean up that mess.”

  “Okay, fuck, you do know I’m still here, right?” I chime in and stand up for myself. Damn, that BDSM shit paid off in other ways.

  “I’m just saying if things don’t work out between you and Ian, there’s another rich guy who wouldn’t mind having you on his arm.” Michael leans over and kisses both cheeks and does the same to Adrienne, though her look is less than enthused. “I’ll see you ladies, later.”

  Adrienne watches Michael walk off and waits until he’s out of earshot. “Whatever you do, don’t listen to him, no matter how tempted you are. He will cause more bad than good and you don’t need that kind of shit in your life.”

  Whatever advice your sister gives to you, listen. It may sound like horrible shit advice but she has your own best interest at heart. “Duly noted.”

  Three

  “So, what do you think?” Rasil asks after we’ve inspected the Baldwin Hills home.

  It’s a two-story home with four bedrooms, and three bathrooms. It has sizable front and back yards, though I have to admit I’m a bit spoiled by the Ferguson compound yards. The home is located in a gated area and Rasil boasted how some of my neighbors are also doctors, philanthropists, and A-list celebrities.

  It’s a perfect home and maybe, once I have some free time fix it up, I’ll rent it out to a nice family. “I love it a lot.”

  “I’ll get the paperwork started today. Would I need to contact Ian about this?” He asks.

  “Um, no,” my stomach tightens with regret, but Michael’s advice shook me to the core, “this is a separate purchase. He won’t know about this.”

  “Okay.” Rasil’s look is blank and I feel the judgment coming from him. Or
maybe he’s just trying to get my money and doesn’t care. “I’ll let you know if I need any more information from you.”

  We head outside and Rasil locks up the home. “It’s great seeing you again, Domi. We’ll be in touch.”

  I head over to my Bentley and get inside. I know I’m doing the right thing and diversifying my assets like Michael’d suggested but it still feels like I’m going against Ian despite everything.

  Why is doing the right thing for me feel so wrong?

  ~~~~

  I arrive at Angel Studios and hear music coming from the pole room. I check the calendar and no one is supposed to be there yet so I’m wondering if someone else is practicing. I drop off my items in my office and head over to the room.

  When I arrive, I’m about ready to beat a bitch’s ass.

  Lowell’s using the pole room – to give a dance for Ian.

  I wasn’t expecting either of them to be there and I’m quite suspicious as to why they’re being so open about it knowing I have a key to this place and could come and go at any given time. Maybe it’s better to cheat in front of my face so I wouldn’t have to ask questions about it later.

  “Angel,” Ian turns to me with a big smile on his face. “Good Morning, darling.”

  Yeah, fuck you, too. “Hi.”

  Lowell keeps dancing and doing whatever twerking girls think they do when they don’t have ass. If she knows I’m in the room, she simply doesn’t care. Yep, someone’s about to be out of a job soon. Furthermore, I might be in handcuffs because I’m going throat punch that bitch in her fucking twat.

  Ian walks over to me and I’m almost tempted to sock the smile off his face. Great, two throat punches and a reputation for not controlling my temper. Somebody alert Naomi Campbell. “Are you okay? You seem angry.”

  “I’m just wondering why one of my instructors is giving a private show to my fiancée.” My eyes refocus on Lowell and I’m tempted to advise her she needs to hold her legs tighter around the pole or she’ll keep losing her ground like she’s currently doing.

  Then my emotions check me. Am I really going to tell a woman how to scheme to get my man?

  “She was already here when I arrived. I dropped off pastries for the instructors – the gluten-free and healthy variety. I did leave a box of donuts for you on your desk.” His blue eyes glitter with the word donut and for once, I don’t give a shit.

  My face is stoic and my stance is as stiff as Lowell’s dancing. Ian picks up on my clues and leans in closer. “Angel, you’re not jealous, are you?”

  Wow, really? I just walked in seeing you be given a private dance from someone who clearly has the hots for you and you’re going to ask that stupid-ass question? And see? This is the type of shit that’s the ignition key of former good girls who get their own episode of Snapped. “I need to go have a donut.”

  I quickly walk back to my office and close the door behind me. I don’t know how I didn’t notice the big pink box of donuts before and I’m almost hesitant to open it and take one.

  Almost. Big Girl gotta eat.

  Just when the cinnamon roll was calling out my name, my door opens and Ian enters. I smelled his masculine scent and thank God, my hungry-ass was more focused on the donuts than boning him.

  “You know you could knock first.” I didn’t miss a beat. You know what? I’m going to choose the pink glazed cake one instead.

  Ian obliged and walked back outside. He knocked on the door. “Don’t come in,” I reply.

  Ian walks in anyway with a smug look on his face. “Why did I even bother telling you to knock if you were just going to keep disrespecting me like that?”

  “You told me to knock first and I did,” He walks over to me.

  I’m just about ready to take the prized possession into my hands when Ian closes the donut box on me. My eyes glare up at him. “Boy, if you don’t get…”

  “I’m here to properly apologize.” He slowly comes down to one knee. “I exercised the wrong judgment back there and didn’t take your feelings into consideration. I apologize for that. Believe me when I say when I came over, she was already practicing in the room. She wanted my advice for a routine she was going to try out for her class.”

  I would believe that except Lowell’s expertise isn’t in pole dancing and her routine showed that. She was clumsy and fumbled around the pole. Her routine – coincidentally or not – was to “Criminal.” On second thought, that was the perfect song choice. Her routine was so bad, it should be illegal everywhere.

  I’m not about to argue with Ian because this is ultimately a private manner between me and Lowell. I guess I’ll start interviewing new instructors this week. “Okay.”

  Ian’s eyes form question marks and it’s clear he knows I didn’t believe a word he said. “Angel, I don’t want anyone else.”

  The smile on Ian’s face told me otherwise. “Okay.”

  He stands up and appears hurt. “Angel, I’m being honest here. You can even run back the video if it makes you feel better.”

  “I believe you,” I relent, “it was an innocent dance, and sweet little Domi with her young age and her even younger jealousy is just blowing this out of proportion.”

  “And what the hell?” Ian is taken back by my tone. His tone is even icier than mine. “Where is that coming from?”

  “It’s just whenever I voice a concern, you have a tendency to dismiss it,” I re-open the donut box and go back to choosing a donut, “so I’m just bracing myself for it now.”

  “And your attitude now is helping that?” He replies.

  I look him dead in his soul. “I’m hungry.”

  The silence between us is deafening and I don’t dare move my eyes from his. “I hope your attitude improves tonight before the gala. If not, we’ll stay home.” Ian then leaves.

  I went back to choosing the right donut to start my morning until my appetite completely goes away. Ian was telling the truth, I’m sure of it. I just don’t like how he was so flippant at Lowell’s attitude. He’s seen several of my routines, watched along with me as I studied other pole dancers on YouTube, and let’s not forget the now-infamous amateur night at the strip club.

  In other words, Ian knows what a professional pole dancer looks like. He can differentiate that from a stripper. He knows a pole dancer’s moves focus more on her legs, separating us from the run of the mill strippers, who focus on their entire body, which was Lowell was doing.

  And I’m the asshole in this?

  “Well,” Emma begins as she enters our shared office, “I ran into one grumpy Ferguson only to meet with another grumpy Ferguson. Shit, the atmosphere is colder than Elsa and Olaf. What in the hell is up with you two?”

  “I caught Lowell doing a private dance for Ian, who clearly enjoyed it.” I mumble, “so there’s that.”

  “Didn’t I tell you you needed to watch that bitch?” Emma sets her bag down. “And she’s the type who would steal a bitch’s man and…ooh, donuts!” She opens the box and grabs the one I’d been eyeing. Damn, Ian. Now I can’t enjoy my favorite donut in peace because of his bullshit.

  “We got into a row about it just now.” It occurred to me I just used a typical English term for argument. I guess Ian had rubbed off on me in other ways. “He apologized but I just…I don’t know.” I shake my head. I finally grab another donut in case Emma makes a play for that one. “I felt he was about to treat me like a child again so I told him off before he could.”

  “And this was before he apologized?” Emma nods with a mouthful of donut.

  “It was afterwards. But like I was saying, Ian knew what type of dance she was doing and he still allowed her to do it!”

  “What did he say in his apology?” Emma asks. “Was he sincere?”

  “He said he didn’t have the proper judgment and she was already dancing when he came in and she asked for his opinion and blah blah blah.” I pick at my donut. “I’m sure he’s being honest.”

  “So wait?” Emma swallows the donut. “You
believed him, he’s apologized, and you’re still mad at him?”

  “It’s the principle of the matter!” I defend myself. “He even got down on one knee and…”

  “Dominique!” Emma enunciates every syllable of my name and I felt Regina Kimbrough coming through with an assist. “The man got down on one knee and you’re still mad at him!”

  “Ian said he should’ve known better and…”

  “And he did! Which is why he apologized!” Emma laughed. “Domi, you know I’ll have your back any day of the week but honey, you were wrong on this one. If Ian knew he messed up and was apologetic, that’s it, girlfriend. Either forgive him or move onto somebody else.”

  I swallowed the last bit of donut I picked at. Well, shit, maybe I was being an asshole. I still don’t appreciate what Lowell was doing. “I guess I should apologize to Ian.”

  “Um, yeah?” Emma giggled. She reached over and grabbed another donut as I looked at her. “I ain’t on a diet!”

  There was a knock on the door and I told the person to come in, though a second later I wish I hadn’t. “Hey, Domi.” Lowell smiled at me as if she had no idea what just transpired this morning. “I hope you didn’t mind I used the pole room. I was working on a routine for my boyfriend and I wanted a man’s opinion on it.”

  Boyfriend? Since when? Every picture on her IG page has no mention of one. There are a ton of ‘never trust a fuckboy’ memes. “Did you wipe down the poles?”

  “You know what? I forgot! I’ll go back and do that now!” She left.

  “I can replace her by Tuesday and not miss a beat.” Emma begins, “it’ll be like she was never even here at all.”

  “I need more proof other than she was flirting with my man.” I reply. “I can’t just fire her on a thought, even though she is one.”

  Emma was silent for a moment before she broke out into laughter. “There’s the Domi I know and love.”