by Zane
Mo grinned. “To the Cayman Islands. Kevin’s got a shoot there next month.”
“And he’s taking you?”
“No, Nay,” Mo said sarcastically. “He’s taking some other woman. He just wanted me to hold on to the ticket for her. Of course he’s taking me. Duh?”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Nice of you to give your sister some warning. I guess you expect me to watch Ty for you while you’re gone?”
“Nope.” Mo eased her ticket from Naomi’s hand and slipped it back into her purse.
“You taking him with you? What kind of romantic vacation is that?”
“No, I’m not taking him with me. Not this time.”
“So…who’s going to baby-sit…”
Troy bounced up and down in his seat and raised his hand. “Me! Me!” he squealed excitedly.
Naomi stared at him with hurt feelings all over her little face. “You’d rather leave your son with your gay, drag-queen brother than with me?”
Troy grinned. “Child, lighten up. I ain’t contagious. The boy will be with me for a week. It’s not like he’ll be a flaming six-year-old by the time Mo gets back. It takes years to get like me.”
“But I usually keep him, Troy. Me and Ty…we tight like that.”
“Well me and Ty would be tight like that too if you weren’t monopolizing all his time like…”
“Hey! Hey!” Mo interjected. “Let’s just cut the boy in half and both of you can have a piece. I’m going to the Cayman Islands and I don’t need the drama before I leave.”
Naomi grinned. “You gonna give him some?”
“What makes you think I haven’t already?” Mo asked nonchalantly.
“So that’s why you’ve been so nice to me lately,” Naomi concluded.
“Yep,” said Mo. “That’s exactly why.”
The Adventures of
the Bold and
Bourgeois
Eileen M. Johnson
Chapter One
IN THE BEGINNING THERE WAS PERFECTION…
Akinyele was a twenty-five-year-old, educated, beautiful, upper-six-figure-making sistah. And she loved it. Her condo was well on its way to being paid for; the bank had just sent her the title to the Acura that she’d paid off in two years flat; and her closet looked like Kate Spade, Kenneth Cole, and Donna Karan paid her to rent the space.
Akinyele’s natural was maintained by the trendiest salon in the city while her toes and feet were coaxed into soft submission by an actual podiatrist. A bi-weekly visit to a masseuse rolled away the stress and strain of her everyday life.
At her job, Akinyele was totally in control. Graduating magna cum laude from Xavier and breezing through an MBA program at the prestigious Tulane, she’d slammed onto the professional scene at the tender age of twenty-two. Three years later, she was Assistant Operations Manager at Jazz City Bank. She’d managed to beat out others with seniority and more education simply by exercising her natural gift of perseverance and constant hunger to be at the top. Not only was Akinyele the youngest person in the bank’s history to hold the title, she was also the first woman and the first African-American to boot.
Socially, Akinyele was active in her sorority’s graduate chapter. Plus, she was being courted by both the Links and 100 Black Women. In the past year, she had been on both the Best Dressed Lists and was listed as one of New Orleans’ most eligible bachelorettes in Cachet, the city’s magazine of Nouvelle Black Society.
Akinyele was a sistah who also did her share of volunteer work. Whenever she could find a free Saturday, she breezed down Henry Clay Avenue with her bag of books and read funny stories to the patients in Children’s Hospital. The catchy phrases and loopy hooks of Dr. Suess coming from her mouth made little bodies forget about the recent surgeries and chemo treatments as their little bellies vibrated with laughter. It was something Akinyele naturally loved doing. She also sent a healthy amount of checks to several foundations across the city and the state. There wasn’t a charity event that she wasn’t invited to and she always accepted all invitations. While Akinyele loved doing charity work, she also loved seeing her name in a caption under a flattering picture of herself in The Times-Picayune’s Society page. Akinyele was a natural ham.
To her family, Akinyele was the golden girl. From birth, she was treated like the princess she believed herself to be. No one could visit her parents without hearing about her latest achievements or being forced to leaf through an album with her latest pictures. The sun definitely shone on her life. The sister was high on the hog. She was young, gifted, fly, and African-American. She loved her lifestyle.
Well, she thought she did anyway. The problem? Akinyele was lonely. She couldn’t get a man to come within six feet of her Manolo Blahnik-enclosed feet. In the three years after she left Tulane, she had managed to alienate every upwardly mobile, available man that the city of New Orleans had to offer.
This was not Atlanta where the male to female ratio was like something out of a horror movie. African-American men were not scarce in New Orleans. In fact, they were everywhere. Getting their cellular plans upgraded in the line before her at Mobile One, perusing lambskin jackets in the Canal Place shopping center, buying cloves of garlic and cayenne peppers in the French Market. New Orleans was just full of single, African-American men, but they were all the same in Akinyele’s eyes: sweet but as plain as pound cake. She wanted something different. Someone who had been places. Someone who knew that endives went in a Caesar salad.
During a monthly meeting of the New Orleans Black MBA Society a few months prior, she’d sat down after locating a cup of coffee. While waiting for the meeting to begin, Akinyele looked up right into the eyes of this delectable chunk of chocolate. Seated across the table from her, his Cerutti cologne tickled her nostrils and made her want to take a bite out of his milky mocha skin. As they always do, he approached her after the meeting. Five minutes was all it took for him to offer to make her dinner the following Friday night.
Arriving at his Uptown townhouse, Akinyele noted the smooth shades of cream, white, and mocha used to decorate. The brother had definite taste. The latest electronics were stacked on his alabaster entertainment center and his kitchen was restaurant style. He had potential. This could be the one, Akinyele thought to herself. Could’ve been the one, that is. When she sat down to dinner and he served her a Caesar salad chock full of iceberg lettuce, his husband points went down. Considerably.
Akinyele didn’t ask for much. All she wanted was an educated, cultured, childless African-American man who made more money than she did and didn’t slaughter the King’s English. She had met many who fit all her criteria, but they just seemed to fall short. People had told Akinyele for years that she was far too high strung and demanded things from people that she wouldn’t even think of entertaining. While it might have very well been true, it was her world and she expected people to remember that.
Akinyele finally hit rock bottom one night after she found herself eating through the ass end of a five-pound box of Godiva truffles. As she wiped some of the chocolate away from her lips and cheeks, a wet hand indicated that she had been crying. It had occurred to her that she had been making love to her Kenmore every night for the past eight months, but she didn’t think it had that big an effect on her. Akinyele decided to face facts. She was lonely, but she was not desperate. That’s why she knew her best girl Nadya was on drugs when she told her to log on to her neglected personal computer and check out BlackGentlemen.com.
Akinyele had spent many stolen minutes laughing at several of her friends behind their backs. Several of them spent their weekends jetting to the far corners of America to see men that they’d met over the internet. Akinyele thought this was absolutely ludicrous. Personal ads were bad enough, but what kind of man actually took the time to place a personal on the internet? Even worse, what kind of woman took the time to read and answer such an ad?
After playing the role of Cleopatra, Queen of Denial for so long, Akinyele admitted to herself and
everyone else how lonely she really was. Maybe the internet dating thing wasn’t so bad after all. Akinyele was determined to find out.
Chapter Two
CYBER CRUISING
“Welcome…. You’ve got mail,” the dumb and monotonous male voice of America Online greeted Akinyele after she finally remembered her password. Her computer was somewhat of a necessary purchase. She paid her bills online, sent cyber-greeting cards when it was too late to send the real thing and, of course, she did some hellified cyber shopping. But never did Akinyele think of it as her dating service. Being the daring diva that she is though, she’ll try anything once.
After seeing that her lazy ass had one hundred forty-one pieces of unread mail, Akinyele opened the browser and typed in www.Blackgentlemen.com. She was so reluctant to do so that she’d avoided Nadya and her other girl Iris’ phone calls. Being the friends they were, they kept insisting that lonely wasn’t healthy. Akinyele finally broke down that night as her stomach rumbled and cramped after all that damned chocolate. Nadya and Iris were just as high strung as she was, but they both swore that they met a series of quality men on the site. Akinyele continued struggling with the pros and cons as she waited for the page to load.
“Okay, this is too cheesy,” Akinyele grumbled to herself as she got up to go to the refrigerator.
Returning back to the screen with lox, cream cheese, and the better half of a bagel crammed into her mouth, Akinyele plopped down and began to browse the selection of men. Most of them weren’t half-bad, but she could smell desperation seeping through the screen. Akinyele swore she could see their issues and isms pouring out from every pixel on her monitor.
Browsing through the ads placed by males, Akinyele was surprised to see that most of them were educated and gainfully employed. A few were even in New Orleans. Whoa! Here were handsome pieces of chocolate with jobs and an education just waiting to be chosen like cherry cordials and chocolate covered nougats from a Godiva box. These men appeared to be too good to be true. If this thing was for real, then Akinyele had definitely been missing out!
Everyone on the internet lies, Akinyele! her inner voice screamed out to her. On the real, Akinyele wanted her to shut up. It was her inner voice that ruled out perfectly desirable men just because they’d worn the wrong shade of brown shoes with their outfits on a date with her.
Chapter Three
NAKALEM
Single in Savannah. Thirty-three-year-old Black male seeking eloquent, articulate woman to share stimulating discussions, my cup of Earl Grey, and the occasional warmth of a thick wool blanket.
Hmm, he stood out from all the other ones. He was dark. Correction. This Negro was Black. With winter white teeth. He smiled at Akinyele while reclining on a jet leather couch. Taking in his Faire Isle sweater and neatly-trimmed noveau afro, she just knew that he was gay. Gay or married. But to satisfy the two yapping magpies that she called best friends, she decided to answer.
“Okay, you can do this,” Akinyele said as she began to type a reply.
From: [email protected]
To:[email protected]
Re: Single in Savannah
Hello…my name is Akinyele and I came across your ad while browsing through Blackgentlemen.com. Now, I want you to know from the beginning that I am not desperate at all. I merely wish to try something different. I am twenty-five, the Assistant Operations manager at a branch of the second largest bank in Louisiana. I was educated at Xavier and Tulane and I put much stock in education. I am single with no kids.
My ideal man could be someone like you. In a man I require brutal honesty, no kids, no excess baggage, no hang-ups, no self esteem issues, attainable goals, steady and secure employment, financial security to match my own, a zest for life, and a desire to always rise to the top. If you fit this description, please don’t hesitate to reply. If you fall short and fit one or more of the categories that I deemed undesirable, please don’t waste your time or mine replying. Peace! A.
Humming as she clicked away on the keyboard, Akinyele attached a picture and clicked send. There. Done.
Being the cynic that she was, Akinyele just couldn’t wait to log on in a day or so and see a very nasty email from his wife or, better yet, a different picture from the one staring down at her from the web page.
Clicking the page closed, Akinyele logged off without reading any of the unread mail. That could wait until tomorrow when she logged on to check for a receipt from a recent eBay order. Satisfied with herself because she had made an attempt to do what others had pushed her to do, she carried her behind to bed.
Entering her office and closing the door, a tune from her computer’s sound card sang out, signaling that she had a new email message. This was work, real life, real important. Unlike America Online or the silly personal ad site that she’d visited the night before, emails at work signaled real, real life. Akinyele used her email address at work to stay abreast of the stock market amongst other business matters. She corresponded with other members of management at her branch as well as the other thirty-one branches of Jazz City Bank scattered across Louisiana. After sleeping on the news that had caused two other banks to fold within the past year, Akinyele knew now that when it came to work, she had to stay on top of the information game.
After buzzing Solange, her administrative assistant, and asking her to bring in a fresh carafe of coffee, Akinyele sat down and opened her email icon. Dang! She realized that she was feeling so sorry for herself the night before that she had given the guy from Blackgentlemen.com her work email address in her reply to his ad.
To: [email protected]
From:[email protected]
Subject: Single in Savannah
Hello there. Unlike others, your reply made me laugh and warmed my heart at the same time. The reason? I see much of myself in you. I, too, was once cynical and thought that all women were alike. God opened my heart and let me know that I was wrong. I may not find her today. I may not find her tomorrow. I may not even find her next year. But eventually, I will find her. And when I do, there will be no letting go!Please, email me back and let me know a little more about yourself. Judging from the pictures you included in your reply, I can see that you are a beautiful young woman. Wild hair and meat on her bones…just the way I like them. And judging by what you told me about your occupation, I can tell that you are educated and intelligent…more pluses. But you neglected to tell me so much. Who hurt you? What caused you to put up the cynical cinder block in front of your heart that I could detect from your words. Your expectations of men are high and that is potentially a good thing but you mentioned that you were nitpicky. Do you require much in a man because you feel you deserve it or is it simply because you feel that you are lacking much inside that it would take a super human to fill the space? Once again, please write me back and let me know these things along with other things you left out…the good stuff…. Nakalem.
Oh, hell no! He had his nerve! Akinyele was fuming so badly that it took her several minutes to notice that he had enclosed a zip file with additional pictures of himself. Curiosity was killing her, but she had to calm down. Who the hell did this Negro think he was? What did he mean who hurt her? Geez!
Taking a deep breath and clicking the download later tag on the zip file, Akinyele clicked reply and started typing. He wanted to know the truth? The real her? Fine, she would tell him.
Chapter Four
A FRIENDLY GAME OF TAG
From:[email protected]
TO:[email protected]
Subject: You Have Some Kind of Nerve!
Okay Nakalem. You’re a handsome man, without a doubt. And I can also see that you are somewhat of a busybody. You want to get inside my head? You want to ask me questions that you probably don’t want to know the answers to? Well, ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. You asked who hurt me? Everyone! That’s who!
Sit back because there are many people on my shit list! The guys in college who coul
dn’t look past my weight and smell class dripping off me like glaze from a Krispy Kreme donut. The ones who looked past my extra pounds, gave me a few uneventful fucks, and then never called again. The women who spread rumors about me being loose. Those people! Well, lo and behold! The fat girl has graduated and really has her shit together now! My main objective is to never lower my standards and attract or even entertain the kind of man who wouldn’t have looked at me then…. see, now I realize that it was THEIR loss and MY gain because now I know that I am really something special. There! I told you…. and as for the things that I want? I want a man who is capable of loving me (and only me)…a man who paints my toenails, a man who buys me goldfish (I can buy myself anything that I desire. However, I do have aknack for wanting whimsical items), a man who takes my car to get inspected. A man who doesn’t judge me on how I look but on how I treat him. A man who can hold his own in a world of craziness. A man who loves his Blackness. A man who cherishes his freedom yet yearns to belong to me. That’s what I want. Are you up for the challenge? A.
There, Asshole! Akinyele thought with a self-satisfied smirk as she clicked send. She could already picture him getting up and hauling ass after reading her reply, never to be heard from again. Getting up, she walked over and poured fresh coffee from the carafe that Solange had quietly brought in while she was hunched over the computer typing away like a madwoman.
Before she could take the first sip, her computer sang out again, indicating a message.
Plopping the cup down, Akinyele walked over and hit the refresh button.