by Tracy Brown
They were not disappointed. All the ladies from Keisha’s group were dressed to impress. Designer labels and pricey baubles were everywhere. They made the rounds with Keisha introducing Celeste to many of her entrepreneurial sisters along the way. With champagne flutes in hand, they worked the crowd, flashing dazzling smiles, cracking jokes, and having stimulating conversations. Dinner was served and several speakers followed as dessert was presented. They all talked about the importance of wealthy, successful black people donating to finding a cure for the number one killer of black people in almost every demographic. The biggest donors received special recognition, and Celeste surveyed the room.
There were a number of handsome men there that evening, although several of them looked as if they may have been homosexual. Still, there were quite a few men with potential. Keisha set her sights on one handsome middle-aged man seated elsewhere in the dining room. She knew she would meet him before the night was over. The formal part of the evening was capped off by a solo performance by a gospel singer doing a soulful rendition of the Lord’s Prayer. After a big round of applause, a deejay took the reins and the party went into full swing. Drinks and hors d’oeuvres flowed and Celeste was having a great time. She couldn’t help noticing a tall brother who stuck pretty close by one of Keisha’s fellow members. Celeste surmised that they must be a couple, but she couldn’t help glancing in his direction from time to time. He was tall and he was well proportioned. His haircut was fresh, his goatee was perfect, and his lips were inviting. She watched him gesture with his big hands while he talked to the sister at his side. He had great teeth, too, which Celeste noticed whenever he flashed his megawatt smile. She was captivated.
Keisha was holed up in the corner with a man she’d had her sights set on all evening. He was a new district court judge, and she sat beside him with her legs crossed invitingly and her eyes fluttering flirtatiously. He never stood a chance. Celeste chuckled at her friend’s aggression and went to the bar to order another drink. “Hennessy this time, please,” she told the bartender.
“That’s a big drink for such a delicate lady,” a voice behind her remarked. Celeste turned around to find the beautiful stranger she had been watching standing behind her. She immediately looked for his girlfriend. Celeste had already gotten out of one relationship where she had been the other woman. She didn’t want to find herself in that position again. Instead of responding, she smiled and looked away.
“My name is Bryson. Are you one of my sister’s group members?” he asked, extending his hand to Celeste in greeting.
She took it and smiled broadly. “Is that your sister?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the woman she had assumed was his wife. Celeste was relieved.
Bryson nodded. “She didn’t want to come by herself to another charity event. So I got suckered into coming with her.”
Celeste’s smile broadened. “My name is Celeste,” she offered, shaking his strong hand. “I’m not part of the group. I came with my friend Keisha.”
Bryson nodded as the bartender brought Celeste her drink. She reached to pay for it and Bryson held his hand up to stop her. “This one’s on me,” he said. He ordered a glass of Patron and leaned against the bar. “You don’t want to join their group?” he asked. “It seems like you’re somebody important, so you’d fit right in.”
Celeste laughed. “Well, thank you. I think.” She wasn’t sure if he had given her a compliment or not. “I guess I do all right for myself and I could probably benefit from making the good connections in their group. But I’ve never really been tight with a bunch of women like that. Most of the women I’ve encountered are backstabbers or haters.”
“So you have a lot of male friends?” Bryson asked, with one eyebrow raised.
Celeste sipped her drink. She wasn’t sure what Bryson meant by the question. “Keisha is my best friend since I moved to Atlanta. I like her. We get along real well. But I don’t think I could stand meeting with fifty women once a month talking about women’s issues.”
Bryson smiled. “You’re from New York, right?”
Celeste nodded.
“I can tell by your accent,” he explained.
Celeste wanted to tell him that he was the one with the accent. But she didn’t want to hurt his country pride. “Everybody says New Yorkers have an accent. I guess it’s true.”
“How long have you lived in ATL?”
“A few years. I like it. I needed a change of pace.”
“You got a man?”
“You get straight to the point, don’t you?”
“Well, I thought New Yorkers don’t like to beat around the bush.” Bryson downed his shot of tequila.
Celeste smiled flirtatiously. “Nope. I don’t have a man. Why? You wanna take me out?”
Bryson smiled back. “Yeah.”
Celeste nodded. “Okay. I’d like that,” she said. He was confident, straightforward, and he seemed to be pretty intelligent. So far, Celeste was feeling optimistic about this man.
The bartender brought Bryson another drink and Celeste watched, impressed, as he handed the bartender an American Express Centurion card. The black card spoke volumes about his wealth, and Celeste’s curiosity was piqued. “So what do you do?”
“I’m an entertainment attorney with a prominent Atlanta firm. Reed, Maxwell, and—”
“Forrester,” Celeste completed his sentence. “I’m a junior executive with a marketing firm downtown. Your firm represented us in a case against a rival company.”
Bryson smiled. “It’s a small world. I’ve been practicing for twelve years and been a partner at the firm for two of those years.”
“Wow,” she said. “Sounds interesting. Who is your most famous client?”
He shrugged. “I have a few famous clients. After a while they don’t impress you with their fame and wealth as much. They’re human just like the rest of us. The famous clients are no different for me than the average Joe.”
“All of their money is green, right?” Celeste asked, sipping her drink.
“That’s right. It’s all the same,” Bryson said. “So how do you like working in marketing?”
She sat on a bar stool and crossed her legs, perching her clutch bag on her lap. “The work is exciting, I get to travel often, and the pay is competitive. I like it.”
“That’s great. When you get paid to do what you love to do, it’s a wonderful thing.” Bryson sized her up and liked what he saw. Celeste was a beautiful woman, stylish and sophisticated. She was successful and intelligent. And she had a fat ass, just the way he liked. “So,” he said. Why are you single?”
She sighed. “Actually, I just got out of a yearlong relationship.”
“So is it too soon for me to ask you out? I don’t want to be your rebound romance.” Bryson smiled as he said it.
Celeste laughed. “It’s not too soon. It wasn’t a bad split. In fact, we’re still friends. The whole relationship just lost its thrill for me, and I got tired of going through the motions.”
Bryson looked at her, wondering what man would be foolish enough to allow a woman this beautiful to get bored. “So, you’re a thrill seeker, huh?” he asked facetiously.
She smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess you could say that.”
Keisha came over, looking exasperated. The man she was trying to snag had turned out to be gay and she was dismayed. “This party is wack!” she spat. “I’m ready to go.”
Celeste looked at Keisha, confused. “What happened? I thought you were having fun!”
Keisha looked at Celeste sidelong. “Don’t ask.”
Celeste turned back to Bryson. “She’s ready to go,” she said, nodding in Keisha’s direction. Celeste handed him her business card. “Call me.”
Bryson nodded. “I definitely will.”
Celeste grabbed Keisha’s arm gently and they headed for the exit. She felt bad that Keisha’s night hadn’t gone as well as hers had. But she was thrilled that she had connected with Bryson. He had a
sexy swagger about him and a law degree to match. It seemed like he may have potential. Celeste wasn’t that interested in the white-collar suit and tie—wearing men she came into contact with most often. But Bryson might be an exception. She still wanted a bad boy, only without all the bullshit that went along with it. She was finished with guys who went to jail, had crazy baby mamas and multiple kids.
Since Celeste had left New York, the closest she had come to finding a roughneck who fit the bill was her ex, Damon. She had met him at the gym where she worked out regularly. In the beginning, their relationship had been purely physical, with no strings attached, and Celeste liked it that way. The two of them shared occasional movie nights at her place or his, which were always capped off by great sex. Then they’d talk and have a few drinks before round two of their passion began. Celeste was content with them being friends with benefits. But eventually, for Damon, the relationship grew more serious. He began to want to see Celeste more often, he called numerous times each day, and Celeste got scared. When he started dropping hints about wedding bells, Celeste made herself scarce. Marriage and families were the furthest things from her mind.
On the other hand, Keisha, the southern belle, craved marriage to a wealthy man and socialite status. To her, marriage was the golden carrot that every woman should be in pursuit of until she got it. Keisha couldn’t understand her friend’s desire to remain single and date without commitment.
Anyone who knew Celeste could attest to the fact that she was staunchly independent. Despite the fact that a man had financed her lifestyle for several years, it had been Celeste who had made the dream of owning her own salon a reality. She had been responsible for the decor, the ambiance, and it was she who had chosen the best stylists in Brooklyn to keep the clientele consistent. Celeste was a visionary. Always had been, always would be. In her youth, Celeste had been a straight-A student, a popular girl among her peers. She was well behaved and seldom rocked the boat for her single mother, Zara Styles.
Celeste had been raised by her mother and her grandmother, and their maternal wisdom had served her well. While many of her peers were getting high, getting in trouble, or getting pregnant, Celeste had had her head in the books and her future clearly mapped out for herself. She had envisioned herself as a successful businesswoman from an early age. She pictured herself in pricey shoes, strutting into a boardroom and setting her expensive briefcase down on the table, wowing the crowd of stiff suited businessmen with her knowledge and her expertise. Celeste had been ready for the world in those days. And then she’d been sidetracked by her love for a thug. When she fell in love with Rah-lo, college had fallen by the wayside, much to her mother’s chagrin. Celeste had given up her collegiate dreams in search of the American dream—or at least a ghetto-fabulous version of it.
Now, years later, she was back on track. But she was still having the sweetest dreams about one man in particular. In her dreams, they made love with a passion that blew her mind. He would hold her and she would feel so safe and loved. Then she’d wake up and find herself living a beautiful life in a beautiful city, and still feeling empty despite it all.
Celeste thought often about the man in her dreams. Rah-lo had been her everything. She remembered the night she met him so many years ago. He was so thugged-out, so sexy. Out for a night on the town in New York with her girlfriends, Celeste had found herself in Staten Island’s notorious Park Hill section. As she sauntered across busy Targee Street in search of a pay phone, several men had called out to her, hoping for a chance to talk to the pretty young stranger in their midst. They called out to her from across the street.
“Let me holla at you.”
“Damn, baby! You wearin’ them jeans!”
“Can I talk to you?”
She was flattered, but she didn’t respond to men who called her out that way. She felt that she was too classy a bitch to answer these types of greetings. Approaching the pay phone, she prepared to place her call but noticed a tall and rather handsome guy crossing the street in her direction. She thought his walk was sexy as hell.
“Excuse me. Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked. The smirk on his face was a mixture of flirtation and mischief. “Don’t listen to them. It ain’t every day that they see somebody as fly as you are stepping out on the block. My name is Rah-lo.” He extended his hand and Celeste hesitated before she shook it. She looked him over, feeling strangely attracted to this rugged stranger with a mischievous grin on his face. “You ain’t gonna tell me your name?” he asked.
She smiled and told him her name. She took in his attire—a black hoodie, jeans, and Timbs. A typical block hugger, she surmised. But his smile was disarming, and she was impressed that he’d had the guts to cross the street and risk rejection in front of all of his friends. All of his boys stood on the opposite sidewalk, watching to see what would happen. She liked a confident man, and the one standing before her exuded not only confidence but cockiness as well. His arrogance coupled with his charm was irresistible. She liked his style. So she engaged him in conversation, and when he walked away he had her number. And Celeste had been with him from that day forward.
But not now. Still, Celeste thought about him all the time. She might see a designer handbag she couldn’t fit into her budget and she would recall how Rah-lo had spoiled her, lavished her with all the material things a woman would want. She had never had to concern herself with such trivial things as budgets or financial limitations when they were together. She had lived in his large home on Staten Island, New York, and she had been Rah-lo’s well-kept secret. He took care of her, buying her cars and jewelry, supplying her every need. He had bankrolled her hair salon—Dime Piece—as a gift to her, and he made sure that she had any and every material thing she wanted. But what she hadn’t had was his time. She hadn’t had his love exclusively. And she hadn’t had the title. Asia was his wife. Celeste had been little more than his chick on the side.
Secretly, the one thing she had yearned for most of her life was a father. She had never known her dad and had often envied the few of her friends who had fathers active in their lives. More than anything, Celeste had always wanted the luxury of being Daddy’s little girl, being spoiled and taken care of. She had never had many friendships with females. They had always proven themselves to be jealous or untrustworthy. Friendship, popularity, belonging to a clique—those things had never been of importance to Celeste. That was one of the reasons she had managed to keep her head in her hair salon amid the stylists’ constant bickering and cattiness. Celeste was always able to tune them out. She didn’t need or long for girlfriends. But she did long for her father. Although her mother and grandmother had done an outstanding job of raising Celeste to be a strong and respectable woman, she still had a void where her dad should have been.
Celeste had always shared an open and honest relationship with her mother. So when Celeste had fallen in love with Rah-lo she had never hidden his marital status from her mom. She told her the truth of what she was dealing with. Her mother, of course, disapproved. Not only because Rah-lo was a married man. But also because he made his living in the streets—something that Ms. Styles had always wanted her daughter to steer clear of. Celeste was an intelligent young lady with a bright future ahead of her when she met Rah-lo. Her mother saw her daughter’s potential and couldn’t help being disappointed in her choice of whom she’d given her heart to. But Ms. Styles didn’t protest too loudly. After all, Celeste was an adult. She had made her decision. And Ms. Styles knew all too well that when a woman gave her heart to a man, wild horses wouldn’t be able to tear her away.
In the months before Celeste decided to leave New York City, Zara had noticed that Celeste’s lifestyle was wearing her down. Without being told, Zara could sense that her daughter was fed up. She could tell by the forlorn look on her daughter’s face every time she saw her. It hadn’t always been that way. In the beginning of their relationship, Rah-lo had Celeste floating on a cloud. The pure happiness that she felt from bein
g loved by him was evident in her smile. Celeste had always smiled back then. She had always been optimistic that the situation was only temporary. Rah-lo would leave Asia eventually. Celeste had believed that Rah-lo couldn’t love her like he did and not want to be with her exclusively. Naively, she had held out hope. But that hope had begun to fade. And Celeste’s mother knew long before Celeste ever told her. When Dime Piece had burned down, Celeste had been sad but also oddly relieved. For the first time, Celeste began to talk about needing a change. Zara saw it as the perfect opportunity for her daughter to start over. Zara and her aging mother were moving to Atlanta. Celeste’s mother invited Celeste to come along and prayed hard that she would accept her invitation. When Celeste had finally called to say that she was coming to Atlanta and leaving Rah-lo behind, Zara had danced and shouted around her house like a church lady filled with the Holy Ghost. She couldn’t have been happier.
Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Celeste. When she had first left Rah-lo, she had felt so many different emotions. Happiness was not among them. She felt hurt that Rah-lo hadn’t loved her enough to leave his wife. Celeste had believed that he loved her. But obviously not as much as she had loved him, because if he had, he never could have continued in an “empty” marriage with another woman. Celeste was also angry with herself for the choices she’d made, angry about all the times she had allowed herself to be taken for granted.