Wives, Fiancées, and Side-Chicks of Hotlanta

by Shereé Whitfield

  “It’s a tricky drink. Kind of like me.” Norman wriggled in his seat, crossing his legs. “It’s full of all different kinds of vodka.”

  “Sounds hard,” Sasha said, frowning.

  Norman made googly eyes. “But it has orange juice, pineapple juice—”

  “Oh, so it’s fruity, too.”

  “Girl, did you not hear me say it was just like me. Hard and fruity. Yes, Gawd!” Norman raised his hand to high-five Sasha.

  Sasha laughed and slapped Norman a five.

  A couple minutes later the bartender returned. He placed Sasha’s glass of wine in front of her and Norman’s zombie in front of him.

  “Thank you,” they each said upon receipt of their drink.

  “Umm, I needed this,” Sasha said after taking a sip of her drink.

  “Girl, we all need to unwind. Atlanta will do that to you.” Norman drank some of his zombie. “Damn, these shitz are good.” He looked to Sasha. “You want to try it?” He pushed his glass toward her.

  Sasha put her hand up. “Oh, no, thank you. Moscato is hard enough for me.”

  “For now. But just give it a month. You’ll be downing these babies like bottled water after a five-K run.” He took another sip and then placed his glass back down on the bar. “So, what brings you to the ATL anyway?”

  “Chance, really,” Sasha said. “I mean, I always knew that as soon as I graduated college I was leaving Ohio. It’s not artsy enough for what I want to do.”

  “Which is?”

  Sasha’s eyes lit up. “Be a fashion designer. Be the owner and operator of a boutique with vintage designs as well as my own originals. Have some of the best up-and-coming designers working for me, you know, to give them a chance at making it big. Maybe ultimately have a chain, then open up boutiques in France and—”

  “Whoa, slow down, Dorothy. You’re still in Kansas,” Norman said. “Take a breath.”

  Sasha inhaled and then exhaled.

  “Now take a drink.”

  She guzzled down several swallows of Moscato.

  “Another one for the lady,” Norman told the bartender, who nodded. Norman turned in his chair to face Sasha. “You all right?” He sipped his drink as he waited on her reply.

  Sasha nodded, using a napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth.

  “So that’s what gets your panties wet, huh?”

  Sasha scrunched her face and twisted her nose up at Norman.

  “Fashion, clothes, design,” Norman clarified. “That’s what gets you all riled up, huh?”

  Sasha relaxed her shoulders and sighed. “Yeah. Pardon me for going on and on, but it’s been my dream ever since I can remember.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Atlanta is just the spot for you to get your foot in the door or to just start up a business period. These divas down here are always getting dolled up for this event or the other, even getting dressed up to go to the mall. They are always trying to outdo one another with these parties they be throwing. Then you have all these theater stage plays, Tyler Perry’s studio. The gigs for costume and fashion are endless. Honey, this might as well be the black capital for fashion and designs. They can take Manhattan, honey, leave Hotlanta for moi!” Norman fanned himself with his hand and fluttered his eyes.

  The bartender placed Sasha’s second glass of wine in front of her. She nodded her thanks and he walked away.

  “For you and moi,” Sasha corrected Norman. “But watch out, because I didn’t come here for sloppy seconds.”

  “Oooh, is she trying to read me after I just bought her two drinks? Rude.” Norman rolled his eyes and turned his chair away from Sasha.

  “You are too much.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Norman said. “That’s why I left Alabama. Chile, talk about being too much for a place that I couldn’t be myself there even if I tried. Everything and everybody is so country there.”

  “Yeah.” Sasha sounded sympathetic. “I’m sure it was difficult coming out and trying to live the life of a gay man there.”

  “Gay?” He had the most shocked looked on his face. “I’m married with a wife and two kids. What made you think I was gay?”

  Norman’s words gave Sasha pause. She sat there with the glass of Moscato to her lips. Her mouth was wide open and the horrified look on her face was definitely a Kodak moment.

  Norman gave her the evil eye a few seconds more but then, unable to keep a straight face, he burst out laughing. “I’m just playing with you. Chile, bye.” Norman shooed his hand at Sasha and continued laughing. “Did you really think for one second I wasn’t gay?”

  Sasha tightened her lips and shook her head. “You play too much.” She allowed a smile to spread across her lips.

  “And you don’t play enough,” Norman shot back, taking a sip of his vodka concoction.

  “How do you know?” Sasha asked. Norman had only known her all of five minutes.

  “I had to twist your arm to buy that fun maxi dress, to get you to come over here and have a drink. Honey, you got the word ‘intense’ engraved on your forehead. Next to me folks are going to think you are deadpan, ’cause, honey, I’m a live one.” He snapped his fingers in a circle.

  Up until now, Sasha hadn’t minded the fact that people felt she was straitlaced or even uptight. But Norman made it sound like she was the walking dead. “You act like I’m Bernie or something.”

  “Bernie?” Norman questioned.

  “Yeah, from that movie Weekend at Bernie’s. You act like I don’t even have a pulse. Like you’re going to be dragging me around Atlanta trying to resuscitate me.”

  “Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha,” Norman laughed, pointing at Sasha. “You made a funny. You’re getting the hang of this thing already.”

  Sasha sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Norman said, playfully nudging her. “By the time I get through with you, you’ll want to go back and repeat kindergarten, you’re gonna wanna play so much.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Sasha said in disagreement. “I’m on a mission. I came here for a reason. I have some goals to achieve and I’m not leaving here until I do. I’m going to focus more on business than playing.”

  “I hear you. Well, should I say Norman hears you? But once Norma—my alter ego—gets a hold of you, you’ll be able to find that happy medium between business and pleasure. You have to get some play time in. All work and no play makes Sasha—”

  Sasha cut Norman off and finished his sentence. “A very dull girl.”

  “No. All work and no play makes Sasha too serious for Norman or Norma to rock with. And trust me, I can show you some thangs in this town, sweetie.” Norman let out a harrumph.

  “Hmm, now you got me scared.”

  “And you probably should be. They don’t call it Hotlanta for nothing. Chile, you can get burned. But just roll with me and I’ll be your fire extinguisher.”

  “And why should I trust you to put all the fires out?” Sasha asked.

  Norman turned and gave Sasha a serious diva look. “Because, hunty, nine times out of ten I started them. Now let’s turn up.” Norman raised his glass to toast with Sasha.

  Sasha hesitantly raised her glass. She wasn’t a turn-up kind of girl, so she didn’t know exactly what to make of her connection with Norman. But what the hell? Perhaps Norman was right. Maybe she didn’t have to be so serious all the time. There had to be a balance between working hard and enjoying life. But Sasha’s mother had always taught her to work hard and play later.

  As Sasha raised her glass to toast with Norman, she couldn’t help but wonder if for the first time ever, her mother could be wrong.

  Chapter 3

  Sasha was grateful that the temporary agency had been able to place her on a job. There was really never any doubt in her mind that they would be able to. When she filled out the five-page online application it asked her about higher education and what she’d majored in. There were inquiries about her skills, goals, and hobbies. Every
last one of her replies, in one way or another, had something to do with fashion. She figured they’d place her in a department store, clothing company corporate office, or something of that nature. She didn’t mind if it was clothing retail. She just wanted to be near clothes. The look of it. The touch of it. The smell of it. The feel of it. The sound it made when sliding on one’s body; buttons snapping and zippers zipping. She’d use all five senses and taste it if she could. There was so much to learn about the fashion industry on any and every level. Sasha didn’t care exactly where she started. She just wanted to start somewhere.

  To find herself sitting behind a desk in a stuffy law firm was not a start as far as Sasha was concerned. Maybe it was a start for a wannabe lawyer or paralegal. But not for Sasha. This was definitely not what she’d imagined. She couldn’t help but wonder why they’d even bothered asking her all those questions if they weren’t going to take the answers into consideration when placing her at a job. Nonetheless, two days earlier when she was offered the assignment, she accepted it. She was picky, but not stupid.

  “I’ve got you down for your appointment next Thursday at ten a.m.,” Sasha said into the phone receiver. “Thank you and you have a great day as well.” Sasha ended the call and hit the enter button after having logged the appointment into the firm’s appointment app.

  The job was easy; both easy to do and easy money. It consisted of basically being the living datebook for the five attorneys she was assigned to. She routed phone calls, scheduled appointments, and signed for deliveries. In between all that, she drew design sketches and blueprints for her dream boutique. She tweaked her business plan and researched various areas with commercial properties for lease. By the time she was ready to open her first boutique, none of those properties would be available. At least she’d have some idea of how much money she’d need to bring to the table. Sasha kept everything she did pertaining to her dreams in a set of black three-ring notebooks. When things fell into place she wanted to be ready.

  After about a week on the job, Sasha’s entire opinion of working in the firm had changed. This particular job had actually allowed her to learn quite a bit about setting up shop in the fashion industry. She had a tremendous amount of time to do research and sketch. In her down time at the job, she accomplished a great deal of things, things that she perhaps wouldn’t have been able to accomplish at any other nine-to-five. The things she was doing on her down time at the job she would have spent her entire evenings at home accomplishing. Thanks to her receptionist job, of which she only spent about four of the eight hours doing actual receptionist duties, her evenings could be spent doing other things. And those things could ultimately put her on the road to a successful career in the fashion business, if she was careful and kept her eyes focused on her path. Otherwise, if she didn’t keep her eyes on the road, she could possibly find herself veering off course and stranded in a ditch.

  “Are you sure it’s okay that you invited me?” Sasha asked as she and Norman headed up the long circular driveway, on foot, of what looked like a castle to her eyes. The driveway was packed with everything from Mercedes-Benzes and Range Rovers—new money—to BMWs and Jaguars—old money. Sasha was thanking her lucky stars that Norman had opted to pick her up and drive his Cadillac to the affair. Her Honda just didn’t seem like it would fit in . . . with old money or new. And for the first time since she could remember, Sasha was starting to wonder whether she would fit in as well.

  “I’m on the list plus one. You, my friend, are my plus one,” Norman replied. “You sound like you’re the one who is not sure whether you should be here,” he added.

  “Oh no, I want to be here. I definitely want to be here,” Sasha said, now removing all thoughts of doubt that she might not fit in or belong.

  When Norman first mentioned the affair, it was actually Sasha who hinted around about wishing she could attend. With her mind always focused on her career in fashion, she felt that shadowing Norman whenever possible would allow her to make some really great connections.

  As they walked, Sasha looked down at the maxi dress Norman had encouraged her to buy from the consignment shop. She gave her Gucci shoes a glance as well. She wasn’t quite sure how they did it in Atlanta. Even though this party was in honor of a charity, to help raise money for the SHE Foundation, which stood for Self-esteem, Health & Fitness, and Education, Sasha hoped she wasn’t underdressed. She fingered the necklace, which had a matching bracelet. The brushed bronze flowers made the pieces look antique, classy, and expensive. They weren’t big and gawky, but enough to catch one’s eye and generate a compliment or two. It had been custom made, not by some big-name designer in Italy, but by her cousin, Chelsea, back in Cleveland. Don’t knock Cousin Chelsea back in Ohio, though. Home girl was on her way to the big league. Her online custom jewelry business was booming thanks to the power of social media and word of mouth. Who cared if she made everything in a work area in her basement? Dreams had to start somewhere. And if Sasha had her way, Chelsea’s dreams would be starting right here in Atlanta.

  Sasha, so busy checking herself out, stumbled. Norman had to grab her elbow to help her balance.

  “If you stop worrying about what you have on and pay attention to where you are going, you’ll have a better chance of not landing on your face and losing a front tooth,” Norman said. “Stop messin’. You look fine. You think I would let you come somewhere with me looking cray? I know we’ve only known each other two weeks, but haven’t you realized by now that I tells the truth and shames the devil?”

  Norman’s words gave Sasha more confidence. When she had first opened the door and walked out, he would have given her the stank face if she wasn’t on point. That much she knew. So she lifted her head and continued the trek.

  “See, that’s more like it,” Norman said. “Walk like you own this motherfuckin’ town. You are looking snatched in that dress.” Norman pretended as though he had yanked something up out of thin air. “You better work it! If you don’t, I will. You don’t want me to take you in the bathroom, mug you for your gown and come out screaming, ‘Who wore it best,’ ’cause I’ll do it. You know I’ll do it.” Norman began doing the crack head dance Samuel L. Jackson did in the movie Jungle Fever.

  The more Norman praised, coaxed, and egged Sasha on, the more she strutted.

  “That’s right, chica,” Norman cheered as he pranced right alongside of her.

  By the time they made it to the door, they both had to catch their breath and sooth their aching calves.

  “Cheap bastards,” Norman huffed. “How they gon’ rent a mansion but not hire a valet?” Norman asked, hunched over, breathing heavily. He looked up and noticed more guests coming up the drive, so he immediately stood up straight. He brushed his iridescent wine-colored capri suit off and rang the bell.

  The huge door opened to a gentleman in a tux wearing white gloves. “Welcome,” he greeted.

  Norman stepped in, Sasha on his heels. “Good evening,” Norman returned the greeting. He then looked to the two ladies at his immediate left who were sitting behind a table. “Norman Bradshaw,” he said to them as he approached the table. “Not only am I on the list, but I should be on the top of the list.” He let out a chuckle and the women duplicated it as they scanned the list.

  “Here you are,” one of the women said, crossing his name off. She looked over his shoulder at Sasha, who stood in the foyer admiring the beautiful home.

  Norman followed the woman’s eyes. “And that’s my guest.” Norman confirmed what the woman’s eyes were questioning. “That’s the Sasha Wellington.”

  Upon hearing her name, Sasha’s eyes went from scanning the home to the registration table.

  Norman continued. “Sasha Wellington of Wellington Vogue Boutiques.”

  At first Sasha frowned, but then Norman pressed her to play along. Sasha nodded and smiled at the woman.

  “It’s an honor, Ms. Wellington.” The woman’s eyes lit up as she greeted Sasha. She then turned her attention bac
k to Norman.

  Sasha continued admiring the home as Norman continued with registration.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bradshaw. You and your guest enjoy yourselves.”

  “Absolutely, doll.” Norman winked and then walked over to Sasha.

  “Bradshaw?” Sasha questioned. She might have been drooling over the expensive and lavishly decorated home as she stood on the cream-and-gold marbled floor, but she hadn’t been so distracted that she missed Norman telling his second little white lie for the night. “I thought you said your last name was Jenkins.”

  “It is. But do you think the stuck-up ruddy poos in this town are going to let someone named Norman Jenkins dress them? Besides, I love me some Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City. Thanks to her, the name Bradshaw just screams unique, original, quirky fashion.” He pulled at the shoulders of his suit. “That’s me.” He wriggled his head as if he was slinging long blond hair from out of his face.

  “Wellington Boutiques?” Sasha wasn’t going to let Norman slide on that, either.

  “Wellington Vogue Boutiques,” Norman corrected. “If you’re going to lie, memorize it at least.”

  “That’s the thing, you lied . . . and then put me in the middle of it.”

  “Chile, you better speak your life how you see it into existence,” Norman said. “You can’t come up in places like this talking about what you’re gonna be and what you’re gonna have. People only care about who you are now. What you have now.”

  Norman had a point. “I hear you,” Sasha said, even though she still wasn’t completely comfortable with having cosigned his lie. But if all went well, a year from now it wouldn’t be a lie. And in two years from now, a home like this would be where she could be resting her head every night.

  Sasha continued to look around. She admired the crystal chandeliers hanging above her head. She was discreet in eyeing the expensive artwork, vases, and statues. She didn’t want to look like she’d never been anywhere this sophisticated before, even though she hadn’t. There was a set of spiral staircases to both the left and the right that met at the top of the second floor. All Sasha could do was imagine what was up there. Probably a master suite fit for Obama and Michelle. The more she saw, the more she realized that this was the sort of lifestyle that she wanted. She wondered what she’d have to do to get it.