“I would like a…wait, what would you suggest I have?”
“I have the perfect drink for you, but I’m going to need an ID.”
“Sure!”
The bartender looked at the ID and whisked away. Just as she left, a gentleman sat beside me. His stare could be felt even through the smoke.
“My, my, you are beautiful; I’d really like to be your friend. Would you consider that?”
“I don’t need a friend.”
“I’m sorry; how can I be your friend if I don’t know your name.”
I crossed my legs and turned my back toward him, hoping he would get the not-so-subtle hint.
“Come on; don’t be that way.”
With my back to him, I sighed. “Sir, why would I come to Vegas and meet up with someone old enough to be my dad?”
“Hey, I’m just trying to be somebody’s sugar daddy, that’s all.”
Just as I was about to really lay into him, the bartender returned with my drink. She could clearly see that I was agitated with the guy’s unwanted advances.
“Joe, why are you bothering this young lady? Here’s your drink, miss. That’ll be twelve dollars please.”
“Thank you.” I grabbed my drink, left a ten and a five on the bar and slipped away to try my luck at the slot machines.
Returning her attention to the gentleman, the bartender said, “Joe, this is the third evening you’ve come in here trying to pick up women. I don’t think it’s working, and I say that politely.”
“Why is that?” he said.
“Joe, you’re drunk and way too aggressive.”
“One of these evenings someone is going to say yes.”
“Yeah, right!”
I got bored shortly after a few rounds at the one-armed bandit. A waitress had brought over two more drinks during my time at the money pit disguised as a game. These were on the house. I did not see the appeal in hoping three fruits would magically appear before me. Darting from the machine I wanted to explore the other areas of the casino and hotel. I figured everyone was enjoying themselves and would not want to end their fun just to have them wander around with me.
That third drink had begun to take its effect, and I now realized I was clearly separated from the group and lost. The casino floor was huge. I knew I would not be able to last much longer, so I found a nice older lady to help me find my friends. I told her that I had too much to drink and needed some help finding them. She was all too happy to help, and it was a good thing.
I passed out just as I heard someone shout, “There she is.” I did not even get to thank the lady.
When I woke up, Murphy and the others were standing over me along with two paramedics and a casino manager. I sat up, a little woozy, but I seemed to be ok. My fainting, however, ended our stop in Vegas. I was full of fear because of what happened in the casino. I’d never passed out before and was concerned that there might be something wrong with me. What was in those drinks, I wondered.
The paramedics checked my blood sugar, and it was then that I remembered I had not eaten since breakfast. I had broken the cardinal rule when drinking. Never drink on an empty stomach! They gave me some orange juice and we were all pleased to see that I was making a quick recovery. No one wanted to make a hospital part of our trip. They suggested I get some food in me pronto, so we made a pit stop at one of the quick-snack stations on the casino floor and headed out to get the cars.
Four hours later we were in L.A. It indeed is one of the most beautiful cities I have seen. I was not prepared for this; it looked like the California of my dreams. It was gorgeous, it was Miami on steroids.
I had heard wonderful things about California, so I was filled with a great deal of joy when we arrived. We had planned to spend the first few nights at Riley’s parent’s house; he told us that his parents were conservatives with a lot of money. He said they had a large home in Englewood, but none of that really mattered to us. We were just happy to not have to pay for a hotel.
Riley’s parents did indeed have a large home. It was a beautiful four thousand square feet two-story split–level ranch that sat at the end of a cul-de-sac. There was not a blade of grass out of place on the lawn; every inch of the yard was maintained. It was the first thing I noticed when we arrived. I thought to myself if the outside looks this nice, I would be too afraid to touch or sit on anything on the inside.
Murphy and I settled into the mauve-colored bedroom we were assigned, uncertain if we should sit on the bed or just stand in the center of the room. It was nicely decorated with a sleigh bed and matching armoire that held a large television and extra linens. Everything was perfect and in place. From the family portraits to the crown molding, it was as if the room was part of a movie set.
Riley’s parents came upstairs to introduce themselves; they were a well-dressed, lovely middle-aged couple. Mr. Jones wore navy blue slacks with black pinstripes, a brown leather belt that matched his leather loafers and a white button-down dress shirt with the initials EDJ on the cuffs. Sprinkles of grey showed on the sides of his freshly cut hair and in his well-groomed beard. His Oliver Peoples glasses gave him a handsome professional appearance.
Mrs. Jones had her arm laced through his with her right wrist gently resting across it. She was equally impeccably dressed in a grey linen dress that zipped in the back. It reminded me of what you would see a TV lawyer wear. A bob-styled haircut accented her tiny heart-shaped face. If by chance you didn’t take notice of her perfect skin and her curves in the fitted dress, you surely didn’t miss the Rolex Oyster and the pair of six-inch black heels she stood in.
“Hi girls, we are Mr. and Mrs. Jones. I am Peter, and this is my wife, Karen. We’re so grateful to have you with us.”
“Thank you for having us. I’m Kennedy.”
“And I’m Murphy.”
“Riley has told us so much about you young ladies.”
We stood there perplexed as to why Riley would be talking to his parents about us. I hoped the conversation was not about to go in the direction of why we weren’t dating Riley. The look on Murphy’s face said she was thinking the same.
“He did say that you girls were pretty; so, where are you from?” Mrs. Jones asked.
“I’m from Florida,” I said, hoping she would not pry too much. I do believe I would have lied; I would have named any city other than the small town where I was raised.
“I’m from New York but my parents live in Fresno. We’ll be making our way there to see them,” Murphy chimed in.
“Fresno is a wonderful city, and it has been a while since our last Florida vacation.”
“We recently had the best trip to Florida.” Murphy and I chuckled at the thought my statement brought.
“How do you like college, and what’s your major?”
“Journalism. Sports journalism to be exact,” said Murphy.
“And you?” redirecting her question toward me.
“Business. I plan to be an entrepreneur.”
Just as Mrs. Jones was about to speak, Mr. Jones interrupted. During the conversation, he’d taken a seat on the dresser. His feet dangled as he smiled.
“Honey, we have ample time to get to know them. Let’s allow them to get settled. I’m sure they are exhausted and want to freshen up.”
We thanked them again for allowing us to stay with them, and after a quick catnap and shower, we went down for dinner.
During dinner, we soon learned that Riley had painted his parents in a different light from what I observed. If they were conservative, they were absolutely fabulous. They did have money, but they were not snooty or brash with it; in fact, they were far from it. During dinner they told us that Mr. Jones was an entrepreneur and Mrs. Jones was a professor at an HBCU. They sent Riley to Philander Smith with the hope that he would return to take over his father’s business. We must have made a great impression because they said it was courageous of us to take advantage of all that life was offering us. They suggested that we see as much of the world as po
ssible and have as much fun as we could handle safely while we were doing it. However, his father could not believe Riley wasn’t dating one of us.
“That boy must be crazy. Why is he dating that girl instead of one of you?” Mr. Jones shook his head.
For some reason, Riley’s parents really did not like his girlfriend. She was a country girl from Helena, Arkansas who doted on and obeyed Riley’s every word. It was as if she did not have an identity. And it did not sit well with them.
After breakfast one morning, Mr. Jones looked at us without any emotion and unloaded. “She is a tag-along. Her whole existence is Riley, and at some point in his life a woman like that will not be there for him. He will take from her until everything that makes him a trusting, reputable man is destroyed. His kids will hate him, his business partners will not respect him and she will have stopped loving him. I know my son, and that boy does not need a timid woman in his life.”
Shocked at what we were hearing, Murphy and I understood exactly what he was saying; we understood that his son would need someone to challenge him yet hold him accountable.
However, truth be told, Riley was not our type. Sure, he was handsome and smart, but neither one of us was looking to break up a relationship. We were more than content with being friends.
We were determined to party every night in California, especially in LA. We called Malik. He told us he had plans for us every night, starting with hitting some of the best clubs and parties in the city. First, we were on a roof top downtown, then in a warehouse in an industrial area. The next night we were on the set of a music video. Every place we went, he had us meeting celebrities, and with every party he would give us instructions on how to dress and how to transform ourselves to fit the occasion. And each party found us meeting new people who would invite us to other parties.
California has such a different vibe than Florida; everyone was beautiful and fashionable but in a different way. It seemed to be more sophisticated. As such, we were never at a shortage of things to do.
After staying with Riley’s parents for a few days, it was time to stay a couple of days with Cam’s parents, but we were going to miss the Joneses. Especially Riley’s younger sister who had hung around us the entire time we were in the house. She would ask so many questions while we put on our makeup to go out. She loved staying up late to see what we were wearing.
We packed our bags and said our goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Jones who told us they had really enjoyed having us around.
Cam’s parents lived in Compton; they were polite and conservative also, but they were bougie. I guess there is nothing wrong with trying to better one’s status, but it was nothing like being at Riley’s parents’ home. The Joneses were comfortable in their wealth; here it seemed stilted, somehow forced.
Every evening we had to be in place for family dinner. Family dinner meant tablecloths and meaningful conversation, always led by Cam’s stepmother. It was visibly clear that no one enjoyed her topics; even her husband rushed through his answers when he spoke.
She was pushy, and we were sick of her after the first night. Cam’s mother said she was concerned about our safety and all the partying we were planning to do. She had a completely different philosophy about life and how it should be lived, far different from the Joneses. They were cautious but easygoing. Then there was Cam’s mom who seemed willing to give up so much of her life to her fears.
This was too much for us, so to ease the warden’s ways, we invited Cam to hang out with us, knowing that the parties we were going to were not his type of thing.
Cam wanted to be a thug, but we knew he was soft. I’m sure all of Compton knew he was soft. He was too educated, and his parents were not going to have any of that. He could only try that thug crap in Arkansas.
We finally convinced his mom that there was no need for us to wake them when we came in. You guessed right! She wanted to give us a curfew! And she wanted to get up to unlock the door when we returned! She finally gave in and allowed us to have a key.
When we called Malik for our plans for that night, we already kind of knew what we were going to do. Of course, we went to a club, and we had no plans of seeing Cam until it was time to leave. That was fine with him. It gave him time to hang around with his boys.
Out of all the parties we had ever gone to, this was by far the best one. Malik had arranged VIP services at Prince’s nightclub, Glam Slam. It was the hottest place to be in the early ’90s. There was already a line when we arrived, so we were hesitant to bypass everyone. We told the guy at the door that we were guests of Malik. The large man simply stared at us with his intense face before telling us to wait a moment. He called someone on a radio. A few moments passed before a gentleman appeared wearing a well-tailored suit and a huge smile. With a European accent, he greeted us.
“Kennedy and Murphy, we are so happy to have you. Welcome to Glam Slam!” As he escorted us through the club, our minds were blown away by what was happening around us. He told us that we had two options for accommodations available to us: we could have a table by the stage, but he preferred we have the table in VIP with security. Of course, we just had to know what this VIP security detail meant.
Murphy and I spoke in unison, “VIP, please!”
He escorted us upstairs and sat us at our table. He told us everything had been taken care of. Our table gave us a perfect view of the club—the dancefloor, the bar, the tables, the stage, staff moving back and forth as they performed their duties, and security guards at every corner, doorway and hallway.
“Kennedy, don’t look, but that’s Magic Johnson behind you.” Murphy’s voice was sort of a squealing whisper.
“Well, don’t look either, but Carmen Electra is sitting to your right.”
Her head instantly swiveled.
“I said don’t look!” We leaned in and tried to suppress our schoolgirl giggles.
“Ok, I am a mature woman. I can handle a few celebrities,” she said, then put her hand over her mouth and giggled some more.
Below us was a sea of well-dressed people partying like it was their last party. The noise was a crush of music, conversation and laughter. We didn’t warrant much any attention from anyone, but we couldn’t have cared less.
Malik had gone over the top for us, and it took all we had to contain our excitement. Murphy and I danced at our table, but a part of us wanted to be downstairs in the mix of everything. Unable to hold our urge to let loose, we waved a security person over and asked him to take us downstairs. He raised his hand only slightly and three huge bodyguards appeared who made a path through the crowd for us. Once we got to the stage, one of them leaned down and asked, “Would you like to dance on the stage?”
Before Murphy could answer, I shouted to him, “No, we want to dance on that!” pointing at the large speaker on the side of the stage.
“You got it!” He walked us on stage and lifted us onto the speaker. We were in our element, and it didn’t take long before the crowd was cheering us. A spotlight hit us and something triggered in me. I became transformed back into a 14K. I gave them a full show with Murphy following my every lead. The DJ stopped playing his normal mix for the crowd and for twenty minutes he mixed a set just for the two of us. The crowd was loving every minute of it, they cheered and shouted for us as if we were a new up-and-coming duet.
Once we finished, the bodyguards politely helped us from the stage and escorted us back to VIP to the whispers of, “Who was that? Who are they?”
To our surprise, Murphy’s friend from Bell Biv DeVoe came rushing over.
“Murphy, Kennedy, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you on the stage! I should have known; out of all the people I know it would be you two I run into out here in California. Damn! Look at you two, you’re the hottest things in here!”
We were happy to see someone we knew. Our evening was turning into something spectacular, and it was about to get better. Murphy’s friend lit a joint and passed it to us. The aroma of the bud circled and tingled
my nose when I hit it. I let out a smoker’s cough and passed the spliff to Murphy.
“I’m going to another party when I leave here. You guys have to come!”
“What party? Whose party?” Murphy replied.
“I can’t tell you whose party it is. All I can say is he is famous, and you do not want to miss this opportunity! It will be starting soon, so get your last dance in if you want to go.”
I could not believe how the evening was playing out. The weed had us ready to continue with whatever the night had in store. One thirty in the morning was quickly approaching, but the decision to leave a club--a Prince club that was banging at that--to go to another party was a no brainer this time. Could it really get any better than this?
“Everyone knows you don’t leave a good party in search of a party,” Murphy looked at me confused. But the decision was made.
“Let’s go, but we have to let Cam know what we’re doing,” I replied.
“Well, do it quickly because car service is on its way to get us; did I mention that you can’t drive there? You can only go by his car service.”
“No, you didn’t mention that.”
After a brief meet-up with Cam, we were on our way. The three of us sipped on complimentary champagne in the back of the car. eagerly anticipating what was sure to be an unforgettable night.
Murphy’s friend would not tell us who was hosting the event; he only would say that he was a famous comedian turned actor. But it didn’t matter to me; I was prepared for anything.
The car climbed the winding streets of the Hollywood hills before arriving at a house overlooking the city. You could not tell there was a party taking place from the outside. In fact, the front of the house had a very small footprint. The only sign of an event was the ten or more service vehicles perfectly lined up just inside of the gate. For the first time in my life, I felt nervous about what I was about to do. I was so nervous I needed to hit a joint again to try and settle myself.
The entrance was a large glass door that opened to an opulent courtyard that could have been the size of the average person’s home. The courtyard was completely empty of people. Everything in it was neatly in place as if someone had given a whole lot of thought and planning about where things should be placed. The highlight of the palatial courtyard was a twelve-foot beautifully manicured olive tree being illuminated by Tiffany-blue lighting. If I weren’t allowed to take another step on the property, I would have been content right where I stood.
Beautiful Otherness Page 17