By Wednesday, Vondell, Victor, June and the kids, had all gone home. When Mama left for her all-day spa appointments, I had the house to myself and could finally put my plan together. I sat in the sun room at the back of the house with my laptop and typed a thorough business plan for the vineyard rebrand. A few hours later, I stared proudly at what I came up with. Mama wouldn’t like it, not at first. But even she wouldn’t deny the value and extreme return on investment. And if there’s one thing that could move the needle for Velvet Marie, it’s money. Lot’s of it.
That’s the only reason Julius Silver was able to come to the table on any kind of deal with my family. I fumed silently, thinking about the choice words I would share with his pinheaded ass whenever we eventually crossed paths.
Just like The Rollins owned and controlled the majority of land in Langston Lake, The Silvers were known for their creations. Most of them made their living as artisans and creators, in multiple industries. The more sophisticated of the bunch worked as tailors, seamstresses, interior designers. The ones who liked getting their hands dirty found their sweet spot with construction and land development, like Julius; who had so much success, he’d extended the Silver name outside of Langston Lake with contracts and super luxe developments all throughout North Carolina and South Carolina.
And then there was Amadi. He possessed the kind of talent and creativity that made his ancestors proud. In addition to his editorial photography that was commonly featured in some of the biggest Black-owned media brands like ONLY BLACK, Ashe, B•Luxe and more, he could throw down with some paint and a blank canvas. That was how his talent emerged when we were younger. By high school, he was obsessed with the medium and created art that garnered a lot of interest and a full ride to Basquiat U in France. And still, that’s not what he was best known for.
Like his predecessors and cousins, Amadi was brilliant with his hands. His bread and butter, and the reason almost every wealthy Black family around the globe knew his name, was his custom made furniture. He had an eye for unique design that was both innovative and a callback to our rich, cultured history. He traveled the world designing custom pieces at a price point it hurt to look at. At 32, he had all the riches and comforts his parents couldn’t afford to give him when we were children, and he lived with a level of humility & down-to earth realness impossible to find in a man with his wealth and status.
At least that’s who he was when I met up with him in New York for an impromptu photoshoot that lead to impromptu, mind-blowing sex no man after him had been able to match. I tried to pretend like I didn’t miss him, as a friend and a lover. Before that night, although I didn’t see him much, I followed his career closely through his social media.We chatted on occasion and would get together to hang out whenever we were both in Langston Lake together.
After the way things ended, I wanted to put him out of my mind. The imprint he left on my body and my heart made that an impossible task. So, I missed him and half-hoped we could “bump” into each other while I was here and play catch up. If only. Last I heard, over a year ago, he was living somewhere in the mediterranean and curating an immersive art experience for a Grecian museum. My fantasy would remain just that. Which was fine, because my plans for the vineyard would eliminate any free time I had for the next several months.
* * *
Mama didn’t come off her high horse until Thursday morning, after Daddy left for work. With no one at the breakfast table to mediate a conversation, she had no choice. I was in a calmer, more focused state, so I spoke first.
“Mama, I know you think selling the vineyard is the best idea bu—“ She held up her hand, showing off the fresh, glossy set of milky white acrylics that were her staple.
“Let me speak first.” I closed my mouth abruptly and sat back in my chair. “I do think selling is best, you’re right about that,” she spoke slowly and stirred her cup of tea in rhythm with her words. “However, it’s unfair for me to try and railroad you into my way of thinking. That’s not how you and I work,” she admitted.
Duh, mama.
Mama knew, just like I did, we worked best when respect and open minds were foundations in any project we did together.
“So, I do still want to sell. Julius’ offer is very attractive.” I scrunched up my nose and a hint of a smile touched her lips. She had her own reservations about him. “But I want to hear your plan, too. And if that attracts me more, then,” her voice trailed off and she looked me directly in the eye. Something that used to unnerve me as a child, but as an adult, I mirrored that direct energy back to her.
Clearing my throat, I scooted my chair forward a bit and smiled.
“I am so glad to hear you say that,” I said earnestly. I was. I knew she would calm down eventually, but it was always a gamble on how long that would take. I didn’t need to rush back to New York, but I didn’t want to be here forever either.
“I have a fully-fleshed out idea for the vineyards that I think will make you and me happy, but most importantly, it makes the Rollins Farms brand more profitable than ever.”
She raised a curious, skeptical eyebrow as she brought her cup to her lips.
“Go on.”
“So, the vineyard currently sits on twelve acres of land. You said that at least three acres of it was irreparably damaged by the hurricane.”
“That’s right.”
“But the other nine are just fine. Still producing everything on schedule.”
“Yes, bu—“
“Hold on, Mama. Just let me finish,” I said excitedly. “So what if you take those three acres and turn them into something else entirely? We don’t replant vines for grapes, instead we build out a boutique hotel and spa that provides a full unique luxury experience.”
“I—“ I’m not sure what she wanted to object with, but I knew it couldn’t go toe-to-toe with my idea when she stopped talking and closed her mouth.
“It’s a genius idea,” I continued. “Let me take you a step deeper. Right now, the vineyard brings in around half a million a year after expenses and overhead right?” She nodded. “And that’s not bad. But it’s a cute piece of change compared to the $5 million you’ll clear annually within two years of opening the spa and hotel.”
“Five million? Marie, are you serious?” I nodded and smiled at her telling reaction.
Her disbelief was warranted. Although we had several successful businesses built off the land purchased by the first Rollins in Langston Lake over two hundred years ago, none of them provided that kind of income. The farm did well for itself and put me and my brothers through college.
In the past, whenever money got too tight for a Rollins, selling off some of our many acres was always the way to keep real struggle at bay and stay in the black. But none of the businesses would run the way mine would if Mama let me drive on this one.
“So serious, Mama. With a little bit of trust and some startup funds, we can revamp and rebrand the vineyards. You’ll still be able to make wine for your customers and retailers, while also curating an experience that keeps money consistently walking through the door.”
She didn’t say anything for a few minutes and I let her sit with my words and her thoughts. I don’t even know how much Julius offered, but I don’t think it mattered at this point.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to see a text notification from Kayla. Thoughts of my own real world problems dinged in my head like an annoying reminder, but I set the phone face down on the table. That could wait.
“Now when you say startup funds,” she started, sitting her teacup back on its saucer. “Me and your daddy can’t really dip into our retirement fund like that. I can call Emerson and see if there’s something he can recommend.” I internally shuddered at that name.
Emerson Bridgewater was my first and last boyfriend in Langston Lake and the man Mama wanted me to marry and make babies with. Dumping him at the start of our freshman year at Lake University was the primary source of Mama’s beef with me. Fourteen years later and she was probably still on that.
“No, you don’t need to call Emerson. I have the startup money.”
This time both her brows shot up her face. She couldn’t hold back her surprise and I didn’t blame her. I never talked about the money I made from songwriting. Not with her. Money was a sore topic for us.
“So you crossed all of your t’s and dotted the i’s.”
Was that pride in her voice?
“Yeah. I don’t want to sell land. Its unnecessary. This fixes the problem and basically pays the bills for another future generation of Rollins.”
The pride was obvious in the shine of her eyes as she beamed silently. Legacy was important to Mama, as it was important to me. I didn’t have kids to think about like she did, yet, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about the ways I would represent my family and create something to pass down to the next.
“Well then.” She breathed deep and pulled her dark cherry Gucci reading frames up to her face from where they hung on her neck. “Let me look at the specifics and then call Julius.”
If I knew she wouldn’t disapprove, I would have jumped out my chair and twerked in celebration. But I settled for a small squeal of joy at this victory.
“Okay, let me get my laptop and notebook from my room. I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed my phone and headed up the back stairs to my room. On the way, I opened up Kayla’s text, intending to tell her I’d call later. But her message brought my reality back to the front of my mind again.
Kay: Hey sis. I miss you. :( I don’t really want anything, just wanted to make you aware that Dalton is on the hunt for new material from you. He’s pissed you’re not returning his calls.
Shit.