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 back 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.
Sasha was so engaged in the home’s décor that she never even noticed the tall, brown mass of a man who had been eyeballing her from just a few feet away. On top of that, she didn’t realize how rude she’d been to him, unknowingly of course. He’d raised his hand and waved at Sasha, but she didn’t return the gesture. She didn’t even crack a smile of acknowledgment his way. Although it appeared she’d been staring right at the man, she’d actually been staring at the framed artwork directly behind him.
“Well, nectarine, you ready to start earning your fuzz?” Norman looped his arm through Sasha’s, tearing her attention away from the artwork.
Sasha took in a deep breath and then exhaled. “I guess so.”
“Then let the fun begin.” Norman escorted Sasha into the main room where the party was taking place.
Sasha had been to a house party before, but nothing of this caliber. It wasn’t a party, it was a damn fashion extravaganza. There were hostesses and waiters walking around with trays of Champagne and hors d’oeuvres. There was a live band playing and a makeshift dance floor on the patio. Dress wise, Norman was right. Sasha fit right in. In fact, she was one of the best dressed women in the room. But despite the fancy setting, there were some real trashy bitches up in the party. Only the host of the affair was wearing a gown. Sasha had yet to meet the fair-skinned woman sporting a short Toni Braxton do. Every time Norman was on his way across the room to introduce Sasha to her, someone he knew stopped him. He seemed to know every single person at that party. That suited Sasha just fine. The more people Norman knew, the more people she could eventually get to know. It was quickly becoming clear that in the ATL, it was all about who you knew. And who knew about you. Some of the people Norman introduced her to were just friends, others clients, others friends of clients who had summoned his business card or who had given him theirs. All Sasha could do was thank God for connecting her to Norman. He most definitely was the exact tour guide she needed to navigate the new city she now called home. The fact that he was in the fashion business as well was a true bonus. Sasha’s smooth talking charmed business cards right out of Hugo Boss pants pockets and tiny little Prada bags. Norman stayed by her side to introduce her to all the right people.
“Oh, here comes Gabrielle,” Norman said to Sasha, slightly elbowing her as he took a sip of his fourth glass of Champagne in the hour and a half they’d been there.
Gabrielle was the host. She came gliding over toward Norman and Sasha in her long, red gown, accented with crystals, like she was floating in a Spike Lee joint.
“Norman, darling,” she said upon approaching him.
Sasha took note of the sense of urgency in Gabrielle’s voice.
“I need you. I think I might have had one too many shrimp quiches. This zipper isn’t catching under my arm.” She discreetly lifted her arm to show Norman the problem area that was right under her armpit. “I need you to come put a clasp on it or something. I don’t know what happened.”
“Oh, no, we can’t have that now, can we?” Norman said.
Gabrielle shook her head with a pout on her face.
He looked to Sasha for confirmation. “Can we?”
Catching on that she should play along with the fashion tantrum, Sasha began shaking her head frantically as well.
“By the way,” Norman turned to Gabrielle and said, “this is my friend, Sasha. Sasha, this is the one and only Gabrielle. She’s responsible for this magnificent charity event.”
“Nice to meet you,” Gabrielle said, not even looking at Sasha, therefore she didn’t see Sasha extending her hand.
Sasha could see that Gabrielle was totally uninterested in meeting Norman’s plus one and totally distraught by her minor wardrobe malfunction. Sasha let her hand drop, unoffended. She could see ole girl was completely wired.
“Don’t you worry,” Norman said, pushing his Champagne glass toward Sasha. “Norman will have you all fixed up in under a minute.”
Once Sasha relieved Norman of his half-empty Champagne glass, Norman grabbed the host by her size two waist and began ushering her off. He looked at Sasha over his shoulder, rolled his eyes, and mouthed, “Drama queen.” He then quickly turned and began pacifying Gabrielle’s garment boo-boo.
Sasha shook her head and laughed. She looked down at Norman’s glass of Champagne. She’d already had her limit of one glass for the night, but she figured finishing Norman’s glass wouldn’t hurt. After all, if she was going to play in the ATL, she had to learn to make sure expensive champagne didn’t go to waste. She downed the drink and placed the empty glass on a tray one of the waiters was carrying past her.
Not wanting to stand in the middle of the great room, which was more like a huge ballroom, Sasha decided to go out to the balcony/patio area where the band was playing to enjoy the evening breeze. She made her way through the guests, smiling, nodding, and giving a hello here and there. She even ignored the ogling eyes of a couple of the fellas.
She stepped onto the balcony and walked over to the railing. It overlooked the beautifully landscaped backyard. Even in the dark with just a few lit areas here and there, the colorful flowers planted in the flowerbeds glowed in the night. Sasha closed her eyes and inhaled, hoping to become intoxicated by the scent of the flower gardens.
Standing there with her eyes closed, Sasha did truly feel as though she was living a dream. The smooth sound of the band playing, the night breeze, and the sweet smell of the flowers below her, all things she’d never experienced back in Ohio, but had definitely known would be the life she lived someday. And on a regular basis and not just as guest in someone else’s home. As long as she continued to do everything she was supposed to, it looked as though that someday was going to happen sooner rather than later. She’d ended up in the right place and seemed to be meeting the right people so far. She couldn’t do anything but stand there and be thankful.
“Oh, stop it! Boy, you so crazy!”
Sasha’s serene moment was interrupted by a loud voice followed by a cackling laugh. She followed the irritating shriek over to the dance floor where she saw some tall, short-haired woman in a turquoise sequined dress that rose just above her knees. Her hair was dyed bright pink. In Sasha’s opinion, she had on way too much makeup, from the caked-on foundation to the mascara on her fake fluttering eyelashes.
Did she really need those five-inch stilettoes on, since she was already an Amazon? She was a nice looking woman. She would have definitely generated some attention, without purposely and overtly drawing it to herself. But as it was, the girl looked as fake as her hair color.
Surprisingly enough, Sasha was able to take her interest away from the woman to the man she was cackling it up with. She recognized him as the husband of one of the girls she worked with at the law firm. Sasha had been introduced to him when he’d come to take his wife out to lunch. Sasha was glad to see someone she knew, so she decided to walk over and say hi to him.
“Eric,” Sasha said, as she walked up behind him.
He turned, still laughing at whatever the tall woman was saying that was so funny. “Hey, how are you?” He hugged Sasha. He pulled away and then looked at her. “You work with my girl Casey.”
“That’s right.” Sasha was relieved he remembered her. She would have been too embarrassed if he hadn’t. “Yes, I’m Sasha.”
He snapped his finger. “Sasha. That’s it.” He turned and faced the woman he’d been talking to. “Sasha, this is an old friend of mine from college, Paris.”
“Yes, honey,” Paris said loudly to Sasha. “We go wayyyyy back.” Her nostrils flared as she did this little laugh that seeped between her closed lips. She then extended her hand to Sasha. “Nice to meet you, girl.” She allowed her index finger to trace Sasha from head to toe. “Love the dress.”
“Thank you,” Sasha said.
“You gon’ have to let me borrow that one right there.”
Sasha smiled, although Paris appeared to be serious.
“Hey, you’re new in town, right?” Eric said to Sasha.
“Yes,” Sasha confirmed.
He looked to his old college friend. “Paris, you should hook up with Sasha and show her around. You two can do lunch or something,” Eric suggested. He then looked to Sasha. “Paris’s not from here, either. We went to school together back in Augusta. But she’s been here in Atlanta a couple years. She knows her way around.” He playfully elbowed her.
“Do I ever,” Paris said, slapping him on the shoulder and roaring out in laughter.
Her laughter was indeed contagious. Sasha couldn’t help but smile. Her smile then turned into a laugh of its own. With a smile on his face as well, Eric looked to Sasha and pointed at Paris. “You’re going to love this girl. You won’t have a dull moment in the ATL as long as you stick with her, that’s for sure.”
“Yes, girl, ’cause I likes to have me some fun,” Paris said to Sasha. “Life is too short.” She began snapping and dancing to the upbeat song the band was playing.
“I see,” Sasha said. If she’d been wearing pearls, God knows she would have clutched them. She tucked her lips in and bowed her head just slightly. She could feel the eyes gazing in the trio’s direction, thanks to how loud and over-the-top Paris was, not to mention the shaking of all her assets. With her eyeballs lifting and shifting back and forth from Eric to Paris, neither of them seemed the least bit embarrassed. Perhaps Sasha was being what Norman had accused her of being, which was too serious. Maybe if she loosened up some, she wouldn’t feel so tense about Paris’s personality. Didn’t seem to bother Eric any.
Sasha had to admit that back at home if she’d encountered someone the likes of Paris, she’d have run in the opposite direction. The only thing the two had in common, from what Sasha could see so far, was that they were both black women. So even though this Paris character was Sasha’s polar opposite, so was Norman, and that appeared to be working out well for Sasha. Besides, Norman himself had said that Sasha needed to live a little. Have fun. What could be more fun than living vicariously through Paris? Besides, one could never have too many friends. Even if some of them turned out to be frenemies.
“I know they ain’t playing my song!” Paris shouted.
Sasha stood back and watched Paris groove to the beat of the song the live band was playing. Her body rolled like a wave in the ocean. It would hit the shore, and then the tide would roll back out. The way Paris moved was like magic. But when she bent over, touched her toes, and then twerked a little bit, Sasha admired the confidence Paris had to do that right in front of someone else’s man. She would be worried about getting slapped.
Eric was only about a foot away from Paris. He was all smiles while watching her drop it like it was hot, then pick it back up like it had cooled off just enough to be handled. Clearly he wasn’t the least bit offended. Sasha wasn’t certain she would have been able to say the same for Casey had she been on the scene. Nonetheless, Paris did her thing as she dipped it low and then brought it back up.
“Go on, girl,” someone cheered her on.
Sasha looked in the direction the voice had just come from. She wanted to see who in the world would be egging on such actions. That’s when she saw two females wearing mischievous grins, hee-hawing in each other’s face. It didn’t take a genius to realize they were laughing at Paris and not with her.
As far as Sasha was concerned, ole girl did not need any cheering on, genuine or fake. Paris was her own biggest cheerleader indeed. Self-proclaimed number one fan.
Sasha watched as, without a care in the world, Paris made a complete spectacle of herself. Only she didn’t realize she was doing just that. She was having fun, oblivious to the snickering, finger pointing, and turned up noses. Sasha had to admit that Paris took self-confidence to a new level. Paris was all into herself. She was looking down at her boobs, twisting her head around to watch her own behind as she bounced it in the air. There was no shame in her game and she was the epitome of carefree. And just when Sasha thought she couldn’t possibly meet anyone more over the top than Norman in this town, along came Paris.
Sasha tried her best to keep a permanent smile etched on her face as she watched Paris dance. She remained aware of her expression, and even though she believed in keeping it real, she felt a mask was in order for this situation. She didn’t want to come across as a prude. Perhaps she wasn’t as lively as some, but she didn’t want to be a killjoy and rain on anyone else’s parade.
Eric clapped and others watched the one-woman act. Sasha looked around and noticed the disdain and disbelief that could be seen on the faces of the guests who were witnessing the act.
“This is a charity event, not Magic City,” an older woman snapped, then walked away shaking her head.
The two women who meant no good continued to cheer on Paris while others turned up their noses, some women grabbing their men and running as far away from the dance floor as they could. Some men grabbed their women and took off, just in case it was contagious. The last thing some of those broads wanted was a big-booty down-south girl stealing their man. And the last thing some of those men wanted was everybody stealing a peek at their down-south girl’s big booty! They didn’t want their chicks getting any idea that what they had under their dress wasn’t just for their man’s eyes only.
Sasha had to admit that ordinarily she wouldn’t be caught dead rolling with someone like Paris, but this was Atlanta. It wasn’t nearly as conservative as Ohio. It might as well have been an anything-goes type of town . . . pretty much like Vegas. Because there was a showgirl right there in the middle of the dance floor. Ordinarily, another place and another time, Paris’s actions might not have stood out so much, but like the older woman had pointed out, it was a charity function.
“Go, Paris, go, Paris,” Eric chanted like he was at a ball game.
His wife had told Sasha he was a popular basketball player back in college. His skills ended up landing him in the first round draft of the NBA. He was currently a starter on Atlanta’s professional basketball team; this was probably how fans cheered for him on game night. Sasha wouldn’t know personally because she wasn’t a basketball fan and couldn’t think of the last time her television channel rested on ESPN.
Sasha shook her head at Eric. The same way Sasha knew, he had to know that he was wrong for pumping Paris up. The sly grin on his face told Sasha that he knew exactly what he was doing. The more he cheered, the harder Paris popped . . . as did a few onlooking eyeballs.
Finally the song ended and Paris began to fan herself and huff and puff. Eric summoned a server over, who delivered a glass of Champagne.
As far as Sasha was concerned, that song couldn’t have ended fast enough.
“Here you go, girl, you deserve it,” Eric said, handing the glass of Champagne to Paris. “You showed out!”
“Oh, you know I know how to get down,” Paris said, taking the glass.
“That you do,” Sasha said. “Girl, you were doing things with your body parts that if I dreamed about doing I would wake up in pain.”
The three laughed.
“Do you dance or something?” Sasha asked.
“You mean like for the Falcons or something?” Paris asked, twisting up her nose.
“No, I mean like for Magic City,” Sasha said with a straight face. She hadn’t been in Atlanta a good month, but she’d been there long enough to have heard about the hottest strip club in the city.
“Are you asking me am I a stripper?” She didn’t even wait for Sasha to answer. “Girl, bye,” Paris said, shooing her hand and gulping down her drink.
“Do you need another one?” Eric asked Paris as he turned to try to get the server’s attention.
“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Paris said. “But I do need to sit my ass down somewhere.”
Sasha recalled the bench that was over by where she had been standing. “There’s one right there.” She pointed.
“Ooh, yes, child, that’s perfect,” Paris said.
Eric led the way. He then fell back, extending his hand for the women to go before him.
“Where’s Casey?” Sasha decided to ask Eric the whereabouts of his wife as they walked over to the bench.
“She had a meeting to attend for some board she sits on,” Eric replied.
“Well, she don’t know what she’s missing,” Paris said, as she sat on the bench. “According to Sasha here, a sneak peek of what goes on at Magic.” Paris winked at Eric.
Sasha wasn’t sure if that was an inside joke or if Paris felt as if Sasha was throwing shade back when she suggested she was a stripper.
“I hope I didn’t offend you,” Sasha said, standing in front of Paris. “You know, by suggesting you were a dancer at a strip club. It’s just that, girl, you were working it.” Sasha had a genuinely complimentary tone, but at the same time she wanted to clean up any mess she’d made.
“I do not offend easily,” Paris said, the only one sitting down.
Eric extended his hand for Sasha to sit.
“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Sasha said, choosing to remain standing.
Eric decided to sit down in the space he’d offered Sasha.
“So how long you been in Atlanta?” Paris asked Sasha.
“Around a couple weeks,” Sasha replied.
“Do you have family here?” Paris asked.
Sasha shook her head. “Nope. I just graduated college this year. Since I have a gazillion dollars in student loans to pay off, the least I can do is work in the field I majored in and make enough money to pay it back. Atlanta, so far, seems like the right place.”
“Girl, you ain’t said nothing about college debt. I’m still paying off student loans myself, and I only went one semester,” Paris said. “And them student loan people is like God. All omnipresent and stuff.”
The three laughed.
“I’m serious,” Paris continued. “It don’t matter where you go. Where you move to, they are right there where you at, all on your phone. Calling your job. Hell, I was in the grocery store shopping one day and them bastards paged me on the loud intercom.”
Once again they all laughed.
Eric looked at Sasha and pointed to Paris. “I told you she’s a trip.”
“For real,” Paris said. “Y’all think I’m playing.” Paris laughed at her own nonsense. “I tell you, I got on the phone with the student loan people one day and they were like, ‘Ma’am, so do you plan on paying off this college debt or not?’ I was like ‘not.’ I mean why the hell should I pay off a college student loan? A bitch ain’t graduate.” And that was the truth. Paris had only completed a single semester of college before realizing it just wasn’t her cup of tea. She never looked back, nor paid the money back she owed in loans.
Eric and Sasha hollered. Not even Norman had made Sasha laugh this much and this hard. Sasha couldn’t help it; Paris was funny. It was almost impossible to separate laughing with her from laughing at her. Sasha meant no harm, though.
Sasha was laughing so hard that tears began running from her eyes. “I need a napkin to wipe my tears,” Sasha said. No one had a napkin on hand. She had to use her hands to carefully wipe the tears away so as not to smudge up her makeup too badly.
“You think I’m crazy like Eric does, huh?” Paris said to Sasha.
All Sasha could do was nod as she wiped her tears away.
“I must say I had you pegged wrong at first,” Paris said to Sasha. “I thought you were going to be one of those stuck-up chicks who turned their nose up and had a stick in their butt. Just boring.”
“Well, dang, tell me how you really feel,” Sasha said, putting her hands on her hips. “I know I may not be the loudest Rice Krispie in the bowl, but cut me some slack.” Sasha was immune to folks thinking she was just some boring dud just because she chose to be quiet and laid back at times. That was because her mother had once told her that the loudest person in the room isn’t always the smartest or most successful. It was usually that laid back person who was about their business. That person who did more listening than talking. That person doing the observing, taking it all in. That was Sasha and that was who she was going to remain. Life wasn’t some high school where she spent her time fighting to fit in with the cool kids. She’d be that boring nerd for now if it meant she’d be that chick with the coins later.
“I’m just keeping it real,” Paris said. “But you cool people. I could see me having fun, laughing and carrying on with you.”
“That’s why you two need to exchange numbers and connect,” Eric reiterated.
“Absolutely,” Paris said before Sasha could express how she felt about it one way or the other. She took her cell phone out of her Chanel clutch. “What’s your number? I am definitely going to lock you in.”
Sasha, being put on the spot, spit out her phone number to Paris.
“Take my number,” Paris said and waited for Sasha to take out her cell phone in order to add her to her contacts.
Sasha pulled out her phone.
“I’ma make sure I call you,” Paris said to Sasha.
“Oh, most definitely,” Sasha said. Paris was not someone Sasha would have normally connected with. But on the bright side, between Paris and Norman, Sasha figured she was never going to have a dull moment.
“And you call me, too,” Paris added.
“Of course.” Sasha smiled.
Just then Sasha heard her name being called.
“Diva, I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Sasha looked to see Norman sashaying her way. “I was just thinking about you. Speak of the devil,” she said as Norman approached, his eyes not leaving her since spotting her from across the room.
“And the devil appears.”
Everyone looked to see Paris rolling her eyes.
“Oh, Paris. I had no idea you were on the guest list,” Norman said with his nose turned up at Paris.
“And why should you? You ain’t the one throwing this shindig,” Paris shot back. “I know you’re a jack of all trades, so what are you now? The guest list police?”
Norman shook and shimmied as if he’d caught the chills and was trying to shake them off. “Ooooh, stay in your face, Norma,” Norman coached himself. “Do not come out of your face at this troll,” he said under his breath.
“What did you say?” Sasha asked. “Norman, are you okay?”
“I was . . .” He looked over at Paris and then rolled his eyes. “Until two seconds ago.”
Paris poked her lips out, twisted them, and snapped her neck. “Let me go on and mingle around this place.” She stood and smoothed her dress.
“Yeah, I think I saw your meal ticket at the balcony,” Norman said to Paris, nodding his head back toward a group of men standing around congregating.
“So what you trying to say?” Paris said, getting extra loud.
Eric stood. “Come on, Paris. I think I need another drink. Come to the bar with me.” Before Paris could decline, Eric took her by her hand and escorted her away. “It was nice seeing you, Sasha,” he said over his shoulder.
“You too, Eric,” Sasha said. “Tell Casey I said hello.”
Norman stared Paris down, snapping his neck until she was no longer in sight. He then turned abruptly to Sasha. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you find a pig to play in the pigpen with.”
“Me play in the pigpen,” Sasha said. “You were the one who came over here slinging mud. And we were having a good ole time.”
“I bet. There’s never a dull moment with good-time Paris.”
“I take it you know Miss Paris.”
“I know Paris and Delicious,” Norman spat.
Sasha had a confused look on her face.
“Chile, Paris and Delicious are one and the same,” Norman explained. “Miss Thing is Delicious after dark when she’s sliding down the pole over at The Gentleman’s Club.”
Sasha chuckled. “You crazy. You must have seen her dancing on the dance floor, too, huh?”
“Uh, no, I’ve seen her sliding down the pole in the titty bar she works at.”
Sasha twisted up her lips. “For one, you’re gay. You like men. What would you be doing at a titty bar? And for two? I asked her if she was a stripper. She said no.”
“Umm, hmm, just like her to start off a conversation with a lie, but if you must know, a lot of business is handled in titty bars, thank you very much. White men handle business on the golf course, black men do it in strip clubs.” He held up his index finger. “That’s for one.” He raised a second finger. “For two, I am a man. Yes, I like men, but gay, straight, bisexual, no matter who you are, there is something wrong with you if you don’t admire the female body. It’s just capable of doing so much. Human beings grow and are nurtured inside the female body. I mean, it’s like a garden for life.”
Norman quickly snapped out of adoration as he heard the guttural sound of laughter that he knew to belong to Paris.
“Spite what she told you, Miss Paris is a dancer.” He jerked his head in her direction. He watched with disdain as Paris sat over at the bar hee-hawing and cackling in some older white man’s face who looked to be on the other side of sixty. She was seductively rubbing her hand up and down his back. “When she’s not working overtime with Atlanta’s elite at social gatherings. If you know what I mean. Girl is a gold digger.”
Sasha followed Norman’s gaze over to the bar. “So she really is a stripper?”
“Chile, yes . . . slash whore. And you over here all up in her face.” Norman looked to Sasha. “Stay clear of that one. You don’t want anybody thinking you’re cut from the same cloth, honey, trust me.”
Sasha looked down with a guilty-as-charged look on her face.
“What?” Norman said, giving her the side-eye.
“Nothing, it’s just that . . . I kind of told her I would call her. She gave me her phone number.”
“Oh, hellllll no,” Norman spat. “Those bitches will give you a bad name and once you’re on that list, good luck getting off.”
“Eric, the guy she was with, he’s the husband of a girl I work with. He connected us.” Sasha was trying to defuse the situation. Sasha listened to the words she’d just spoken. Eric was the husband of a girl she worked with. So why in the world would he be with a stripper?
“Well, you lose her number, 1-800-666, right now and forget you ever met her.” He began sniffing. “Chile, I can smell the scent of sulfur she left behind. Just the devil,” Norman said.
Once again, Sasha looked down with a guilty expression on her face.
“Don’t tell me,” Norman said. “You gave her your number.”
Sasha shrugged. She shook Norman’s actions off as being his usual over-the-top, dramatic self. Add the fact that there might have been a little friendship jealousy to that, and she completely wrote off Norman’s warning about Paris altogether. He was up in his feelings. Clearly his thing with Paris was personal. That was between him and Paris. Sasha would never want anyone having misconceptions about her based on someone else’s perception. So she wasn’t going to be guilty of the very act she’d have an issue with herself.
“Ump, ump, ump,” Norman said, shaking his head. “You just signed your ticket to hell in a handbag.” He glared back over at Paris.
“Well,” Sasha said, watching Paris walk off with the man she’d just been entertaining. “At least it will be Chanel.”
“You mean more like Nine West,” Norman said. “And that’s all I have to say about that. Now let’s go mingle. Introduce you to some real players out here in the ATL.”
And with that, Norman and Sasha went back inside to mingle with the so-called real players. Let the games begin, Hotlanta!