I need to get out of the hood.
Interning at a law firm where there are nothing but white folks and very few black faces may not be my ticket to go. I don’t want to get trapped somewhere between a Pumpkin Spice Latte convention and the Sunken Place.
Yet, when I do cross paths with him, well, it’s game over.
Every girl has that line they will not cross. Savior Ellison was that line.
I’m in a different world.
There are sushi joints that are Mom and Pop shops and hidden in a corner you have to know what you’re looking for to find it. And there are sushi joints that specifically cater to the white and wealthy that you already know once you see the menu and don’t see any prices, your black ass can’t afford it.
I’m the latter.
Sure, I can afford the sushi if I really wanted to. Daddy always made sure I had some money no matter how much I told him I would want to do things on my own. Yet, I don’t want to do something that would…I don’t know…make me feel less black, you know? I know it’s silly to think of but I’m being one-hundred percent legit when I say that.
I know how some black people feel when they get into a different tax bracket and act like they don’t know where they come from. They are usually the first ones to complain about “them” (meaning us) and how they always complain to their white friends about how we’re acting when they don’t realize their black asses are always skating on thin ice until Becky feels threatened.
I hope to never become that.
“Have you decided what you wanted, Keisha?” Savior asks.
Something fried and dead is my thought. I hold the heavy leather-bound menu and I’m thankful Savior is the one footing this bill because I know I won’t be able to afford anything but the damn water. “I’ll have the fried tempura and miso soup.”
“And what else?” He challenges. His eyes are still on the menu.
My eyes search from side to side. I was supposed to order more? I know these slacks are already tight on me but I think this motherfucker wants me to bust out of them. “Um, I don’t know. I never really ate sushi before.”
“I’ll order for you,” he declares and closes the menu. Somehow, I think he was going to do that regardless of what my answer was. His eyes stare down at me and I feel he’s undressing me without actually doing so. Somehow, I don’t think I would mind if he did. “I wanted to talk to you privately, Keisha, and away from everyone else.”
Yep, there is no such thing as a free lunch. He brought my black ass all the way here just so he could fire me in a nice setting and I wouldn’t get all emotional. Little does he know… “Yes?”
“I heard about the fight last night with your mother. I’m sorry about that.” He replies. How would a guy like him know about a fight like that? I don’t get the vibe he frequents WorldStar Hip-Hop. “How are you feeling today?”
I shrug. My mother didn’t call to apologize but I didn’t apologize to her neither. I kept thinking if I didn’t tell her to fuck off, the fight may not have occurred. I kept wondering if I was purposely invited so she would have a storyline. “I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t get used to it,” his voice is deep and smooth like hot butter on a biscuit, “no one should be constantly subjected to the embarrassment of their parent.” He looks away at the window for a brief moment and I feel the air shift to a brief sadness.
He shakes his head and the emotion disappears; it’s back to business as if it never happened. “I wanted to speak to you privately about something else.” His eyes focus on mine.
“Oh?” I immediately brace myself. His tone is serious and well, it was nice hanging out with the white folk for a little bit.
The waiter comes by and takes our orders. He soon leaves and Savior returns back to the discussion. “I really like you, Keisha, and I think you have a bright future ahead of you.”
“Thank you,” my body is relieved. I honestly thought my black ass was fired.
“And I want to help you with that,” Savior reaches over and grabs my hand with his manicured one. “And I want to explore the connection we have.”
“Connection?” I ask. “I don’t understand.”
“Each time I’m around you, I get this incredible feeling. It’s like wanton lust and something primal, I can’t explain it.” His eyes are confused by the emotions he’s feeling, I guess? “I felt it when I first saw you in the interview process and I knew it was real when you bumped into me. And I want to see if it’s real or Memorex.”
“I don’t understand,” I shake my head. Is this fool asking what I think he’s asking?
“I want to fuck you, Keisha.” He said it with such a declaration, it caused a shiver within me. “Hard. Fast. Slow. All night. Quickies. In my office. At your house. Everywhere.”
Oh, he needs to calm the fuck down before he has me spread out like peanut butter. “Excuse you?”
“Is that not direct enough?” He asks. “Should I be clearer what I want to do?”
I want him to be clearer. I want him to tell me what he’s going to do with that long-ass tongue of his. He probably has a big ol’ dick, too. That type of dick that’ll touch your soul and clear your skin. “No, I get the gist of it.”
“I apologize if I come on strong but when I know what I want, I go for it.” His eyes bore into mine. “I know you’re temporarily with someone but that’s a problem I’ll solve later. I need to know if this is something you’re interested in.”
How does this motherfucker know so much about me? I’m getting stalker vibes from him that only white women find sexy in romance books. “You’re asking me to be your fuck toy. That’s sexual harassment.”
“Do you feel harassed?” He asks.
I actually feel aroused like a motherfucker but he can’t know that. “You’re so clinical and mechanical about this. Like most guys would want to get to know me, see what I’m up to? That type of stuff.”
“If you want romance and all that, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have the patience for it.” He pauses as the waiter returns with our drinks and appetizers. “If you want me to blow your back out, I can do that anytime you want.”
“In exchange for what?” The offer is enticing but I need to know exactly what I’m getting out of this. “What are you going to do for me, Savior?” I emphasize his name because I want him to know I see exactly through his bullshit.
“Whatever four-year university you want to go to, I’ll foot the bill.” He casually replies as if he’s talking about the weather, “you have potential to get out of the ‘hood and I want to see you go far.”
I feel like I’m on a very special episode of Poor Black Kids and The White People Who Love Them. Shade aside, I have to admit this is better than offering to get me some Fenty Beauty or other bullshit. I always say how I want to get out of the ‘hood but I’m not doing anything about it.
If I all I gotta do is occasionally blow the boss to do so, let me open wide. “I need to think about it.”
“Sure,” Savior flashes his panty-dropping smile, “think about it over the weekend.”
My answer is already yes and I get the feeling he knows it, too. But I will humor him and think about it.
Something tells me this arrangement won’t be as simple as either one of us thinks it will be.
I should note this is a just-for-fun IR hood novella. It’s meant to be funny and offensive so keep that in mind.