Chapter 28 Hendrix
CHAPTER 28
HENDRIX
T hat dress is indecent,” I tell Chapel on the elevator ride up to Zere’s party.
“Is that a compliment?” She twists to display the nonexistent back and the hem that barely covers her ass cheeks.
“Oh, definitely, and I really appreciate the designer’s clever use of floss to almost cover your nipples.”
“The cameras outside were eating it up.” Chapel cups her breasts, nearly overflowing the dress’s minuscule bodice. “You got it, flaunt it. This is flauntation at its finest, baby girl.”
“Work it then,” I say, balancing the square box holding Zere’s birthday gift against my hip.
“Dayuuuuum, you look good, too, Hen. Them thighs is thighing. Got your legs all greased up.”
I kick up one heel playfully. “Thank ya!”
The corseted dress I found at a plus-sized boutique in Buckhead has a tulle skirt that bells out and hits around mid-thigh. It’s strapless, the palest violet, and makes me feel like a princess. The purple ribbons of snakeskin Rene Caovilla stiletto sandals climb around my calves like vines. My pedicure is adorned with a sequin on each big toe.
“You trying to wrap them legs ’round somebody by the end of the night?” Chapel faces the wall, lifts one leg, and twerks. “’Cause I know I am! Ayeeeee!”
“The only thought I had about these legs was the chafing stick I used between them so I can dance freely.” I toss a long curtain of hair over my shoulder. “If I can get used to this wig. I never wore this much hair in my life.”
“Both of us went for middle part, bussdown.” Chapel shakes the long pink hair flowing down her back. “You need to pull something tonight. You looking a lil’ pale, sis. When was the last time you had some vitamin D ?”
“It’s been too long,” I admit ruefully as the elevator doors open. “I been in the BYOO club.”
“BYOO?”
“Bring your own orgasm.”
We high-five and cackle.
“That’ll do in a pinch,” Chapel says, the humor still lingering on her glossy lips. “But I want somebody’s actual mouth on my actual pussy tonight.” She surveys the mass of bodies already dancing to “Big Poppa” when we step into the ballroom. “’Cause I see some ladies tonight that should be having my baby.”
“You so crazy, but for real, let me know if you leave without me. I don’t want to be wondering if somebody snatched your lil’ ass.”
“All right, Mom,” Chapel says with a fake pout. “And please remember this is a party, not office hours. Don’t be networking and shit all night. Have fun. Get turnt. Do not waste that dress and that wig on good behavior.”
The opening beats of Faith Evans’s “Love Like This” drops, and it sets off a bomb in the crowd. Arms lift and sway in a hip-hop hallelujah, hips start winding, and in just a few notes, Faith’s honeyed voice downshifts the party from hype to a vibe. It’s one of my favorite songs, and as soon as I drop Zere’s gift off at the table in the entrance, I hit the dance floor, barely making sure Chapel is with me. She’d better keep up or find her own groove because this—when this song right here hits—is mine.
It takes about 2.4 seconds for some dude to dance up on me and grind his half-mast dick into my ass. It is wall-to-wall bodies in here, so some contact is unavoidable, but his breath is on my neck. I did not spritz Valentino all over just to smell like whatever cheap-ass cologne he bathed in.
“Excuse me,” I say, thrusting an elbow back into his ribs. “I think you and your erection need to sit this one out.”
He releases a hhhhmph at the jab, and miraculously I’m free to grind and roll without his hard-on as my partner. Chapel finds her way to me and we dance through three more songs, chatting as people walk up to us. Ever since the Miami party, Chapel’s profile has risen. Part of that is being associated with Zere. Chapel has been invited to all the right events, been seen in all the cool places with powerful, popular people. But it’s not just association. It’s what she does with the spotlight, even if it’s for only a few seconds. She stands out. She shines. She makes you remember her. And she’s right. This is a party, but my office is always open so my eyes are peeled for her next opportunity.
“This DJ is good,” Chapel yells to be heard over the music. “His mixology game is strong.”
“Yeah, I need to pace myself.” I lean in to her ear. “These shoes did not come with Megan Thee Stallion knees, so I’m gonna grab a drink and sit my ass down for a few minutes.”
Chapel looks over my shoulder and flashes a salacious grin, licking her lips invitingly. I glance in that direction and am not sure if it’s the girl, the guy, or the both she’s scoping as her conquest for the night, but I want to get out of the line of fire.
“You know where to find me,” I tell her, heading for one of the few empty spots on a couch against a wall of windows overlooking the New York city skyline. It’s a sheet of midnight velvet sprayed with shattered glass stars. I don’t know what glitters brighter, the stars on that side of the window or this one. Everywhere I look there’s an A-list celebrity. Zere definitely knows how to party, and her fortieth birthday celebration is an epic affair. It’s such a crush of people, I haven’t seen her, but as soon as I sit down, she dashes over and settles beside me.
“Hey, Hen!” she squeals, pulling me into a seated side hug. “Thank you for coming.”
“It’s the birthday girl!” I squeeze her and smile. “You look beautiful as usual.”
“Not a day over forty, huh?” A tiara nestled among her golden-brown curls sparkles. She’s as svelte in her body-molding dress as she was in photos from twenty years ago.
“Happy birthday, Zere. I truly hope you get all you deserve.”
“Thank you. I’m so glad we’ve become friends over the last few months.”
Guilt twists my insides at the word “friends.” According to girl code, you don’t dry-hump a friend’s ex. You don’t come all over his lap. And you certainly don’t get yourself off in bed every night for a week from the memory of it.
“Me too,” I say lamely. “Are you enjoying your party?”
“I am. Everyone’s having a great time.” Her eyes roam the packed room of beautifully dressed people here to celebrate her life, and her bright expression dims a little. “Well, almost everyone. I haven’t seen Mav yet.”
It’s as if she plucked his name from my guilty conscience, and for a moment my tongue clings to the roof of my mouth, reluctant to get words out.
“Oh, is he coming?” I ask with a held breath because I don’t know what I want her answer to be.
“Supposedly.” She shrugs her slim shoulders as if it doesn’t matter to her one way or the other, but her eyes tell too much. She wants him here.
I didn’t acknowledge the flowers Maverick sent with even a text to thank him. I gave him my answer, which is no. If I have any hope of standing by that decision, I need to stay away from him. There have been no more text messages. No more simul-watching Netflix. I’ve gone cold turkey, and apparently so has he. Besides the 144 champagne roses, he hasn’t tried to contact me either. I ignore the hot knot of irrational disappointment. I told him there was no possibility of anything happening between us.
Anything more happening.
I would believe he’s accepted my decision, except the message on the card makes me think this is a tactical retreat, not surrender.
Just getting started, Gorgeous.
Gorgeous with a capital “G.” Like it’s not just an adjective, but my name. How he thinks of me.
The flowers’ fragrance hung heavy in the air, permeating every corner of my home so that each time I drew a deep breath, I couldn’t help but think of Maverick. Had that been his intention? If so, mission accomplished. That man’s been living rent-free in my head… and in my bed, if fantasies count.
More of Zere’s friends crowd around her, and as the centerpiece of this well-laid table, she glows. Charles, Zere’s new real estate mogul companion, brings her a drink and sits beside her. She introduces him and we small talk for a few minutes. He’s nice and attractive in a forgettable way. His handsomeness feels factory-made—a man-doll from an assembly line, such a contrast to Maverick. That man is handcrafted, the way one-of-a-kind pieces come with a warning that irregularities are to be expected. That flaws are part of the beauty and signal there is no other in existence exactly like it.
Fearfully and wonderfully made , as my mother might have quoted the Bible to describe him.
With his rugged masculine beauty, maybe only scripture could do him justice.
For a moment I’m deeply sorry for Zere, to have had and lost someone like Maverick and find herself sitting across from this guy; a shadow of the man she thought she’d spend forever with.
“He’s here!” Zere breathes so softly most probably don’t hear her, but I do. And I know exactly who “he” is. And the light in her eyes when she spots him at the entrance twists a knife deeper into my belly. You don’t light up that way when someone walks into a room if there aren’t still some feelings involved.
“You didn’t tell me Bell was coming,” Charles grumbles, his posture straightening.
“Because it’s not a big deal,” Zere purrs, squeezing Charles’s knee and leaning into his side. “There’s no need to be jealous. The media created this narrative that surely things were bad between Mav and me when we broke it off, but I told you we’re still friends.”
She kisses his cheek. “And only friends.”
He links their hands on his knee and nods his acceptance.
I catch most of the low-voiced exchange because I’m sitting beside her. I’m glad I overheard to assuage some of the guilt that’s been gnawing at me ever since Maverick left my apartment a week ago. I still don’t think it would be wise to get romantically involved with him, especially so soon after their breakup, but I can at least take solace in the fact that Zere does seem to have actually moved on with Charles.
I stare down into my drink, determined not to look at Maverick any sooner than necessary, but I feel the air charge the closer he gets. Whatever it is about him that shifts the gravitational center of every room he enters, I don’t think it’s merely physical. I think it’s as elemental as fire or water or air. Even with his kind of wealth, you can’t buy that. It predates currency and outweighs power. It’s… him. A confidence I think he’d carry no matter what he did, busting bricks or hauling trash. And when I finally look up from my drink to find him standing right in front of us, it pours off him and I’m soaked in it.
“Happy birthday, Zee,” he says, his voice deep and low and shiver-inducing.
She stands immediately and melts into his hug. The DJ is killing it, blasting pre–Sunken Place Kanye, but even as folks dance to Syleena Johnson belting out “All Falls Down,” most are undoubtedly tuned in to the byplay between Zere and her two beaus. One ex and one current. Charles, still seated, stares straight ahead with his fists balled on his knees, tension in his arms and his foot bouncing. Maverick and Zere seem to be the only ones oblivious to the tension, conversing and even laughing easily.
She settles back down on the couch between Charles and me, and he immediately lays a proprietary hand on her knee. Maverick steps in front of me, and the invisible thread that is his sheer force of will pulls my eyes up to meet his. Banked heat burns in his stare. I feel it like breath on my neck, like warm palms caressing my body.
“Hen,” he says, my name on his lips smooth as a pearl, but at odds with the barely checked emotion in his eyes. “Hi.”
“Mav, hey,” I reply as casually as I can manage, offering him a polite smile. “Nice to see you again.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Zere says, turning to Charles. “Mav’s helping out with Hendrix’s foundation. Isn’t that cool?”
“It’s actually a venture capital fund,” Maverick corrects, sliding his hands into the pockets of his navy-blue suit pants. Gucci, if I’m not mistaken. He wears it with an impeccably tailored jacket to match and an open-collar gray silk shirt. “It’s called Aspire.”
“Never heard of it,” Charles says. “What’s your focus?”
“We focus exclusively on Black women founders,” I tell him and leave it at that.
“They’re doing amazing work,” Maverick picks up where I deliberately left off, narrowing his eyes on Charles. “I’m investing, so you’ll definitely be hearing more from them. One company in particular has limitless potential. Ever heard of Hue?”
“Hue?” Zere turns a stunned look my way. “I love that line! I’ve never had a color match so perfect.”
“They’re doing some revolutionary stuff,” I say.
Maverick’s eyes are warm on my face, and I can’t make myself look away as the air between us heat-hazes. When I break our stare, I shoot a quick glance at Zere to see if she’s noticed. Fortunately, she’s distracted by someone waving at her from across the room.
“Excuse me, guys,” she says, rising. “My party planner apparently needs me. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as she steps away, two people approach Maverick. Just like at the All-White Party, a small amoeba of people take shape in his vicinity, eager to pitch him or take advantage of this rare proximity to the kind of power he yields.
This is my chance to break away. I’d thought I might last until they cut the cake, but I really don’t want to pretend right under Zere’s nose any longer than I have to. I feel like a fraud making polite conversation as if I don’t know how Maverick’s chiseled features slacken and tighten in passion; don’t know the raspy timbre his voice falls to when he’s turned on. While Zere’s away and Maverick is roped into another conversation, I stand and grab my clutch.
“Leaving?” Charles asks.
“I am. Nice to meet you.”
“I’ll see you around,” he says. “You can bet on that.”
“Okay, well let Zere know I had to leave, but wish her the best. I left my gift on the table.”
I take swift strides across the ballroom, escaping before Maverick can extricate himself from the conversation. I’m going back to my hotel and ordering a bottle of something sent up to my room. Something to dull this throbbing between my legs and this ache in my chest. I scan the crowd for Chapel, but no sign. I don’t see the two people she was leering at earlier either. There could be a threesome already in progress somewhere.
Hovering at the entrance, I want to leave, but also need to make sure Chapel is okay before I go. I’d love to lock myself in a stall for a few minutes and sort my thoughts, but there’s a long line for the restroom. My gaze falls on the door of the coatroom, which is, by some miracle, slightly ajar. Before anyone comes, I dash in and close the door behind me. The noise of the music and of my own thoughts dies down as soon as the door shuts. I draw in one deep, cleansing breath after another, hoping to slow my heart’s thunderous pace.
Zere didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, but I felt obvious. Caught, like if you blew forensic dust over my body, Maverick’s handprints would show up clearly on my ass, my back, my thighs. Like just looking at me, everyone would know.
A few lamps illuminate the space with soft light. It’s not a true coatroom. More like a makeshift dressing room with a dark-paneled privacy divider, maybe for changing behind. A small table against the wall holds an ashtray, which indoors feels like an artifact these days, and a whiskey tumbler. There are a few rolling clothes racks lined up with wraps, scarves, and other random items. I set my clutch on the table and take out my phone to try Chapel. The buzz of a text notification startles me so badly I drop my phone. I bend to retrieve it and pause, resting on my haunches as I read the screen.
Chapel: Girl, not one, but TWO! You said let you know if I pulled. Got ’em!
Me: Good for you. Be safe.
Chapel: You still flying out tomorrow?
Me: Yup.
Chapel: You leaving the party soon?
Me: Yup.
Chapel: Alone? Or did you pull?
Me: Alone.
The word “alone” may as well be in all caps, highlighted, underlined it stands out so starkly.
My heart literally burns, and it has nothing to do with the short ribs I grabbed from the hotel’s buffet earlier. I have never had with anyone else what I have with Maverick. Not just the sexual attraction… which is not insignificant, but the camaraderie, the aligned values and work ethic. Shared convictions.
The way he makes me feel.
The way he makes me laugh.
The way he makes me think.
God, the way he sees me . He’s generous. Not even talking about money, but generous with his affection and praise. He’s mere yards away, and I’m fleeing in the other direction.
Alone.
I stand, prepared to go, when the door behind me opens and then snicks closed. I don’t have to turn around to see who it is. I know how he smells. My atoms ignite and italicize , leaning in his direction every time he enters my radius. It’s like my body doesn’t just know him now, but can predict him. The pull between us is barometric.
I don’t make a sound and barely move a muscle, and for a few seconds neither does he, but then he speaks and I even somehow knew exactly what he would say.
“Wagwan, Gorgeous.”