2.
I arrive at Essence of Noir, already not liking how fancy this place is.
It’s black – the tall walls, the agate tables, the extravagant upholstered chairs, and hints of black in the carpet that remind you of marble.
Gold sconces decorate the walls. Hanging from the ceiling are gold chandeliers – not above every table, but enough to keep the light ambient. Personal. Romantic?
Ugh…
This is so not the vibe I was hoping for.
Wine glasses, white cloth napkins, and silverware are on the tables – even the ones that are currently unoccupied.
It reeks of pretentiousness, high society, and Baccarat.
I don’t even like the name. Essence of Noir.
Who named this joint? It doesn’t even sound food-related.
It’s just a bunch of…a bunch of…boujee ness.
Sounds like the name of a boutique that sells gently used Birkin bags and Louis V stuff for about the same price as retail.
I doubt I’ll get a hearty meal here. Something that, in my mama’s words, will ‘stick to ya bones’.
I can eat like a rabbit on a diet at home, and it’s cheap!
This is not the kind of restaurant I’m used to.
If I don’t see a blackboard with drink specials written in different colors of chalk along with dinner specials, I know I’m at the wrong place.
And this is the wrong place…
The lobby is jumping. Most of the people are from the charity event, but then there are some who are not. And everybody’s dressed to kill – to eat very little and indulge in spirits and conversation. I suppose if I drink enough, I’ll forget how hungry I am.
I look around for my bearded company. The crazy thing is, I’m almost positive he won’t recognize me.
I hardly recognized him. It was his eyes that ultimately triggered my memory.
I will never forget the way they used to comfort me.
The way they used to make me feel. He’s definitely not teenage Kasim anymore, or Kase as I used to call him.
And where is he?
He’s incredibly fine, so I shouldn’t have a problem weeding him out of the crowd. Plus, there’s that emeraldgreen bowtie he had on. I suppose he could’ve changed clothes, but there was no need. He was dressed so fly, changing probably would’ve been a downgrade.
“Ms. Gardner,” I hear in a low, deep timbre.
That’s how I wrote my name on the paperwork when I signed up for this, because I didn’t want to get all first-name-basis with nobody.
I wanted to go to this dinner and go on about my merry way.
But that heffa, fate , threw a wrench in those plans real quick, didn’t she?
I turn around to greet him and watch a smile grow on his face.
“Wow,” he says. “It’s—it’s really you.”
“Yep, it’s me. Surprise,” I say, flailing my arms wide.
His arms wrap around me. Squeezes me. Holds me captive between biceps and pectorals. He embraces me like I’m his lost lover and we just reunited.
Amazing.
I feel warm and toasty in his embrace as if it does something to resurrect me to life again.
To add color to my otherwise dull, uneventful world.
It’s like a hot towel after a cold shower.
A warm coat in the winter. I was always comfortable with Kasim in the past, but how did that stand the test of time? Of fourteen long years?
“It’s so good to see you, Giada,” he tells me in that unfamiliar deep voice I’m not used to.
He takes a step back to look me up and down.
It’s only fair, I surmise, because I’ve already checked him out.
Thoroughly. I’ve inspected his walk, the creases in the corners of his eyes when he smiles, and the way his eyes brighten when he makes contact with mine.
I’m sure I’ll do a little more secret investigative work after we sit down.
“Giada, you look stunning.”
“Oh, please,” I say, not knowing how to take a compliment from anyone, let alone a man as gorgeous as him. “I pulled this dress from the back of my closet. Bought it from the Goodwill Outlet like five years ago.”
Dang girl. You didn’t have to tell him all that! A simple ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed. Yeah. It would have. At least I didn’t tell him it’s the same dress I wore to my grandma’s funeral.
He tells the ma?tre D our reserved table is under his name, and she quickly shows us to it.
He gestures for me to go ahead of him and though nervous, I proceed.
The thing I like about this situation the most is that all the bachelors from the auction are here with their dates, so no one feels uncomfortable.
Diedra is somewhere here with Wakanda, and I’m sure when we leave, we’ll exchange highlights from our night out.
Still, I feel discomfort lingering in the air surrounding me.
If I’m being honest. I don’t know this version of Kasim.
I know the sweet boy I used to play cars with when we were eight, race across the yard when we were nine, go camping on the acres of land his family owned when we were ten, and I’m leaving out a host of other things.
There were so many days we sat in his room, lost in conversations about life.
Doing whatever. Dumb stuff. Fun stuff. Our stuff.
Shoot, he could be a jerk now for all I know.
Or maybe life has made him a different person from the person I used to know.
Whatever the case, I’m going to find out.
I paid a grand for an hour of his time and, according to Diedra, I have to pay for dinner, too.
First glance at this menu and that’s going to be about five hundred dollars.
Ugh .
The things I could’ve done with that money…
But it’s fine. Really. It’s fine. Catching up with Kasim should be a good thing – at least I want it to be. I’m clinging to hope – to optimism that this will be a good experience, but my heart is racing faster than my thoughts, and neither is showing any signs of slowing down.
Kasim pulls out my chair.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I settle into my seat and glance over as he takes his.
He says, “Wow. This is unbelievable. I can’t believe it’s you—Giada Gardner.”
“In the flesh,” I say, my eyes settling onto his face.
He’s outgrown those teenage looks and I’m somewhat salty I wasn’t around to witness the transformation.
His eyes are about the only thing that’s the same.
The curly, tapered hair, the well-groomed beard, and the piercing in his left ear are taking some getting used to.
“When I first saw you walk out on stage, I was like, I’ma bid on this guy because my friend had been pressuring me to bid on someone.
It wasn’t until you came to the very front of the stage that I knew it was you.
I didn’t even know you were still in the area.
I thought you’d moved on to bigger and better things. ”
“I grew up with more than most people had, so there wasn’t much I wanted to strive for.
Plus, it had already been decided that I’d take over the family business, so after college, that’s what I did.
I was my father’s right-hand man until my mother fell ill four years ago.
It hit him hard, and he wasn’t in the best of health as it was. He died a year ago. Now, it’s just me.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, Kase—I mean Kasim,” I say, quickly correcting myself. We’re no longer on a nickname basis. He hasn’t called me ‘G’ once, so why would I revert to calling him by his nickname so quickly?
Pull it together, Giada. Be professional about this.
Yes. Professional.
“It’s the cycle of life, right?” he says. “We live. We die.”
He says those words so matter of factly, it catches me off guard.
Where’s the hurt, the anger, the loss in his voice?
I see something akin to pain in his eyes, but he presented his words in a way that suggests he’s over their deaths, and I wonder why?
Is it a man thing – always trying to maintain a tough exterior no matter what, or does it have anything to do with his relationship with his folks?
Did they have a falling out that I’m not aware of?
I know he used to adore his mother, but his father – he wasn’t around much.
Only on the weekends, and he had to fit them into his schedule.
“So, how have you been, Giada?” he asks, searching my face for answers instead of waiting for a response.
“Good,” I reply, being truthful without going into much detail.
“Last I heard, you had landed yourself a good computer job at Intech.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“I ran into your mother. She recognized me right away.”
Ran into my mother , he says as if they run in the same circles.
My mother is a housekeeper – not that there’s anything wrong with that, because it got us by, but where did he run into her?
I hate to ask because I don’t want this to turn into an interrogation, but curiosity has me in a headlock.
Mom had stopped working for the Nobles the same year I graduated from high school.
Said she got tired of making the drive and wanted to find work that was closer to her house, which she did.
Now, she only works part-time, and whatever bills she can’t cover, I take care of.
I say, “Hmm…that must’ve been some time ago, huh?”
“Yeah, about a year ago, maybe. If I recall correctly, she was coming out of Publix.”
“Oh. Gotcha.”
Were you coming out of Publix, too, or going inside?