Page 45 of Saint Baptiste 2

Most nights, when it was time for me to turn in, I didn’t take a detour. Didn’t go to the bar. Damn sure didn’t go to Pandoras. I didn’t care to satisfy ‘my reason’. Fuck the reason. The reason was ‘the reason’ behind my suffering. I didn’t give a fuck about that shit anymore. At the end of the day, you know what I did? Carried my lame ass home, showered, laid in bed with my eyes on the ceiling and escaped. Went to Pandora’s alright. To the night we made love. To the night I caressed and ran my tongue over every inch of her.

“This is a really lovely car,” Dion complimented, pulling me out of my thoughts, just before I opened the passenger door for her.

I nodded. “Thank you.” She smiled and grabbed the back of her long dress, giving me an opportunity to finally take in what she had on. With furrowed brows, I shook my head at the color. “The memo said fawn; that’s caramel.”

She looked down at her dress and her jaw dropped. “If you would like me to, Mr. Baptiste, I’ll go in and?—”

“Nah, it’s okay, sweetheart. My apologies. The color is perfect,” I apologized before reaching down to help her with her dress.

I was tripping over a color. A fuckin’ color? That was the Naoki effect. She did that to me. Colors were her thing. Years ago, she came to me with the dress shirt, I called it burgundy. But she called it maroon. Told me burgundy was lighter. Since then, every time I saw a color, I thought of her. The world didn’t even look the same. She didn’t just change me, she changed the world around me. That’s what separated her from the rest. She was exciting. Her life. Her mind. Her layers. She had those. Multiple layers... meticulously stacked up on top of one another. And after almost four years, there were still several layers I had yet to peel back.

Wondered if I ever would get the chance to.

Once Dion was safely inside, I closed the door and heeded to the driver side. Sighing, I massaged the back of my neck. Shit. I had to get her out of my head. How long was this waiting shit supposed to last?

Forty minutes later I was in a building I didn’t want to be in with people I did not give a fuck about, wearing a smile I had to find. Shit was getting old, low key. The more I had to do it, the more I hated it. Every day, I found myself thinking about the conversation I had with Jackie. Every day I thought about what she said about being dethroned by Emu. And every day, the shit started to sound better. We had been at the top of the business since before I was born. The beginning was easy. Before we went corporate, it was easy. Before I had to step into Jah’s position, it was cool. Couldn’t imagine doing this for another five, ten years. Couldn’t imagine how he did it for so long. Shit was draining. I could handle doing what I did. I could handle mingling with my peoples, walking around Vault shaking hands, smiling and shit was easy. This... doing this shit, although I didn’t do it often, came with too much.

I couldn’t fuck with these niggas.

I was seated with a bunch of real blue collared niggas. We were at a gala for black people. A gala to celebrate black excellence but as I sat at the table listening to these niggas speak, all I heard was code switching. We didn’t need to code switch here. The fuck was wrong with ‘em? I was surrounded by a bunch of black people who weren’t comfortable, not even amongst people that looked like them.

And my date. My date was worst.. All she did was smile. Nod, smile, sip champagne, and dab at the corners of her mouth. Couldn’t hold an entertaining conversation to save her fuckin’ life. She was like a robot, to be real. A beautiful robot, though. I didn’t know if I was just... in a mood. Pissed about my circumstances, or if people really were just that fucking intolerable.

I flicked my wrist to check the time. I was ready to go. Had just walked in and was already, ready to skate. Couldn’t leave just yet though. Hadn’t gotten the award and even after that I wouldn’t be able to leave. Couldn’t grab the shit and go. Had to stay professional.

I dragged my hands down my face with a laugh.

“Right? You agree with me, Saint?”

Asked the weird ass nigga to the left of me.

“Agree with what?” I asked with a smirk.

I hadn’t heard a fuckin’ thing he’d said. Jackie would be disappointed. Jah too. Samuel for sure. I could see the scowl deepening in his face now, with every second I sat there unengaged. With the people... with my date... with everybody. I just sat there, existing. Feeling out of place like a muthafucka. All I wanted to do was burn one. Burn one, stare at the ceiling and escape to that got damn illusion.

He lightly chuckled and looked around the table. “Damnit man, I thought I had someone on my side?—”

“Hell nah you don’t, buddy,” I said with a light grin.

He laughed. “—Obviously!” He joked. Corny ass nigga. “But hey! It’s cool. Not everyone gets it. I was talking about gentrification and...”

And just like that, the minute he mentioned gentrification, whatever the fuck he was talking about faded out. I couldn’t sit through anymore of the bullshit sober. So, I turned to Dion and asked if she wanted another glass of champagne. I needed a drink. Would have gotten up and gone to the bar without asking but... Baptiste men had chivalry, remember?

She smiled and nodded. “Sure, babe. I thought you’d never ask.”

Babe? We didn’t discuss terms of endearment. I stared at her. Just... briefly. With a light squint that I was sure she didn’t notice. The smile never left her lips.

She turned away, grabbed her bag and pushed back against her chair to stand. Asking if she wanted another glass of champagne wasn’t an invitation to walk with me. But... I didn’t say anything. Decided to just go along with the flow. What else was I supposed to do anyway? Shit, we were here, and she was my date, right?

“We appreciate everyone for coming out tonight,” said the host and creator of The Black Effect, Cornell, standing at the podium.

I was behind him. Backstage, waiting for the nigga to finish up so I could get the fuck out of the building. Time moved like molasses all got damn night. It had only been an hour since my trip to the bar. Felt a lot longer though. The night was dragging. I tried to embrace it. But… I couldn’t. Was hit with a reminder text from Tasha and everything. That shit didn’t help. Dion had become a little less intolerable. Turned out to have more personality than I thought. Had to get a couple shots of tequila up in her to bring it out though. Had she become more tolerable? Or had the few shots I tossed back made it easy to sit with her?

I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my slacks and paced, waiting for Cornell to finish up.

“…If you’ve been in business for a while, I’m sure you’ve heard about The Baptiste Family and the contributions they’ve made over the years. Tonight, we’re honoring a pillar of the black business community, Saint Baptiste, independent owner of Vault Nightclub, Taperz Barbershop, The Jooce Bar, and Spinning Wheelz Car Wash.”

The audience erupted in applause, and I stepped out onto the stage to accept my award. Shook hands with Cornell and walked up to the podium. As soon as I looked out into the crowd, my eyes met hers.

---