Kingston interrupted as he slapped his chest, saying, “I take care of mine. Isn’t that what you black women want? A provider. Not a ring. Or a husband.”
And there you have it, Jordan thought. Another entitled black man. Bulging biceps, super-succulent lips (that she knew would feel amazing on her clit), and he was intellectual . . . and wealthy. “Hmm.” Without ever seeing Kingston naked, she could almost feel the tip of what she visualized as his ginormous head poking the opening of her vagina. But his cocky personality aligned with the professionals she’d dated. They all wanted two things: pampering and pussy. That was easy. It was the heartbreaks Jordan hated.
Chancelor spoke then. “Men look for love, too, but we don’t get it. And when we do, we end up with a fucking user, like Tracy!”
Levi yelled from behind the bar, “Bring it down, bro!”
“That’s a lie. I’ve loved Brother Copeland for forty-four years,” Victoria commented. Sweat beaded on her face, arms, shoulders, and neck at the same time.
“Damn, I’m glad I’m not a woman,” Kingston said. Reaching across the table, he handed Victoria the white square paper napkin that was in front of her.
Levi placed two clean goblets on the table, then opened Jordan’s bottle of wine. He eye-measured six ounces for both. Sat one in front of Jordan. The other by Victoria. “You need to get your sweat glands fixed. There’s a surgical procedure for that. I’ll be right back with more napkins.”
Holding the stem of her glass, Jordan stared at Victoria. Swirling the wine, she contemplated telling Miss Know-every-damn-thing-in-the-name-of-Jesus-but-fornicated-and-committed-adultery-on-The- regular. “Wait. Levi, bring a glass of ice, please,” Jordan said.
“I’ll have my usual cognac,” Kingston mentioned.
Levi smiled at Kingston. “Anything for you, boss. I bet you still got it. You should join my Pro-Am team.” Before Kingston replied, Levi asked Chancelor, “Ready for another, my brother?”
With his eyes fixed on Victoria, Chancelor nodded.
“Whew. I’m okay, y’all. Just another private summer,” Victoria explained. “I’ve been trying not to do hormone replacement therapy, but I may need to. Ten years of this, with no foreseeable ending. I can’t.”
Levi returned with the glass of ice. Placed it near Jordan. Set the napkins in front of Victoria. Looking at Chancelor, then Kingston, Levi said, “I got y’all cocktails coming up. Anyone need anything else?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“Perfect.” Levi walked away.
“Give me your arm,” Jordan told Victoria.
She placed the inside of Victoria’s wrist against the condensation on the cold glass.
“Oh, my gosh. That feels great.” Victoria sighed in relief. She frowned at Jordan, Kingston, then Chancelor. “It stopped. Oh, my Lord. Thank You, Jesus.”
“Give credit where it’s due,” Jordan said.
Victoria countered, “I did.”
Should’ve kept letting her sweat it out. “I’m a lawyer. I research things,” Jordan confidently mentioned to the group, then told Victoria, “Start adding a pinch of matcha green tea powder to sixteen ounces of room-temperature or hot water. Use a bamboo whisk to mix it up or shake it up in a bottle. Drink it first thing every morning. Your hot flashes should decrease. Maybe stop altogether. And although you don’t need to, you might lose weight.”
Chancelor laughed. “You sound like a commercial advertisement.”
Men. What did they know about menopause? Studies had shown matcha green tea powder could help prevent cancer, protect the heart, liver, and kidneys, was a great antioxidant, and could improve brain function. Jordan wasn’t waiting for premenopause to invade her body. At forty, she’d already started a daily routine. Plus, Jordan realized her grandmother and great-grandmother were her most valued resources for natural health remedies.
Victoria took the glass from Jordan. Set it in front of her, then said, “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? You know I’ve been dealing with hot flashes since I’ve known you.”
Jordan smiled. “I was waiting for God to take care of it for you. We all know that you tell Him what you want.”
Kingston laughed.
Chancelor nodded. “Right. Right.”
Jordan scanned the faces of everyone at the table. She focused on Victoria. “You need to ask God for some young dick. Nothing ages a woman faster than an old impotent man.”
Victoria countered, “How do you know Willy is impotent?”
CHAPTER 7
Chancelor
“Nothing angers a man more than a serpent with her hands in his pockets twenty-four/seven,” Chancelor lamented.
Appearing relaxed, Victoria quietly sipped her vino.
No one outside of his mother gave him anything. Kelly Leonard was his rock. His mom put him in private school. Had his college scholarship fully funded. She taught him how to treat women respectfully.
Tracy Benjamin wasn’t the first Atlantan to get over on him, but she’d be the last.
Kingston laughed out loud. “I should introduce you to Monet Baptiste. First I had two hands on my millions. Now I have six. I’m glad I have one baby mother and I’m happy I got fixed. Get used to taking care of females, bruh. That shit ain’t gon’ change long as you want pussy.”
Chancelor wet his lips with brandy, held the snifter in front of his chest, propped his elbow on the table. There was no solace in Kingston’s words. Tracy had taken Chancelor for four figures in the first week of their one-month relationship. Chancelor was CEO of his marketing-and-advertising firm. The two weren’t the same. Had to teach his clients that. Paying a woman’s bills and giving her money wasn’t a problem. It was the tricks he hated.
“Excuse me. I’m leaving. Is now a good time, Mr. Royale?” the gorgeously voluptuous woman asked.
Kingston hesitated. Glancing around the bar, he said, “Just lean in and get it. If I stand up, others are going to want a pic, too.”
“Thanks,” the woman said. She snapped a selfie, then exited through the door.
Shaking his head, Chancelor confessed to his friends for the first time, “Y’all don’t understand. I wanted to marry Tracy.”
“After one week?” Kingston laughed.
“Month. It was a month. A woman that fine gotta be put on lockdown quick.” Chancelor was serious. “I did everything I could to help her ass. When her mother was killed in a car accident—”
The rim of Jordan’s goblet missed her bottom lip. Quickly she pulled the glass away, avoiding staining her uniform.
“Watch yourself,” Chancelor told Jordan, then continued, “I CashApped her fifteen hundred dollars to go to the funeral in Texas. Another thousand for her to buy a nice tombstone. Then I sent five hundred dollars to pay for a bleeding heart. And—”
“And . . . stop. I can’t,” Jordan said, holding her stomach while crying tears with laughter.
Victoria squealed, uncontrollably gasping in between as though she was hyperventilating.
“What the fuck is so funny? That’s the problem with you females. Y’all disrespectful to a man when he’s opening up his heart. Then you want to know why we don’t open up.” Chancelor’s next swallow of liquor was a gulp.