Page 2 of Craving a King

“Only every time you come over.” I roll my eyes. She’s so easily distracted.

I guess I could have asked her about Kofi, but sometimes I forget Maya is a professor. She’s a member of the Black jet-set and rarely in the states. Plus, between my hectic work schedule and her weekend jaunts to Paris, I rarely see her anymore.

“Girl,If I knew the title existed before lunch with Adom, I would have asked you about the title. But since you’re here now, tell me: how big of a deal is he? Adom said Kofi becoming speaker of the Ghanaian Parliament means nothing compared to his role as Asantehene.”

“And he’s right! Let me put it this way…The President of Ghana technically looks to him for direction.”

I shake my head. “How so, Maya? He’s president of the entire country. Kofi is…” I use air quotes to emphasize my amusement. “…King of the Ashanti.” I mean, come on—it sounds like he made the title up. It reminds me of the rapper T.I.’s self-made title,King of the South!” I laugh at my reference.

“You can laugh if you want to, silly girl, but the President of Ghana is Ashanti, and so are 11 million other Ghanaians. He and his family have ruled a little over a third of the Ghanaian population for close to five centuries. It’s the largest tribe in the country.”

“Oh,” I deadpan. “Well, I’m glad I decided to defer to Adom and address Kofi as king in all our communications.”

“Communications? Hold on, I’m intrigued.” Maya stands, grabs the iPhone out of her Chanel tote, and begins typing away. I know exactly what she is doing. She is Googling him. “Oh my! That’s him? He doesn’t look anything like Adom. He’s fine and chocolate. While Adom is fine and buttery.” She shoves the phone in my face for emphasis. “No wonder you’re three sheets to the wind over what to pack; this man is a hunk.”

“That’s not it at all.”A blatant lie. “I simply want to ensure I’m dressed appropriately for every situation.” I stand up and begin blindly folding and packing the items thrown on the bed earlier. Maya gives me a look of total disbelief and decides not to challenge me. Instead, she opts to head back into my closet.

“OK, well, where are you staying?”

“The Westin at Labadi Beach. He chose it and arranged the reservation after I specifically told him I wasn’t coming. He’s a domineering prick. Nevertheless, I did research the hotel—it has a nice lounge and poolside bar that hosts live music in the evenings.”

Maya continues to rummage through the back of my closet. “Hmm, OK, so we do need nice flowy dresses for that.” She emerges with three sundresses: one in a colorful print, and two silk dresses in more muted colors. “What else is on the itinerary?”

I join her in the closet. It’s getting late, and my energy and sobriety are waning. “Well, meetings of course, and a festival called the Ak-was-i-dae?” Maya’s eyebrows shoot up. She takes a seat on one of my marine blue velvet ottomans, clutching an oyster-shaped Judith Leiber clutch.

“The Asantehene is escorting you to the Akwasidae? Girl, we won’t even try to pack for that; I’ll connect you with my girl Mawuli. She has a bespoke shop in Accra; I’ll send over your measurements and she will put something together for you.” Before I can protest, her phone is out and she’s starting to text numbers. I bend down in front of her, placing my hands on her knees.

“Is this really necessary?”

Maya grabs my shoulders. “Ella, after hearing all you’ve told me, there are three things I know without a shadow of a doubt.”

She dramatically stands up and begins to count off her fingers. “One, you’re not ready for all the fabulous historic luxury this man is about to introduce you to. But you deserve it. Two, if you’re walking around Kumasi and Accra with a king, nothing in your closet is going to cut it. We can pack some things here, but then I’m calling Mawuli and the Chanel Atelier to pull some strings. You will need things sent. They will be at the Westin day after tomorrow. And three, this man is interested in building more than schools with you. I think you’re interviewing for more than one job, ma’am. The other being his queen.”

I roll my eyes. “OK, Professor Taylor, the first two on your list, yeah, okay, I’ll give you those. But that last one is just crazy. Please pass me some of those jeans behind you.” Maya obliges and grabs a few T-shirts and more silk bras and panties than I can count before following me out of the closet. I add the last few pieces to my overflowing suitcase before sitting on the bed. Maya sighs and gives me an entreating look.

“Ella, listen. This man is not only a king—he’s a politician soon running for re-election to parliament. He has major things going on. Girl, he would not waste his time parading you through Kumasi or presenting you at Akwasidae if you did not pique his interest. Akwasidae is a cultural celebration of the Ashanti. It’s hard to convey the significance, but I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to explain it once he meets you. Trust me, it’s like the biggest freaking Easter parade you’ve ever seen.”

I shrug. “He probably just wants to share his culture so I can design better schools for him.” I point a finger at Maya. “Let me remind you of why I’m traveling to Kumasi in the first place. I’m trying to spread our education model globally, not to become a queen. Plus, what would an Ashanti king want with me?”

“Girl, just like you, he probably Google stalked you and is in love.” We both bust out laughing at her comments, falling over each other.

“I did kind of cyberstalk him. You are talking crazy with this love affair, though. I’m not strikingly beautiful like you or half as interesting. I’m just Ella Jenkins, impeccably dressed, good hair, great tits. Amazing nonprofit CEO.” I smile, but Maya doesn’t. “Plus, you know I have self-diagnosed trust issues. Now is not the time to try and overcome that barrier playing around with a king.”

“Before that Marcus fiasco, you didn’t have those issues and you always knew your worth. Now, you sell yourself short. I hate him for that. But I’m also grateful you’re going on this trip. Who better to remind you of the queen you are than an actual king!”

“Maya, what would I do without you reminding me how great I am?”

She shakes her head.“I don’t know. I’m tempted to get on the plane with you and make sure you don’t miss your shot at having all kinds of amazing sex with that fine ass man.” She letsout an exaggerated sigh. “I just have to trust all I’ve taught you will be enough.”

I throw a pillow at her and laugh. “I think we’ve done as much as we are going to get done. That pillow is calling my name.” She gives me a side-eye, knowing I’m changing the subject. “Thank you for coming to help.”

“Are you kicking me out?”She knows better.

“Well, I’m not saying you’ve got to go home, but…” I laugh and grab her in a big hug. “I’m just kidding! I love you, girl. You can always take me to the airport at 4 a.m. We can have a sleepover.” I arch both eyebrows.

Maya shakes her head and grabs her bag, beginning to walk to the door. “No thank you!”She spins around and grabs me forcefully by my shoulders to make me face her. “I love you, too, and you better call me every day.” I pull her to me, and we hug again. Part of me wishes she could go with me. Once I let her go, she turns to leave, but pauses.

“And Ella, I saw your face when I mentioned Marcus. Please use this time to finally get over him and under that fine ass king!”

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