Page 5 of Lovetown, USA
I’m not.
I’m halfway through my drink and Googling “has there ever been a cult that took over an entire town?” when a sharp voice behind me says, “Lane Washington!”
I turn and find myself face-to-face with Mayor Daphne Davis.
I recognize her from the front page of Lovetown’s website. I’ll give her this: she’s bad as hell. Smooth brown skin, big doe eyes, makeup expertly applied, and she’s a certified brickhouse. During my preliminary research on the town, I was pleasantly surprised to see a black woman in charge, but also a little confused about why a black woman wouldwannabe in charge of this shit.
“Nice to meet you, Your Honor.”
She must have been in the fallout radius of the cupcake blast, because sis is in pink from head to toe. Soft pink power suit, pink ribbon in her shoulder-length silk press, pearl necklace, and a pink lip combo I hate to admit is bomb.
She clasps my hand in hers. “We are so thrilled to have you here!”
“Thanks,” I mutter. “How’d you evenknowI was here?”
“I know everything that goes on in my town,” she says with a wink. “Should we take a table so we can chat?”
She’s clearly not asking, so I grab my drink and bag and follow the cloud of Prada Candy to the table Mayor Daphne has just settled at. For the first time, I notice the large man standing near and realize he’s her security.
She orders a rosé. Of course.
“So, I take it you know why I’m here.”
She smiles again. “Of course I do. Melanie assured me the piece would be complimentary, and I assured her I would give you whatever you need.”
I nod and pull my trusty recorder out of my bag. “Mind if I take some preliminary notes?”
“Of course!” she says, all twinkle and bright white teeth.
I hit record. “So, I’ll just jump on in. Eighty-seven percent. That’s an interesting number. Where did this data come from?”
“That’s a good question,” she gushes. “It came from a combination of census data, the National Health Center, and our local vital records office.” She pauses to take a sip. “We aggregated the data and the rest is history!”
Her fingernails are painted pink, too, with little red hearts airbrushed onto her pinkies. “And how do you feel about the findings?”
“I’m very proud,” she says, coquettishly tucking her hair behind her ear. “We create the conditions for love. Community events, couples mixers, speed dating, and our annual Lovetown Ball.”
“And people move here just to get married?”
“Well, notjustfor that,” she says, waving it off. The rock on her finger catches the sun just then, gleaming so brightly, I squint for a brief second. “The city itself is very attractive to the upwardly mobile,” she continues. “Newcomers tend to fall in love with the town, then fall in love with a partner. They settle down, buy homes, start families. Even businesses. Every institution here has seen immense benefits.”
I narrow my eyes. “So, all this love is good for the economy, then.”
She takes another sip, unbothered. “Happy accident.”
The glint in her eye says otherwise.
I resist the urge to smile as I realize I’m right on target with my story.
This city is a heart-shaped racket.
“I appreciate you answering my questions,” I say as I hit pause on the recorder. “One more question. Off the record.”
Her perfectly laminated eyebrows shoot up.
“Where’s the black side of town?”
She blinks, and for the first time, her perfect pink smile falters.
