Page 6 of Lovetown, USA
“Oh, goodness,” she says with a forced laugh. “We don’t really have…sides.”
I tilt my head. “Come on now, Mayor Daphne. Sis. Every city has sides.”
“Lovetown is very diverse,” she insists. “And we love it that way!”
“Okay, then.” I switch gears, skinning this cat another way. “Where do the black folks in Lovetown hang out?”
Mayor Daphne clears her throat not once, not twice, but three times. “Um…well…let’s see…there’s a wonderful jazz club called the Velvet Note. It’s just off Cupid Parkway. There’s also a wonderful soul food restaurant called Generations. There’s High Rollers, which is a skating rink.” She pauses. “I could get you a list.”
“I think you’ve given me enough to start with.”
We finish our drinks in silence before I hit the button to continue recording and hit her with my next question.
“You mentioned diversity. Does that eighty-seven percent apply to queer couples as well?”
She looks mildly taken aback, but she covers quickly. “I’d have to ask vital records, but—“
“Oh, I can ask. No problem.”
She nods.
“And what about black folks? I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that our marriage rates are pretty abysmal right now.”
“Well, again, our data are aggregated, so I can’t give you exact numbers. But anecdotally, we’re also doing great here.”
“Good to know.”
Once we’ve finished our drinks, we stand at the same time, but she ignores my outstretched hand in favor of grabbing me in a hug I didn’t ask for.
“Welcome again to Lovetown! By the way, you can call me Daphne.”
I pull back and give her a genuine smile. “I appreciate that, but I enjoy using black women’s titles. I know how hard we work to get those.”
Dammit. See, this is what I get for being genuine; she pulls me right back in for another hug.
Finally, she unhands me and we make our way to the hotel lobby with her bodyguard on her heels.
“This is where I leave you,” she says. “We’ll talk again soon. I can’t wait for your story!”
That makes two of us.
Mayor Daphne didn’t lie about the Velvet Note.
The dim lights and blue walls appeal to me the moment I walk in. The band is already playing a sultry tune, and everybody in here looks like they could be background characters in aLove Jonessequel.
I ease through the crowd and take the last seat at the bar. I’m a little perplexed by the lack of stares; this tight black dress usually gets the people going. I got a little ass on me, titties pushed up, hair and out down around my shoulders. But when I get settled and take a look around, I see the problem immediately.
Almost every man in this building is wearing a fucking wedding ring.
And their wives aresmiling. Nobody’s on their phones. They’re all…talking to each other. I feel like I’m in a parallel universe.
Oh, shit.
It just hit me.
I’m in Stepford.
I order a dirty martini and scan the room like an anthropologist observing a rare mating ritual.
