Page 29 of Simply Complicated
Twelve
“So, he’s coming back over tonight, huh?” Tasha begins as I drive her and Junie to the Crenshaw Mall.
“Yes, he is.” My stomach cinches in nervousness. I should be happy that boo-thang is swinging over again, though I’m a bit nervous about introducing soul food to him. I’m sure if I introduced black caviar and capers with some truffles, it would be right up his alley.
This white boy really wants to eat fried catfish, huh? Oh dear.
I’m not saying white people can’t enjoy soul food. I’ve seen more white people in Roscoe’s than I can count. I’ve seen the occasional executive at that ribs joint just around the corner from my daddy’s home.
I just don’t see Savior risky getting his Gucci loafers sticky because the mom and pop’s joint didn’t clean the floor just right.
“Yo, I like Jesus Piece,” Junie the SoundCloud phenomenon comments from the back seat, “He’s cool peeps, Eggs and Cheese. You should keep him around.”
Junie calls me Eggs and Cheese because it’s another word for quiche. Kiesh = quiche. He’s a witty no-name broke rapper. I call him SoundCloud because that’s that only place his shit is known because you damn sure won’t hear him on the radio anytime soon or ever. Tasha should be proud.
“I heard you and your auntie got into it. She was on the phone talking to your dad about it and I listened it on the conversation.” Gotta appreciate Tasha’s messy ass every so often. “It seemed your dad was taking your side on it.”
“Well, if he took my auntie’s side, I would’ve heard about it now.” I navigate down the street. “Everyone knew when he inherited the home, I was going to get it. My Granny’s been dead for three years now and Gloria’s acting like her death just happened three days ago.”
“Your auntie is freaking out because of all of the gentrification going around here.” Tasha twists her long, purple braids. “More white people have moved in and all of the black families are moving out. That’s why she’s scared.”
“Funny how she wasn’t scared when the Mexicans had no problem targeting black families and running them out of the neighborhood but Becky and Timmy are a threat?” I counter. “White people move in, people want to cry gentrification. When Mexicans were killing us for sport, it’s ‘Oh, poor little Negroes.’ And then people wonder why we have a racist, bigoted, misogynistic, and xenophobic asshole in the White House.”
“Your auntie does have a strong point, Kiesh.” Tasha interrupts. “Several homes on your block have been sold and you said it yourself that you’ve had many offers on the home that you’ve turned down. What’s the magic number for you to finally say yes?”
Truthfully, there isn’t a magic number. I never intend to sell it. I secretly get the home appraised every year unbeknownst to my auntie and Tasha so I know exactly what the duplex is worth. And trust me when I say, the 300K the Kardashians were offering was a lowball offer and they knew it.
I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do with the home quite yet. A part of me wants to keep it in case things between me and Savior don’t pan out. A part of me wonders if I do ever get out of L.A., what would be the point of having it?
I can’t worry about that now. I’m about to go blow some money on stuff I don’t need to impress people I don’t even like. That’s my priority.
~~~~~
Too much money and crap later, we’re all eating at the food court. I’m digging into a collard green wrap filled with fried chicken and macaroni and cheese, while SoundCloud and Tasha are sharing a big bowl of jambalaya.
I wanted to start purchasing things for this weekend’s gala but Savior was insistent that he went shopping with me. Maybe he wanted me to look like something straight outta Saks Fifth and not Charlotte Russe. Can’t blame the dude.
“What’s this benefit?” Tasha asks she tries to find only the chicken parts of jambalaya. Why she couldn’t just ask for a bowl of straight chicken defeats me.
“It’s benefitting homeless and low-income programs across Los Angeles.” I answer. Doing more Google-stalking, I learned it’s a benefit his family has actively attended throughout the years. It’ll also be the first time I’ll meet Mama Ellison and just seeing her pulled-back Stepford Wife face, I know she will not approve of Savior dating me.
She looks like the type that has one black friend, who’s usually both male- and white-identified, and the kind that will dole out ‘How to Get a Man’ advice once she becomes engaged and then married.
“What kind of music will they have there?” SoundCloud asks. I know he’s low-key hoping for a gig.
“The typical white and wealthy fare,” I shrug. “I’m sure I’ll hear a lot of Coldplay. Maybe some Miley Cyrus and Justin Timberlake if they want to get edgy.” This is what I was talking about moving into a different income tax bracket. My daddy is a certified millionaire with hidden money in offshore accounts yet he’ll still bump Nas’ Illimatic LP like if it just came out. He could’ve moved to Brentwood with the OJs and LeBrons but he chose to stay in Ladera Heights. There’s something really amazing about that.
“Do you know what type of music Savior likes?” Tasha asks after finding some chicken. “He seems like the type to be all into Ed Sheeran.”
“I have no clue,” I shake my head, “I’m sure he has U2 on repeat somewhere.”
“He likes R&B music,” SoundCloud chimes in as he sips his orange soda. “He has a pretty impressive collection, if you ask me.”
Tasha and I lock eyes with each other before slowly turning both of our heads towards Junie. “What?” I spat out.
“Homebody has some very impressive taste in music. Very impressive.” Junie nods. “I recited a lyric from Outkast and he already knew what song it was. He didn’t even have to ask what artist is that or any of that.”
“Well, everyone knows Outkast!” Tasha laments. “It’s not hard.”
