over such an admission must’ve been written all over her face. “How, right?”
She burst out laughing, catching her nostril with the side of her finger as if to block a sneeze.
“Yeah… I’m sorry.” She smiled. “I mean, of course I know White people live in Harlem. I’m not ignorant or an idiot, it’s just that—”
“Nah, I understand. Nothin’ to be sorry about. I get that a lot. My father is originally from Queens. He moved away from New York City for a while and spent some time abroad. He worked on a cruise ship part of that time. He met my mother on one of his stints to Brazil. She worked in hospitality, so sometimes they’d cross paths. Long story short, they got together, then got married. Wasn’t long before my mother was pregnant, and my father wasn’t too keen on Brazilian healthcare at that time, politics, things like that. He wanted a change of career, too, so he relocated my mother here. But instead of going back to Queens, he came to Manhattan, Harlem to be exact, due to a job opportunity with some tourist apartment rentals. I was born. Then, a couple years later, their marriage busted up.” He shrugged. “They went their separate ways. He went back to Queens, came and got me every other weekend, she stayed here. My mother got remarried to my step-dad, had a couple more kids, my brothers, and there you have it.” He threw up his hands. “That’s how you get a guy like me to be born and raised in Harlem.”
This is a real ass conversation. He is talking about some real shit. His family. He has yet to say anything inappropriate, too. Well, color me confused.
“Now it all makes sense. It takes all kinds, right? Cool. I like that. So, do you—” Before she could inquire more about him, someone began to make an announcement through the speakers.
“Everyone, please listen up.” The music died down to a whisper. “We’ve selected the two artists for tonight.”
King turned away from her, looking rather interested in whatever was being said. She shrugged and took a sip of her drink, ignoring the silly faces her friends were making at her. He crossed his arms and his lush black eyebrows bunched ever so slightly. “The first artist pulled is,” someone cued a drumroll, “Jay Laaaaamar!” Clapping ensued, and King’s jaw tightened visibly. “Please go to board, A, near the entrance.”
A short Black guy wearing a blue sweatsuit made his way to the front, holding an open backpack from which a number of paintbrushes stuck out. Some people slapped his hand as he moseyed on by. “The second artist for tonight is… Kiiiing Chrysalis.”
“Yes!!!” The big, tall man began to shake his fist in the air and testosterone-infused hoots and hollers could be heard from the near distance. The crowd cheers soon followed.
“That’s what’s up, King! Pimp shit! Broke ass nigga, make that money!”
King looked in the direction of the crude words being yelled by some guy with a mouth full of gold and diamonds, albeit attractive, donning a gray hoodie, and burst out laughing.
Hmmm, must be a friend of his. Broke? Welcome to the club. Chrysalis? That’s not an Irish surname. Her cheery mood instantly vanished. A wave of heat washed over her. This mothafucka probably been standing here lyin’ this whole time, shooting fake narratives like a BB gun. Gassing me up. I can’t stand these jokers from Harlem. They always try to come across so artsy and intelligent, but they’re just like everyone else. Full of shit.
She winced and sucked hard on the straw, feeling a bit like a fool. Despite Suri’s desires to not date at the moment, she’d given this bastard a chance to slip her a verbal resume – or at least begin to. Figures. Glad that exchange only lasted five minutes. What a waste of time. Let me enjoy the rest of my night. Should’ve gone with my gut and stuck to the plan to keep shooing these dudes away like flies tonight.
She turned to walk away, but felt a tug at her arm.
“Wait. I have to go paint, but, I’d like to talk to you more tonight.” He smiled big, showing shiny white teeth framed by gorgeous, succulent lips. Lips she wanted to slap until they swelled up twice their size.
“Why?” She forced a giggle. “So you can tell me more about the luck of the Irish blood that you don’t have?”