The Build Up (74)

It was cute. Porter was nervous and extremely flustered. I suppose this dress was doing its job.

I extended my arm toward Porter, who was blushing slightly as he put the corsage on my arm. He then held my hand and pulled me close to him, kissing me on the cheek.

“I don’t want to ruin your makeup,” Porter whispered as his lips traced up to my ear, landing butterfly kisses all along my jawline. I shivered.

“Don’t worry. This $40 lipstick is kiss-proof,” I said, as I melted into him. He smelled so good, but unfamiliar. The cologne had to be new for the occasion. I liked it, but it wasn’t the usual smell of Porter I’d grown accustomed to.

“Wait? Forty dollars? For lipstick?”

I looked at him and matched his raised eyebrow. “Says the man who clearly has on new cologne that I’m sure wasn’t cheap.”

He smiled and laughed. “You have a good nose. Touché.”

The Botanical Garden was magical, adorned with elaborate light installations among the flora and fauna of the garden, signaling the beginning of the holiday season. I had never seen anything so beautiful and so artistic. After valet parking, we entered the Great Hall to a live band playing some jazz standards. Porter handed over my wrap for coat check. I stood still, looking at the sea of beautiful, well-appointed varying shades of brown skin. The decor was elaborate. Flowers were everywhere, and they’d decked the tables and chairs out in the school colors. There was a bevy of tables for corporate sponsors, including a prominent Atlanta movie studio owner. I felt slightly intimidated. I worked for a well-respected architectural firm. But in the grand scheme of things, I wasn’t important enough to shell out $200 a plate for a table. Suddenly, I felt Porter’s hand on the small of my back, making those small, reassuring circles with his thumb. I leaned into him.

“I hope you don’t mind. But we’re sitting with my mother and Desmond,” Porter said.

We made our way through the crowds when suddenly we crossed paths with Jamal Faulk. We hadn’t seen him since the night that Porter and I had burgers and played pool. His stylist dressed him in a very elaborate brocade patterned tuxedo jacket. On his arm was a girl whose expression said it all. She was just there for the photos.

“Oh snap! Porter and Ari. Good to see you again,” he said. Porter gave Jamal a close, secret, fraternal handshake. Jamal hugged me quickly, then took a step back.

“Damn, Ari. You’re looking good, girl!” said Jamal. His date rolled her eyes and pulled him in closer. I rolled my eyes so hard that they practically hit my skull. Trust and believe, no one was checking for Jamal. Certainly not me. I had the finest date in the room.

“Thanks,” I replied. “You both look great.”

Jamal turned to introduce his date. “Y’all, this is Fiona. She’s a beauty influencer. She has like six million followers.”

“Cool,” said Porter, who was clearly feigning interest. I could tell he wanted to get away from Jamal as fast as possible. Porter probably did not know what an “influencer” was or did. The man could barely navigate Instagram.

“Yeah. I’m getting a shade of LaTrixie lipstick. Fiery Fiona,” she chimed in, her head still buried in her phone.

“Oh, how lovely,” I said. “I’ll look for it in the stores,” I lied.

“Jamal, I need a drink, dear. Lead me to the bar,” Fiona said. Her phony accent was somewhere between Paris, France, and Paris, Texas. Just floating aimlessly and not really landing anywhere.

“Right. Good to see you guys. I’m going to go mingle and see if I can pass out some real estate cards. Houses won’t sell themselves,” said Jamal. “Remember, I handle all matters of real estate. Commercial and residential. Leasing and owning.” Without thinking, Jamal handed me another flashy gold business card to add to my growing collection. Before Jamal left, I saw him whisper something to Porter and hit him on the shoulder.

“What was that about?” I asked, curiously.

“It’s just Jamal being Jamal.”

I looked at him and tilted my head to the side. “Is that right?”

Porter smiled. “He just said ‘about damn time.’”

“About time? As in ‘about time’ we started dating?”

“I guess. Maybe he saw something between us that night at Hemingway’s.” Porter drew me close to him, putting his hand around my waist.

“And what was that?” I asked as I leaned back into him, his beard soft against my forehead.

“Kismet,” he coolly responded.

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. He just stood there with this devilish smile on his face, knowing that I wasn’t in on his secret.

We made our way through the crowd and found our table. Eloise and Desmond both rose from their chairs when they saw us approach. Eloise kissed me warmly on the cheek. Desmond hugged me gently, squeezing my bare shoulders reassuringly.

“My dear, you’re simply radiant in this dress,” said Eloise.

“Indeed,” agreed Desmond. “A vision. A golden goddess, eh, PJ?”

Porter nodded. “Yes, a vision.” Porter pulled out my chair, and I sat down. I wiggled a bit, trying to catch a breath, but the double Spanx wasn’t letting up. It had a vise grip on my fupa.

“I’ll go grab us some drinks. Any requests?” Porter asked the table.