I wasn’t driving my new car tonight. Porter had insisted on picking me up. For the gala, I decided on a gold, low-cut sequin dress that had a small train. It hugged every single curve. My hair was half up/half down and I threw on a very expensive red liquid lipstick that I had been saving for special occasions. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and attempted to take a breath. I was second-guessing the choice to wear false eyelashes when the doorbell rang.
I grabbed my purse and my heavy winter wrap and opened the door. Standing in front of me was Porter, who looked every bit the part of Black James Bond. Damn, he looked good. And knowing Porter, that tux was custom-made. Instantly, I wanted to unravel his bow tie slowly, feeling the delicate silk run through my fingers, and use it to blindfold him. Or tie him up. All the dirty thoughts were running through my head.
“Wow. That dress! You look amazing, Ari,” said Porter as he bit his lip slightly. He was holding a corsage. I looked at him, a bit puzzled.
“A corsage, Porter?”
“I remembered you saying you didn’t go to the prom in high school. So, I thought I’d make up for lost time. You look amazing. Did I say that already?” Porter rubbed his hand over his softer, shorter curls.
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.