III
1779 Words
The jet lands with a shudder, and its powerful engines groan to a halt. We didn't say anything throughout the flight and it's since he spoke with his father.
A man, presumably the Fernando he spoke with on the phone, strides towards us. He's flanked by two women, each carrying a briefcase. He bows slightly as he greets Floyd, the women mimicking his gesture.
"We should be ready in thirty minutes," Floyd announces to Fernando. Fernando strides away, leaving the women.
“Get to work, give her a red carpet treat, make her fit for the White House,” Floyd instructs the women.
It is not a scary moment yet my heart beats faster. Me? A VIP treat?
They begin immediately, stripping me down to my bra and panties. I feel a lump in my throat but I immediately shrug off the feeling. The goal of the date is to satisfy Floyd so why not?
They haul out a makeup box overflowing with tools and begin meticulously toning my skin. They work their magic on my face, applying costumes, a wig that transforms my hair into a sleek cascade of silken auburn, jewels that sparkle with an otherworldly brilliance, shoes that elevate my stature, a new purse that feels soft and luxurious against my fingers, and a brand new iPhone 16. The latest
In thirty minutes, I’m a completely different person, a metamorphosis complete. A mirror is held before me, revealing a stranger staring back. My eyes widen and I feel like touching the mirror. I didn't know I could look so royal.
“We're done,” the lead woman declares.
“How much?” Floyd asks.
“4.5 million dollars,” she replies, unflinching.
I gasp, my eyes widening. Floyd reaches into his pocket and pulls out a credit card.
“4.5 million dollars for my date?” he scoffs, his words jarring me out of my stunned silence. “Isn't that cheap?”
“It's the same treat I gave the Mayor's daughter on her birthday,” the woman says.
$4.5 just for my appearance? I have a chance to make a wish… “Maybe I should just ask for 5 million, or ten.”
The women pack up and leave. He reaches for my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine and pulls me towards the exit.
“Let’s go.”
A Ferrari, its gleaming red paint catching the light, awaits us. Fernando waits behind the wheel. As we speed through the city, Floyd remains silent and his gaze is fixed on the road.
The only sound is the hum of the engine and the rush of wind whipping past the windows. Finally, he breaks the silence.
“You're with me today,” he says. “Reject all approaches, especially from my father. Tell them, or him, that you’re with Floyd. For emphasis, you’re with Floyd.” His words feel like a mix of warning and a silent threat hanging in the air.
It’s the third thing I noticed about him after being decisive and jealous. He is not on good terms with his father.
His words send shivers down my spine. It is like I’m about to walk into a world of power, wealth, and untold complexities, a world where relationships are as volatile as they are intricate.
The White House.
The entrance hall is a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors. The sound of slow blues emanates from a grand piano. The air buzzes with electric energy. The hum of whispered conversations mingles with the clinking of champagne glasses.
I take a deep breath and still, it does not work. My feet shake like they are on pins and needles. I feel like a speck in a vast ocean of elegance and wealth.
I feel like a fish out of water, a stark contrast to the impeccable suits and gowns even though I am in a costly one too.
“All these people have seen me before,” Floyd whispers in my ear. “They are looking at you.”
I feel a nervous tremor run through me when I notice it. The weight of their gaze feels like a tangible pressure. We’re escorted to a table in the center of the hall. Champagne flutes are placed in our hands.
I take a sip to calm down, and still, my mind, which is a whirlwind of thoughts, continues to wander. Me? Here?
This place is the heart of power, the epicenter of influence. These are the people who shape the world, the billionaires and dignitaries who hold the reins of power.
Suddenly, Floyd breaks the silence.
“That is the upcoming governor,” he says, pointing to a man in a crisp blue suit. “From the party the Howards are backing. He is a friend of mine. That one,” he points to another, “is the crown prince. He is a childhood friend.”
I nod. What to do?
A man approaches our table and whispers into Floyd's ears. "I'll be back," Floyd says. When he stands, his gaze momentarily locks with mine, a silent message passing between us.
I nod, remembering his warning.
A photographer approaches and asks for a shot. “Take it. Take more,” I say, for the memory of the place and the feeling. I need it.
After a couple of shots, a young man approaches. "I am Councilman Tate," he says. “Are you alone?” He extends his hand towards me.
“No,” I say. "I'm with Floyd.”
“Oh, Floyd. I know him. But can I at least have your number? We can go out sometimes.”
"I'm sorry," I say. “No!”
Tate leans in and bites his lips.
"You know, you’re with Floyd for today only. We all know how he does things. Tomorrow, you'll be free. You'll be with me, innit?”
“No,” I reply and take another sip.
Tate’s smile falters. He gives me a calculating look, then turns away.
The man who approaches next is older. I reckon him to be in his late forties. He stares at me and then stands above me.
I gasp and lower my eyes. What have I done? I wonder.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“I’m…I...” I stammer, my mind suddenly blank. I’m nobody.
"She's my date,” Floyd appears beside me and suddenly pulls me up. His hand rests lightly on my waist. “Lakeisha, meet my father, the ‘High’ Hugh Howard as generally known."
Again, I gasp and my chest heaves. He looks so young to be Floyd's father. But that is what it means to live in money and abundance. You have that thing called ‘Babyface’.
Hugh extends his hand, his eyes never leaving mine. I take it, and he kisses the back of my palm.
This is Floyd’s father, the man who built the empire that defines Summerlit, my hometown. I remember the stories, whispered in hushed tones, of his ruthless ambition and unparalleled wealth. The stories of a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
“Oh, my God!” Hugh exclaims, his voice laced with surprise. “She looks just like her.”
“Yes,” Floyd replies. “That’s why I’m with her.”
“Like who?” I wonder.
Hugh continues. “You're the spitting image of power and wealth as I want it. Do you know what power and wealth are to me? I will do anything to have them. Again, you look like a clone of her. Just like I did everything to have her back then.”
“But you didn't do anything to keep her,” Floyd cuts in.
“Floyd, we can't do that here,” Hugh says and turns back to me. “You are beyond mundane, Lakeisha.”
I feel a flush of heat rising in my cheeks. These words, the way he’s looking at me, it’s all unsettling. It feels like he’s not just observing me, but evaluating me, dissecting me.
“Thank you, Sir,” I murmur, trying to maintain a semblance of composure.
I steal a glance at Floyd, his face taut with tension. His eyes flash with anger, then he stares ahead, his jaw clenched tight. I feel a tremor run through me and then I recoil my lips into a firm.
"Floyd," Hugh says.
"Father, no!" Floyd responds, shaking his head.
I wonder what is going on. Then I get it.
“Floyd, we know you,” Hugh continues. “She’s just for today. Tomorrow, you’ll be with another.” He leans in close to me, his breath warm against my cheek. “Lakeisha, will you marry me?”
"Father, no!" Floyd's voice erupts. "This is different. She's my girlfriend.”
I lower my eyes.
"No, Floyd, I know that's a lie," Hugh replies. “All right, my refinery in Texas…”
“No!”
“My island mansion on Lake Tremora…”
“No!”
“My telecommunication company…”
"Father, she is my girlfriend. You're not having her."
“Now listen, Floyd,” Hugh frowns and I sense anger. “In three days, after Christmas, I'll check. If she is not with you, I will find her and do whatever I please with her. I will marry her and you will be my best man.”
“Father, that's a dream. It is not happening,” Floyd insists.
Hugh stares at me for a moment, his eyes taking in every detail. Then, he turns and walks away.
"Keisha,” Floyd says and closes the distance between us. This is the closest we have come. His eyes hold a flicker of vulnerability and I can see it. “No woman has spent more than six hours with me, and you'll be the first. You look like my late mother, but you're not her. However, that man has gotten all he ever wanted in life. But his lust for power took my mother away. Still, he didn't see it as a loss because he could find her in another woman. I can't find my mother in other women. For the first time, I will hand him his loss, and that’s you. You will stay with me for the next three days and he will never have you. Okay?"
“Okay,” I manage to whisper.
“And you’ll have three wishes to make,” he says. “I'll grant whatever it is.”
An idea pops into my head. It's reckless and dangerous, but a glimmer of hope shines through.
"Can I ask him to marry me?” Maybe. Maybe not.
- Writer
