a short story by Nosakhere “Nos” Kamau
She made her way toward W. Boy Scout Blvd. A place where boys with small talk & small minds supposedly don’t exist. An uncanny drop in temperature within the tropics permeates a natural desire to be held. Not with Sheila though. She enters the lounge with ego & Oro Blanco thoughts, yet settles for the Davidoff Yamasa Piramides. Her shit apparently is together: career, nice house, single-ish and rides a Big Brown 2022 Mercedes Sedan. Yet something is seemingly off/missing from the exterior togetherness she displays.
It’s Friday night, I guess that makes it all right..to engage in the repetitive fuckery that the night-life often offers. However this experience should be different right? I mean..It’s a “cigar lounge”. She’s mildly-impressed by the appearance of sophistication; some suited/booted, most casual & the occasional hipster in true experimental fashion forward form.
After her cigar purchase, she navigates towards the bar, the first lonely gigolo makes his play, & rightfully so..her (look-like)Valentino Galvani Stiletto’s are on point, elevating her height to around 5’8…these of course compliment the (seem-like) Balmain Mesh-Mini. She’s exquisitely shapely & fine. Leroy extends/damn near breaks his fucking neck to touch her (feel-like) long fur coat of mink & then he pitches….the curve/the undeniable conversation starter allocated for cigar cats around the globe: “What you smokin on”? Leroy is in full Bobby WoMACK mode, as if he were truly located within the indoor version of “Across 110th Street”. She gathers, rather begrudgingly & says: “What should I be smoking”? He holds up his 9x90 Asylum April Fools Cigar with a smirk that slightly reveals his gold fronts & says; “this Big Bad MF rightchea”! She looks at the cigar & then at him & begins laughing while walking away. She clearly is aware that Leroy is attempting to overcompensate for the “lack” he’s carrying.
As Sheila moves gracefully towards the bar, she begins questioning her choice of coming out tonight,…see Sheila has big thoughts & big dreams, so encountering the mundane/average on any level ain’t the desired fix. She takes a seat @ the bar, the bar tender appears, & she selects her beverage; “Clicquot-LGD please”. This draws the attention of lonely gigolo#2, Marvin. Marvin is a legitimate six-figga-nigga with a six-sigma black belt working for Honeywell. He quickly finishes his spirit and methodically edges his way toward Sheila. He daps up a few of the patrons while walking by, then calls out the bar-tender by name…as he gets closer, he orders; “Cindy, Blantons Neat please”…Sheila senses the pretentious-flex but lets it slide. They begin to dialogue for a solid 3 minutes, and it measures out to be tasteful. However..Right around the 3:23 mark of the conversation, Marvin alternates his drink to his left hand & sips. Sheila notices an endearing non-tanned circular mark on Marvin’s 4th finger, which the Sun neglected to touch. Sheila immediately shifts the conversation; “Tell me about your family”? Marvin’s awareness of the situation directed him to instantly adjust; “Family first, all else is subsidiary”. They continued on with the conversation for another couple of minutes & Marvin intentionally gets distracted by some homies that just walked-in.
Another stamped-validation moment for Sheila as to why she should’ve went her ass home after dinner. Regardless of the smoke, this is still a market for fresh meat, non-catering to the well-seasoned, rare, tender, oiled/spiced-veteran. That’s why Sheila has erected the philosophy of not constantly needing a man’s touch, and that love…would only conquer her head.
As she finished her second & last glass of champagne, she walks by the cigar isle designated/priced mostly for $7 cigars & under. A blue-collar gentleman fresh off the CAT - (Caterpillar Excavator) catches her attention. She proceeds to walk down the isle towards him and they make eye-contact; “good evening” he says: “would you like to make it great”?..says Sheila. Everybody knows from the coy little wink..she had one thing on her mind. Deebolius paid for his cigars & walked Sheila to her car.
They made haste in her brown sedan & drove near the airport strip. They made love…and by the take-off of the 7th plane, she knew she had a problem. Afterwards, they sat in the back of her sedan, opened the roof-top and both lit-up a Padron 2000.
“Real love is real scary..
Money only pays the rent.
Love is forever that's all my life
Love is heaven sent…it's glamorous”.
___________________________________ Plumeberg Media 2022