Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to happen.
We stop at a traffic signal and watch some touristy-looking white folks pass through the crosswalk. A few years ago, a white person wouldn’t be caught dead in Inglewood unless they were trying to buy drugs or ass. Nowadays, they’re up and down Crenshaw.
“Receive any more offers on your granny’s home?” Tasha asks.
“About once a month,” I reply as I watch Karen and the Gentrifiers talk about whatever white girls do in those TV shows. Since the new NFL stadium is being built here, land in Inglewood has become a hot commodity.
Of course, when land becomes a hot commodity, the home and rent prices naturally go up. A few people have already sold their homes and got the hell out of Inglewood as fast as they could. Others are trying to find some gigs to make ends meet.
“Are you going to sell it?” Tasha asks. I know she’s low-key worried about not having a place to stay because it would mean she would actually have to become an adult and pay rent.
“I don’t know yet.” I honestly answer. “I have to see how the market does within the next year or two before I can entertain any offers. Right now they’re just lowballing me and they hope because I’m young enough, that also equates to me being dumb enough.”
“I heard the city was trying to create condos and townhomes in the area and they want to buy up all the land to make room for it.” Tasha states. “I’m sure your Granny’s home is on that land they want to purchase.”
“Makes sense.” I shrug. The thought of selling my Granny’s home has come across my mind more times that I want to admit. It’s a duplex with me and Tasha being in one home, and my auntie being in the other.
If I ever decide to sell it, I would have to inform everyone involved and I don’t know if I’m comfortable knowing Tasha and my auntie might not be able to stay in the neighborhood because they can’t afford it.
On the same tip, if this arrangement with Savior goes through, I won’t be at home to enjoy it and let’s face it, every person dreams of leaving their hometown. Some come back, some stay gone. But everyone has that dream of leaving and seeing what’s out there.
I would get mad about the blatant gentrification going on but a part of it is also the neighborhood’s fault. No one was protesting the predatory paycheck loans and gig economy hustles like those ride shares and how they predominantly post in the black and brown neighborhoods.
No one cares about how certain ads during the daytime are only aired on channels where the viewership is usually black and brown folk. No one was protesting about how there are a dime a dozen hair salons but no one owns a beauty supply shop, where the real money is.
No one cares about drug dealers, prostitution, and gangbanging until an innocent person is killed. Then all of a sudden, everyone is a damn community activist, holding up Black Lives Matter signs, knowing they know someone would kill another person for looking at them the wrong way or worst yet, wearing the wrong color.
But they don’t hear me, tho.
~~~~~
I’m at the law firm at nine o’clock sharp.
As my feet click-clack through the shiny polished floors of a downtown L.A. skyscraper, my stomach is cinched with nervousness I haven’t felt since I lost my virginity way back when. I stand behind a group of people at the elevator, and only one name is on my mind – Savior.
Ever since he’d surprised me by showing up at home a couple days ago – and giving me the best head of my entire life – I had a lot to think about. This white boy really wants to pay for my tuition as long as I can be his fuck toy. He even gave me a car to sweeten the deal.
The offer sounds tempting and I’m sure there are a dozen women who would look at me sideways for eventhinkingabout the offer when they would’ve said yes. But I know the type of guy Savior Ellison is. Those thick, invisible strings he has with his offer are obvious and let’s face it, there’s no such thing as a free lunch.
Even if the free lunch comes with an incredible tongue that can pleasure you just right.
I did my homework on one Savior Ellison. Graduated with top honors from USC, both undergrad and law school.His father, Thomas, made the rounds of the talk show pundits, appearing anywhere from CNN to ‘We Hate Anyone Brown’ aka Fox News to local TV stations.
Being a well-respected civil rights lawyer, Thomas helped start the law firm and is still active in the black community to this day.Seeing his profile, I do recall seeing him and probably didn’t think anything of it. I try not to get into politics just because I don’t believe there’s a purpose of getting upset when at the end of the day, I’ll still be screwed.
It seems like Savior is passionate about his work but he’s the complete opposite of his daddy. Coined “The Silent Lawyer” by the press, Savior never gives any press conferences or interviews. He would rather his work in the courtroom speak for itself. He’s considered to be one of the best urban development lawyers in the nation and has a track record of winning that’ll make Johnnie Cochran smile.
He’s been honored by the NAACP, and other civil rights groups from all over. A bit more digging revealed he pledged Kappa Alpha Psi and I don’t know why I’m surprised he’s a Nupe when he fits the perfect profile of one. He’s a philanthropist and gives an insane amount of money to various causes every year.
To any woman, Savior would be a catch and looking at his dating life, I imagine he is. Every woman he was spotted with looked a certain way – tall, leggy, and usually blonde. I’m short, thick, and bald. I’m everything but what he’s looking for.
The realization sets in. I don’t know why I entertained the thought of being Savior’s girlfriend when it’s clear he only wants sex and give me something in return so I don’t feel he’s wasting my time. I wasn’t stupid enough to start writing Keisha Ellison with little heart emojis and happy faces.
I never had the chance.
I straighten my shoulders and go straight to my desk. I have a list of assignments I need to do. Awesome. I’ll be busy enough so I won’t be distracted. Before I can do any work, I have serious business to take care of.
I walk straight to Savior’s office where I’m greeted by a smiling Easton. He’s dressed in his Neiman Marcus finest, staying Coogi down to the socks. “Hello, Miss Keisha,” his effeminate voice has just the right amount of masculinity to it, “how was your weekend?”
