"She got me hotter than a oven the way that she talk... Kick it wit me girl I can mold yo life... let me be yo manager..." OVERNIGHT CELEBRITY BY TWISTA X KANYE WEST
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"Girrrl what da fuck is dat in that fucking trunk," Fran hisses to me underneath her fake smile.
"I have no idea," I breathe back as the concierge of this classic, vintage theatre styled nightspot moves to the side for us.
Thankful to Drew for making this my second time in Jersey and not my first, I stare at the city lights.
Dazzling, Fran and I control our excitement at the rich glitz of these mob socialites exiting limousines, diamonds flashing, sparkling sounds and unfamiliar music making the air throb. As we approach Grucees in designer shit, ready for the mafia shit, with RJ leading the way and Dre following up the rear...
Out of my space, in outer fuckin' space, everything is a blur of richness, all in the air, mob money feels and smells surround us as we mix in, strangely alert but cast into another zone.
"Drink," Fran hisses in my ear and hands me a glass of champagne, and I down mine like she does. I stare at a bitch's diamonds and rubies, a Bob Mackie gown, and grab two more glasses off another tray as it floats by. I hand one to Fran.
I gulp this one down too. I glance and see Dre throwin' some champagne back too and he hands Fran another glass as bubbles tickle my nose.
"This way. To the cigar room where my father usually sits in private," RJ leans in and tells me, lightly guiding my elbow. I swallow down nervousness, fear, and anticipation, thrilled by the deep red velvet ropes and dark luxury surrounding me. I think of Drew, and wish he was here as I gaze at couples dancing, and I force myself to count the Black people in the room as I notice very few.
"Isn't that fucking Matthew Knowles?" Fran hisses, and my eyes buck- damn shol is! I stare for an eon I realize, and I hurry to avert my eyes so I won't look so country but damn. That was Matthew fucking Knowles standing in a private mob ass club in Jersey, in a tiny huddle with three, rich White men.
"Lilliana! Move yourself!" I hear a man say, and I stare at the pretty rich bitch he's talking to, because she's taking up the whole couch in this area like she at home.
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