Page 72 of Omar

He took me shopping the next afternoon. Cee drove us to SoHo and Supreme held the car door open for me like a gentleman, his hand finding the small of my back as we walked toward the first store. The boutique was all white walls, gold fixtures, and a saleswoman who looked at Supreme's watch before she looked at his face.

"My girl needs something special," Supreme told her. "Whatever she wants."

The saleswoman smiled at me. I smiled back. Two women performing for the same man for different reasons.

Supreme picked out a dress from the rack before I'd even started looking. Deep green, fitted, something you'd wear to a dinner where everyone was watching. He held it up against me, one hand on the hanger, the other on my waist.

"Try this on, baby."

"I was looking at the blue one."

"The green's better. Trust me." He kissed my temple. "Go put it on. Let me see."

I took the dress to the fitting room. The saleswoman followed me in, helped me with the zipper, told me I had a beautiful figure. I stood in front of the mirror looking at myself in a dress I hadn't chosen, picked by a man I hadn't chosen, and I smiled because the saleswoman was watching.

"Gorgeous," she said.

I came out and stood in front of Supreme. He leaned back in the velvet chair they'd brought for him, his legs spread, his chin in his hand, studying me like I was a painting he was considering purchasing.

"Turn around," he said.

I turned.

"Yeah." He nodded slowly. "That's the one. We'll take it."

"Premie, I haven't even looked at anything else..."

"You don't need to. That dress was made for you." He pulled out his card and handed it to the saleswoman without looking at the price. "Wrap it up. And whatever shoes go with it."

The saleswoman chose the shoes. Supreme approved them. I stood there while they discussed heel height and color matching like I was furniture being accessorized.

He bought me a coat at the next store. Long, camel-colored, expensive. I told him I didn't need a coat and he laughed and said baby it's Brooklyn you always need a coat. The shop assistant folded it into tissue paper while Supreme stood behind me with his arms around my waist, his chin on my shoulder, telling me how good I was going to look in it.

His generosity was a cage with a bow on it. Every gift was a brick in the wall he was building around me. Every "whatever you want, baby" was a reminder that what I wanted didn't matter because he'd already decided.

In the car on the way to dinner his hand was on my thigh, his thumb drawing circles. "You deserve nice things, baby. I want you to have everything."

Everything except freedom. Everything except a choice.

The restaurant in Williamsburg had exposed brick, candlelight, a hostess who called Supreme by name. He pulled my chair out, adjusted it for me, then sat across the table with his elbows on the white cloth.

"We'll have the ribeye for two," he told the waiter before I'd opened the menu. "Medium rare. The lobster mac as a starter. And she'll have the Caesar, no croutons, light dressing."

"I actually wanted the salmon," I said.

Supreme looked at me across the candles. His smile didn't change but something behind his eyes recalibrated. "Baby, the ribeye here is incredible. Trust me. You'll love it."

"I'm sure it's great. I just feel like salmon tonight."

The waiter stood there with his pen hovering, his eyes going between us. Supreme reached across the table and took my hand. His grip was warm, firm. His thumb pressed against my knuckles.

"Get the ribeye," he said softly. "For me."

I looked at his hand on mine. At his thumb on my knuckles. At the waiter standing there waiting. At the other diners around us eating their food, living their normal lives, having no idea what was happening at this table.

"The ribeye sounds great," I told the waiter.

Supreme squeezed my hand and smiled. "See? I know what my baby likes."