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Xavier held me tighter, like Ian would if I was dancing with him and Ian was reading my mind. I let out the kind of breath that left me knowing I was going to feel better about what happened someday.
“Thank you for looking out for me, X.”
“What? I get a sincere thank-you?”
“No, really. I know I’ve been a little hard on you. But I appreciate what you did.”
“Just looking out for my friends.”
“Friends?”
“Sure. We go way back. Once a Rattler always a Rattler.”
“Yeah. But I haven’t heard from you since we were Rattlers on the Yard,” I said.
“I figured you weren’t interested in hearing from me. All busy with your big-city Atlanta life. Making moves. Shaking and breaking.” He did a little shuffle and bent me backward into a dramatic dance competition dip that made everyone around us laugh.
“What about you? What have you been up to?”
“A little bit of this. A little bit of that.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Some slow O’Jays song I couldn’t remember the title to came on and Xavier slid his arms around my waist. It was a “move,” but I didn’t stop him. “God! I love this song,” I said as Xavier sang the words into my neck.
We danced to three more songs just like that.
I’d taken a few more deep breaths and had forgotten where I was. Beads of sweat trickled from the nape of my neck and down my back.
A song was ending. I felt Xavier clasp his hands on my waist. The beat kicked up and some Zydeco song started playing. The few people who’d sat down rushed back to the dance floor.
“Want to go for a walk?” Xavier asked me. “It’s hot as shit in here.”
Outside of a line of glass doors was a half-moon-shaped terrace with white light bulbs strung up overhead in random, romantic lines that would look like stars when the sun had fully set. The terrace was high up enough from the street that we couldn’t see what was going on or hear any noise other than the steady pulse of the Zydeco rhythms coming from inside the ballroom. Two of the young couples from the dance floor were already hugged up in one of the corners looking like they were avoiding their parents.
“Look at them?” Xavier said, nodding over his shoulder at the foursome, “The game never changes.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said, looking back into the room and wishing we’d stayed inside somehow. It was hot in there, but it was no competition for the heat outdoors, even though the sun was going down. I reasoned that at least there weren’t as many people outside.
Xavier had walked to the edge of the terrace. He was holding two full flutes of champagne he’d grabbed from one of the waitresses on the way outside.
“So, what’s really going on with you in Chicago? You dodged the question in there—the very elusive Mr. Xavier Hamilton.” I came up behind him.
He handed me one of the flutes.
“That’s Hamilton the third!” he pointed out and we laughed.
“Not much. Just trying to live in my father’s footsteps without scaring my own shadow. No easy feat for a brother.”
“Business good?”
“It’s great. Everything is great. But sometimes, you know, I wonder if this is what I really want.”
“Money? Success?” I joked.
“Well, money and success are nothing if it’s not what you want to do. This is my father’s empire. I want my own.”
“And what does Xavier Hamilton the third’s empire look like?”
“Hum . . .” Xavier scratched his forehead.
