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Chapter 28
“I’m still not sure about Simi’s involvement. How do we know we can trust her for sure?” Aminah’s voice was angled with dry skepticism as I situated myself behind the DJ deck on the stage where Kofi had configured a complicated technical setup for live broadcast and ignored the curious looks being thrown my way.
“Look, the pop-upBrown Sugarepisode was my idea. Besides, she wouldn’t let me take up any extra attention at AfroWinter Ball,herevent, if she didn’t think it was necessary. You know she hates sharing the spotlight. She believes in this. And she’s been really cool these past few weeks.”
Simi had been checking in once a day to ensure I wasn’t bottling it and to also remind me that she doesn’t back losers, and her reputation was at stake too. So, she was supportive like a vaguely emotionally distant aristocratic parent of a perpetually disappointing child. She’d sent out a memo to the Blackwell populace as soon as I’d told her what I wanted to do.
The Teahouse
Wassup, Blackwellians. It’s your girl, Simi, and looks like Kiki Banjo is coming out of hiding to give us some sugar for the tea we’ve all been dying for, with a specialBrown Sugarepisode at the AfroWinter Ball! Get your tickets now! Proceeds as always will go to the Sickle Cell Foundation. Looks like it’ll be a night of glamour, drama, and mess, and I for one cannot wait. See you there!
Simi might as well have called the episode “Kiki Banjo Tells All.” She insisted she needed to make it sound salacious to draw people’s attention, and perhaps she was right. The room was packed, and as I gazed across it from the stage, I felt a little woozy from all the looks being thrown up at me in anticipation. It was strange looking down at them, shiny and colorful and beaming. I felt separate, and it didn’t feel right. I didn’t understand how I ever felt right before, preemptively cutting myself off from connection, choosing to feel nothing to avoid feeling hurt.
Aminah twitched her shoulder and sipped on a Lagos Island Iced Tea (same as a Long Island Iced Tea but generously free-poured), while passing me a Dakar Daquiri.
“Fine, I trust her if you trust her.” Aminah’s eyes drifted across the room. “Plus, I have to admit, the girl knows how to throw an event.”
Draped upon tables were mock prints of traditional patterns from different Black nations, each one named after a capital city; Chi and Shanti were sat at ours, Addis Ababa, with Ty and AJ hanging on to their every word as Kofi vacillated smoothly from amapiano to Afrobeats. It was an Afrotopia, Nkrumah’s dream, compacted into a midsized event hall often used for regional corporate seminars.
It was while eyeing the room that I noticed a ripple in the atmosphere of the hall. I craned my neck to see who had entered to cause the shift, the thickening crowd turning toward the entrance. Simi stepped in, resplendent and refined in a strapless pink Ankara ball gown that poofed at the waist, glitter eyes, looking like both the competition and the prize, and on her arm was Adwoa in a black tux with kente trimmings, dapper, head half-shaven, crisp, with intricate cornrows crisscrossed on the other side of her head, cumulating into a ponytail of plaits.
I grinned as Aminah gasped. “What?” She turned to me, eyes wide and incredulous. “You knew and didn’t tell me?”
I shrugged. “I didn’tknowknow. Besides, I didn’t think it was for me to tell.”
Aminah leaned against the table and rapped elegant fingers beneath her chin as she squinted at the couple in fascination and awe. “This is such an iconic relationship reveal. Dramatic, glamorous. No questions need to be asked because this is the full statement. PR genius. I think I like her so much more now.”
Simi kissed Adwoa on the cheek before immediately snapping into organizer mode and making a beeline for the stage. The crowd parted for her, her power and ironic imperviousness to gossip searing through it, her sharp eyes terse and deeply painted lips pulled into a brusque line. She hitched the skirt of her dress up as she floated up the stairs and toward the table I was sat at.
She flicked a vaguely approving look at my outfit, before nodding briskly. “Okay, so you know the schedule? Dancing, chilling, and then you’re on for half an hour while dinner is being served, just before the AfroWinter Ball royalty announcements. I have all the technical stuff set up. Are you set? Because I really can’t deal with you bothering me with questions throughout this thing.”
Aminah took a sip of her drink and muttered, “I’ve changed my mind about the last part.”
Simi ran her eyes across Aminah. “By the way, I don’t want any extra drama tonight aside from the one that I have agreed to, so if you’re going to fight with your little DJ about how he’s flirting with Zuri Isak right now, please wait till after the party, because music is kind of necessary to this whole thing.”
Aminah’s face fell and we turned to look at the DJ booth to see that, indeed, Zuri Isak, in a dress fashioned from kanga that boasted a deep plunge and a fitted silhouette, was tilting her head and pointing to Kofi’sdeck in a way girls did when they were asking questions about things they didn’t give a shit about to cajole a man’s attention. Zuri slipped in front of Kofi and he leaned over to her to show her the various buttons and sliding knobs, then, in a devilishly artful move, she turned around so their lips were precariously close to each other’s, and giggled. If I wasn’t loyally horrified, I would have been incredibly impressed by the smoothness of her technique. Aminah and I gasped simultaneously.
My mouth dropped open. “What the fuck?”
Aminah’s voice was level and dark. “Is he serious?”
Simi sighed as if this was all slightly plebian theatrics. “Alright, well. I’m going to go and make sure everything is okay at the voting station. I’ve made precautions to ensure that Zack hasn’t gotten to the counters and promised them access to his table at FreakyFridayz but best to keep across it. I’ll see you later.”
She hesitated before putting a light hand on my shoulder and squeezing, then swiftly and elegantly sashayed away.
Aminah scratched the side of her nose and smiled widely, nodding rapidly, terrifying with faux nonchalance. “This is why he’s a DJ, innit.”
I chilled. Earnest use of Britishslang? She was beside herself.
She pulled up a chair and sat beside me. “Of course he’s good at spinning when all he does is spin lies and deceit.” I refrained from saying that DJs didn’t actually spin records anymore.
“Why wouldn’t man wanna be a music producer,” Aminah said, “when all he knows is to push people’s buttons?”
Aminah was jabbing the air with sharp acrylics, eyes narrowed, making her lashes look like fanned daggers as she stared in the direction of Kofi. Indeed, when I turned to pree what she was looking at so I could tell her that it surely wasn’t as bad as it seemed, I was faced with Kofi’s arm around Zuri as she held a headphone pad to her ear. Kofi’s gaze flicked toward Aminah’s almost imperceptibly, before turning back to Zuri.
I bit my lip. I didn’t think I’d ever seen Kofi give attention to a girlthat wasn’t Aminah. “Huh. Okay. Yes. He’s trying to make you jealous. Which is a really dick move that doesn’t sound like Kofi. Did something happen between you guys?”
Aminah’s mask of fury shook a little, and I caught a glimpse of something softer. She took a hold of it, fixed it properly on her face, and frowned. “Why does something have to have happened? Why can’t you just accept that he’s being a prick for no reason?! Stop trying to rationalize this, Kiki. This isn’t one of yourBrown Sugardilemmas. Is it because you made up with Rianne that you’re feeling all kumbaya?”
