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2 LA’BELLE EVANS

JULY 4TH

Siani had been on my ass about this rooftop day party at some spot in Williamsburg, put on by some nigga named Tariq that she’d been entertaining for the past month.

“Just come,” she whined on the phone that morning. I’d just gotten back from Pilates and was sipping on the smoothie I’d picked up on the way home. “It’s an open bar, good music, and Riq said it’s gonna be a good crowd.”

“A good crowd by whose standards?” I asked, already knowing she was about to oversell it.

“The nigga booked out the rooftop of The Landon. That’s not cheap, Lala.”

Touché.

The Landon pulled a certain crowd—young, Black, moneyed, people who wanted to be seen. If this Tariq managed to lock that down, he either had big money or access to somebody who did. Either way, my interest was piqued.

Slightly.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

We both knew that meant yes.

After a quick nap, I stood in my closet, eyeing my options. I told myself it wasn’t that serious, but I couldn’t go anywhere looking any type of way, regardless if I was going to add a man to my roster or not. I went with a printed linen set—wide-leg pants and a cropped top. I wrapped a silk scarf around my head, securing my leave-out like my life depended on it, while my freshly installed bundles still flowed over my shoulders. I added a pair of gold hoops, kept my makeup light, and slipped into my favorite Fendi sandals before giving myself one last look in the mirror. Perfect. My mother always said I should be able to walk in a room and command it—make every man in it stupid for me. Regina Evans was a lot of things, but she damn sure wasn’t wrong about that.

As I made my way down to the lobby, I looked at the Instagram post Siani sent me. Now I had a general idea of the tax bracket we’d be walking into.

She was waiting for me in a little orange dress that stopped at her thigh and hugged her slim-thick body.

“You look ready to make a nigga spend some bread tonight,” she gushed as she pulled me into a hug.

“They better, or else I’m not going anywhere with you for the rest of the summer.”

“Girl, lie again,” she laughed. “We’ll be able to see the fireworks tonight.”

“I could see them from my apartment, Si.” I rolled my eyes, but a smile still slipped through. Siani never took my attitude personally—she knew it wasn’t about her.

I just didn’t like walking into situations blind. If I was going to give something my time, it needed to make sense.

Fun was cool.

Getting paid was better.

The Uber dropped us off a little after five. Music drifted down to where we were on the sidewalk. It wasn’t obnoxious, but loud enough to know it was already a vibe.

We made our way through the lobby and to the private elevators that went up to the roof. When the doors opened, I had to admit—it was nice.

There was a floral wall set up for pictures with one of those robotic cameras like they had at award shows, and a long bar running the length of the back wall with four bartenders working to keep up with the crowd.

The view was immaculate. The DJ was set up so the Jersey skyline and the George Washington Bridge were in the distance behind her. Everywhere I looked, there were beautiful women in sundresses, niggas with fresh shape ups and drinks in everyone’s hands. It was like someone bottled up the summertime energy of the city and placed it here on the rooftop.

“Riq!” Siani squealed, dragging me in the direction of the bar. I followed her gaze and spotted him easily. Light-skinned, tall and lean—early thirties, maybe. He was a cutie for sure, but it was the way his face opened up when he saw her that told me everything I needed to know.

Baby boy was sprung real bad.

“Ayyy, you made it!” He hugged her tightly, lifting her slightly off the ground.

She giggled and smoothed her dress as he set her down. “This is my friend, Belle,” she said, turning to me.

He extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”