Sanity Addiction Part 2

Sanity Addiction

Pt. 2

words by: melissa henderson

In May, the universe led me to the South of France with my new business partner, Kiara. We had been planning the trip for a few weeks, and the last stop to our destination was Hotel Francois. It was an old property set alongside the Atlantic Ocean on the Bay of Biscay and is the original vacation home of princess Marquisa St Claire and Prince Kareem of Nigeria. Since 1849, this imperial palace was a token of Prince Kareem’s love for his wife. Once known as Villa Marquisa, the property became a Hotel in 1956 when the Nigerian royalty wanted to embark on their European journey. They would make a stop at their Diamond business in London then take the train to Paris to the South of Versailles. Their thriving diamond business charmed Parisians to come to Nigeria to own exclusive pieces that glistened like the natural oil the country also harvested. The villa has since hosted some of the world’s most prestigious black writers, fashion designers, and political aficionados of the Caribbean and various countries along the Ivory Coast. Kiara and I thought it was an honor to be hosted by the hotel after slaving away in our factory for the entire summer.

I had recently quit my job at an upscale restoration company because I simply had enough of inhaling dangerous chemicals, ridiculous fashion drama, and laughable paychecks. So when I arrived to the South of France on Rail Europe with a yearning for the beach, a little bit of jewelry business and relaxation, I didn’t think I would find myself at the same beach escape that Josephine Baker use to frequent. In the heart of Basque Country, little did I know I was in for the ultimate escape.

It was a Monday around 11 AM when I arrived at the palace along the edge of the sea. The journey took five hours, and with each moment the French landscape became warmer dryer, and more exotic. I got my first glimpse of Hotel Francois and all its grandeur when our taxi came around the corner of a small street and revealed a royal palace fit for black excellence. As the sun hit the purple-and-cream-colored seaside villa, it radiated a power that one can only experience in person. I had arrived in paradise.

The concierge staff greeted me at the gates with welcoming gestures; they took my bags and ushered me to the front desk. The hotel’s aroma smelled like Princess Marquisa’s wedding fragrance. The brass key that opened the room was attached to a vintage orange fringe keychain. If luxury is all in the details, then this is just a simple accessory that made each moment of my stay memorable.

By the time I checked in, Kiara had logged onto Connections, a site the combined all social media networks, dating sites, and shopping sites into one platform. She was desperate to find a hot international vendor so she could gain Visa Sponsorship and be the bi- continental girl she always hoped to be. The African - American blonde wig wearer was single but always in some dramatic, unhealthy relationship. She blamed it on her African - American heritage. Her good genes gave her ahuge ass, tiny waist, and natural abs. Deep down, she was lonely and enjoyed our business relationship. We often shared suites because it was closer to move around with our separate spaces. Our rooms joined even though we had separate entrances with keys. It was easier to look out for each other this way. Plus we had separate balconies overlooking the ocean and town. It was breathtaking. I ran over to the windows and drew back the drapes to reveal a vista that took my breath away.

While I left Kiara to her matchmaking, I scanned my email inbox; my eyes fixated on an email from my colleagues. We were all waiting to get paid from an international vendor. I was owed $20,000 thanks to my shitty business habits of having lenient payment terms. There were twenty threads by the time I chimed in on the subject of the vendor getting its own hashtag on Twitter. The hashtag had even made the All Things Considered segment on National Public Radio. As I munched on the dish of fresh strawberries that guest services left on my hotel room’s dresser, I read the email like a gossip column! “I didn’t get paid yet. It’s been two months since I submitted my invoice,” one angry designer exclaimed. “The managing director isn’t answering my emails,” another annoyed tailor wrote in a separate email.

“Mel!” Kiara called from the room next door. I dozed off for a few minutes on the love seat. I was exhausted from reading about all the drama taking place in the US. “I am meeting up with this guy I just connected with on Linkedin. He’s an architect from Liberia, and we’re going to talk about my dream office space, “ she informed me. I looked up from staring out at the ocean from my balcony entrance.

“Is this record breaking networking time for you?!” I responded sarcastically. Networking and doing all the smooching required for conducting business the Anglo Saxon, Trump - ish, activity was insanely annoying to me now that I was running a million dollar business on my terms. I just didn’t see the point with my lifestyle. I was a few weeks away from getting married at the courthouse with a guy that treated me like an actual Queen. I didn’t need to talk to anyone who wasn’t important to me. Kiara’s agenda was why she was the head of client relations in our business. We were in the South of France to do business - my priority was figuring out where my vendor’s check was, finding a new creative director, and production warehouse by the beach. Kiara’s agenda was getting laid and spray tanned. (yes, black girls tan, too).

“ Hello, Melanie! Snap out of jet lag?! Listen, I’m going to get wine and cigarettes from the convenience store a few blocks away. The guy I’m meeting is also bringing green and samples of his marble. Be back soon. Try to get into a better mood.” Kiara knew me so well, and she wasn’t afraid to read me to thilf and back if I needed it. We’d been through a lot doing business that was sometimes janky. She would be gone for at least four hours which gave me just enough time to take a long shower, call the US, and get ready for dinner. But I ended up passing out again on the love seat for a few hours again. The room was just too dreamy not to feel totally at peace and go to sleep. I awoke to the sound of moans coming from Kiara’s hotel room. After being away from home for a few weeks, I longed for the daily intimacy my partner would shower me with as romantic as it was normal. I didn’t mind Kiara’s sexual escapades. I was living vicariously through her social life when we were abroad on business and she loved it. That’s why she left the door open that connected our rooms. I reached for my phone to look at the time and saw that my screen was littered with notifications from social media, two missed FaceTime calls from my lover, and bank announcements. It was 10:30 PM. I got up from the velvet vintage Louis Vuitton sofa in my silk robe and quietly tiptoed to the door to the pathway of the moans. There she was getting it on with some tall, dark and middle aged Afrocubano. I started to get aroused at this very act. This trip was more like a fantasy than an actual business proposition and speaking of such Kiara made eye contact with me as she was in reverse cowgirl position. How adventurous! I smirked as she signaled me to come over but I flirted back in hesitation. Even though I ventured into her personal space, it was my intention to pour a glass of rose that was open on the nightstand. I wasn’t going that far. I knew my older twenty-something limits. Besides, sex was normal, and I didn’t want to cock block on her session. After all, we were in Europe; not some nude resort in Montego Bay, Jamaica.

I eventually made my way to my room and decided to fall in love with the interiors. It was decorated in Tribal style furnishing from the days of King Kareem, which included dark brown chestnut wood with maroon and deep red velvet embellishments. There were several crystal chandeliers; one on the ceiling as the primary source of lighting and one that framed each side of my bed. I imagined a young beautiful Maya Angelou vacationing in this very room and getting inspired by the smell, the furnishings, and the desires brought on by the vast blue sea. I opened my laptop and worked on the analytics of one of my upcoming digital campaigns, a lifestyle video game. I had been designing the characters, location, and clothing for the past two years and it was finally coming to fruition. I had managed to bring on advertisers from all different backgrounds, including the diamond owner who managed this very hotel. I sent a few emails and then called my lover across the world who was also privy to working long hours as a professional. I loved that part of our relationship. I was so over the “Melanie - who - doesn’t -respect - herself - phase - that - she - binge - drinks - and -gives - corny - dudes - her - time.” Something in my life clicked, and I’m pretty sure it had to do with getting older and thinking about my future.

“Melanie! Come get me; I’m in the back of - ahh!” Kiara’s voice was abruptly cut off by screams and dragged to the background as another guy got on the phone. “I need $300,000 in 84 hours or your friend will be trafficked to the Albanian mafia by boat leaving from La Ferme. Call me back in exactly 8 hours for an update. +01 984 9847. “ He said in a deep Russian accent. “Hello!?@?!?” Who the fuck are you?” I said. He didn’t seem like the Afrocubano from last night. But then again, he uttered less than five words to me, how could I possibly figure out his bluff? I went into a panic but remember why I was on this team and how we broke through to our financial freedom to become devastatingly chic millionaires who still wear pieces from Joyce Leslie. I ran over to my suit case, grabbed my automatic gun, bullets out of my makeup bag, and shoved it in my purse. I put on my heeled boots, glossed my lips, threw on my leather jacket and got ready to take back my business partner. In this world, nothing surprised me. *