Violet Summer Zine Issue 3 - Page 35

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 in- cluded 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 furnish- ings, 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 differ- ent 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. For now, my in-real- time porn desires sufficed, and I was ready for bed. I brushed my teeth, took my vitamins and meditated with this app on my phone. By now, Kiara and her meeting were asleep given the noise that subsided. So I closed the door and felt asleep with a pillow between my legs. When I awoke the next morning, it was 8 AM. The sun was shining, and the beach looked good for a run. Before I took off to catch some rays, I went over to give Kiara a heads up. I was sure the professional left since I had awakened to a door slam in the middle of the night, which usually marked the end of a one- stand exit. However, Kiara or her mystery man weren’t in bed. I walked swiftly over to the bathroom quarters and didn’t hear the shower running either. The phone in the hotel room rang, and I ran to the nearest phone in the bath- room. “Oui?” I said out of breath. “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 make- up 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. *