I slipped into the lavatory to change. Thankfully Sam had purchased more than enough outfits. I was prepared. Prepared and in flight, headed for my next planned chance encounter and an evening with Langston. Langston Jefferson Battle III, super attorney turned city councilman, and now running for United States Congress.

A chunk of Tavis Smiley, lumps of Larry Elder, a dash of Clarence Thomas, and a sprinkle of Jesse Jackson, Langston was a political gumbo. Sharp. So articulate you’d think he was born with a silver dictionary in his mouth. Very opinionated and outspoken. He didn’t believe in gray areas. People were either good or bad, for you or against you. Langston was born a third-generation Republican but defected to the even more extremist right wing Libertarian party.

Langston hated the idea of reparations. He often said the only winner in the fight for reparations would be the Cadillac dealerships. Affirmative action crippled the black man, making him lazy, complacent, and dependent upon handouts. In Langston’s opinion, the Million Man March was more about selling bootleg T-shirts, bean pies, and pictures of Farrakhan than it was providing a platform for economic empowerment.

Langston was definitely a piece of work. We met at a political rally at Temple. He was there lecturing about how Blacks needed to be more politically savvy and more involved in the laws that shape their communities. Looking good, standing tall. I felt like Diana Ross in Mahogany yelling “I want my man back!”

After he’d finished speaking, Sheree forced me to introduce myself. Actually, she didn’t have to force me at all. I was planning on doing it anyway. But her prodding made it look less intentional. We locked eyes, exchanged numbers, and began dating shortly thereafter.

Langston was educated at the finest schools. The kind of man that knows the difference between a fish fork and a salad fork. As far as looks were concerned, Langston was no doubt a first class carry-on. Always on time, and if for some reason he was running late, he always called ahead to let me know. He was considerate but very precise. Like I said before, with Langston, there was no gray area. He liked what he liked, wanted what he wanted, and he was used to getting what he liked and having what he wanted. He always insisted on my look being clean, sharp, and precise. He didn’t like ruffles, loud colors, or lots of jewelry. So, I’m thinking maybe I’ll go for the Lynn Whitfield look. Elegant, sexy, and smart. Dressed in my custom-tailored Transcontinental blues, I simply replaced my comfortable shoes with Jimmy Choo.