Nail It: Breaking into the Black Elite

By Shonette Charles

Black, educated, and possessing all the right stats, Sahara and Noah Kyle move to North Carolina ready to break into the area's black bourgeoisie social circle. This is a world governed by black socialites and movers and shakers, who hold membership in the Sphinx, Darlings, The Shield, Belles & Beaus, and the black fraternities and sororities. Being in the right circle could position the Kyles for even greater affluence, but being shut out could be the death knell for more than just their social life.

Noah appears to quickly catch his stride, but Sahara struggles navigating this world of pearls, poise, and protocol. The sky's the limit, but will secrets, lies, and double crossings keep them on the outside of this high power network looking in? Or, when it comes to entering the world of the black elite, do they have what it takes to NAIL IT?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9780996456814

Book preview

Ball

Chapter 1: Sahara

"She is the perfect combination of intellect, pedigree, money, and success…if only she was happy." Sahara’s analysis of Olivia Pope from the television show Scandal was followed with a chorus of amens from her friends.

"But, she is one of the good guys, and she can rock a white coat. Isn’t that all that matters in the end?" asked Monica.

The amen choir quickly answered in the affirmative and then erupted into a fit of laughter. The ladies moved on to discussing their other guilty pleasure, Empire.

Sahara said, I’m going to get a glass of wine. Does anyone else want one?

Gwen, who was adjusting the silk Ross School of Business scarf around her neck, asked for a glass of white zinfandel.

As Sahara made her way to the bar, she could see the yellow, orange, and red remnants of the setting sun splashed across the ink-colored Michigan sky. Ann Arbor was known for two things—the University of Michigan and cold, snowy winters. Sahara had returned to campus for the Ross Black Business Students Association’s Alfred L. Edwards Annual Conference and was glad that the warm, late April evening masked the barren landscape, because generally Spring was late to arrive to this part of the country.

Although evening had quickly rolled in, Sahara could easily make out the small blue and yellow annuals at the foot of the stark trees and shrubs as she walked along the concrete path to the other side of the courtyard. The nighttime reception was illuminated like it was the middle of the day thanks to the hundreds of votive candles encasing the courtyard’s perimeter and the white string lights wrapped around every tree.

Sahara Kyle politely said hello to alumni that she’d seen at previous conferences but quickly scooted past new faces that she did not know. The University and the Business School, with the help of corporate sponsors who provided most of the financial support, always rolled out the red carpet for the conference and closing reception. For the black Ross alumni, whose deep pockets and business connections were often absent from the official reunion and homecoming held in October, this was their reunion. So, now was the time for the University President and Business School Dean to make face-to-face pitches for support of the endowment, recruiting priorities, and school programs with the black alumni. Regardless of who you are and where you are, any real red carpet offers an open bar—and the BBSA’s Alfred L. Edwards Conference was no exception. And, Sahara didn’t want anyone to distract her from that target.

Feeling like a million bucks, Sahara smoothed her L’Agence red silk halter dress as she waited for the bartender to pour her requested glasses of wine. The red of her dress looked good against her copper colored skin and made the auburn highlights in her shoulder-length curly brown hair stand out. She loved the dress’ drawstring scarf that tied at the shoulder and how the gathered neckline tastefully emphasized her ample breasts. She also appreciated that the A-line cut of the dress helped to tame the other generous parts of her body—her butt and hips.

Costing more than five hundred dollars, this dress was definitely a splurge for Sahara. She took pride in being a Maxxinista, more than a fashionista, to her well-dressed mother’s chagrin. But, her husband, Noah was the dresser out of the two of them. He convinced her to get the dress because he loved how she looked in it.

Just thinking about her husband of six years made Sahara smile. She and Noah met when they both started the MBA program at Ross and got married the summer after graduation. Sahara scanned the large crowd to see where he was. Mainly brown faces but some white ones, too; some people she knew, many she did not; business suits, cocktail dresses, a few formal gowns; shaking hands, talking, laughing until her eyes spotted the group that she was looking for—Noah’s boys—Phillip Bell, Reggie Thompson, Michael Watters, and Eric Johnson.

Then, her eyes came to rest on her husband, Noah Kyle. Sahara’s eyes poured over him. Six foot one with chestnut brown skin, Noah was shaped like a boxer with the holy grail of male shapes—the v-shaped body, a broad back with a slim waist. Wearing his signature square metal Tom Ford glasses and dressed in a Hugo Boss steel gray suit with a yellow Valentino tie, Noah was standing with his friends laughing. His head was thrown back slightly putting his perfect teeth and cleft chin on full display. Being in Ann Arbor, at the business school…it took Sahara back to when they’d first met….

Your chardonnay and white zinfandel, ma’am, said the bartender.

Sahara pulled her eyes and thoughts away from her husband and turned them to the glasses of wine and the bartender standing before her. Ma’am? She was only thirty-five years old, and as hot as she looked in this dress, she knew that she was nobody’s ma’am.

But, the words that left her lips were simply Thank you.

Sahara took her chardonnay and the white zinfandel from the bar, moved to the right so that the gentleman in the pinstriped suit behind her could order his liquid treat, and placed the glass of white wine to her lips. Just as she could taste its crispness, Sahara saw her hand wrapped around the bottom of the wine glass balloon. She suddenly pictured her mother shaking her head and taking Sahara to task for not holding the wine glass properly. Sahara placed the white zinfandel down at the edge of the bar and moved her fingers to the chardonnay glass’ stem as she had been taught. Or was it trained?

The gentleman in the pinstriped suit took his glass of red wine from the bartender and joined Sahara on the sidelines.

How’s your chardonnay? he asked, quickly glancing at Sahara’s bosom before he focused on her eyes.

It’s okay, but I actually prefer the reds. Did you get the cabernet?

I did. I prefer cabs over pinot noir. If you like the reds, why didn’t you get one, if you don’t mind me asking?

Well, motherhood has taught me to anticipate spills. Even though my children aren’t here, I still went with the safe choice. Sahara glanced down at her watch. It was almost eight o’clock so the kids, who were at her mother’s house in Washington, D.C., should be finishing up their baths and getting in the bed soon.

The night was still young, and Sahara’s feet already hurt. She took the white zinfandel from the bar, looked down at the black Christian Louboutin peep-toe sling-back pumps on her feet, and braced herself. She was pretty sure that these cute, high-priced torture instruments were not made for people with regular-sized feet. She only had a pair because Noah bought them for her earlier this month as a birthday present.

Sahara wished Mr. Pinstripe Suit a good evening and eyed the concrete path that she had just traveled. She decided to try to save some feeling in her feet and took a shortcut through the crowd across the grass.

Hello. Hello. Excuse me. Some woman had on way too much perfume. Hi. Excuse me. Small smile. Someone’s hand brushed against her arm. As Sahara meandered through the maze of people networking and reminiscing, she heard a booming voice in the crowd.

Why hello, Sahara!

She turned back around and saw a slightly disheveled older gentleman with a round face and salt and pepper hair grinning at her.

Professor Atwood! she shouted and gave him a big hug. Professor Atwood was a marketing professor at the b-school, and his class had been one of Sahara’s favorites when she was a student.

Yes, it’s me. You know they always trot me out for these sorts of things. Sahara laughed and he continued. Are you and Noah still in Baltimore? I’ll be there this summer for a school fair and thought that I would try to convince you two to present at a fireside chat we are hosting with potential students.

Well, we’re there now. But, we are moving next month, said Sahara.

Oh, I didn’t realize that. Where are you moving?

North Carolina…Fairchester, North Carolina. Sahara could almost see the wheels in Professor Atwood’s head turning.

Well, we could definitely use a presence down there. Most prospective students from North Carolina go to Kenan-Flagler at UNC-Chapel Hill or Darden at the University of Virginia. I’m sure solely for convenience sake. Professor Atwood winked.

Well, let me know what we can do.

Oh, I will. I will definitely be in touch. Professor Atwood smiled and then was pulled into another conversation.

Sahara continued on her journey and felt the heels of the red bottoms sink a little into the grass with each step she took. Spending time with Noah had actually been one of the main reasons that Sahara was excited to come to the conference. She thought coming to Ann Arbor would be a great time to catch-up with old friends but, more importantly, a nice getaway with her husband and a chance to connect.

Noah had accepted a senior vice president position at First Southern, a regional bank in Fairchester, North Carolina, and they were moving there from Baltimore next month. Between packing, moving, and getting situated in a new city—throw in the fact that Noah would probably be working long hours in his new position—Sahara knew that their lives were going to be hectic for the next few months. She wanted to spend some time with Noah, and look great while doing it, before things truly got crazy.

Sahara felt like she had walked an eternity…maybe she should have taken the concrete path…and still had not reached her friends—the Black Chicks, as they called themselves when they were in b-school for obvious reasons. Just as she was a few steps away from the group, Chantelle Lewis stopped her.

Hello, Sahara, said Chantelle, as she looked Sahara up and down from head to toe. Chantelle graduated the year after Sahara and Noah. She hadn’t been particularly nice to Sahara when they were in school, so Sahara was surprised that she spoke.

Hi, Chantelle. I didn’t realize that you were here.

Yes, it’s been a few years since I’ve been back, but I decided to attend this year. Where’s that wonderful husband of yours? Chantelle turned her head looking for Noah.

He’s over there with some of the guys from our class. Sahara didn’t even bother to point out where over there was.

Oh, I heard that you are moving to Fairchester, North Carolina.

Yes, we are…next month. Have you heard of it? Sahara wondered how she knew and why she cared.

Ooooooohhh, yes. I know it. My friend, Emery Edmonds, lives there. Chantelle sneered.

Well, maybe I’ll meet her when we get there.

Don’t worry. I’m sure that you’ll find out who she is. Then, Chantelle flipped her hair and walked away.

Confused by the conversation, Sahara started to say something when she made it over to the Black Chicks. But, they were still gossiping about who was doing what—and whom—so she let it go.

Sahara, do you ever run into Autumn Carter? I heard that she is still a consultant with Booz Allen Hamilton in Washington. Gwen asked as Sahara returned to the circle and handed her the glass of white zinfandel.

Mmmmm…I don’t really see her anymore. Noah and I used to run into Autumn and Joseph Davis…remember he was the class ahead of us…all the time at parties when we first got out of school. I think the last time we saw her was at The Root Inaugural Ball, but she wasn’t with Joseph. She was there with another guy.

Monica, who had been Sahara’s roommate in business school and currently was an investment banker at Goldman Sachs in New York, chimed in. Joe is engaged to a white girl from the Class of ’07. They were together at Kirsten’s wedding last year.

A chorus of groans followed that little update. Even though most of the Black Chicks were now married, they still hated to lose a well-educated black man to the other side. They still had lots of single friends.

Monica looked over at Dani—with an i (as she always added)—and said, "Girl, you are wearing the hell out of that dress. Who is the designer?"

Dani, with her high cheekbones, mile-long legs, and model looks (well, technically, she had been a model in New York before going to business school) said, This old thing? It’s Herve Leger. She then did a slow twirl in her Manolo Blahnik sandals so that the Black Chicks could admire the gray bandage dress with sequin trim painted on her killer body.

Monica laughed. "They are paying you way too much at that movie studio if you can describe a $2,000 dress as ‘this old thing!’"

I can’t lie. They are! Dani came back with, and they all laughed. Dani was an executive at a movie studio in Los Angeles. Quick to tell anyone to not let her good looks fool you, she was as sharp as a tack and had become a powerhouse where she worked. She definitely enjoyed the fruits of her labor, and her adventures in Hollywood kept the other ladies in stitches…and a little jealous…of her over-the-top lifestyle. You’re one to talk, Monica. I see you in your Elie Tahari suit and Stella McCartney scarf. Apparently, you aren’t doing badly for yourself either, Dani smirked.

Monica Norris-Hargrave with her ebony skin and shaved head was tall and regal, and her presence commandeered a room as soon as she walked in. The fitted black suit with the added touch of a tropical print scarf that she wore was the epitome of Monica—stylish but classic.

You two need to stop, said Gwen, a finance manager at Blue Cross Blue Shield in Atlanta and the mother hen of the group. "I don’t want to hear about your designer clothes. You know I’m not ballin’ out like the rest of you. I want to know about all those fine men in Hollywood. Have you met Idris Elba? Better yet, have you slept with him? You know I have to live vicariously through you."

"Well, you wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t let Daaaaaarryl…," said Dani imitating the way Gwen’s southern twang took about 5 seconds to get through the a in her husband’s name, "…lock you down the minute you were accepted to Ross. I mean you hit the campus on the first day of school letting everyone know that you were off-limits because you were in a committed relationship.

I think poor Reggie was heartbroken. Remember how hard he was trying to throw game at you? And, he keeps looking over here so you better watch out.

This made them all bust at the seams with laughter. Then, when they turned and looked in the middle of the courtyard, where Reggie was standing with Noah and their crew, and saw Reggie looking in their direction at Gwen, they hollered. The dignified people standing around them craned their necks to see who was causing such a ruckus at a respected event.

Gwen tried to save a little of Reggie’s dignity. Ain’t nobody looking over here at me, especially not with these three kids I have. And, the extra weight to prove it. The three back-to-back pregnancies and all that Southern home cooking she was doing in Atlanta had added some extra padding to Gwen’s five foot two inch frame. But, with her vanilla complexion, green eyes, and weave down to her butt, Sahara knew that you couldn’t tell Gwen—or Reggie, for that matter—that she wasn’t fine.

Changing the conversation, Sahara turned to Bridgett Grantham, formerly Lyle, and asked How is married life, Bridg? A business development executive at Monsanto, Bridgett, the quiet one of the group, had married Joshua Grantham, an executive director at a non-profit, in a small but elegant wedding that all the Black Chicks attended last July in Philadelphia.

Going well. I think we’re going to try to have a baby next year. But, we’re also thinking about moving. We’re not sure that we want to raise kids in Philly. Bridgett looked over at Gwen. I keep reading these articles on the ‘New South’ and how so many black people are doing the reverse of the Great Migration and moving from the big cities in the North and Midwest down to the South. Although we are both from Philly, we’re thinking about joining the trend. Bridgett paused and turned to Sahara. What made you and Noah decide to move to North Carolina? Are you excited about going?

Sahara looked away at the tree in the distance and noticed that the slight breeze was causing the branches to sway back and forth as if saying no. She returned her focus to Bridgett.

Well, it is a great opportunity for Noah…so yes, I’m excited. I’m sure that it will be a great place for Clarissa and Trevor to grow up. From what I’ve read on message boards, North Carolina has a lot transplants. You’re right that a lot of people are moving to the ‘New South’ as the media has termed it. Jobs are there, and the cost of living is cheaper than the North. Atlanta has always been Mecca to black people, but it seems like a lot of people are moving to other southern cities as well.

Yes, I see Raleigh ranked on a lot of ‘Best Cities’ lists. You won’t be far from there, will you? Bridgett asked.

Sahara whispered, No…no, we won’t.

Dani motioned to the passing waiter to come closer. She peered at the delectables he offered and said, Man, you are all about Noah and the kids, Sahara. We always knew that Gwen was destined to be the Suzy Homemaker type…. Gwen quickly shot Dani a dirty look. "But, you were the one from Wellesley and all about climbing that corporate ladder when we started school. I never figured that you would be happy with not getting a paycheck and just being a stay-at-home mom."

Gwen’s green eyes were staring at Sahara, and Sahara could see that she was in agreement, and not just because she was a little jealous.

Yeesh. All of Noah’s co-workers had wives that stayed at home with their kids. She bet they didn’t always have to defend their choice. Monica and her mother had been the only ones to support the decision from day one. But, since this wasn’t Sahara’s first time at the rodeo, she gave her standard answer.

Well, it works best for us right now. And, you know, money is only good for one thing—paying the bills. She then quickly added, And, right now, Noah is paying mine! She was pleased that she had a witty comeback this time.

Girl, I know that’s right! Dani replied, holding her hand up to give Sahara a high-five while eyeing the Christian Louboutins on Sahara’s feet. "Noah is definitely paying those bills! So, what’s up with Eric Johnson? You think I can get him to pay a couple of mine?" said Dani coyly, eyeing Eric Johnson’s tall, lean frame.

Everyone’s gaze shifted to where EJ was standing in the middle of the courtyard followed by another round of raucous laughter. Dani ensnared many men, including a few of their business school classmates with her beauty, and Eric was one of the victims left by the wayside. They got together when they were in school, and afterwards they got along like oil and water. Yet, they still managed to have the occasional hook-up every so often when EJ was in Los Angeles on business, even after all these years.

Although the group’s conversation moved on to the ridiculous thought of yet another Dani and Eric rendezvous, Dani’s words clung to Sahara like a wet, cheap suit. Sahara had wanted a successful career when she started school, but she also wanted to be a hands-on wife and mother. She hadn’t planned to stop working. Yes, she had always assumed that her children would have a nanny or go to daycare, but this worked for them. Yes, it had been Noah’s suggestion that she stop working, and that made sense given the long hours that he worked and how unhappy she was leaving Clarissa with the sitter when she was a baby. At the time, the decision had seemed like a no-brainer. So what, she had been Ms. Corporate America when she started business school. That was before Noah and the kids…being a stay-at-home mom was who she was now. Sahara tried to put Dani’s comments out of her mind.

Between glasses of wine and passed hors d’oeuvres, Sahara found out from the other Black Chicks what other black female alumnae were doing. In the Bay Area, Carol Hill worked at Cisco and was the black Sheryl Sandberg. In Chicago, Bethany Kramden (Sahara’s soror) was a marketing director at Kraft and a member of Lambda Upsilon Alpha Sorority, Inc.’s board of directors. In New York, Robin Morgan was the mother of triplets, a senior vice president at NBC, and a well-known philanthropist in black circles. The list went on and on. Heck, Michelle Freeman and her husband were doing so well that Gwen called her the First Lady of Tennessee. The First Lady of Tennessee?!

Before long, the waiters shepherded everyone from the courtyard inside the Executive Learning and Conference Center for dinner. As Sahara walked with the Black Chicks inside, she anxiously twisted her wedding ring around her finger. She did have a bachelor’s degree from Wellesley and an MBA from the University of Michigan, two of the top schools in the nation. Was she letting that go to waste?

She turned her head and saw Noah waving her towards him. He had saved her a seat at his table. Sahara peeled away from her friends and walked over to Noah’s table, where he was holding out the chair for her. Sahara sat down and looked through the souvenir journal that was at each place setting. She scrolled down the list of conference attendees and their employers inside. Many in Corporate America. Some were entrepreneurs. A few worked for non-profit organizations. A couple for the government. Many students. And, one stay-at-home mom. Yes, apparently she was the First Lady of story time and Sesame Street.

Just as the first speaker at the dinner started her talk on The Consequences of the Wrong Alliances on Your Climb Up the Corporate Ladder, Sahara felt someone behind her. She turned and saw Chantelle. What did she want?

Chantelle leaned over and whispered in Sahara’s ear, "I wonder what the