Did Oprah’s best friend, the editor-at-large of O magazine, and co-host of a major morning show just refer to Azmir by his less than corporate-professional moniker? The wind has left my body as I watch them enfold one another like it’s old hat. They exchange a few words in a conversant manner before we move on. I can’t believe it.
Who is Azmir Jacobs?
I try to stay out of everyone’s way as I realize it’s all managed by folks talking into wires just like Dawn. There are dozens of celebrities that Azmir poses with, reminding me of his stature—that I still don’t quite understand.
This goes on until Shayna Bacote takes me by the arm, which alerts me that we’ve arrived at the end of the carpet. As I follow her into the opulent foyer of venue, I immediately notice that she’s wearing a simple black sheath dress that falls at her knees with black opaque hosiery and patent leather ballerina flats. I know Shayna typically wears heels and can easily surmise her desire for comfort as she works this evening—soooooo dissimilar to Dawn’s. This is a different style of professionalism compared to her contemporary who’s dressed to accompany the man of the hour.
That damn Dawn!
“Ms. Brimm, you’ll be seated with Mr. Jacobs at the head table. After dinner, you two will be escorted to the cocktail room for the after party where the guests will be as well as journalists who will be looking for sound bites from Azmir for publication. Would you like to work the room with him or be taken to your seat where you’ll be joined by him when he’s done?”
I don’t want to leave him all evening. Perhaps if I do the initial walk through with him, I can give him a break during the after party. Errrrrrrrrrrr… I wish I could ask what Azmir preferred. Make a call, Brimm!
“Erm…I’ll stick with him for now,” I inform sheepishly.
Shayna smiles, “Of course. I’m sure he’d prefer that.”
I idly wonder what that means.
Seconds later, Dawn and Azmir appears just inside the foyer and I can see his eyes perusing the area. I know he’s looking for me, concerned with my inclination to run when faced with Dawn’s conniving antics. Instinctively, he finds me amongst a herd of attendees. His eyes soften again. And like the horny teen I’m reduced to under his blazing gaze, I giggle. In a gown that costs twice as much as my monthly mortgage, shoes that doubles a hefty car note, and jewelry that could feed dozens of villages with malnourished dwellers—I giggle.
Way to go, Rayna.
He immediately makes his way to me. It doesn’t take Dawn long to register his abrupt journey and she follows him, sans her baneful beam. When he reaches me, his big warm hand makes its way to the bare flesh of my back and he plants a slow kiss on my forehead.
“You okay, gorgeous?” Azmir asks, and once again, I identify the gleam in his eyes.
I haven’t run.
“Of course,” I smile as I lean into him with both my fists between us. “You looked so dominant out there. So well-placed. I’m proud,” I murmur as my head tilts back so that I can gaze into his eyes.
“Yeah?” he asks with pinched eyebrows.
“Oh, yeah!” I affirm with my smile turning toothy. “And Gail King? You know Gail King?”
He cocks his head to the side, tentatively, “Well, that depends on what you mean by me knowing her.”
I smack him in the arm. “Azmir! I’m not asking if you’ve been with that woman!”
“Well, good because I haven’t. I don’t know Gayle that well,” he returns. “And before you ask, I’ve never met Oprah.” A knowing grin crests upon his face.
He’s right, that would have been a subsequent question. I laugh at myself. Azmir chuckles as well.
“Everybody thinks because you know Gayle, you must know Oprah. Gayle has her own life,” Azmir informs. “We know a few of the same people—”
“Yeah…yeah…I know. The whole circle thing,” I cut him off before he repeats the same line he gave at the Trey Songz after party.
He laughs this time, allowing me to smell spearmint from his mouth. “Well, yeah. Like I told you the other night at the dinner party, I came to “Hollywood…” He uses air quotations. “…at a time when it was smaller and easier to navigate. I played it hard and got to know everyone I could. It was fun while it lasted,” he ends with softer tone.
Although it’s not the most opportune time to have this discussion, I ask anyway. “When and why did you end it?”
His expression sobers as his gaze swallows me for what feels like minutes long. “Like I told you in Tahiti, I’ve made much needed adjustments. And now, all is perfect…or at least will be once I have your hand in marriage.”