Black Hamptons

by Carl Weber, La Jill Hunt

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

When a piece of land comes up for sale in this exclusive community, it sparks a war between the Brittons and the Johnsons. It’s old money versus new money, and neither family seems willing to compromise. Will the tension between them shatter any hopes of a peaceful summer?
Hidden away near the end of Long Island, New York, is a community where affluent African Americans, their friends, and the wannabes have secretly vacationed for more than 75 years. Unlike the bluffs of Martha’s Vineyard, black folks here own five miles of prime
beachfront. With a mix of legacy families, new money, hangers-on, and thirsty developers, drama can never be far behind in a place called … the BLACK HAMPTONS.
The Brittons are the owners of Amistad Bank, the nation’s largest minority-owned bank.
They consider themselves the “First Family” of the Black Hamptons and have owned their estate home for three generations. Their matriarch, Carolyn Britton, and her two sons, Malcolm and Martin, are not to be played with. They truly embody the Black Hamptons’
old guard and will do whatever they feel is necessary to maintain their place at the top. The Johnsons are relatively new to the Black Hamptons, having summered there only five years.
Sometimes they still feel like outsiders, but that might be because Anthony Johnson is viewed as competition by the Brittons. He’s the handsome CEO of Sydney Tech, a company he built from the ground up. Many people consider him the most powerful man in the
Black Hamptons, but don’t say that around the Britton boys.

Release date: August 30, 2022

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

I stepped off the elevator on the 36th floor in a black Armani silk blazer and pencil skirt, Manolo Blahnik heels, and the red Hermes scarf that made me feel powerful whenever I wore it. Behind me were my pride and joy, my two handsome sons. Malcolm, the oldest, was tall, lean, and quite brilliant when it came to business. His younger brother, Martin, was muscular, athletic, and especially easy on the eyes. Unlike his brother, who was more of an introvert, Martin was a true people person. He could charm the panties off a nun if he had to, which could be useful when it came to closing deals.

“Mother.” Malcolm gestured toward a row of benches, where Jeffrey Bowen was seated. He was married to my niece, Leslie, and he was also our family attorney. He jumped up from his seat the moment he saw us, closing the gap between the bench and the elevator in five long strides.

“Aunt Carolyn.” He kissed my cheek, then nodded at the boys. “You’re right on time. Follow me.”

Jeffrey led the way through double doors and into a small courtroom, where a middle-aged African American judge sat on the bench. I had to stifle the urge to call out, “Hello, Robert,” reminding myself that we were in his courtroom, not at one of the numerous dinner parties in the Hamptons we’d both attended over the thirty years that I’d known him. Judge Terry, however, didn’t seem to have any trouble separating business and pleasure. He kept his head down and didn’t acknowledge me in any way as we took our seats at a table facing the judge’s bench.

“Mr. Bowen, as the attorney of record for Amistad Bank, I see that you have made a motion. Would you like to elaborate?” Judge Terry spoke formally into a microphone, still not even glancing in my direction.

Jeffrey rose to reply. Like his father and grandfather before him, Jeffrey was a highly respected attorney. His practice was mainly in New York, but he had also spent time working in the office of the White House legal counsel during President Obama’s second term. “Your Honor, we move that the conservatorship of Amistad Bank be removed and that the Moses Britton Trust be turned over to Carolyn Britton and the Britton family, so that Mrs. Britton’s status as acting chairwoman and CEO of Amistad can be made permanent. Thank you, Your Honor.”

Judge Terry placed his glasses on his head and began thumbing through the paperwork on his desk. After a minute, I started to feel restless. He was taking way too long for my taste, especially considering the fact that the outcome of this little horse and pony show had been determined weeks ago over drinks at my summer home in Sag Harbor. Judge Terry, along with a few key Democratic figures, had agreed to release the conservatorship in a wink-wink, nod-nod agreement. In exchange, Robert’s son would receive a one-percent interest rate on a mortgage for a summer residence next door to the judge, and some up-and-coming Democratic candidates would receive generous campaign support from the bank.

“Any objection from the government, Mr. Lee?” Judge Terry glanced over to our right at Matt Lee, a small, well-dressed Asian man. He was a pain-in-the-ass federal banking regulator, and he sat next to Sara Wilson, an assistant deputy U.S. attorney.

“No, Your Honor,” Mr. Lee replied. “The Brittons have met all the terms of our agreement.”

Judge Terry removed his glasses and closed the folder. “Then I see no reason not to grant your motion, Mr. Bowen. The conservatorship over Amistad Bank is hereby relinquished and returned to the Britton family, along with all assets belonging to the Moses Britton Trust. Good luck and godspeed. Case dismissed.” Judge Terry slammed down his gavel.

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Jeffrey turned to me, offering his hand. “Congratulations, Aunt Carolyn.”

“So, that’s it? The bank is mine?” Although I knew this proceeding had merely been a formality, it felt good to finally be over the finish line. After four years of Donald Trump’s government trying to take what was ours, I had struggled to believe we’d ever get full control of the bank again.

“Well, technically it belongs to the family trust, but you run the trust, so yes, the bank belongs to you. That’s what your husband wanted, for you and your boys to have the bank and continue his legacy.”

“Well then, Jeffrey, you don’t deserve a handshake. You deserve a hug for a job well done.” I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tightly. This had been a long time coming.

Jeffrey turned and shook the boys’ hands, then we exited the courtroom and got back on the elevator. Down in the lobby, we were greeted by Kimberly Simmons, our family’s chief of staff. I admired Kimberly, whose rare combination of stunning beauty and whip-smart intellect was sure to take her far in life. She was just starting to come into her own as a businesswoman, and my plans were to one day have her marry my son Martin whenever he finally grew up and stopped hoeing around.

“Well, I assume from all the smiling faces that things went well?” Kimberly had a naturally happy energy about her, although when she had to, that girl could be a shark—which was why I liked her.

“Phenomenal,” Malcolm replied. “Jeffrey got the regulators off our asses, and now we can get back to making real deals instead of all this small business loans shit.”

“SBLs and minority loans have been the backbone of Amistad since its inception, Malcolm. Never forget where you came from, son, because when you do, it will bite you in the ass every time. I promise you that,” I replied.

“You’re right, of course, Mother. I’m just looking forward to doing some big money deals like Daddy used to,” Malcolm said.

Malcolm had always been a daddy’s boy, and his dream was to one day run Amistad like his father and grandfather had. He had the brains for it, that I could never deny, but he hadn’t proven he had the balls for the job yet. I guess now that we had full, unregulated control over the bank again, time would tell.

“Malcolm!” A familiar voice interrupted us.

We turned our attention to David Michaels, a wiry, brown-skinned man who made his way excitedly across the lobby. He gave Jeffrey, Malcolm, and Martin brotherly handshakes then turned to me and gave me a quick hug.

“How are you doin’, Mrs. Britton?”

David came from an old money family that had made their fortune in construction and real estate during the seventies. He’d attended Hampton University and graduated at the top of his class in accounting, passing the CPA exam on his first try. The man was a whiz with numbers. My husband, Moses, had tried to recruit him to work at the bank when he graduated, but surprisingly, David had declined. He accepted a job offer from a big white accounting firm instead. I swear, sometime these young people think the white man’s ice is colder.

“I’m doing fine, David. What brings you to the federal courthouse?”

“I’m with my boss, filing patents.” He turned around and spoke to a man seated on a nearby bench. “Hey, Anthony. Look who’s here!”

I watched as the man rose from the bench. If this was his boss, then it appeared David had left his job at the white accounting firm. This man was tall and handsome, with a smooth milk chocolate complexion. There was a woman with him. She was good looking also, although her too-tight outfit detracted from her overall look. If he was the boss, he should consider asking his secretary to dress a little more professionally.

They approached us, and David made the introductions.

“Mrs. Britton, have you met Anthony and Sydney Johnson? They live a few doors down from you in Sag Harbor.”

So she was his wife, not his secretary. I couldn’t help but let out an accidental chuckle when the girl reached back and pulled an obvious wedgie from her skirt. The men didn’t hear it, but she sure did, and she shot me the most evil look in response.

Oh, well. Too bad, honey. Next time wear something a little more appropriate.

Anthony offered his hand. “We’ve met briefly at one of the homeowners association meetings, Mrs. Britton. Nice to see you again.”

“Ah, yes. The new owners who bought the Petersons’ house. You’re the tech guy, aren’t you?” I said. I must have met him soon after he bought the house, but he couldn’t have made much of an impression on me, because the memory was quite vague.

As he shook my hand, I looked over at his wife again and got a good look at her dress, which, in addition to riding up her backside, revealed too much cleavage to be considered tasteful. From the cut and quality, I guessed it was an off-the-rack find from some mid-range mall store. I was not impressed. From what I understood, her husband’s tech company was extremely successful, yet she dressed as if she were married to a manager at Best Buy. Poor thing probably didn’t know any better, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d met her on Instagram or maybe even at a strip club.

She narrowed her eyes at me slightly, as if she could feel me judging her, so I slowly let my eyes return to Anthony Johnson’s face. He was smiling at me.

“The tech guy. Yes, some people do call me that,” he said.

After Jeffrey introduced Anthony and his wife to my sons, he announced, “Well, ladies and gentlemen, my job is done, and I’m going to take my leave.” He gave me a quick hug. “Hopefully I’ll see you folks out east this weekend?”

Since it was Memorial Day weekend, the official start to the summer season in our beloved beach community, I would normally have already been out there preparing the house for weekend guests, but I had one more task to complete before I could go. I’d had Malcolm call a special meeting of the board of directors in anticipation of the judge’s ruling. I couldn’t wait to see the surprise on their faces when half of them found out I was replacing their disloyal asses. Only after that was complete would I be able to relax and enjoy the opening of summer in the Black Hamptons.

“We’ll be out tomorrow,” I replied. “Your wife has me helping out with refreshments for the HOA meeting. I’m making crab cakes.”

“Well, I was supposed to go sailing,” Jeffrey said with a grin. “However, if you’re making crab cakes, perhaps I should reschedule.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“We’re going to take off, too, and see if we can get ahead of some of the traffic,” Anthony said as he took his wife’s hand. A look of relief passed over her face, as if she was pleased to be getting away from us. “See you in the Black Hamptons.”

“What’s the matter? You still upset about Carolyn Britton?” I glanced over at my wife, who had just let out a long sigh.

“You didn’t see the way that woman was looking at me, Anthony.” Her voice was starting to take on that Brooklyn edge that always crept in when she was annoyed. “She was looking down her nose at me.”

“Syd, what does she have to look down her nose at you about?”

Despite her annoyance, she gave me the cutest smile. “You know, for a man so smart, you can be so naive sometimes. Women like Carolyn Britton don’t need a reason to be petty. It comes naturally,” she replied just as I slammed on the brakes to avoid a car swerving into our lane. “Watch out, babe!”

“Look at this jerk!” I yelled, tightening my grip on the wheel. “Dude! You’re not gonna get there any faster.”

“God! I can’t believe this traffic,” Sydney groaned, fidgeting in her seat. “How long until we get there?”

Sydney hated riding in a car. Anything over forty minutes and she would be shifting in her seat like a little kid. My Sydney was a city girl through and through, born and raised in Brooklyn and proud of it. She preferred the bus or the subway, although she tolerated the drive from the city to Sag Harbor because she loved our home on the water so much. Normally we could make the trip in two hours, but it was the Friday before Memorial Day weekend, and traffic was backed up like a son of a bitch. We’d been on the road almost four hours, and Sydney was about to lose her mind.

“It’ll clear up once we get past the Southampton split,” I replied.

“And how long is that going to take?”

“Maybe twenty or thirty minutes.” I glanced over to see her arms folded and bottom lip poked out. It was pretty obvious she was about to have a tantrum.

“What’s wrong now?”

“I’m bored. I’m tired of being in this car, and I’m horny as hell. You didn’t finish what you started this morning.”

A smile crept up on my face. This morning was pretty special, or at least it had been until a call from an important client interrupted us. When you own your own business, sometimes you have to make sacrifices to keep things running smoothly, and that includes answering phone calls even when you’re busy trying to get it in.

“I know, and I’m sorry about that, but what was I supposed to do, Syd, miss Victor Singh’s call? But we can take care of that as soon as we get to the house.”

“I’m horny now, Anthony,” she snapped.

“Syd, there’s nothing I can do right now for you. We’ll be home in a bit, and I will service all your needs. I promise.”

“Hmph. Maybe there’s nothing you can do now, but I’m a take charge kinda girl.” She turned to me with a devilish smile, then unhooked her seat belt. Sydney had hiked up her dress and slid off her panties, spinning them on her fingers sexily. I swear my wife knew how to fuck with me.

“Are you trying to make me run off the road?” I asked.

“Keep driving. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

I glanced over to see what she was doing and had to do a double take.

“Are you . . . are you masturbating?”

“Yup.”

“You can’t wait until we get home? Traffic’s starting to move.”

“Nope. I’ve been in this car almost four hours, Anthony, and I’m bored as shit, so keep one eye on the road, and the other on me so you can watch the show.” She just kept doing her thing like I wasn’t even there.

“How many times do you think I can make myself come before we reach the house?” She let out a loud moan, and I exhaled, shifting my eyes every few seconds from the road to my sexy-as-hell wife. Her performance had woken the other Johnson in the car, the one between my legs.

Twenty minutes later, I was still fully erect, and Sydney had taken the liberty of releasing me from my boxers and giving me a massage. By the time we pulled into our neighborhood, I was the one squirming in my seat, about to lose my mind.

“What the fuck?” I snapped as we turned down our block, which was more crowded than I’d ever seen it.

“What?” Sydney lifted her head from my lap, peeking over the dashboard. “Where’d all these cars come from?”

“Looks like someone’s having a party,” I replied as I stared at the rows of cars parked on both sides of the street.

“Who?”

“I don’t know, but it better not be our kids.”

Syd and I had two college-aged kids, a son, Tyler, and daughter, Gabrielle. They’d come home from Virginia State University a couple weeks ago and headed straight for the beach house. Now I wondered if it had been a mistake to let them stay out there by themselves until Memorial Day weekend. They were good kids, but they were still kids.

Sydney and I adjusted our clothes. As we got closer to the house, I could hear the music booming so loud through my closed windows that it sounded like it was inside the car with us.

She looked as nervous as I felt. “Anthony, I hate to say this, but it might just be our kids,” she said. There were young people who looked to be in their late teens and early twenties headed down the block in the direction of our house.

“It better not be,” I growled.

As we pulled up in front of our driveway, I realized with relief that the teens were walking past my property.

“Well, that’s a relief. It looks—”

“Son of a bitch!” Sydney yelled, interrupting me. “Do you see that? Those little shits ran over my geraniums!”

“Well, the good thing is the party is not at our house. Looks like it’s over at the Brittons,” I said, trying to remain positive as I pulled into our driveway.

Just as I’d feared, though, Sydney was not going to be placated. “I don’t give a shit. I just planted those geraniums. It took me two days to put those things in,” Sidney said, stepping out of the car to inspect her flowers.

By the time I got out of my seat, she had already pulled her phone out of her purse and was dialing.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I approached her.

“I’m calling the cops.”

“For what?”

“For my geraniums. Those things cost like eight hundred dollars,” she said angrily.

“Put the phone away, Syd. I’ll buy you some more geraniums.”

“I don’t want you to buy me more flowers. That’s not the point,” she said. “I spent two days of my life putting those flowers in, and you can’t give me back that time. Some little bougie-ass kid just trampled all over my flowers, and I want someone to pay for that disrespect.”

“Babe, I know you’re upset, but stop and think for a minute. I don’t want the police in front of my house with flashing lights over some flowers.”

Sidney lowered her phone, giving me a look of recognition and understanding.

“Maybe we could just go over there and talk to the Brittons,” I suggested.

She paused, and for a minute, I thought I’d won, but then she smiled devilishly. She lifted her phone again and pressed the button to make the call.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling the police.” She chuckled.

“Why?”

“I don’t want the police in front of our house either,” she said. “But I do want them in front of the house where all the noise is coming from. The house with rude guests who ruin my flowers.”

“Syd, that’s a bad idea . . .”

She was already talking on the phone before I could finish my sentence.

“Yes, I’d like to make a noise complaint.”

It was too late to stop her, but I knew without a doubt that my wife had just opened up a big-ass can of worms.

“What’s up, Black Hamptons!”

I stood on the master bedroom balcony at my beachfront home and raised a bottle of champagne high in the air. The loud cheering from the crowd of onlookers was all I needed to know that I’d done the right thing in throwing the season-opening party. Yeah, there was always the risk that some fool would end up tearing my family’s place apart, but the pluses of rising to the top of the popularity charts far outweighed the minuses of a few broken vases or a scratched-up coffee table. Besides, I’d hedged my bets by hiring my cousin Kenny and his Q-dog fraternity brothers as security.

“Now, we got good music, plenty of drinks, and my man Beast Boy over there has all the weed you can smoke!” There was another round of cheering. “So, what I’m tryna figure out is why I see people without cups in their hands. And you ladies over there wearing pink and green ain’t dancing. This ain’t no sorority meeting, ladies. This is a damn party, so let’s party!” I lifted the champagne bottle again, and the crowd roared. “DJ Riot, hit the damn music!”

Right on cue, the music began blasting again, and I watched with a satisfied smile as the young ladies I’d pointed out grabbed red cups from a nearby server and began dancing.

“Nice party.”

I turned to stare at the dark chocolate face of Tania Maxwell, whose tiny white bikini barely covered her Kardashian-like curves. I had to force myself to stop imagining what was underneath and make eye contact with her.

“I had to think of some kind of way to get your attention,” I said. I was trying to keep it cool, but I’d been infatuated with her since the ninth grade. Tania lived in New Rochelle and came out on the weekends and summer, until four years ago, when her parents got divorced. That’s when she moved into her summer house with her mom and lived here year-round. “So, I figured throwing the season-opening party might do it.”

She smiled at me. Her smile always made me weak. “I guess you were right,” she said. “But now that you have my attention, what are you going to do with it?”

Before I could even formulate a response, her mouth covered mine. She wrapped her arms around my neck. I slipped my tongue into her mouth and immediately recognized the taste of Hennessy. The kiss was everything I wanted it to be and more, and the moan from Tania indicated that she was enjoying it just as much as I was.

“Damn, if I would’ve known I was gonna get all that, I definitely would’ve tried to get your attention earlier,” I said when we stepped back from the kiss.

“Well, like I said, you’ve got it now. So, you gonna stay up here all night? Because I’m trying to get my dance and drink on, and then maybe a little more.”

“Shit, you ain’t gotta tell me twice. Let’s roll.” I grabbed her hand and led her back down to the yard.

The party was in full effect. Drinks were flowing, the music was popping, asses were twerking, and I was enjoying every minute of it. Based on the way she was dancing on me, Tania was too.

“I see ya, cuz!” Kenny yelled from across the pool. “But I got something for you.”

Kenny gestured to the DJ, and then the beat dropped, and “Atomic Dog” started playing. It was the unofficial theme song of Kenny’s fraternity, Omega Psi Phi. Girls squealed as Kenny and the members of his fraternity got into formation and began stepping. The crowd went wild, and I knew it was time to make my move.

“Let’s go back inside,” I said, whispering to Tania as I hugged her from behind.

“Now?” She turned and gave me a weird look.

“Yeah, we can see better from up top. We’ll be back in a little while.” The seductive look I gave her was enough motivation for her to take my hand and follow me. I grabbed a bottle of champagne and led her back through the house, up to the balcony.

Unfortunately, our escape to somewhere more private was short-lived. We’d just gotten back to the balcony, and I went in for a kiss. It didn’t last for more than a minute, though, before we heard a commotion down below with lots of angry shouting.

I released Tania’s hand and leaned over the balcony to see what was going on down there. The music scratched to a halt, so I could clearly hear a verbal altercation.

“I’m saying, man, you need to leave. This is a private party!” Kenny shouted.

I saw him standing in front of four guys. It was a pool party, so all of my guests were wearing bathing suits or cover-ups, but these guys were all fully clothed, making it obvious that they didn’t belong there. All of them were white, except one tall dude, who looked like he spent most of his waking hours lifting weights. This muscle-bound brother seemed to be the ringleader.

“Don’t nobody give a shit about this whack-ass party. I’m looking for my girl. Her car’s parked out front,” he said.

Kenny, now backed by five of his frat brothers I’d hired for security, took a step closer. My cousin is short, but he’s stocky as hell, and he is far from a punk, so I expected they would take these guys out quickly and we could get back to partying. But I underestimated the strength of our party-crashers. The white guys hung back a little, but I don’t think it was because they were scared. It was probably because they knew their ringleader could handle it without their help. He picked up Kenny’s ass and effortlessly tossed him in the pool like he was a child.

“Damn!” I said to myself. “Fucking townies. I shoulda known they’d crash my shit.” Little did I know they were about to fuck up more than just the party. They were going to fuck up my chance to finally get with the girl I’d been lusting after for years.

“I’m a townie,” Tania said.

“No, you’re not. You’re one of us. You live in the Black Hamptons.”

“Tania!” the big brother shouted, catching me by surprise.

I turned and looked at Tania. She just stared at me with a look somewhere between annoyance and embarrassment.

“Tania! Where the fuck are you? I know you’re here!” The guy continued yelling as he walked through the crowd. After seeing how easily he handled Kenny, everyone stepped back to give him a wide berth as he passed by. “I saw your car.”

My head swiveled from her to the guy then back to her. “You know this clown?”

“Yeah,” she said, exhaling loudly. “His name is Peter. He’s kinda my boyfriend.”

My eyes widened and my lower lip dropped. Now that was a fucking surprise.

“You got a boyfriend?” I asked, feeling deflated.

She nodded sheepishly, and I stared at her as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Tania had come on to me, not the other way around, so why the hell was I finding out now that she already had a boyfriend? It was kind of disappointing. I had always wanted her, but I’d never imagined she was that kind of chick.

I was in my feelings for a minute, tuning out the background noise of Peter’s yelling as I tried to process, but I snapped back to the present when I heard water splashing again. I looked over the railing and saw two of Kenny’s frat brothers bobbing in the pool. Peter was standing at the edge in a defensive posture, like he was waiting for someone else to step to him so he could throw them in too.

“Shit, I’ll be right back,” I said. I’d have to deal with Tania later.

I turned to leave, but she grabbed my arm. “Jesse, I wouldn’t start a fight. He’s a Golden Gloves champion.”

I didn’t try to hide my annoyance. “I don’t give a shit about tha. . .