Wrong Way Renee

by Wynter Daniels

“It is. We used to come here for New Years when I was a teenager.”

  They sat on the towel as the black waves rolled in and out. She leaned against his shoulder and he wrapped both his arms around her. She knew what her decision would have to be. She was falling in love with this man. She couldn’t possibly keep seeing Cleave.

  At midnight the most beautiful fireworks display she’d ever seen started. The ocean lit up under the multicolored spectacle. It lasted for ten minutes. When it ended, the air was pungent with the smells of sulfur, smoke and the sea.

  “That was the most romantic way I've ever rung in a new year.” She gazed into his eyes.

  “Me too. Because you're with me.” He squeezed her against him. “Have you thought about the St. Augustine trip?”

  “I would love to go.” Butterflies danced in her stomach.

  “Great. It's one of my favorite places.”

  “You know what my favorite place is?” She moved her lips inches from his.

  “What?”

  “With you.” A fire smoldered inside her. It had only gotten hotter in the short time she’d known him.

  He kissed her with a tenderness that heated her to her core. They lay back on the beach looking at the stars.

  “They make you feel awfully tiny and insignificant, don't they?” He took her hand.

  “They remind me how short life is.” She needed to move forward with Joe, which meant saying goodbye to Cleave. Despite all Cleave’s money and the fact he’d fit in better with what her family had in mind for her, she had to follow her heart. “Gotta grab it while you can.”

  Joe rolled over to face her. “I do?” He held his hand above her chest like a claw.

  She slapped it away, giggling. “I didn't say you could grab that.”

  “Yes you did. You said grab it while you can. So that's what I'm doing.” He cupped her left breast. She didn't stop him. He rolled on top of her and pressed hot kisses on her neck, her shoulder. Staring up at the stars, she realized it had never been this right with anyone else. She was meant to be with him.

  * * * * *

  Renee was sitting in the kitchenette of the salon two weeks later drinking coffee when Becky walked in and took the stool next to her. “It's set.” She wrung her hands.

  Renee set her mug down. “What is?”

  “We're meeting my son on Monday.”

  “Okay. Where?”

  “A café in Daytona Beach. Neutral territory. The investigator set it all up. I'm really nervous.” Her hands were shaking.

  “It's a date. Everything will be fine.” She patted her friend’s arm.

  Melissa came into the shop and sat at Renee's station.

  “I’ve got a client.” Renee hugged Becky. “It’s all going to be good.” She headed to her table with a cup of coffee for Melissa. She could already tell something was wrong from her client's face. Her eyes were swollen and red. “How are you?”

  “I lost the pregnancy.” Melissa turned her head away, obviously trying to gain control of her emotions.

  “I'm so sorry. When did it happen?” She squeezed her eyes shut and willed her tears back. That was the last thing Melissa needed.

  “January tenth. At least it all came out so they didn't have to go in to get it.”

  “Oh, Melissa. How’s Rich taking it?”

  “Better than me. He was pretty upset when it first happened, but he seemed to get over it quickly.”

  Her heart broke for her client. “So what now?” She began filing Melissa's nails.

  “Now we do a new battery of tests to see what the problem was.”

  She finished the manicure mostly in silence, not knowing how to console her client.

  Next was Toy, whom Renee always looked forward to seeing. While she gave Toy a manicure, she heard all about her friend's boyfriend, or man friend as Toy preferred to call him.

  “He took me out on his yacht this weekend. It's beautiful. It has a cabin with a bed, shower and everything.” Toy pushed a stray lock of hair away from her eye as she crossed her legs.

  “Must be a pretty big one then.” Renee studied her friend's face. If she was as happy as she said, why didn't her eyes show it?

  “Yeah, pretty big. And you know what? He’s a fantastic lover. I guess it's all those years of experience he has. His top priority is my satisfaction.”

  “That's refreshing.”

  “Really. So, have you slept with either of your men?”

  “No, not yet. Almost with Joe. That man turns me on like nobody's business.” Her temperature spiked just from thinking about him. “We went to see a movie and we made out through the entire thing. I haven't done that in a movie theater since I was sixteen. Then on New Years Eve, he took me to the beach to watch the fireworks over the ocean. It was so romantic, Toy.” She closed her eyes, wrapping herself in the memory.

  “I can't believe you haven't done it with him yet. What about your lawyer?”

  “He and I have a more…cerebral connection.”

  Toy rested her head on her hand. “Yeah right. I'm sure your feelings for him are more cerebral, as you put it. But rest assured that just like any man, he wants in your pants.”

  Renee scowled as she massaged Toy's hand. “He's not like that. The day he got back from Atlanta after Christmas, he wanted me to come over. He cooked me dinner. We kissed and cuddled a bit, but he never tried to move it further than that. I think he's an old fashioned gentleman. But I'm going to have to end things with him. In fact, I tried that night, but I chickened out. I just hate to hurt him. He's so good to me.”

  “If you say so. What about the cop? Is he content to wait until you decide to give him some?”

  “No, not really. He keeps trying. But he doesn't pressure me or anything. He tries and I say I'm not ready yet. He's been cool about it. So far.”

  “Yeah, well he won't wait forever, you know. White or black, men are men.”

  She knew she had to make a move, very soon. It wasn't fair to Joe or Cleave not to. She couldn't wait much longer to take things further with Joe. It was getting more and more difficult to stop at just making out. But she wouldn't sleep with him until she'd officially broken it off with Cleave. She racked her brain to think of a gentle way to do it.

  After she finished with Toy, she did a set of acrylics and a pedicure. Next, Pam came for her fill.

  “Did you have a nice New Year,” Renee asked her.

  “It was okay. Ate too much, drank too much, you know. Pablo had to work. But I got to see him the night before.”

  Renee sucked in a surprised breath. “Really? I thought you hadn't heard from him in a while.”

  Pam nodded. “That's his usual MO. He didn't return my calls for like two weeks. Then one day he shows up at my door.”

  “And?” She couldn't believe Pablo was still seeing her. What a jerk. He married another woman and didn't even break things off with her. The irony hit her like a wrecking ball. Wasn't that what she was doing, without the marriage part, of course?

  “And he spent most of the night. We've seen each other two or three times in the last two weeks.”

  She wished she could somehow warn Pam away from the guy but nothing she’d said about him in the past months had made any impact. She couldn’t just blurt out that she knew Pablo had gotten married. “Are you still planning your solo pregnancy?”

  “As a matter of fact, my period is a couple days late. I'm hoping that I've got a bun in the oven as we speak.”

  Renee tried to concentrate on her work. But she was disturbed by the possibility that Pam might bring a baby into the world under the worst of conditions—a father who was married to another woman and a mother who would surely turn bitter because of it.

  How unfair that Melissa, who had everything to give a child, including a father, should have so much trouble conceiving. But Pam, who had no business getting pregnant, merely had to have sex occasionally to achieve her goal.

  She finished Pam's nails, then went to the kitchenette to have a s
nack. Becky was there eating a late lunch.

  “How ya doing?” Renee asked her.

  “Nervous as hell. I almost put Mrs. Ferguson’s color on Mrs. Connors, who only wanted a haircut.” She bit a hangnail.

  “Whoa. You'd better get a grip, girlfriend.”

  “I know. I'm so terrified to meet Justin, I don't know where I am or what I'm doing half the time.”

  Chantelle walked in so they stopped talking. “Don't let me interrupt things, girls.”

  Becky narrowed her eyes at her. “Chantelle, your hair. It looks great. Did Antoine do it?”

  The shorter, contemporary style made her look ten pounds thinner and five years younger.

  “He just finished. Didn't you see me sitting in his chair?” She smoothed her hand over her dark locks.

  Becky shook her head. “No, sorry. I didn't notice.”

  “Becky, you've been a space cadet for the last week. Are you all right?” Chantelle asked.

  “I'm fine. I have part-timers, I guess.” She smiled.

  Chantelle stared at her with a blank expression on her face.

  Renee rolled her eyes. “You know, Chantelle. Part-timers instead of Alzheimer's.”

  Chantelle scowled. “Are you making fun of a serious disease?”

  “Never mind, Chantelle.” Becky took a bite of her sandwich.

  “Aaaahhhh. Help, help,” a high-pitched voice shrilled.

  The three women went running out of the kitchenette. Antoine stood on his service chair, shrieking.

  “What's wrong?” Becky yelled.

  He pointed to the floor. “There. Get it out, get it out.”

  “What is it?” Chantelle asked.

  “A lizard. It was there, all green and slimy. I swear, it was there.”

  “I'm sure it's gone by now.” Renee chuckled. “Probably slithered under the backdoor.”

  Slowly, he got down from his chair, searching all around his station for the creature.

  Zoey was laughing. “Antoine, is there anything else you're afraid of like that?” Zoey asked.

  He bristled. “It's not funny. I hate them things.” He picked up each item on his counter, examining it carefully, then returning it.

  “They don't bite or anything, you know.” Chantelle went back into the kitchenette.

  Mrs. Goldstein came inside and sat in Becky’s chair. “Becky, darling, how is your mother?”

  “She's fine, thank you. Did Naomi tell you she came in for a manicure?”

  “My Naomi? No, she didn't.”

  “She met Renee at a party. Naomi's boyfriend and Renee's boyfriend are good friends.”

  Mrs. Goldstein wrinkled her nose. “That Wyatt. I don't think much of him. He's a fireman, you know.”

  “I heard. What's wrong with that?” Becky turned the chair so her client's head was over the sink.

  The older woman raised one eyebrow as she regarded Becky. “For my daughter, a fireman? He's not even Jewish, Becky. She could do better.”

  “He’s very nice,” Renee said. “He owns a home and he's good to Naomi. She could certainly do worse.”

  “One could always say that. I suppose a crack head would be better than a murderer, right? But I don't want my daughter dating a crack head either. A mother always wants her daughter to stay with her own kind. I’ll never accept him as a son.” She waved her hand in the air, signaling an end to the conversation.

  Becky turned toward Renee and grimaced as she worked the shampoo into a lather.

  Would her parents ever accept Joe? With him being not only a different race, but a different class as well, would they be able to see past that? What should matter to them was that he made her happy. Not that she had any guarantee things would progress to a more serious level between her and Joe, but she had a feeling they might.

  If her family was as set against him as Mrs. Goldstein was with Wyatt, she didn’t know what she’d do. She sank from the weight of it.

  * * * * *

  Renee adjusted her black velvet skirt before climbing into Cleave’s car Saturday night. Her stomach did flip flops. Tonight she planned to tell him she couldn't see him any more. She’d tried twice to break up with him over the phone but she’d chickened out. Again. But this was it. “Where are we going?”

  “You'll see. I've had a private, romantic dinner arranged.”

  What the heck was he up to? They passed Lake Henrietta Shores so she had a sneaking suspicion they were going to the club. What could she do? She squirmed in the seat, hoping she was wrong.

  Please let it not be the club.

  Unfortunately, her prayers went unanswered. They pulled into the country club and Cleave parked next to the clubhouse.

  “We're eating here?” She wrung her hands.

  “In the private dining room.”

  “I didn't know they had one.” A bead of sweat ran down her face. “Cleave, can we talk first?”

  He patted her hand. “Plenty of time for that over dinner.”

  She held a hand to her stomach. “I’m not feeling well. I think I need to go home.”

  He pinned her with an impatient stare. “Look, let’s go inside and have a drink. It’s important to me.”

  “But—”

  He silenced her with a kiss. She kept her lips tightly closed.

  Without another word, he got out of the car and came around to her side. Offering her a hand up, he nodded. “Come on. If you’re not feeling better in a little while, we’ll leave. I promise.”

  Dread enveloped her like a straight jacket. She accepted his hand, aware that hers had grown clammy.

  When they entered the restaurant, Cleave pulled the maître d' aside and whispered something in his ear. Renee strained to try to hear what they said, but couldn't. She had a bad feeling about this.

  Cleave returned to her side. “You look like gloom and doom are about to befall you. What's wrong?”

  “Nothing. I told you, I don’t feel well.” Her gaze roamed the large dining room. Couples dressed in the finest designer clothes leaned close to each other. Was everyone in the world having a romantic evening tonight? She’d been there several times and she’d never seen a chef come out of the kitchen. Even if Eloise was working tonight, chances were miniscule that she’d see her.

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine once you have something to eat. You’re probably just hungry.” He placed his hand on the small of her back.

  The maître d' came over to tell them their table was ready. He led them through the restaurant to a door in the back. They entered a small room with a single table set for two. There were candles on the table and the lights were dimmed. A floor to ceiling window provided a view of the pool, which was illuminated by colored lights.

  The maître d' held Renee's chair for her. “Mr. Nichols has already chosen the menu for this evening,” he told he. He turned his attention to Cleave. “Are you ready for the wine, sir?”

  “Yes, Rolf, thanks.”

  Rolf left the room, returning a moment later with a bottle of wine, which he opened and poured.

  As soon as he left, Cleave held up his glass. “To us. And to a beautiful evening.”

  She tapped his glass with hers, then drank the entire thing. Maybe the alcohol would give her the courage to say what she needed to. Had to.

  A waiter arrived and laid out small plates with a basket of bread. In the center of the table, he set down a small platter of pate. “Pate de Foie Gras.” The man backed out of the room.

  Renee licked her lips. “Wow. I've only had this stuff once before.”

  Cleave spread some of the delicacy on a piece of toasted French bread then handed it to her. He fixed the same for himself and took a bite. “Perfect. They made this here. It's superb. As good as when I had it in Paris.”

  “Paris?”

  He took her hand across the table. “I hope we’ll visit the city of lights together.” He took a long sip of his wine and cleared his throat. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead yet the room was cool.

&nbs
p; “Are you all right? You seem…agitated.” She was the one who ought to be nervous.

  He cleared his throat again. “Renee, I'd like to…I'd like you to…do you think we could go back to my place and you could spend the night?” He dabbed at his forehead with a napkin.

  She said a silent thank you that he hadn't asked something more difficult. She couldn't stand the thought that she was going to break his heart. Maybe tonight wasn't the right time. Only she knew she couldn't put it off any longer. This would have to be their last date. Her throat was dry and her hands slippery. “Cleave, I'm not…”

  “Renee, we've been dating a couple months now. I think you know where this relationship is heading. I'm crazy about you. I want to be with you more. I want to wake up in the morning next to you. I want us to have dinner every night together. From the first moment I saw your picture in your father's office, I knew I wanted you. Would you consider moving in with me?”

  “I…well, I…I have my cat.” It was the only thing she could think of.

  “Your cat can come too.” He leaned back in his chair. “Duke will get used to it. Animals adjust. My sister had a cat for years before my father brought home this adorable lab puppy. They fought at first, but eventually they learned to live together. You could stop paying rent. Hell, you could stop doing nails if you wanted, be a silent partner in your shop or sell your half to your partner.”

  Now that was going too far. She furrowed her brow. “I'm not ready to have someone support me and certainly not to have all the shots called for me. I love having my own business. I love having my own place.” She took a deep breath, distilling the conversation. “Wait. You knew you'd like me from my picture? Without even knowing anything about me?”

  “Sometimes you know these things. I knew you were attractive, I knew I liked your parents, so it stood to reason that you and I would fit.”

  Now her stomach really was upset. She wasn’t a thing a man should pick out from a photo like people bought clothes from a catalog or something. “Fit? What if I had turned out to be a dumb, spoiled brat?”

  He waved away her comment. “I knew you wouldn't be. And when I met you, I knew I had to have you.”

  The waiter knocked lightly on the door, then entered with their dinner.