The Other Side

by Trice Hickman

  Bernadette rose from her fur-lined sitting stool, walked over to her closet, and once again debated about what she should wear to Arizona’s party tonight. When they’d talked earlier that morning, Arizona had told her, “Come dressed to impress and you might just catch a man.”

  “Dressed to impress is vague, Arizona,” Bernadette had said, wanting more details. “What’s the theme? Is there a certain color I should wear?”

  “You overthink stuff. Just put on something nice . . . and make it sexy.”

  Nothing in Bernadette’s entire wardrobe could be classified as sexy, so she came as close as she could with an off-the-shoulder little black dress that she’d purchased a few years ago but hadn’t had the opportunity to wear. She pulled the designer garment off the wooden hanger and slipped it on. “Perfect,” she said as she ran her fingers over the soft material. The jersey knit fabric hugged her body and showcased her flat stomach, another asset she was thankful for, especially at her age. Bernadette walked over to her floor-length mirror and turned to look at her flat backside that no amount of squats, lunges, or any other exercise had been able to inflate. “It is what it is.”

  Ten minutes later, Bernadette was driving her car up to the entrance of the St. Hamilton. The stately property’s exterior reminded her of the richly appointed boutique hotels that she’d become accustomed to in DC. With its sculpted topiaries at either side of the massive brass and glass entrance doors, the St. Hamilton looked like a small palace.

  After Bernadette stepped out of her car at the valet stand, she was greeted by two bellmen whose immaculate navy blue uniforms included tails and a top hat. Their crisp white gloves and cheerful smiles added an extra touch of regality and sophistication to an already impressive establishment. Bernadette was beginning to see that Bourbon had its own distinct style.

  “Good evening, ma’ am,” one of the doormen said with a smile. “Are you here to check in or are you attending the Mays’ party this evening?”

  “I’m here for the party,” Bernadette answered.

  The doorman spoke into the mouthpiece that was attached to his headset. “The young lady about to come through the doors is here for the party. Please direct her to the ballroom.” He tipped his hat to Bernadette. “I hope you have a wonderful evening.”

  Bernadette loved that Southern men were generous with compliments, because she considered being called a young lady a grand compliment. As she strode into the impeccably decorated lobby she was greeted by yet another welcoming gesture, this time from a woman who looked as bubbly as the hostess from the restaurant last night.

  “Hello, ma’am, the Mays’ celebration is upstairs in the Washington Ballroom. You’ll need to go to the end of the hall, make a left, and take the elevator up to the fifth floor,” the woman said with a wide smile. “I hope you enjoy your evening.”

  “Thank you.” Bernadette returned the woman’s smile. She was still adjusting to how friendly and well-mannered people were in the South. Growing up in the heart of Washington, DC, she’d become accustomed to the blunt, no-nonsense way of navigating through life. But being in Bourbon was an eye-opening experience, and as she was beginning to realize, it was a refreshing one.

  As she ventured farther down the hallway, the faint smell of cologne and heavy footsteps caught her attention. With each step the smell got stronger, a combination of cedarwood and fresh greens, and the footsteps got closer, heavy but measured. She turned left at the end of the hallway as instructed, and so did the footsteps along with the masculine scent that smelled so good she wanted to see who it belonged to. Bernadette was glad that the elevator was just a few feet away so she could turn and see who was behind her. But before she could reach to press the button, a large hand pressed it for her. The elevator door immediately opened and she stepped inside. She stood perfectly still and watched as the tall, handsome man walked inside.

  Bernadette felt her heart beat fast as she looked at the stranger standing to her left. He’d planted himself directly beside her and then turned so he could face her. “Good evening,” he said in a deep, strong voice.

  “Hi,” was all Bernadette could think to say. She was the type of woman who rarely, if ever, was at a loss for words. She commanded boardrooms during business meetings and speaking engagements at national conferences, but the handsome stranger had left her tongue-tied and feeling school girl silly. She breathed in deeply and inhaled his sexy scent. Bernadette immediately pegged him for a pretty boy . . . a middle-aged pretty boy at that, which meant he was double trouble.

  He pressed button number five and asked, “Which floor?”

  Bernadette didn’t want him to think that she was even slightly fazed by him, as she knew many women most likely were, so she concentrated and found her voice. “I’m going up to five as well.”

  He smiled, and despite her best efforts a warm feeling flooded her body. At six four, he was a full foot taller than she, and his impressive height was matched by his broad shoulders that filled out the width of his wool coat. His low cut, curly black hair had trace specks of gray, and his slight five o’clock shadow only added to his allure. Bernadette looked down at the man’s shoes, which her discerning eye could tell were high-end, and then she slowly made her way back up to his face.

  No one could dispute that the stranger was a fine specimen of a man. Not only did his tall, masculine frame look sexy, his smooth café au lait–colored skin and high cheekbones gave him a regal look. According to Bernadette’s ranking scale for looks, he had to be a twenty out of ten.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” the man asked.

  “No, I’m not. How did you know?”

  “Because I don’t recognize you.”

  “Bourbon is a small town, but do you really think you know all ninety-five thousand residents who live here?” Bernadette had quickly recovered from her shock and awe stage and was back to her old self. She slightly smirked, knowing this man was used to being admired and saying whatever he pleased, especially to the ladies. A player, she thought to herself.

  He nodded. “Just about, give or take a handful of folks.”

  “Do you work for the Census Bureau?”

  “You got jokes. Give me your address and phone number so I can look through my files.”

  Bernadette hated to admit it, but his smile and quick wit made her want to laugh. But she knew that he was dead serious by the assured tone of his voice and the intense look in his eyes.

  Before Bernadette knew it the bell dinged and the doors opened. She secretly wished the hotel had twenty floors instead of the mere five it took to reach the ballroom. She knew that once they stepped off the elevator and walked into the party, women would be swarming the handsome stranger who knew everyone in Bourbon.

  “Ladies first.” He extended his hand for Bernadette.

  “Thank you.”

  He winked with a straight face. “It’s my pleasure, pretty lady.”

  Bernadette didn’t know if it was her imagination or wishful thinking, but the handsome stranger seemed to be flirting with her. Once they were off the elevator, the man leaned over and extended his hand for a greeting. “Please forgive me for not giving you a proper greeting. My name is Cooper Dennis, but my friends call me Coop.”

  Bernadette placed her small, delicate fingers inside his baseball mitt–size hand and gave him a firm shake. “Bernadette Gibson.”

  “You’ve got a mighty hard grip for such a little lady.”

  “You mean my firm handshake?” she corrected.

  “No, I mean your grip. I might need an ice pack.”

  But standing next to the sexy, handsome stranger, Bernadette realized that her long-held theory about the meaning of one’s handshake did not apply to him. His hands were soft, his touch was warm, and his grip was soft. But there was nothing weak or vulnerable about him. He was strong, bold, and fearless, and she could tell all that by the look in his eyes, which was so intense it sent a shudder through her body.

  There was a
coat check over to the right, and they both headed that way to relieve themselves of their winter outerwear.

  “Let me help you with that,” Coop said as he moved to help Bernadette slip out of her wrap. “Nice alpaca.”

  Bernadette blinked twice. Most women, let alone men, weren’t familiar with the high-fiber material made from fleecing alpacas to fashion coats, hats, and gloves. “You have an excellent eye,” Bernadette said.

  “You have no idea.” His fingers grazed the top of her slender shoulders and sent another shudder through her body.

  Bernadette thought that everything about Coop was effortlessly sexy, and she knew that he knew it, too. But like his handshake, she could see that it was simply his natural way. His own brand of swagger. And in her eyes, that made him dangerous. She’d only dated one pretty boy in her life, and that had been thirty years ago during her college days. He’d been a popular campus hunk who had been one of the who’s who on campus. She’d felt honored and was in disbelief that someone who was part of the in crowd and so good looking would want to date a regular, plain Jane, brainy wallflower like her.

  Their whirlwind romance had ended after he’d turned in his near-perfect midterm paper, which he’d convinced Bernadette to write for him. The campus hunk received an A and Bernadette got a broken heart. It had been the first of many times that men had either used her, cheated on her, or both.

  With their coats safely put away and claim tickets in their hands, Bernadette and Coop entered the crowded ballroom. The music was pumping, the dance floor was jumping, drinks were flowing, and people were celebrating like the ball was about to drop in Times Square. Bernadette surveyed the large ballroom and estimated that there had to be at least three hundred people who’d come out to celebrate Arizona’s birthday. She also noticed that even though the room was filled with people, many of them stopped what they were doing when they saw Cooper Dennis standing beside her. It was almost as if a major celebrity had walked into the room.

  “Coop! Coop! Hey, man!” and “What’s up, Coop!” was all Bernadette heard.

  A short, stout man hurriedly walked up to Coop and extended his hand for the classic soul brother dap. “Coop, whatchu know good, man!”

  “Nothin’ much. Just livin’.”

  “Livin’ large, man.”

  “I get by,” Coop said modestly.

  “Com’on over and say hey to the fellas,” the stout man said, acting as though Bernadette wasn’t even standing there. “It’s been a minute since anybody seen you outside the club, man.”

  Bernadette’s lips formed a sarcastic smirk. He was a pretty playboy, just as she’d suspected. And what was worse was that he apparently hung out in the club so much that it was his main spot. Now his earlier statement made sense. It wasn’t that he knew every person in Bourbon, it was that he knew nearly every woman in the town, and that was because he’d probably met them at the club, which also explained the lingering stares of nearly every female, young and old, within eyeshot. Bernadette didn’t care how drop dead gorgeous Coop was, how sexy he was, how good he smelled, or how his very touch had made her shudder; she had no interest in him.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Gibson,” Coop said in a polite tone. “But this fool right here has no manners, and I apologize that he interrupted us getting to know each other.”

  The stout man’s eyes grew large. “Oh, my bad.” He looked at Bernadette and slightly bowed his head, showing a large bald spot in the middle of his scalp. “Please forgive my manners. I’m William Henry. It’s a pleasure to meetchu.”

  Coop shook his head. “William Henry, I didn’t mean for you to introduce yourself. I’m tryin’ to get to know her.”

  William Henry looked as if he still didn’t fully comprehend what the handsome player said, and by now Bernadette had had enough. She looked the sexy man in his eyes. “You know my name and I know yours, so there’s not much more to discuss.” Bernadette smiled. “Have a good night, gentlemen.” And with that, she turned and walked away. She knew they both were probably watching her as she made her way across the room, so she added an extra sway to her narrow hips.

  “Bernadette!” Arizona yelled. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Arizona trotted up to Bernadette and greeted her with a warm hug. “Thank you so, so much for coming.”

  Bernadette had thought that Arizona looked good last night, but tonight she was stunningly gorgeous and glammed up like she belonged on the set of a Vogue style shoot. Her rose gold–colored sequined dress glistened against her sun-kissed almond-colored skin and complemented her voluptuous hips. Bernadette saw that men were staring at Arizona’s assets, but the birthday girl didn’t acknowledge one single glance, and that was because it was probably a regular occurrence for Arizona. Women like her had that special “it” that drew men like a magnet.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” Bernadette yelled over the noise.

  “I saved a place for you at my table, com’on.”

  Arizona took Bernadette by her hand and led her through the maze of people throughout the large ballroom until they reached an area that was roped off, allowing enough space for two tables of ten. Tall signs that said Reserved sat atop each table. Arizona introduced Bernadette to her parents, Myron and Carlotta Mays, two aunts on her mother’s side, and a few of her cousins. Bernadette remembered Arizona telling her that her mother was slightly older than Bernadette, but that Mother Nature hadn’t been kind to her as she’d aged. Bernadette had thought it was a harsh thing to say, especially about one’s own mother, but what she was beginning to learn about her brutally blunt new friend was that despite the bite of her words, they were laced with honesty. Even though Carlotta was Bernadette’s peer, the woman could have been mistaken for Arizona’s grandmother.

  Bernadette and Arizona settled in at the birthday girl’s table that was decorated with flowers and balloons. A three-tier cake—representing each decade of Arizona’s life—topped with a faux tube of lipstick and bottle of perfume, both fashioned from fondant, was displayed a few feet away. Bernadette was impressed with the scale of the event. Because Arizona’s birthday party was so lavish, Bernadette could only imagine what her wedding was going to be like. Then she suddenly thought about Chris. She leaned over to Arizona. “Where is your fiancé?”

  Arizona smiled. “He needed to take care of something at the front desk, but he should be back in a few minutes. Even though he’s off the clock he’s still workin’, because you’re always on call when you’re general manager of a hotel.”

  “He’s doing a great job because this hotel is fabulous and so is your party.”

  “Yes, Chris has been planning this for months.”

  “It looks like everyone he invited must’ve showed up. This crowd is huge.”

  Arizona looked around. “Yeah, and there’s actually a few people from work here.”

  Bernadette looked around, knowing she wasn’t familiar enough to recognize them. “Half of Bourbon is in here,” she joked.

  Arizona spoke above the music and chatter. “If you think this is something, it doesn’t compare to what’s planned for the wedding.”

  “Well, I want an invitation and a front row seat.”

  Bernadette swayed to the beat of the music and spotted Coop across the room. She looked away when she saw him staring back at her.

  “I saw you and Coop walk in together,” Arizona said with a wink. “And now he’s staring you down like he’s thirsty . . . I ain’t never seen Coop look thirsty.”

  “You know him?”

  “Girl, who don’t know Coop? He’s legendary.”

  “Oh really?”

  Arizona nodded. “Coop is like a celebrity in Bourbon, everybody knows him and he knows everybody.”

  “That’s what he told me on the elevator ride up. I’m sure he’s quite the ladies’ man.”

  “Yeah, but not like you think. Nearly every woman in this room except me would give her right arm and maybe even a leg to be with him. But Coop keeps pretty much to himself, and as far
as I know he’s single and likes it that way.”

  Bernadette was shocked. “He’s not a player?”

  “He used to be, back in his heyday, and from the stories I’ve heard he was somethin’ else. But that was a long, long time ago, and as far back as I can remember he’s been a big deal in Bourbon. He owns over half of the rental houses in the Bottoms, a couple Laundromats, two car washes, and Southern Comfort.”

  “You mean the jazz club?”

  “Yep. Have you been?”

  Now Bernadette knew why the clueless man who’d approached them had said he hadn’t seen Coop outside the club. It was because he was the owner. Bernadette had seen the billboard for Southern Comfort every day on her way to work, and she’d heard advertisements for the club on the local radio station. She’d been wanting to go ever since she moved to Bourbon. A few months back she’d planned an evening there because she loved jazz and wanted to venture out and enjoy a relaxing night of good music and wine. But her demandingly long work hours at Bourbon General had drained her so much that by the time her days ended, all she wanted to do was crawl into bed so she could prepare for another grueling day.

  Now, Bernadette had to admit that Coop had piqued her interest.

  “He’s one of the wealthiest men in town,” Arizona said. “Black or white, and what separates Coop is that he’s a self-made man. His daddy didn’t hand down a business or money to him like most of the other rich men in Bourbon. No sir, Coop came out of prison with nothin’ and built an empire.”

  “Prison?”

  “Yep, a long time ago . . . for drugs.”

  “Oh . . .”

  “But he’s a changed man. Even my mama said so, and she don’t play. She’ll call a spade a spade with no problem.”

  Bernadette nodded. “So, you get it from your mama.”