Cheesecake and Teardrops

by Faye Thompson

  Heather found out the answer to that question the following week. Don called about her latest photos, which he had shown to a few prospects. They all said the same thing. Her face needed a bit more definition—say, another ten pounds to be competitive. She’d have to work even harder.

  She called Paula about her next shipment, and that’s when she got the devastating news. Paula was having trouble securing more pills from the pharmaceutical company. They were cutting back on the manufacturing, to artificially drive up their profits once the pills were granted FDA approval.

  “So many clients, so few Z3K’s. You understand my predicament, Heather. Don’t you?” Paula asked her.

  “I really need those pills.”

  “I know, honey. I know. Maybe we can come up with a deal.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Heather asked.

  “Something that’s beneficial to both of us.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well,” she said slowly. “Ever since I kissed you that day on my bed, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.”

  Her voice turned husky. “I’m sure if we put our heads together we could come up with something.”

  Heather was silent. Paula was just proving another reason why she didn’t trust most women. They always had something up their sleeve. Paula was still an opportunistic, conniving sneak. Heather had another call coming through.

  “Hold on, Paula.”

  “No, why don’t I give you some time to think it over? I want to take you to the next level—in more ways than one. I’m sure we’ll be in touch. I can feel it.”

  It wasn’t often that Leola Grey had the pleasure of having dinner with her daughter. Between their busy work schedules and Heather’s extracurricular activities, there wasn’t much time left for mother-daughter talks. So an evening in with Heather was a nice change of pace.

  Leola licked barbecue sauce from her fingers. “You are turning into some cook.”

  “Thanks,” Heather said, slurping Crystal Light. They ate in silence for a moment, relishing the barbecue chicken, macaroni and cheese, and green beans.

  “So what’s going on, boobie?” Leola asked her daughter.

  “Besides getting all slim and trim?”

  “Well, the modeling agency wants me to lose another ten pounds.”

  “Don’t get carried away. It’s not worth getting sick over. You’ve lost so much already.”

  “I know, but they think that with ten more pounds the assignments will start pouring in,” Heather told her.

  “And what do you think?”

  “I’m willing to give it a shot.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Leola sucked on the bone.

  Heather put her fork down and took a deep breath. “Ma, what if you got the chance to make all your dreams come true. What price would you be willing to pay?”

  “Only you can answer that, Heather. Only you know how much your dream is worth. I can’t answer that for you.”

  Heather placed her chin in her hand and sighed. “I guess that’s what makes life so hard.”

  That weekend Paula literally took Heather to the Next Level—Manhattan’s trendiest gay bar. Heather was amazed at how many women were trying to catch her eye—moving in and invading her personal space ever so slightly as they said hello. There were blacks, whites, Latinas, Asians, all incredibly gorgeous, circling like piranhas in heat. Heather had to admit it gave her a rush. She squirmed in her seat slightly.

  Paula leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I have to run to the naughty girls’ room. Are you okay, hon?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She massaged Heather’s bare shoulder with her perfectly manicured fingernails. Heather sipped her peach martini as she watched Paula walk downstairs. A beautiful Latina zeroed in on Heather, her eyes roving over her mocha tank top with its scripted bling it on in gold letters. Heather sensed that her tanned twins were what was drawing her attention. The confident Latina actually reached for Heather’s nameplate necklace, marveling at the golden links. Her hand grazed Heather’s breast as she returned the chain to her neck.

  Then she whispered in Heather’s ear. “Wanna dance?”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “Oh come on. It’ll be fun,” she insisted, moving her hips seductively to the music and gently grabbing Heather’s hand. The Latina ran her fingers through her long, thick mane, checking for split ends. “You don’t know what you’re missing, mami. Once you have a woman, you never go back. One hit of all this,” she said, rubbing her hands over her hips, “and you’re hooked.”

  They say the same thing about crack. Heather shook her head.

  “If you change your mind . . .” She winked before leaving.

  “I’ll let you know,” Heather promised, breathing heavier than usual. She was just beginning to sweat as Paula returned.

  “Everything okay?” Paula asked her.

  “Yeah,” Heather agreed.

  “Good. Let’s get outta here.”

  28

  Tangie

  Tony left Tangela’s house that morning and headed home. He knew what had to be done—for her sake. She deserved so much more than he could ever give her.

  Last night he had come this close to jumping her bones. The moment he nestled up against her soft, warm flesh, he had to grab a pillow to wedge between his knees to camouflage his hard-on. Her scent still drove him nuts, reminding him of a time when she was his for the taking.

  Tony closed the door to his eighth-floor co-op. As he walked from room to room, he opened up the blinds. Sunlight flooded his home. He headed for the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee before returning to his home office.

  It was time to find out who the hell this Jordan was. Tony had jotted down his license plate number the minute he got home from the Stephanie Mills concert that night. Like they say, the dullest pencil is better than the sharpest mind, and he definitely didn’t want to leave something like Jordan’s license plate to chance.

  He tapped into several databases and before the morning was over, he knew everything about Jordan Newport, from his first grade teacher’s name to his shoe size. He knew all his favorite hangouts, as well as the magazines he subscribed to. Yep, working for the FBI definitely had its privileges.

  “Gosh, you’re glowing,” Tangie said to Charisma, fresh from her honeymoon. The three met up at Applebee’s for drinks.

  Heather added, “You look like a million bucks. Are you happy?” Charisma grinned.

  “It shows. Marriage definitely agrees with you.” Tangie nodded.

  “So how was Paris?” Heather asked.

  Charisma summed it up in one word. “Incredible. I’ll e-mail you the pictures, and you wouldn’t believe how hard it was to order toast in the morning. I think I put on five pounds, but it’s good to be home. God bless America. I missed you guys. Catch me up. What’s been going on?” She took a sip of her strawberry daiquiri.

  “I have been hitting that gym like Muhammad Ali beating on George Foreman,” Heather said.

  “You look good, girl,” Charisma told her.

  “You should see her at the gym,” Tangie said. “She’s working out like nobody’s business.”

  “I am on a serious mission.” Heather laughed. “And if you don’t know, you better ask somebody.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Charisma agreed.

  “Ready for some more news?” Tangie asked without waiting for an answer. “Tony and I are back together,” she exclaimed.

  “What?” Heather and Charisma said in unison.

  “We spent the night together. I still love that man. I still love him,” she said simply.

  Heather spoke first. “We don’t want to see you hurt again.” She toyed with the straw of her diet soda.

  “I’m a big girl,” Tangie reassured them. “And you know I’ve never stopped loving him. Please be happy for me.”

  “We are, Tangie. You mean the world to us. You kn
ow that. You’re our girl, but are you sure he’s not going to hurt you again?” Charisma asked.

  Tangie took a sip of her martini pop and scooted a bit in the booth. “No, of course not. Nothing in life is certain. Life is a gamble, and I’m willing to take that chance. Again.”

  “Well,” Charisma said, raising her glass in a toast. “Behind every successful woman is herself.” The three clinked glasses, silently saying a prayer for Tangie.

  Tony leaned back in his chair, gazing out the window of his downtown Manhattan office. Now that he had gathered all of this information on Jordan, what was he going to do with it? Was Jordan Tangela-worthy? He didn’t know. He picked up the phone and dialed Jordan’s number. He swiveled back around and grabbed a pen, tapping it on the cherrywood desk. No answer. He checked his watch. It was only three-thirty. He’d try again later. It was time he and Jordan had a man-to-man. It was one thing reading a dossier. It was a totally different matter speaking with someone in the flesh.

  That night Tony got his wish. He and Jordan met at a bar down Hillside Avenue. They had a couple of drinks at the bar before switching to a booth for privacy.

  “So what’s this all about?” Jordan asked.

  “I’ll give you two guesses.”

  “I bet I only need one, Tangie.”

  “Tangela it is.” Tony winked, raising his beer.

  “So you’re the one anointed to call her Tangela. I guess you know her better than I ever will,” Jordan admitted.

  “Maybe not. If you play your cards right.”

  “Since you seem to know all the secrets, are you willing to help a brother out?” Jordan asked.

  “Hey, it’s every man for himself.” Tony’s eyes could have drilled a hole in him.

  Jordan got up to leave.

  “And it looks like you’ve lost before the game’s even begun.”

  The two men stared at each other as though they were preparing for a game of chess. After they emitted enough testosterone between them to start a forest fire, something made Jordan sit back down.

  “Another round?” Tony asked him, draining his glass.

  Jordan nodded. “Why not?”

  That was a week and a half ago. Tony believed that he’d done right by Tangela, but the lump in his throat begged to differ. No matter how much he loved her, he was first and foremost a realist. He was a company man. And no matter how many times he mulled it over in his head, the answer was still the same. He and Tangela could never be. It simply wouldn’t work. The FBI was like a jealous wife. She allowed no room in his life for a demanding mistress, even a legal one. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Tony picked up the phone and dialed Tangela’s number anyway.

  Tangie had just gotten back from lunch when she was paged to the club’s front desk. Apparently, it was urgent. They paged her three times before she left the staff locker room, but she was in no mood to rush. Until, of course, she spotted a delivery boy carrying a bouquet of lime green roses. Smiling, she quickened her step. She was anxious to read the note, recognizing Tony’s scroll instantly. Let’s make tonight unforgettable. Tangie smiled at the thought. She fumbled in her sweatpants pockets for a dollar. Then on second thought, she tipped him two. It was that kind of day.

  Tony must have gotten the delivery confirmation because shortly after he sent her a text message.

  Your place or mine?

  Tangie was in the middle of a transaction when she got his message. She thought for a moment before responding.

  Mine, definitely mine.

  He answered back immediately.

  Name the time and I’ll be there.

  Eight o’clock, she replied, before getting back to work, counting the hours until quitting time. She hadn’t taken anything out for dinner. Everything was frozen. So she mentally scrambled to put together a menu as she drummed her fingers on the mousepad. What did she cook the last time they were together? She drew a complete blank, but as she clocked out, she knew there’d be no time to hit the supermarket. Hopefully, she had all the fixings to whip up something delicious.

  Tangie got jammed in trying to maneuver her way though Jamaica Avenue traffic. The streets were packed with summertime shoppers. Didn’t they know she had a hot date with her man that night? Evidently not. The light turned green, and she hit the accelerator, but pedestrians jumped out of nowhere, strolling across the walkway like she had all the time in the world. Not. New Yorkers were a mess. Of course, they had the right of way. By the time the walkway cleared, the light had turned red. Damn. It was already 6:15. Luckily, when the light turned green this time, she was able to make her turn and be on her way. She was home half an hour later.

  Tangie took a quick shower and headed for her bedroom. She noticed that her answering machine light was blinking and quickly played the message. It was Tony. Don’t cook, he told her. He’d pick up Pizza Hut.

  Tangie breathed a sigh of relief. No need to worry about dinner. She slipped into a pair of denim shorts and a baby blue halter top, checked herself in the mirror and smiled. She didn’t know exactly what the future held for her and Tony, but she was determined to enjoy the ride. Her phone rang again. It was Jordan. She let her machine pick up.

  Tangie went to the kitchen to pour herself a tall glass of raspberry lemonade. She then programmed her CD player and turned on the stereo before relaxing on the sofa. Her eyes feasted on the luscious lime roses she had brought home from work, recalling the very first time Tony had surprised her with them. The sound of the doorbell brought her back to the present.

  She answered the door. Tony walked in waiter-style, balancing the pizza box on one hand above his right shoulder. He headed for the kitchen, where Tangie got plates and napkins.

  “Let’s eat in the living room,” she said as he cracked open the box, revealing a piping-hot cheese crust pizza with her favorite toppings—black olives, mushrooms, and extra cheese. It was pure, unadulterated cholesterol heaven, and they enjoyed every artery-clogging morsel.

  “So how’s it going?” Tangie asked him, taking a sip of her lemonade.

  “Okay,” he said, biting into another slice.

  “Oh, let me get you something to drink.”

  “No, don’t get up. I’ll get it,” he said, heading for the kitchen and returning momentarily with a beer.

  Tangie picked an olive off her pizza and popped it into her mouth. “Ever think about us getting back together?”

  “All the time,” he said seriously.

  “We’re so right for each other. I know we can make it work. Can’t you see that?” She wanted to open up his head and pour some sense into him.

  “Listen to me, Tangela,” he said gently. “You and I will always be connected. And if you ever need me, I’m here for you. My love for you hasn’t ended. It’s just switched gears. One day, it will all make sense to you, and you’ll thank me.”

  29

  Charisma

  Married life was sweeter than either Charisma or Nate could possibly imagine. They were six weeks into their nuptials, and the honeymoon was hotter than ever. They had already christened every room in Nate’s town house with their lovemaking. Even the laundry room had been a tight, yet satisfying fit.

  Every day Charisma would come home and start dinner. Nate never knew what she planned to cook, but by the time he arrived home, the most delicious aromas filled the air. Charisma loved cooking for her husband. She had almost perfected his favorite dishes, and he didn’t mind telling her how he loved having a wife who satisfied his appetite in and out of the bedroom.

  Charisma was all settled into her new home. They had already decided before the wedding that since his place was larger, she’d move in with him. Sure, she missed her condo; she had lived there for years. But she loved her husband even more. She appreciated the little changes that came with marriage, like no longer having to make what she called the single girl’s call the minute the bank opened on payday to make certain the deposit was there. And a beautiful thing happened one Saturday morning wh
en Nate was out playing tennis. She was watching her favorite homeshop-ping channels and decided to buy a pair of gold earrings. It had been so long since she’d placed an order, and of course her phone number and address had changed. The representative actually had to look her up. That’s when she realized that she didn’t need the earrings and canceled the order.

  She told Nate about it later that evening. “No, you don’t understand, babe. I was a serious shopaholic. Once upon a time I’d go barefoot before I’d wear a round toe shoe in a pointy toe season. I was a hot mess. Tangie and Heather were planning an intervention.”

  “So now you’re a recovering shopaholic. Thank God,” he said, laughing.

  “You laugh, but our marriage could have been on the rocks right about now.”

  Nate’s secretary held all her boss’s calls while he sat in on a weekly morning conference call. By the time the call ended, he had two messages from Chase Martini marked urgent. He returned Chase’s calls later that afternoon when he had a free moment. He quickly dialed her cell phone.

  “Chase, it’s Nate. What’s up?”

  “I need to see you. It’s important.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “I can’t go into it over the phone. I’m on Fiftieth between Fifth and Sixth. Can you meet me in Starbucks inside Rockefeller Center? I’ll be here for another hour.”

  “See you at four-thirty?”

  “Sure,” he said before hanging up, wondering what she could possibly want to discuss. Nate called his bride to tell her he’d be home a bit late then finished up at work before leaving for the day.

  Nate walked the short distance to Starbucks along Manhattan’s crowded streets. Between the street vendors, the dog walkers, and the tourists taking pictures, he could barely maneuver through the congestion. When he reached Starbucks, Chase was already there sipping on an iced coffee.