by Nona Wesley
The grin widened, confirming Diahann’s suspicions. So the missus had spilled, and Wayne pieced together what had transpired. She couldn’t believe, however, that Wayne would leave his wife at the conference hotel while he flew home for a quickie with his…
Ugh. She squeezed her eyes shut. She was not his mistress, and wouldn’t think to label herself as such. A mistress had disclosure, and willingly entered a relationship with a married man. She bought into Wayne’s deceit, and refused to accept the baggage accompanying it.
“Baby,” he began again, and Diahann moved to close the door. His hand shot forward, however, and his grip proved too strong for her to counter.
“At least let me explain,” he began. “In all fairness, give me the chance.”
“Who’s that?” Diahann heard Dee call from the kitchen, but she held up a hand to silence her sister. That was all she needed, to have Dee see Wayne and go off on him. Rather than let him in, she stepped outside and closed Dee off from their conversation. In the distance she spotted a car that wasn’t his. He must have rented a car and come straight from the airport.
“Fair?” she demanded. “You haven’t been fair to me since the day we met. Why should I accommodate you now? You lied to me.” When she realized how loudly her voice carried Diahann took a deep breath and walked farther away from her door.
“If I’d have known you were married, I wouldn’t have gone out with you,” she added, her tone quiet this time. Wayne had to move closer to better hear, and the scent of his aftershave tickled her senses. She steeled herself against the pending onslaught of charm—whatever transpired here, she vowed not to crack, or forgive his indiscretions.
“I know. It’s sort of why I didn’t mention it,” Wayne said. “In my defense, you never really asked me, either.”
“That’s weak.” Diahann snorted. “You’ll have to forgive me. I never saw a ring on your hand, and I didn’t realize I needed to ask that of a man interested in me.” She stepped onto the grass separating her walkway from Mrs. Hong’s. Wayne stood too close for her comfort. “What are you doing here anyway? I can’t believe you left your wife in Charlotte.”
“Diahann, baby, she’s only my wife in name. We haven’t had a real marriage in two years,” Wayne said, pleading. “I took her with me to Charlotte because she has family there…and because I’d planned to break it off completely with her. She’s not exactly lovey-dovey towards me.” He peered up from the roses like a contrite child, but Diahann didn’t buy the act.
“I’m supposed to believe that line of bull.” It wasn’t a question. “It doesn’t explain why she’s there and you’re here.”
“I had to come, baby,” he said. “When were at the orientation mixer and I overheard Nancy telling one of the other wives about the surprise dinner I supposedly planned, I had a feeling she’d talked to you. I felt I needed to explain everything to you in person, so I took the early flight back home this morning.” He relaxed and the flowers hung limp, a few browned petals dripping to the concrete. “I have to be on another plane in two hours to get back there, and I’d feel a lot better knowing you’ve forgiven me and that we could start fresh.”
Diahann felt the air leave her body. She couldn’t believe he would even suggest continuing their relationship. If he could lie so calmly about his marital status, what else could he be keeping from her?
“Wait here,” she growled and stormed back into her house, engaging the lock so he couldn’t follow her.
Storming into the kitchen, she ignored the bewildered expression on her sister’s face and the accompanying questions about whom she’d locked out of the house. Diahann trained her focus on the numbers dialed into her phone, and waited patiently for the hotel chain operator to respond.
“Downtown Charlotte location, please,” she requested once connected, and when transferred she asked for Wayne’s room. Mrs. Dinkins answered on the third ring.
“Mrs. Dinkins, how is your sex life?” she asked.
Silence, but for a heavy breath, then, “Excuse me? Who is this? Are you selling something?”
I about sold my soul, thanks to your cheating-ass husband. “Mrs. Dinkins, it has come to my attention that your marriage to Wayne Dinkins has cooled over the last two years. Are you aware his sex life hasn’t?”
A loud thump radiated from the foyer, followed by an insistent door chime. Dee rose to answer but a stern glance and a sharp gesture from Diahann returned her to her stool. The other line went quiet again, and quickly Mrs. Dinkins regained her voice.
“I knew it,” she said, sounding defeated. “All this time I thought he’d brought me here to reconcile, when he’s still playing me for a fool.”
You and me both, hon. Diahann’s heart softened at the other woman’s words. She longed to say something for comfort but couldn’t be sure if Wayne’s wife would accept her words.
“Please let me assure you I had no idea he was married,” she said instead. “I wouldn’t have dreamed—”
Mrs. Dinkins broke into her apology. “Girl, please. You’re his fucking secretary. You had to have known.”
His…fucking…what? The hand holding the phone numbed.
“Unless…” Mrs. Dinkins’ voice drifted into stark realization, not a happy place. “Oh, that son of a bitch!”
Diahann dropped the phone on the counter. Mrs. Dinkins’ tinny voice cursed and shouted from the receiver. She didn’t say anything when Dee scooped it up to catch the rest of the rant.
She ripped open her door mid-ring and snatched the bouquet from Wayne’s hands, surprising him.
“I’ll make sure these get to your secretary. You have a plane to catch, and I hope you’re the lone casualty when it crashes.”
The vibration from the slammed door rattled the change dish on the foyer catch-all table, and its contents. Wrinkled red petals dripped a path of scented tears to the bedroom as Diahann retreated to a more comforting spot under her covers. To her relief, all manners of ringing ceased.
“Diahann?” Dee called gently. “You okay, shug?”
“No, but I will be,” she said, curled in bed and clutching the flowers. Their sweetness nauseated her. She longed for something to counter it. Something sour.
Or sweet and sour.
Chapter Seven
“Yes, tomorrow at two would be perfect, Mr. Marshall. Thank you so much.” Goodbyes exchanged, Sun rang off and noted the pending meeting with the ice cream parlor owner in his BlackBerry. Hopefully the late lunch would serve to set in motion Sun’s initial proposal of investing in MMMarshall’s, thereby allowing Diahann to see him as more than a blue collar punk.
He realized, too, he couldn’t meet Jim Marshall empty-handed. The man couldn’t be sold on Mimi’s baking skills if he couldn’t sample the goods. Sun rose to lean against the counter—he’d relieve his sister so she could go home and get to work on their future plans.
Mimi, however, twirled the long phone cord around her slender fingers, laughingly engaged in a lengthy call that clearly tied up the line for incoming orders. She caught Sun’s hard stare and abrupt throat-slashing gesture, and quickly ended the call in a slurred dialect.
“Joi gin.” She replaced the receiver, hastily scribbled an order, and practically tossed it at Lang, the chef on shift tonight.
“I’m glad you at least remember what they ordered for all that yakking,” he chided gently.
Mimi smirked. “What’s to remember? That was Mrs. Hong, she orders the same thing.”
“Really? She’s usually not so chatty over the phone.”
His sister shrugged. “Never had much to say until tonight, I guess. She was giving me the scoop on her neighbor’s love life.”
Sun’s heart froze. Oh, God. Surely the old woman hadn’t had a glass to the common wall.
“The lady next door was outside fighting with her boyfriend,” Mimi continued. “Guy came over with flowers, acting all sweet, and she about beat him to death with them.”
He swallowed back bile and steppe
d backward, blindly feeling with his feet for the legs of his chair so he could sit again. Diahann had been seeing someone when they…?
He took a breath. Okay, that might have explained why she asked if he was married. Apparently her jilted florist had been.
Did that better or weaken his chances with her, however? Nothing like deceit or infidelity to sour a person off future relationships.
“Is he still there?” he asked, hating the weak tone of his voice.
“How the hell should I know?” Mimi replied. “It’s not like…” She paused, clearly seeing something in him that Sun didn’t want to convey.
Slowly Mimi’s mouth gaped into a wide open smile, and she pointed at her brother. “Oh, my God…”
Sun kept his eye trained on the kitchen window for Mrs. Hong’s order. “Don’t say it,” he warned.
“She’s the one you don’t want to talk about, right? You got a thing for the ice cream lady.”
“No, I—how did you know who she is?”
“Mrs. Hong. Duh.” Mimi stabbed her temple with her forefinger, extended to resemble a gun barrel with her thumb cocking the invisible hammer. She grabbed the containers for the delivery order, dripping and spotted with brown sauce, and placed them in a brown paper bag. “So what were you thinking, we’d branch into Kung Pao Popcicles while you made time with the ice queen?”
Sun arched an eyebrow. Diahann certainly didn’t feel cold in his arms that night. “Mrs. Hong called her that?”
Mimi offered a sheepish grin to go with the bag. “No, I just thought it might sound cute.”
“How about you get your cute butt home and make a dozen of your best cupcakes? I’m meeting Jim Marshall tomorrow to talk about buying into the shop with a top pastry chef.” He smiled at her reaction. “Tell Chet to take over the phones when he gets out of the men’s room. I’ll deliver this.”
“Yeah? Well, you better take an extra one of these.” She reached into the bin next to her and plucked a wrapped fortune cookie, which Sun caught in her easy toss.
“What’s this for?”
Mimi smiled. “You can never have too much good fortune.”
Chapter Eight
A soft tap on her open bedroom door alerted Diahann to the dark figure about to enter. She looked up to see Jim Marshall looming overhead, gazing down with a sad smile and two extended arms.
“Oh, Daddy.” Instantly she felt ten years old, and despite the embarrassment heating her skin she longed for nothing else right now than to cry out her frustrations in her father’s arms. Righting herself into a sitting position on the bed, she leaned into her father when he settled beside her.
“Dee called and told me what happened. I couldn’t not come.” His smooth baritone vibrated through her body and relaxed her. “I know you like being on your own, baby, but when my girl’s hurting…”
“I know, Daddy. Thanks for stopping by.” Sniffling, she pulled away and forced a smile. “Let’s just call it an error in judgment on my part. I seem to be making a lot of those lately.”
Jim shrugged. “Can’t say I’m disappointed. I never liked the guy, just tolerated him because you obviously did like him,” he said. “And I don’t know where you’re getting this mindset that you’re a failure. Baby girl, you’re doing the best you can.”
She sighed and wiped away her tears. Not even the comforting hand patting her back provided balm for her bruised professional ego. “It’s not good enough,” she insisted. “We didn’t break even today.”
“That’s not your fault. It’s a lousy economy right now, but we’ve weathered worse. We’ll get through this.” Jim squeezed her closer. Diahann let the strong musk of his familiar cologne monopolize her senses. It did wonders to erase the stench of her confrontation with Wayne, yet the prospect of losing the shop due to her lackluster management skills continued to haunt her.
“In fact,” her father continued, “we may get some help tomorrow. I’m meeting with a potential investor that could bring us some good news.”
Investor? Diahann stood, feeling the cold rushing over her body. “Daddy, you’re not thinking of selling…?”
“Sell MMMarshall’s? Would you give away a child? No, baby girl, I’m talking about a limited partnership. Mr. Li is interested in bakery retail, rather than startup a new place he wants to test market products through us.”
Diahann racked her brain for memory of anybody named Lee. She knew just about every businessperson in town worth knowing, and couldn’t recall any Chamber of Commerce members named Lee, first or last.
“So, what does he want?” The whole thing sounded suspicious.
Jim Marshall shrugged. “I’ll know tomorrow. I gather some counter space to display the goods and use of the kitchen. It’s not like we do much behind the scenes, since we don’t cook. Might as well put the equipment to good use. If this works out we may be able to get some retail distribution going with him.”
“I don’t know, but you’ve never steered us wrong, Daddy.” She hugged her father. “When do you meet Mr. Lee? I wouldn’t mind sitting in, if you don’t mind.”
An eyebrow arched over a critical eye. “You don’t think your old man is too old to be negotiating business, do you, child?”
Diahann smiled her sweetness right back. “I want to watch a master at work.”
Jim chuckled. “I’m kidding, baby girl. Sure. Maybe two against one will leave us to the good. Now, since we’re sort of speaking about dessert, how about we get some? I brought over a pint of your favorite.”
As they turned to leave the bedroom, Dee met them at the door, her face twisted with bemusement.
“You call for takeout while I wasn’t hearing?” she asked.
Diahann’s mouth dried. She wasn’t in the mood for one of her sister’s jokes, especially with her father standing next to her. “What?”
Dee crooked her neck back. “Jackie Chan’s at the door.”
* * * *
He remained posted at Diahann’s doorstep, ordered to stay put by the sister—Dee, Chet had called her—while she went to fetch Diahann. Part of him wanted to turn tail and run, for he really had no business here. He had no food to deliver, not even a coupon, and the thought of another reject nagged at him.
Still, the idea that another man, her presumed ex-boyfriend, had come to cause her grief brought out the chivalrous knight. If he could at least see that Diahann was okay, he’d feel better. He vowed, however, not to take advantage of any emotional distress. Much as he wanted Diahann, she needed to genuinely reciprocate.
He listened at the door for activity, and his heart stopped on hearing a deep, male voice grow in strength as it neared. Had the boyfriend returned, and weaseled his way to forgiveness? Sun didn’t want to find out, and took a step back to the car when the door opened.
“No, I’ll take care of it,” the man was saying as the door flew open. “If you didn’t order food, it was probably some fool kid playing a prank. Hello there.”
Sun swallowed and turned to greet the man addressing him. It startled him at first to see how much older Diahann’s boyfriend looked than he first perceived. Yet on deeply focusing on the large black man’s graying temples, thin mustache, and soft features, he realized he knew the man standing before him.
“Jim Marshall?” He’d recognized the entrepreneur from a picture in the shop.
Jim Marshall appeared confused. “Yes? Did you come here looking for me?”
“Uh—not exactly. Sun Li, with the Rising Sun.” He extended his hand, and relief soothed his nerves when the other man beamed and accepted.
“Yes. Good to meet you. I should have guessed, with your car out there,” Jim said. “Well, come on in, son.” He ushered Sun through the door, chatting all the while. “I have to admit I’m surprised, since we’re supposed to meet tomorrow. You’ve sort of caught me unprepared.”
“Actually,” Sun paused for a nervous laugh, trying not to meet the stunned, silent gazes of the women, “I just made a delivery next door and…r
ecognized your cart outside,” he lied. “I know a Marshall lives here, having delivered to this address before. Just didn’t make the connection.”
“Reasonable. Marshall is a fairly common name.”
Sun couldn’t mistake the well-timed combination of a cough and nudge to Diahann’s shoulder from Dee. Diahann merely huffed and stepped away. Sun inwardly sighed; he might have known a sister would confide in family.
“So, you run a restaurant and make deliveries?” Jim Marshall asked, incredulous.
“I do when I’m needed. My regular delivery person has an injury.” He glanced at Diahann, who kept her gaze fixed downward. “I don’t mind it,” he added.
Jim followed his glance and suddenly shook his head, as though gaining consciousness of his surroundings. “Well, then, I suppose you already know my daughters, Diahann and Dee. They each own a share of the store, so definitely they should be made aware…” He then addressed them directly. “Mr. Li own Rising Sun. He’s interested in investing in MMMarshall’s, provided we offer counter and kitchen space for a joint endeavor he’s proposing.”
“Oh, really?” Dee arched an eyebrow and planted a hand firmly on one hip. “We talking green tea ice cream in those clear wonton wrappers like they have at Trader Joe’s?”
“Dee,” Diahann chided under her breath, but Sun smiled at the sister’s apprehension.
“My younger sister is rather an accomplished pastry chef,” he said. “She is looking for an outlet to sell cupcakes.”
Now both eyebrows shot upward, and Dee pursed her lips in an approving expression. “I’m listening.”
“How about we listen some more where it’s more comfortable?” Jim suggested, and before Sun realized it he’d been herded into Diahann’s living room, where Jim guided him to the chair near the sofa where the Marshalls sat.
All through their impromptu business meeting, Diahann watched him intently. Sun wished for time alone to determine her exacts thoughts. He hoped they weren’t negative.
