Carl Weber's Kingpins

by Marcus Weber

  * * *

  “Hey, ladies!” the shrill southern drawl broke up Paige’s thoughts and ended Michaela’s barrage of what-will-you-do questions.

  Michaela’s face, which had just a second ago been dragged down with pity for Paige, was suddenly jovial. “Koi! It’s so good to see you!”

  Paige shifted in her seat at how easy it was for Michaela to change moods. Paige imagined that this talent of Michaela’s must’ve been a gift and a curse.

  “Paigey,” Koi sang, pushing on Paige’s shoulder.

  Paige wanted to vomit, but she plastered on a fake smile, pushed away from the table, and stood up.

  Let the pretending begin.

  “Wait, have you lost weight? Girl, you are so beautiful. The lighting in this place is doing it for those gray eyes,” Koi gushed in her annoying sing-songy-Paula-Deen voice. She tapped cheeks with Paige. A real Southern belle.

  “I know I say this every time, but you two, with that ashy blond hair, that buttery skin that you both seem to be able to keep so radiant all year ’round, and those colored eyes . . . green and gray is it . . . always make me think of twins . . . sisters, at least,” Koi gushed. “Yes, twins. There has to be some family connection. It’s just too strange.”

  Is she going to say that every time she sees us? Paige wondered, annoyed.

  People always asked Paige and Michaela if they were sisters, and when they’d say no, they’d ask, “Cousins, at least?”

  Paige guessed it was because ignorant people thought it so rare that two black girls, friends no less, could have fair skin, dusty blond hair, and colored eyes.

  Paige and Michaela had also discussed Koi’s obsession with their looks. Paige opined that Koi was uncomfortable with her own coffee-bean complexion, which she noticeably tried to lighten with the wrong, way-too-light shade of foundation. There was nothing about Koi that Paige really thought was endearing, but she put up with her for the sake of Michaela and to say she had friends. It was just what socialites did—maintain fake friendships, meet and eat, and spend money on things that boosted their reputations.

  Every time they met up, Paige thought, Who named their child Koi? Wasn’t that the name of those hideous orange, red, and silver fish that swam around in the neat little decorative ponds of rich people who thought they brought them good feng shui?

  Koi was married to Damien Armstrong, former criminal-turned-pastor of Full of Life Ministries, a megachurch in Westchester. Koi was far from what Paige would’ve considered first lady-like. Growing up, Paige watched the first lady of her family’s church sit quietly in the front pew wearing an angelic smile, dressed in almost floor-length paisley dresses with lace-trimmed collars that covered her collarbone, and she spoke in mousy, hushed murmurs while church members always seemed to be fussing over her. The total opposite of Koi, who never left home in anything other than the brightest, tightest, above-the-knee dresses with so much cleavage-spillage she could probably double as a circus sideshow—the megachurch first lady who could balance a Bible on her breasts. Koi spoke loudly as if she was always on a stage commanding an audience’s attention. She lived for attention. And, did first ladies wear so much weave and outlandish clown-like makeup? Today’s choice was a purple, glittery eyeshadow and shiny fuchsia lipstick.

  At that moment, Paige was a bit annoyed by Koi’s presence. She was just another person to make Paige feel like her life was in shambles.

  “You know, in all of my years in New York, I’ve never come to this place. Heard about it, never got around to it. Damien is so busy all the time. With his flock of believers growing each week, date nights have become few and far between,” Koi said as she looked around in wide-eyed amazement.

  Paige smirked. “I’m surprised. You’re so . . . you know . . . worldly, and this place has been around forever.”

  La Grenouille was a well-known celebrity haunt in Manhattan that Michaela always felt was worth making appearances at, so they visited often. Paige loved the rustic, yet modern ambiance. The wooden walls, the traditional furniture that still looked new, the bouquets of fresh flowers, and classic light fixtures gave the inside of the restaurant a suave, chic feel.

  “I love it here. Caught quite a few juicy news tidbits in this place,” Casey announced, approaching from the side like she’d been part of the conversation all along.

  Paige, Michaela, and Koi all seemed to look up at the same time with simultaneous raised-brow, mouth-agape surprise.

  “Hey girls,” Casey sang. “How did y’all know exactly where to sit? This is my favorite table. This is the perfect spot. Front and center. I can enjoy and still see if any celebrities bounce in on the creep. You all know I love a good, juicy story.”

  “It’s so rude to sneak up on people,” Michaela grumbled at Casey without bothering to stand up. Koi gave Casey a weak air kiss and a flat, “Hey, girl.” Paige stood and gave Casey a tight hug.

  Michaela sighed heavily and picked up her menu. Paige shot her a stern look. She was starting to believe that Michaela was jealous of her friendship with Casey.

  “We haven’t ordered anything while we waited for you. I’m starving, so can you sit down,” Michaela griped with a passive aggressive smile.

  “I sure can,” Casey replied, overly cheery. She pulled out the chair next to Paige.

  Michaela exhaled loudly.

  Casey’s arrival made Paige feel better. Someone normal, finally. Casey didn’t have it as good financially as they all did, but she had become a good source of information since she was one of the most popular gossip bloggers on the web, and Paige thought she was more genuine than most of the women in the social elite of the New York City scene. There was something pure about Casey that Paige couldn’t quite place, but it was endearing just the same. Paige didn’t know if it was Casey’s deep cheek dimples, which made her look like an innocent-faced baby cherub, or if it was that Casey didn’t care to pretend like they all did. Casey was full figured and was never one to eat bird food or pretend she was trying to lose weight.

  Casey also wasn’t as materialistic and showy as the rest of them. Casey proudly rocked her Michael Kors bags, when the others wouldn’t be caught dead with Michael Kors anything. Paige admired that a man didn’t define Casey. Casey made her own money from her celebrity gossip blog and the burgeoning online boutique for big girls that she owned. She lived by her own rules and was always proud to say that she was single and ready to mingle—a luxury Paige had never been afforded, since she’d given herself solely to Antonio since high school.

  Michaela and Paige had had a few spats over Paige’s friendship with Casey. Paige had put Michaela in her place once. “I don’t know what you have against this girl. Just because you don’t know what it is like to be new to any situation, no friends, no support, doesn’t mean everyone is like you. Give her a chance. She’s smart and independent. We could learn a thing or two from her,” Paige had chided.

  * * *

  “So, what’s good on the menu?” Koi asked as she scanned her leather-bound menu like it was hard to read.

  “I like everything. You can’t go wrong in classy restaurants,” Michaela replied without looking up from her menu.

  “Good evening, ladies,” a tall, slender, handsome young waiter approached. “I’m Anwar, and I’ll be serving you this evening.”

  “Mmm. An-war.” Koi licked her lips and sized him up. “I can appreciate a young prince named after an African leader,” Koi said, pushing up her already bulging cleavage.

  Paige wanted to throw her water on Koi to cool her down. Again, more un-first-lady-like behavior.

  “I’ll start with a Cosmo,” Michaela ordered first.

  “Hennessy sidecar for me,” Koi went next.

  A first lady drinking Hennessy?

  “For me . . . something light and fruity. I don’t drink,” Paige said.

  “My usual, Anwar,” Casey chimed in, winking at the waiter.

  Michaela sucked her teeth, and Koi grunted. Paige lowered her head and smi
led.

  By the time the food came, all of the ladies had loosened up. Even Paige had forgotten her fight with Antonio for the time being. In some strange way, the chatter, the ebb and flow of stomach-hurting laughter, and even the masked bitchiness and blatant competitiveness that hovered over the table, brought Paige some comfort. She’d looked around at every single one of her friends and thought, at that moment, she was like fool’s gold, all shiny and believable on the surface, when deep down she felt fake and worthless.

  * * *

  “Okay, okay listen,” Casey slurred a bit, the result of four drinks, and clapped her hands together. “I can’t keep this in another minute.”

  Paige stopped mid-bite to listen. Michaela rolled her eyes. Koi kept shoveling the restaurant’s famous crab cakes into her mouth like she’d never eaten out in her life.

  “I have some news,” Casey said mysteriously.

  “Okay?” Michaela replied, tilting her head to the side.

  Casey had everyone’s attention. They all knew she was the Information Queen. When Casey had news, everyone had better listen.

  Paige could see the slight tinge of nervousness creep into everyone’s features. Would Casey’s news be some sordid story about one of their famous husbands?

  “We . . . meaning all of us BFFs here,” Casey continued, darting her big, Betty Boop eyes around from face to face and hesitating like a game show host drawing heart-pounding suspense before the announcement of the grand prize.

  Michaela kicked Paige under the table.

  Paige gave her a crinkled-brow, motherly look that meant, “Be nice.”

  “We have been offered our own reality show!” Casey cheered, fanning her hands in front of her and bouncing in her seat. “Mina Lacks-Yousef, the mega-producer of all things reality T.V., wants us to join her Rich Wives franchise! We would be the Rich Wives of the Bronx.”

  Koi’s fork hitting the plate was the only sound at the table. Paige quickly picked up the fruity drink Anwar had brought out earlier and threw it back so fast she didn’t even taste it. There would be no more nursing that drink. Michaela’s usually slanted eyes went round.

  Casey looked around at their faces. “I know, right? Isn’t this good news?” Casey asked with jolly confidence. “I mean, let’s face it, this would be a golden opportunity for everyone here. I could use the exposure to broaden my platform, and I’m sure my boutique will be exploding with orders,” she said, touching her chest proudly. She turned sideways to face Koi. “And you . . . Oh my goodness, you can finally get out from under Damien’s shadow and have a camera crew following his sneaky butt at the same time. We know his reputation with the ladies.”

  Koi blinked, dumbfounded like she was thinking, What reputation with the ladies?

  Casey faced Michaela now. “Michaela, we all know how you love to show off, right? And, with Rod retiring from football, you’ll need something else to keep you relevant on the social scene. . . .”

  Michaela opened her mouth to clap back, but Casey kept on speaking.

  “And, Paige. Girl, you know you’re my favorite. This would be just perfect for you. You need to come out of that little shell you live in. Get your own sense of self. I mean, with Antonio’s basketball career being over and no trust fund from the great Senator Gladstone, you’ll be able to keep things afloat this time.”

  A collective gasp flitted over the table. Suddenly, all eyes were on Paige.

  Paige’s color drained, and suddenly she was filled with a nauseating wave of disbelief. It was another punch from reality. She shot up from her chair and staggered slightly.

  “Paige! Wait!” Casey called after her. She turned back to the women at the table. “What? What did I say? Didn’t everyone already know?” Casey asked, her eyes big and genuine. “Does this mean she won’t be on the show?”

  Chapter 2

  Real Life

  Paige turned around twice and opened her arms like she was making a snow angel in the air.

  “That’s the one. That is definitely the one,” Michaela said.

  “Are you sure?” Paige asked, letting her arms fall at her side as she turned to the mirror and looked at herself in the emerald green gown one last time. “I’ve never worn Carolina Herrera’s lower end line. I don’t want to seem like a snob, but . . .”

  “First of all, Paige, you are a snob. Second of all, would I tell you it was the one if it wasn’t?” Michaela replied, rolling her eyes. “How long have we been friends? Ugh.”

  “Okay. I’ll take your word for it,” Paige said, walking back into the fitting room. “Come get it.”

  Michaela sighed and snatched the dress over the fitting room door. She tossed it on top of the huge pile the tiny salesgirl held on her arms.

  “What about shoes?” Paige called out as she put back on her clothes.

  Michaela rolled her eyes again. “Remind me not to come shopping with you again, Paige. You’d think I know better after almost twenty-two years. Do like me, hire a personal shopper. They bring everything to your house, and you can sit in your parlor with tea and crumpets and pick out what you want.”

  “You’re the one who picked a yoga class right on Fifth Avenue,” Paige said as she emerged from the fitting room, still fixing her clothes. “You’re also the one who can’t pass a Neiman Marcus without running inside to see if your personal shopper got everything that’s out for the season. I would’ve never stopped today if you didn’t say to. Especially not with yoga pants on and messy buns.”

  Michaela touched the dusty-blond pile of hair in the middle of her head. “Shit, you’re right.”

  Paige raised a brow and nodded at Michaela as if to say, “Remember whose idea this was in the first place.”

  “It was supposed to be five minutes, remember?” Paige reminded. “Better hope we don’t run into anyone we know. Now, pipe down, I’m almost done.” Paige chuckled. “Besides, you sound like my mother. Tea and crumpets? Really?”

  Michaela threw her hand up to her chest like she was clutching her pearls. “Please don’t send me to the hospital. Me, sound like Lillian Tillary, oh my God. Gag me with a spoon, why don’t you?”

  They laughed.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Paige signaled the salesgirl. “I’m ready to check out.” The tiny girl craned her neck to see behind the pile of clothes and smiled.

  “How is old, stuffy Lillian these days, anyway?” Michaela asked as they stood at the counter while the salesgirl rang up the purchases.

  Paige scoffed. “Do you really need to ask? She’s still the same: supportive, yet bossy. Busy, yet bored. Keeping up appearances and trying to impress my grandmother is still her life goal. My mother won’t ever change.”

  “And Mr. G?”

  “Daddy is the same too. Busy with his ‘special projects, ’” Paige replied, using air quotes. “He joked at dinner last week about running for president. He takes this ‘tough on crime’ crap too far sometimes.” Paige rolled her eyes. “He better not even try it. The country already said there was only room for one black president.”

  “Well, your daddy ain’t exactly black,” Michaela said, rubbing the inside of her palm.

  “Shut up.” Paige swatted at her.

  “I’m just saying,” Michaela chuckled. “You know how us light-skinned Negros get by.”

  Paige laughed. “You’re a mess.”

  “That’ll be six thousand, two hundred and fifty-six dollars, and thirty-three cents,” the salesgirl interrupted with a smile.

  “Can you imagine, my father, President of the United States?” Paige rambled as she dug into her Louis Vuitton duffle that doubled as her yoga bag and pulled out her wallet. “I thought the spotlight of being a senator’s daughter was bad, but that would be ridiculous.” She mindlessly handed the salesgirl her credit card and turned her attention back to Michaela.

  “Can’t even imagine,” Michaela agreed. “I take my wig, hat, and my whole damn scalp off to Michelle Obama. I couldn’t be her and remain that composed,
girl. And those two beautiful brown girls of theirs, having to live under all of that scrutiny. Too much.”

  “Right!” Paige replied. “Michelle is the queen of keeping it together.”

  “Well, what about you?” Michaela asked. “You know . . . the situation.”

  Paige knew Michaela had been waiting for the opportunity to ask about her and Antonio’s financial situation. Ever since the day in the restaurant, the topic had been pulling between them like a tug of war rope.

  “We’re just fine. It’s like nothing has changed. Antonio has been meeting with people and taking care of things. He’s made some pretty good, sound investments.” As Paige said the words, a cold chill shot down her back. The truth was, Paige had been afraid to ask. She and Antonio had been living like nothing had happened in the weeks since he’d gotten cut. Her lifestyle hadn’t changed much at all. Not that she could tell anyway.

  “I knew Antonio would take care of it,” Michaela said confidently. “He is not going to let anything come between him and his Paigey Poo.”

  Paige shrugged. There it was again. Michaela had always had an unwavering faith in Antonio since he and Paige had met. She was like his secret cheerleader, and even when he was wrong in Paige’s eyes, Michaela would always convince Paige to see things from Antonio’s point-of-view. She’d always end her Antonio advocacy with, “Remember: good men are hard to find and they all have faults. Hold on to him. Somebody else would gladly snatch him up.”

  “He said he would. I’m trying to believe that. It hasn’t been easy pretending that I’m not worried,” Paige replied.

  “I’ve considered doing the show,” Michaela said, seemingly off topic. “What about you? If I did it, would you?”

  Paige twisted her lips. “I don’t know. That’s not for me. I don’t think I’d like to live my life in the spotlight any more than I have,” she said, though she had considered it as a means of having her own income for once in her life. She shook her head. “I don’t think my marriage would survive reality TV. What about Rod? Is he fine with you doing the show?”

  “Psh,” she waved. “Rod doesn’t care. He’s not like Antonio. My feelings don’t matter all that much. Probably never did.”