Carter broke through my thoughts. “So, Skye,” he began, “I guess you’re kind of quiet.”
Uh, no! It was just that I didn’t believe in two people talking at the same time. And since he’d talked through our appetizers and entrées, there hadn’t been room for me.
“No,” I said, finally answering him. “I’m generally not this quiet.” I hoped he’d get the hint.
He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. “I understand,” he said gently and knowingly. “You were just so fascinated with what I had to say. That happens to me all the time.”
Fail! Major fail!
This fool had to be kidding me.
“Would you like to order dessert?” the bow-tied waiter asked.
“Yes,” Carter said.
“No,” I said at the same time.
We looked at each other.
He’d won the appetizer battle, but there was no way I was giving in this time. I needed to get away fast, and I had the perfect escape plan.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you before. I have an early call in the morning. A photo shoot. I have to be on the set before six a.m.”
“Oh.”
“And you understand. . . .” I waved my hands toward my face. “I need my beauty sleep.”
“No,” he said, as if I’d really expected him to answer that question. “I don’t understand. I don’t need any kind of sleep to look this way. But if you do . . .”
Somebody needed to slap this man. But since I wasn’t into violence, it wasn’t going to be me. Instead, I was just going to get out of there.
The check hadn’t even come, and I was already standing up.
“Well, at least wait and let me walk you out,” he said.
“No, that’s no problem at all,” I said. “I can catch a cab right out there.”
He looked as if he was unsure; at least he was that much of a gentleman. But then something caught his attention at the bar. I followed his gaze to the woman he’d made eye contact with. At any other time, with any other man, I would’ve been pissed. But this time I wanted to walk over to the woman and tell her to take my seat.
I just gave him a short hug when he stood. I resisted the urge to thank him for nothing and thanked him for dinner instead. I almost jogged out of the place.
It was almost ten o’clock, but this was New York and Fifth Avenue was lit up like the middle of the day. Dozens of cabs zoomed past, and I only had to take a few steps to the curb before a yellow cab stopped.
I was already dialing Chyanne’s number before I’d even given the driver my address. When he pulled away from the curb, I pressed the phone to my ear.
I didn’t curse, but I was about to cuss my best friend out for real!
Chapter 2
Chyanne
I was halfway between apologizing and laughing my butt off.
“I don’t even think he knows my name.” Skye was still huffing through the phone.
“He never stopped talking!”
“I’m so sorry.” I giggled.
“Oh, you think this is funny?”
Okay, it wasn’t often that Skye got upset, especially with me. So, I backed up, swallowed my laughter, and apologized again. “I really thought he would be good, Skye. I mean, he seemed to be a decent guy, and he’s a rising star in the corporate law department.”
“I know . . . he told me.”
I had to work hard to keep my laughter inside. Taking a breath, I said, “I guess I should have vetted him some more.” And then, because I wanted to change the energy, I added, “Forgive me?”
I knew I had her then. Those two words—forgive me—were the pass that got all of us out of all kinds of trouble.
“Well, I will accept your apology on one condition.” She paused, as if she was waiting for me to ask her what was the condition. But I wasn’t going to say a word; I needed a moment so that the next time I opened my mouth, I wouldn’t still be laughing. Skye said, “You are never, ever, as long as you are black, allowed to set me up on a date.”
“As long as I’m black? That’s a long time,” I said, wanting so badly to bust out.
But when Skye added, “I’m serious, Chy,” I agreed.
I didn’t mean to be laughing at my best friend this way—it was just that the way she described the date was hilarious, though I’m not sure it was any funnier than those other dates she’d had lately. Skye really needed to consider doing a dating reality show, and after she calmed down a little, I was going to talk to her about that, because what she was going through could make The Real Housewives of Atlanta look like a serious documentary. Really, though, reality shows and all other kidding aside, all I wanted was for my bestie to find the happiness that I’d found.
“Chyanne!” The voice called me from my bedroom.
Speaking of my happiness, I said to Skye, “I promise I won’t set you up on another date.” Turning the conversation serious, I added, “But I won’t have to, because I know that God has someone for you. He’s just making him get right, and when he does, that man is going to walk right into your life.”
“You’re sure, huh?” Skye asked me.
“Positive.”
“Is he going to be cute or rich?”
“Which would you prefer?”
“That he lets me get a word in edgewise,” she said, referring to her date with Carter.
This time Skye laughed with me.
“Chyanne!”
“Coming, Malcolm,” I yelled out. To Skye, I said, “I’ve got to go.”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard. Go take care of your man.”
“I will, girl. Love you.”
“Mean it,” she said, completing our own little special good-bye.
The moment I hung up the phone, my bedroom door opened and Malcolm, my happiness, strolled into the living room, wearing nothing more than a towel and a smile.
I sighed as he slipped his hands beneath my silk robe, which was barely closed, and embraced me. His torso and shoulders still gleamed from the shower he’d just taken. Or maybe it wasn’t the water—maybe it was our lovemaking that had his skin, his torso, and shoulders glistening. Either way, he looked good to me. I held my breath as his embrace tightened. Was my baby ready for round number three?
“How’s Skye?” he asked me, finally backing away.
“She’s cool.” It wasn’t that I was lying to Malcolm; it was just that I didn’t want to waste time talking about a date that was a bust. I stood on my toes to kiss him. It was the only way my lips were going to reach his, since he was six foot two. I wanted him to change the subject. I wanted, badly, to get this man to take me back to bed.
The kiss was much too short for me. And then came the dreaded words. “Okay, I’m going to get out of here.”
He twisted to turn away, but I held him back. “No, baby. Stay.” I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I want you to stay the whole night.”
Gently, he pried my fingers away from him, one by one; then, without saying a word, he tracked into my bedroom. I was ready to make my argument, but he spoke before I had the chance to even get my words together.
“I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
It was a simple argument and an effective one. I guess that was why he was a top litigator.
But Malcolm Parks was not only my boyfriend—he was my boss at Bailey, Booker, and Smith. And he had taught me a thing or two. “It’s already after ten,” I said, keeping it short, the way he’d taught me, though I knew my argument couldn’t stand next to his. There was a reason why he was one of the firm’s stars; he’d fought his way to the top, and his battle included nineteen-and twenty-hour workdays on the regular.
Like I thought, my argument was ineffective, because Malcolm didn’t even bother to answer me. By the time he got into my bedroom, he was on a mission; he grabbed his pants from where they’d dropped when he’d stepped out of them. Next was his shirt, which had been tossed onto the floor right next to his pants.
I leaned
back onto my sleigh bed, watched my man prepare to leave me, and sighed. It was always hard to let Malcolm go because these were the only times we could be affectionate. At the office, it was strictly professional. Not that I had a problem with that. Of course, Malcolm and I had to keep our relationship on the low, since we both wanted to keep our jobs. And at times it was kinda exciting and sexy to pretend that my boss wasn’t my boyfriend.
But even though I understood, and even though sometimes I even enjoyed playing, it was getting tougher to keep up with the game. My career was lurching forward, which was a very good thing; I was assisting with the litigation of more cases, and the bosses upstairs were taking more and more notice of me. But as I grew professionally, the time that Malcolm and I could spend together was shrinking, taking our relationship in the wrong direction.
We were going to have to figure out a way to deal with this at work. I mean, the company wouldn’t really fire two of its best and brightest, would it?
But even though I wanted to, I wasn’t about to tackle this subject with Malcolm tonight. Up-and-coming litigator or not, I was smart enough to know the battles I could win and those that I needed to attack at a different time.
So, I just watched Malcolm tighten his tie and turn to me, looking as professional as he did when we’d first walked into my apartment. Holding his hand, I escorted Malcolm to the door, kissed him good-bye as passionately as I could—trying to change his mind, of course—and then waved good-bye when I didn’t change a thing.
I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. Ten o’clock was still early, especially since I never went to bed before midnight. How was I supposed to spend these winding-down hours when my plan had been that tonight would be the first time in weeks that Malcolm would spend the night?
Malcolm wasn’t the only one with work. I had a heavy caseload and plenty that I could be doing. But it was hard to think about legal issues when Malcolm’s Burberry fragrance was still all over me.
Slowly, I smiled. There would be no work tonight. I clicked out every light in my two-bedroom apartment and headed toward my bedroom. Early or not, at least I could be with my boyfriend in my dreams.
Chapter 3
Devin
Flyy Girlz was my domain.
That was what I was thinking as I strutted down the center aisle to the front of the ten-seat shop. Not that this place was mine; but it might as well have been. Arthur Moore was the owner—he owned several salons throughout the city, but this one he left in my very, very capable hands.
“Okay, now come on, Ms. Sue,” I said to the sixty-year-old woman whom I’d just hooked up. She was still standing in the back of the shop, behind my chair, turning her head from side to side, checking her style out in my mirror.
“Devin, I don’t know how you do it,” Ms. Sue said, the way she did every two weeks, after I’d hooked her up.
“Oh, stop it,” I said, feigning modesty. But then, because I really didn’t have a modest bone in my body, I added, “You know how I do it. I’m just the best hot-curler handler this side of the Mississippi.”
“This side and the other side.” Ms. Sue laughed.
I raised my hand in the air like I was about to testify. “Tell the truth,” I said as I swiped her credit card, then gave her the slip to sign.
“Devin”—she pressed her glasses up her nose—“can I put the tip . . .”
“Now, Ms. Sue . . .” That was all I had to say. My customers knew that I accepted credit cards for payment but not for tips. I didn’t want that paper trail—not that I was gonna cheat the IRS or anything. I’m just sayin’.
Ms. Sue sighed, but still she pulled a twenty from her purse. That was what I was talking about.
Just as I confirmed Ms. Sue’s standing appointment for two weeks, Leigh came storming into the shop. I said good-bye to Ms. Sue before I greeted my friend.
“What’s up, girl?” I asked, not bothering to keep the what’s-up-with-your-hair look off my face or out of my tone. “What brings you by?”
As if I didn’t know. All my girls lived in the city, and they came to Brooklyn for only three things: a good meal, a “jamming” party, and moi, the best hairstylist this side of . . . well, you know. And since we didn’t serve any food here, and there was no party going on, it was clear that Leigh had come here for me.
My girl took the rubber band out of her hair and shook her ponytail out. “I know I don’t have an appointment, but can you hook me up?”
I stepped back and folded my arms, as if she was asking me the impossible. But, of course, I was going to take care of her. Everyone in our little circle, and even beyond, knew that I was responsible for the fierce styles that Skye, Chyanne, and Leigh wore. If anybody saw Leigh looking like this, it would mess with my cred.
I waved my arm in a big circle and pointed to my chair. “Sit,” I said. “You need my mercy.”
She laughed but didn’t waste any time scurrying toward the back. She said hello to the other stylists and their customers as she moved, and over the whirring of the dryers and the clicking of the curlers, and all the laughing and chatting, they all returned her greeting.
I whipped out a smock and covered Leigh. “You know, God was looking out for you, ’cause my next appointment canceled just an hour ago. I was about to take one of those walk-ins.” I glanced at the four women who sat up front. Two were flipping through magazines, one was gabbing on her cell, and the other had leaned back, closed her eyes, and settled in for what she knew was gonna be a long wait. But none of them seemed to mind.
In fact, no one coming into the shop cared how long it took, because of the atmosphere I had created. I kept people talking, laughing, moving. It was pure entertainment, and no one seemed to notice that it could take up to five hours just to get a wash, blow-dry, and style, because as the number one shop in Brooklyn, we were always so busy.
“So, what’s up, Mz. Devin?”
I smiled at what I called my New York name. Leigh had given it to me shortly after we met, about six months ago. Mz. Devin, just like Mz. Jay on America’s Next Top Model. He was my hero, though I could teach him a thing or two about strutting down a runway. My stroll had become my signature; I could stop traffic with the way I sashayed up and down the street in my three-inch platforms. Men and women loved to watch me. Oh yeah, Mz. Tyra needed to know about me. But since I was unlikely to be discovered by Miss Oprah, Jr., I just made the most out of my shop.
“Ain’t nothing up but you,” I said, directing Leigh to one of the cubicles for her washing. These private rooms were one of the best features of the shop, to me.
Now, we hired girls who took care of the washing and conditioning for most of the stylists, but not for me. I was a full-service stylist. I took care of my customers from start to finish; that’s why everyone kept coming back to Mz. Devin.
“So, have you started to see anyone special?”
Dang! Leigh didn’t waste any time; she was starting in on me right away today. With her head in the bowl and her eyes closed, I was tempted to turn the water on cold. Full blast. Shock her a little. Maybe then she’d stop with all the questions about my love life.
But since I knew that her questions and concerns came from a cool place, I turned the water to warm and began to rinse her hair. “How many times do I have to tell you, Mz. Thing? I am totally happy with the single life right now. It’s fun, and there’s too much I have to do with my business before I can get serious with anyone, anyway.”
“I’m not talking about serious, serious,” Leigh said as I lathered her thick, shoulder-length hair with shampoo. “I think you should just be looking for someone special, something meaningful.”
“Why won’t you believe that I’m not the Disney princess looking for her happily ever after with Prince Charming?”
“I do believe you. That’s why I have to look out for you. Because you don’t even know what’s best for you.”
Now I really wanted to cover her head with cold water.
; She said, “Look, I have two tickets to an art show tomorrow night. The gallery owner is a friend of mine, and I really want you to go so that you two can meet.”
“Okay,” I said hesitantly. I conditioned her hair, then stepped back so that it could sit for a little while.
“You don’t sound excited.” Leigh pouted.
“Should I be?”
“Look, I’m just telling you to go, have a good time. Meet my friend, and see if the two of you hit it off. If you don’t, you didn’t miss anything. But if you do . . .” She smiled and then turned her cheek so that her left dimple was front and center. As if I was going to fall for that and melt the way all men did around her.
Still, there was only one way I was gonna get Leigh to get out of my business. “Okay, I’ll go,” I said, thinking that it might not be that bad. An urban art show—that could be interesting, and since Leigh had two tickets, maybe one of the girls could go with me. This way, if I didn’t like Leigh’s friend, either Skye or Chyanne could help me make a quick getaway. I’d ask them about it tonight.
“Great,” Leigh said, wiggling her hips as she snuggled her head far back into the bowl for her rinse. “You’re gonna have a great time.”
“Well, if it’s so great,” I began, “why aren’t you and Michael going?”
That shut everything down. The smile that Leigh had on her face faded fast, letting me know that there were still no flowers growing in her marital paradise.
She said, “We already have plans.”
But I ignored what she’d just said, knowing there was much more behind those words. “Wanna talk about it, honey?” I asked softly as I wrapped her head in a towel.
Leigh paused for a moment, as if she was going to tell me something, but then she just shook her head. “No, I’m good.”
“Doesn’t seem that way.”
“But I am.” Leigh pushed herself up and then sauntered out of my room and back into the safety of my chair, where she knew that I would talk about anything except for our personal lives.
I sighed. I didn’t like it when my friends had issues, but, really, I didn’t see why Leigh and Michael couldn’t work out their problems. In the short time I’d known Leigh, I hadn’t yet met her husband, but I’d heard her talk about him when things were good between them, and I knew they could get past whatever they were going through. That was what I had—hope for my friends. I wanted peace in her marriage, especially since she was the only one who had given her hand to a man in front of God and two hundred friends and relatives. I wanted the two of them to get back to the happy place where they’d been the day they took those vows. And judging from the look on Leigh’s face, that was exactly what she was hoping, too.
Date Cute Marry Rich Page 2
