Queen of His Heart

by Adrianne Byrd

  America? She would be talking to all of America? Exactly what kind of ratings were they expecting to get out of all of this?

  “After the four weeks, we, of course, will edit everything and splice it to get our thirteen episodes. In the last episode you’ll select who you’d like to be a ‘queen’ to. You can either choose to keep dating, or perhaps you can propose.”

  “Propose? Me?”

  “Well, maybe we’ll get all three men to propose and you select which proposal you’d like. Oooh. I like that idea. Let me write it down.”

  Jalila frowned. “Don’t you think that’s a bit staged?”

  “It’s a television show.”

  Jalila didn’t have a response to that. Still, who would get engaged to someone after having known them for only four weeks?

  “Don’t worry. If you like the guy, you can have a really long engagement. If it doesn’t work out maybe we’ll bring you back for season two.”

  Season two?

  After signing her name to an endless stack of paperwork, Jalila was tired and her writing hand was cramped.

  “Looks like that does it,” Nitara said, stretching out her hand. “I guess we’ll see you on Saturday.”

  “I guess so.” Jalila shook her hand and stood to leave. As she walked out of the conference room and walked the main office, she prayed she would avoid seeing Keenan again.

  No such luck.

  Keenan stood at Dee Dee’s desk, talking about something. As she walked by he stopped.

  “Goodbye, Ms. Goodwyn,” Dee Dee said, smiling.

  “Bye,” Jalila said, rushing for the door. She could feel Keenan’s eyes follow her. He allowed her to escape like the chicken she was. Damn him. When Jalila was safe in her car, she clutched the steering wheel, filled her lungs with air and let out a long-winded scream. “Aaaaaaaarrrrrggggggghhhhh.”

  Did it feel good? Yes.

  Did she feel better? No.

  One thing for sure, she wasn’t about to let Keenan get the best of her. She would do the show, she would find herself a man—a good man—and then Mr. Keenan Armstrong could kiss her naturally tanned ass.

  “Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on with you?” Nitara asked, storming behind Keenan as they returned to their private office.

  “Drop it, Nitara. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  “You don’t want to talk about it? Well, too damn bad,” she shouted. “Does this office look like a hotel suite to you? Are we suddenly running a porno outfit around here and you forgot to tell me?”

  “No, it doesn’t look like a hotel. Nor does it look like my old childhood bedroom and you certainly don’t look like my mother.”

  “Then maybe I should get your momma on the phone, smart ass.”

  Keenan drew a deep breath. “Calm down, Nitara. I already apologized.”

  “Calm down? Did you see the look on Ms. Goodwyn’s face? We’re supposed to be professionals. I’m surprised that she didn’t run out of here, telling us to take our show and shove it.”

  “There are other women out there who could take her place,” he tossed out, dropping into his seat.

  “What?” Nitara stepped back and held up her hands. “Did I just step into the Twilight Zone or something? You are the one who insisted that we build the show around her. Am I right or am I imagining things?”

  Keenan swallowed. He realized that his glib comment stemmed from his disappointment that Jalila was continuing with the show—even though she had every right to do so. He didn’t want a relationship, but he didn’t want her to continue looking for a relationship. “That doesn’t make sense,” he reasoned aloud.

  “What do you mean that doesn’t make sense? Dee Dee and I were in here when you pitched the idea!” she said incredulously.

  “What?” He frowned, and then realized that he hadn’t been listening to her. “Oh, I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “Well, excuuuuuse me if I thought my standing here and bumping my gums together actually meant that I was engaged in a conversation.”

  Keenan slammed his hand down on his desk. “Well, damn it, I said that I didn’t want to talk about it right now!”

  Nitara jumped. In all the years that she’d known Keenan, she had never seen him this angry. “What did Tenetria say?”

  “Who?”

  Nitara arched her brow at him. “Tenetria. My sister. The woman who was in here—”

  “Oh, her.” Keenan waved off her concern. “You know Tenetria. She just needs some money and thought that little strip show was going to get her what she wanted.”

  Nitara was confused by Keenan’s casual attitude about what she thought was at the heart of his anger, but apparently she was on the wrong track. Her mind raced. If Keenan wasn’t upset about Tenetria…then what was upsetting him? “How did the conference call with NBC go?” she probed.

  “Fine. Fine.” He turned toward his computer and pretended to be busy.

  She wasn’t buying it. Turning, Nitara walked over to her desk. All the while, she tried to fit the pieces of this puzzle together. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the picture to come together. But one thing she knew for sure, something was definitely going on and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

  Chapter 12

  On the first day of shooting, Jalila, Martina and Fantasia were all picked up from Jalila’s place in a black VIP stretch limousine. (What global warming?) In the back was every possible amenity to ensure a fun ride up to the famously posh Beverly Hills. For her own personal memories, Jalila broke out her handy camcorder and started filming herself and her friends acting like fools.

  “Ooh, girl, Cristal!” Martina screamed, quickly working to pop the cork. “Ladies, we’re about to party!”

  Fantasia giggled like a thirteen-year-old with concert tickets to see the Jonas Brothers. “I’m so excited. I’m so excited.” She turned toward Jalila. “Are you nervous? Are you nervous?”

  Jalila laughed. “Why do you keep repeating yourself?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. I’ve been doing it since I woke up this morning. Ahh. We’re going to be on TV!”

  “Damn straight,” Martina chimed, pouring and passing the champagne glasses to them. “Y’all make sure that you get in a shout-out to my business, Horse Tail Weaves. I’m expecting business to go through the roof.” She pumped up her hands and swung her demure chestnut-brown hair from side to side.

  “Wait. Wait.” Fantasia held up her glass to Jalila. “Don’t forget Body by Jalila. This show is going to blow your business up as well.”

  “Provided that I don’t make a big fool out of myself.” Jalila laughed half-jokingly.

  Martina downed her first glass of champagne in one long gulp and then said, “Oh, you’re going to be fine. America is going to love you.”

  Jalila smiled, but she certainly had her doubts about that.

  “I’ve got one question though,” Martina said. “Are we all in agreement that whoever you don’t choose I get a good crack at?”

  “What?” Jalila laughed. “Now I’m really scared to see what kind of men you selected for me.”

  “Oh, don’t pay Martina any mind. You know her libido is always stuck in overdrive.”

  Martina looked affronted. “I’m just saying, there’s no reason to let a couple of good dicks go to waste.”

  The girls howled.

  Jalila followed Martina and downed her first glass of Cristal as Fantasia fumbled and found a button that blasted music from the speakers.

  “Whooo!” Martina danced in her seat. “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” she yelled above the music.

  “What’s that?” Jalila asked, laughing.

  Without answering, Martina stood and popped her head out of the limo’s rooftop and yelled, “Whh-hoooooo hoooooooo!”

  Jalila and Fantasia followed suit. “Whhhhooooo hooooooo!”

  The wind whipped through their hair as they bounced to the music. Jalila couldn’t rem
ember when they’d had more fun. In no time at all, she forgot her nervousness about having to speed-date her way through twenty-five men on national television, and she even forgot about the sleazy Hollywood producer who had pulled a fast one on her.

  The limousine pulled into the lush drive of a sprawling Beverly Hills mansion. The women’s eyes sprang wide as their mouths dropped open.

  “Who in the hell lives here?” Martina finally asked. “And is his ass single?”

  “What makes you think it’s a he?” Fantasia said.

  “Sheeit. For this house, I wouldn’t mind considering switching teams,” Martina admitted.

  Jalila and Fantasia turned their stunned expressions to their friend.

  “See. That’s y’all’s problem. You’re too small-minded.” She lowered herself back down into the cab, giving Jalila and Fantasia a brief moment to roll their eyes at their uninhibited girlfriend. When the limo parked under the portico, the chauffeur hustled to the back and opened their door.

  One by one, the ladies placed their hands into the driver’s and climbed out of the back. To the side there was a convoy of media vans from E! News, Entertainment Tonight and even the TV Guide Channel.

  “Oh, my God! Oh, my God,” Fantasia started repeating herself again. “This is really happening.”

  The front door to the mansion opened up and out stepped Nitara. “Ladies, welcome to the set of Queen of Hearts.”

  Jalila smiled as she spun around and then walked toward the door. “This place is beautiful,” she praised.

  Nitara gave a brief welcoming hug and then glanced around.

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “Who owns it?” Martina asked, cutting to the chase.

  “Keenan, our executive producer.”

  Jalila’s smile fell from her face as she froze in place.

  The reaction didn’t elude Nitara. “Is something wrong?”

  Dizzy, Jalila tried to recoup, but it was her girls who came to her rescue.

  “Oh, she’s just nervous, that’s all,” Fantasia said, sliding an arm around Jalila’s waist. “National television and all.”

  Nitara smiled reassuringly. “Well, don’t be. Everything is going to be just fine. C’mon in and I’ll show you around.”

  The girls shared a look, but then followed the co-executive producer into the house—Keenan’s house. The outside of the house was nothing compared to the beauty that lay within. Stunning Italian marble floors, grand cathedral ceilings and expensive artwork made Jalila conscious about touching anything she couldn’t afford to break.

  Amidst the beauty, a full-scale crew was laying cable cords and hoisting large lighting panels.

  “Don’t worry. Everything will be in place by the time taping starts at eight o’clock,” Nitara assured them. “Speaking of which—” she glanced at her watch “—we need to get you into hair and makeup. Follow me.”

  Jalila didn’t know whether she should appreciate or be insulted that it took more than three hours to get her primped and camera-ready for the big night—especially since she was in the skin-care business herself. But after one glance at the end result, she completely understood that what Hollywood makeup artists created were works of art—not something the ordinary woman could achieve in thirty minutes or less.

  Perfectly tweezed and arched eyebrows combined with even more length on her already long eyelashes had a stunning effect. Her cheeks were sultry, her lips plumped and glossy. Her long black hair, usually rippling with small body waves, was flatironed to within an inch of its life. She looked like herself, but not really.

  “I’d say that we look like Barbie-doll versions of ourselves,” Fantasia assessed. “Can’t go wrong with that.”

  Nitara breezed in, her eyes once again on her watch. “Okay, ladies. It’s over to wardrobe. Let’s go. Let’s go.”

  The women scrambled behind the fast-walking producer. As they headed to another room, Jalila noticed that the activity in the house had increased. It sounded as if a small country had gathered downstairs in anticipation of tonight’s performance.

  Jalila went from being nervous to cresting on a full-blown panic attack. This was really happening. She was really about to go on national television.

  “Jalila, this is Jennifer. Jennifer, Jalila.” Nitara made introductions. “Jennifer brought over some really nice dresses for you to try on for tonight.”

  Jennifer smiled broadly as she offered Jalila her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Oooh, chile,” Martina cooed. “Check this one out. I wonder if this one would fit me.” She held up a short, shimmering black number that was clearly a few sizes too small.

  “Uhm, maybe you should try something from the rack over in the back,” Jennifer said, rushing to rescue the dress.

  “Why? What’s wrong with this one?” Martina challenged.

  Jennifer blanched. “Well, uhm, see, our sizes run a lot smaller than normal. So, like, an eight is like a four.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Martina slammed the dress back onto the rack. “You skinny heifas better have brought something for real women who have curves.”

  “I know that’s right,” Fantasia agreed—not realizing that as they walked away, together they looked like the number 10.

  Jennifer turned her relieved attention back to Jalila. “So, are you ready to transform into a television star?”

  Jalila drew a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Quiet on the set,” the director, Bill Wolfe, yelled, and the clamoring ceased immediately. “Places, everyone.”

  The show’s host, Jon Krammer, a cute, almost nerdy African-American version of Ryan Seacrest, stood before camera number one with a stunningly white smile, ready to go.

  “Aaannnddd action!”

  “Good evening, America. Welcome to Queen of Hearts. I am your host, Jon Krammer, and tonight I’ll be introducing you, America, to our twenty-five eligible bachelors and a very beautiful and special bachelorette.”

  Camera number two panned across the room to a line of gentlemen dressed in black and white tuxedos. They stood smiling as if they were contestants in a Mr. America pageant. “From this pool of bachelors, our bachelorette will select three men who will go on to date her and try to win the Queen of Hearts. In the end, only one man will win.

  “Before all of that, let me tell you a little something about our queen. Her name is Jalila Goodwyn. She’s a thirty-year-old entrepreneur who owns and operates the day spa Body by Jalila here in the Los Angeles area. Other than being gorgeous, Jalila is looking for a man who can balance and complete her life. According to Jalila this man must have passion and enjoy the smaller things in life. He must be a sports fan as well as an animal lover. He must be open and honest, and according to her, handsome wouldn’t hurt.

  “Jalila is the only child of a retired high-school principal and English teacher who have been happily married for thirty-five years. She loves life, children and animals. So without further ado—” Krammer turned toward the line of men. “Gentlemen, are you ready to meet your queen?”

  “Yes, sir,” twenty-five strong baritones shouted.

  The sound operator jumped.

  “Then I present to you and America, Ms. Jalila Goodwyn.”

  The moment Jalila heard her name, the vat of butterflies that were fluttering in her belly ceased, and she strolled into the grand room with a bright smile. Judging by the looks on all the men’s faces, she had made the right choice in selecting a bright red strapless cocktail dress that hugged her curves.

  “Hello, gentlemen.”

  The men broke out in smiles, signaling their relief that the producers had hit a home run with their selection.

  Krammer walked up to Jalila’s side and greeted her with a smile. “Good evening, Ms. Goodwyn.”

  “Good evening,” she said, remembering Nitara’s instructions not to look directly into the cameras. She would only do that during the sidebar tapings and the video-diary portions of the show.

 
“Now, America,” Krammer said, turning back toward the camera. “For your information, we’re not about to throw this beautiful woman into this den of hungry wolves alone. We have a little more heart than that.” He chuckled at the lame joke.

  “Jalila will have a little help in selecting her potential king. Tonight we brought along Jalila’s two best friends, Martina Hudson and Fantasia Silver.”

  On cue, Martina and Fantasia strolled into the room. Fantasia looked jittery—her smile visibly wobbled. However, it was the usually gregarious Martina who surprised Jalila. With the cameras rolling she now resembled a deer caught in headlights—eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open.

  “So, ladies,” Krammer addressed the two best friends. “Do you think that you can help your best friend here select the man of her dreams?”

  Fantasia cleared her throat. “W-we’re certainly going to try.”

  Krammer shifted the microphone to Martina, but she was unable to say anything. Her eyes still bulging.

  “Oookay. Looks like one of you is a bit camera-shy.” He chuckled. “All right, ladies, let’s go find Jalila’s potential mate.”

  “Aaaaannnddd—cut!” the director shouted. “Mark it.”

  Jalila exhaled a long breath and turned toward her friends.

  Krammer immediately asked, “How was that take? Did my hair look okay?”

  Martina finally snapped out of her dazed expression and blinked for the first time. “Whoo, girl! How did I do?” she asked nervously.

  “You’re doing fine,” Jalila assured her, laughing and wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulders.

  While the camera crew rearranged themselves around the room, someone turned on some soft classical music and the craft service people started handing out flutes of champagne.

  Nitara pushed her way through the crowd. “You ladies doing okay?” she asked, seeming a bit too bubbly.

  Jalila bobbed her head. “I think so. I haven’t passed out, so that’s a good sign.”

  “Well, you look fabulous.” Nitara addressed the other women. “Fantasia, try to breath and relax. Uh, Martina, well, you know—blink—if you can.”