“Want me to go downstairs, honey, and get rid of his ass?” Jamie rolled up her long sleeves on her robe. “Where my sneakers and Vaseline? I still got my balls. And I got no problem with taking another man’s,” Jamie said.
Kyra believed her.
Before Jamie could proceed with her sex change operation she had to dress and live as a woman for a year. The scorn and harassment was constant. Until the people in the neighborhood realized she wasn’t one to be trifled with.
“No. No. He’ll go away. Forget him. I want you to do my dress, and help me with my hair,” she smiled.
“And your makeup,” Jamie grinned with a double nod of her head.
“No offense but I don’t want you on my makeup, you’ll have me looking like a drag queen.” Kyra frowned.
“Oh honey, I can do plain and boring if you like. But with a dress worth more than we see in a year you need pizzazz! Something to make you snap, sizzle, and pop!” Jamie laughed. She turned around and picked up her cassette tape deck. She plucked a tape out and dropped it in her boom box. It was ‘A Tribe Called Quest’. Jamie cranked up the volume. She bopped her head up and down with the beat. “Take that dress off and sit your narra ass down, and let’s do it, baby doll!”
Kyra nodded running the zipper down. She couldn’t stop grinning.
***
“Let me see you,” Jamie yelled.
Kyra posed in the bathroom mirror again. Four hours later and her transformation was complete. Jamie decided she was right and pressed her hair to a beautiful bouncy shine. They trimmed it into a bob-style with a center part. And true to her word Jamie made her makeup light and sultry to match the sexy glamour of her jade green evening dress.
“Kyra! Now, honey, while I’m still young and fabulous!” Jamie demanded.
Kyra opened the door and walked out. Jamie blinked as if surprised. They were in Kyra’s apartment, in her bedroom. The one Jamie often referred to as a boudoir. Jamie was stretched out on Kyra’s chaise sofa she got from a thrift store two months ago. Kyra walked out and posed. She had chosen to put on her mother’s diamonds, given to her when she graduated college. A teardrop pendant that dangled from a white gold chain rested at the crease of her breasts that swelled nicely up out of the front of the dress.
“I feel beautiful. Like royalty,” Kyra said.
“Honey! Honey! Look!” Jamie said. She pointed to the television. On the screen was an image of a fashion show. Another flashed to the fashion queen Mirabella Battaglia.
“Turn up the volume!” Kyra said grabbing the remote from Jamie and punching the volume up several notches.
“We’ve learned that Catalina Battaglia has arrived in town with a Marietta Leone Battaglia, Mirabella’s sister…” The news reporter paused. “Recently Mirabella Ellison Battaglia released the following statement through the Italian press”. An image of Mirabella at the height of her career was shown on the television as the reporter read her statement. “‘I’m happy to share the wonderful news that I have been reunited with my twin sister. Marietta Leone has also become a member of our family by marrying Lorenzo Battaglia. We are overwhelmed with love and family right now, including the additions of our sons, Gino and Gianni. I’d like to thank my friends and colleagues for their outpour of support and well wishes. We ask that our family be given privacy to adjust to the changes and blessings we’ve received. Grazie. Mirabella Battaglia.’” The scene on the television flashed to an image of the Battaglia women walking out of the front doors to the Waldorf where news cameras waited. Kyra’s heart leapt to her throat when she saw the bodyguard again.
“See him? Right there!” Kyra pointed. She jumped from her seat and went to the television and pointed directly at Renaldo. The cameraman was briefly focused on his tall handsomeness as he held the door open for Catalina and Marietta to ease into the backseat of a car.
“Mmm… tasty, who is he?” Jamie asked.
“A bodyguard for the Battaglias. He is so damn fine, Jamie. I swear… So fine!”
“Here you see Catalina Battaglia and the sister, who until now the world never knew about. Mirabella once ran her fashion house with her partner Fabiana Girelli who unfortunately died in Italy under suspicious circumstances. Our sources say that the Battaglias are here in New York to discuss relocating their New York operations back to Italy. Since Mirabella’s return to the fashion world her designer label has been in high demand across the International community. This is Katie Mathews reporting for Channel One news.”
“So fine,” Kyra shook her head.
“Honey, deal with one man at a time. Remember Poindexter?” Jamie snickered.
“Oh that’s over. And besides I was joking. I wouldn’t date the bodyguard. He isn’t my type. But a girl can have some fun,” Kyra teased.
“Mmhm,” Jamie replied. “Fine men are like a nice pair of shoes, a girl wants to try him on at least once.”
“True,” Kyra laughed. She walked over to her dresser’s mirror to turn her head left and then right. Though she pressed her hair straight it still had volume and a bit of a bounce. “The man barely knows I exist. He’s all serious and robotic. Today he spoke to me though. Asked for a cup of coffee. And his voice, it was different, really thick and textured. Made me feel… never mind. A girl can have her crush.”
“Yes, have the fantasy. I hear Italian men are passionate,” Jamie said.
“I think they are Sicilians living in Italy. But yea, I agree. I heard the same thing. Wonder if Cezar is mixed with some Italian? He said he’s from Romania but he grew up never knowing his father. Maybe that’s the passion that keeps bringing him back?” Kyra smiled.
“No, honey. Stop the presses. That’s a raw case of bug-a-boo Cezar has, not passion. Boyfriend needs to get off your scent and find a Becky to mess with. What is with you and all these white boys anyway?” Jamie half-joked.
Kyra rolled her eyes. “The last person who needs to be prejudiced against a person’s outward appearance is you, Jamie.”
Jamie nodded. “Touché. I’m not prejudiced. But your family is. Or have you forgotten?”
Kyra’s smile faded. The mention of her family knifed her in the gut. “My family isn’t prejudiced, just conservative. They are first generation Nigerian. They expect a lot from their children. I disappointed them when I dropped out of graduate school. If I dated a non-Nigerian they would…” she paused. “Never mind what they would do.”
“I’m sorry. I got diarrhea of the mouth, baby doll. Forgive this old fag, okay?” she touched her hand. “Not trying to pick at your family wounds when I got enough scars for us both.”
“You’re not a fag Jamie, tranny, or any of those nasty names people say. You’re beautiful just as you are.” Kyra blinked away her tears. “And don’t worry about my feelings. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, I think my mama will come around when I get a real job as a designer with Mirabella’s.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Jamie pressed.
“She will. When she does the family will too,” Kyra grinned.
“Sure thing, sweetie.” Jamie rose from the chair and walked over to give her a hug. She kissed her brow. “And you’re right, those Battaglia women are fierce.”
“You should have seen them in person. I swear I would sell my soul to move to design for the House of Mirabella’s or Fabiana’s.”
“What’s Fabiana’s?” Jamie asked.
“A new fashion house under Mirabella’s. It’s Catalina’s project. The press rarely mention it, but over in Italy it’s the hottest thing going. I think that’s where our shoe line could fit. That’s what I plan to pitch tonight.”
“Hmmm… that might not work.” Jamie scoffed.
“Why?”
“You know why. That family is tied to the Mafia. That’s why that black designer lives in Italy and no one can get a picture of her snooty ass. Long lost sister my ass. Trust me with those people nothing is what it seems.”
“That’s a nasty rumor. I work for her company
. There is no Mafia. Such a stereotype and you know you and I hate stereotypes.”
Jamie shrugged. “True. But Mirabella’s partner Fabiana did die in a car explosion. And so did two of her employees. I remember all that drama years ago while your head was buried in a medical schoolbook. That fashion designer dated some big time Wall Street Chinese man who got charged with it all. He was extradited back to China. Shit sounds like the Godfather to me.”
Kyra chuckled. “Well it doesn’t matter. Fashion is all I care about. And the Battaglias care about fashion too. Tonight is my chance to shine.”
“And you look to die for. Oh honey. Wait. Let me get a picture of you.” Jamie reached in her beaded bag she toted with her everywhere she went. She brought out her Polaroid camera. “I always come prepared. Now strike a pose like I taught you!”
Kyra struck a pose, and another. She blew a kiss at the camera before the intercom buzzed. She and Jamie started laughing.
“Yes!” Kyra said into the intercom.
“Miss Okeeno, I’m your driver. I’ve been sent to escort you this evening,” a male voice responded.
She looked at Jamie with wide stretched eyes. Jamie stood grinning. “Uh yes, just a moment!”
“Holy shit, bunny rabbit! Check it out, girl!” Jamie said from the window. Kyra hurried over to see the limo downstairs for her.
“I thought I’d have to cab it tonight. Oh my God! I can’t believe it!”
“Well get your ass moving!”
“Yeah! Yeah!” Kyra ran to her closet. She and Jamie found some of the cutest shearling lined coats from their favorite thrift store. The one she chose went with her dress. It was covered in heavy black suede. Jamie helped her ease it on and found her purse.
“Do you have cash on you?” Jamie asked.
Kyra rolled her eyes. “I can handle myself.”
“Don’t feed me that bullshit. You need to always have cash and cab fare.” Jamie turned and fetched her wallet from her beaded bag. Kyra was living off of sixty dollars for the entire week. Jamie who worked during the day as a hairstylist and at night at some of the drag clubs, returned to her with six twenties. Kyra’s eyes stretched.
“Jamie! I can’t.”
“You can and you will. This how we do it, girl. You will be with all those fancy folks. What if you end up somewhere you have to pay your own tab? Huh? Now scoot. Your driver awaits.”
Kyra leapt at her friend and surrogate mother. She hugged her neck. “I love you! I love you!”
“Go, baby doll! Rock it tonight like I taught you.”
Kyra was at the door with Jamie. She locked up her apartment. Her friend saw her to the elevator and kissed her goodbye. She was so excited she nearly tripped over her own feet when she pushed out the front lobby door. The driver was parked in front leaning against the car unfazed by the brisk weather. Kyra closed her coat and started down the steps. She happened to glance across the street. Cezar stood by his car watching her. He immediately dashed across the street toward her.
“Kyra! I want to talk to you.”
Shocked she froze. When he drew closer she finally caught her breath to speak. “What are you doing here?”
“Where are you going?” he looked her over. “You look beautiful. You changed your hair?”
“Thank you, excuse me.” She started toward the driver. Cezar grabbed her arm.
“I’m sorry for calling you a bitch. It’s driving me crazy that you won’t call me back. Maybe tonight we can talk it all out.”
“No. Cezar, I’m sorry but no. Please stop coming around here and bothering me. It’s over.” Kyra snatched away.
Behind the finger smudged lens of his glasses his eyes narrowed on her. Something deeper than anger flashed deep within his brown irises. He stepped back. Kyra shook her head in bafflement. They’d only dated for three short months. Surely it couldn’t be this hard for Cezar to get the picture. She walked away from him, done with the matter. Once she was secured in the back seat of the car she glanced back to Cezar on the sidewalk. He didn’t move or blink. He stood there as solid as stone watching her. She rolled her eyes. Hopefully he finally got the picture.
The driver pulled away from the curb and Kyra relaxed. She couldn’t believe her life.
Chapter Three
The First Time He Noticed Her
“Boss, is there anything else?” Peppino asked in Italian. No matter how many times Renaldo tried to get the boys to practice English, they never did. He’d given up on the effort and only addressed them in Italian. Tasked with security, among other things, every place the women visited or gathered in was swept by his men.
The private room at the Waldorf had a secure entrance to and from the designated dining area. The only unknown for the evening would be the people who served as the wait staff. At home the servers would be Battaglia employees and would have been carefully screened by him. Here in America the women dined amongst strangers. And in their lifestyle strangers could be dangerous. “I want you at the elevator and Tino to be posted in front of the doors of the private dining room. The hotel has provided a hostess who will screen the guests. I will be nearby inside for the event.”
“Sì. Ti capsico,” Peppino said and walked off.
Renaldo checked his watch. It was time for him to check in. He glanced at the hostess. He wasn’t good at English but Donna Mirabella was giving him lessons. And he improved so much that Giovanni agreed he could accompany the women when they travelled to America. Of course he’d been to America before. But the trips were always for a job that ended most unpleasantly for the person he came to see. He cleared his throat and processed the words he needed to say.
“Mi scusi bella, I need to use a phone,” he said.
The petite brunette with large round eyes under long dark lashes flashed him a lovely smile. “Of course. Can you come with me please?” she strutted off in a fitted black mini dress that sculpted her shapely hips and ass nicely. He, however, wasn’t easily distracted by a woman’s beauty. In his life discipline and focus were a testament to a man’s reliability. If he told his boss he would call at a certain time he damn well meant it and never failed.
“You can use the phone in here, handsome. If you need anything, please let me know,” she smiled.
He nodded his thanks for her gracious offer and arched a brow to the lingering look she gave him. Renaldo entered the office and closed the door on the smiling hostess. He had not bothered to shed his trench coat or gloves since he left his suite. The phone was on the desk in the corner. He picked it up and dialed the outside line to place a collect call to his boss. After waiting for the line to connect he was greeted with a hello.
“Salve,” Renaldo replied.
“Where are you?” Dominic Battaglia, the consigliere and adopted brother to Don Giovanni Battaglia asked.
“An affair for the employees has been arranged. It is here in the Waldorf’s private dining room for dinner.” Renaldo relayed the details giving his best effort at English.
“Any issues?” Dominic asked.
“No sir. The women have had meetings. Tate is accommodating. They have requested to stay an additional few days. I need to know if you approve.”
“Have Catalina call me. I expect to hear from her after their party ends.”
The line disconnected. Renaldo placed the phone back on its cradle. He had very little to look forward to this evening. It would be a night of standing in the shadows observing the Americans with their fast conversations and fake pleasantries. He didn’t loathe the country. He just didn’t understand the hurry everyone was in. They ate fast, they talked fast, and they even conducted business in a hurried manner. It made his gut sour. He detested the ‘rush through life’ mentality.
Renaldo strolled out of the private room toward the front of the reception area. It was then that a young woman cut him off. He stopped. She didn’t see him.
“I’m late. I’m here for the Battaglia event,” she said.
She wore a dark suede coat t
hat belted around her trim waist. Her thick dark hair reached just beneath her chin and had a feathered layered cut style. However he could not see her face.
“You’re fine, most are just arriving,” the hostess reassured her as she helped the woman from her coat. Renaldo’s mouth went bone dry over the unveiling. The jade dress the woman wore reminded him of movie style glamour, like Marilyn Monroe. It fit in a trimmed fashion that defined her tiny waistline and draped nicely off her hips to flow with a bit of grace above her knees when she moved. And the high-heeled shoes on her feet were the same color of jade. Except these shoes had small jewels woven in along the seam and up the back of the stiletto heels that gleamed like emeralds. The beauty’s head turned. Renaldo caught her profile.
It was Kyra.
The busy bee receptionist he’d met at Mirabella’s earlier that day was before him now. He found her appealing in their first meeting. Tonight, however, she was far more alluring. She had changed her hair, added a bit of gloss the color of nutmeg to her full supple lips. She had the longest lashes, darkly swept away from deep-set beautiful brown eyes. When she nodded her head to something the hostess said in jest, the mere simple movement of casting hair from her face back to the right side of her head stirred him.
The hostess left with the young woman’s coat. The beautiful receptionist turned goddess approached him confident and assured.
“Hi!” she chirped up at him. “Renaldo right?” she extended her hand. “Remember me?”
Renaldo forgot every word of the English language he had learned. “Buno sera,” he replied. He took her hand and kissed it. She never took her eyes off him.
“That means good evening? Right?” she asked.
Reluctant but polite he let her hand go. “Yes. You speak Italian?”
“No. I know a few words,” she teased.
“May I escort you signorina? To the others?” he asked.
Scandalous Heroes Box Set Page 4
