Lashawnda nudged up the radio volume again and tried to lose herself in the world of the Morning Show. She wasn't sure if she wanted a relationship with her boss; she wasn't even sure if she would prefer to be with a man. She was lost, but Lashawnda was a survivor. She knew for sure that she was way better off than she had been three years ago, and that had to count for something, didn't it?
AT ARA EYED HER watch as she waited for her client to open the fitting-room door. Mrs. LaRue, her last client scheduled for the day, was usually a breeze to shop for, but today she was being giddy and indecisive. She was a widow and had begun a new affair with a younger man; she wanted to update her wardrobe. Catara had several items waiting for her when she arrived, but anything that made her look five years younger scared her, and the usual clothing lines she gravitated toward were suddenly too stuffy and “just not me.”
Normally, such a fashion dilemma was a challenge Catara would have gladly met, but she'd scheduled an interview with a young, trailblazing designer, Frederick Yarborough, who was looking for an apprentice. He liked the designs Catara had sent him. Unfortunately the only meeting time he had available cut into the client schedule she'd already prepared for the day. She attempted to reschedule some of them, but none budged. If she moved Mrs. LaRue along quickly enough, then she would be able to get to her interview on time. Otherwise … she didn't want to think about “otherwise.”
“Catara, you can come in,” Mrs. LaRue said, opening the door to the spacious fitting room.
Catara crossed her fingers and walked inside. “So what do you think?” she asked as she gazed at Mrs. LaRue, who was wearing a full-length ball gown and standing on top of a dressing square, staring at herself in the mirror with a sheepish grin plastered on her face.
“I think this is it!” Mrs. LaRue chirped.
“I knew you'd like this one,” Catara said as she sat back on the sofa both to allow Mrs. LaRue the opportunity to admire herself and also to prevent herself from showing that she was truly frantic about ending this session and moving on to her interview.
“It's a good start,” Mrs. LaRue said sternly, “but it's only the beginning. I will be attending a number of affairs with Rupert. I'm going to need everything from comfy casual to more of this elegant after-seven to intimate apparel.”
Catara gasped. She could barely believe her ears. This was going to take all evening.
“Don't worry, Catara, I know you can do this. You've always done a great job of finding the perfect items for me.”
Catara wanted to pass out on the sofa. Her limbs were weak. There was no way around it, she was going to miss her interview.
“Is there a problem?” Mrs. LaRue asked, seemingly concerned.
Although it was taboo for a shopper to cut a meeting short with a client, Catara felt that because she'd been working with Mrs. LaRue since she began at Saks, the woman would be flexible. Catara cleared her throat. “Mrs. LaRue, I hate to ask this of you, but I have a very important appointment scheduled today. How about I work with you for thirty minutes more and get a better feel for what you want. Then I'll put together some things, you can come back in a day or two, and we'll go from there.”
Mrs. LaRue came off the dressing platform. “I'm sorry, Catara. I thought I made clear that this all has to be done immediately, especially since some things might need to be altered. Rupert and I are flying to Palm Beach at the end of the week. I don't have a couple of days.” She turned back toward the mirror and smoothed the sides of her dress. “I'm sure you can reschedule your other appointment,” she said nonchalantly. Then she stepped back up on the platform. “Now, Catara, do you think this hem should be lifted a bit?”
Catara pulled herself off the sofa, walked over to Mrs. LaRue, and examined the dress. “I'll call the seamstress in and get right to finding some more things for you to try on. In the meantime, would you like some more wine?”
“No, thank you. My head is already spinning from the first glass.”
Catara walked out of the dressing room, found the seamstress, and sent her in to Mrs. LaRue, then headed toward a telephone to make the dreaded call.
When she asked Frederick to reschedule, he didn't yell. He didn't fuss. His words were nice, even, and sharp as a sword: “I was really looking forward to meeting with you because I like your work. You were one of my top candidates. But Miss Edwards, I know you must be a very busy woman, so I wouldn't dare insult you by rescheduling.”
Catara was speechless. She knew she'd blown an opportunity of a lifetime, but she had to get back to the job that was currently paying the bills. She tried not to think about what had just happened, because if she did, she wouldn't have been able to go on. Instead, she rushed to the display floor and began to search the racks for clothes for her client. She braced herself because she knew it was going to be a long afternoon.
CATARA RUSHED UP the stairs and out of the subway station. She was glad to be away from Saks. The dial was already set to her favorite radio station, which she faithfully listened to on her walk home. The evening DJ had a sexy voice and was witty; plus, he played short recaps of what happened on the syndicated show that aired every morning.
She tuned in just in time to catch the end of the update. Melvin Green was announcing the Morning Show's new contest for single women. “Attention all single ladies—listen up because Louisa Montero has special contest details that she'd like to share with you.”
Catara adjusted the volume. Although she never called or wrote in, she loved to be informed of the wild and varying giveaways the show always came up with.
“Ladies, this is Louisa Montero. I have a birthday fast approaching, and although we women don't like to give our ages away, I'll share mine if you share yours. I'm going to be thirty on December first! Because it's such a pivotal time in a woman's life, I'd like to share my special day with other women whose birthdays fall on December first. That's right, five others approaching thirty will travel with me to sunny South Beach, where we're going to stay at the lovely Royal Palm Crowne Plaza Resort Hotel and be catered to with spa treatments and a mini shopping spree. Then we're going to stroll down famous Ocean Drive and take in the sights and sounds of the beach. On our special day, we're going to take a one-day cruise to the Grand Bahama Islands, where we'll spend four hours touring Freeport and Port Lucaya, and then we'll cruise back that evening while indulging in fine dining, gambling, and whatever else we can get ourselves into.”
Melvin Green cut in. “That's right ladies, it's the Night Before Thirty Relaxation Party Weekend, and you just might find yourself indulging in the beauty of tropical climates while bringing in your thirtieth right! All you have to do is write us one page stating why you deserve to spend your thirtieth birthday lounging in the lap of luxury.”
Catara gulped. Finally, a contest just for her. What were the odds of she and Louisa Montero having the same birthday? Plus, after all the hard work she'd put in at Saks, her ordeal with Rondell, and missing the appointment of a lifetime, she mentally claimed her spot at the spa, the shopping spree, and the cruise. As she trekked her way to her apartment, she imagined what hanging out with Louisa Montero would be like. She couldn't wait until she got home to begin scribbling down why she should be chosen for the weekend getaway.
LECIA ROLLED OVER and wrapped her arm around William's waist. The San Diego sun was setting over the Pacific Ocean, and the soft, warm breeze blowing from the water onto the terrace of the beachfront suite was turning cool. The two had been lying there in the wide lawn chair for the past few hours and had fallen asleep to the sound of the waves hitting the beach.
Alecia was disappointed—being awake meant that she would again begin counting time. It was their second day alone together, and she didn't want their special weekend to come to an end. She nudged herself closer to him and savored the moment, because William, in that time and space, belonged only to her. She had his undivided attention.
He looked so peaceful sleeping next to her in his swim trunks that she couldn't help but
sneak a quick kiss on his cheek. Then she took the back of her hand and stroked his cheek, allowing her hand to brush past his neck, down to his chest. More days of intimate solitude with him would not be enough to quench her desire to belong to him forever.
William awoke with a smile on his face and yawned. “Uumm, this feels good.”
“Me touching you?”
“You, the breeze, the beach. All of it.”
“I know,” she said wistfully. “I could stay like this forever.”
“Me too,” he agreed.
William eased up in the chair so that he could get a better view of his surroundings. Alecia adjusted her position accordingly.
“Breathtaking,” he commented of the red and blue hues that mixed together and surrounded the huge sun as it set, looking as if it were gradually submerging into the ocean.
“Breathtaking,” Alecia sighed.
The two remained silent as they watched the sun gradually sink until it was no more. What had been a fairly active beach earlier in the day had now become deserted and romantic, sexy.
“I love it when it's like this. It feels like we're the only two people on our own deserted island,” William said.
“Uh-huh,” Alecia agreed.
“So do we continue like this, starving, or do we eat?” he asked.
“We starve.”
“We could. But I say we eat.”
“Let's order room service and stay in all night,” she suggested.
“We did that last night. Don't you want to see the city?”
“I've seen the city, several times. We both have.”
“But there's a new spot downtown that I have to go to tonight.”
“Oh, so this is a business trip?” Alecia was disheartened. She had thought the weekend was only about his wanting to do something special for her.
“Not exactly. Well, kind of—John, a client of mine, recently purchased the club. I just have to make an appearance. We can eat on the waterfront, and then we can go to the club.” William squeezed her tight. “You can work me out on the floor, and then we can come back here and you can finish off the job.”
Alecia pouted a bit, but she knew there was no way around it. She had to go.
She lay there a while longer then forced herself up. “I'm taking a shower.” She yawned. “You can join me if you'd like.” She winked at him and posed between the sliding-glass door.
“It's tempting, but if I do that, we'll never get out of here.” William reached over to the table next to the chair, picked up his Palm, and began fidgeting with it.
Alecia hated being ignored, especially by William, and it was tough for her to accept that all the stops had been pulled and there was nothing more she could do except get dressed and join him for a night on the town.
DOWNTOWN SAN DIEGO was exhilarating. Once in the midst of the action, she was pleasantly surprised that it was just the change of scenery that she and William needed. There were lots of new buildings, condos, hotels, and restaurants, all nestled in the midst of clean streets and plush green landscaping, only blocks away from scenic views of boats and floating yachts.
The new nightclub was located on Fourth Street, in the heart of downtown. They ate dinner at a quaint little restaurant on the water-front, and afterward, instead of driving their rental to the club, William motioned for a bike-pulled rickshaw. He and Alecia piled in the buggy.
“Fourth Street and D, near Horton Plaza. I'll tell you when to stop,” William said to the driver, who began to pedal down the street. Although he didn't seem strong enough to handle the weight of the two of them, he moved them along at a steady pace. The breeze circulated around them and they sat close, holding hands, taking in the naturally beautiful sights and sounds of the city.
“Some of the men here will have their wives with them. And some of them know …” He paused. He struggled saying her name. “Phyllis. There might be a few awkward moments.”
“What do you mean?” Alecia demanded.
“Well, there might be moments when … well, you know what I'm saying.”
“No, I don't, William.”
“I'm not going to completely ignore you, Alecia. I'm just saying that I might not be able to hold your hand as much as I normally do.”
“I understand.” Alecia felt numb. What could she say? Nothing. She knew her place in their relationship. This, however, would be the first time she would have it shoved in her face.
The two sat in silence the rest of the way. Alecia combated her hurt by focusing on her surroundings. Around her the streets were filled with laid-back patrons walking in and out of restaurants and shops. Although the downtown was heavily populated, a feeling of relaxation was in the air.
William seemed a bit uneasy.
“I could catch a cab back,” she offered dryly.
“What are you talking about? Sweetheart, I want you with me. Just scratch what I said from the record, and let's have a good time.”
Alecia frowned and pouted, attempting to garner sympathy from him. Anytime she could make William feel guilty, she milked it dry.
“Please, don't be upset, Jewel,” he said, putting his arm around her and kissing her on the cheek. “Don't you worry about anything. You are my princess and I don't care who knows.”
Alecia smiled widely. I am Alecia Jewel Parker, and men love me. All men love me. And you, William, are no exception, she thought.
Their driver stopped in front of the club, as directed by William. He hopped off the bike, took Alecia's hand, and gently escorted her out. Then he helped William, who paid him. William then put his hand at the small of Alecia's back and they walked toward the club. He gave their names to the guy at the door, and the two walked right in.
Inside, there was an open, airy feel. The walls were high and the color scheme typical of a nightclub. It was bright, inviting, exciting. The music was upbeat hip-hop, the clientele a mixture of ethnicities and sexual preferences. It was the kind of spot that Alecia thrived in, felt most comfort being in, because of the common link among the majority of the partygoers: most were packing money or power, and she was always up for meeting more people with dinero. It affirmed to her that she was in the right place at the right time. That all was well with her life.
William grabbed her hand. It wasn't as natural as usual, but deliberate. “The VIP room is in the back—let's go.” Alecia followed. When they got to the velvet rope, the owner, John, was talking to another guy in front of the entrance.
“William!” he said cheerfully when he spotted them walking up. “I'd like you to meet my good friend Al.”
William bear-hugged John and shook Al's hand. “Al, Will is my over-priced attorney. Al is a major contractor out here in San Diego,” John said, introducing the two.
“This is the one I've been telling you about, John. This is Alecia.”
“Nice to meet you,” John said. “Absolutely gorgeous.” He took her hand and kissed it.
Alecia smiled, then shook Al's hand.
John said something to William, and then patted Al on the back.
William reached in his pocket, pulled out his platinum card, and placed it in her hand. “Alecia, go inside the VIP room. Order yourself a drink. Start a tab, and I'll be right in.”
Alecia sternly eyed William, not sure if she was being brushed off. He slowly and gently kissed her on the cheek. “Baby, I'll be right in. I know you'll have no problem handling yourself. I'm right behind you.”
Alecia turned away from him and waved at the guy at the rope. He looked up at John, who motioned for him to let her enter, and Alecia walked in.
Few people were inside. Alecia considered it evidence of the elite clientele—because everybody was on the same social level, there was no one to be separated from. She scoped the scene, and no one stood out or caught her eye. It was a cosmopolitan crowd across the line.
She approached the bar and ordered an apple martini. To the right of her was an African who was intensely watching her every move. He seemed des
perate to know her, so she made a more concerted effort to ignore him. To the left of her were three women in cocktail dresses wearing clusters of diamonds on their fingers, reflecting years of marriage. They were too mature and would probably be threatened by her, so she didn't even bother speaking to them.
The bartender came back with her drink. “I'll handle that,” the guy standing to her left said in a heavy Nigerian accent.
“It won't be necessary. It's already taken care of,” she said and handed the bartender William's card. “I'd like to start a tab with that. He'll be in shortly.”
“No problem,” the bartender said, and walked away with the card.
“What is your name, pretty lady?”
After checking him out from head to toe, Alecia concluded that although he had some cash, his money was probably not enough. She began going through her limited Nigerian vocabulary, trying to remember if one of her Nigerian beaus had taught her to say “Fuck off ” in their language.
“You are a beautiful American lady. They will love you where I'm from. You remind me of the Ethiopian women in Africa.”
Alecia knew his type and was not in the mood. She knew that if she moved, he would follow, so she weighed her options and decided it was time to make nice with the married women to her left.
She quickly turned toward them and inched closer, searching for an opening line.
“Cute watch. Van Cleef and Arpels?”
“Exactly,” the lady responded, surprised.
“Very nice. I purchased a similar one for my mom for Mother's Day.”
“You have good taste.” The lady smiled. “My husband got this for me 'just because.' ”
She returned the smile.
Alecia's first inclination was to avoid conversing with the women and go back out to where William was, but her curiosity got the better of her.
“This is my first time visiting this club. Have any of you come here before tonight?” She knew it was a corny question, but it was worth the information it would bring.
“The two of us have come here more often than we'd like to admit,” another answered, then took a sip of wine. “My husband recently bought this place. It's like a big playpen for him. But it is Phyllis's first time,” the woman answered, gesturing at the woman with the Van Cleef & Arpels watch. “She's visiting from Los Angeles.”
The Night Before Thirty Page 6
