After getting his iPod going, Tre shifted onto his chest, rested his head on his arms, and drifted off. Something ice-cold trailed along his spine. His eyes flew open and he flopped onto his side.
“What the hell!”
“Well, good afternoon to you, too,” Jen said in a chirpy voice.
His dreams of a string bikini and a shared bottle of wine shattered, Tre’s gaze roamed over the red one-piece halter cut high on the thigh. It was a classy outfit but not overly suggestive, just like the woman herself.
“Is it hot enough for you?” he asked.
“I love this weather. When you spend most of your life in the midwest, the heat feels wonderful.”
“That’s right, you’re from Ohio. What made you move?” Jen seemed to roll the question around in her mind. “Hold on a sec.” Tre sprang up and dragged over a lounge chair that had just become vacant. “Might as well get comfortable.”
He picked up his glass, offering her a sip of iced tea. She accepted, sucking long and hard on the straw.
Ah, those lips.
“Thanks. That was just what I needed.” She handed the glass back.
Tre signaled to the pool attendant. “Two iced teas, please.” After the man had hurried off to get his order his attention returned to her. “So you were saying?”
Jen stretched out those shapely legs that he just couldn’t seem to get enough of. Her toenails were painted an attractive shade of coral and matched the nails on her hands.
“What was the question again?”
“What brought you here from Ohio?”
Tre got the feeling she hadn’t forgotten the question but was buying time, thinking about how to respond.
“I needed a change.”
“Why a change?”
Jen pursed her lips. “I turned thirty-two and decided it was time to take charge of my life. A girl can get pretty comfortable in Ashton. Too comfortable. I’d just broken up with my boyfriend when this opportunity to move to Flamingo Beach came about. I jumped on it and here I am. Where are our iced teas anyway?”
That was that. Topic closed.
Tre offered her another sip of his drink. Jen sucked it down gratefully and handed the glass back. “What about you? What brought you here? Don’t tell me you are one of the rare natives?”
“Hardly.” He chuckled. “I was born and, for the most part, grew up in a tough section of Detroit. I wanted an easier life for myself and any family I might have. When I moved to Florida, living was a heck of a lot cheaper than trying to make ends meet in a big city. Now of course, real estate prices are skyhigh. But if I hadn’t moved when I did I wouldn’t have all of this and I wouldn’t own anything.” Tre’s gesture encompassed their building and the surrounding complex.
The attendant was back. He set down their drinks on the arms of their chairs. Tre quickly signed the bill.
“It’s my turn to treat,” Jen interjected trying to wrestle him for the bill.
“No. I have an account. An iced tea is hardly going to break me.”
“You own your apartment?” She looked at him questioningly. He assumed it was because she most probably rented.
“Almost,” he answered. “I’m in the midst of negotiating the deal. You got in at the right time and should be able to as well. Flamingo Place is going condo. The insiders’ price is substantially lower than what the management’s telling outsiders. It’s something you should consider if you plan on staying in Florida.”
Jen’s eyebrows arched. It was hard to read her. “Hmmmm, there’s always that possibility. I think I’m going to take a dip.”
“I’ll join you.”
For the next half an hour they swam laps and frolicked in the water. Tre found Jen easy to be around. She attacked life with gusto. It was refreshing to find a woman who didn’t mind getting her hair wet. Strands of smooth, straightened hair skimmed her shoulders and at times got caught in her mouth. Her face now had a sun-kissed glow to it that hadn’t been there before. Plus she had that lovely body that made his mouth water.
They toweled off and reclaimed their spots. When they were settled Tre said, “I’m wondering if you’d reconsider and have dinner with me.” She opened her mouth but before she could get a word out, he continued, “I’m thinking an early dinner, something on the water. We’ll watch the sun set and I won’t keep you out late. I have to go to work myself.”
Jen’s hazel eyes flickered over his face. “Okay, you’re on. What time will you be by to pick me up?”
“Five-thirty?”
“That’s good.”
And before Tre did something stupid like try to kiss her, he rolled onto his chest.
Half an hour passed. But no matter how much he tried, Jen’s image stayed in his head.
Jen reminded herself not to expect much. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about Trestin, yet she’d agreed to go out with him. Anyway, this wasn’t exactly a date, more like a get-acquainted session. She still didn’t know the man’s last name but she planned on remedying that tonight. She’d try to at least get a business card out of him.
Now to find something that was flirty and fun to wear but didn’t send the message, “I want to go to bed with you.” Not that her next-door neighbor was the type of guy most women would toss out of their bedroom. But she’d made a promise to herself, no more sex until she found out what a man was really made of. She’d learned her lesson from Anderson.
Jen tapped an impatient foot, dismissing one outfit after another. Her closet for the most part was conservative and very Midwestern. She needed to go shopping and add some color and style to liven things up.
It was hot. What did she have that was cool and stylish? Tre had mentioned something about a water-front restaurant. Hopefully that meant casual. Jen tossed a handful of clothing on the bed and was about to sort through them when her cell phone played the upbeat calypso she’d programmed in.
It might be Luis. He was singing a slightly different tune since last night’s broadcast. Jen had been inundated with calls from The Chronicle’s staff. She’d even gotten one from Eileen. Overnight she’d turned into some kind of celebrity. Preoccupied, she didn’t check to see the inbound number.
“Hi, this is Jen.”
“You busy?”
“Yes, Chere, as a matter of fact I am. I’m getting dressed for dinner.”
She offered too much information. A big mistake.
Chere snorted. “You going out to eat and you didn’t invite me.”
“I was invited out myself.”
“By who?” Chere’s questions often violated the boundaries of decency. Jen let the silence drag out. “All right, be like that, don’t tell me who you’re having dinner with. I’d tell you who I was sleeping with.”
“It’s not like that,” Jen clarified. “This is a sit-down dinner at a restaurant with hopefully intelligent conversation.”
Chere snorted again. “Then he must be from out of town.”
As outrageous as Chere was at times, she did make you laugh. For some unknown reason Jen decided not to fill her in.
“I have to go,” she said. “I’m running late. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. We’re working from home. Be sure to get here on time.”
Yet another snort followed. “I’ll know all about who you were out with long before then.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Jen hung up. That conversation had taken five minutes off the time she had left. She sorted through the clothing on the bed and dismissed them one by one. Hurrying back to the closet she rifled through the racks, found a black peasant-style skirt with an abundance of ruffles at the back, and paired it with an orange camisole.
Digging through her drawers she found a black-and-gold scarf that, if tied around her waist, would give the outfit a lift. Jen quickly put them on and accessorized with gold hoop earrings and a wooden bangle.
Black sandals with a low heel completed the look. Now what to do about her hair? Should she wear it up or down? Down,
she decided even though it was beastly hot. Pulled off her face and secured with sparkly little clips it would give a youthful look. She finished up by adding a touch of makeup. And just in time.
The doorbell rang. Jen hurried off to answer it. She opened the door to a yellow rose thrust at her.
“You look lovely,” Trestin said, his eyes feasting on her face and then roaming her body.
“Thank you.”
She accepted the rose, placed it between her teeth and in a playful mood, pirouetted before him.
He applauded. “Ready?”
“I just need to get my purse.”
Jen placed the single bloom in a bud vase before picking up the rattan bag with the jaunty artificial flower attached to the front. It went with the bohemian outfit perfectly.
“I’m ready,” she said. “Where are we going?”
“The Catch All.”
“Good choice.”
Hand in hand they headed down the hallway and toward the elevators.
Ida Rosenstein got off the lift as they stepped on.
“You’re moving up in the world,” she shouted at Trestin. “I’d take class over youth any day.”
“I agree,” he said as the doors shut smoothly behind them.
Chapter 8
“Have you decided?” Tre asked, closing his menu and setting it down on the table beside him.
“There’s so much to choose from. It’s a toss-up between the butterfly shrimp and the halibut,” Jen said.
“Well I know what I’m having. That king crab has my name written all over it and I just might have crab cakes as an appetizer.”
“Sounds to me like by the time you’re done you might be all crabbed out.” He noticed her grimace at her feeble attempt to joke. “I’m going to go for the shrimp and I’m going to have oysters on the half shell for an appetizer.”
“Good for you.”
Jen’s menu joined his on the table. As if by some unspoken agreement they gazed out on the water where boats were moored, and a cocktail crowd stood on the outer deck enjoying the beautiful sunset.
The bars at The Catch All did a brisk business this evening dispensing drinks to a crowd there for happy hour. Both bars gave the illusion you were right at water’s edge and so for that reason were immensely popular. Later some of the patrons would move over to the restaurant for a sit-down dinner.
Their waitress came, took their meal orders and left. Tre had passed on alcohol because he needed a clear head to interview the mayor later that evening. Jen had chosen not to have the wine he kept pushing on her. Tre had been trying to persuade her to sample a Zinfandel he’d recently been introduced to.
Bottled water was something they could agree on and did. Now each sat sipping from their respective glasses as the sun sank lower and lower, streaking the sky with a to-die-for pink and purple hue.
“Do you listen to the D’Dawg show?” Jen asked out of the blue.
Tre started. The question had come from nowhere and he was now fully alert.
“Can’t say that I do. Why?”
That at least was the truth.
“Because I’d be curious to hear what you think about this controversy over the advice that columnist gave to the mother.”
Tre shrugged and decided to play dumb. When put on the defensive, let the other person talk. “Fill me in,” he said.
Jen succinctly told him what the problem was. She seemed a bit outraged that a fast-talking disk jockey wouldn’t have kept up with modern day verbiage.
“Maybe the DJ did know but chose to yank the columnist’s chain.”
“And what purpose would that serve?” Jen argued, sounding more than a little irritable.
“Most disk jockeys like to stir the pot. You know, get people talking. The residents of Flamingo Beach aren’t an easy audience. Sixty percent are retirees born in an entirely different era. Another fairly large percent are an influx from Cuba and Haiti, here in search of a better life. The rest are transplants in from a number of places in the United States, and attracted to beach-type communities because they can find a job in hospitality or elder care.”
“If this guy just wants to stir the pot it’s wasted energy. His time would be better spent taking a stand for a worthy cause.”
“But didn’t you say he took a stand? He stood up for gay rights.”
“Because it suited his purpose,” Jen lobbed back. “He took a commonly used word and twisted it for his own benefit just so he could up ratings on his awful program.”
Tre gulped his water. He was getting a bit hot under the collar and he could only go so far in terms of defending himself. If Jen only knew who she was talking to.…
“Hey,” he said. “This really doesn’t concern you and me.”
“True.”
Now it was Jen’s turn to sip on her water.
“I never did get your last name,” she said.
“I thought I told you,” Tre bluffed.
“In that case I missed it.”
“Monroe,” he said and held his breath.
Please don’t let her make the association between me and D’Dawg or I’m a dead dog. She’s already made it clear how she feels about him.
“Trestin Monroe has a nice ring to it,” Jen said. “Very old world.”
He exhaled loudly.
The food arrived and they ate, even sharing a dessert afterward. With the exception of their little disagreement earlier on they were getting along quite well and Tre found that he liked her more and more. Jen had a wit that kept him on his toes and an interesting perspective on everyday life.
They were halfway through their shared dessert when a woman who’d been seated at the table to their right with a bunch of friends approached.
“Excuse me, but my girlfriends and I have a bet you’re…”
“Sorry, this isn’t a good time. I’m on a date.”
She slunk back to her table looking crestfallen.
“Why were you so rude?” Jen asked. “You should be flattered. She’s mistaken you for the supermodel Ty Beckham. What a body that guy has.”
Tre wished she would notice his. He spent an hour at the gym every other day working on keeping fit.
“I didn’t mean to be short—maybe I’ll go over and apologize. Maybe I’ll even buy the ladies a drink.”
“Good idea.”
Tre liked it that she didn’t seem to mind when he left her, and headed over to the table where the women sat huddled, whispering.
He confirmed they were right as to his DJ status, collected a business card from one of them and begged for their understanding, explaining that this was a first date and he hadn’t told the lady about his career yet.
And then to sweeten them up a little bit he had the waiter send over another of what each of them was drinking.
“That was nice of you,” Jen said when he returned. “Most people would have just left well enough alone.”
“I’m not most people.”
Jen looked at him for a moment, then a slow smile emerged. He found himself on pins and needles waiting for her response. Why did what she thought of him matter?
“Yes, I am beginning to realize you just might be special,” Jen said.
And in just those few seconds all again was right with Tre’s world.
An hour later, much later than he’d planned on being out, Tre dropped Jen off in front of their building. He’d wanted to kiss her goodbye but decided he’d save it for their next date, when he wasn’t so rushed or concerned about getting to the radio station on time. His head needed to be in the right place when he interviewed Mayor Rabinowitz.
And there would be a next date. You could count on that. He’d enjoyed Jen’s company immensely.
Tre drove to the radio station humming a tune and ignoring the little voice in his head that said, “proceed cautiously.” At a gut level he knew he was playing with fire. He was in the process of negotiating the purchase of a home next door to a woman who sparked his interest. If things di
dn’t work out, or if they were on different wavelengths, it could prove to be a most unpleasant living arrangement.
Tre was seated in his studio ten minutes before the show was scheduled to begin. Adrenaline surging, he shuffled through his notes. This was promising to be one heck of a broadcast. He’d scored a major coup getting Chet Rabinowitz, the Executive Director of the Gay Alliance on his show, plus his father, the mayor, and the advice columnist responsible for the controversy, and all on sequential nights.
The plan was to have the mayor who’d had several engagements that day, call in to be interviewed and then remain available to take questions from listeners.
The assistant producer, Bill, from the local community college stuck his head in through the open door. “Boris wants to speak with you,” he said.
“Now? I’m on the air in a few minutes.”
Bill waved a cell phone at him. “Now.”
Tre accepted the phone that Bill pressed into his hand.
“I have exactly five minutes, Boris,” Tre said.
“I know that. I just wanted to wish you luck.”
Since when? Boris had never called wishing him anything before a show.
“Go easy on the mayor,” he admonished. “This is a small town, deeply mired in tradition. There’s a good possibility Solomon could be elected to a second term.”
“Not to worry. I’ll take that under consideration.”
“Good. Now on with the show!”
More than anything Tre hated being indirectly asked to censor himself. He liked radio because it was free-flowing and easy, and he liked being able to ad lib as he went along. A good part of his popularity stemmed from his quick comebacks and witty one-liners. Well, he would just have to see how things went tonight. If Solomon droned on or got on his soapbox, D’Dawg would just have to liven things up.
“You’re on the air in two,” Bill said, two fingers raised in the air. He reclaimed the cell phone with his free hand.
Tre clamped on his headset and sat back. He nodded at the disk jockey who’d been on before him. The man gave him the thumbs-up sign and headed out.
Flamingo Place (Mills & Boon Kimani) Page 7
