Flamingo Place (Mills & Boon Kimani)

by Marcia King-Gamble

  “Eileen Brown,” she reminded Tre. “I thought I recognized you but wasn’t sure. When that fan approached I knew for sure.”

  “You’re with The Chronicle?”

  Eileen handed him her card. “Yes, I’m the advertising manager. Will you be at the reception the new African-American Library’s throwing?”

  Tre vaguely remembered getting an invitation. “Sure I’ll go, but I may not be able to make the show. I’ll come to the reception afterward. There is a reception? Right?”

  “What’s this about an African-American Library?” Marva asked. “And a reception?”

  Eileen hurriedly explained.

  “I’d like to go,” Marva said, speaking up. “The Jackie Robinson Story should be good entertainment.

  Besides, it’s for a good cause and it would be my opportunity to meet some of your friends.”

  “What about me?” Ida inquired in her too-loud voice. “Am I chopped liver?”

  Dutifully Tre extended the invitation to both ladies. He hadn’t planned on attending and had stashed his invitation somewhere. He’d have to find it. “I have to work but I’ll be by later. I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up and drop you off at the library. I’ll drive you home myself.”

  “I have a license,” Ida croaked. “I can drive.”

  Like hell he would let her.

  “See you there then,” Eileen said, deciding it was probably in her best interest to disappear. She inclined her head at the ladies and took her husband’s hand.

  “You do need my help,” Marva said, the moment Eileen and her husband left. She grimaced. “If that young woman who came over earlier, is a reflection of what this town has to offer, heaven help us.”

  “I do not need your help, Mother. Please butt out and make sure that ad is off the Internet tonight.”

  “I took it off. Didn’t I tell you that? She must have printed it out and held on to it.” Marva sniffed. “I would never consider her anyway. She’s not your type.”

  Ida’s head ping-ponged. She curiously assessed the situation. “Tre doesn’t need your help,” she said, chortling. “5C’s got him whipped. Just wait until you see her.”

  “Ida! Stop it!” Tre snapped.

  The old lady cupped her ear. “What did you say?”

  What was the use? He’d been ganged up on. He was wasting his breath. Nothing he said would make much difference. But he did plan on finding which site his mother had used and he was going to make sure that ad was off. He couldn’t afford to have anyone think he was desperate.

  Chapter 14

  Just when she’d thought it was over with, and the topic of Dear Jenna old news, it started up again.

  At Chere’s urging, on their way to Pelican Island, and the African-American Library function, Jen tuned the radio into WARP. The tunes played tonight were some of her favorites: Mariah Carey, Beyoncé, Usher; an eclectic mix. They helped the twenty-minute trip to pass quickly.

  Chere had more or less invited herself to come along. Jen was beginning to think that might have been a mistake. Her pushy assistant, with her loud ways and questionable manners was not what you’d expect at a highbrow social gathering.

  The pesky DJ was on the air, his soulful voice reaching out to draw his audience in. Jen, hearing her moniker mentioned a time or two, tuned in to what he was saying.

  “And just when we thought we’d heard enough of Dear Jenna and that hoagie column of hers,” D’Dawg said, “The Southern Tribune hires this guy calling himself the Love Doctor. So ya know this on-air personality had to find out what’s up with that. I did a little checking on him, just to make sure he wasn’t a fraud. Guess what? The brother checked out. He’s got degrees from Columbia and Cornell. So I’m thinking I bring him on the show, up against Dear Jenna. That should make for a lively debate. Watcha think of my idea, Flamingo Beach?”

  The calls starting coming one after the other.

  “Bring it on,” one homeboy said.

  “So what’s this doc supposed to do for that ailing Southern paper?”

  “Provide a cure,” D’Dawg rasped, laughing at his own joke.

  “More like put a Band-Aid on,” another caller offered.

  “Shit! What you going do now?” Chere’s elbow to the ribs brought Jen immediately back to the present. It caused Jen to swerve almost into the next lane. A horn blasted.

  “My going up against the doctor might be good for circulation,” Jen answered. “The PR can only help sell papers.”

  “Well, you handled yourself well the last time around. You put that man in his place. I wonder if that brother’s single.”

  “What brother?” Jen asked, hoping she hadn’t missed her exit. She’d printed out the directions to the library from Mapquest and had been trying to follow them diligently.

  “The Southern Chronicle’s doctor,” Chere explained, letting out a loud yawn. “Man, I’m hungry.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find out.” Jen made a sharp right, and then a left and followed a winding road.

  “We’re here,” she announced, pulling up in front of a clapwood building that looked like it might have been replicated from plans from another era. The landscaping though charming was organized chaos. Hibiscus bushes jockeyed for position with bougainvillea, ixora, birds of paradise and trailing ferns.

  They followed a number of people up the croton-lined pathway and toward the stained-glass front door. Already a sizeable crowd spilled from the lobby. Voices were animated as guests greeted friends and acquaintances.

  Jen looked around for Eileen. She hadn’t had time to warn the advertising and marketing manager that Chere would be her date this evening. But Eileen and her husband were nowhere in sight, they were probably already seated.

  Jen glanced at her tickets. The layout of the auditorium was a mystery to her and ushers were not visible. “We should go and find our seats,” she suggested. “We can mingle afterwards at the reception.”

  They finally found an usher who led them to their row. As Chere heaved her bulk into the too-small seat she loudly whispered, “I hope whoever’s playing Jackie Robinson’s fine, if not it’s going be hell sitting for two hours while my butt’s asleep.”

  “Sssshhh!”

  It would be a losing battle trying to keep Chere quiet and entertained for a couple of hours. With any luck her irrepressible admin assistant would fall asleep.

  Tre heard the raised voices even from the parking lot. The patrons inside the building seemed to be having a good time. The reception must be going well and the drinks flowing.

  He circled several times and finally, exasperated, parallel parked the radio station van illegally. Maybe the cops would have mercy on him when they spotted the station logo on the side of the vehicle. Pelican Island, with its sparse population could use all the publicity it could get, and so could the new African-American Library. No one had to know he wasn’t there in a journalist’s capacity.

  Tre had come straight from the station and hadn’t had time to change. When he’d left for work that evening, he’d worn dress pants, skipping his usual jeans. He’d remembered to bring a sports jacket with him as well. Knowing the Porsche would never accommodate both his mother and Ida, he’d had a car service he sometimes used pick up the ladies. He’d borrowed one of WARP’s vehicle’s to transport them back.

  After stepping out of the van he shrugged into the lightweight linen jacket. It had been at least a year since he’d had the need to wear a jacket, and only because someone at the station had gotten married and invited him.

  Tre hoped that unsupervised his mother and Ida had managed to conduct themselves in an appropriate manner. He wasn’t expecting perfect behavior; that would be too much from them. Just behavior that most people would attribute to senior citizens and easily forgive.

  Tre’s first impressions as he entered the lobby were of a reception going extremely well. A huge crowd milled around the four bars, taking advantage of the free drinks. Waiters hired by the catering company circled,
bearing trays of canapés that were immediately scooped up when people converged from everywhere. A quick glance around the room yielded no sign of his mother or Ida.

  Hoping to blend in, Tre eased his way into the midst of chaos. He headed for a bar that seemed less crowded than the rest. He would have just one drink because he was driving. As he fought his way against a steady stream of traffic, a palm clapped his back.

  “Aren’t you Tre Monroe, the DJ?”

  He was tempted to lie but what would be the point? These high-profile events attracted the movers and shakers of Flamingo Beach and the surrounding neighborhoods. This might very well be someone to get to know.

  Tre stuck out his hand. The man clasped it and shook it vigorously. “Bernard Cain, I’ve enjoyed your show immensely, especially what you’ve done with it the last three weeks.”

  Tre thanked Bernard and prepared to move on but the man wasn’t done. “It will be interesting to have Dear Jenna up against Doctor Fraser. Both have very distinctive styles.”

  “Have you met them?” Tre asked.

  “Earlier on I was introduced to Dr. Fraser. He’s the guy dressed in a pinstriped suit. He doesn’t look anything like you would picture a doctor. You know what I mean.” He smiled.

  No, Tre didn’t know what he meant, but now his interest was piqued.

  Bernard was off and running. “I haven’t met Dear Jenna but it’s rumored she’s here, too.”

  Tre perked up immediately. It would be interesting to meet the woman he poked fun at face-to-face.

  “Who would know if she’s here?” he asked.

  “Probably someone on the planning committee. Excuse me, I have to go say hi to someone.” And just like that Bernard was gone.

  Tre prodded and pushed his way to a line that snaked around the corner. As he waited to get closer to a drink, he gazed around the room trying to see who was who.

  Mayor Rabinowitz was holding court with some official-looking types who might or might not be from the city. Some of the small business owners who advertised on WARP were nursing drinks while chatting amongst themselves. He caught a glimpse of a woman who looked very much like his attractive neighbor but he could not imagine what she would be doing here. He’d thought she was a professional woman but he’d not thought her contacts would be this far-reaching.

  Now he definitely needed that drink. Tre looked over in the direction of the corner where the woman who looked like Jen stood. She was talking to a man in a pinstriped suit while a woman, who could well stand to go on a diet, hovered. The woman looked slightly out of place in the midst of a group that was conservatively dressed. His mother and Ida were still nowhere to be seen.

  Ten minutes later Tre was finally face-to-face with the bartender. He played it safe and ordered a beer. It would be thirst-quenching and something to hold in his hands as he made the rounds. He again circled the room hoping to run into his mother and Ida.

  “You looking for me?” The heavyset woman who’d been part of Jen’s group was practically in his face. She wore a sparkly outfit and sandals with rhinestones, and ridiculous curls bounced around her face. The entire getup was way too youthful for a woman in her thirties and she stood out like a beacon in a sea of tailored suits.

  “Actually I’m looking for my mother and her friend,” Tre answered politely, trying to hide his smile. He was cataloging all of his impressions so that he could share them on tomorrow’s show.

  “Maybe I can help find them. What do they look like?”

  The offer was appreciated, but suspect. Tre described Ida and Marva.

  “Oh, those two.” The woman chortled as if enjoying a private joke. Tre thought he might have run into her at another function but they’d never been introduced. “The last I saw they were putting away the drinks. I overheard one of them say to that woman over there—” she pointed in the direction of the back of a woman’s head “—that she should try an Internet site called Café Singles. What would those two know about Internet dating?”

  Oh. God! Tell him they weren’t at it.

  “Where are they now?”

  His companion shrugged massive shoulders. Every inch of flesh wobbled. “Who knows? I’m Chere Adams, by the way. You here with anyone?”

  “Nice to meet you, Chere,” Tre said politely, because what else was there to say. “I better go find my mother and her friend.” Off he wandered before the woman settled herself in for the night.

  Tre stopped to exchange greetings with some people who recognized him. He shook hands and fended off a few of the women’s flirtatious advances. At last he spotted Ida and Marva giggling while talking to the rod-thin man in the pinstriped suit. Noting each held two drinks in hand, he made his way over.

  “Hello, Mother, Ida,” Tre greeted, inserting himself between the three people.

  “Hello, son,” Marva enthused, her pitch matching Ida’s on a particularly bad day when her hearing aid failed her. Marva seldom called him “son.” Must be the alcohol talking.

  “About time you arrived,” Ida said, tossing back what remained in her glass. “Have you met the doctor? He’s new in town.”

  Tre nodded, quickly putting two and two together. So this was probably The Southern Tribune’s new hire. He looked a lot like Chris Rock, the stand-up comedian, except he was a lot thinner, actually to the point of being emaciated.

  The doctor’s hair was cropped so short that portions of his scalp shone through. His Ghandi-style glasses, more popular in the seventies than today, gave him a mad-scientist look, and the scruffy mustache covering his upper lip did nothing to improve his appearance. When he smiled, a perfect set of capped teeth sparkled.

  “Doctor Allen Fraser,” he said, sticking out his hand.

  “Tre Monroe.” No need to elaborate further. Tre’s mission now was to get Ida and Marva home before they embarrassed themselves and him. He and the doc could discuss business over a phone call. “Ladies, ready to go home?” Tre inquired.

  “What?” Ida yelped. “I can’t hear you.” Her hearing came and went conveniently, it seemed.

  “No, we are not ready,” Marva answered in a more strident tone. “We’re just starting to mingle.”

  “You must be getting tired,” Tre implored. “I know I am. I’ll be happy to see my bed.”

  A bewildered Dr. Fraser looked from one woman to another.

  Ida’s old eyes sparkled. “Uh-huh. The night’s just begun. You wouldn’t believe who’s here.” She pointed to a spot across the room before lowering her voice an octave. “Our sexy neighbor in 5C, the one you’re hot for. I introduced Marva, right, Marva? Tre, run off and chat her up before some stud moves in.”

  Tre wanted to clap his hands against both sides of his head. He could only imagine what havoc the unchaperoned twosome might have caused. This could easily require damage repair.

  “Are you speaking of Jen St. George?” the bespectacled doctor interjected. He had to have been following the conversation all along. Even his tone sounded pompous.

  Tre took a hit of beer directly from the bottle. “You two know each other?”

  “No, we just met. Fascinating woman. Very good at what she does.” The doctor looked over his shoulder as if he didn’t want to be overheard, then turned back to them.

  “Look at how far she’s come and in just a few months. Her name is on every citizen’s tongue.”

  Tre’s instincts had been right all along. His next-door neighbor must be a high-powered attorney who’d just settled a lucrative case. He would do research on her the first opportunity he got. So far the doctor was proving to be a veritable wealth of information.

  “Dr. Fraser,” a woman called from behind them. “I just wanted to say, welcome to Flamingo Beach. I can’t wait to read your column.”

  Banalities were exchanged. Tre saw it as the perfect opportunity to move Ida and his mother along. But the pair had already slipped off somewhere.

  “Dammit!”

  Fifteen minutes later, Tre worked his way around the room
a second time. He’d not encountered the slick twosome and concluded that they liked it that way. During his second round, he’d run into his boss, Boris Schwartz and Boris’s significant other, a hot-looking woman from the Philippines. The three had exchanged trivial cocktail patter. Not wanting to take up any more of their time, Tre had excused himself and gone on his way.

  “Well, fancy seeing you here,” a cultured female voice called as he was scanning the room for signs of Ida and Marva.

  Tre thought he recognized that voice. He’d been expecting to bump into Jen eventually. He spun around, surprised to find her in the company of Eileen and Barry Brown.

  Eileen gaped. Her tongue practically touched the floor.

  “You know each other?”

  “Yes, we do.” Jen laid a playful hand on Tre’s forearm. “Trestin and I live in the same building. He’s my noisy next-door neighbor.”

  “Too funny. You’ve been holding out on me, Jen,” Eileen said. “Who would think you and D’Dawg lived in the same building? It just goes to show you, you can separate the professional from the personal.”

  “D’Dawg?” Jen stared at him.

  “My radio personality,” Tre said smoothly because what else was there to say. “Didn’t I tell you I was in communications?”

  The enormity of it all took a while to sink in. What a set he had. The balls of him to stand there acting all cavalier.

  “Yes, you did mention something like that,” she managed, conscious of Eileen and Barry’s interest. “I guess I just wasn’t listening closely and didn’t put two and two together.”

  Jen forced herself to keep a smile on her face, and her hand on his forearm, while her next-door neighbor, the bane of her existence, looked down at her with sultry, brown bedroom eyes.

  She wanted to slap that grin off his face. He’d made a fool of her.

  And she’d make sure she let him know just how upset she was. Big-time. Just wait until she got him alone!

  Chapter 15

  This was the infamous D’Dawg, the man who’d put her reputation at risk and attacked her credibility. To think he lived right next door to her.