“Just what we both need. Better answer the door before someone calls the cops.”
“I’ll be right there,” Jen called and went off to answer.
By the time she’d opened the door Tre had calmed down considerably. Two young bright-eyed security types, neither of whom he recognized, stood on the threshold taking in the scene.
“Is there a problem?” one of them asked.
“No problem,” Jen said flashing a smile. “Was my stereo too loud or something?”
“Actually no, ma’am. We had a report of a loud disturbance coming from your apartment.”
The shorter of the guards squinted at him. “D’Dawg, is that you, man? I heard you lived in one of these fancy cribs. I couldn’t believe my luck getting this job.”
No point in pretending that he was not who he was. He nodded at the awed guard. “I think there may have been a misunderstanding. As you can see, there’s no issue here. I’m sorry you were bothered,” he quickly said.
“No problem. Just as long as everything’s all right now.”
Camille Lewis chose that moment to stroll by. She made a point of stopping at the open door.
“Was there a break-in or something?” The question was directed to the guards. When they didn’t respond right off she seized the opportunity to stick her head inside Jen’s apartment. “Oh, Tre is that you?” she cooed. “You must have stopped by to fix the plumbing.”
What a bitch.
Tre chose to let it go. He’d already allowed himself to be baited once tonight and he’d almost returned to a place he’d promised himself never to go.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Jen said with some finality. “I’m sorry you were inconvenienced.” She closed the door on them and turned back to him.
“Satisfied? Feeling better you got all that anger off your chest? Think we can talk?”
He nodded slowly.
Tre didn’t know about talking. What he was willing to do was listen. Listen and hope her explanation was one he could buy.
Chapter 21
“This was never really about you,” Jen said, ending her monologue almost half an hour later. “I didn’t know your identity at the time, so trust me, I had no axe to grind.”
Tre had listened intently to her explanation, never once interrupting. She’d even admitted to him that she’d dispensed her advise to Ms. Mabel, aka Marva, not expecting her to really take it. She’d also admitted her reticence in letting not just Tre, but anyone know that she was the illustrious Dear Jenna. Anonymity was key in a business more often than not grossly misunderstood.
And she’d shared with him that once they’d gotten over their neighborly misunderstanding, and become friends, she didn’t think he would have cared who she was.
Tre did break his silence once to ask, “So why go to the lengths of responding to this ridiculous ad Mother posted if you didn’t intend to stick it to me?”
“You’re wrong,” she’d insisted. “Your mother and I connected. We got along from the beginning. The message I was sending to the screener of your e-mails, and matchmaker extraordinaire, is that I’m interested. I figured Marva would find a way to let you know.”
It was a brave confession. Jen had bared her soul. She’d been as honest as she could be with him. And even after that soul-baring confession, he’d said he needed time to think. That was the last she’d heard or seen of him. Jen had already resigned herself to thinking that they were over with. She questioned if they’d actually ever gotten started. Ironic, that she, the silver-tongued advice columnist, quick on the draw with the advice, had botched things up this badly.
And as usual, to take her mind off things, she focused on her work for the next few days. Work and negotiating the purchase of an apartment in the building, except not the one she currently lived in. A beautiful two-bedroom on a higher floor was still up for sale. The property owner was asking a little more than she’d hoped to spend, but all things considered, it was a steal for waterfront.
Marva had gone home, she presumed. She hadn’t heard a word from her and that was a little disappointing. She’d assumed they were friends. The show in which she and Doctor Love were supposed to share air space never happened and Jen assumed that was Tre’s doing, as very clearly he wanted nothing to do with her.
Chere, who was miraculously sticking to her diet and exercise routine, told her she was being ridiculous. She’d even mentioned there had been reruns of the D’Dawg show for the last week or so. This had made Jen think Tre might be out of town. Maybe he’d taken his mother home.
Jen still couldn’t bring herself to admit she missed Tre’s presence, and the excitement of having him right next door. What she did admit was that she felt lethargic and strangely out of step. Almost overnight Flamingo Beach had lost a lot of its charm. And she actually felt lonely and homesick.
And so on a Tuesday night, with little else to do, Jen had headed for the only gourmet grocery store in town catering to the health-and-fitness crowd. She was surprised to run into Eileen Brown in the produce section.
“Hey, girl,” Eileen said as they moved off to the side allowing other shoppers to go by. “We never seem to have the time to do lunch these days. Are you in a hurry, or do you have time for coffee?”
“I’m heading home to more work,” Jen answered. “I’d love to have coffee with you and catch up.”
Eileen led the way to the little café smack in the middle of the store that sold exotic coffees and frothy lattes. They grabbed cappuccinos. Jen just couldn’t resist adding a macadamia-and-white-chocolate-chip cookie to her tray, justifying it with, “I deserve this.”
They found seats on high stools next to the railing seeparating the café from the grocery store.
“So what do you think about this whole fiasco with the mayoral election?” Eileen asked.
Jen rolled her eyes. “Personally I think it’s an embarrassment. Other states don’t seem to have a problem getting their voting right. Mention Florida and we’re the butt of every bad joke.”
“So true. There’s been recount after recount. An independent auditor was brought in, and Solomon Rabinowitz was still declared the winner. We need to move on.”
“I agree.”
Eileen took a sip of her drink and asked carefully, “Are you getting out much?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Dating?”
A sore topic as far as she was concerned. She’d sworn off men even before meeting Tre. Now she was even more determined not to go there. She had enough to do. Work and acquiring the apartment should be enough to fill her life. The stab of betrayal, her feelings of hurt were still too new to discuss with anyone.
“I had an inquiry about you. Actually Barry did.”
“You did?” Jen asked because it seemed the polite thing to do. She was more interested in the cappuccino in front of her than the person inquiring about her.
“Some guy called Vince. He’s a contractor of sorts. He and Barry have done some work together in the past. He may have seen us together at the African-American Library. Naturally he was interested in the new girl in town.”
“I’m hardly new anymore.” Jen took a sip of the foaming liquid. “Mmmmm, good. I may have met him at the Pink Flamingo. He was the guy who bought me a drink.”
“He’s really not a bad sort. Divorced, has a little girl. Pretty much hardworking.”
She felt compelled to put a stop to any fanciful notions Eileen might have. “I’m not interested.”
“That sounds so final.”
“It is.”
Eileen decided to let it go at that.
“Guess who I heard was offered a job in New York?”
Jen sat back prepared to listen, thinking it was probably someone from The Tribune. She made a feeble attempt to guess.
“No, wrong on all counts. It’s no one from the paper. It’s your boy, Tre Monroe. He’s hit the big time.”
Just the sound of Tre’s name made so many memories return. Sh
e even missed his loud music.
“Where did you find that out?” Jen asked.
“I have my ways. There’s talk of it in a couple of New York papers. It’s a Long Island radio station that’s made the offer. Not exactly New York City but close enough. Supposedly he’s been going back and forth, negotiating the deal. I don’t think things are finalized yet.”
“He’s supposed to be in the midst of purchasing his apartment,” Jen said out loud. “I wonder how that’s all going to work out.”
Warming to her subject, Eileen leaned in. “Usually if somebody wants you badly they’ll make it worth your while. It would be nothing for a major station to turn around and buy that apartment from him and then flip it. He wouldn’t lose a dime. Waterfront properties hold their value. But you know that. I’m preaching to the choir.”
“Well, I’m happy for him if that’s what he wants. I doubt WARP will be the same without the D’Dawg show though.”
“I’m surprised you’d say that,” Eileen said, shooting Jen a questioning look. “Especially considering all the trouble he caused you.”
“Well, it worked to both of our advantages, didn’t it. His ratings soared and he became sought-after. I secured myself a solid readership. And if I’m smart I need to cash in on it and see if I can squeeze another nickel or two out of Luis.”
“Squeeze being the operative word.”
They both chuckled. The conversation took a different turn.
“What are you doing for Memorial weekend?” Eileen asked.
“I’m toying with the idea of going to Paris.”
“Ooh, la la! You’ve come into some bucks.” Eileen’s French manicured nails beat a gentle rhythm against the Formica table. “Or is there a more romantic reason for your considering heading for the City of Lights?”
“My brother lives there. He’s invited me and he’s willing to pay for the ticket.”
“Then it’s a no-brainer. Girl, I’d be on that plane in a New York minute.” She snapped her fingers, making her point.
Maybe she should get on a plane and wing her way to Europe. A few days in Paris might help straighten out her head and give her a different perspective on things. Besides, it had been at least two years since she’d seen her brother Ellis and his partner Jacques. They would treat her like a queen and pamper her to death. Drowning herself in work just wasn’t doing it for her anymore. Jen was slowly coming to the realization there had to be more to life than work.
Tre had gotten right off the flight from New York and headed to the radio station. It had been a great trip and he should have been feeling elated and on top of the world. His final interview with WLIR had gone much better than he’d anticipated. The station management had actually agreed to almost all of his demands, several of which bordered on the outrageous.
Tre’s goal had been to infiltrate the tough New York market. He’d wanted to draw the hip urban types from the city and surrounding boroughs; people who were street-smart and on the cutting edge, and not easily offended. He wanted to be “the next great black hope” for young boys coming up with no particular career aspirations.
And sure he might be settling, but an offer from a radio station on Long Island wasn’t something you turned up your nose at. His audience would be mostly from the ’burbs, and the demographics would be a bit different.
On the other hand, broadcasting from the tip of Long Island offered a challenge, and one he felt fully able to step up to. If he could reach a stiff conservative audience like Flamingo Beach, then the more worldly types on Long Island should be a snap.
He’d asked, no, demanded actually, a salary almost double what he was making, plus housing for at least six months until he was settled. He’d also explained that he was in the middle of purchasing a home and something would need to be worked out.
The management of WLIR didn’t blink an eye when he’d presented his long list. He’d been assured most of his demands would be met. Next week he’d be receiving a formal offer to come aboard WLIR.
Tre should have been excited at the prospect but for some peculiar reason he was not. As he sat there minutes before his broadcast was to begin, his mind ran to Jen. He’d thought about her often and wondered what this might mean for them if he accepted the job.
He’d made no secret of it that he was job-hunting and had even told Boris that. To date, the new management of WARP had not made themselves known, nor had they so much as called a staff meeting. A smart man needed to look out for himself.
Minutes before the broadcast went live, Bill wandered in. He looked grim and was slugging water from the bottle in his hand. He handed Tre a memo.
Without so much as glancing at the piece of paper, Tre said, “What is this, Bill?”
“Maybe you should read it after the show.”
“That bad?”
“Not good.”
He glanced at the paper noting an emergency meeting was being called tomorrow during the day. It was mandatory for all station personnel to attend.
“Great!”
“And another thing,” Bill said, before turning away. “We have that cruise ship drawing to do tonight. There’s hundreds of entries, everything from business cards to jottings on napkins.”
Tre sighed heavily. “What time is this drawing supposed to occur?”
“Right after your interview with Reverend Hal.”
The Reverend Hal Bemis was a controversial guy; a self-appointed defender of the people. He spent a great deal of time stirring poor black folks up and igniting them to action, merited or not.
Bill’s two fingers were now in the air. “Two minutes to broadcast.”
Tre did his thing, rolling easily into his D’Dawg persona and loving every moment of it. He played his tunes, took a jab or two at the reverend, and took some calls. Tonight’s audience seemed a bit different from the norm. He was used to them being feisty and outspoken but tonight’s crowd seemed not only belligerent, but bitter. He’d never seen so much hatred and anger spewed. Several times he was forced to cut off one or another. At other times he was just grateful that there was a delay button.
“Man, I’m actually looking forward to doing something positive like announcing the winner of that cruise,” he said to Bill during a commercial break.
“I hear you.”
Things went downhill from there. Reverend Hal was on his soapbox about the recent election. According to him it was time that an African-American was at the helm. He seemed to have forgotten that no candidate of color had come forward to date. Then it was on to the price of real estate in the area. This he viewed as a conspiracy to drive black folks out.
By the time Tre opened the lines for questions he had an enormous headache. Reverend Hal was not the type of guest you could reel in. His followers were for the most part as bitter and angry as he, and the few callers who made sense were quickly shut down by the other respondents.
At last the show was almost over with and Bill was there with a sealed envelope holding the name of the cruise winner.
“And on a final uplifting note,” Tre announced, “we got a winner for that Fun-Ship Cruise for two. Drumroll, please.”
The sound effects kicked in, ending just as he held the business card in his hand.
It took pretty much every bit of professionalism Tre had left to make that announcement.
“Our winner is, Jen St. George from right here in Flamingo Beach. Believe it or not, folks, she’s my next-door neightbor.” And because he could no longer go on, Tre broke for music.
Chapter 22
Ellis and Jacques’s pied-à-terre was located on the left bank of Paris in walking distance of the Eiffel Tower. It was a beautifully appointed place just as Jen expected it to be.
Jacques was an interior designer whose unique personality found expression in the decor. The whole effect was like being in a Middle Eastern bazaar. Every time Jen looked around there was some unusual piece of art, craft or tapestry to admire.
On Jen’s second ev
ening in Paris Ellis and Jacques had decided to have friends over. Huge hemp mats were arranged on the mosaic tile floors and colorful tableware set down. Tasseled toss cushions took the place of stiff chairs and added to the comfortable, casual atmosphere.
Jacques and Ellis’s friends were an eclectic mix of people and weren’t necessarily limited to the world of fashion. Invited was the married English couple, Bernard and his wife Stephanie, who’d taken a trip to Paris one summer and had never gone home. There was Miguel and Ven who were partners. One was Spanish and the other Vietnamese, and there was a lovely Swedish model Elsa who’d come on her own. As had the handsome Algerian, Jean Pierre, who Ellis had whispered into her ear was fabulously rich and knew how to please his ladies.
Dinner was eaten leisurely with several bottles of wine poured. As the evening progressed it seemed as if more and more people spilled from the apartment and into the tiny hallway. Even the little rooftop garden was packed. Snippets of conversations spoken in virtually every language floated Jen’s way.
She stood on the rooftop feeling amazingly content while looking out on the lights of the city thinking of how Ellis had surely come into his own. The whole scene was so him. She, on the other hand, liked things a little quieter. Not that she was complaining. She’d been glad to get away, grateful to go to a place where no one expected much from her other than her presence. At Ellis’s, love was unconditionally given.
An arm slipped around her waist. “You’ve been missed, hon,” Ellis said into her ear. “Several of our straight male friends have inquired about you. Jean Pierre seems especially taken.”
“Oh, you’re just trying to make me feel better,” Jen said, covering his hand around her waist with her own.
“No, I’m not. You’re easily the most attractive woman I invited, especially since I convinced you to splurge on that haircut.” He playfully patted the new brush cut with the attractive burgundy highlights Jen sported. “So why so sad?”
“Does it show?”
They’d been trying to get some time alone since she’d arrived but it hadn’t happened until now.
Flamingo Place (Mills & Boon Kimani) Page 17
