Bedtime. I was getting overtired and punchy.
A god-awful racket woke me next morning. It sounded like a freight train was roaring through my head. I hit the snooze button, sat up and looked at the clock. I had exactly one half hour to crawl into my outfit, plug in the curling iron and throw in some curls.
By the time I left my apartment I had ten minutes to get across town. It wasn’t even summer yet but it was hotter than hell in Florida, this promised to be a steamer of a day. The air-conditioning in my car was on the blink and I would be feeling it. Trying not to think about that, I wedged myself behind the wheel of my Honda, cranked up the engine, and lowered the window. I roared into that parking lot with a full minute to spare.
Quen was waiting in one of the workout rooms. He had on black track pants with a stripe on the side, and a body hugging T-shirt with a hot pink flamingo emblem that matched my socks.
“Morning,” he said, glancing at his watch. “You’re right on time. Cute getup.”
“Thanks.” Boyfriend sure as hell made my mouth go dry. It was going to be one painful hour and not just because of the exercise session.
Quen was one of those delicious, dark brown men, with a smooth complexion and square jaw. Everything about him squeaked cleanliness. He had wide shoulders, a tapered waist and hands just as scrupulously clean as the rest of him.
I set my fanny pack in the corner and made my way to the machine in the corner that he pointed out. The contraption made me think of that guillotine I’d read about in my English class, Madame Defart or something. Grimacing, I managed to mount the thing while he barked orders.
“Tuck your stomach in and sit up straight. Your legs go under not over.”
Quen stood beside me, his hands on my flesh, showing me where everything went. My stomach fluttered and the parts below pulsed. I closed my eyes and inhaled citrus. God I loved how he smelled. Gotta get me a piece of him. Soon.
Concentrate, Chere. Forget about the fact that you want to eat this man whole.
I concentrated letting the pain of muscles I hadn’t used in years numb my brain. There was definitely more than sixty minutes in an hour when your whole body ached. Finally it was over. I was crippled but done. Now I needed a wheelchair to get back to my car.
“Good workout,” Quen said as we cooled down. Of course he could say that he hadn’t been the one peddling or rowing. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. “Come with me to my office.”
I would go with him anywhere. I limped down a hallway to a glass-enclosed box that was as neat as he looked. A Formica desk held a tray with only a few pieces of paper stacked on top. A filing cabinet was angled in one corner. Framed photos of fitness gurus adorned the walls, and in another corner was one of those medical scales. Tell me he wasn’t planning to have me get on some scale. I liked the guy, okay, wanted him badly, but he didn’t need to see how much I weighed.
I took a whiff at my pits. Phew! My deodorant was a thing of the past.
Quen waved me into the chair across from his desk. He crossed over to the filing cabinet removed a card and handed it to me. His finger brushed mine.
Zap. Zap. Zap. His touch was electric and I was lit.
“What you got here?” I asked, turning the card over.
“A list of suggested foods to stay away from. I’m a nutritionist, remember? Normally I give these cards to my clients after weighing them in.”
We were back to weight again. I had no intention of putting one toe on that scale, not with him standing there. Besides, I’d only hired him to do the personal training bit. I didn’t need no menu.
“Thanks,” I said, the card still in my hand. I smiled at him. “You can hook me up with some menus soon as I can afford it. If my real estate career takes off then you and I are in business.”
Quen sat behind his desk, legs propped on the surface, ankles crossed. His brown eyes twinkled. He must find me amusing.
“Consider that a gift,” he said. “So when did you become a real estate agent? Last I knew you were working for the Chronicle.”
“I still am.”
“Hmm.”
I looked him square in the eye. God, just gazing at him made me want to eat him alive. “That job barely pays the bills so I had to do something. I got my first client yesterday.”
“Congratulations. Want another?”
I perked up immediately. Was he teasing me or what? “I’m open.”
“Available?”
I swear he was flirting and dang I wanted him to.
I needed another client. Heck I needed several more clients to make this work.
Quen took his legs off the desk and rolled his chair forward, looking at me intently. “I own three apartments in the Flamingo Place complex,” he confided. “I need two renters.”
“You don’t say?”
This was news to me. I knew Quen was smart I just didn’t know he had business sense. Boyfriend was a real entrepreneur.
“I bought them at the insiders’ price when the buildings were transitioning from rentals to condos.”
Forgetting about sweat and my fear of B.O., I leaned in closer.
“Betcha I could move those condos for you. Are you looking to sell or to rent?”
“Rent right now. I figured if I can hold on to them for a couple of years I could make a small fortune.”
“And they’re all waterfront?” My mind was calculating both possibilities and commissions.
“Yes. I’m keeping the corner unit for myself. It’s the biggest with the best view.”
Excitement surged through me. When I moved into Jen’s place we would be neighbors. And if I were his real estate agent we would be talking regularly. I won’t need an excuse to call him. I’d be more than the fat woman he was helping to lose weight.
Quen and I would be agent and client, and later boyfriend and girlfriend. Fantasy was already taking over.
I was going to be late for work. I stood.
“You’re my friend,” I said. “For friends I work miracles. You let me rent those apartments and I’ll cut my commission in half.”
“Three months,” Quen countered. “You’ve got three months to find me suitable tenants.” He named a figure he hoped to get for rent. I blinked. I needed to make it happen.
He was shrewd. I admired that in a man.
I pumped his hand when what I really wanted to do was the raise the roof dance. You know, palms in the air, booty swinging. I’d acquired my second client and in only two days.
Cha-Ching!
Chapter 3
“Why should Flamingo Place Realty hire you?” Manny Varela asked me as if we were strangers.
He sat in this big swivel chair behind a huge glass desk, making notes on a pad with an expensive-looking pen.
I almost didn’t answer. I had nothing to prove to Manny. We’d been friends ever since nursery school. Manny and I had spent endless times playing “show and tell.” Truth is Manny has little to show, but he does like to tell. I know every inch of his olive body and he knows every layer of mine.
In the thirty-plus years we’d known each other, we’d done everything short of sleeping together. And believe me when I tell you his weenie is teenie. Sheena told me it still hasn’t grown up.
Okay, okay. I was supposed to take him seriously. This was an interview, if I got the job Manny would be my boss. He’d left Flamingo Beach after high school and gone away to college. He’d returned years later claiming to have experience in real estate and property management, and he’d worked his way up from agent to big shot.
“You know anyone who knows this town better than me?” I answered, batting my lashes at Manny.
His big white capped teeth flashed an acknowledgment. They were a new addition that must have cost him a fortune.
“Having you work for Flamingo Place Realty would certainly be a plus. You know everyone there is to know in town. And their business,” he added.
Smooth. Yeah Manny was as smooth as the slicked back black hair on his h
ead. He tapped the black and gold pen he was holding against the desk’s glass surface.
“Aren’t you still working at the Chronicle?” he asked, stroking his chin. “How are you going to swing two jobs?”
I shot him my mean look, which meant narrowing my eyes and sticking out my bottom lip. “Didn’t you say this was part-time?”
“Yes, weekends and such. You did well on the real estate test, plus you’re a talker. That’s to be taken into consideration.”
Enough of this cat and mouse B.S. “Do I get the job or what?”
“I’m thinking.”
I’d brought Manny a copy of my notification that I’d passed the test, just in case he didn’t believe me. Either he wanted to hire me or he didn’t not. So what was there to think about?
“You still dating Lizzie Smith?” I asked, playing my ace card.
By the way he jumped out of that chair you would have thought a gnat had stung him.
“Off and on. Why?”
I pushed back a handful of store bought hair off my face, and did a chicken neck. “Ain’t you and Lizzie exclusive. So how come you doing Sheena?”
Manny needed to know I knew about Sheena. Let him read between the lines and not underestimate me. If he didn’t hire me I’d be chatting with Lizzie.
“I could give you a try…”
Manny wasn’t stupid.
I bounced up and down and began screaming. I threw my arms around his neck and pressed his muscular body against mine. “You the man, Manny. You won’t be disappointed.”
He gave me a little push away from him on account of the weenie becoming less teenie.
“There is a but.” He gulped.
“Yeah?” He was beginning to sweat. That white starched shirt had rings around the armpits.
“Uh…things are fairly casual here in Florida, but if you’re selling real estate you can’t look too wild. A personal shopper might help you get more pulled together.”
Suck it in, girl. You got the job. That’s what counts.
I loved my look. I might be out there sometimes but it was me. I liked being wild. And I didn’t need to lay out money for some 3X pants outfit or one of them stuffy suits. But if Manny wanted me to get a personal shopper then I’d consult Jen. She’d been threatening forever to give me a makeover. And it wouldn’t cost me a thing.
“Well what do you say?” Manny asked, glancing at his buffed nails and then back at me.
“What do I say about what?”
“About starting this weekend?”
I gave him another hug almost knocking him over.
“You’re the man.”
“It’s strictly commission,” Manny warned. “You’ll have an office and a desk in that cubicle. And you’ll need to be on time. Understand?”
“Do I get a secretary who’s goin’ to screen my calls?”
“You’re pushing it, Cherrie.” He called me Cherrie to annoy me. “I’m just trying you out for size.”
Back to the weight thing or was it just my imagination.
I curled up one side of my lip, kinda like a dog does and snarled, “Okay, Saturday it is, first thing. Thank you, Manny.” Then I wiggled my fingers and sailed off.
I had to pinch myself. I was now a full-fledged real estate agent and already I had properties to show: Quen’s two apartments. Next on the agenda, business cards.
A big fat smile creased my face as I crossed the parking lot. Things sure were looking up. I’d lost two pounds this week, gotten two clients and had a new job. Now I needed to focus on getting that promotion at the Flamingo Beach Chronicle.
It might require Ian Pendergrass. Jen wasn’t about to hand over her column to me, and truthfully I didn’t want it; at least not all of it. I just wanted to get credit where credit was due. Talking to the editor, Luis Gomez, would be useless. Luis was too much of a wuss to do anything about it.
I sat planning my strategy while eating lunch. Yuck, I hated canned tuna fish and what could a measly boiled egg do to satisfy real hunger? I found a guest spot in Jen’s condo lot and swung the Honda into it. There were days Jen liked us to work from her condo and today just happened to be one of those days.
“So how did it go?” Jen asked, the moment she let me into her apartment.
“I got the job.”
“Good for you. By the way that stack’s getting huge,” she said, pointing to the growing pile of letters in her box. Letters I hadn’t the time or desire to read, though it was supposedly my job to tell her which ones required her attention.
She was already banging away on that laptop of hers.
I’d made no secret about this job interview. I’d been crying poverty for a long time. I’d threatened to find a job as an exotic dancer; sliding up and down poles and wagging your tits in some horny guy’s face paid bucks.
I’d told Jen I’d give the required notice if something good came along. I didn’t want her thinking I would always be here; the loyal assistant that she’d promised to take on a cruise and then dumped. Maybe if she thought I was going to walk I could finagle a big fat raise. Nobody else in town could provide the kind of inside information I could.
Grabbing the pile of letters, I made myself comfortable on the couch. A bag of potato chips would have been perfect right now. But for now I would have to settle for an awesome view of the open bay and fantasize what it would be like to live on some fancy boat with a deck hand slobbering all over me. Mentally, I had already moved in.
“Chere! Letters!”
“Okay, okay,” I jumped up and made a halfhearted attempt to read. I waved a letter at her. “This one’s from Camille Lewis complaining about Winston.”
Camille was Jen’s neighbor from hell. She and her husband lived in 5D. Camille was a nosy, loud West Indian woman who loved getting into peoples’ business. Winston, the quiet, long-suffering husband, had pretty much thrown in the towel. Why Winston put up with Camille no one knew. Some speculated she did cartwheels in bed.
“Read it to me,” Jen ordered, a pencil clenched between her teeth.
My painted on eyebrows arched, and with some satisfaction, I read aloud. I hated Camille and she hated me.
“Dear Jenna,
I have lost respect for my husband. He’s a puppy dog and just follows me around. The worse I behave, the more loyal he is. I push to get a reaction, any reaction. He’s no longer interested in sex. All he wants to do is sleep. He’s a man of a certain age. Do you think he needs Viagra? I don’t want to leave him. Should I get a lover?”
Jen frowned. “Why do you think it’s Camille?”
“’Cause there ain’t nobody in this town she can talk to about her situation. Nobody trusts her.”
“There isn’t anyone in this town she can talk to,” Jen corrected.
“Whatever.”
I was trying to clean up my act, really I was. It’s just when you’ve talked a certain way for so long, it’s comfortable for you.
“Give me that.” Jen reached out a hand.
I handed her the letter and went back to reading the others. I was bored, and sick to death of reading about other people’s problems. But something made me look up. I froze. On top of Jen’s desk was a pile of bridal magazines.
It was a sad reminder that I wasn’t getting any younger. My biological clock was going tick-tock, and I had no man around. Time to hit the john before I got weepy.
“Where are you going?” Jen called after me as I wobbled down the hallway in my three-inch platforms. “Stay away from the refrigerator.”
She knew me that well. And yeah, I was beginning to feel faint. The lousy boiled egg and tuna minus mayonnaise had made me hungrier. I blinked a couple of times and dry-eyed, doubled back.
“I’m taking the tour of my new home,” I said, trying to sound jolly. Fat girls are supposed to always be happy. I wasn’t. “When can I move in?”
“When do you want to move in?”
“Tomorrow.” I was half kidding. But this was living in the lap of luxury c
ompared to how I lived. My landlady wanted me out. I had a running toilet and a broken dishwasher that hadn’t been fixed in weeks and I’d been slow on my rent.
“How about week after next? That’ll make it close to the end of the month,” Jen said. “It’ll give me time to move some things into Tre’s place, the rest of the stuff I’ll put in storage.”
“Yeah, two weeks will work. I need a favor.”
“I’m not lending you money.”
I cut my eyes at her. I’d only borrowed money from her once and I’d offered to pay it back with interest when my numbers came in. She’d refused to accept anything more than the loan.
“Take me shopping.”
“Sure. Do you have a credit card you can still use?”
I shot her a dirty look. “I need business clothes. Manny says if I’m to work in real estate I need to dress the part.”
“Manny is right. We could go shopping after you finish reading those letters. I’ll even treat you to dinner at the Pink Flamingo later.”
“Okay you got it.”
I had my teeth set for plump pork chops, garlic smashed potatoes and at least three buttered rolls.
“What are you going to do about your hair?” Jen asked, circling me.
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Big hair’s dated, hides your pretty face.”
I was sick to death of hearing about my pretty face. I’d been hearing about it all my life, that and my weight. Enough already, it was enough to make a body do some serious eating.
Getting rid of my weave meant I’d need a relaxer and a cut. Jen knew how much I made. Couldn’t she let the weave slide? I’d have to take out a second mortgage just to improve my appearance and I didn’t own a home.
“All right, all right. But I don’t want to look like those old ladies with the helmet hair and tight curls.”
“What about going natural. Just add a little texturizer to your hair and you should be fine. If you play up your eyes and highlight your cheekbones, I say move over Halle, Chere’s the new girl in town.” She laughed and I laughed with her.
All About Me Page 3
