Satin Nights
Page 25
As for Charles, well, she didn’t know if it would work out, but it felt good having the chance to see if it would. At the same time, it felt strange knowing she was now more comfortable in his world than in Little Joe’s—the world she had thought was her own.
chapter twenty-three
Ray-Ray, I know you didn’t cook this,” Regina said as she took another forkful of the candied yams.
“How do you know I didn’t?” Renee grinned.
“Because the last time you tried to cook candied yams it tasted like burnt orange string,” Brenda said, helping herself to more corn bread stuffing. “And my kitchen smelled like burnt molasses and sweet potatoes for two days.”
Renee smiled and took Liz’s hand. “Which is precisely why Liz won’t let me anywhere near the stove. But I did open the can of cranberry sauce.”
“I wondered why the cranberry sauce tastes like crap,” Puddin’ said as she moved back from the table and loosened her belt. “And as for the milky yellow stuff you served before dinner, thank God I brought a little taste of rum with me to turn it into eggnog.”
“Aunt Puddin’, I love you, but this is the last time I invite you over for Thanksgiving dinner.” Renee grinned again.
“Don’t listen to Puddin’. Everything’s delicious,” Tamika interjected. “Too bad David went to his mom’s in Philly, because he would have loved it all, too. Liz, you’ve outdone yourself. And, Renee, the cranberry sauce is simply delicious.”
“And so is the eggnog,” Yvonne said, looking pointedly at Puddin’, who ignored her.
Regina smiled as she looked around at the people gathered at the dining room table in Renee and Liz’s apartment. It was hard to believe that only five months had passed since she had sat in a hospital room praying for her niece’s recovery. Neither girl bore any signs that they had ever been attacked. And it was good to see Yvonne finally out and about. It had taken her a good three months to come out of the blue funk she had descended to after the attack and Robert’s subsequent death. Maybe she was finally able to wrap her mind around the fact that what happened wasn’t her fault.
Puddin’ took a large swig of her doctored eggnog. “Yeah, well, Ray-Ray, since you won’t be inviting me to your house next year for Thanksgiving, I’m not inviting you to my house for Christmas this year. You can come, though, Liz.”
“Your house?” Regina raised her eyebrow.
“Yeah, my mansion, actually,” Puddin’ said as she gave an obviously faked yawn.
“You been smoking too much of that shit,” Yvonne said with a laugh.
“So you’ve got a mansion, huh?” Regina said, pushing her plate back. “What? You snagged yourself another rich rap artist?”
“Who needs a rich rap artist when I got this?” Puddin’ pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and put it in the middle of the cluttered dining room table.
“What’s that?” Regina reached for the paper, but Yvonne was quicker.
“A lottery ticket,” Yvonne said as she looked at Puddin’ quizzically.
“Not just a lottery ticket,” Puddin’ said nonchalantly. “A New York State lottery ticket from last night’s drawing.”
“Oh my God, you’re kidding!” Tamika jumped from her seat and ran over to Yvonne, who was looking at the ticket in disbelief. “That’s the winning ticket?”
Puddin’ shook her head. “Nope.”
Yvonne lightly tapped Puddin’ on the head. “See? Why you wanna try and get us all excited again? You ain’t shit.”
“Hold up. Hold up. It may not be the winning ticket. But it’s still a winner. I got five numbers out of six on that puppy, ladies,” Puddin’ said with a grin.
Renee stared in disbelief. “Aunt Puddin’, are you for real?”
“Did you double-check the numbers?” Regina asked breathlessly.
Puddin’ grinned and nodded. “And I made sure it was for the right drawing.”
Yvonne slowly stood up, now holding the ticket in both hands. “Puddin’,” she said in a dazed voice, “how much is this ticket worth?”
“Not quite enough to buy Regina her own magazine; pay for Tamika’s second year of med school; buy you a husband, Yvonne; and buy myself a cocaine farm in South America and a private jet with a pilot to bring me fresh stash every week. But”—Puddin’ got up from the table and did a little dance—“enough to be living really large for a really long time. Eight hundred and seventy thousand dollars.”
All the women in the room started screaming and joined Puddin’ in her dance.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Darren said as he ran into the dining room, followed by Sissy, Johnny, and Camille. “Why’s everyone screaming?”
“Because we’re fucking rich!” Puddin’ hooted.
“Puddin’, watch your . . . oh, the hell with it!” Tamika started laughing. “Kids, your Aunt Puddin’ just hit the lottery. She’s rich!”
Puddin’ grabbed Renee by the shoulders. “Ray-Ray, I’m going to buy you and Liz a brand-new condo.”
“Ray just applied for early admission to Temple, so can the condo be in Philadelphia if she gets in?” Liz asked excitedly.
“It can be any-fucking-where your little hearts desire,” Puddin’ said grandly. She then turned to Brenda. “And I’m going to buy you your own cult so you can make up your own rules instead of following every-fucking-body else’s.”
Brenda started laughing. “Girl, I would smack you, but I’m not in the habit of hitting people who have enough money to buy the island of Manhattan.”
“Puddin’,” Yvonne said suddenly, “you need to keep this ticket in a safe place until you cash it in. The lottery office isn’t open again until Monday because of the holiday, right?”
Regina snapped her fingers in the air. “I know the perfect place.”
“Where?” Puddin’ asked.
“I believe the Ritz Carlton in Albany has private vaults in each of their suites,” Regina said with a grin. “What say we grab a limo right now, we and the kids all pile in, and take a trip to Albany? We can spend the weekend there in a couple of luxurious suites and go to the lottery office on Monday.”
“How the hell are we going to afford a limo to take us all the way to Albany?” Yvonne asked skeptically.
“Puddin’s boyfriends aren’t the only ones with American Express cards. I’ll just charge it now and pay for it later.” Regina turned to Puddin’. “Actually, Miss Rich-Ass Thang will be the one paying for it later.”
“It’ll be my fucking pleasure,” Puddin’ said grandly. “But how are we going to get a limo on Thanksgiving night?”
Tamika snapped her fingers. “David’s client Spider—he owns a limo service. I bet if I call him, he can get us one tonight. We might have to promise him a big tip, though.”
“Tell him we’ll give him a five-hundred-buck tip,” Puddin’ said. “Fuck it, make it an even thou.”
“Okay, Tamika, you call Spider, and everyone hurry up home and pack, and we’ll meet back here in two hours,” Yvonne said excitedly.
Regina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “This is so much like a dream I’m tempted to ask someone to pinch me. But I won’t,” she added quickly when Brenda walked over to her. “But I will say this. I love all you guys, and, Puddin’, this couldn’t have happened to a better person.”
“It happened to all of us,” Puddin’ said as she stuffed the bottle of rum into her bag. “We’re still the Four Musketeers, you know.”
“All for one and one for all,” Regina said as she, Puddin’, Yvonne, and Tamika clasped hands.
“Now,” Regina said with tears in her eyes, “let’s boogie.”
about the author
Born and raised in Harlem, Karen E. Quinones Miller dropped out of school when she was thirteen. At twenty-two, she joined the Navy and served for five years. Then she married, had a child, and divorced—all within two years.
When she was twenty-nine, she moved to Philadelphia and got a secretarial job with The Philadelphia Daily
News. After three years of complaining about media coverage of people of color, she enrolled at Temple University and began work as a correspondent for The Philadelphia New Observer, a weekly African American newspaper. Karen graduated magna cum laude from Temple with a BA in journalism, confirming her belief that the only thing she missed by skipping high school was the senior prom. She then worked as a reporter for the Associated Press and The Virginian Pilot before settling at the Philadelphia Inquirer, where she stayed for seven years.
Karen self-published her first book, Satin Doll, in 1999, which became an Essence magazine bestseller and sold to a major publisher. She went on to write three other Essence magazine bestselling books.
Karen lives in Philadelphia, where she heads Oshun Publishing Company, and desperately tries to ignore the empty-nest syndrome that hit after her daughter, Camille, left for Clark-Atlanta University.
You can contact Karen by e-mailing her at AuthorKEQM@aol.com or visiting her Web site at www.karenequinonesmiller.com.