Diamond (G Street Chronicles Presents The Love, Lies & Lust Series)

by Mz. Robinson

  “No buts,” he said. “Just a few minutes, Diamond.”

  I considered it for a moment, looking him over, glanced at my watch, and decided there was no way I was gonna make it through traffic in time. I figured if he didn’t come through, I could always hit the salon in the morning. “Fine,” I said, defeated. “You’ve got five minutes.”

  “You never answered my question,” he said.

  “What question?”

  “If I have money, why do I have to work?”

  “Because all money isn’t good money, clean money.”

  “It might not be clean, but it’s all green. All money pays the bills,” he replied, “and if I can pay the bills and take care of you, isn’t that all that matters?”

  “I work,” I advised him, nodding toward my name badge again. “I don’t need a man to take care of me.” I wasn’t the kind of female who overly expressed her independence. I believed a man should always take care of his woman, but that same woman should be fully capable of managing on her own. I wasted no time with any man who expressed what he thought he could do for me.

  “I like that,” he said, nodding, “but a real man wouldn’t expect you to work.”

  I smiled sheepishly, trying not to fall for his bullshit.

  “Finally…a smile.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” I said, walking around to the driver’s side door. “You’ve had your five minutes, and I’m leaving.”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight at dinner.”

  “Dinner? I don’t remember you asking,” I said with a frown, “nor did I agree to go out with you.”

  “You’re right. Diamond, will you join me for dinner?” he asked seductively.

  I looked at him, contemplating whether or not I should accept. There was something intriguing about the man and the way he carried himself. I knew his failure to deny his career choice was also an omission of guilt, but I was helplessly drawn to his confidence. I remained silent while attempting to make a decision.

  “Take some time and think about it,” he finally said. He reached into his pants pocket and removed a business card holder. “The top one is my number,” he said, handing me two cards. “The second is for a salon on Madison Boulevard, Divaz. When you get there, ask for Erica. I’ll let her know to expect you…and I’ll be waiting on your call.”

  Damn. Hook, line, and sinker, I thought, looking down at the cards.

  * * * * *

  I’d heard several things about Divaz, the salon Gator had referred me to, one being that they provided excellent service the other that their rates were as high as hell.

  The moment I walked through the door, I was greeted by a slender woman of Hispanic descent, with deep-set, dark brown eyes and long, dark hair that draped down over her shoulders. She was dressed in a yellow romper with a plunging neckline and hot pink six-inch heels. “Welcome to Divaz,” she said in a thick Spanish accent. “My name is Mariah.”

  “Hi. Um…I’m here to see Erica,” I said, observing my surroundings. There were four large leather massage chairs along the left wall of the salon, four manicure tables positioned along the right, and two tan leather sofas in the waiting area. One of the booths was occupied by another Hispanic woman and her client.

  “Your name?”

  “Diamond.”

  Mariah scanned me from my eyes down to my shoes and then back up again.

  I frowned, unappreciative of the unwarranted onceover. Don’t get me wrong, I loved receiving attention from other women; to be honest, I loved women almost as much as men. However, the attention Mariah gave me had nothing to do with admiration. It was obvious from the snobbish smirk on her over-painted red lips that she didn’t like what she was seeing.

  “You’re not what we were expecting,” she stated sourly.

  I instantly took offense. What in the hell does that mean, not what they were expecting? Granted, my work uniform seemed out of place in that upscale salon, but I was holding my own in my khaki pants and cotton shirt. Hell, it was my personal opinion that I could make any ensemble look good. From my flawless, sienna complexion and deep-set pecan-shell eyes, to my luxurious black, curly lashes and succulent, full lips, I was a work of art—no filters and no makeup required. My hair, however, was another story. I was rocking eighteen inches of Yaki that I flipped and swung like it was my own. Yes, I wore it out of pure laziness, but at least I had hair.

  Other than on my head, there were a couple places on my body that could have used a few renovations, those being my chest and my ass. I had perky B-cups and just enough ass to squeeze but not enough to hold on to. There was a time in my life when I longed to have a body like the porn girls who shook their shit in videos, but I got over that. I was a queen, and queens come in all shapes and sizes and don’t have to pattern themselves after anyone. Besides, what I lacked in ass and titties, I made up for in attitude. At five-four, I was what some might have considered short, but I carried myself like a six-two female. I had confidence that some mistook for conceit and a charisma others mistook for arrogance. I usually got the respect I wanted, but Mariah wasn’t giving it to me, and I thought about checking her ass for the way she came at me, but instead I chose to hold my tongue.

  “Mariah, no seas grosero,” the other technician spoke loudly.

  “I’m not being rude,” Mariah said, rolling her eyes. “I’m just stating a fact. Gator normally goes for women who are a little more…glamorous.” She grinned at me mischievously, an indication that she was referring to herself.

  “Hmm. Well, he didn’t mention your name at all,” I announced sarcastically. “Clearly, Gator didn’t see the need for me to know about the hired help.”

  The customer sitting with the other technician laughed loudly.

  Mariah lowered her eyes to tiny slits, and her forehead creased in anger. “First off—”

  “First off, when I have a guest, you come get me immediately,” someone interrupted.

  We both looked up at the woman who had joined us in the room and interrupted Mariah’s verbal retaliation. She’d come from the back of the salon and was standing with her hands planted firmly on her hips, staring at Mariah, chastising her with her eyes. She was a plus-sized beauty, with dark skin and short, tapered hair. She was wearing snug-fitting jeans and a low-cut shirt with “The Bomb” spelled out on it in red letters.

  “I-I was just about to come get you,” Mariah tried to explain.

  The woman waved her off and approached me. “You must be Diamond,” she said. “I’m Erica.” She stepped past Mariah and extended her hand to me.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said sincerely.

  “C’mon.” She motioned and turned on her heels. “Let’s go to the back, and we’ll get you taken care of.”

  I cut my eyes at Mariah, flashed her a victorious smile, and then followed Erica through the door that led to the back of the salon. The area was decorated much like the front, except there were only two massage chairs and one booth.

  There was a woman sitting in one of the chairs, soaking her feet. She had skin the color of cinnamon and mysterious, slanted eyes, with a wide nose and full lips. She wore her hair in a chin-length bob that perfectly framed her full face. Her fitted wrap dress stopped just above her knees, revealing her toned legs. She looked up at me and smiled.

  “You have to excuse Mariah,” Erica said, taking her seat behind the manicure table. “She’s got a big mouth and doesn’t know when to shut it half the time.”

  “So I noticed,” I said, sitting down across from her.

  “Gator’s somewhat of a celebrity around here,” Erica explained, “not to mention that he has a few admirers. He’s like a little big brother to me, the reason I opened this shop. Hell, if it wasn’t for his encouragement I don’t know where I’d be. Mariah’s just one of his jealous fans.”

  I wondered if Mariah’s admiration for the man was one sided or if Gator had given her a reason to be salty toward other women. I knew men tended to tell o
nly the portion of the truth that suited them. In some rare cases, innocent friendship was mistaken for love, but far more often, the lines of friendship were crossed, and the female was led to believe she was entitled to more.

  “In the case of some, the admiration is one sided,” the other woman in the room chimed in, as if she’d read my mind.

  I cut my eyes in her direction, wondering if she was also one of Gator’s admirers.

  “I’m Venetta,” she said.

  “Hi. I’m Diamond.”

  “My brother was right,” she said with a smile. “You are a cutie.”

  I looked at her, attempting to see a family resemblance between her and Gator, but the only thing the two of them seemed to have in common was their gift of flattery; they clearly both had a way with words. “Thank you,” I said, wondering if it was merely a coincidence that I’d ended up at the salon at the same time as the man’s sister being there, or if it was all some big plot to coerce me into going on a date with him.

  “This is merely a coincidence,” she stated, reading my mind again.

  “I was just wondering.”

  We talked during my visit, and Venetta told me she was married and had a twelve-year-old son, Emerson, E. for short. She was thirty-three; three years older than Gator, and they’d been born and raised in Union Town, a small town in lower Alabama. They’d relocated to Huntsville a few months after their mother was murdered at the hands of a boyfriend. “I was sixteen years old and had $400 to my name,” she explained. “I didn’t have a clue how the two of us were going to survive or even where we were gonna live. I just knew we had to get out of that town before we went insane, so I packed up my mama’s old Buick with as much of our stuff as I could, and we hit the road. When we got here, I lied about my age so I could work in bars, till Leon went to work.”

  “Didn’t you have any other family to help you?”

  “None we could depend on,” she said with a sigh. “We never knew our father,” she explained, “so we never missed him. For as long as I could remember, it’d always just been me and Gator and our mama, but that had always been enough. When Mama was killed, we only had each other to hold on to.”

  There was a distant longing in her eyes that nudged me to ask more about their mother, but I refrained for fear that it might drudge up some unpleasant memories or pain. Instead, I chose to tell her a little about me. “I was born and raised here in Huntsville,” I explained. “I’m twenty-three, no man and no kids.”

  “Only twenty-three? I thought you looked young,” she said, her eyes wide. “Well, at least you’re legal.”

  We both laughed.

  “Anyway, you know what they say about age,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, I can tell you have an old spirit.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “It’s true,” she said. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “An older brother,” I said.

  “So, you’re the baby in the family, huh?”

  “Yes, but sometimes it feels like the other way around,” I confessed, recalling Randall trying to bum twenty bucks off of me.

  “And your parents?”

  “My father passed away last November,” I said sadly. “My mother still lives here.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear about your daddy,” Venetta said softly. “I know what it is to lose a parent that you love.”

  “Thanks.”

  There was a brief moment of silence between the two of us.

  “So…what do you think of my brother? What was your first impression?” she probed.

  “No offense, but he’s a hustler,” I said without hesitation.

  “A hustler? Hmm. You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Hustlers come in many forms, girl. I’m a mother and wife who balances staying fabulous with taking care of my family, so even I’m a hustler. Our mama was a maid who sometimes worked ten-hour shifts for a hotel chain, came home and spent time with me and my brother, slept for two hours, then went to clean private residents before returning to the hotel. I guess she was a hustler too.”

  “And your brother?”

  “Leon is a provider and a protector,” she explained, “a mentor to some, an entrepreneur, and—”

  “A hustler,” I cut her off and laughed, and she laughed right back at me.

  “What do you think he does for a living?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “You tell me,” I said.

  Venetta smiled and shook her head. “We both know you know,” she said. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “He held me up so long I couldn’t get to my normal nail shop before they closed,” I admitted. “That’s the only reason I’m here.”

  “I highly doubt that,” she said. “Leon saw something in you worthy of his time and attention.”

  “So I should feel special?” I said sarcastically.

  “You may not now, but you will, once you learn more about him and the kind of man he is.”

  “We’ll probably never see each other again,” I stated. “Considering his line of work, he’s not my type.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she said, batting her eyes. “We shall see.”

  Twenty minutes later, I sat there admiring my nails. Erica was the bomb, and my pink and white French tips were perfect. I originally requested brighter colors and designs, but Venetta convinced me simple was better.

  After promising them I would see them again, I thanked them and then left through the front door. I debated about calling Gator and taking him up on his offer to join him for dinner, but a little voice inside kept telling me I should avoid him. I chose to send him a simple text message instead: Thank U 4 hooking my nails up. :)

  You’re very welcome. What time should I pick U up 4 dinner?

  I think it’s best that we don’t.

  I would ask why, but that would make me seem doubtful.

  Doubtful?

  Yes. I know I’ll get my chance. So until I do, take care, beautiful.

  Conceited much? LOL

  Not conceited…just convinced.

  Chapter 2

  Three weeks later…

  Scanning over the reservations for the night, I observed that the hotel was booked for the whole weekend. I wasn’t surprised, considering it was King of the Hill weekend, an annual motorcycle race. The city would be packed with out-of-town guests.

  I looked at the metal clock hanging on the wall, pleased that I had less than an hour until the end of my shift. Tina better be on time! I thought. I had plans with my girlfriend, Shaundra, for the night and intentions to keep them one way or the other; I didn’t give a damn if my manager, Ashanti, had to come in, somebody was going to work Tina’s shift if she didn’t show up, and I was determined that it was not going to be me.

  The whoosh of the automatic sliding door opening drew my attention. Looking up, I smiled slightly at the sight of Gator. He was dressed in a dark suit with a mint-green shirt and gold tie, along with a clean pair of alligator shoes.

  “Hello,” I said, trying hard not to focus on how good he looked. Although I hadn’t seen him since the day we’d first met at the gas station, I had received several Good Morning texts, along with the occasional phone call to ask me how I was doing. Conversations with him were always pleasant, and despite the desire I heard in his voice to see me, he never asked. I had come to the conclusion that the two of us were going to be nothing more than phone pals, and I had almost forgotten how attractive he was. However, at the sight of him, my memory was refreshed instantly.

  By the way he was dressed, I assumed he had plans for the night, and I silently wondered with whom. “Hello,” he said, walking up to the front desk.

  There was a light, but masculine, scent that accompanied him as he stood in front of the counter with his hands in his pants pockets. Damn, he smells good.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m good,” I said. “And you?”

&
nbsp; “I’m doin’ good,” he said, “but I’ll be doing much better in approximately thirty minutes.”

  “Why is that?”

  “That’s when you get off,” he said, “right?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I have my ways,” he said, smiling slyly.

  “Care to share?”

  “A gentleman never reveals his sources.”

  “Like a magician never reveals his tricks?”

  “Something like that.”

  I frowned.

  “I called every Holiday Inn in the city until I found out which location you work at. It took a little persuasion, but one of your co-workers let me know when your shift ends. I hope you don’t mind. I just really wanted to see you.”

  Part of me was flattered that he had put forth so much effort to research my life, but another part was apprehensive of the hustler; I wondered if his ass was a stalker, and I was somewhat pissed that someone I worked with had given out confidential information. “Interesting,” I said, not sounding too impressed.

  “That you are,” he said.

  I blushed slightly. “So you came to keep me company until the end of my shift?”

  “I did,” he said, “and then I’m taking you to dinner.”

  “How do you know I don’t have plans?”

  “You do,” he stated confidently. “Like I just told you, you’ve got plans with me. I made reservations for dinner.”

  I loved the arrogance in his voice and the determination in his eyes; both equally sexy. “I actually have plans with my girlfriend,” I stated honestly.

  “And what will it take to change those plans?”

  “I was kinda looking forward to our girls’ night out,” I said and it was the truth. I’d been pulling a lot of double-shifts at the hotel lately and had had little to no time to spend with my friend. I loved making money, but I needed a break, an opportunity to get out and shake my ass.

  “I’ve got another deal for you. Join me for dinner, and if you don’t enjoy yourself, I’ll pay for you and your friend to go wherever you like.”

  I contemplated his offer. I hadn’t been on a date with a man in over a year, and although there were some I could have gone out with, I always refrained. After my father’s passing, I came to realize that I needed to put my life and my priorities in perspective, and having a man in my life, or any sort of serious relationship, was thrown to the back burner. Making money was a priority, so I’d busied myself with that. Still, despite the fact that I was content, there was something inviting and charming about Gator’s offer that I didn’t want to resist, so I finally agreed to go out with him. “I’ll need to go home and change first,” I advised him. I had packed an overnight bag before leaving home, with the intent of changing at Shaundra’s after work, but looking at Gator’s attire, it was obvious that my leopard-print bodysuit would not be appropriate.