by Donna Hill
The women giggled, releasing some of the tension in the room as Ann Marie refilled everyone’s glass. They sipped in silence.
“What would you do if you didn’t want to have sex anymore, but the person you didn’t want to have sex with was your boss?”
The silence was officially broken.
Chapter 5
All eyes turned in Stephanie’s direction. She had a pinched look on her face, as if she’d swallowed something sour, but the look of defiance that generally hovered in her caramel-colored eyes was missing. Barbara immediately thought of the episode that morning and knew her gut feelings about Stephanie had some merit. This she had to hear.
Ann Marie was the first to speak up. “What you say, girl? Your boss? You been doing the do with your boss?”
“Ann!” Barbara admonished. She lowered her voice. “Is it true? You and Conrad what’shisname?”
Stephanie bobbed her head and took a sip of her drink.
“Well, I’ll be,” Elizabeth murmured, forgetting her own drama. “How long?”
“About a year.”
“And you’re just telling us,” they cried off-key.
“It wasn’t supposed to be anything, you know. Just a few dates.”
“Is that how you got your last promotion?” Ann Marie asked.
Stephanie looked at her and rolled her eyes. “I was going to get the promotion, anyway.”
The trio um-hmmmed her.
“Fine.” She jumped up. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not an idiot. I didn’t get to where I am on my back. I work hard for everything I have in the boardroom or the bedroom,” she slurred. “I thought you all were my friends.”
“Damn, she actually looks like she’s gonna cry,” Ann Marie muttered in awe, the four glasses of alcohol making Stephanie look like one of those desert mirages floating in front of her. “Sit down. You’re making me dizzy.”
“Yes, please,” Elizabeth said, rubbing her eyes. “You’re giving me an ache or something.”
Barbara sputtered a giggle. “Oh, what a night,” she sang badly and raised her glass in a toast. “To Ellie, who after twenty-five years of marriage is being kicked to the curb by her philandering husband and a hussy.”
“Hear, hear!”
“To Ann Marie, who can’t get it on anymore, with her daughter in the next room, and is now afraid her stuff will dry up and be no more good!”
Even Ann Marie fell out laughing.
“A toast to Stephanie, who’s been secretly canoodling with her boss and can’t figure out how to say, ‘Boss, I ain’t feeling this no more…but can I still get my raise?’”
Fits of laughter filled the room.
“And to dear old Barbara Allen, who is being pursued by a man young enough to be her son.”
This time even the stereo and the wind outside went silent.
“Stop playing, Barbara,” Elizabeth said. “You would be the last person in the world to fool around, especially with a man young enough to be your son.”
“Yeah. Give me that glass. You’ve had too much to drink.” Stephanie reached for the glass, but Barbara snatched it away.
“We all have,” Ann Marie muttered.
“Why is it so hard to believe that someone would be interested in me?” Barbara shouted, then struggled to her feet. She weaved back and forth for a moment and all eyes followed her swaying motion until she steadied herself. “I’m attractive.”
“Yes, you are,” they agreed.
“I’m still sexy.”
“Um-hmmm.”
“A lot of men would want me.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said.
“Well, did you do it or didn’t you?” Stephanie asked, getting straight to the point.
“Scared.”
“Of what?” Ann Marie asked.
Barbara plopped down on the love seat and stretched her legs out in front of her. “I haven’t been with a man since Marvin died.”
“Ohhh,” they chorused in sympathy.
“Well, it’s like riding a bike. Once you get on, it all comes back to you,” Ann Marie said.
“That’s very true,” Stephanie added.
Elizabeth sniffed. “I wouldn’t know. That bastard was the only man I’ve ever been with.”
“Ohhh,” they chimed.
“I don’t know if I should get involved…like that,” Barbara said. “He’s a patient of mine.”
“It’s not the same thing as doctor–patient,” Ann Marie offered.
“That’s true,” Stephanie concurred.
“How do you feel about him?” Elizabeth asked.
Barbara turned gentle eyes on her friend. “I like him…a lot.”
“So go for it, girl. You only live once. It’s not like you’re going to marry him,” Stephanie said.
“And every healthy able-bodied woman needs some young lovin’ every now and then,” Ann Marie added.
The trio nodded in agreement.
Barbara sighed. “Wouldn’t it be ideal if women could just sit back and pick who they wanted, when they wanted, how they wanted, with no recriminations.”
“Yep! Old, young, very young, married, single, rich, poor, your employee or your boss,” Stephanie said.
“Yeah, and they’d all been previously screened,” Elizabeth said. “And you could find them all in one place.”
“Yeah, like a male supermarket!” Ann Marie joked.
“Or like in a department-store window,” said Stephanie. “You could window-shop for a man. And they would have to be returnable.”
Barbara giggled. “Yes, they’d all be posing in the window, like puppies in a pet shop. Pick me, pick me.” She giggled again. “And the women would pause to take a look at the men and move along to the next window.”
“Um-hmmm.”
“Wish there was a place like that,” Elizabeth said wistfully.
“Shopping for men would certainly keep our minds off of our own troubles,” Ann Marie said.
“But sometimes you just want to look, you know,” Barbara said.
“And if women sat around ogling men all the time…well, you know what they are called,” Stephanie said before finishing off her drink.
“Still, it would be nice if there was a place where you go to look and fantasize and maybe—” Barbara shrugged “—who knows, maybe something would happen if you wanted it to.”
“Um-hmmm.”
They looked at each other, and their faith, love and trust in their friendship stripped away any inhibitions they may have had and they began talking all at once.
They talked and ate and drank until the sun beamed through the windows of Barbara’s apartment. And they’d come up with an idea that was so far-fetched and deliciously exciting that it simply had to work.
Chapter 6
The aroma of frying bacon tickled Ann Marie’s nose. She turned on her side and tried to ignore it. She needed sleep, more sleep. She put the pillow over her head hoping that it would block out the tap, tap, tapping in her skull. She pulled her knees up to her chin. That didn’t help, either, and if she didn’t know better she’d swear someone was calling “Mama.”
Mama! Damn. She sat straight up in bed, the covers falling off her nude body, and her head did a three-sixty. She pressed her palms to her temples, hoping to slow down the spinning.
“Yes,” she croaked. Her tongue felt like a glue strip.
Her bedroom door eased open. Ann Marie pulled the sheet up to her chin.
“I fixed breakfast,” Raquel said. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay. I wanted to.” She stepped into the room, balancing the tray.
Ann Marie looked at her daughter and saw the spitting image of the child’s father; the dark, almost haunting eyes, shadowed by sweeping black brows and a mass of hair that resembled black cotton candy. Oh, yes, Terrance was a looker and so was his daughter.
Raquel gently placed the tray on he
r mother’s lap. “I’ll leave you to your food.” She turned to go.
Was that a motherly pang she felt tightening her chest at the sad look in her daughter’s eyes? She felt as if she should say something, do something. But she had no idea what.
The door closed quietly behind Raquel. The moment was gone.
Ann Marie toyed with her bacon and eggs. She took a sip of orange juice. What was she going to do about Raquel? There was no way she could let her stay indefinitely. Her mama had put her out on her own at sixteen and she’d never looked back, although she’d wanted to. But her mama had been very clear about having another grown woman in the house beside her. No good, her mama said.
Her situation was different, however. There was more to it than simply having another woman in the house, even if it was her daughter. She sighed and took a bite of bacon. She couldn’t explain it to the girls and she never even voiced her fears out loud. The truth—she was afraid. She couldn’t face the look of disappointment that she knew would linger in those beautiful eyes. So instead of risking that, she would have to make Raquel go, go to wherever it was she needed to be. Anyplace other than here.
By the time Ann Marie finished her breakfast, bathed and dressed, Raquel was gone.
Ann Marie moved slowly through her one-bedroom condo. She checked the living room where Raquel spent the night. Everything was in its place. The smoked-glass tables were spotless, the pillows on the couch were properly fluffed, no dust on the wood floors, and her imported area rug was exactly where it was supposed to be. The bathroom and kitchen were equally as spotless. It was almost as if no one lived there. Almost.
She breathed in deeply the empty air, hoping perhaps to catch at least a brief hint of Raquel’s scent. Even that was absent.
She should be relieved. She put her breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. Oddly, she wasn’t. Walking into the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet in search of her bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol. She shook out two gel caps and tossed them down her throat with some water. It would take a good ten to twenty minutes for the full effect to kick in. They’d really tied one on last night and she was paying dearly for it this morning.
Ann Marie frowned, trying to bring the events of the prior evening into focus as she walked back to her bedroom. It seemed that everyone was in some kind of turmoil, as if a cloud of unrest had settled on their quiet block. Ellie with her cheating husband; Stephanie with a boss who wanted more than nine-to-five and good old conservative Barbara being pursued by a boy toy.
She shook her head and laughed. Then snippets of their conversation began to come back to her, something about showcasing men.
Right! She snapped her fingers as the details became clear. A slow smile tipped the corners of her mouth. Yes, even in the light of day their idea was a winner. And if memory served her, she was the first link in the chain.
Picking up her pace, she went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. She’d need to be clearheaded.
While the coffee brewed, Ann Marie turned on her computer in the small room at the end of the hall that she used as an office. She placed her notebook and several empty manila folders on the desk then turned on the printer. To keep her company she popped in a John Legend CD then went to get her coffee.
If there was one thing Ann Marie knew hands down it was a good piece of property—and a man, of course. But finding a true gem of a building and understanding its potential gave her a rush equivalent to sexual expectation.
She smiled to herself as she added Sweet’n Low to her coffee with a dash of canned milk.
Ann Marie had been in the real-estate game for more than fifteen years. Her master’s degree in urban economics helped her to fully appreciate the power of ownership and how easily poor communities can become no more than a memory in a matter of a few short years once an investor with a keen eye discovers the value of a particular area.
She’d been telling her friends for years that they needed to invest in some property. Of course, Ellie was already married with a home, but Barbara and Stephanie came up with one excuse after another why they couldn’t buy.
The area of Harlem where they lived, an area where houses couldn’t be given away ten years earlier, was now so expensive that it was unreachable for most. At least she owned her apartment, and a four-story apartment building on the lower east side of Manhattan that was finally paying for itself after eight years. And she had a town house.
Yes, she’d done well for herself without the help or support of anyone. Her mother putting her out and her leaving Terrance were the best things to happen to her. Yes, they were.
Her throat tightened. No, she didn’t need anyone. And the quicker Raquel understood that the better off she would be.
She took her coffee cup into her office. She had work to do and wanted to have some viable locations to show the girls as soon as possible.
Just as she sat down in front of the computer screen, the phone rang. She let it ring three times while she debated whether or not to pick it up. Curiosity won out.
She picked up the extension off the wall in the office.
“Hello?”
“Hey, baby.”
“Phil.” A fire lit her up inside at the sound of his voice. “Where are you?”
“Still out in L.A. I was hoping to leave on Monday, but things are taking longer than we anticipated.”
“Oh.” She sat down in the leather swivel chair and slowly spun in a circle, cradling the phone to her ear.
“Don’t sound so down, baby. I should be home by next weekend. And then we can spend five whole days making up for lost time.”
She laughed then stopped suddenly. Raquel.
“You, okay? Something wrong?”
“No, I’m fine,” she lied. “Just missing my man, that’s all.” At least that part was true.
“Next time I’ll arrange for you to go with me.”
“I should have come this time. You know how much I love California.”
“I know. But this trip was real work. The director and executive producer have been bumping heads since we got here. The E.P. swears there’s not enough money in the budget for the scenes that the director wants to shoot. So we’ve been scouting out new locations. I think everyone is finally satisfied. I’m pretty hopeful that these scenes won’t take more than a couple of days.”
Good, by that time Raquel would be out of the house.
“So what have you been up to?”
“Hmm, just an evening with the girls last night.”
Phil chuckled. “I would love to be a fly on the wall at one of those gatherings.”
“I bet you would.”
“So, what was it this time?”
She often came back from the girls’ night out and told Phil about some of the things they talked about: finances, the state of the world, vacations, job woes and men, of course. But this time was different. They’d all shown a side of themselves that they’d never revealed before—a totally vulnerable side, a side of hurt and uncertainty. They’d entrusted each other with secrets, and this time those secrets were sacred.
“Hmm, nothing special, just the usual stuff.”
“Okay, well, listen, I have to run. Need to be on the set in twenty minutes. Behave until I see you.”
Ann Marie giggled. “What fun would that be?”
Phil laughed in return. “Talk to you soon.”
“Bye.”
Slowly she hung up the phone. In the year and a half that she’d been with Phil she’d never outright lied to him. What had that storm blown in yesterday?
Chapter 7
Elizabeth sat in the solitude of her ultramodern kitchen. The black-and-white space was equipped with every tool to make even the most resistant cook want to try their hand at being a chef. Cooking was Elizabeth’s passion. She so enjoyed the looks of delight on her family and friends’ faces when she’d present them with a new creation.
She’d transferred her culinary love to her twin daughters, Dawne and Des
iree, who ran a small health-food café and grill in the West Village. They did all of the cooking themselves and enjoyed it, and from the booming business they did, so did their customers.
Elizabeth looked around. Her entire home was a showplace. She took pride in creating a special feel and tone to the four-bedroom brownstone. She’d spend hours scouring catalogs or hunting through out-of-the-way shops for the perfect pillow, throw rug, handmade sculpture, quilt or piece of art. Her family and her home were all she had. It was who she was.
Her throat muscles clenched as a single tear slid down her cheek. She thought she had no more tears to shed. Her eyes were swollen and her throat was raw.
Matthew hadn’t even bothered to come home last night, and if he did, she’d been too drunk to notice, and he was long gone by the time she woke up. Just as well.
What was she going to tell her daughters, that she was a failure, another woman who couldn’t hold on to her husband?
Damn you, Matthew! She hurled a mug across the room. The sound of it crashing against the opaque-colored stucco wall was equal to a sonic boom inside her head. She covered her face with her hands and wept.
The ringing front doorbell penetrated her sobs. Through bleary eyes she looked up, confused. It rang again. Her head pounded. She pushed herself up from the chair and went to the front door. It was probably the UPS delivery she was expecting.
“Just leave it,” she croaked through the door. She’d hate for Jeff, her regular delivery guy, to see her in such a mess. The thought of how bad she must look sent her off on another crying jag.
“Ellie, it’s me, Barbara. Open the door.”
“Go away, Barbara.”
“Elizabeth, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to call the police and tell them I smell gas. You know I will.” She waited, determined.
If there was one thing everyone knew about Barbara Allen it was that she was good at her word. The last thing she needed today was to have the police breaking down her door. Elizabeth wiped her runny nose on the sleeve of her robe then reluctantly unlocked the door.