Full Figured 9

by Carl Weber

  The look on my face went from fear to hurt.

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it that way,” he said in an apologetic tone. “It’s just that, well, who the hell asks somebody out for the first time via text? That was lame, corny, and something a high school boy would do.” He stood up tall for effect. “And I’m a man.”

  And there his junk was, once again in my face, confirming that he was all man indeed.

  “So I wanted to catch you and ask you out in person,” he said. “You were my last client for the evening. I was going to go grab a bite to eat, ironically at your restaurant. So I figured, why not go together? Just dinner. I’m not trying to push up on you or anything. I just . . .” He paused for a second. “I don’t want to start things off based on lies, so yes, I am trying to push up on you. So will you go to dinner with me or not?”

  He was so determined and matter of fact, and even though I had been prepared to decline the invitation, just looking at him standing there in front of me gave me a change of heart. “You know what?” I said. “I think I will join you for dinner, Isaac. Do you just wanna meet at—”

  He cut me off, shaking his head. “No, no, we’re going to do this right. I want to take you to dinner, so why don’t you hop in my car and I’ll drive? I’ll bring you back to your car afterward.”

  I just stared at Isaac for a moment, so many questions squirming through my head, allowing doubt to creep in again. Why me? Did he really see something in me, or had he just put two and two together when he saw my last name on the gym registration? He probably figured I was some kind of heir. Maybe he was looking at me as nothing more than a come up. He saw me as a meal ticket that could end his days of being a personal trainer, having to deal with fat, sweaty girls like me on a daily basis.

  “What? What’s wrong?” he asked me after I’d stared off so long.

  “Nothing, I just . . .” It was me who, this time, didn’t want to start things off with lies, so I kept it real and asked him what was on my mind. “Why do you want to go out with me?” I pointed back toward the gym. “There are dozens of girls in there right now who you could be with, and they all look like they fit in with the Hollywood scene. Why are you choosing me?”

  He didn’t even hesitate to answer. “Baby girl, I ain’t looking for the chick who fits in. I’m looking for the one who stands out, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s you.”

  Something in the way he looked at me when he said it made me trust that he was telling the truth. I felt a spark of electricity from his gaze, and suddenly all insecurity disappeared. I couldn’t jump out of my car into his fast enough.

  “Wow, nice ride,” I said as I looked around his fully loaded SUV. There were TVs, and the dashboard lit up and had tons of gadgets. I felt like I was in a spaceship and he was about to take me out of this world. “If this is the type of vehicle being a personal trainer can afford you, I’m in the wrong business,” I said, totally impressed, and that was a big deal considering I wasn’t into material things.

  “No, personal training is something I do in my spare time,” he said.

  “Huh?” I asked, not quite knowing how to take that. As a stranger to the gym, I had a hard time understanding how someone would choose to spend his free time there.

  “I’m a true advocate for health and fitness. I enjoy helping others achieve their goals in that area,” he explained.

  “That’s awesome,” I said. “So I guess I’ll be a good challenge for you, considering how far I have to go to get healthy.”

  “It’s never too late to start,” he said, sounding every bit the fitness coach.

  “Well, I haven’t always been this big,” I said, “but I’ve been busy taking care of my father for the last few years, and I stopped taking care of myself. I realized I better do something, though, when my doctor told me—” I stopped myself, realizing this was not exactly the kind of conversation to make an impression on a first date. It was more like a way to insure that I didn’t get a second date. What guy wants a woman with a growing list of health problems?

  “Told you what?” he asked.

  “Oh, never mind. You don’t want to hear about medical stuff.”

  He smiled at me. “I guess now would be the time to tell you that I’m a doctor.”

  I tried not to go bug-eyed with surprise, but it didn’t matter, because I stupidly blurted out, “You don’t look like a doctor.”

  He laughed. “Well, what’s a doctor supposed to look like?”

  I twisted my lips. “I guess that was judgmental of me, huh?”

  “No, you’re fine,” he said.

  “I have plans to go to medical school, but it’s going slower than I’d hoped. With the restaurant, I can only go to school part time.”

  “You should—”

  He was interrupted by the ringing of my phone. I looked down at the caller ID, which read: RESTRICTED.

  “Sorry. I have to answer it,” I said. “I never know when it’s somebody calling about the restaurant or my dad.”

  “I get it.” He nodded. “You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

  I hit the TALK button. “Hello.”

  “Jamela!” It was Brielle, and she sounded frantic.

  Brielle and I hardly ever talked anymore. I had thought for a minute that my father being ill would bring us closer, and we did share a few sentimental moments, but soon enough she went on with her own life, being the party girl she was. We had next to nothing in common.

  “Yes, Brielle, what’s up?” I asked, feeling annoyed that she was interrupting my date.

  “I need you to come get me . . . now!” she said.

  I could hear the fear in her voice. Brielle had always been the happy-go-lucky one. It took a lot to get her shook up, so this must have been bad. “What’s wrong? Where are you?” I asked, genuinely concerned.

  “I need you to come get me out of here,” she answered. “I’m in jail!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BRIELLE

  The last thing I remembered clearly was that I was planning to get all the way turned up at this college party in Brentwood that some senior was throwing because his parents were out of town. The party was jumping; the place was packed wall to wall with people. We were doing fireball whiskey shots and Jell-O shots, and I was so plastered it was ridiculous. All I knew was that I kept waking up in different rooms. Liquor and ice didn’t mix for me, if you know what I mean.

  I blacked out after I did a chugalug, and when I came to, I was covered in blood. I looked and felt around on my body for any cuts, wounds, my period . . . hell, something. There was nothing, though. I wasn’t hurt at all, so the blood hadn’t come from me.

  I just remember Lyric coming into the room saying something about how some chick had gotten so drunk that she fell down, cut herself on a bottle, and bled on me. Shit had gotten out of control to the point that the neighbors ended up calling police. By the time Lyric was able to get me halfway cleaned up and out the front door, the police were already swarming the place.

  When they asked me my name and birth date, my stupid ass gave them my real info. I couldn’t hide the fact that I was as high as a kite. The fact that they made me take a breathalyzer test didn’t help matters much either. They threw the cuffs on me while reading me my rights and took me in for underage drinking, which was how I now found myself in L.A. County jail. Well, leaving it anyway.

  I’d been there since the wee hours of the morning. Even the arrest didn’t kill my buzz. I was totally fucked up, so much so that they couldn’t even put me in with the other cellies. They had to put me in the tank to let me sleep it off. I was in no shape to defend myself if something went down, so I was glad that at least they looked out for me in that sense.

  I was even happier that they let me call Jamela instead of my mom. I told them that Mom was dead and my dad lived in New York and that my big sister had custody of me. Since I was over eighteen, I was legally an adult, so I really didn’t have to lie about my mother being dead. I just didn�
��t want the chance of her getting involved in this mess in any way, shape, or form.

  Not that I felt much better about having to tell Jamela. I never called her, so I wasn’t even sure if she would answer the phone. And if she did answer, I couldn’t blame her if she hung up in my ear. I had no other choice though.

  I couldn’t call Brendon to come get me, because knowing his ass, he had a few warrants and wouldn’t come anywhere near the jail to pick me up. All of my friends had been high at the party just like me. Hell, for all I knew some of them were behind bars too. This left me with no one to call but Jamela. Luckily, she agreed to come get me once I was released.

  They let me out on my own signature or something like that. They said I would have a court date in a couple of weeks. I had never been in trouble with the law before, so I really had no idea what to expect.

  As soon as they processed me out of jail, I headed outside to look for Jamela. I didn’t see her car anywhere though. What the fuck? She’d told me she would come pick me up. Where the hell was she? I reached into the bag of my personal effects they’d given me and found my cell phone so I could call Jamela and ask her where she was.

  “Fuck!” I said, realizing it was dead. It was now getting dark outside. I did not want to try to get home in the dark. I turned around and faced the jail. That really was the last place I wanted to go back into. What would I look like going back in there, asking for another free phone call? But I had no other option.

  Just as I put my foot on the first step to the building, I heard Jamela calling my name.

  “Brielle, right here.”

  I turned around and saw a huge black SUV. The passenger window was rolled down, and I recognized Jamela in the passenger seat. Who was driving?

  I made my way over to the truck. “Jamela, is that you?” I said, talking to her but looking at the driver.

  “Yes. We were heading out to dinner when you called, but when I told my friend it was an emergency, he agreed to come get you.” She looked to the back door. “Get in.”

  I heard the clicking of the locks. I opened the door and climbed in.

  Jamela turned her body around and asked, “What happened?” That’s when I noticed her clothes. She looked like she’d just left the gym or something, in her sweats and a baggy T-shirt, but I knew the gym was the last place her hungry ass would be at. Besides, she had said she was going out to dinner.

  I just couldn’t believe she would go out looking so busted, although I didn’t really care enough to ask. Plus, who was I to judge? I knew that I must have looked like shit. A bitch couldn’t wait to get home so I could shower, get into some comfy pajamas, and sleep off this hangover.

  “I’ll tell you all about things later,” I told Jamela. “Right now I just want to get to the house.”

  She nodded her understanding and smiled before turning back to face forward. I had to admit to myself that even if Jamela’s gear wasn’t all that, she was kind of glowing. It was a sad day when Jamela looked better than me and she didn’t even have on a drop of makeup.

  I looked down at my own outfit, which was covered with dried blood, and shook my head. I was looking like a crackhead, not the debutante my mother had raised me to be. I’ve got to get a grip on my life, I thought. I knew I was bullshitting myself though. I’d managed to get into college on a scholarship thanks to my mom and some scholarship board she sat on, but I was jerking off my schoolwork. I got put on academic probation my second semester. My mom knew nothing about it. I had to get it together. If I lost that scholarship, she’d probably disown me.

  I never thought I would say it, but I believed my recreational drug use was the cause of everything bad that was starting to happen in my life. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Things weren’t that bad. It’s not like I was some junkie always wanting to get high. So I still fucked with that bitch Crystal. What was the big deal? I was serious when I said I could stop when I wanted to, and I had. Before the party, I hadn’t done it in God knows how long. I only did it when I over-partied and things got out of hand. Like last night. What I really needed to do was cut back on going out.

  As I rode in the back of the vehicle, I started thinking about what punishment I might receive. “I could get sentenced to jail,” I said out loud.

  Jamela turned around at my outburst. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” she asked, looking sympathetic.

  Ah, why not just tell her and get it over with? She deserved to know why I spoiled her dinner outing. “See what had happened was . . .” I stumbled over my words, trying to find the right thing to say. I paused for a moment, knowing how stupid I must sound. “I was at this party that the police raided—”

  “Wait a minute.” Jamela stopped me before I could finish sounding stupid. “Did you say raid, as in drug raid?” She shot me a stern look. “You’re not using again are you?”

  Jamela had found some of my stuff on the floor outside of my door one time. I must have dropped it there. At first I lied to her and told her that I was holding it for a friend, but she looked at me like I was stupid, so I fessed up. I told her that I did it occasionally and that I hadn’t done it in a while, that what she found must have fallen out of the trash I’d taken out because I’d decided to stop. I’d managed to lie to her with a straight face then, but the truth was written all over my face now.

  I couldn’t look her in the eyes, so I looked downward in shame.

  “But I thought you told me you were going to get clean and sober.” She sounded disappointed, and I was surprised that I felt actual remorse about it.

  “I know.” I shook my head. “I guess I fell off the wagon.”

  “Fell off the wagon? You look like you’ve been hit by a train.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But nothing, Brielle. If your mom found out after she spent all that money on that rehab place she sent you to in Malibu . . . and that was only because she thought you were smoking weed. God only knows if she knew the whole truth!”

  Damn! Why did Jamela have to rub it in? I already felt like shit. What I couldn’t figure out, though, was if that was because of the restless night I’d spent in jail or because I had gotten caught up in the drug thing again.

  “Relapse is part of recovery,” I said defiantly, taking my designer sunglasses out of my bag of belongings and placing them on my face. That was the only thing I had that I could hide behind.

  All of a sudden a thunderbolt of pain crisscrossed my head. “You have any aspirin for this headache?” I asked Jamela.

  She dug around in her purse and handed me a bottle of Tylenol.

  “This will work,” I said, accepting the pills.

  “If you look down in the console on the floor, you’ll see a little compartment. There should be a couple water bottles in there.” Up until now, the driver of the truck had remained quiet. I’d been so busy carrying on with Jamela that I honestly hadn’t paid him much attention at all.

  “Here, let me turn this on for you.” He reached up and turned on the lights in the car. That’s when I realized that I was being chauffeured by one of the finest brothers who was walking the planet. I mean he was foine. Simply put, I wanted him. But I was looking real crazy right about now. It was better to be heard and not seen at this point.

  I looked down and fumbled around until I found the compartment. “Thank you. You can turn the light off now.”

  As I took a sip, I stared at dude. That’s who Jamela was on her way out to dinner with when I called. Had the tables turned, I would have let that bitch rot in jail while I presented myself to him on a platter as dessert. I had absolutely no clue how Jamela had managed to pull a guy that hot. To be honest, I thought she was in the closet. She had never brought a guy home before. I didn’t even recall her ever saying she was going out on a date. Besides that, she carried herself like an old lady, so who would have thought she could get a man at all, better yet one who looked this good?

  I suddenly hated the fact that I looked so crappy. Pushing my sh
ades up on top of my head to make it look styled or something, I tried to wipe away the mascara that I was sure was smudged all down my face, but without a mirror to check myself out, I figured it was best to remain quiet for now. I would come at him when I was fixed up and looking like the diva and boss chick I was. Once he saw me at my best, he’d be saying to himself, “Jamela who?”

  I knew I could pull him without a doubt. I had long gotten rid of my baby fat. With my long, good hair and fair skin, I knew I could easily steal him from Precious. When I throw it at him, he won’t be able to resist. He won’t know what hit him once Hurricane Brielle touches down on him. Timing was everything and now was not the time, but one way or the other, I always got what I wanted.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JAMELA

  “I really appreciate you taking me to get Brielle,” I said to Isaac as we pulled up next to my car, which was still parked at the gym. When Brielle had called me and needed me to come get her, I’d told Isaac that he could take me back to my car and I’d get her myself, but he insisted. He didn’t want me going to the jail alone.

  Brielle had fallen asleep and was sprawled out in the back seat.

  “It’s okay. I was happy to help,” Isaac said.

  I was glad Isaac was so understanding, but that didn’t prevent me from being embarrassed. How did my first date with him end up being a drive to pick up my sister from jail?

  “Although I do hope a rain check on dinner comes with this.” He put the car in park and looked over at me with a big grin on his face.

  “What are you grinning about?”

  “Huh?” he asked as he glanced past me and tried to get serious.

  I turned toward him, crossed my arms, and tilted my head slightly to the side. “Don’t play with me! I know you heard the question!”

  He started grinning again. I gave him a playful shove and he broke out in laughter.

  “Okay! Let’s not get physical now!” he joked. “I was just thinking about how cute you looked when you was playing momma bear with your sister. I could tell you are a genuine and caring person. I like that.” He smiled.