Man Enough For Me

by Rhonda Bowen

  Man Enough

  for Me

  RHONDA BOWEN

  All copyrighted material within is

  Attributor Protected.

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2011 by Rhonda Bowen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-6779-5

  eISBN-10: 0-7582-6779-7

  First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: March 2011

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Printed in the United States of America

  In loving memory of Garfield Gray (1981–2006),

  who always made everything look “Easy.” His friendship and kindness cannot be replaced and will not be forgotten. May he rest in peace until that great and soon coming day.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Acknowledgments

  Is this real? I still ask myself that question every now and then. I never really imagined I would be here writing the acknowledgments to my first novel. But God has blessed me with this gift and this opportunity to write, and I thank Him first and foremost for everything I am and everything He is doing in me. I never really know what path He will take me on next, but I trust Him completely to lead me to the place I need to be.

  I can’t go any further without thanking my mother, Vonnie, for starting this whole mess in the first place. If she hadn’t taught me to read before I even set foot in school we wouldn’t be here now. Her love and support is irreplaceable, and I am so eternally grateful.

  Thank you to my daddy, Clive, for always letting me be his little girl, even when I don’t want to be, and for always supporting and encouraging me in my faith and in life.

  To my brother, Kevin, thank you for helping me learn to laugh at myself. I love you more than you know.

  To two of my closest friends in this world, Shanice Carter and Latoya Kerr, thank you for supporting my dream to “write a book” even when none of us knew what it was about. We knew that life was too funny to laugh at by ourselves—the jokes needed to be shared with the world. You ladies will always be in my heart no matter where we go.

  To Simone Erskine, who let me cowrite with her on our very first novel back in third form at Campion when we were barely thirteen years old: I wish I still had that notebook—you know that story was good. Thank you for getting me started. Girl, you know you need to be in print too! Don’t let that gift go to waste.

  To my editor, Mercedes, thanks a million! You are such a blessing and full of encouragement. Thank you for helping shape this book into what it needed to be, for believing in me and my manuscript, and for loving Jules and Germaine as much as I do.

  Thank you to Elaine P. English for being patient with me and helping me wade through the legalese.

  Thanks to writer friend Cecelia Dowdy, who answered my questions, encouraged me, and cheered me on as I entered this publishing journey. I am so grateful for your kindness. Thank you also to Tiffany Warren, Tia McCollors, Rhonda McKnight, and all the other talented women of the African American fiction community who have been a support and an inspiration to me. May God continue to bless your ministries.

  To all the extended family and church family at Agape in Pickering, Ontario, and Hope in Kingston, Jamaica—there are too many of you for me to start naming names, but I am thankful to all of you for your love and encouragement over the years.

  And to all the readers who will read this—thank you! May the path you walk on lead you to His destiny for you.

  Be blessed!

  Chapter 1

  “Miss, another drink for you.”

  She should have known better than to stand by the bar. But it was the only spot in the house where she had a full view of the floor and all the entrances. That was especially important tonight when it was very possible that media might show up. It would be just like them to slip through a side entrance, and try to sneak an interview with Truuth without checking with her. Those journalists—she couldn’t live with them, but didn’t have a career without them.

  “You know the drill, Owen,” Jules said to the bartender. He smirked and sent back the drink to a dark guy lounging at the other end of the bar. Although it was just 10:30 p.m., Owen had already returned three unsolicited beverages for Jules, so they were now on a first name basis.

  Jules sighed heavily. What was it with these brothers? Couldn’t a girl stand alone at a bar in peace? She was used to the attention that her curvy, size eight figure, smooth, caramel-colored skin, and dark, wide eyes usually attracted. But that didn’t make it any less annoying. She pushed a lock of her wild, curly, shoulder-length hair behind her ear, and wished for a moment that her five-foot, six-inch frame could be invisible just long enough for her to get her job done.

  It was bad enough that these brothers kept shooting her greasy smiles, but if they were going to send her drinks, couldn’t they at least find out what she was drinking and send that? Maybe then she could think about entertaining a conversation with one of them.

  Then again, maybe not. She knew exactly how their weak game would go, because she had heard it a million times before. She couldn’t help but grimace. What she wouldn’t give for something new.

  She glanced at her watch impatiently, wondering why the MC was taking so long to put Truuth on stage. From what she’d heard, new music night at the Sound Lounge usually wrapped up around midnight. That only gave them an hour to get Truuth up to do his set.

  Scanning the room again, she noted that the reviewers from the free entertainment tabloid EYE Weekly and the city’s monthly culture magazine Toronto Life hadn’t left yet. In fact they looked pretty at ease as they sipped their drinks and chatted with a couple other patrons. While she was watching them, she saw Baron Levy and his girlfriend slip in through the side entrance.

  Baron was a music reporter for Urbanology, one of Toronto’s popular urban music magazines. When Jules had called
him earlier in the week to pitch the event, she hadn’t been certain he would show up. Urbanology had a habit of ignoring artists who weren’t halfway to a Juno or Grammy award. But for some reason, he had turned out to see Truuth, who was still just the opening act for most opening acts. Maybe they were finally beginning to see in him what she had seen all along. Maybe this was a sign of things to come. A small shiver ran up her spine, and she downed the rest of her cranberry juice.

  “Can I have another one of these?” Jules asked, shaking her empty glass at Owen.

  Owen held up one finger, motioning for Jules to wait, as he finished talking to someone on the phone behind the bar. A few moments later he turned back to Jules and gave her an apologetic look.

  “Sorry, Jules, I gotta cut you off,” he said, taking her empty glass and placing it under the counter.

  Jules rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Owen. Hurry up already with that drink. It’s the only thing keeping me sane right now.”

  Owen shook his head.

  “No can do, Jules. I have orders from management not to serve you anymore beverages.”

  Jules scanned Owen’s face for a hint of his boyish grin. But the look in his eyes told Jules he was dead serious. Her own eyes widened in surprise.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said. “I am a paying customer. Why can’t I order a drink from the bar?”

  “Management reserves the right to refuse beverages to any patron if they have reason to believe that said patron is either below the legal drinking age or impaired to the extent that to do so would cause harm to the patron in question or other guests of the establishment,” Owen said in one breath.

  “You don’t even serve alcohol! I’d have a better chance of getting drunk off the tap water.”

  Owen shrugged, and began wiping down the bar. “Sorry, Jules. I’m just following orders.”

  “From who? You know what, forget that. Let me talk to your manager, ‘cause this is—”

  “Hey, is everything okay?”

  Jules glanced over at a tall, dark guy who had come up beside her at the bar. He wore a look of concern on his handsome features, but Jules was too upset to notice.

  “Someone told the bartender to cut me off,” Jules said, glaring at Owen.

  “Well, maybe they thought you were—” The guy stopped short when Jules turned her fiery eyes on him.

  “Never mind,” he said quickly. “What were you drinking?”

  Jules folded her arms and shot a nasty look at Owen, who was trying his best to avoid her by acting busy.

  “Just cranberry juice.”

  Without hesitation, the nameless stranger turned to Owen. “One just cranberry juice, please?”

  Owen opened his mouth to protest, but one raised eyebrow from the guy seemed to shut him up fast.

  “One cranberry juice coming up,” he said, reaching under the bar for a clean glass and pouring the drink.

  A few moments later Jules stole a peek at her intervener out of the corner of her eye as she sipped on her drink. After handing her the glass, he had given her a small smile, and then had gone back to leaning against the bar with not so much as a second look in her direction. They had finally introduced Truuth, and Jules could hear him warming up the audience as he prepared to start his set. But even though she was excited to see him go on, she couldn’t help but glance over at the attractive man who had stopped her from making a fool of herself.

  “So I feel like I have to talk to you now,” Jules finally said.

  He laughed, and Jules couldn’t help but notice the dimple in his left cheek.

  “You don’t have to do anything.” His eyes were still on the stage.

  Jules rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yeah, but I’ll feel guilty if I don’t. Hi, I’m Jules,” she said, turning toward him.

  He grasped her outstretched hand, finally turning his gaze toward her. “I’m Germaine.”

  Jules breathed in sharply. His eyes were beautiful. They were an intoxicating shade of hazel with tiny golden flecks that seemed to glow like the dim chandelier lights of the lounge. She had to blink several times just to stop herself from staring.

  “Uh … nice to meet you.” She swallowed hard. “Th-thanks again for …” She motioned to her drink.

  “No problem,” he said, smiling. “Are you sure that’s only cranberry juice though?” he asked teasingly. “ ‘Cause you seem to be stuttering a bit.”

  Jules silently thanked God for making her too dark to blush.

  “I assure you, it is nothing but cranberry juice,” she said when she recovered. “I don’t usually let strangers buy me drinks; it tends to turn them into stalkers.”

  Germaine chuckled. “I assure you, Jules, I have no intention of stalking you.”

  “And yet you’re still here,” Jules said sweetly.

  “I am. But if I remember correctly, you were the one who started this conversation.”

  “Only because I felt obligated.”

  “Well, I can’t be responsible for your conscience, now can I,” said Germaine. “But if it gets me a conversation with a beautiful woman, then I can’t complain either.”

  Jules looked back at the stage, trying in vain to hide the smile that was curling her lips.

  Okay. This brother was good.

  She glanced back at him, admiring his angular profile, cool, mocha chocolate skin, and six foot something frame. … and he’s not too bad on the eyes either.

  The crowd, which was pretty large for a Thursday night, was already on its feet and rocking to Truuth’s up-tempo, hip-hop sounding groove. Even the guys from the media, who were always too cool to act like they liked something, were out of their seats. Jules couldn’t help but grin in excitement. No matter how many times she watched Truuth perform at a show, she still got goose bumps when she saw how well he could move his audience. It made all the hard work she put into his career more than worth it.

  “He’s pretty good,” Germaine commented.

  “His name is Truuth,” Jules replied. “And he’s more than pretty good. He’s amazing.”

  “Sounds like you have a little crush.”

  Jules glanced over at Germaine, who still had his eyes on the stage.

  “Only the professional kind. He’s my client.”

  Now it was his turn to look at her. He was about to say something when Tanya appeared.

  “Some guy from Urbanology is looking for you. He said he talked to you this week?”

  Even though she was speaking to Jules, Tanya’s eyes kept shifting across to Germaine. Jules could already see the wheels in her friend’s head spinning.

  “Thanks, Tanya.”

  Jules glanced back at Germaine. He winked at her before turning back to his drink at the bar.

  “Who’s the eye candy?” Tanya hissed as Jules half dragged her friend across the room toward the table where Baron was sitting.

  “That’s Germaine.”

  “Interesting,” Tanya said, glancing back at him. “Looks like he was feeling you.”

  Jules glanced back at Germaine, who was chatting with Owen at the bar, and admitted to herself that this was one time she didn’t mind.

  It was 12:45 a.m. before Jules got the chance to sit down. When she finally sank into the corner booth near the back of the lounge, she immediately slipped off her heels and curled her legs up under her.

  She was beat. After arranging and monitoring Truuth’s interview with Baron, shuffling him around to the other reporters in the house, and taking requests for digital photos and follow-ups, she was completely drained. Not to mention starving, and craving a cold beverage like nobody’s business. She glanced longingly over at the bar, but knew that her feet would never carry her that far.

  “What’s with you? You look barely alive,” ‘Dre said, dropping into the chair across from Jules.

  “You have no idea. I would give anything for something cold right now,” Jules said, smiling sweetly up at ‘Dre.

  “Well, there’ll be time for that later
.”

  Jules tried her best not to roll her eyes. ‘Dre was the CEO for Triad Entertainment, the small start-up company that managed Truuth along with a host of other emerging urban gospel music artists. He was sharp as a tack when it came to running the business and working with artists and record labels. But his one-track mind was sometimes too much for Jules to handle.

  “I saw that Urbanology guy talking to Truuth. Good work on that. I might have to hook you up with some of our other artists.”

  “Not for what you pay me,” Jules said only half-jokingly.

  The stipend that Triad paid her was nothing in comparison to the value of the work she did for Truuth. In fact, if it wasn’t for her day job, at Toronto Grace Hospital, she would have had more than her aching feet to worry about.

  But the money didn’t bother her. At the end of the day, all she cared about was using her skills to support an artist who was doing something for God. And if one person came to know Christ because he or she read Truuth’s story in the paper, or heard him sing in some obscure music café on a Thursday night, then it would be worth it for her.

  “Come on, Jules,” ‘Dre cajoled. “You know it’s all about the vision.”

  “Maybe. But that vision of yours better quit booking Truuth for events in the middle of the week. Unlike some people, I gotta get up for work in the morning,” Jules said pointedly.

  “I hear you,” ‘Dre said, smirking.

  “And next time, could you give me more than a couple days notice on the gigs you set up for Truuth?” Jules continued. “I know you’re the boss and all, but it’s hard for me to do my job when I don’t even know what’s going on. I’ve never even heard of this place before, not to mention I don’t even know who’s in charge around here. For all I know we’re going to get sued for taking photos without a release form.”

  ‘Dre laughed. “Don’t worry. No one’s getting sued,” he replied. “We’ve got personal connections with the guy who runs the place. It was a last-minute, easy setup; that’s why we didn’t bother you with it.”

  “Now that’s my girl! Yo, Jules, I can’t believe you hooked me up with Baron Levy,” Truuth said, appearing out of nowhere. Whereas the media attention had worn Jules out, it seemed to have completely energized Truuth.