by Pamela Yaye
“Mommy, Jordan called me a butthead!”
Simone inflected her voice with just the right amount of shock. “He did?”
“Uh-huh,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “And he said he’s going to beat me up when we get home.”
Angela ruffled Jayden’s curly brown hair. “Don’t worry, lil’ man. Your brother isn’t going to hurt you. He was just teasing.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Another sniff. “Mommy, I don’t want Jordan to be my brother anymore. He’s mean, and he never shares his toys with me.”
Simone pulled Jayden into her arms and kissed his cheek. He was five years old, but he had the temperament of an eighty-year-old man. He was moody and terribly sensitive, and when he didn’t get his way, he’d mope into the living room, curl up on the couch and have a good cry. He did it so often Marcus had started to worry. Scared that his son would grow up “soft” and wanting to “toughen him up a bit,” he had enrolled him in little league hockey. These days, Jayden cried more than ever.
“Mom, Jayden called me a butthead!” Jordan said, racing over to the booth. Sniffling, his lips curled into a pout, he mimicked his identical twin brother perfectly. “And he said he was going to beat me up when we get home!”
Simone strangled a laugh. Leave it to Jordan to make light of the situation. Lovable, energetic and as noisy as a boy could be, he lived to make everyone around him smile. To her husband’s delight, he was naturally athletic, loved sports and enjoyed working with his hands. While Jayden was off drawing in his beloved sketchbook, Jordan was outside splashing in puddles, eating dirt and collecting bugs. “I want you boys to stop calling each other names.” Simone watched Jordan, saw him stare down at his sneakers. “If you keep this up I won’t take you to the video arcade later. Is that what you want? For me to cancel our plans?”
Jordan tugged at his sleeve, shuffled his size-three feet. “No.”
“Well then, be nice to your brother.”
After an extended bout of silence, he said in a low voice, “Okay, Mom. I’ll try.”
“That’s my boy.” Scolding Jordan pierced Simone’s heart, but if she let his bad behavior slide, he wouldn’t give Jayden a moment’s peace, and the last thing she wanted was for him to spend the rest of the day crying. Simone knew all too well what it was like to be tormented by a sibling, and she didn’t want her sweet, sensitive son to suffer the same fate.
“I’m hungry!” Jordan announced, rubbing his stomach. “Can I have some French fries?”
“No, you just had lunch.”
“But, Mommy...” Jayden whined, joining forces with his brother. “My stomach’s growling, too. I think it wants a cheeseburger.”
Simone schooled her features, fought valiantly to keep a straight face. “I’m not ordering any more food, you two. It’s time to go.”
The waiter dropped off the bill and collected the empty plates.
“Where are you guys off to now?” Angela asked, signing the credit-card receipt.
“To buy you a housewarming gift, of course!”
“Good, then I won’t keep you.”
Simone hugged her. “Thanks for lunch. And the talk.”
“No worries,” Angela said with a flick of her right hand. “I’ll see you on Saturday night, girlfriend. Don’t be late!”
Chapter 4
Water Tower Place—a soaring, eight-level atrium teeming with designer stores, chic cafés and premier restaurants—was practically deserted, so after buying Angela the most expensive item on her five-page gift registry, Simone took Jayden and Jordan to their favorite stores. They played games at the video arcade, cuddled kittens in the pet shop and wandered around the bookstore perusing the discounted books in overflowing clearance bins.
“Mom, can we go to the kids’ zone?”
Simone nodded and watched as they raced into the bright, kid-friendly area. It was filled with stuffed animals, oversize chairs and colorful tables. Staring outside the window, she marveled at the beauty of the azure-blue sky. The sun pushed through the clouds, spilling into the bookstore, lighting the wide, open space.
Warmed by the heat of the sun, Simone unzipped her winter jacket, and stuffed her leather gloves into her pocket. The bookstore was the place to be on a lazy winter day, and with seventy percent off already-reduced merchandise, it was packed with excited bargain shoppers. Mothers wheeled deluxe strollers through congested aisles, unruly children bounced off soaring book displays and the sleep-deprived students in the bookstore café guzzled coffee like it was holy water.
Simone took out her phone. There were no messages from Marcus, no texts. She’d called him after they left the Skyline Grill, but he still hadn’t called her back. Simone didn’t even know why she’d bothered phoning him. As usual, his cell had gone straight to voice mail. Funny, he had no problem getting to his phone last night, she thought, still ticked off at him for abandoning her in bed.
To kill time and to get her mind off Marcus, Simone strolled through the nonfiction section, checking out the bestselling books proudly displayed at the end of the aisle. “A Sista’s Guide to Seduction?” Frowning, she rested her basket on the floor and picked up one of the pink, heart-shaped books. “How to seduce the man of your dreams in thirty days or less.”
Simone let out a laugh. Normally, she wouldn’t pay any mind to something so blatantly foolish, but in light of her present relationship woes, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek inside. Thankfully, the display was only steps away from the kids’ section, and she could keep an eye on the boys while she skimmed the pages of Dr. RaShondra Brown’s latest book.
After a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure no one was watching, she cracked open the little pink book and flipped to the first page.
Have you lost your moxie?
Would your man rather hang out with his boys than give you the lovin’ you deserve?
Are you tired of being ignored and ready to take matters into your own hands?
Yes! Yes! And yes! Simone thought, nodding her head. There were so many problems in her marriage she didn’t know where to start. Who knew? Maybe Dr. RaShondra’s book could make a difference. Maybe it could put the spark back in her five-year marriage.
Simone swallowed, loosened the knot in her silk scarf. Deep down, she knew that Marcus loved her, knew he only wanted the best for her, but the problem was he wasn’t in love with her. His love lacked passion, desire, excitement, and that was precisely what Dr. RaShondra was peddling in her newest book. The good doctor guaranteed results in thirty days or less, and Simone was inclined to believe her. All six of Dr. RaShondra’s previous books had skyrocketed up the New York Times’ bestseller list and there was even talk of Good Girl, Bad World being made into a TV movie. She’d read the book in a day and had been the first one in line when the play opened in Chicago last summer. Dr. RaShondra knew her stuff, but that didn’t mean the little pink book was going to produce miraculous results, did it?
Scanning the rest of the chapter, Simone wondered if Dr. RaShondra’s self-help book was worth the thirty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. Ten easy steps to seducing your man and reigniting your relationship sounded like a scam if she had ever heard one. But what do I have to lose? It’s not like things could get any worse—
“Simone, girl, get over here and give me a hug, you pretty heifer!”
Startled by the shrill, high-pitched sound, Simone flinched. Placing a hand on her chest didn’t steady her raging heartbeat, and when Simone saw Tameika Brewster sashaying toward her in all her K-Mart glory, she groaned inwardly. Oh, no, I spoke too soo
n!
“You haven’t been by the salon in weeks!” Tameika shrieked, her plump lips flared into a pout. “You’re not cheating on me with a rival stylist, are you?”
Simone laughed and shook her head incredulously at the brash Detroit native. Tameika had been her hairstylist for years, and even though she got off on teasing her, Simone considered her a good friend. Her hazel contacts were eye-catching, and so was her tight, leopard-print blouse. “I’ve been too busy to make it to the salon, but I’ll stop in soon,” Simone promised. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the salon doing something crazy to someone’s hair?”
“I came down here to get a gift for Angela. Can you believe her crazy ass created a gift registry for her housewarming party?” Pointing a finger at her chest, she made a loud clicking sound with her teeth. “And you guys like to call me a diva. Ha! I’m not the only high-maintenance one in the group!”
The women laughed.
“I better round up the boys. I still have a few more errands to do today.” Simone was about to return the little pink book to its rightful spot when Tameika ripped it out of her hands. “A Sista’s Guide to Seduction?” Squealing, she tapped an acrylic nail on the glossy, heart-shaped cover. “Oohh, I heard this book was off the chain!”
Shooting her a be-quiet look, Simone retrieved her basket and smiled weakly at the slim, Asian man staring at them. Simone loved Tameika’s zeal, her wild ride-or-die-chick vibe, but she was too damn loud for her own good. It was bad enough she was wearing an attention-grabbing outfit and a whole bottle of perfume, but did she have to talk loud enough for people in the parking lot to hear her, too?
Picking up her basket, which was weighed down with discounted books, magazines and stationery, she moved swiftly toward the beanbag chair Jayden and Jordan were sitting on.
“We discussed A Sista’s Guide to Seduction at the salon just last night, and all the stylists and clients were raving about it!”
Simone slowed, in part to hear what Tameika was about to say and in the hopes that she’d decrease her volume. If there was one thing Simone hated, it was loud, obnoxious people chatting in quiet, confined spaces. The bookstore was not the place for Tameika to let herself go, and Simone prayed to God that her outspoken friend would keep her comments PG.
“You remember Peaches, right? That’s the girl who did your hair when I was getting my boobs done.” She patted her breasts, smiled prouder than a parent whose child was on the honor roll. “Well, Peaches said the book saved her marriage. Said Dwight was acting funny until she implemented the rules and quit waiting on him hand and foot. Now the man practically worships the ground her stilettos walk on.”
Simone drew her eyebrows together. “Really?”
“Uh-huh, and my sister said the same thing. Her baby daddy has been helping out around the house, buying her gifts for no reason and spending more time at home, too.”
“Seriously?”
“For real, sisterfriend. I ain’t kiddin’!” she hollered, flicking her hair over her shoulders.
Closing her eyes, she envisioned Marcus greeting her at the door, kissing her passionately and sweeping her up into his arms. Simone shook the fantasy from her mind. Right, like that would ever happen in this lifetime, she thought, rolling her eyes. Marcus used to put her needs ahead of his own. Used to make time to do the things she wanted. Used to set aside time every day just for her. But over the past year, her needs had taken a backseat to his business, and Simone was sick of being ignored and neglected. Maybe she needed to stir things up a bit. Rock the boat. Remind him of just how spontaneous and fun she was.
“Buy the book, sisterfriend.” Tameika tossed it into Simone’s basket. “You need it.”
Simone shook her head and raised her chin defiantly. “No, I don’t.” Okay, she did, but she didn’t need Ms. Ghetto Fabulous pointing it out. And not in front of the group of women who had gathered around the pink book display.
“Oh, yes, you do,” she countered, swiveling her neck. “You’re forever complaining that Marcus doesn’t pay attention to you, that he’d rather work or hang out with the guys than take you out, that he...”
Ouch. The heat that crawled up her neck burned her cheeks. When did I say all that? Simone wondered, trying to recall the last time she’d been at Glamour Girlz Beauty Salon. She vaguely remembered watching an episode of Millionaire Matchmaker and drinking a couple glasses of merlot while waiting in the reception lounge, but that was about it. Next time, I’ll lay off the wine and keep my big mouth shut.
“Dayum! Super tall, super dark and super handsome at three o’clock.”
“Where?”
Tameika motioned to the café. “Leather jacket. Rolex watch. Kenneth Cole shoes.”
Simone shook her head, stunned at how acute her friend’s eyesight was. Tamieka didn’t miss anything. It didn’t matter if it was a fifty-percent-off sign, a to-die-for man cruising down the street or a crumpled ten-dollar bill underneath a pile of leaves, she found it. The beautician had eyes like a lynx and the fearless personality to match.
“I’m lactose intolerant, but that’s one tall glass of chocolate milk I’d like to taste...”
Simone followed her friend’s gaze. The guy was cute, slim with dark eyes and skin, but he had nothing on Marcus. Not only did her husband have an A+ body; he had lips made for pleasing and a pair of long, slender hands that stroked her just right.
Shivering, she struck the thought from her mind before she got carried away. Back to Tameika’s latest find. The guy looked responsible, smart, like the kind of brother who read the newspaper from front to back. He was just the type of man her wayward friend needed, but before Simone could offer her opinion, Tameika said, “I’m going to go talk to him. You don’t mind, do you, sisterfriend?”
Simone gave her a hearty shove forward. “Take as long as you need.” Hopefully, he’ll keep her occupied long enough for me to grab the boys and escape through the side door.
“I’ll be right back,” Tameika called over her shoulder, switching her wide, bountiful hips. One by one, men of all ages turned and stared. Simone couldn’t blame them. Tameika did more than just flaunt what the good Lord gave her; she put the whole kit and caboodle on display. Her plunging V-neck blouse served up two cups of cleavage, her leggings clung to every curve and her outfit screamed, “Come and get me!” Thick, honey-blond hair flowed over her shoulders, and the more it swayed across her back, the more the men drooled. Tameika Brewster had it going on, and unfortunately for her next victim, she knew it.
Deciding she didn’t need the little pink book and that it was a waste of good money, Simone dropped it in an abandoned shopping cart and slid into line. While she waited, she admired all the young, fashionable women flowing in and out of the store. I haven’t changed my look in years, Simone thought, fingering the ends of her long, black hair. It wouldn’t hurt to do something different, something wild. Coloring it a rich, vibrant hue like burgundy red was sure to catch Marcus’s eye and give her a fresh, modern look. Simone loved the idea of shaking things up, but getting a breast lift was too drastic, and besides, her husband would never go for it.
Another thought sprang in her mind. What in the world am I going to wear to Angela’s party? Just that morning she’d hunted around in her closet for something that looked good and fit right. It turned out to be forty-five minutes of pure torment. Her predilection for sweets had resulted in her gaining fifteen pounds over the summer, but dusting off the tr
eadmill and eliminating junk food from her diet were at the top of her to-do list.
Opening her cell phone, Simone fully expected there to be a message or two from Marcus, and when she saw that her in-box was empty, her shoulders caved in. She’d called him ninety minutes ago, and he still hadn’t returned her call. Simone sighed, released the pent-up frustration flowing through her. It was moments like this—when he was so busy he couldn’t spare five minutes of his time to check in with her—that Simone had serious doubts about their future. How were they ever supposed to reconnect when all he cared about was his bottom line?
“Next in line please,” the slender brunette chirped from behind the cash register.
Simone stepped forward, unloaded her books on the counter and returned the basket to its rightful place.
“Ma’am...”
Simone cringed and gripped her phone so tight she feared it would crumble in her hands. She was starting to hate that word. Twenty-nine wasn’t old, and if one more person called her the m-word today she was going to lose it like a celebrity wife wielding a golf club.
“You spent a hundred dollars, so you’re entitled to a free book,” the clerk announced, smiling wide. “Why don’t you take a few minutes to look around while I bag your purchases?”
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was looking, Simone returned to the abandoned shopping cart, retrieved the little pink book and quickly slid it across the counter. “I’ll just take this.”
“Good choice. You’ll love it. Dr. RaShondra is hilarious, and the rules actually work!”
“They do?”
The brunette nodded her head. “I’ve been married for eleven years, and my husband’s never been more affectionate, so either the rules are working or he’s having a midlife crisis. But either way, I’m happy!”