Once inside, I watch the spring ’05 Armani fashion show and flip through a recent copy of British Vogue until Amber walks up.
“Are you ready, beautiful?” she asks with a grin. As usual she looks great—her long blond hair is pulled up in a simple twist. She has on a sheer black tank top with low-slung black-and-white print skirt and fire-engine-red Gucci pumps.
“You know I’m always ready,” I say playfully.
“Cool,” she says, then gives me a quick hug and points toward the door we need to walk through. “FYI, my other client is still trying on her last piece, so just look around while I finish up with her. I shouldn’t be long. She knows that I can’t have more than one client running around in the showroom at a time, so…” she explains as we enter the huge room where the samples are hanging.
“Okay, Amber, that’s like the third time you’ve called her ‘my client’ instead of using a name,” I finally blurt out. “Who the hell is it? Angela, Jada, Nia, for Christ’s sake?”
“Close,” she smiles and then whispers, “It’s Trixie Cooper. But you can’t tell her that she’s not Angela or better. Honestly, I try not to say her name, because I swear the woman has bionic ears and can hear through walls.”
Trixie Cooper? As in Trixie Cooper the drop-dead-beautiful, award-winning actress and, more importantly, wife of the love of my life Keith Cooper? My ears start ringing. I’ve never been this close to Trixie before. The only time I ever see her is in a movie or on the pages of People with their kids. She never hangs out with Keith and his entourage. She’s the black Erika Kane—untouchable and not to be crossed. As these thoughts run through my head, Amber stops speaking and looks at me strangely.
“You all right? Do you know her or something?” she asks.
No, we haven’t met, I’m just fucking her husband, is what I really want to say, but instead I simply squeeze out a very strangled “Oh no, I’m just a huge fan of her work.”
“Hmmm, if you say so,” Amber finally concedes after about ten seconds more of staring in my face. “Either way, I’m just going to try and rush her up out of here.”
“No, really, it’s fine,” I insist, struggling to regain my composure. “And I’ve got all day.”
“You’re such a sweetheart,” she coos. “If you see anything you like, try it on.”
Considering there’s only two tiny changing rooms in the space and they’re right next to each other, I’m tempted to grab the first thing I spot in my size and head over there. But on second thought, I don’t want her to see me in something crazy-looking. She’ll assume I have absolutely no taste. So I take my time and pick out three sleek full-length dresses to start with and head over to the dressing area.
Each step feels like an eternity, and when I finally reach the stalls Trixie is headed back in to change her clothes, so I only catch a glimpse of her small, caramel-colored back. It’s just enough time for me to pick out the spot where I’d stab her if murder were a legal option.
“Let me see what you’ve picked,” requests Amber, interrupting my criminal reverie.
“Oh, I just grabbed the first things I saw,” I lie smoothly.
“Oh yeah, these are great. I absolutely love your taste,” Amber says as she strokes the soft silk material. I hope that Trixie’s heard every last syllable.
“Yeah, well, you know, I do what I can,” I casually reply as I take the dresses into the available dressing stall and close the curtain with a decisive snap.
Not even a moment later I hear her voice for the first time. Clear as a bell, she’s very soft-spoken but direct in tone. I can tell she is a woman accustomed to getting everything she wants. Chills run up my spine and I freeze with one leg still in my jeans and the other in midair.
“Darling, can you please zip this up for me,” she requests.
“Of course I will,” Amber answers.
“Hmm, think I like this one, what about you?”
“I’m not sure that I like it quite as much as the last dress. However, both look fabulous, darling,” Amber responds appropriately.
“Well, in that case I’ll just take both,” she laughs.
“Now, Trixie, you know it’s Awards Week,” Amber starts gently. “It’s really hard to take two dresses right now…”
“I know it’s hard,” Trixie responds without missing a beat, “but be a dear and make it happen, will you?”
I use the awkward silence as my opportunity to come out from behind the curtains and not only rescue my girl but finally meet my nemesis face-to-face.
“You like?” I question as I make a complete turn in the breathtaking satin-and-silk strapless peach-colored dress.
“Wow, it’s gorgeous,” Amber answers as she moves away from Trixie to finish zipping me up. “And you won’t need the seamstress to adjust a thing.”
“Oh my, isn’t that interesting on you,” is the only comment from Trixie.
“I’m being so rude,” apologizes Amber. “Trixie, this is Amaya Anderson. Amaya, this is Trixie Cooper.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I say and offer my best fake smile as I extend my hand.
“Hmm, I’m sure,” Trixie replies as she uses the sudden vibration of her cell phone from within the dressing stall as an excuse to ignore my outstretched hand. “If you’ll excuse me,” she says and darts behind the curtains.
I turn and look at Amber with one raised eyebrow. She simply shrugs her shoulders in response and mouths, “Crazy.” We burst into laughter.
“Girl, this dress is perfect. Don’t even bother trying on anything else. Go change and let’s go. We need to get the hell over to Yana K.’s before there’s nothing left,” Amber says as soon as she’s able to catch her breath.
“True… I’ll meet you out front in five minutes.”
“Trixie, sweetie, I’ve got to run,” Amber calls over the top of the stall. “When you finish changing, please bring your selections out to the front.”
“Oh yes, that’s fine,” she answers, clearly distracted.
As I duck back in my stall and start to undress, a wave of relief washes over me. Now that I’ve stared the beast down, I’m no longer concerned about measuring up. I am just as beautiful—and, more important, I’m younger. She may know more people, but once I land this Soular Son role, I’ll be everywhere. That woman’s days are numbered, and she doesn’t even know it.
The soft sound of schoolgirl giggles interrupts my mental celebration, and I realize that Trixie is still on the phone. Despite her obvious attempt to use a hushed tone, I’m still able to hear every single word of her conversation.
“Oh, stop. You’re being too nasty. Just wait until I get my hands on you!”
Nasty? I crouch down close to the space on the floor just below the curtain that seperates us and hold my breath to try and get a better listen.
“Only for you, baby. You know I like it when you punish me for being a bad girl.”
I know this woman is not having phone sex with Keith right here in the showroom. My throat starts to clench up. That deceitful bastard told me that he barely spoke to her anymore. As I turn to grab my cell phone and call his lying ass, I hear her say—
“…it’s Sam’s. All Sam’s.”
Hold up! Who the hell is Sam? I almost swallow my tongue. Trixie Cooper is having an affair with someone named Sam? For two years Keith has been treating me like shit and putting us on hold because he can’t find it in his heart to leave his picture-perfect wife, and now I find out she’s screwing around with some other dude? And I heard it out of her mouth? I want to laugh out. This is priceless.
“Yeah, yeah, I love you, too. I’ll see you tonight.” With a snap of the phone it’s over. I wait until I hear her pull back the curtain and leave the showroom before I dare to breathe again. As I hurry to pull on my clothes, my mind is whirling. I snatch the dress I’ve selected and rush out to the front to meet Amber.
“Girl, what took you so long?” she asks when I finally join her in the lobby. “I already filled out
the delivery forms for you.”
“Oh, my bad. I just didn’t want to run into your client again,” I answer coyly as I hand the gown over and give my information for next-day delivery.
“Whatever, that’s your girl,” she quickly retorts. “But, quite honestly, just now was probably a better time to meet her than in the back, earlier.”
“Oh, really,” I say, feigning ignorance as we step into the elevator.
“Yeah, girl, don’t ask me why, but she waltzed out of here grinning from ear to ear,” Amber says with a shake of her golden head.
“Hmm, maybe it had to do with the phone call she took while we were in the showroom,” I hedge as we head out into the bright sunshine.
“Oh, oh, I don’t even want to know,” giggles Amber as she runs ahead of me across the street to the garage.
“Yes, you do you little liar,” I laugh as I easily catch up with her.
“Okay, okay, what did you hear?” she finally relents.
“Well, turns out little miss holier-than-thou was in the stall having phone sex.”
“What?!” Amber screams as her eyes became wide as saucers.
“Yes, girl, and wait, let me tell you, it was with somebody named Sam,” I continue with an evil grin as we reach my car. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but the last time I read People, Trixie was happily married to Keith Cooper of Beat Down Records.”
“Uh, that would be correct,” Amber agrees. “But, you know, I heard that she’s really out there.”
Now it was my turn to scream.
“Like for real, and I’ve heard that from several reliable sources,” Amber confides with authority. “But, Amaya, promise you won’t say anything. And if you do, you totally didn’t hear it from me!”
“Okay, Amber Littleton, I’m officially about to put you out of my car for lying!”
“I swear on my mother’s life,” she asserts as she turns up the radio and starts bobbing her head to Biggie like a certified thug.
Once again my mind is reeling. This could really be the key to releasing Keith from Trixie’s iron grip. But how do I tell him and avoid him lashing out at me? ’Cause you know no man wants to hear that his woman has been stepping out on him. If I confront him with words, he’ll never believe me. He’ll just say I’m being hateful and probably cut me off. Bottom line, I need irrefutable proof. I have no choice but to call in a professional.
When I first moved to L.A. and was super strapped for cash, Clarence’s boy at the LAPD hooked me up with a decoy gig for a young private investigator named Lisa Smith. She was working on a couple of adultery cases and needed someone to distract a musician’s bodyguard so that she could get in his room backstage and nose around. It was an easy assignment that paid well enough to cover my rent and utilities for a month. Lisa and I had hit it off immediately, and she promised that if I ever needed help, I should give her a call and she’d hook me up with the “friend-of-the-family discount.” I haven’t spoken to her in over a year, but I’m sure her number is somewhere in my apartment. As soon as Awards Week ends I’ll be sure to give her a call.
AFTER AN ENTIRE day of running around with Amber I’m exhausted. After we left the Yana K. boutique we headed over to Showroom 65. I must have tried on at least fifty different dresses. I swear the next time I take this outfit off, I’m going to throw it away! Just as I’m about to jump on the freeway, my pager starts to vibrate. It’s Keith. He wants to know if I’m busy… suddenly I’m not so tired anymore. I make a hard U-turn and head back into the city, to the Beat Down Records office. Time to go pay my baby a little visit.
As soon as I enter into the reception area my ears are accosted with an extra-loud mix of Young Daddy MC’s new music video and BET’s Rap City with Tigger blasting from the two monitors on the wall. As I wait for his assistant to come out and get me, I listen to the receptionist dishing all the latest rumors about some gay rapper with whomever she’s talking to on the phone. The entire space smells like weed and I just pray that Keith’s assistant hurries the hell up. Just as I was about to send Keith a nasty page for making me wait in the lobby when he knows I hate the smell of smoke, a small Japanese guy beckons me in.
“What up, Amaya?” Andrew asks as he quickly gives me a peck on the cheek.
“Hey, Andrew,” I answer sweetly. Andrew, a Harvard student who came to intern at Beat Down after his freshman year and never left, has been with Keith the entire time we’ve dated; he usually coordinates our secret rendezvous.
“Ah, now I see why his bad mood just changed so suddenly,” he joked. “I didn’t realize that you were coming to visit.”
“Actually, this is a last-minute decision but I’m flattered that you think I make that much of a difference.”
“Hey, I know my boss, and trust me when I tell you—you make a difference,” Andrew answers with a chuckle as he knocks on Keith’s door.
A gruff voice from within calls out, “It’s open.”
I slide in and close the door firmly behind me.
“Yo, be sure to lock it behind you,” Keith instructs as I walk into the large corner office. Keith’s office is ghetto fabulous to the max. Hard-edged glass tables and a buttery black-leather sofa with a couple of club chairs are set off to the side of his massive glass-and-chrome desk. The state-of-the-art Bose sound system, which covers the entire back wall, plays a remix of Killer’s new single. From his position behind the desk he exudes the aura of a very powerful businessman.
“Please,” I remind him with a sigh as I turn back and lock the door.
“My bad. Please,” he chuckles. “You still trying to school a brother, Amaya.”
“That’s better,” I say as I walk over and make myself very comfortable in his lap. “So what’s up, baby? I’m happy to see you.”
“Nothing. I just wanted to feel you near me, is all. I’m having a shitty day and I figured I’d try and turn the tide back by spending a quick minute with my favorite girl,” he answers, enveloping me in his muscular arms and nuzzling his head against my breasts.
As I look down at his bald head and chocolate-brown skin I am again amazed at how wonderful Keith can be even when he’s not trying. As I enjoy the pressure from his strong embrace and listen to the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing, I want nothing more than for this moment to go on forever. I kiss the top of his head softly to get him to look up at me. I’m immediately drawn into his big brown eyes.
“Yo, you know you make me happy, right?” he asks sincerely.
“I know, sweetie,” I answer leaning in to kiss him softly on his full lips. If only I could believe the words coming out of his mouth.
“Thank you for coming out of your way to let me hold you for a minute,” he continues.
“Keith, if you’d get it together, we could always be like this,” I respond honestly.
“I told you that that situation is a wrap,” he cuts me off sharply.
“Okay,” I reply with the sarcastic smirk that always grates on his nerves.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks as he now holds me at a distance.
“Nothing,” I sigh as I break his embrace and stand. “But let me ask you this—if it’s a wrap, why are we still looking over our shoulders, double-locking doors and what not?”
“Please don’t start,” he counters as he stands.
“Just forget it, Keith. I already said okay.”
Before we can pursue the issue any further the special phone line that Andrew uses when there’s an artist in the office starts to ring. “Damn, that’s Killer Dun. I want him to do something with Young Daddy MC but he insists that he’s just not feeling it. These fucking artists have a little bit too much opinion nowadays for my liking,” he grumbles, his mind already moving on to the next issue at hand.
“Okay, well, I’m gone,” I tell him. I know from his tone that it’s going to be a very one-sided conversation with Killer Dun.
“All right,” he replies distractedly as he walks me to his office door. “Give
me a call tonight before you go to sleep.”
“Okay, babe.” As I walk down the hallway filled with platinum plaques, I’m amazed at how much Keith has accomplished since his days selling bootleg CDs and promoting parties. He’s so focused. He’s just the type of man I need in my life. And with a little help from Trixie and Troy, that’s exactly what I’m going to have!
9
VIVIAN
Amaya, step away from the potato salad,” I say cautiously.
“I’d move away if I was you,” Trista says, laughing. “You know she’ll jack you up if even one of those potatoes doesn’t taste just right.”
“But potato salad needs paprika,” Amaya says, reaching for the seasoning. I looked at Trista, and then switch my focus back to Amaya. She catches the glare in my eye and, punctuating her action with a “Well, damn,” very gently places the bottle back on the counter. “If you ask me, you shouldn’t be serving up all these carbs, anyway. Can’t catch a man in L.A. if you’re wearing potatoes on your hips.”
“Whatever, bitch,” I shoot back. “Drop the paprika.”
I don’t care about Amaya’s feelings today. It’s Corey’s seventh birthday and I’m putting the finishing touches on a bash he won’t soon forget. We’ve been planning it for months—he asked for a fish theme, so we looked up some ideas on the Internet, checked out a few Parenting magazine articles we found at the library, and voilà, created an “Under the Sea” extravaganza for fifteen, replete with shark cupcakes, a fish-shaped piñata, a boisterous round of “Go Fish,” and goldfish—both the crackers and the real thing—for party favors. And every party I put together comes with a spread fit for my little king.
The Vow Page 14