The Vow

by Denene Millner

  14

  AMAYA

  Go, Amaya, it’s ya birthday! I sing along to my Uncle Luke’s GreatestHits CD as I hurriedly pack the red Tumi suitcase on my floor. Go, Amaya, go, go, go! I pause to break it down—humph, seems to me I can still pop my coochie with the best of them.

  We’re finally heading off to Vegas for my “twenty-sixth” birthday extravaganza, and I can barely wait for the opportunity to kick back with my girls and clear my head. Since I landed the Soular Son role, it feels like I’ve been running nonstop. Thanks to Viv’s little leak, I’ve been caught up in a whirlwind of press. In the last two and a half months, I’ve been invited to more events than in the entire time I’ve lived in Los Angeles. Before I could consider calling Amber to hook me up with some decent outfits to be seen around town in, Clarence’s phone was ringing off the hook with folks offering to send me samples. They aren’t the big boys, like Gucci or Versace, but it’s free! I swear, this industry is a trip. One day you’re trying to beg, borrow, and steal just to show up and the next moment everybody loves you and it’s not an event without you. Oh, and did I mention that one of the veteran actresses I beat out for the role was Keith’s wife?

  But nothing compares to the juggling act that I’ve got going on with Keith and Troy. Now that Keith’s officially “in love,” he’s on a mission for me to dump Troy. But I’m sticking to my guns—I am not doing a thing until I see the signed divorce papers.

  “Get ’em, girl,” Troy says with a grin startling me from my thoughts and dance as he emerges, naked and dripping wet from my bathroom, rubbing his curly head with a towel.

  “You like that, huh,” I ask seductively.

  “I don’t know,” he answers appreciatively. ”I’m not even sure it’s safe to let you out of my eyesight for a minute, let alone to roll to Vegas for an entire weekend.”

  “Don’t worry,” I answer as I saunter over and start licking the water drops from his chiseled chest. “My girls won’t make me do anything your boys wouldn’t do to you.”

  “Mmmm,” he mumbles into the back of my head, “somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  I look him in the eye and ask innocently, “What, you don’t trust me?” He just looks at me and replies, “Yeah, I trust you all right. I trust you as far as I can throw you.”

  I gasp in mock surprise and dramatically pull away. Before I halfway spin around, he scoops me up in a bear hug and carries me to the bed where he unceremoniously drops me on my butt. Before I can sit up, he playfully falls on top of me and pins me down.

  “Promise me you’re not going to cut up in Vegas,” he whispers in my ear as he licks and kisses my earlobe.

  “Troy, stop playing. You’re going to get my hair wet,” I squeal, squirming beneath his slippery body.

  “Promise me, Amaya,” he insists as he pushes away the thin straps of my camisole with his mouth and sucks on my already hard nipple. Lord have mercy, this little boy is good. With just a couple of licks, I’m more than ready to give up the center of my tootsie roll. It takes every ounce of willpower in my body to push him off and sit up.

  “Baby, it’s almost time for you to take me to the airport. Please go get dressed,” I plead as I stand up and straighten out the delicate top.

  “Yo, for real, what’s up?” he asks as he finally sits up. “Why can’t you promise? Is there something I should know before you leave here?”

  “Give me a break, Troy,” I answer, a little annoyed by his insistence. “I’m not about to go to Vegas and do anything that I’m not already doing right here in Los Angeles. I just don’t believe in wasting my word.”

  “Yeah, okay, whatever, Amaya,” he answers with a noticeable attitude and strides over to the dressing room, where his clothes are laid out and waiting for him.

  As I watch him walk away, I consider chasing after him to try and smooth things over but quickly decide against it. As much sneaking around as I do in Los Angeles with Keith, Troy’s never batted an eye or suspected a thing, but now that I’m going out of town with my girls on a trip that he knows about—that’s a problem? Isn’t he constantly on the road? Refusing to spoil the mood of my day, I turn up the stereo and keep packing. Fifteen minutes later, Troy emerges from the dressing room and breezes right past me. “I’ll be downstairs,” he tosses over his shoulder.

  I really need to thank Troy. His behavior this morning is going to make it much easier for me to enjoy the all-expense-paid trip that Keith has given me as a birthday gift totally guilt-free. For a moment there, I’d become confused. I’d started to think that maybe Troy had real potential. Clearly I need to stick to plan A: Troy is a decoy, not my goal. Not to mention, I’m not stupid. I know what this kind of suddenly possessive shit really means—he’s cutting up. I’m willing to bet that he’s done something on the road that I don’t know about yet. Now his nerves are bad because he knows how it can go down. Whatever, Negro, I conclude as I run a quick last-minute and head downstairs to inform him that my luggage is waiting upstairs for him to carry out to the truck.

  The entire ride to the airport is silent except for the sound of Troy’s Jadakiss CD. As he pulls the Cayenne up to Delta’s curbside check-in, I immediately look around for Trista and Viv. As I turn back around to unfasten my seatbelt, I catch Troy staring at me.

  “What?” I ask irritably. “Are you not finished ruining my birthday?”

  “I’m so sorry, babe, I don’t know what came over me,” he apologizes softly.

  You know what came over you, fool, I think. I’m the one that you think doesn’t know.

  “Can you please forgive me? I don’t want us to fight, especially over your birthday weekend,” he pleads, reaching out to stroke my hair.

  “Oh, Troy,” I sigh slowly as I quickly consider my options—play hard, refuse to accept his apology, and risk losing my bait; or… play nice, accept the apology, and pray that Keith hurries up. Either way, I’m putting the pressure on Keith when I return to L.A.

  I decide to keep my eyes on the prize, “I don’t want to fight. I would never do anything to jeopardize what we have.” Each word burns my throat as I swallow my pride.

  “That’s my baby girl,” he says with a cocky smile as he leans in for a kiss. Thankfully, at that exact moment, the traffic cop knocks loudly on the car window.

  “Either you’re unloading or you’re moving,” the overweight, pimply-faced man screams as spittle decorates the pane of glass.

  “Jesus, I hate those motherfuckers,” Troy exclaims as he pulls away from me and starts to get out of the truck.

  “Hardest-working force in the war on terror,” I mumble in consent as I pull down the visor to retouch my gloss. As soon as I finish, I jump out of the truck and walk over to where Troy has placed my luggage on the curbside. People immediately recognize Troy’s striking six-eleven frame, I can hear the buzz of the basketball fans growing behind us.

  “Okay, ma,” he says as he bends down to give me a quick kiss on the mouth. “Let me go before people start asking for a bunch of autographs and whatnot.”

  “Sure,” I reply evenly. “So you’re picking me up on Monday night?”

  “Actually, I may have a late practice, so I’ll probably send a car,” he replies a little too quickly, “but I’ll definitely come through the crib with all your gifts afterwards.”

  “I hear ya,” I answer distractedly as I spot Trista getting out of the back of a Mercedes car service wearing a yellow-and-white strapless Theory sundress.

  “Be good, babe,” he calls as he jumps back into his truck.

  No, nigga, you need to be good. Talking ’bout some late night practice, I curse mentally yet simply reply, “Will do.”

  “IS THIS THE life or what?” I sigh contentedly to Viv and Trista as we relax in our first-class seats on the direct flight to Vegas.

  “I know that’s correct,” Viv quickly agrees.

  “Personally, I would like to propose the first of many toasts to Amaya, the birthday girl,” says Trista a
s she raises her glass of champagne. “May her thirty-second—ahem, I mean twenty-sixth—year be better than any of us can imagine.”

  “Hear! Hear!” seconds Viv.

  “Thank you, thank you very much,” I say as I jokingly cut my eyes at Trista and take a sip. “In turn, I would like to toast my beloved best friends, Trista, Viv, and Elise—even though she won’t be with us for a few more hours. You guys are my inspirations.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever, drama queen,” replies Trista with a slight hint of sarcasm.

  “Damn that, I know I love you. Since Corey’s hospitalization, shit done changed. I’m new and improved and down for living life to the fullest,” answers Viv.

  “I agree that this getaway couldn’t have come at a better time, but don’t thank me, girl,” I correct her, ignoring Trista’s little comment. “Thank our benefactor, Keith Cooper. Not only did he hook your girl up with this beautiful Balenciaga tote I’ve been dying for, he was also kind enough to bankroll this little first-class getaway for the four of us.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” laughs Trista.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” giggles Viv, already visibly feeling the effects of her two vodka and tonics in the Platinum Flyer Lounge and now this glass of bubbly.

  “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” I whisper menacingly and then fall back in my seat, laughing. “Girl, please, as much mess as I put up with, this trip is the least.”

  “Well, please let the choir sing,” agrees Trista in her church-lady singsong voice as she reclines her seat back and closes her eyes.

  “Tris, I know you’re not going to sleep,” Vivian whines. “We’re only a hop, skip, and a jump away.”

  “Yes the hell I am,” she answers, pulling the blanket up around her neck.“And if you knew what was good for your little tipsy behind you’d do the same.”

  “Trista’s right, Viv. You better get what little rest you can now because as soon as we land it’s going to be on and popping!”

  “Fine, you old spoilsports, but, for the record, I’m not even tired,” Viv grudgingly relents and reclines her seat as well. Within minutes both Trista and Vivian are sound asleep.

  As I sip on my glass and watch my girls sleep, I realize just how grateful I am that they’re all coming together to share my birthday weekend—especially Trista. Things haven’t been right between us since that little incident at the Corcoran Gallery. I mean; I know I was dead wrong for pulling that stunt with Keith, but sometimes I act without thinking. She knows how I am. Matter of fact, she was there when I keyed our chemistry professor’s Cadillac after he turned one of my low exam scores into a class joke.

  Granted, I’ve come a long way since college, but it’s like, when I saw Keith sitting up there with Trixie, something just snapped in my mind. I needed to prove to myself that he would do whatever I wanted despite his wife standing only a few feet away. I had no idea Trista and Garrett’s entire family would walk in on us like that! I was so mortified I ran straight out of the gallery and even left my phone behind. Whenever I try to discuss what happened with Trista, she insists everything is fine—but I know better. That girl holds a serious grudge. I just hope that we’re able to finally patch things up in Vegas.

  Speaking of Keith, I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to do with the dirt I learned about his beloved wife. About a week ago, I finally heard back from Lisa. Despite our original delivery agreement, she insisted that I come into the office to discuss her findings. I assumed it was gonna be a scandalous situation, but I had no idea…

  “Thanks for coming, Amaya,” Lisa said as she shut the door and walked back over to her desk. “You look great as always. Loving the top—is that Catherine?”

  “Malandrino it is. And thank you, so do you. Now please correct me if I’m wrong but I thought we agreed that you’d just email the photos and then mail me the proofs. What gives?” I asked from the edge of my seat, practically salivating.

  “True, true. However, as I’m sure you’ll see, this is some shit,” she replied with a raised eyebrow as she slid the envelope across her desk toward me.

  “Really…” I responded, wondering what could possibly be shit to an experienced PI like Lisa as I ripped open the envelope’s seal.

  As I review the forty-eight crystal-clear shots of Mrs. Trixie Cooper getting it on with a beautiful blonde woman in a hotel suite, I want to fall to my knees and start speaking in tongues—thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus! Not only has the Lord heard my prayer, he hooked a sister up! Come to find out, not only has Trixie been turning tricks for someone other than Keith, but “Sam” isn’t even a man!

  Since that afternoon, at Lisa’s suggestion, I’ve been super-tightlipped about the whole thing—it’s taken all my willpower not to mention it even to Viv and Trista. She made a very important point about how this information is too hot for even the best of friends to be expected to keep silent on. Keith’s been in Chicago for the past two weeks, so I definitely haven’t spoken a word to him about it. But we’re having dinner on Tuesday night, when he returns, so I’m thinking that I’ll check on the progress of his divorce then. If it seems like things are moving along smoothly, then maybe I’ll save the photos for a rainy day. You never know how Trixie is going to act after she finds out that the two of us are together. Better safe than sorry, I think smugly.

  JUST AS I’D EXPECTED, from the minute our flight lands at the Vegas airport we are off and running. From the baggage claim, a stretch limo whisks us through the thick desert heat to the Palms, where we’re all rooming together in a luxurious four-bedroom penthouse suite. As we cruise down the crowded strip, I can feel my body absorbing all the energy from the lights and drama that only Sin City can provide. Upon our arrival at the hotel, we quickly change into our bathing suits and head straight out to secure a couple of poolside lounge chairs. A little over an hour later, Elise, who arrived on a separate flight from Atlanta, joins us.

  “Guess who’s here!” exclaims Elise as she sneaks up behind our chairs.

  “We thought you’d never get here!” we cry, scrambling to greet her with hugs and kisses. The ten months since we’ve last seen her suddenly feel like ten years.

  “Y’all ain’t the only ones,” she replies with a sigh and falls into a fourth lounge chair that we’ve been reserving for her. “Whew, it’s hotter than hell out here. Where’s the damn waitress? I need some water ASAP.”

  “Okay, you look amazing,” starts Trista admiring Elise’s sexy one-piece suit.

  “Married ten months and you haven’t put on a pound,” Viv complains. “I thought you were supposed to put on at least fifteen pounds during your honeymoon!”

  “Girl, please. With so many deranged and desperate single women out there, I have no choice but to stay looking right if I want to keep my man.”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” I laugh, pretending to be hurt as I sit up and carefully adjust the triangle top on my skimpy red string bikini. “You happen to be talking to some of those deranged and desperate single women.”

  “I know that’s right,” seconds Viv.

  “My bad,” Elise quickly corrects herself. “But y’all don’t know nothing about these ATL girls. They’re educated, stay looking right, and are always ready to throw together a good-ass home-cooked meal. I swear, if you blink your eye for two seconds too long they’ll be right up in your damn kitchen feeding your family!”

  “Maybe,” says Trista as she turns over onto her stomach. “But we do know that Will loves your dirty drawers, so don’t bother trying to sell us that little sob story!”

  “I hear ya,” Elise replies with a half-hearted shrug as she stands up and walks over to the bar to get her water, ending the conversation abruptly and leaving us all looking at each other over the tops of our sunglasses with raised eyebrows.

  We lounge between the pool and the bar for the remainder of the afternoon, drinking martinis, catching up, and wading in the water—’cause you know we weren’t about to get our hair wet. By
the time the sun starts to set in the sky I’m almost drunk, and couldn’t be happier.

  “Well, I don’t know about y’all, but I’m ready to go in,” I say, steadying myself on the back of my chair as I attempt to stand and tie my sarong around my hips. “Because bottom line is, as much as Keith Cooper loves my chocolate skin, he sure as hell doesn’t want me coming back from Vegas blue-black from too much sun.”

  “As black as his behind is, he got the nerve,” Elise smartly answers from behind her huge Jackie O–esque sunglasses.

  “Girl, you know how color-struck some black men can be,” responds Viv. “Between that and the obsession with long hair, they’ll keep a sister insecure.”

  “Or in a cheap weave,” I laugh.

  “I know that’s correct,” laughs Trista.

  “I say we all take a little disco nap, and just choose a restaurant to eat at when we get up,” Elise finally decides. “I don’t know about you ladies, but I’m exhausted!”

  “Cool,” I respond.

  NEEDLESS TO say, our little “disco nap” turns into a full-blown siesta. By the time I wake, it’s well past ten o’clock and I am completely ravenous. I decide to run out and grab a snack without waking up the girls. Lord knows those three sleep harder than rocks, and it’d take at least twenty minutes before I’d be able to motivate them.

  Before I slip out of the suite, I scribble a quick note to the girls on the pad on the hall table, letting them know that I’m headed down to the café and inviting them to join me if they wake before I return. Although by the sounds of the snoring coming from the rooms, I’m certain to return well before any of these three even bats an eye.

  Although the elevator car is empty when I begin my descent, it goes without saying that by the time I arrive at the lower levels it will be jam-packed. The Palms is a notorious resting spot for the real-deal ballers and shot callers when they come to town. There’s never a shortage of eye candy and potential connections—if you know what I’m saying. No sooner do I reach the café and become comfortably seated in a booth, when I spot an all too familiar face—Jamal. Lord have mercy. I haven’t seen him since last December, at Trista’s company Christmas Eve party, and he looks better than ever. As we make eye contact, a slow smile spreads across his face. I inhale deeply as he turns and heads over to my table. I exhale as the memories of the party flood back into my mind.