“Don’t hate, diva,” Katrina teased.
Belle rolled her eyes. “I’m not hating, I’m just saying.” “You know, as problematic as she was, when you think about it—we all have Renee to thank for this happy day,” Jewel said, swirling the sparkling cider in her glass. Heads swiveled toward her in disbelief.
“How exactly do you figure that?” Carter asked with a glare.
Jewel explained. “It started when Renee dragged me to a basketball game where I met Roman.”
“Luckiest day of my life.” Roman smiled at her as she slid her hand into his.
Jewel continued. “And then after she and Beau broke up and he moved in with us—”
Beau interrupted. “Don’t forget the part where you threw me out.”
“Right,” she said and nodded with no apologies. “But you landed at Katrina’s.”
“He broke into Katrina’s,” Katrina corrected, giving Beau a side-eye glance.
“Anyway, that was the day he walked in on me while I was in your shower,” Belle added.
“Luckiest day of my life.” Beau flashed his trademark grin.
“Wait,” Katrina spoke up. “You walked into my bathroom while the shower was running? What if I had company?”
“Please spare us the visual,” Roman complained. “But I suggest, Beau, that you and Belle clean up that ‘how we met story’ before the kids come along. Something PG-thirteen perhaps might be more appropriate.”
“Anyway,” Jewel went on. “Then when Renee went on her vengeful rampage with Kevin, that’s what sparked Carter to own up to his feelings and finally get together with Kit-Kat.”
“Oh, I owned my feelings a while back,” Carter shared, “but Beau posted the no trespassing signs all around his baby sister and when I asked him if I could date her a few years ago, he told me he hoped I was joking and we dropped it.”
“What?” Katrina whipped her head around to glare at Beau.
He shrugged. “Knowing what I knew about the two of you? It was better that you both waited. Trust me, you both needed the extra time. I gave my consent eventually.”
“Luckiest day of my life.” Carter nodded.
“See, there you go,” Beau finished. “All’s well that ends well. I don’t know about thanking Renee, but as least something good came out of knowing her.”
Belle nodded. “Y’all heard she took a plea?” The other five people stared at her and she raised her hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I got the e-mail today that she’s turning on everybody and saying they forced her to do everything.”
“Figures,” Jewel scoffed. “That woman has nine lives and she always lands on her feet.”
“As long as she lands nowhere near us, I’m good,” Katrina stated.
“I’m told she’s moving to Los Angeles,” Belle shared.
“She’ll fit right in.” Roman nodded.
“What I was trying to say . . .” Jewel raised her glass. “No matter how we got here, we made it. We’re all here where I believe we are supposed to be. So, a toast to us and our continued happiness and success.”
They all raised glasses. Katrina squinted at Belle’s flute. “What’s that you’re sipping on, Mrs. Beau?”
Belle sighed. “Mineral water.”
“Finally took the test, huh?” Jewel teased.
“Last night,” Belle admitted. “I’m officially cooking another generation of Montgomery in the oven.”
Varying forms of congratulations and we-told-you–so’s rang out. Carter twined his fingers with Katrina’s and pulled her to her feet.
“If you’ll excuse us,” he said, smirking.
“What’s the hurry?” Beau asked.
“If Carter Junior is going to keep up with the Montgomerys, we’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Oversharing,” Roman muttered with a grin.
“Oh, awesome. Sure, go impregnate my single baby sister,” Beau said, hiding a smile.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get married before the due date,” Carter promised.
“Maybe Vegas again,” Katrina said, smirking. “We had such a good time there.”
“Well, all right, get it, girl,” Jewel called out, raising her glass once again.
“We’ll see y’all for dinner later?” Belle called out.
Carter and Katrina exchanged a glance. “We’ll see you at breakfast.” They turned the corner and hit the stairs running. A muffled shriek and chuckle were heard before the sound of a door slamming cut off any more sound.
“Life is good,” Roman announced.
“And getting better,” Beau agreed, rubbing his hand on Belle’s stomach.
Contentedly, the foursome watched the waves lapping against the shore. It was a moment to reflect on the events that had brought them here and the promise of the future yet to come. Life was good.
Glossary
absolument magnifique—absolutely fabulous; magnificent
allons—let’s go
bébé—baby
bel homme—handsome man
bon appétit—enjoy your meal
c’est vrai—indeed; okay
chère—term of endearment, like dear
cochon—pig
de rien—you’re welcome
enchantè—pleased to meet you; enchanted
exactement—exactly
fillette—little girl, daughter
frère—brother
imbécile—idiot
impressionnant—impressive; excellent
Je suis bon—I’m good
ma femme—my wife
ma fille—my girl
ma petite souer—my little sister
mais non—of course not
mais oui—that’s right; of course
mais oui?—is that right?
merci, mon frère—thank you, my brother
mes enfants—my children
moi aussi—me too
mon ami—my friend
mon ange—my angel
Mon Dieu—my God
mon enfant—my child
mon fils—my son
ou est mon frère?—where is my brother
que c’est beau—how beautiful
quelque chose—something
qu’est-ce que je fais—what did I do
‘tite chou—little one
tu comprends?—you understand?
une momente—one moment
vraiment—really; truly
A READING GROUP GUIDE
ANY MAN I WANT
Michele Grant
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The suggested questions that follow are included to enhance your group’s reading of this book.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
What would you do if someone released an unauthorized sex tape with you on it?
Why do you think the public is so obsessed with celebrity scandals?
If you had to name three things that you would change about Katrina, what would those be?
Do you think Carter’s parents will ever change?
Carter waited a long time to be with Katrina. Do you think she was worth the wait?
Is there any hope for redeeming Renee or has she crossed one line too many?
If you’ve read all three Montgomery books (Heard It All Before, Pretty Boy Problems, and Any Man I Want), which is your favorite and why?
Which characters from the Montgomery series would you like to read more about?
Meet the Montgomery family for the first time in
Heard It All Before
1
The Kleenex, the Prince, and the Rose?
Jewel—Friday, May 18, 8:00 p.m.
“Chivalry is dead and Prince Charming fell off his charger years ago, you hear me?”
I heard her.
“I know what you want, Jewel. You want some tall, fine, intelligent, sensitive, heterosexual, drug-free, financially stable, Christian, chocolate god over the age of thirty with a great sense of humor to come knock-knocking at your door!” Renee paus
ed. “Don’t you?”
When she put it that way, it did sound kinda pathetic.
“Well, don’t you?”
“He doesn’t have to knock on my door,” I protested weakly.
Renee snorted in disgust. “And where, exactly, are you going to find him? You go to work; he’s not there. You come home; he ain’t here. You go to church twice a month, slide in the side door five minutes before service starts, and slip out the back before we’ve sung the last Amen. So if he’s there, you’ll never see him. You work out at an all-girls’ gym. That leaves the grocery store and the cleaners.” She snorted again. “You think Mr. Wonderful is hanging out at Martinizing or Safeway?”
I threw my hands up. “Okay, okay. You’re obviously trying to tell me something. What is it?”
“Actually, I’m trying to tell you a few things, Miss Capwell. Number one, even Cinderella had to dress up and go to the ball to find her prince. Number two, life is like the last Kleenex in the box, so be careful how you blow it. And number three, you’ve got to gather your rosebuds while you still can!”
At this point, I was starting to get mildly annoyed with Renee. Only mildly because I was somewhat confused over all these mixed metaphors. The Kleenex, the Prince, and the rosebuds were throwing me off. What were we talking about?
Okay, see, I invited Renee over for dinner. How this turned into a “let’s talk about what’s wrong with Jewellen’s life” thing, I’ll never know. But that was Renee for you. Renee and I met freshman year in college. She took one look at me and decided I was an uptight princess; I took one look at her and decided she was ghetto fabulous without the fabulous. We kept running into each other on the campus of the University of Texas in a series of catty exchanges that culminated in an epic battle for the last chocolate pudding pop in the all-girls’ cafeteria. On a campus that was only 2 percent African American, we decided it was better to be allies than enemies. When all the dust settled, we discovered we somehow clicked.
I had grown up a bit sheltered. My mom was a bank manager, my father an investment specialist, and prior to their divorce, we had been one unit. I have an older sister and a brother. My sister, Stefani, got married about three years ago before moving to Alaska with her husband. I never could understand moving way up there to the frozen tundra, but that was where Lamar got promoted, so Stefani went. She loved it. Of course, none of us have been as close as we used to be since Mom and Dad’s divorce and subsequent remarriages. Mom moved to Denver. Dad moved to New Orleans. My eldest sibling, Ross, got his international law degree and had been globe-trotting ever since. At Christmas, we all get together in a neutral city. Last year it was Miami. This year we’re going south of the border to Cancun. I talk to them once a month or so. Since college, Renee, my former roommate Stace, and the gang have been my immediate family.
Renee, on the other hand, had grown up way before she should have. Her mother had Renee at age fifteen, so they kind of grew up together. Her mother was that unfortunate woman who could not be without a man. Renee grew up with a large group of random “uncles.” After watching her mom get dogged by player after player, she developed a kill-or-be-killed attitude toward dating. By the time I met her, she had decided that if no one else would love you, you’d better love yourself... a lot. She was determined to get the best of everything and the better of everyone. Somehow this translated into convincing herself that the world was as in love with her as she was with herself.
When we started this conversation, she was telling me about the latest love of her life. No exaggerating, Renee Nightingale was the most in love person I knew. She was in love with her job as promotions manager for Royal Mahogany Cosmetics. You know, one of those new spin-offs a white cosmetic company puts out now that they’ve finally realized that, yes, black people need makeup and hair and skin products of their own! God bless them and I bear no grudge, but I’ve yet to meet a white person who truly understands the terrifying concepts of ashy legs and nappy hair.
But back to Renee. She was in love with her lazy dog, a froufrou little white chow named, of all things, Peaches. I told her to get another and name him Herb; she didn’t take my reference.
Renee was also in love with some new man she met about a month ago. Yes, I said one month. Renee fell in love like other people washed clothes, regularly and in cycles. This cycle, she was into the “Corporate Self-Made Black Man.” You’ve seen him. That swaggering, overconfident, look-what-I’ve-made-of-myself buppie with the round tortoiseshell glasses, navy Armani suit, Polo paisley tie, Dior white shirt, and Cole Haan leather tassel loafers, don’t you know? I think this one was named Gregory.
But most of all, God love her, Renee was in love with Renee. She loved the way she talked, which was rapid and often around the girls, slow and sultry around the boys, and a fascinating combination of both in mixed company. She loved the way she moved, which was exactly how she talked. She loved the way she looked, which I had to admit was pretty damn good. Skin the color of rich, dark chocolate, smooth as silk, and crystal clear. Your basic African American wide brown eyes, gently sloped nose, and a perfect bow mouth.
She had short jet-black hair, and it was always whipped up. I mean, I’d known her for ten years, and even first thing in the morning, the clever pageboy was on. Sometimes curly, sometimes wavy, sometimes straight but always on. And the makeup, which she actually does change for morning and evening even if she stays at home, was flawless. She kept her manicurist on speed dial.
Her clothes? The woman planned her outfits every Sunday evening for the entire coming week, down to exercise wear and undies. She was 5’6”, a size 8, not real big but adequate on top, and was in possession of a true sister’s ass and thighs. She had fretted and sweated since “the ass” really kicked in at about age twenty-two but to no avail. I kept telling her nothing short of liposuction was going to rid her of it. And in all truth and fairness, she looked good with it. Only occasionally did I raise my brows when she tried to stretch some Lycra or knit across there. If you asked me how she caught half these Mr. Could-a-Been-Mr.-Rights, I’d say with her smile and that ass. Okay, not my point. I was reflecting on Renee’s narcissistic ways. So, back to my growing annoyance with her little diatribe. Nine times out of ten, Renee talked to hear herself talk. Unfortunately, she was talking about me.
Where did she leave off?
Oh, yeah. “Cinderella met her prince at the ball with one Kleenex and a rose?” I muttered. “Girl, what the hell are you talking about?”
“You, girlfriend.” She pointed a finger with a red-lacquered nail at me. “You’ve gotta get out there. Mohammed ain’t making his way up this mountain, okay? I’ve decided it’s time to hook you up.”
I didn’t even try to hide the dismay on my face. “Hook me up?” I shook my head rapidly from side to side. “Ah, hell to the no. You remember the last time you tried to hook me up? I didn’t get rid of him until I moved away! You hear me? I had to change area codes to get rid of that psycho!”
She had the good grace to look chagrined momentarily. “Oh yeah, him. Well, who knew he was obsessive-compulsive with an Oedipus complex. Is it my fault you reminded him of his mama? Hell, at least he was fine!”
That year she considered minoring in psych obviously didn’t do a thing for her. She skipped right past that obsessive-compulsive thing. “At least he was FINE? That was his redeeming quality?” I asked.
She waved that away dismissively. “Anyway, that’s history. This time, I don’t have anybody specific in mind; I just want to get you out into the proper arenas so you can see the available players, that’s all.”
Ignoring the sports imagery, I sighed my deepest, weariest sigh. “Renee, let’s not do this, really. I’m happy enough with my life. And if the Lord intends for me to have a good man and a good relationship, then I’m sure one will come my way.”
Renee shot me a look of stunned disbelief. “What way is that? Safeway?” She leaned forward, warming to her topic. “Listen, sugar, the Lord helps those wh
o help themselves; you hear me? Sitting in this house waiting for something to happen . . . I just can’t see that as being the good Lord’s plan. You’re thirty years old, you own your own house, you run your own company, you’re in possession of a decent bank account, you have good sense in your head, and when you give a damn, you look good! All we’ve got to do is enhance your marketable traits, camouflage your flaws, and present you to a wide and appreciative audience.” She sat back with a flourish and a smile.
I raised a brow. “Oh, so I’m your latest marketing project?” She started to speak, but I held my hand out to stop her. “No, no, a thousand times no. My life is fine. Or, here, in words you’ll understand—if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!”
She turned her nose up and tilted her head to the side. “How ya know it ain’t broke? When was the last time anyone turned it on, took it for a test drive? Hell, even kicked a tire! And since you like things in plain English, I’m asking you flat out—when was the last time you had some? Okay, no . . . We don’t even have to go all there. When was the last time you had a date?”
Uh-oh, she had me on that one. “A date?” I stalled, trying to think back that far. Could it have been that long ago? Maybe I was getting a little stale?
She smirked. “Yeah, honey, you know the thing . . . when a man asks you out, you go somewhere together merely for the sake of being together, he brings you home, he makes a play, and knowing you, you send him home. A date.”
“Well . . .” I squinted up at the ceiling, determined to recall one. Let’s see, we’re in May, and there was that one guy I went to that concert with.... Was that Thanksgiving? Couldn’t have been too memorable since the whole experience was a distant blur in my mind.
“You can’t remember, can you?” Her expression was irritatingly smug.
“Yeah, yeah, just gimme a minute.” Surely I’d gone out over Christmas? No, went to visit my sister’s family. New Year’s? No, went to the candlelight service at church. Valentine’s Day? No, watched the Flava of Love reunion show with a bottle of wine and a gourmet pizza. Ah, shit. This was just sad. I had some male friends; could I count lunch with them as dates? My brother and I were at the mall last week, and some guy came up and offered to buy me a smoothie—that’s sort of datelike, isn’t it?
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