by Pamela Yaye
“She does, but everyone else will lighten up once they have a few drinks.”
“I sure hope so, because I’m having flashbacks of being in high school!”
Yasmin laughed. “It’s not that bad. We’ll do it together and if you have any questions just ask.”
For the next hour they sampled wine and nibbled on Swiss cheese. Rashawn pretended to be interested in what Lars was saying about the recent slump of the Dow Jones, but it was hard to stay alert on an empty stomach. The cheese made him thirsty, the Riesling was dry and the bite-size tuna rolls only made him hungrier. Wishing he’d eaten dinner before coming, he downed the rest of his glass and handed it to server passing by. “Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, whispering in Yasmin’s ear.
It was an innocent question, but the heat of his breath aroused her. Fingering her turquoise-hued chain, she cleared the desire from her throat and said, “It’s down the hall to the left.”
“Cool. Be right back.”
Iris watched Rashawn leave. “I understand your boxer friend is hosting the charity fund-raiser. That’s, um, interesting.”
“He’s a boxer? I’m embarrassed to say I’ve never heard of him,” DeWitt confessed, with a shrug. “The kid must be a local talent or something.”
The others murmured in agreement.
“Why don’t you try to get a real star like Bill Cosby, Sidney Poitier or Oprah? They all do a lot of work for inner-city projects and organizations that benefit African-American children,” Wellington explained. “I know someone who plays golf with Oprah’s third cousin on her mother’s side. Do you want me to inquire if she’s available?”
Rolling her eyes, she stared balefully at Wellington. The university professor had no clue what it took to organize a charity event. As philanthropic as Oprah Winfrey was, Yasmin didn’t have the time or the energy to chase the self-made woman down. Besides, she was confident Rashawn would charm the pants off the audience and raise thousands of dollars for the center. “Just because you guys don’t know who Rashawn is, doesn’t mean he’s not popular.” To further emphasize her point, she told them what had happened at the community center weeks earlier. “I’ve never seen the kids so happy! He chaired the Men of Initiative session and the boys really took what he said to heart.”
DeWitt shrugged. “I hope the audience likes him because most of the guests are professional, white-collar people, not low-income families from the ’hood.”
Yasmin sipped her wine. The Chianti was definitely having its way with her. She knew the only way to know whether or not the wine was good was to finish it all, so instead of dumping the contents after each tasting, she had drained her glass. Now she had a slight buzz and felt completely relaxed. So much so, she didn’t care what her friends had to say. “Well, what’s done is done. The most important thing is that we raise a ton of money for the center.”
Noreen wrinkled her nose. “I do hope you’re not using the same caterer from last year. Down-home cooking has no place at an upscale charity event. The chicken was greasy, the potatoes were soggy and…”
Bored with the conversation and tired of hearing Noreen complain, Yasmin searched the room for Rashawn. He wasn’t back from the bathroom, but her face brightened when she spotted Katherine alone at one of the wine tables. Not bothering to excuse herself, she walked purposefully toward her best friend. “Where have you been hiding? I’ve been trying to talk to you all night!”
Katherine tossed a look over her shoulder. “You, my friend, are a liar. You’ve been too busy with your boy toy to pay me any mind!”
Laughing, they refilled their glasses and went out onto the balcony. It was a clear night. Trees rustled in the wind and a collection of stars surrounded the moon. “Great party and the Chianti is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Forget the wine. Let’s talk about junior.”
“Not you, too, Katherine.”
“He’s five years younger than you. Those are the facts.” The look on her face was a serious one. “Yasmin, do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
“It’s nothing, really. We’re just—”
Katherine cut in. “Just what? Hanging out? If I had a penny for every time I heard a woman say that, I’d be on the cover of Forbes magazine.”
“We have fun together. Is that a crime? It’s nice having a little male attention,” she confessed, desire seeping into her tone. “We’ve been out a few times, that’s it.”
“That’s how it starts, then the next thing you know you’re lending him money, spending nights at his place and letting him drive your car.”
Yasmin didn’t see things getting that far, but she couldn’t deny their growing attraction. Over the course of the night, he’d flirted with her, held her hand and even fed her blue cheese. Rashawn was very open about his feelings and it felt good knowing he found her desirable. “I don’t see anything wrong with us going out.”
“Me, neither, as long as you’re prepared when he loses interest and moves on to someone else. Someone younger.”
Yasmin stared out into the sky. This is what she was afraid of. Her best friend was projecting her biases onto her. Against the advice of her friends and family, Katherine had started dating a truck driver at one of her father’s moving companies. Within weeks, she had been lending Dejaun money, paying his rent and even cosigned on a car loan. Before the ink had dried on the application, he had gone back with his baby’s mother and Katherine’s once exemplary credit report had been ruined.
“Don’t get me wrong, Yasmin. I’m not trying to dissuade you from dating him.”
“You’re not?”
“No. Go out with the young buck, just don’t fall in love.”
“There’s no chance of that ever happening,” she said, sighing deeply. “When Eric died, I lost more than a lover. A small part of me died, too. I’m not saying I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life, but what if I never have another love of a lifetime?”
“You really believe that?”
“True love only comes along once,” Yasmin said, sighing wistfully. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him.”
Katherine gave her a hug. “That’s understandable. You guys were together for years. It’s going to take time for you to heal, Yasmin. Be gentle with yourself and don’t feel like you have to minimize your feelings.”
“Sometimes I feel so hopeless, you know? Like I’m watching life pass me by.”
“I hear you, girl. I don’t know where my soul mate is, but I wish he’d hurry the hell up because I’m tired of dating these losers!”
Laughing, the two women clinked wineglasses.
“How are things going with Pierce?” Yasmin asked, flipping her hair over her shoulders. “Are you getting along better now?”
“I’m dumping him tomorrow.”
“Why? What did he do now?”
An amused expression fell over Katherine’s face. “Let’s just say he doesn’t take instruction well.”
“Which man does?”
More laughter passed between them.
“I bet you won’t have any problems in the bedroom with the boxer,” Katherine teased, bumping Yasmin with her hips. “By the way, when do I get to meet him?”
“How about now?”
Yasmin whipped around, spilling some wine on the ground. “Rashawn, how long have you been standing there?” the question sounded like an accusation.
“Long enough.” Wearing his trademark smile, he extended a hand to the impeccably dressed, full-figured woman. “You’re the only person here I haven’t met. You must be Katherine.”
“And you must be Rashawn. Welcome to my home.”
“Thanks for having me.” Smiling, he tucked a hand into his jeans pocket. “This place is gorgeous and the view is out of this world. When I make it big, I’m going to buy my mom a condo just like this.”
The friends shared a skeptical look.
“That’s very generous of you. Most athletes spend their earning
s on cars, jewelry and clothes.”
“My mom sacrificed a lot for me and my brothers. The least I can do is take care of her. She deserves it.”
“That’s admirable, Rashawn. It’s too bad there aren’t more men like you around.” Katherine finished her wine. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to check on my other guests. Enjoy the rest of the evening.”
Rashawn moved toward Yasmin. Behind his back, Katherine nodded emphatically and mouthed, “Nice ass,” before escaping inside.
“You look tipsy,” he said, resting his hands against the railing. Yasmin was trapped. The only way out was to duck under his arms. But how would she look wiggling around in a designer dress? His spicy, fresh cologne wrapped itself around her in a sensuous embrace and brought images of their first kiss to mind.
“Do you know what I want to do right now?” he asked.
“No.”
“Guess.”
“I have no idea,” she lied, staring back at him. Rashawn was just inches from her face. So close she could smell the Merlot on his breath. His eyes gleamed with lust and his voice was thick with bravado. He wanted to kiss her and she wanted it, too. Just not here. She peeked over his shoulder. Good, no one was watching them. Yasmin wouldn’t pigeonhole herself as prim, but there was a time and place for everything and Katherine’s balcony was definitely not the place for kiss number two. “We should get back inside. Guests are getting ready to share their observations.”
Rashawn rubbed his chin against her bare shoulder. “I didn’t come here to discuss the texture of the Riesling or the aroma of the zinfandel. I came to be with you.”
His lips flittered over her ear. Yasmin shivered. Who knew such a simple act could leave her breathless? And when he stroked her back, her knees buckled. His touch was sweeter than wine, soft and tender. Making love to Rashawn or anyone else on a second date was unthinkable, but she was more tempted than she’d ever been before. Keenly aware of their environment and not wanting to give her friends an R-rated show, she lifted his arms and freed herself from his grasp. Yasmin felt silly running away, but what other choice did she have? It was either put some distance between them or fall victim to her desire.
“Down, boy,” she teased, sauntering past him. Stepping through the glass door, she flashed him a coy smile over her shoulder. “Meet me inside when you’ve cooled down.”
Chapter 8
Niobie slid the April issue of Cosmopolitan magazine into the drawer, tossed the empty box of Twinkies on top and dusted the crumbs inside before slamming it shut. Her compulsive, anal-retentive boss would lecture her if her workstation looked anything but perfect. Spraying rose-scented air freshener around her desk, she put on her headset and pretended to be talking to a prospective client.
“Thanks for calling A Better Way Counseling Services. Have a nice day,” she said to the make-believe caller. Wearing a too-bright smile, she moved the mouthpiece away from her lips and said, “Good morning, Dr. Ohaji. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks. I see you’re already hard at work.”
“I’m just trying to keep on top of things.” Standing, she handed her boss a copy of the day’s schedule. “Mr. Tibbs rescheduled for next Wednesday, so you have an extended lunch today. Your coffee is on your desk, along with the alphabetized client list you requested and the tentative program for the charity fund-raiser.”
“Thank you, Niobie. I wasn’t expecting you to have the program typed up so soon.” Yasmin smiled. “You’ve done a lot this morning and you’ve only been here for an hour. Great work.”
“No time spent like the present,” she sang, her eyes filled with phony admiration. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”
“I like your attitude.”
“I learned from the best.”
Smiling proudly, Yasmin continued through the reception area. Niobie watched her, wondering why such an attractive woman would often wear dark, drab outfits. Sure, the business suit was a designer brand, but it did nothing to flatter her body. You could barely tell she had an hourglass figure underneath all those clothes. Flopping down onto her chair, Niobie shook her head. If she had firm hips and toned legs, she’d be in tube tops and Daisy Duke shorts all day long. Her mom always said no one was born with a full deck of cards and she was right. Dr. Ohaji was beautiful, educated and financially stable, but she didn’t know how to dress.
Niobie waited until her boss closed her office door before she resumed reading the titillating article about groupies who catered to professional athletes. Propping her elbows up on the table, she studied the ten ways to seduce a wealthy, high-profile man. Grabbing a yellow highlighter from the pen jar, she underlined each step and quickly committed them to memory.
Closing her eyes, she envisioned what her life could be like. A rich man would solve all of her problems. Instead of working long hours at a job she hated, she could shop at trendy, upscale boutiques where the sales personnel offered customers champagne and waited on them hand and foot. A live-in nanny could look after Miles, her overdue bills would be paid and she could finally afford to buy a car. No more long, depressing rides on the city bus. She’d drive the Lexus during the week, the Jag on the weekends and the Bentley when the mood struck.
Niobie dated regularly but she was no closer to snagging a rich man than a gold digger with a neon sign on her back. Every Saturday she dropped Miles off at her mom’s house and set out in search of the hottest party in town. At the end of the night all she had to show for her effort was a phone number or two, blistered feet and an empty wallet. On the rare occasion that she did meet someone, she’d give him her number and, after determining exactly what he could do for her, decide whether or not he was worth her time. More often than not, he wasn’t.
The phone rang, interrupting her musings. “A Better Way Counseling Services.”
When Niobie heard Rashawn’s voice, she perked up. There could only be one reason for this call. He was finally going to ask her out! Niobie was so excited she could barely sit still. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’m good. Been busy training for my next fight. How are you and Miles doing?”
“Can’t complain. His pediatrician thinks I should put him on a diet. Says he’s considered obese for his height and weight. Can you believe that?”
“Maybe you should sign him up for baseball, soccer or basketball.”
“But he gets plenty of exercise at the community center.”
“Kids can never get enough.”
“You’re right,” she conceded, staring down at the magazine. According to the article, a groupie was never afraid to make the first move. Taking the writer’s advice, she said, “I was just sitting here thinking about you.”
“Ah, okay.” A pause, then, “I was hoping to talk to Yasmin. Is she free?”
“That depends, is this a personal or private call?”
“It’s personal.”
Niobie’s eyes darkened. What the hell? What would Rashawn want with her stuffy, uptight boss? He needed someone like her. A woman from the same neighborhood who knew what it was like to grow up in the inner city. “I’m sorry, but she’s with a client.”
“Is she free for lunch?”
“Dr. Ohaji is fully booked.”
“How about I bring you guys something to eat. Help me out, Niobie. What does she like?”
“I wouldn’t bother coming by if I were you…Dr. Ohaji usually goes out with friends.” She added, “A very close male friend.”
Silence settled over the line.
Niobie’s confidence returned. If she wanted Rashawn to take her seriously, she had to be more assertive. “Do you have a date for the charity fund-raiser?”
“I’m taking my mom. Hey, do you know who Yasmin’s going with?”
What was with all the questions about Dr. Ohaji? Didn’t he know they were completely wrong for each other? It was up to her to put an end to his infatuation with her boss. Niobie was looking for a man who could take car
e of her and, for now, Rashawn Bishop was all she had. “Her date is a brain surgeon, I think. God, Dr. Ohaji dates so many different guys it’s hard to keep them all straight.”
“She does?”
“Yeah, she has a very active social life. Dr. Ohaji really has a thing for doctors, lawyers and entrepreneurs. You know, rich, white-collar men who drive a different convertible every week and vacation in Europe. According to her, the only thing a regular guy can offer her is sex and she has a vibrator for that.”
More silence. And the longer it lasted, the wider Niobie smiled. Rashawn’s gullibility worked to her advantage. Her boss was more interested in working than dating and turned down everyone who asked her out. Sneering, Niobie adjusted her push-up bra. It was a wonder she hadn’t cracked up when she’d mentioned the sex toy. Her boss had said no such thing, but he didn’t have to know that. Now she could pursue Rashawn without Dr. Ohaji distracting him. “Do you have plans tonight?” she asked, her tone rich with sensuality. “I was hoping we could check out Food Fest. It’s international cuisine at its finest. There’ll be Italian, Polish, Jamaican and—”
“I can’t. I’m training.”
Niobie drummed her fingernails on the desk. Was he brushing her off or telling the truth? Would he have turned down Dr. Ohaji? Instead of asking the questions running through her mind, she said, “No problem. Maybe another time?”
“Sure. Is Yasmin still with clients?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Will you tell her I called?” he asked, his voice a combination of disappointment and concern. “It’s important that I speak to her.”
“Of course.”
Rashawn hung up. Yasmin had never mentioned she was dating anyone. He didn’t know why he was surprised. A woman like her was bound to have men beating down her door. Hell, it was a wonder she wasn’t married. Scratching his head, he exited the office and returned to the gym. How was he supposed to compete with a brain surgeon? Powerful, accomplished women liked powerful, accomplished men. Not guys like him. Younger women appreciated dinner and a movie, but he couldn’t take Yasmin to the local diner. She was a doctor, a therapist at that. She liked wine, imported cheese and caviar. He had a thousand dollars in his bank account and Armondo was breathing down his neck for yet another loan. He knew what he had to do: If he wanted to date Yasmin, he’d have to dip into his emergency stash and romance her Donald Trump–style.