Full Figured:
Carl Weber Presents
Brenda Hampton
and
La Jill Hunt
www.urbanbooks.net
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Who Ya Wit
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Seven Year Itch
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Copyright Page
Who Ya Wit
By
Brenda Hampton
Chapter One
I hated my job, but as bad as the economy was, I was pleased to have one. My boss, Mr. Wright, sometimes made me want to splash hot black coffee in his face, but other times he was cool to work for. I’d worked as his administrative assistant for thirteen years, and even though other opportunities at STL Community College became available, I somehow got complacent. Maybe because I knew the grass wasn’t always greener in another department. I’d heard complaints from other administrative assistants who despised their bosses, so dealing with Mr. Wright just had to do.
Then again, maybe it was just me. I turned forty last month, my son, Latrel, had left for college this year, I’d been packing on the pounds, and my divorce from Reggie had recently been finalized. Needless to say, things were tough and never in my wildest dreams did I predict our marriage would end up as it had. We were high school sweethearts and had planned a life together forever. When Latrel was born, I was the happiest woman in the world. He and his father were very close, and over the years they’d gotten even closer. So close, that when Reggie started seeing another woman, Latrel knew about it but didn’t say a word. I knew something was up, and when I would look him in the eyes I could tell that he was hiding something. He was so anxious to go away to college, and moving away from home had become his priority. Surely, I hated to put him in the middle of what was transpiring between me and his father, but I couldn’t help but feel betrayed by both of them. Reggie’s and my marriage had been on shaky ground for at least the last four years. His late nights at the office and constant trips out of town always brought about many arguments. It wasn’t until I saw the infamous lipstick on the collar when I suspected something was up. I finally questioned him about my suspicions, and his response was quite surprising. He had come clean, admitting that he had fallen out of love with me and wanted his freedom.
To this day, I have flashbacks of that dreadful day, and even though it went down as one of the worst days of my life, I appreciated his honesty. No doubt, it was time to call it quits. We hung in there for another three months, but as soon as Latrel left for college, Reggie went his way and I went mine. I still love my ex-husband, but for him to renege on our vows as he had, I lost a lot of respect for him.
While sitting at my desk eating M&M’s, I was daydreaming about my failed marriage and was attempting to type a letter for Mr. Wright that had to get distributed today. My fingers weren’t moving fast enough for him, and when I heard him yell my name, my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I picked up my cup of hot black coffee and instead of taking it into his office with me, I sipped from the cup, smiling from my devious thoughts of tossing the coffee at him. Moving like a turtle, I placed the cup on my desk and straightened my gray fitted skirt that was glued to my healthy curves. I flattened the wrinkles on the front and made sure that the silver buttons were buttoned on my silk rosy-red blouse that squeezed my forty double-D’s. Sometimes Mr. Wright complained about my attire. To him, for a full-figured woman I dressed too sexy, bringing unwarranted attention. And for anyone to stop at my desk to pay me a compliment, that was a distraction.
I considered myself to be a beautiful forty-year-old woman. I was confident about myself and even though my breasts weren’t as perky as they’d been before and some cellulite was visible on my thighs, there wasn’t much for me to complain about. Those things came along with the territory, and my two-times-a-week workout wasn’t going to change a thing. My four-mile walk aerobics class helped me stay fit, but I had an addiction to sweets! Still, my body was proportioned well and what kind of man didn’t want a woman with some meat on her bones? Reggie never had any complaints, but I had a feeling he traded me in for a woman who was half my size and age. It was his loss, though, and whenever I confessed my true age, no one believed me. My hair was healthy as ever and with the help of Pantene shampoo and conditioner, it gave me the feathery bouncing and behaving dark brown long hair I was aiming for. Halle Berry with long hair was written all over my face, but my body was thick like Toccara’s from America’s Next Top Model. Resembling Halle or having Tocca-ra’s body wasn’t enough to spare me from losing the love of my life though. No doubt, I had to get over Reggie and it was a crime for a woman like me to feel so alone.
I slid my feet into the gray three-inch stilettos underneath my desk and made my way into Mr. Wright’s office. He rubbed the wrinkles on his face up and down, massaging it with pressure. His cold blue eyes searched me over and a deep sigh followed as he extended his hand.
“Have a seat, Desa Rae.”
I took a seat in the cherry oak leather chair that sat in front of his rectangular-shaped desk. Papers were spread out everywhere and his phone was buried somewhere underneath. I had attempted to organize Mr. Wright’s office for him, but he was a serious pack rat. He hated to throw away anything, but some of the papers on his desk had started to turn yellow. I turned my eyes to the six smashed cigarettes in his ashtray. His office had a smoky smell covered with cheap Glade garden spray, and I hated it. I figured since he was under pressure, I was about to get an earful. I then looked at the round clock on his wall, seeing that I was ten minutes away from taking my lunch. Obviously, he needed to hurry up with what he wanted to discuss.
Mr. Wright peeled the black-framed glasses away from his face and then combed his fingers through his layered salt-and-pepper hair.
“I need a vacation,” he yawned. “And when I get back, maybe my secretary—administrative assistant—will have all of my letters correctly typed for me, my office will be spotless and I’ll never be late for an appointment because she remembered to tell me.”
I had been through enough in my personal life, and for Mr. Wright to add to my misery wasn’t going to benefit him in any way. No, I hadn’t been giving this job my all, but he knew about my divorce from Reggie. He knew that my son had gone away for college and it seemed as if he wasn’t willing to cut me any slack.
I repositioned myself in the chair and crossed one of my moisturized legs over the other. It was best that I kept quiet, and if I didn’t have anything nice to say then I wasn’t going to say it at all. I turned my attention to my chipped fingernail and thought about how badly I needed a manicure.
“Desa Rae,” Mr. Wright said in a high-pitched voice. “Are you with me or is your mind floating somewhere else?”
With a blank expression on my face, I looked at Mr. Wright. “You asked me to take a seat, so I did it. You haven’t required anything else of me, so I assumed my job was to just listen.”
He threw his hand back at me an
d looked at his watch. “Would you mind bringing me a bagel sandwich with turkey, ham and cheese back for lunch? The deli shop on the corner has awesome sandwiches and you should get one too.”
“My car really needs to be washed, so I planned to stop by a car wash. If you allow me a bit more time, I’ll stop by the deli for our sandwiches.”
“I’ll allow you an extra fifteen minutes,” he said, then handed me a Post-it note. “Before the day ends, there’s a list of things I need you to take care of. It’s not much, but if you have any questions about my requests, you can reach me by cell phone. After lunch, I’m leaving to spend the day with my wife. Today is our thirty-first anniversary and I’ve made special plans for us. Before you go to lunch, if you could call the florist and have some flowers delivered to my house, I would appreciate it.”
I gazed over the Post-it note that specified minimal things for me to do, including finishing the letter I’d been working on and having it distributed. Mr. Wright had even drawn a smiley face on the Post-it, encouraging me to have a great day. I smiled and held out my hand. He inquisitively looked at it.
“What is it?” he asked. “You want more work to do?”
“Happy anniversary, but I need money for your bagel sandwich. You don’t think I can walk in there and get it for free, do you?”
He chuckled and reached in his back pocket. “You’re a fly young woman and you should be able to get whatever you want for free.” He gave me a ten-dollar bill from his busted-up brown leather wallet. His credit cards had fallen out and so had his driver’s license. I reached for it, holding it in my hand.
“At your age, Mr. Wright, what do you know about a woman being fly? Your grandkids aren’t encouraging you to be hip, are they?”
“My grandkids are all a mess. They say I’m too old-fashioned, but I’m set in my ways. I’m appalled that they listen to rap music, and they drink and smoke pot too darn much for me. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve seen any of them read a book, and my youngest grandchild, Katie, she’s adapted a new gothic look. What’s going on with these kids today, Desa Rae? It wasn’t like that when I was growing up.”
I stood up, wiggling my hips a bit so my skirt could drop to knee-length level. “Those days are long gone, Mr. Wright. Things have changed, and the best thing we can do for our children is be there for them.”
He stood up too. His black slacks squeezed his waistline and his pot belly hung over his leather belt that was there to keep everything intact.
“Well, I’m not quite ready to accept this change yet. I’d love people to get back to their conservative values and start doing what’s right for this country.”
I felt our conversation getting political, but I couldn’t help myself from going there. “With Obama being our president, you can count on change. Whether you like him or not, this country is moving more toward the middle and it will stay there for a long, long time to come. To me, he’s what’s right for this country and some of you older folks need to get with the program.”
A die-hard Republican, Mr. Wright rolled his eyes and grunted. He reminded me of an angry Clint Eastwood, but I figured he meant no harm. Sometimes, though, by the things he said, he could easily be considered a racist. Then there were times that he seemed to simply care about people, no matter what color they were. He gave a lot of his money to charity, volunteered, and contributed an enormous amount of money to the college we worked for. His money helped many black students get scholarships and that was something about him that I couldn’t help but to admire.
I followed behind him as he made his way to the door. His black leather shoes had scuff marks on them and his shirt could have been one size larger. For a man to have as much money as he did, when it came to his attire, obviously, clothes weren’t his priority. He wore the same suit at least twice a week and his white shirts always looked dingy. He took frugal to a whole new level, but I guess spending money on clothes wasn’t something he viewed as a necessity.
“I’m going to the men’s room. Don’t forget about my wife’s flowers and I’ll see you when you get back from lunch.”
Mr. Wright flat-footedly walked away and I sat at my desk to call the florist. After I had a dozen roses sent to Mrs. Wright, I called to wish her a happy anniversary. She was one of the nicest women I’d ever met, and even though, at times, I hated to admit it, so was her husband.
The long line at the car wash made me very impatient. The workers were horseplaying around and seemed so darn unprofessional. One worker was on his cell phone cussing at his girlfriend and another was arguing with a white man about some spots the worker missed inside of his car. Lil Wayne’s “Lick Me Like a Lollipop” was thumping through the loudspeakers and when I saw two females out of their cars shaking their asses, I was in disbelief. Of course, the attention they got delayed the workers even more. And after seeing numerous people waiting in line too, I was embarrassed. The hot sun was baking my body and my wet silk blouse was starting to stick to my skin. I stood close by my car, only to reach inside for my glasses to protect my eyes from the sun’s bright glare. As soon as I covered my eyes, my cell phone buzzed. I looked to see who it was and it was Reggie. The last thing I needed was to hear his voice, so I let the call go straight to voice mail.
“Sucker,” I mumbled, tossing the phone inside of my tiny purse. I tucked it underneath my arm, abruptly walking inside of the car wash to speak to a manager.
“Can I help you?” the man behind the counter asked.
“May I speak to the manager?” I politely asked.
“Can I ask what for?”
I forced out a fake smile. “I prefer to speak to the manager about my concerns, if you don’t mind.”
The man twisted his thick crusty lips and walked away from the counter. Moments later, he returned, asking me to take a seat.
“The manager ain’t here, but I got somebody else you can talk to.”
I cut my eyes at him and wouldn’t dare to take a seat in the lined-up blue chairs that had stains all over them. I could have easily gone somewhere else, but this place was close to my job. My Lincoln MKS needed a cleaning right here and right now. Time definitely wasn’t on my side, and I knew that Mr. Wright was eagerly waiting for his bagel sandwich.
I gazed out of the huge smudged window at four black and two white men in darkblue jumpsuits sitting around doing nothing. The line with people waiting had gotten longer and some people started to leave. I shook my head and one of the workers had the audacity to look inside and blow me a kiss. My middle finger trembled by my side and I surely thought about lifting it so he could see it. My don’t-mess-with-me expression said it all, but it wasn’t enough to keep the man from coming inside.
“Is there somethin’ I can help you wit?” he asked, entering the door.
I looked at his name stitched into his jumpsuit. “Bud, I don’t think so. You look as if you’re too busy to help anyone.”
“I’m on my break, but for a scrumptious-lookin’ cookie like you I’ll—”
“Please don’t do me any favors,” I snapped. “There are people out there who’ve been waiting and waiting on your services. This is ridiculous and I can’t believe I’m standing here trying to coach you into doing your job.”
Bud’s eyes damn near popped out of his head. “Another angry black woman,” he spat. “Y’all need to cut us some slack. I offered to help, but you don’t want it. You’d rather stand there wit yo’ fine bitter self and attack . . .” My arched brows quickly shot up. This man didn’t know anything about me to call me bitter. And his “angry black woman” comment sparked a major nerve. My middle finger rose and I was about to tell Bud to kiss where the sun didn’t shine. Instead, I was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. My head snapped to the side and I witnessed an extremely attractive young man standing close. He immediately reminded me of Lance Gross, Tyler Perry’s House of Payne’s character, Calvin. Due to the dirty blue jumpsuit he had on, he wasn’t as clean cut as Calvin, but his dark and love
ly smooth skin, thick dark eyebrows, and “lure me into your bedroom” hooded brown eyes nearly swept my feet from underneath me. His thin mustache was trimmed to perfection and so was the minimal hair that suited his chin. I hurried to gather myself, and when he turned toward Bud, I listened in.
“Are you finished with yo’ break yet?” he asked.
“Almost. I just came inside to see if I could help out this lady. She seems upset about somethin’, but I’m not sure what’s up.”
I looked at the name Roc stitched into Mr. Sexy’s jumpsuit. “Are you the manager?”
He shrugged as if he didn’t give a damn about my concerns. “No. But I’m in charge of things around here right now. What up?”
I dropped my head back and let out a frustrating sigh. All I wanted was a car wash, but instead I had yummy and dummy standing there as if I’d done something wrong. I tightened my lips to keep quiet and made my way to the door. Roc saw the smoke coming from my ears and hurried behind me.
“Did I say somethin’ wrong?” he asked.
I kept on moving. My long hair was bouncing and my brisk walk implied that I would never, ever visit this place again. When I got to my car, I got inside and slammed the door. Roc stood with a confused expression on his face, and while rubbing his coal-black neatly lined waves, he squinted his eyes from the bright sun. I put my car in reverse, but couldn’t go anywhere because another car was behind me. I hit my hand on the horn and couldn’t believe how upset I was.
“Damn it!” I yelled.
Roc stepped up to my car, pressing his hands against it. He bent down and looked at me through the lowered window.
“Are you havin’ a postal moment or what? Maybe I should back away from the car in case I get shot. You too dope to be as angry as you are, and if I’ve done anything to upset ya, hey, my bad.”
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