All About Me

by Marcia King-Gamble

  One woman was having problems with her husband and was threatening to do in the “ho” that kept him out late at night. I prayed that “ho” wasn’t Sheena because the woman truly sounded like she meant business. Somebody else was going on about the upcoming centennial. In a year or so Flamingo Beach would be celebrating it’s one hundredth birthday. Preparations were already underway, new buildings were being constructed, and revitalization efforts had begun on Flamingo Row.

  “The city commissioned an artist from Miami to make 100 flamingos,” someone else said. “They’re to be placed all over town and then put up for auction. The proceeds go to the beautification of our town.”

  This was all news to me. I’d read somewhere about other cities doing a similar thing with cows and pigs, but flamingos? Oh, well.

  A loud voice mentioned Joya Hamill’s name and I really tuned in.

  When I looked in that direction I spotted Joya’s grandmother, owner of Joya’s quilts, seated under the dryer. She was conducting a loud conversation with the woman next to her who was equally as old, if not older. She was the only white woman in the place. I recognized Ida Rosenstein because she lived on Jen’s floor. The old lady was hard of hearing, and as she so often said it, “color blind.” Ida didn’t care whether you were black, white or purple.

  “So when is your granddaughter coming home?” she asked

  “Any day now,” Granny J answered. “As soon as she can straighten a few things out.”

  “What does she have to straighten?” Ida asked, dipping a head covered in rollers out from under the dryer.

  “You know young people,” Granny J said. “She found an apartment here, and now it’s just a matter of making sure her leave from work comes through. Then she’ll pack up her things and get a stand-by ticket. You know she works for the airlines.”

  “Why did you say she was moving back?” Ida asked. “I thought she liked her stewardess job?”

  I was totally tuned in. I didn’t want to miss a word.

  “Keep your damn head still—” La Veronique warned “—or I’ll hurt you.”

  Granny J got kind of quiet which meant I really had to strain my ears. “Joya’s just coming home for a while. She finds the flight attendant job stressful and she says the glamour’s gone. Now you’ve got to keep an eye out for terrorists and they have them cleaning up the plane. She’s sick of cutbacks and people complaining.”

  “Hmm!” Ida snorted. “Her coming home wouldn’t have anything to do with that muscle-bound jerk she was married to?”

  Jerk? Where did the old witch get off calling my man a jerk? Quen had never been a jerk as far as I knew. Big he might be but mean he was not. I should have given that busybody a piece of my mind. Instead I sucked in a mouthful of hot air and waited for Granny J’s answer.

  Snip. Snip. Snap. Snap. La Veronique laid down her scissors and began greasing my scalp, prepping it for the harsh relaxer. She was tuned in, as was the rest of the shop, and at the volume those two old ladies were going at, you’d be deaf not to miss it.

  “You know,” Granny J said, sounding a little sad, “it’s hard to tell young people anything today. I thought Quen was good for Joya. He settled her down.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want to be settled. Maybe that’s exactly why she left him,” Ida said wisely. “And maybe now she’s changed her mind.”

  Except for the droning dryers, the shop was now suspiciously quiet. It sounded to me like Ida might be onto something.

  Could Joya Hamill-Abrahams be coming back to town to pick up where she left off with Quen?

  It would be a cold day in Flamingo Beach before I let that happen.

  Chapter 8

  “Come on in and have a seat.” Luis Gomez, editor in chief of the Flamingo Beach Chronicle said, waving his stinky unlit cigar at me. As I entered “The Dungeon”—his hole of an office, he moved a stack of papers from one chair to another.

  “What can I do for you?” Luis peered at me over his half moon glasses. “There’s something different about you. New hair, makeup, dress?”

  Typical man he didn’t have a clue.

  “I lost fifteen pounds,” I said proudly.

  “Hmm. How did you do that?”

  “The usual way. Diet. Exercise.”

  Luis was making conversation. He really didn’t want to hear how I lost weight so I spared him the details. Plus Luis was a little scared of me because he knew I knew his boss, Ian, and in a more intimate way.

  “Let me just get to the point,” I said, sensing I was losing him quickly.

  Luis’s eyes darted back to his monitor. I could tell his mind was on other things and not on me. I’d had to beg and plead with Lola, his lazy-ass assistant to get in to see him. I’d even had to buy the bitch lunch and then she agreed to squeeze me in, and then she wanted to know what this was all about.

  “Sure, go ahead. I’m listening.”

  The hell he was. But I had to be real careful about how I positioned this so I didn’t sound disloyal. And so I approached it in the only style I knew, real straightforward.

  “It’s like this,” I said. “I’m here to ask for a raise because I deserve it.”

  “Think so?” Luis smiled at me as if we were sharing an off-color joke.

  “I’ve been working here three years and during that time I’ve had three bosses. Who do you think keeps them on track?”

  Luis crossed his fingers under his chin and gave me his full attention.

  “Well there’s something to be said for longevity, and you are well informed.”

  “Pays to keep up. Plus I read every damn letter the Dear Jenna column gets—” damn had slipped out “—and I give my opinion.”

  “And your point being?”

  I puffed out my chest. Luis eyes were now stuck on my triple Ds. Ah ha I had him!

  “My point being that not only do I deserve a raise but I deserve to have my name mentioned in the column.”

  Luis lips twitched. He thought it was funny. We’d see who had the last laugh.

  “And how would you suggest I break the news to your boss. Should I tell her that her column is now a joint venture and needs to be renamed?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m just saying give credit where credit is due. And yes I’ve come up with a name, Breaking it down with Chere and Jenna.”

  If a deejay like Tre Monroe could step down off his high horse, and share a couple of shows with his fiancé and even change the show’s name so she got recognition then Luis could do the same for me. I’d been here for Jen, stuck with her through all sorts of garbage. I was loyal.

  She’s been loyal to you, too. She’s letting you rent an apartment she could get four times more for at five hundred dollars per month. She’s kicking in the rest.

  Luis threw back his head and roared. I didn’t know what was so funny.

  His skinny ass assistant, Lola, stuck her head in the doorway. “Are you okay Mr. Gomez. Would you like me to get you some water?”

  Lola didn’t offer me water. I wasn’t worth her time. She knew who provided a paycheck. Luis looked at me again and began to sputter. What the hell was so funny?

  After awhile I figured better join him and we laughed together. Then Luis picked up the phone and pushed a button. How rude I thought.

  “Jen,” he said. “Can you come into my office for a minute. Chere’s in here with me and we need to include you.”

  Busted! I wasn’t sure how this was going to go over. I mean I was seated in her boss’s office and it must look like I was complaining and had gone clear over her head. But it wasn’t as if I hadn’t brought up the topic of a raise and recognition before.

  She’d ignored me and I had to do something. This was about money and recognition, and me being able to live in the manner I could easily become accustomed to. I wasn’t going to get rich on real estate unless I owned some of it. My salary here was so paltry it barely kept me in food.

  Jen came hurrying in, her streaked and straightened hair gather
ed in a high ponytail. She wore a turquoise shell with a matching shrug, and a white skirt that stopped about half an inch above her knee. She had turquoise sling backs on her feet. The back of them had a little white bow right over the heel. She looked perfect. She always looked perfect. Perfect and cool.

  “Hi Luis, Chere.” She nodded at me. “I wondered where you’d gone to.” The last was directed at me. Luis had his stubby fingers still clasped together, he watched us trying to figure out if we were friends or enemies. “Is there a problem Luis?”

  “Chere’s in here to discuss a raise.”

  “Raise? Chere are you due one?”

  I nodded. Who cared if my double chins bobbed? I’d lost a chin so far with my weight reduction. I tried to read Jen’s expression.

  “In that case,” Jen said, “a written evaluation would be in order. Chere how about you doing your own self assessment and submitting it to me.”

  “You know what I do,” I shot back at her. “Why do I have to write anything down?”

  One of her waxed eyebrows hit the ceiling. “If you want me to go to bat for you then you need to write down your accomplishments. It is money we’re talking about.”

  “Uh, there’s another thing,” Luis interjected. “Chere feels that the column’s name should be changed. She has a suggestion for what it should be called.”

  What a pot stirrer Luis was.

  “Does she now?” I saw a glint in Jen’s hazel eyes; a possible warning that she might hurt me. “We’ve taken up enough of your time,” she said, giving me the look that said, “I better get up and follow her.” So I did.

  Outside she said, “What the hell was that all about?”

  “I need money.”

  She waited until we were back in her office before responding. “Then you should have discussed it with me.”

  “I did.”

  “When?”

  “Every chance I get.” I grabbed a bunch of letters and began ripping the envelopes open.

  Jen placed a hand on my shoulder. “Hon, you know that I’ll do what I can, but I really wish you’d spoken to me first.”

  “Trying to get some money out of that tightwad is impossible,” I grumbled. “I was counting on him being afraid of Ian.”

  Jen narrowed her eyed. “And for that you made me look like a fool.”

  “I was sick of pleading with you. Nothing was happening.”

  “Okay, here’s the deal. You start producing. You need to read at least twenty letters per day. If you can keep that up I’ll see what I can do about bringing up your hourly rate.”

  “Can I have that in writing?” I threw back. Trust was not something I did easily.

  “Fine.”

  Jen found a notepad and scribbled something which she then flipped at me. I caught it, scanned it and stuffed it into my hot pink purse that had purple flowers blooming off the front. I’d hold her feet to the fire if she didn’t come through that’s how desperate I was for money. I wanted to start living nicely like a real estate agent should, and in my own place.

  “I don’t suppose you got anything to eat?” I asked Jen when she was seated again and I’d determined she wasn’t still mad. “I’m starving.”

  “No food, Chere, but there’s plenty of work.”

  When she wasn’t looking I stuck out my tongue.

  Childish, yes, but it relieved frustration.

  Later that day, I took special care to dress, and all on account of me going to Quen’s place. Being down a couple of dress sizes was reason to strut my stuff. I put on a pair of black capris and a long black T-shirt that covered my butt. Then I jazzed up the outfit with silver earrings and plunked a silver cuff on my wrist and then I put on my silver sandals with the little bitty heels.

  I threw in a few curls with the hot iron and finger combed the new do. Short was growing on me. I hadn’t worn my hair this short in years. So maybe Jen was right. I did have cheekbones and eyes. Eyes that I needed to play up. I got out the pencil and outlined the corners. Now I reminded myself of Diana Ross, thank God I had gotten rid of the weave.

  I spritzed on some perfume—Jen’s of course, and got into the elevator. Quen lived in the apartment across from Jen’s other apartment that had been renovated. I’d called earlier about the grocery list but he’d said, “My treat this time. The next is on you.”

  But I didn’t want to arrive empty handed and I couldn’t think of a thing to bring? Colt wouldn’t cut it. I needed something fancier. I wasn’t a wine drinker and I didn’t know the difference between vintage and shandy but I wanted to make a good impression so I settled on fruit. Stopping to buy it would have me running ten minutes later than planned but at least I wouldn’t show up with my two empty hands.

  I was standing, balancing the container of fruit in one hand and scanning the list of names on the directory. Finally I found Quen’s name and I sucked in a breath and pressed hard on the buzzer.

  “Chere is that you?”

  “Yeah, yes it’s me.”

  Gotta work on that elocution. Gotta keep remembering that.

  The front door buzzed open and I entered. Two security guards manned a circular desk, although they knew me they just nodded, but I could tell the wheels were rapidly turning in their heads. They must be trying to assess the situation.

  Smiling and waving I headed for the elevator. By the time I found 4E, Quen’s door was slightly ajar.

  I stuck my head through the opening. “I’m here,” I called. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Come on in, sugar.” Quen’s voice came from some place I couldn’t see.

  I took a minute to straighten my clothes. I plastered a smile on my face and entered. Quen’s head was in the oven and all I could see was a nice toned butt. Delicious. The smell coming from that oven made me want to push him aside and dive into whatever he was cooking.

  He snapped closed the oven door and turned to me, at the same time wiping his hands on a towel.

  “You look great, sugar. Did I tell you how much I like your hair?”

  He had mentioned it several times, telling me I looked like a young version of Anita Baker. I held out my fruit. “I brought this.”

  Quen took the bowl from me and glanced at the contents.

  “It wasn’t necessary but still nice of you.” He set the fruit on the counter and turned his attention to what was cooking on top of the stove.

  “Something smells good,” I said.

  “We’re having turkey, wild rice and greens.”

  “Rice?” I repeated, frowning. “Isn’t rice fattening?”

  “Not if eaten in moderation. The body needs some carbs to function.” He bent over, giving me another mouthwatering view of his butt, and removed turkey breasts from the oven. Then he turned off the stove. “I’ll get us drinks.”

  While Quen was making drinks I wandered around the apartment, purposely avoiding the bedrooms. His decor was like him, clean, practical and to the point, totally different from my taste. The living room held a leather sofa, a matching lounger and ottoman. A low coffee table had health and fitness magazines fanned out on it. A rubber plant in one corner needed watering.

  There were no window treatments to block the view so when you looked out of the sliding glass doors all you saw was beautiful, blue ocean. The dining area overlooked the ocean as well. It held a round glass table and four matching high-backed chairs. My slides clip-clopped against polished wooden floors as I stared out at that wide wonderful ocean.

  The scent of citrus had me thinking of oranges. Quen handed me a frosty party glass with a clear liquid in it; a slice of lemon floating on the top. He clinked our glasses together.

  “Here’s to you, beautiful, and our new venture.”

  Hoping for a nice alcoholic drink I took a long sip and almost spat it out. Water! I tried not to show my disappointment.

  “Water’s good for you. Combined with lemon it can be both cool and cleansing. Citrus combined with certain foods breaks down fats.”

  I smile
d loving this moment of intimacy. Those chocolate-brown eyes were looking directly at me and my teeth were chattering. Hell, my knees were knocking, too. I wanted to knock boots with this man.

  Easy, girl. You need to figure out how to get the attention of a man like him.

  I went into real estate agent mode.

  “Do we have a date set for our radio interview?” I asked, mimicking Cummings.

  “As a matter of fact we do. Let’s talk about it over dinner. Until then let’s take this out to the balcony.”

  Quen swept my glass out of my hand and led the way.

  A cooling breeze helped me simmer down. I watched gigantic palm trees swaying in the distance and I inhaled a strong smell of salt. On the board-walk, a few energetic types jogged and mothers pushed babies in strollers. On the beach lovers walked hand in hand, stopping every now and again to embrace and kiss. I envied them; must feel good to be loved. I’d never been romanced. The kinds of men that came onto me didn’t believe in that stuff. I watched the sun dip behind the horizon and darkness slowly descend.

  “This time of day is my favorite,” Quen whispered. “It’s beautiful and peaceful and makes you believe that tomorrow miracles can happen.”

  I needed a miracle to get to him.

  Quen stood very close to me. His masculinity was intimidating and made me not think clearly. Having him this near and smelling so good made me want to rip off my clothes and beg him to take me. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to scare him off. We’d come a long way from personal trainer and trainee to business partners. He didn’t need to know I wanted more. Had always wanted more.

  “Tell me about you?” he asked, surprising me. “What are Chere’s hopes and dreams?”

  “Right now getting by.”

  “Oh, come on, there must be more, sugar. You’re an assistant to the town’s advice diva. You’ve gotten a real estate license. I heard you were taking continuing education classes. Something must drive you?”

  You. You. You. I wanted to shout.

  He was waiting for my answer. No one had ever asked about Chere, the person before. I’d always been the fat funny woman that no one ever took seriously. Now where to begin and what parts to skip? Quen had probably heard a lot about me. It was rumored I slept around, and yes I’d had my share of men but I didn’t just hop into bed with Tom, Dickie or Manny.