Quen’s fingers stroked my upper arm. “If it makes you uncomfortable, sugar, you don’t have to tell me a thing.”
“I don’t know where to begin,” I admitted.
“Suppose I ask questions and you answer what you want.”
“Okay.”
“Were you born in Flamingo Beach?” Quen asked.
“No. I’m from New York. The South Bronx.”
He lifted his head to the side and eyed me. “Rough neighborhood, or at least it used to be. How did you survive?”
“Best education I got was on those street. Better than the college degree it almost killed me to get.”
I had my bachelors in journalism and was damn proud of it.
Quen took a long sip of water. I followed suit. He was making me thirsty.
“So what was your reason for moving here?” he asked.
I debated then thought what the hell.
“I fell in love with a man and followed him South. The minute he got to Miami he dumped me. I heard about Flamingo Beach and heard the living was cheap so here I am.”
A muscle quivered in Quen’s jaw but then again maybe it was my imagination.
“That was pretty courageous of you. Most people would have gone home to family and gotten some kind of emotional support.”
“I’m independent,” I said thrusting out my chest. “My mom taught me to be. My father was never around. And I make friends easily, besides people care here. In New York you’re just one of many people struggling to get by.”
Quen digested my comment but didn’t say anything for a while.
“How did you get the job with the Flamingo Beach Chronicle?” he finally asked.
I had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Through the owner, Ian Pendergrass. When his wife died, Ian hired me to take care of his house. We became friends, real good friends. He kept telling me that I was too smart to clean house, he talked me into going to school and he got me the job at the Chronicle.
“That was nice of him.”
“I thought so.”
I didn’t tell him Ian like my uncle had expected payback.
Quen took my hand and studied my palm. Jen had talked me into a French manicure and I wasn’t sure I liked it. I was used to nail art, the kind that came with jewels and flowers, but she told me to stay safe and save the fancy stuff for when I was going places. Sheesh!
“Long life line,” Quen said. “Do you like what you’re doing?”
I hesitated before blurting, “It’s a job and boring as hell. I’m sick of reading all those letters with people complaining.”
“A good reason to get your real estate and property management licenses. I love running the gym and being a personal trainer but I knew I needed something else. Time to eat.”
I followed him inside and helped him serve the meal. We sat at the table facing each other. I chewed on that delicious turkey and screwed up my courage. Finally I said, “I want to be somebody.”
“You are somebody.”
I hung my head. No man had ever spoken to me with such sincerity before, like I mattered. I was starting to sweat. I wanted the attention off me.
“What about you?” I asked. “I don’t know a thing about you except what you told me the other night. You came back to town with a woman you married.”
Quen chewed for a while. At first I thought he didn’t hear me.
Why pussyfoot around. “What really caused the divorce?” I asked.
“Would you like another piece of turkey?”
I would sell my own mother for another slice of that bird. I waited until it was dished onto my plate.
“Well?”
I still wanted to know what had gone wrong with Quen’s marriage and I wanted to hear it from him.
The second piece of turkey was more delicious than the first, either that or I was hungry. Even the steamed rice was good and the greens were like I’d never tasted.
“You and Joya seemed so happy,” I fished.
“We were.”
Quen began spooning rice rapidly into his face.
“Happy people usually don’t get divorced.”
Quen set his knife and fork down. His expression wasn’t what you would call warm and friendly.
“You want the truth, sugar?”
I nodded. I was practically sitting on the edge of my chair waiting to hear the dirt.
“Joya did not want to be married to a personal trainer. She wanted a guy who went to work in a suit and tie. Much as I hate to say this we were lucky she had a miscarriage, or we would have been two people stuck in a very unhappy marriage.”
I’d expected some big revelation; something that might make even Jerry Springer sputter, not something as stupid as that. I thought maybe he’d tell me Joya didn’t like sex, or that she was a lesbian, or a man hater.
“I wasn’t good enough for her. She wanted me to be something I was not.”
I scrunched up my nose, “And you broke up because she thought you weren’t professional?”
“Something like that.”
It didn’t make sense to me, but what did I know. I’d never been married. And Quen looked like a mighty fine catch. He held good conversations and had a job. Two jobs: one as a personal trainer and the other as a nutritionist. How much more could you expect from a man? Plus he owned three condos, and from what the girls told me the equipment down south was in fine working order.
“Manny’s going to bring you the leases to sign tomorrow,” I said changing the subject. “He thinks he might have the other apartment rented as well. Fingers crossed.”
“That’ll ease some pressure.”
I’d cleaned everything off my plate and was hoping for dessert, something more substantial than the fruit I’d brought.
Quen swept me up with him, and began dancing me around the room. His mood had changed and the old carefree Quen was back.
“Guess what, sugar?” he said, “A week from today you and I are scheduled on the Jenna and Tre show. Think you can handle that?”
With Quen’s arms around me I could handle just about anything.
But I needed to keep them around me, and that meant coming up with a plan.
Chapter 9
The following evening I was on my way to the bowling alley to meet Sheena when my cell phone rang.
“This is Chere,” I said in my best Realtor voice. I’d forgotten to check my caller ID.
“It’s Quen. Is this a good time to talk, sugar?”
“Always a good time to talk to you, hon.”
Yeah, yeah, I knew I was flirting. But hearing his voice made my heart pound so hard that I had a hard time keeping the car on the road. I kept a death grip on the wheel of the Honda making sure I didn’t side-swipe someone.
“I could just kiss you,” Quen said, “Manny brought me those two leases. I’m in the money.”
My stomach began to flip-flop. Did he just say he wanted to kiss me?
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Quen asked.
“Nothing.” I had elocution class, but shoot I could miss that at least once. I already had the basics down pat. It was a question of learning to speak like you had marbles in your mouth. Like you were a white woman.
“Good. I know this is late notice but I have tickets for a jazz concert and I’d like us to go together. It’s outdoors so don’t dress up. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
And just like that I had a date with Quen, although I wasn’t sure it was a date. I had the feeling it was more of a thank you for helping him rent those two places. Whatever, I was going to spend time with him and that’s what mattered. I planned on looking damn good.
I had a big old fat smile on my face by the time I sauntered into that bowling alley. Sheena was at the bar dressed in one of her hoochie mamma getups and draped over two men. She managed to untangle herself and came gliding over to me. She held a Colt in one hand.
I grabbed the bottle from her and took a big gulp, rewarding myself.
&n
bsp; “You’re late. I’ve been here half an hour already,” Sheena complained, grabbing the bottle back.
It had been a while since I’d had booze and just that slug went straight to my head.
“You didn’t waste any time getting busy,” I said eyeing the two skanky men.
Sheena popped her fingers and did a chicken neck. “Women need to keep their options open. Come meet Morris and Parnell.”
I really didn’t want to meet any of those men but I couldn’t very well diss them so I went over with Sheena.
Morris was the taller of the two. He was brown skinned and his short hair looked processed. What was it with these men and their updated curly perms. Morris had this big old gold tooth sparkling in his mouth. Parnell was shorter, rounder and darker. He seemed the quieter of the two.
“So this here’s your friend, huh?” Morris said eyeing me like I was his dinner. “Girl, you got a name?”
At first I wasn’t going to answer him then I thought might as well have some fun. I took out a couple of business cards and passed them around. Parnell, from the way his eyes popped, seemed impressed. He probably thought he’d found himself a meal ticket.
“You’re in the real estate business,” he said, making it sound as if I was out of his league. I wasn’t used to this. It was usually the other way around.
I smiled. No actually grinned.
Meanwhile Morris was wagging his head and looking me over like I was a great big pizza pie. “Cher-e, Cher-e be-be,” he began to sing.
“The name’s Chere as in Sonny,” I snarled. I didn’t think it was all that funny. And yes there was a time that I might have led the two losers on and gotten my ego boost, but now that seemed a total waste of time. I just wasn’t interested.
“I thought we were supposed to be bowling,” I complained to Sheena.
“In a little while.”
I didn’t like the way that sounded. I wanted to do what I had come there to do and then go home and start planning my outfit for tomorrow.
I walked up to the bar, and as much as it killed me, ordered a diet soda. When I turned around Parnell was right behind me.
“What is it you do?” I asked him since he seemed the nicer of the two men.
“Ever hear of Dyson Luxury Limousines?”
“No.” Okay, so I outright lied. I wasn’t about to tell this guy that slick Dickie Dyson was always angling to get into my pants.
“Best dang limousine service this town has,” Parnell added.
Richard, slime bucket that he is, must have his men brainwashed.
“You’re a driver?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am, and if you’re not busy one of these nights I’d like to take you for a spin.”
That would happen when hell froze over. At that point I made up my mind if Sheena wasn’t bowling that didn’t mean I couldn’t bowl. I excused myself and hurried off to get shoes and a ball, praying that Sheena didn’t let the beer go to her head and invite the two fools to join us.
As it turned out, Sheena never did bowl so I attached myself to one of the leagues; a group of people that I knew. I ended up getting several strikes.
At an early age I learned never ever to rely on anyone for anything, much less entertainment. I’m good at being independent, and as long as I am able I want to be able to run my own life.
Next day, because I wanted the day to go quickly, I applied myself to reading letters. Jen kept glancing up inquiring about my health. I ignored her, figuring she was just busting on me. We were working out of the Chronicle’s office and at the end of the day I reminded her of what she’d promised.
“Didn’t you say something about a raise if I read twenty letters a day?” I asked.
“Something like that.” She had her eyes fixed on that damn monitor and a pen clenched between her teeth. “But you need to do so consistently. Keep up the pace and we’ll talk.”
I snorted loudly. That must have broken her concentration because she removed a bottle of coral nail polish from her desk drawer and touched up her fingernails.
“You going somewhere special?” I asked.
“Jazz concert. Tre’s radio station was giving away tickets.”
I smiled back at her totally happy. I was beginning to join the ranks of the some bodies. “So am I,” I said.
Jen looked taken aback, even surprised. “How come you didn’t mention it before?”
“How come you didn’t tell me you were going?”
“Because we just made up our minds.”
We being her and Tre.
Jen dipped the brush back into the bottle and tightened the cap. She looked at me with what I interpreted as admiration.
“You have a date?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I gave her a mysterious smile and went back to my letter reading.
Let her wonder who. The last person she probably expected me to be out with was Quen. Quen Abrahams didn’t need to take out Chere Adams, not when he could have his choice of any number of women. But he’d asked me and I planned on taking full advantage of that invitation. I was bound and determined to get him to notice me as a woman.
When I got home the first thing I did was get on the scale. I’d lost another couple of pounds and I’d guessed it because walking was becoming easier. I wasn’t hauling around as much weight and I wasn’t huffing and puffing as much, either. I didn’t feel the constant need for an inhaler.
I tried on a bunch of clothes but none of my casual clothes fit. They were all loose and hung on me. I looked like a bag lady.
Since it was getting late, I went into the bathroom to take a shower. I lathered on some of the fancy gel Jen had left and let the needles of water pound my throbbing body. By the time I’d stepped out of the stall my head was clear.
Jen was my role model and everyone said she was classy and put together. I’d often wondered what it was about her clothing that stood out. Personally I thought she needed more color. Her fashion sense wasn’t exactly what you call happening, but she did keep things simple while mixing them up. She’d wear a velvet camisole top with jeans and a T-shirt tucked into a chiffon skirt. Somehow it all came together.
I decided to take a major leaf out of her book and do my own mixing.
Then the thought popped into my head what about a sarong? I could make that fit. All it required was wrapping long pieces of cloth around my middle and putting a knot on the side. If I wanted bling all I had to do was add a sparkly brooch. Now all I had to worry about was a top.
On our shopping spree, I’d bought a sleeveless top of some kind of stretch material that held you in and was supposed to make you look slimmer. It was black. But that was okay because the sarong I had in mind had red hibiscuses so the black top would be a perfect match.
Quen would be here in twenty minutes. I needed to hurry. I found the oversized scarf and looped it around my belly. It didn’t look too bad. I pinned it securely so as to not have an embarrassing moment then I pulled the top over my head. Okay, I wasn’t Halle, but who was? I finger combed my new do, worked on my make up, playing up my eyes and cheeks and shoved my feet into black open-toed wedges. Then I sprayed on Jen’s perfume.
Just in time, too, because right then the doorbell rang. I gave a quick glance in the mirror and decided I was as pretty as any fat girl could be. If Quen didn’t like me, too bad for him. Chest thrust out and chin up, I went off to answer the door.
“Hey, sugar.” Quen stood in the doorway taking up space. As always he looked good enough to chow down on. He was wearing one of his short sleeve polo shirts, this time in an attractive shade of melon. He was wearing black walking shorts, the kind that circled his hips. A striped designer cloth belt pulled the look together. And he smelled like oranges. I wanted to devour him.
Removing one hand from behind his back he thrust a single rose at me.
“Look at you. I’ll be the envy of every man in Flamingo Park. Ready?”
Dutifully I made a little circle enjoying the
wolf whistle he gave me.
I thanked him for the rose and decided to carry it with me. I wasn’t a blusher but honey chile I was blushing. I could get used to flowers. I gathered my purse and followed Quen out.
In the parking lot he held the passenger door of his convertible Sebring open and I slid in. We were going to arrive at the park in style. And everyone would know that I was his date.
It took several circles before we found parking that’s how crowded it was. It’s a problem when you live in a small town. Whenever there’s a function every Dick, Jane and Harry are out on the rolling lawn, the cheaper seats were packed with people drinking beer and passing around cups filled with God knows what.
Quen kept a hold on my hand as he led me toward the more expensive area, close to the stage, and with a canopy overhead. On the way, we passed families picnicking, couples smooching and people hanging out. Everyone seemed determined to make a good time of it and all sorts of colorful cocktails circulated. Those bright plastic cups held piña coladas and daiquiris. Some might even hold Colt. I smelled the sweet fruity scent of different wines. I couldn’t help thinking that I’d be here on the lawn with the peoples if I’d come on my own.
As we continued on our way people called out to us.
“Hey, Chere!”
“Hey, girl.”
“That you, Quen?”
“Yes, it is. Enjoy the show.”
With a nod here and a greeting there we finally found our fourth row seats with a clear view of the stage.
“Great seats,” I said, smiling at Quen. “How did you manage them?”
“Contacts, love. Tre is a good friend. Want something to drink?”
“Yes, please. Diet soda.”
It was killing me. I wanted a Colt.
Quen nodded agreeably and went off to fetch our drinks. It was getting easier to be more disciplined now that the weight was coming off. My cravings for certain things were becoming more manageable.
“Is that you, Chere?”
All About Me Page 9