All About Me

by Marcia King-Gamble

  Later that day, after I’d called up everyone in town to get the full scoop on Joya Hamill, I also decided to get my lard butt back to elocution class. Earlier, Ms. Thang had sounded like she had marbles in her mouth. I’d always thought of her as an uptown girl and high maintenance. The buzz was that she’d pushed Quen constantly, urging him to make it, to be somebody other than a personal trainer. To hear some speak she’d pushed him right out of her life. What it boiled down to was that it was all about her and the material things that made her a happy camper.

  Whatever. Quen married her so there had to have been something that appealed to him. More reason than ever for me to get myself to elocution class tonight. And if it meant conjugating every last verb then so be it.

  I had that interview coming up as well and I didn’t want to sound like some fat, dumb woman Quen had picked up off the street. If I was going to be his spokesperson I needed to look and act the part. And as much as I hated to ask for help I needed to call on another black female with class and style. I picked up my cell phone and called Jen.

  “Yes, Chere?” she said sounding a bit suspicious of me. She was probably still ticked about me going over her head and asking Luis for a promotion. I explained what I needed then held my breath.

  “You want me to help turn you into something you’re not?” she asked in a tone I didn’t know how to interpret.

  I chose to think she wasn’t putting me down.

  “I want you to help me become a lady,” I repeated. “Please.”

  “First you need to think of yourself as a lady. Aren’t you taking diction classes or something like that?” Jen asked.

  “I am but it’s not enough. I need to learn to walk the walk and talk the talk.”

  There was a huge pause on her end. “Why now, Chere? What brought this about?”

  She wasn’t stupid and I didn’t feel like lying.

  “I ran into Joya in the grocery store today.”

  “Yes, so? You knew she was in town.”

  “She’s skinny and she talks just like you,” I wailed. “I need to learn how not to sound like something other than street. I need to get this weight off. I want to wear cute little outfits with my belly hanging out. I want to be the girl that classy men take out. Well no, not just any classy man, I want Quen to look at me and want me.”

  “He seems to like you fine just the way you are. I saw the way he looked at you at Mario’s,” Jen said dryly.

  My heart beat a rat-a-tat-tat. “And how’s that?” I needed affirmation.

  “Like you were his sugar and he couldn’t wait to lap you up.”

  “He did lap me up.” I caught myself. I’d said too much. I swore loudly.

  I heard laughter on the other end. But Jen seemed quite serious when she spoke. “Are you trying to better yourself for you or Quen?”

  “For both of us.”

  I meant every word. My reinvention had been a long time coming. I was willing to change for Quen because I wanted him. But my life hadn’t been that wonderful hauling around my weight. I was always tired, breathing heavy and needing an inhaler. My clothing had a tendency to bunch up and grab me in the crotch. Men that I wanted didn’t seem to want me. And that left me being hounded by winners like Richard Dyson and Manny Varela, who would go with about anything that was female.

  My makeover was long overdue.

  Jen broke into my thoughts. “You’re expecting a crash course, to be whipped into shape for your radio interview? I can’t work miracles, hon. It’s only a few days away.”

  “I was hoping you could. Just help me get through it without embarrassing myself.”

  “That I might be able to do, but anything else is going to take time, just like losing weight the healthy way takes time.”

  Time was not something I had on my side, especially with Joya back in town and looking as good as she did.

  Desperate times called for desperate measures. I was starting a crash diet beginning now. And I was going to pay attention to every last word Mr. Cummings had to say tonight.

  “Bravo, Ms. Adams, bravo. You’re finally getting it.” Mr. Cummings said, applauding me.

  The homeboys in the back of the class rolled their eyes and broke into applause.

  The obnoxious man had dragged me up in front of the class and had me translate a paragraph from Ebonics into his queen’s English. I’d done it to his liking I guess.

  “You go, girl,” one of the homies shouted.

  I took a little bow and skipped back to my seat. For the rest of the evening I paid close attention to everything Cummings said and everything he wrote on that blackboard. And at the end of the class as people were slinking out, he curved a finger at me.

  “Ms. Adams may I see you for a moment?”

  What, now?

  I approached his desk hesitantly. Cummings looked at me over those red glasses of his. He actually smiled, a first for him. I’d always thought if that happened his face would crack.

  “You are coming along, Ms. Adams. You have made amazing improvement. Don’t be surprised if the class votes you valedictorian. You would do well to prepare a speech, just in case.”

  I hadn’t expected him to praise me but it felt good to be singled out in a good way. I got all choked up and before I totally lost it, raced away.

  Much as I hated the thought of it, I needed to talk to Dickie Dyson about a car and I needed to get over to his place before the close of business. My old Honda had taken to hiccupping and burping and I was afraid that one day it would leave me stranded. Even if I could afford to put money down on a new one, which I couldn’t, my credit was so screwed up no one would fund me. And I couldn’t afford the monthly car payment for a new one.

  Manny told me that Richard sometimes sold his used sedan’s to private citizens instead of trading them in. I’d found out through one of his people that he had a couple of cars that might serve my purpose. So I was bent and determined to renew our acquaintance.

  As luck would have it, when I swung through Richard’s double doors with the bright red lettering on the outside, he was inside his fish tank of an office. Before I could announce myself to the receptionist he came bolting onto the floor.

  “Hey, fine thang.” He moved in as if to kiss me and I moved safely out of range. Richard looked me up and down and made a face. “You’re too skinny. You’re losing weight and in all my favorite places.”

  “I thought that would be a good thing,” I shot back watching his eyes linger on my chest and move down.

  “A good thing for who? A man needs something to hold on to.”

  Mind you he’s saying this loud enough for everyone to hear, making it clear that ours was an intimate relationship. The key word is was.

  “Can I talk to you privately?” I asked, inching my way toward his glass cubicle.

  “Sure thing. I knew you’d eventually come around.”

  The skinny bugger’s moustache was practically jumping up and down as he hotfooted back to his office.

  Richard waved me into a red velour swivel chair and took a seat in a leather high back one.

  “Richard Junior misses you,” he said boldly.

  “I didn’t think he ever got homesick.”

  I kept it light I needed to play this carefully. I wanted something. Richard wanted something.

  “Let me show you just how much.”

  Richard stood up from behind his desk and surely enough he had a huge bulge in the front of his pants. I thought I would die.

  “We need to talk business,” I quickly said before things got out of hand.

  Richard got serious. “What kind of business? You better not be telling me the rabbit died cause its been months since you let me touch you.”

  “Almost a year.” What I wanted to add but didn’t, is that I didn’t feel as if I was missing a thing.

  “Much too long and I’m not real happy about it.”

  “I want to buy one of your used limos,” I said, to get him off the subject. “And you
’ll need to finance me.”

  “You’re here because you want to buy one of my vehicles?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Which one you want?”

  He had to be pulling my leg, but he was actually sounding agreeable, so to test him I pointed out the window at the longest limousine in the parking lot.

  “What about that one?”

  “It’s yours.” Richard named a figure that damn near choked me. He must have seen my face. “There’s a van with low mileage that I’ve been thinking of getting rid of. I use it for pickups and drop-offs at the airport and not much else. Most who lease a limo are looking to go places in style. Vans are for families, church groups and athletic teams. This van isn’t bringing in the income I hoped.”

  I brightened. “So you’ll sell it to me.”

  “Umm, hmm. But there are conditions.”

  I hadn’t thought of a van but it just might work. It was practical and newer than the Honda. Plus it would be good for running clients around in.

  “How much do you want for it?” I asked, ignoring his “conditions.”

  Richard thought for a moment. “I’d make it affordable and we’d work something out.”

  “How soon could I have it?”

  “As soon as you want.”

  “I could leave with it tonight?”

  “Yes, you could.”

  This was much too easy. And Richard still hadn’t discussed his conditions with me.

  “And how would the payments work. Do you need a deposit?” I asked.

  He thought again. “Nah, I don’t need a deposit from you. You’re a friend. The van’s all paid for so you’d pay me directly.”

  I don’t know what possessed me but I kissed Richard on the cheek. And of course he grabbed me up and kissed me on the mouth, right in that fishbowl of an office where everyone could see.

  Wouldn’t you know it, Quen chose that moment to walk in. He saw what was happening and walked out again.

  I pushed out of Richard’s arms, and, not caring how it looked, went running after him.

  “Quen!” I shouted. “Quen!”

  But he didn’t break stride. So I kicked off my shoes and started to sprint.

  “Quen!”

  Chapter 13

  I caught up with Quen as he was getting into his car. I leaned my big fat butt against the front of that car and dared him to drive away.

  I knew he had heard me running after him. My heels had been thudding loudly against the pavement and my breath was coming in great big pants.

  He started up the engine. There was no way he would move off.

  I didn’t move and finally he turned the car off and got out.

  We faced each other.

  “You could do a heck of a lot better than Richard Dyson,” he said.

  “I’m not doing Richard. I went in to buy a car. Where have you been, anyway?”

  I didn’t owe Quen an explanation but at the same time I didn’t want him thinking I was a “ho.”

  I know I sounded like I owed him, but, in fact, he was the one who owed me an explanation for dropping off the face of the earth. We’d made love like it was going out of style and then he’d up and disappeared

  Quen’s expression didn’t encourage questions. His face looked like he’d eaten something sour.

  “I needed a few days to sort some things out. I needed space.”

  “Umm, hmm. So when do we start back exercising again?” I needed something concrete, a reason to hope.

  “I was thinking that you might be better off with another trainer.”

  “What!” I moved in closer until the smell of oranges filled my nose. “How am I going to be your spokesperson if you and I aren’t working out together and you’re not watching what I eat?”

  He looked at me for a long time and then he said, “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe we should ditch that plan.”

  I was so frustrated by then and damn close to crying, I punched Quen in the arm.

  “I know why you’re doing this,” I said. “And I’m not going to let you.”

  His fingers clamped down on my wrist and he pulled me close to him and looked me in the eye. “It’s wrong what I did. I’m your trainer and I shouldn’t be having a personal involvement with you. It’ll just confuse things.”

  “Says who?” I shouted back. “Don’t I have a say?” Call me demanding but I wasn’t just going to step aside and let him walk away.

  “Chere, you have plenty of men interested in you. You’re looking to trim down and improve your health and right now you don’t need any involvements.”

  It sounded like B.S. to me, as if he had rehearsed this speech and was hell-bent on delivering it.

  I stabbed one of those big biceps with my fingernail. “You mean you don’t need any complications. You’re just bent out of shape because Joya’s back in town and you’re having a hard time dealing with that. You and I have been friends for too long for you treat me like this.”

  Quen gave me one of those sideways looks. I just knew Richard and the employees in his office had their noses pressed against the glass panes as they stared out onto the lit parking lot, and watched the drama. I didn’t care.

  We stared each other down until Quen looked away. A slow grin spread across his face. “You are one feisty woman. Yeah, I’m dealing with stuff, and yeah it’s not easy having your ex-wife pop up again and move into a place that you own.”

  “I understand,” I said bobbing my head. “It’s a lot to handle. Just as long as you and I are okay, that’s all I care.”

  My palms were still clammy but I needed reassurance. I didn’t want to scare Quen off by telling him I loved him.

  “Ah, sugar,” he said on a deep sigh. “You are by far the best lover I’ve ever had. We connected. You were all the things you read about. Open, loving, adventurous, wild and crazy. That’s why I’m thinking this isn’t good. We need to put distance between us. You need a trainer who’s fully engaged in helping you to get weight off.”

  “Quen,” I pleaded. “We’re doing a radio interview in a few days. The entire town is going to tune in. There’s been advertisements on the radio. You and me are a package. This is business not personal.”

  He started to laugh. “You don’t give up do you?”

  “No. All I want is to go back to the way we were. It was comfortable. You’re the bestest friend a woman could ever have. If we happen to end up in bed again, then we’ll write it off to shit happening,” I added slyly. “Now excuse me, I gotta go see a man about a car.”

  Quen kissed me on the cheek. “You’re something else, sugar,” he said. “See you tomorrow at six. Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t.”

  I blew him a kiss and headed back for Dickie’s.

  My mother used to say I could sell ice cubes to Eskimos. I’d just sold an entire ice sculpture.

  I drove off from Dyson’s Luxury Limousines with that Mazda minivan. Richard said I could give him the down payment later and he would go ahead and arrange the transfer of ownership. I knew he wanted me to owe him, but I needed a vehicle and so I decided to deal with the issue when it reared its ugly head.

  My radio interview was in two days, and I was starting to get nervous. What if I said something stupid? I didn’t want to embarrass Quen. The idea was to talk up the weight loss program and the nutrition business. If I did good I was already fantasizing how our evening would end.

  For the next two days I agonized and spent hours practicing my diction and rehearsing with Jen. By the time the interview rolled around I felt fairly confident.

  Quen and I had decided to arrive separately. I showed up driving the green minivan, parking it right next to Quen’s Sebring. I’d seen him that morning for a forty minute workout session and things between us were back to normal. Almost.

  Instead of taking the elevator, I walked up the stairs. Quen was seated in the waiting room when I walked in and he got up and came to greet me.

  “Nervous?” h
e asked, holding my hand.

  “A little. The biggest problem will be for me to remember the grammar stuff. I don’t want to embarrass myself or you, and I sure as hell don’t want to sound ghetto.”

  “You’d never embarrass me. Just be yourself.” He chucked me under my chin. He was back to treating me like a little girl.

  He got us both a cup of water from the cooler and we sat shooting the breeze. A young boy, who looked like he’d barely hit puberty, came to get us. He introduced himself as the assistant producer.

  Tre waited inside a tiny box of a room. Quen whispered to me this was the broadcast booth.

  “Hey,” Tre said, waving us into two seats. “We’re on in five.” He had earphones looped around his neck like a dog collar.

  We had a quick briefing as to the kinds of questions he would ask. So far it didn’t seem like it would be too difficult.

  “Once we open the phones and the listening audience call in,” Tre said, “expect anything. You can choose to answer questions or not.”

  “You’re on the air in ten,” the production assistant mumbled, sticking his head in the booth.

  I sucked in a deep breath. My palms were clammy and I felt the beads of sweat on my upper lip.

  “You’ll be fine, sugar.” Quen gave my hand a little squeeze. “Now breathe.”

  “Five, four, three, two, one,” the assistant called.

  Quen gave us the thumbs up and started in.

  “Yo Flamingo Beach, D’Dawg here. Tonight joining me are two of the Beach’s most popular black folks. Give a shout out to Quentin Abrahams, most of you know him as Quen, and Chere Adams, who has two jobs one as Realtor and the other at the Chronicle. How you folks doing tonight?”

  “We’re doing just fine,” Quen said speaking into the microphone and nudging me with his elbow.

  “Doing great,” I said, my voice sounding all quivery.

  “Quen, as most of you know is a personal trainer and a nutritionist. He’s here to talk to you about getting rid of those love handles. So how do we get a body like Will Smith or Halle Berry?” Tre asked.