She dropped to her knees and looked up at him suggestively. “Can you guess what my last surprise is?”
He was getting nervous. “What are you doing?”
“You’ll see.” She bent down, reached under the bed and pulled out a brown box. “This is for you.”
He opened up the box. Inside were three rows of green and white business cards with a gold trim. DeShaun picked out one.
Service Specialist
Providing all your service needs for:
Intimate gatherings
Weddings
And other social functions.
At the bottom of the card was contact information; his name and phone number.
“What is this?” he asked.
“What do you think it is? It’s your business card. Do you like it?”
“It’s great.” He was slightly confused. “But how—when?”
“I had them made up the first time we talked about you doing this. I put a rush on them since I knew you’d need them for tonight.”
“I don’t know what to say—”
“How about thank you?”
“Thank you.”
She took him by the hand. “We’d better go. And bring a few cards with you to pass around.” She grabbed the keys from the dresser and handed them to DeShaun. “You don’t mind driving the Mercedes tonight, do you? I plan to get drunk beyond belief.”
Still speechless, DeShaun shook his head. Apparently, he was now the owner of a brand-new business and his wife had no idea. Just another secret he was keeping from Naomi. He suddenly realized lying was a habit that he didn’t much care for.
DeShaun
“Who do we say I am?” DeShaun asked when they walked into the party. He scanned the scene and quickly surmised that, as expected, he was the only brother in the house—as a guest. There were plenty of black guys walking around in aprons and bow ties with trays in their hands.
“Tell them you’re DeShaun, the Service Specialist,” Jenn said.
“They’re not going to question why I’m with you?”
Jenn shrugged. “Why would they? And even if they do, it’s none of their business. I bring escorts to these boring soirees all the time.”
“You do?”
“They’re mostly my friends that they already know,” Jenn admitted. “This will be the first time I bring a gorgeous black man to the party.”
DeShaun took a deep breath, not knowing if he felt up to dealing with the stares and whispers of snobby, rich people. Everything was cool as long as he was providing them with drinks, but tonight, he felt out of his element. He decided to have a drink. He grabbed a glass of wine off the table and chugged it. One or two more glasses and he might be able to stomach the inquisitive stares.
They walked through the immaculate house, past the kitchen and straight for the outside back patio. Jenn swished open the double glass doors and made a beeline to a small table with two older couples, enjoying a bottle of wine.
“Skip and Barbara. How nice to see you again,” Jenn said, as she gave each person at the table a double kiss on the cheek.
They exchanged small talk for several minutes. Both older couples had grandchildren in their thirties. One was a doctor, another a lawyer, blah, blah, blah. It was pretty much what DeShaun guessed rich people conversed about at these parties. Eventually, the couple looked past Jenn and directly at him. “And whom do we have here?”
“This is DeShaun Knowles,” Jenn said. “DeShaun, these are the Ayersons and the Yorks.”
The couples waited for a more detailed explanation. When they received none, one of the women asked Jenn, “So, how do you know Mr. Knowles?”
“He’s a Service Specialist.”
“A Service Specialist?” one of the men questioned. The two women exchanged sly grins, which even Stevie Wonder could have seen.
“What does a Service Specialist do exactly?” the oldest-looking of the two women asked.
DeShaun looked at the men and hated the fact that he felt intimidated. They weren’t any better than him; they just had more money.
“I’m glad you asked,” Jenn said. “A Service Specialist supplies the necessary five hundred servers that it requires to handle one of your boisterous parties, Skip.”
When everyone laughed, DeShaun felt more at ease.
“Interesting,” the other man said, “I normally don’t handle those things. I had no idea there was a company that provides such a service.”
“We do,” DeShaun said. “For instance, those five-hundred service people that Jenn referred to for the Ayerson party would need to coordinate with the caterers so that the hot food is served hot and the chilled food remains cold for the guests.”
“I suppose that is true. I never thought about that,” Barbara Ayerson commented.
“The food should be served in a methodical manner in order to do this. It’s my job to make sure everyone has received the appetizer before even one person receives the main course. It’s a simple case of coordinating. Every second counts. Champagne glasses should always be filled and, if there’s a special item needed, it’s my job to provide you with it or have the appropriate person get it to you.”
“Answer me this,” the other gentleman at the table began. “Don’t most caterers supply a serving staff?”
“Some do. However, the main job of the caterer is to prepare good food. Service is secondary for them. For me, service is job one.” He looked down at the bottle of wine sitting at the center of the table. “For instance, you tell me you prefer a dark, smooth and racy vintage wine. I, in turn, offer you a bottle of Chateau Margaux circa 1995. This tasty wine contains passionate fragrances of blackberry and cassis. It hails from a vineyard that goes back a thousand years. The best part; at four hundred dollars a bottle, it’s not too pricey for its eloquent taste.”
The entire table fell quiet, including Jenn.
“Wow,” one of the men said. “That’s remarkable. How did you retain all of that information?”
“That’s my job.”
“My wife and I are planning on having a party in the next month or so. Do you have a business card?”
DeShaun looked at Jenn. She was holding back a smile, but in her eyes, he saw a big, I told you so.
“That, I do.” DeShaun reached into his pocket and produced one of the business cards.
The man inspected the card, nodded and stuck it in his shirt pocket. “This will most certainly come in handy.”
“Great,” DeShaun said. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
DeShaun drove the Mercedes up the Herjavecs’ driveway. When he pushed the gear into park, Jenn woke up.
“Are we back?” she asked sleepily.
“We sure are.”
She straightened up in the passenger-side seat. “What time is it?”
DeShaun checked the dashboard clock. “Wow, it’s past two o’clock.” After the party tonight, he was so excited, he wanted to go out and celebrate, but he decided against it when he thought about that forty-five-minute ride he had back to his house. “I’d better hurry and get home.”
“You really handled yourself well tonight, DeShaun. I realized you were smart, but if I can be honest, I thought your confidence level would be the thing to do you in. I keep trying to figure out why you haven’t done something like this before. You know your stuff. You could be so successful at it.”
“It never really occurred to me,” DeShaun said. “I mean, I thought about opening a restaurant, but that wasn’t really my thing. This is, and for pulling that out of me, I thank you so much.”
Jenn smiled through sleepy eyes. “No thank-yous needed here. I simply gave a suggestion and you ran with it.”
She reached over and placed her hand on top of DeShaun’s, whose hands were tightly gripping the steering wheel. Their eyes lingered on each other for several seconds.
“I really should get home,” he said.
“Don’t forget your cards. I don’t know when I’m going to get
to see you again so you’d better get them now.” Her hand was still on top of his. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.
“Yeah,” DeShaun agreed. “I don’t know when I’m going to see you again.”
He released the steering wheel and pulled his hands from under hers. He hopped out of the car and raced over toward the passenger side to open the door. When he did, she stepped out the car. They were dangerously close and he wanted to move away, but his feet were two cement blocks. While staring him in the eyes, she reached down, took his hand, and guided him toward the front door. She released him for a second to unlock the front door. With her shoulder, she nudged open the door. She then reached down and grabbed his hand once again. Without saying a word, she led him straight to her bedroom.
Naomi
I lay in bed in complete darkness, wondering where DeShaun was. It was past three in the morning and, while he had been known to roll in late from the parties he serviced, this was the latest he had ever come home. I thought of him hurt in a terrible accident or worse. Maybe that piece of junk car finally broke down, leaving him stranded.
But, he had his phone. He would call.
I decided to give him another half hour before calling the police. Maybe he was laying in a ditch somewhere and couldn’t get to his phone. My mind raced with all sorts of gory thoughts until finally, I flicked on the light and called him again. But yet again, his voicemail came on. On my final attempt, the automated voice told me the phone message mechanism was filled to capacity.
A half hour later, I let out a sigh of relief when I heard the key to the front door jiggle in the lock. I hopped out of bed, grabbed my robe and shot off down the steps, but not before glancing at the clock. It was after five.
“Are you okay?” I asked when he walked through the front door.
“What are you doing up? I thought you’d be asleep.”
“You’re kidding, right? How can I sleep when I hadn’t heard from you all night? Why are you so late? What happened?” I shot off question after question and didn’t even notice the unfamiliar tan suit he was wearing.
“I called you,” he said.
“No you didn’t.”
“I called twice.”
“You’re lying. I’ve been sitting by this phone all night. You did not call.”
“I called your cell.”
“Why would you call my cell when you know it’s not on?”
“I thought we turned it on. Isn’t that what you told me a few days ago?”
“No,” I said. “I told you I turned on the house phone. You know that because unlike tonight, you called the house phone several times.”
“Oh, my fault. I thought you said you turned both phones back on. I guess I forgot.”
He went to the refrigerator, grabbed a cold beer and then slammed the fridge shut. He bit off the cap and took a drink. Why are you watching me?”
“I’m not watching you. I’m looking at you.”
“Well then stop looking at me.” He took another drink. “It’s annoying.”
I turned and headed for the living room. I plopped down onto the couch, expecting him to follow. When he didn’t, I yelled back into the kitchen. “How was the party? Did you make good tips tonight?” He didn’t answer so I went back into the kitchen. He was gone. When I reached the top of the steps, I heard the running shower. I glanced down at the crumpled up tan suit he left next to the bed. I picked up the shirt, checked out the designer label and then held the shirt up and took a whiff. It smelled like a combination of perfume and smoke. When the shower shut off, I dropped the shirt and hopped back into bed. DeShaun fumbled around in the bathroom for another five minutes and when he finally emerged, I shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep. He jumped into bed next to me and pulled up the covers. Two minutes later, he was snoring.
I sat awake for over an hour before deciding to nudge him. He stirred but kept on snoring.
“DeShaun?” I whispered.
“What?” He sounded annoyed.
“What is wrong with you tonight?”
“I’m sleeping, Mimi, that’s what’s wrong. The sun is about to come up and you’re poking me like you’re ringing a dang doorbell.”
“That’s my point. You roll in here this morning and with attitude to boot.”
“So? I’m tired.”
“Was the party that bad?”
He rolled over. “Can we please talk about this tomorrow?”
“It is tomorrow!”
He sighed. “I’m going to sleep. When I get up, I’ll give you every single little detail you want about the party.” He flopped down onto his pillow and pulled up the covers.
“I tried calling you…yesterday, when you went to work. You left your apron.”
He was quiet for a second. “They had extra.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yeah, lucky me. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to get some sleep.
Naomi
Early the next morning, I had planned to ask DeShaun about the party again, but when I woke up he was gone. The suit was gone, too, but I spotted something on the floor, halfway under the bed. I reached down and picked it up. It was a business card. DeShaun usually had a few business cards from prospective clients, but this wasn’t one of their cards. His name and phone number was on this card as the owner. I slipped on my robe and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Dishes were piled in the sink and the coffee maker hadn’t been touched. DeShaun always drank at least one cup of black coffee in the morning. I went to the refrigerator. He left a note stuck on the outside of the fridge with an apple magnet.
Had to go out
Be back soon.
Love
-D
I crumpled up the note and tossed it into the trashcan. I carefully laid out the business card onto the dining room table—in full view. He had started a business without my consent, which could’ve been the reason he was acting so strangely lately. It wasn’t as if I didn’t want him to go forward with the idea. It was more like now was not the best time. Apparently, he didn’t agree. No matter what the case was, a serious talk was long overdue. I was so deep in thought about my husband, I didn’t hear the phone ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey?”
“Who is this?” I asked.
“I know we don’t work together anymore but, jeez, you forgot about me already?”
“Jeremy?”
“That’d be me. How the hell are ya?”
“Good. How are you?”
“Just chillin’,” he said. “I start grad school in another few weeks. The Dean wants to meet with me about a possible job on the main campus. He wants me to drop by tomorrow to discuss things.”
“Good.” I was only half-paying attention. “That’s great.”
“Yeah, I’m excited,” he said. “Did the cops ever get back to you about your stuff?”
“No.”
“I figured.”
Jeremy rambled on about the cops for a few minutes and then told me about some story he saw in the newspaper about corruption on the police force. I wasn’t really listening because my mind was elsewhere.
“You okay?”
“What? Yeah. I’m fine.”
He started to say something else, but the other line buzzed. I checked the number but didn’t recognize it. “Gotta go.” Before I clicked over, I heard him rush in the words, “Call me later.”
“Hello?”
“Ms. Knowles, please.”
I didn’t recognize the voice, probably another bill collector. “This is Ms. Knowles.”
“Good morning. I’m calling from McIntyre, Roth and Associates. We would like to extend a formal offer for the administrative position you interviewed for.”
My heart pounded through my chest. I hadn’t heard from them in at least a month. I assumed I didn’t get the job. This was great news.
“You’ll need to come in and fill out some paperwork. It shouldn’t take too long,” the lady on the other end told me.
“You’ll need to submit to a drug test. Providing all is in order, the training class will be held in two weeks, contingent of course on the mandatory test and the necessary paperwork. We will send you the information to the address you provided on the application form. We will also e-mail you a copy for your records. Have the paperwork returned to us as soon as possible so we can begin the process.”
“Thank you. I’ll have the paperwork to you early next week.”
Just as I hung up, DeShaun walked through the door.
Naomi
I sat on the edge of the bed, fuming. “Where were you?”
“Running errands.”
“We never finished our discussion last night.” I tried to contain the anger, but his nonchalant attitude was starting to really piss me off.
He sighed. “I don’t feel like going there again.” He went into the bathroom. When the toilet flushed, I stood up and went to the door.
“And what’s with the designer suit?”
He didn’t answer so I shot off question number two. “And why didn’t you bother to tell me about the company that you’re apparently the owner of.”
“I have a question,” he said. “Why are you going through my shit?”
Was he serious? “You’re mad at me because I found out some information you were trying to hide?”
Again, he didn’t offer an answer, so I continued. “For your information, you left your new suit crumpled by the bed when you strolled in last night. Oh, I’m sorry, I meant this morning when you strolled in at nearly five o’clock. And when you went to hide your brand new suit, the business card must’ve dropped out of it.” I folded my arms across my chest and cocked my head to the side. “There. I answered your question. Answer mine.”
“It’s no big deal. I decided to start the company without telling you. I wanted to wait until I had some clients before I said anything.”
“And the suit?”
“The suit was a gift.”
“From?”
“Who do you think?”
Champagne Life Page 17