Darius laughed, then took his arm down. “You are so high maintenance. It’s amazing that your husband hasn’t left you yet.”
“I could say the same thing about you. I don’t know why your wife puts up with somebody like you. It’s obvious you love to chase skirts.”
Darius laughed. “There are worse things she could be worried about. But my wife knows she’s not going anywhere. That woman loves her some Dare.”
“Oh, okay.” Paris nodded a few times as she smiled. “I see you have her good and fooled.”
“No more than you have Andrew.”
“You don’t know anything about me and Andrew.”
Darius alternated his attention between the road and Paris. “I know that he’s crazy to let you go out of the house looking like you do. All sexy and all. Now if you were my wife, I’d make you cover up all of that. You wouldn’t be advertising how fine you are to other men. Nope. Not if you were mine.”
Paris laughed. “From that picture you showed me, your wife is really cute.”
“Yeah, but if you noticed, I make her cover up her goods. I don’t believe in sharing, not even a good look. What my wife has is for me and my eyes only. You’re hanging out here . . . around all this high testosterone. Your husband better be glad I’m hanging with you so I can keep you out of trouble.”
“I’ll have to tell him that.”
He looked at her as he pulled up alongside her car in the parking lot. “Okay, so we’re supposed to hit the club tonight. What time would you like for me to come and pick you up from your house?”
“You’re going to come pick me up from my house?”
He chuckled slightly. “Of course. It makes no sense for us to meet up down here when I can just as easily swing by and pick you up. Besides, I’m a gentleman and a godly man. What kind of man wouldn’t want to be sure you’re safe the whole time you’re in his possession?”
“I’ll not be in your possession.”
“You and I are showing up at the nightclub together. You’d better believe I’m going to keep an eye and a rein on you. Your father and husband are not going to be looking for me if something were to end up happening to you.”
Paris opened her car door and set one foot down on the parking lot to get out. “In that case then, I’ll see you at my house around eight.” She got out of the car fully.
“The party doesn’t start jumping until ten,” Darius said, scrunching down low so he could see her.
She stooped down a little. “Yeah. But we’re not there to party. We’re there to work. We still need to set things up for the work aspect of this outing. Remember?”
He smiled and gave her a salute. “Right. Then I’ll see you at eight.”
Paris wiggled as she pulled down and brushed smooth her clinging canary yellow dress. He honked his horn as he slowly drove away, ensuring that she’d gotten safely into her black Lexus ES 350.
Chapter 25
Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach’s sake and thine often infirmities.
—1 Timothy 5:23
Darius gave Tiffany a drive-by kiss as he was on his way out the door.
“Behave yourself now,” she said as he briskly walked away. “Don’t have too much fun while you’re working.”
He turned around. “It’s only work. I’ll be home really late, so don’t bother trying to wait up.”
Tiffany nodded, then blew him a kiss as he went out the front door to the car.
He pulled up at Paris’s place with five minutes to spare, surprised when she came out before he even turned the car off. He jumped out of the car and hurried to open the passenger’s side door for her. “Will you look at you?”
She tossed her head from one side to the other a few times and got in, placing her Gucci briefcase on the floor in front of her Prada shoes.
He went around the back of the car and got back in, then turned to her. “I first need to call the fire department. Because, woman, you are smoking!”
Paris playfully hit at him. “Boy, I thought at first you were serious.”
He shook his hand as though he’d been burned by fire. “I am serious. You are wearing the heck out of that little red dress and those red stilettos. Fi-yah!” He backed out and began driving down the road.
“I called the manager of the club to be sure they have a place already set up for us to work from.” Paris pulled down the sun visor. The light above it automatically came on. She freshened up her lipstick.
“That’s good.” He glanced over at her. “Really good.” He grinned.
She cut her eyes over at him. “What are you grinning like a Cheshire cat about?” She took out a tissue and dabbed the corners of her mouth.
“Oh, just enjoying the scenery, that’s all.” He looked at her and smiled some more.
She put the sun visor back in place, effectively turning off the light. “Well, what you need to do is keep your eyes on the road.”
They arrived at the nightclub and there was a line outside the door two people deep and already the entire block long.
“I thought you said the party didn’t get started until ten?” Paris said.
Darius jumped out and hurried to open her door. He took her by the hand to help her up. “It doesn’t. But now you know why this spot is called The Fire Place.”
They walked toward the front, passing a few folks who made it known that they didn’t appreciate the appearance that they were trying to jump in the line.
The door wasn’t opened yet. Paris called the manager and, four minutes later, a big burly man came and let them in.
They set up items on a table inside the dance hall close to where people entered and exited. When the doors opened, they signed up lots of unregistered voters as well as talked with folks about their candidate, Lawrence Simmons, highlighting his past accomplishments, not pointing out that he was now a Republican. When asked about his switch in parties by the more informed voters, Paris was deft in letting the person know it was strictly for tactical reasons.
It was close to one in the morning. Most of the people were on the dance floor. Darius smiled at Paris sitting at the table and grooving to the beat.
He stood up. “Let’s dance.”
She shook her head. “I’m not that great of a dancer.”
“So. This isn’t a dance competition.” He held out his hand to her. “Come on.”
She shook her head again. “We’re supposed to be working. Remember?”
“We have been working. Hard, too. No less than twenty guys have asked you to dance and you turned them down but managed to still turn most of them into registered voters who promised to cast their vote for your father.”
“Some of them were lying, asking me for my phone number so they can talk to me more about politics later.”
“Oh, I heard them,” Darius said, his hand down by his side now.
She smiled. “Don’t be acting like I’m the only one who was getting hit on. I saw those scores of women giving you their phone numbers. You’d just better remember to empty your pocket before you go home and your wife finds them.”
He chuckled, then held his hand out to her again. “Let’s dance. Come on. We’re pretty much done for the night.”
Paris looked over at her Gucci briefcase.
“Just hide it under the table. The tablecloth will keep people from seeing and trying to steal it. Come on.”
She put her briefcase under the table and took his hand.
They danced to five songs in a row before going back to their table. Paris sat while Darius remained standing.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“Yes. A peach Fuzzy Navel.”
“Coming right up.” He left and returned shortly. “At your service. One peach Fuzzy Navel.” He set it down in front of her and sat down with a glass of rum and Coke.
She nodded her approval. “This is good.”
“So are you,” Darius said. “I mean, you’re a good dancer, in s
pite of your insistence otherwise.”
“I suppose I have some moves still left from my young days. My brother, Malachi, and I used to love to ‘cut the rug,’ as my grandfather used to say. Andrew was never a big party guy though. So we don’t go out to places like this. If we dance, it’s generally at one of my father’s campaign functions, the one with all the old folks in attendance. Have you ever seen a room full old folks doing the Electric Slide?”
Darius smiled. “Looks like this job might be just what the doctor ordered.” He turned up his glass, finishing it quite quickly. He watched Paris slowly drink hers from a straw. He began to snicker.
“What’s so funny?”
“The way you’re drinking that Fuzzy Navel. All cute and dainty. If you’re going to drink it, then you ought to drink it.”
She held the glass up in the air, grinned, then turned it up, taking several nonstop swallows. When she was finished, she set the glass down hard on the table.
“Oh, I see you can drink like a big girl.” Darius moved in closer. “Would you like another one?”
“Are you planning on having another drink?”
“I was thinking about it”
She shook her head. “Then I suppose not. One of us needs to be sober enough to be the designated driver.”
“I can drink more than one of these watered-down babies and drive just fine.”
“Not with me in the car you can’t. If you’re drinking, then I’m driving.”
He twisted his mouth. “Then I guess that’s it for me.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I’m supposed to be taking care of you. That means making sure I return you to your home in the same condition that I picked you up. That’s how I was taught to treat the women in my life.”
Paris sat back against her chair. “I’m not one of the women in your life. We merely work together. That’s it.”
“Still, you’re a woman. And whether you want to admit it or not, you’re in my life. Your father has threatened me one time already; I dare not push it by putting his precious daughter in danger. So I’m out. But if you want another drink, there’s nothing stopping you now.”
“You’re just trying to get me tipsy or something.”
“Nope. I just want you to enjoy yourself. If we have to be here working, then we might as well take advantage and make the best of it.”
A guy walked up to the table. “I hear you’re here about voting. I’d like to hear more.” His words slurred slightly from too much alcohol consumption. He was looking totally at Paris as he played with his finely trimmed goatee.
Darius stepped up to him. “What can we help you with, my man?”
The guy turned his attention briefly to Darius. “I’m good. I’m talking to this beautiful lady here, this Venus of beauty. I’m sure she can help me just fine.” He turned his attention back to Paris. “So what do you say, pretty lady? Why don’t you and I go somewhere a little quieter, like say my crib, where you can tell me all about this voting stuff and why it’s in my interest to even vote?” He stumbled backward a few steps, then stepped forward to gain back his lost ground.
Darius picked up a brochure off the table. “Why don’t you take this and read through it when you get back to your crib. It tells all the different ways you can register—”
The guy grinned at Paris. “I’m already registered. I just want to know more about this dude that you think I should vote for. And if he has somebody like you advo—advo—advocating for him, he has to be all right.”
Darius pressed the brochure into the guy’s chest. “That’s the beauty of this glossy. It gives you all the information you’d ever want to know about Lawrence Simmons.”
The guy refused to take possession of the glossy. “Come on. Let’s dance.” He held his hand out to Paris. “Come on, sweet thang.”
Darius put the brochure down and stepped over to the guy’s awaiting hand. “Listen—”
“I got this,” Paris said, standing up. “Look. I’m working. This is my job. This is what I do to make a living. Now . . . I don’t come on your job asking you to come home with me and show me how to make hamburgers, now do I? So show me the same respect and courtesy. If you want to know more about why you should vote for someone like Lawrence Simmons, then I’ll be glad to answer your question. Otherwise—”
“What I’m interested in is getting your name and phone number. You’re a hot little number. I bet you and I can make beautiful sparks together.” He stumbled closer to Paris.
“Well, I happen to be married, and I’m not interested in anything other than getting the word out about voting,” Paris said. “That’s it. Understand?”
“Oh, so you can dance with this dude here”—he pointed his head at Darius—“but you’re too good to dance with somebody like me? Is that it?”
“It is okay to dance with your own wife, right?” Darius said to him.
The guy took a few stumbling steps back. “Oh, oh, this here your wife? Man, I didn’t know. My bad. No harm, no foul.”
“Well, I think you owe her an apology,” Darius said, his face stern, his eyes bearing down hard on him.
The guy looked at Paris and bowed slightly with his head, stumbling as he tried to remain steady. “My sincere apologies to you, Miss Married Lady.” His words continued to come out slurred.
“No problem,” Paris said.
The guy left.
After he was safely out of range, Paris laughed. “You are so crazy.”
“Well, it got him to leave, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, it did.”
A cocktail waitress came over and set a glass down in front of Paris. “Our finest and most expensive red wine, compliments of that gentleman over there.” She pointed at a nicely dressed man in an Armani suit who nodded at Paris.
“I don’t care for it,” Paris said to the waitress. “Please return it to him for me.”
Darius picked up the glass of wine, held it up like a toast to the man who’d sent it, and turned the glass up. “Thank him for us, will you?” Darius said to the waitress. He then turned to Paris. “They say a little wine is good for the stomach.” He winked. “So, are you ready to go?”
Paris nodded, gathered up her things, and they left.
Chapter 26
Some men’s sins are open beforehand, going before to judgment; and some men they follow after.
—1 Timothy 5:24
“We’ve covered a lot of ground over these past seven weeks,” Darius said to Paris while in their office. “It’s too bad after all we’ve done to date, we still have to work on the Fourth of July. I was thinking we’d at least be off for that day.”
“Well, I missed being able to celebrate my birthday.”
“I did my part to help make up for it. I bought you a cupcake.” Darius smiled. “A red velvet one with cream cheese icing.”
“Yes, you did. But I wanted to do something special, not attend some fund-raising event where we were begging for donations. I guess I’ll make up for it when this is all over, just like I’ll make up for the Fourth. William says holidays like the Fourth are good times to catch people out and about. William seems impressed with us so far. I don’t think he thought what we were doing would end up being this productive,” Paris said. “I saw him earlier; he said we’re exceeding expectations.”
“I told you you’re a natural at this. We make a good team.”
Paris nodded. “We do. Oh, and I appreciate that lead you gave me on that lawyer. She’s good . . . really good.”
“You can thank my wife. She’s the one who gave me her name. I asked if she knew of any good family lawyers, and she came back with her.” “Well, she’s good. I absolutely like her.”
“So I suppose that means you’re not giving up on getting Jasmine?”
“Nope. I’m not stopping until I’ve gotten that child from Gabrielle’s greedy little grips. My lawyer has learned that there’s a sum of money on the line and will ultimately be under the authority o
f the person who ends up with Jasmine. I guess now we’ve figured out Gabrielle’s motivation for wanting to keep little Jasmine so bad that she’d fight me to hold on to her.”
“Was your lawyer able to find out whether Jasmine was really adopted?”
“I thought I told you that last week.” Paris shrugged. “It’s been so busy, maybe I didn’t. But, yeah, Jasmine was originally adopted. Who her birth parents are is another matter, and not so easy to find out.”
“Then my daughter Jade was right.”
“Yep. She was telling the truth.”
“So that blows a hole in your theory about your father and Jessica having had an affair and Jasmine being your father’s child.”
Paris shook her head and placed her finger up to her lips to tell him to be quiet. “Yes, I guess so.” She placed her finger up to her lips again and pointed toward the closed door. “You want to go get something for lunch?”
“Yeah. I was just about to ask,” Darius said, trying to keep from laughing.
Paris got her purse. They left the office and went to the car. After they were inside and the doors closed, Darius started laughing. “What was that all about?”
“I don’t know exactly why, but I don’t trust saying too much, especially lately, and particularly about personal private things, in our office,” Paris said.
“You think maybe our office is bugged or something?”
“I wouldn’t put it past my father or William. In any case, I’d rather be safe than sorry. For now, my father believes I’ve dropped this whole notion about getting Jasmine from Gabrielle. I’d like him to keep thinking that way.”
Darius drove away. “What do you feel like eating today?”
“Barbecue.”
“Ooh, good choice. I was just thinking about that myself.” He looked from her, back to the highway. “I’m telling you: You and I were made for each other. We go together like ham and cheese. Like peanut butter and jelly. Like eggs and grits.”
Paris shook her head. “You are so crazy.”
“You’re in good company: My wife says the same thing.”
“How is your wife these days?”
The Other Side of Dare Page 14