by Pamela Yaye
“Food addiction, my ass,” she grumbled, tossing the magazine onto the floor. She was fit and fabulous whether she was a size eighteen or a size ten. Just because the editorial staff didn’t believe her didn’t mean it wasn’t true. She’d lost the weight without even trying. Having been to Guadalajara numerous times, she’d felt comfortable walking from her host family’s house to the institute where she taught English classes and studied Spanish.
Her host mother, Ima, was weight-conscious and took great pride in preparing tasty, low-calorie meals for the family. Three weeks after arriving in Mexico, Tangela had lost twelve pounds. Six months later, she was down to a size fourteen and by the end of the year, she was at the lowest weight she’d ever been.
Tangela wished she could curl up in bed and watch TV, but she had to get ready for work tomorrow and her clothes weren’t going to pack themselves. After trading in India. Arie for the Black Eyed Peas, she grabbed one of the suitcases from the back of her closet.
As she heaved the suitcase onto the bed, it fell open, sending photo albums, stray pictures and DVDs crashing to the bedroom floor. For a moment, Tangela stood there motionless, unsure of what to do. She’d been meaning to get rid of these old mementos, but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Warrick wasn’t her boyfriend anymore, but it just didn’t seem right tossing perfectly good pictures into the trash.
Tangela had always considered herself a fairly with-it per son. In spite of having been raised by a woman who had a laundry list of psychological problems, Tangela had graduated high school with a near-perfect GPA and worked full-time to put herself through college. But when Tangela had met Warrick, she’d fallen hopelessly in love. Moving in with him had cemented their commitment, and he became everything to her, the only real family she’d ever had.
Against her better judgment, she picked up the tape marked Spring in New Orleans. Tangela still remembered the time they’d spent in the Big Easy. They’d shared passionate kisses, made love on the beach and eaten at the best Creole restaurant in the city. It was there, while they celebrated their fifth anniversary, that Warrick had proposed. Tangela had been too mesmerized by the sight of the pink canary diamond to notice his tense body language, but months later, when she’d watched the video he’d secretly had taped by a hotel concierge staff person, she’d seen the uncertainty in his eyes.
Enough memories, she decided. To purge her thoughts, she turned up the music and forced all images of Warrick from her mind. It was time to cut her ties with her ex once and for all. As much as she hated destroying the video and other mementos, she couldn’t hold on to them any longer. If she was serious about getting married by her next birthday, she had to quit thinking about Warrick and make room in her heart for the right man to come along.
Scooping up the albums and videos, she marched into the kitchen, dumped everything into the trash bin and slammed the lid. “There,” she said, smacking her hands together. “Goodbye and good riddance!”
“Attention, passengers. The pilot has switched on the seat-belt light and we ask that you remain seated for the remainder of the flight.” Stepping out from behind the curtain that separated the two cabins, Tangela delivered a smile to the sleepy-eyed passengers occupying business class. “On behalf of the pilot and the entire American Airlines crew, we’d like to thank you for choosing American Airlines and we look forward to serving you in the future.”
For the remainder of the flight, Tangela handed out cups of water, retrieved headphones and collected garbage. When the plane touched down promptly at six forty-five, passengers broke out in applause, drawing chuckles from the flight attendants.
“Thanks for flying with American Airlines,” Tangela said cheerfully when the final passenger disembarked. “Have a great day!” Her mouth ached from smiling, and she could feel a migraine coming on, but she kept her smile in place until the last businessperson was out of sight. After catering to a hundred and thirty people on a flight from Chicago, then bidding them all goodbye, Tangela needed an ice pack, two aspirin and an apple martini.
“You’re one heck of an actress,” Mr. Connelly teased, patting her on the back like a proud father. “I thought you were going to lose it when that snot-nosed kid started banging on the cockpit door, but you held it together. Good job, Tangela.”
He returned to the cockpit, and Tangela glanced around the first-class cabin. This morning, the Boeing 737 had been clean enough to eat off the floor, and now it looked as if a twister had ripped through it. Scraps of papers, wads of tissue and food crumbs now littered the carpet and she could see pink bubble gum wedged between two of the second-row seats.
Mumbling Spanish expletives, she grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the overhead bin and yanked them on. After two grueling back-to-back flights, Tangela was anxious to go home, but she couldn’t even think about leaving until the aircraft was spic-and-span.
“At the rate you’re going, we’ll never get out of here!” Poking her head into the first-class cabin was her friend and the lead flight attendant, Carmen Sanchez. “Get a move on it, chiquita.”
“Entonces matame ahora mismo.”
“Put you out of your misery? At least you didn’t get stuck in the back thwarting the plans of kinky couples anxious to join the mile-high club!” Tangela laughed.
“I can’t say I blame them,” Carmen confessed. “I know what it feels like to be in heat. I haven’t seen Hugo for ten days and mama needs some sugar!”
“Please, no more stories about how magnificent Hugo is in bed.” Tangela fought to keep a straight face. “I’ll run out of here screaming if you do!”
Carmen stuck out her tongue. “You’re just jealous.”
“You’re right, I am.”
“It’s been that long, huh?”
“Girl, you have no idea.” Tangela dumped an empty water bottle into the plastic bag. “I’m going to have to watch a how-to video the next time it happens!”
“What’s going on with you and that Demetrius guy?”
“He’s really sweet, but I can’t be with someone who smokes weed, even if it’s only ‘recreational,’” she said, making quotation marks with her fingers.
“Oh, no, not another one!” Carmen laughed. “My ex used to smoke pot, too. After three months of him eating me out of house and home, I kicked his sorry butt to the curb.”
“Sometimes I think I should just give up on this stupid quest to find a husband,” Tangela admitted. Since Halloween, Tangela had been on one bad date after another. The singles’ potluck dinner at her apartment complex had given her something to do last Sunday, and although she’d met several attractive men, she hadn’t made a love connection. Tangela worked hard, took care of herself and had her own money, but she couldn’t find a man to save her life. “I don’t know why I’m kidding myself. Mr. Right probably doesn’t even exist.”
Picking up on the sadness in her voice, Carmen took the garbage bag and motioned for her to sit down. “You’re going to be fine, Tangela. And one day you’ll find the perfect guy.”
“I’m so tired of going home to an empty house. In Guadalajara, I got used to having someone to talk to and do stuff with. Now, I’m back here and there’s no one. Most of my friends are either married, engaged or in a committed relationship.”
“Cheer up,” Carmen admonished, patting her hand. “You’re seeing Oliver later and he always takes you somewhere nice.”
“He sent me a text message about an hour ago. He can’t make it. Something came up.”
“That sucks.”
“Tell me about it. Another Friday night with nothing to do and nowhere to go.”
“What are you going to do instead?”
Tangela shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Wash my hair, rearrange my furniture. You know, the usual single-girl crap.”
“Wanna stop by SushiSamba tonight? It’s been a while since I was there.”
“What about Hugo?”
“He’ll be fine. He has the Playboy channel to keep him company until I get h
ome.” Snickering, she pulled Tangela to her feet. “Let’s finish up so we can go eat. Mama’s starving!”
Chapter Four
Socializing with clients after hours was one aspect of his job that Warrick hated. Away from their wives and esteemed country club members, sane, upstanding businessmen propositioned women half their age, guzzled champagne like it was water and partied more vigorously than a championship-winning football team.
Known for its carnival-inspired decor and twenty-one-seat sushi bar, SushiSamba appealed to professionals and partiers alike. It was the place to be seen at, and international real estate mogul Hakeem Kewasi had requested they have dinner at the upscale restaurant lounge. Proud of his movie-star looks, he’d hit on waitresses and girls barely out of their teens, but seemed particularly taken by full-figured women.
Warrick was nursing his second beer, wondering how much longer he’d have to babysit the businessman, when he felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. Convinced it was his father calling to check up on him, he said, “I’m going to the men’s room.”
“You’re not sick are you?”
“No. I feel great.”
“Good because the night’s still young, and I can’t wait to check out Vixen.”
“The topless bar?”
His eyes were bright. “My brother was here last year and he said the dancers at the club look like that Beyoncé girl.”
Warrick smothered a laugh. A week after Tangela had moved out, Quinten and the guys had dragged him to the gentlemen’s club on Paradise Road. He’d had a lot to drink, but he didn’t remember seeing any beautiful dancers there. Most of them looked like teenagers playing dress-up, not like the Grammy-winning superstar. “Vixen’s not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s just a lot of Las Vegas hype.”
“Andre said a hundred bucks can get me anything I want.”
There was no disputing that. Warrick wasn’t a saint and he loved clubbing as much as the next guy, but he’d rather go home and hang out in his living room than watch some bony chicks dance. He didn’t want to go to Vixen, but his dad had ordered him to show Mr. Kewasi a good time and that’s what he was going to do.
Strolling through the bar, he noted the coltish smiles the female patrons were shooting his way. Most were wearing designer outfits but had colorful tattoos on their shoulders and arms. Attractive in their own right, but not his type. Classy, sophisticated women who carried themselves with grace piqued his interest every time. Tangela would never dream of getting a tattoo. Or would she? If she could show up at the Hawthorne party in a skin-tight cat-woman costume, there was no telling what else she’d do.
The brunette sitting at the bar waved. Warrick returned her smile. He thought of approaching her, but when he saw her see-through outfit he changed his mind. It looked as if she’d stuffed two hot-air balloons under her dress. It was a wonder she didn’t topple over. Fake breasts didn’t appeal to him, and neither did silver tongue rings.
After using the washroom, he wandered into the lounge and sat down. The inviting decor, padded leather booths and lively music created a relaxing atmosphere. Pressing his BlackBerry handheld to his ear, he listened to his messages. Making a mental note to return the calls later, Warrick slid the phone into his pocket and stared up at one of the flat-screen TVs.
He checked the score of the Mariners game, relieved to see his team was beating the Yankees. An American Airlines commercial came on and he thought of Tangela. He wondered if she was out with her friends. On the weekends, she liked to go with her coworkers to the Karaoke Hut for cocktails. Singing off-key and encouraging others to do the same was something he couldn’t get behind, but Tangela always seemed to enjoy herself.
Warrick glanced over at the bar. Mr. Kewasi was gone. He combed the lounge for his prospective client. Ten minutes after his search began, he spotted the businessman in the dining area standing with a tall, slender women. The waiter was obscuring his view of her face, but he’d recognize those legs anywhere. Tangela!
Wanting to confirm his hunch, he stepped into the lounge. Tangela’s look was a slam-dunk. The white belted shirtdress was tight in all the right places and unlike all the other sisters in the restaurant she didn’t look as though she’d spent hours getting dressed.
Relieved to see a petite woman join them, Warrick felt the tension flowing through his body recede. He was in the middle of the room obstructing the flow of traffic and other patrons were eyeing him curiously, but Warrick didn’t move. Dazzled by Tangela’s stylish ensemble, he watched as she sat down at one of the round tables and crossed her long brown legs. Warrick swallowed the lump in his throat. At the Hawthorne party Tangela had been a seductive temptress, but tonight she looked more like her old self. The golden tones in her auburn hair made her eyes sparkle and a smile sat beautifully on her rosy lips.
Warrick didn’t know how he got across the room, but he pulled up to their table and stood there, studying her. He waited impatiently for Tangela to acknowledge him, but when she didn’t, he said, “Twice in one month. This has got to be some sort of record.”
Tangela spun around, her smile frozen in place. “What are you doing here, Warrick?”
“Entertaining a client.”
Surprise splashed across Mr. Kewasi’s face. “You know these two beauties?”
“Yes. Tangela and I used to date.”
“A long, long time ago,” she added, shifting in her chair.
The businessman gestured to the chair beside him. “Sit down, Warrick. I’m buying these lovely ladies dinner. Carmen was just telling me how stressful her job is.”
“Stressful?” Warrick started to make a joke, but thought better of it. The last thing he wanted to do was antagonize his ex-girlfriend and her friend. They were being nice to his client and that was a very good thing. “The pay’s not the greatest, but I bet you’ve been to some amazing places,” he said instead.
“I have, but being a flight attendant isn’t a walk in the park. There are days when I’m so tired I fall asleep in the shower!”
Mr. Kewasi wasn’t convinced. “But you can travel anywhere in the world and your friends and family can accompany you for just a fraction of the cost.”
“Every job has its drawbacks and being a flight attendant is no different.”
“Drawbacks? Really? Like what?” Mr. Kewasi asked, studying the brunette thoughtfully.
“For starters, there’s a common misconception that we’re waitresses. We’re not. We’re highly skilled flight specialists, equipped to deal with everything from ill passengers to operating cabin equipment and handling unexpected safety matters.”
Mr. Kewasi grinned. “No offense, ladies, but you do serve drinks.”
“Imagine this,” Tangela began, facing him. “You’re on an eight-hour flight to Paris and a few minutes after takeoff, you start to have trouble breathing. Sweat’s dripping down your face, your hands are clammy and it feels like your heart is about to explode out of your chest.”
The businessman adjusted his collar.
“You don’t want a waitress coming to your aid, do you? No, you want a trained, proficient flight attendant to keep you from dying in your first-class seat, right, Mr. Kewasi?”
Warrick hid a crooked grin behind his menu. Tangela was as sharp as ever. She’d lost some weight, but she hadn’t lost her sense of humor. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t seen each other for two years; she was still the same saucy woman he’d fallen hard for nine years ago.
“Well put, Tangela. I’ll never disrespect flight attendants again!”
The waiter arrived, and addressed Tangela first. “What can I get you to drink?”
“An apple martini with a dash of calvados and three maraschino cherries.”
Warrick didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until Carmen bumped his elbow with her arm. “You still remember how she likes her cocktail? Wow, I’m impressed!”
“It just slipped out,” he mumbled, hating the way the Latina woman was eyeballing him.
“No, of course not.”
“Well?”
Warrick tripped over his tongue. “I…she…we…”
“We fell out of love,” Tangela offered, wearing a thin smile. “We were barely out of our teens when we met and over time we changed.”
Warrick felt as though someone was pelting him in the back with golf balls. Was that what she thought? That he’d stopped loving her? He’d never heard anything more ludicrous. Just because he didn’t walk around quoting Nikki Giovanni or buy Tangela flowers every day didn’t mean he didn’t love her. He’d let his actions speak for him. Wasn’t that what women wanted? Money, gifts and jewelry? He’d kept her in designer clothes, took care of the bills and gave her money on a weekly basis. Tangela was a hopeless romantic and wanted his attention all day every day, but Warrick wasn’t going to sacrifice his career so they could stay home and cuddle.
“He was finishing his IDP training and working crazy hours.” Tangela folded and unfolded her napkin. “We stopped making time for each other, and after seven years of dating we both got a little bored.”
Her voice was light, carefree, free of spite, but he felt the sting of her words. Tangela had a great capacity for love and affection, and after a few dates he’d known she was the one. They’d grown up together and she’d been there through every trial and every success. He kept his eyes on her as she spoke, amazed that she could discuss the demise of their relationship with such detachment. Warrick was the first to admit he hadn’t been the perfect boyfriend, but he’d never imagined those words coming out of Tangela’s mouth.
“It’s hard to maintain a relationship when one person wants out.”
As if sucker punched in the gut, Warrick slumped back in his chair, shoulders bent in defeat. Clearing the cobwebs from his mind, he swallowed a curse. He considered giving his side of the story, but didn’t want to lose his temper. Tangela didn’t look at him and carried on as though he wasn’t even there. Was she putting on an act or did she really believe he’d stopped loving her? Warrick didn’t know what to think. Women were confusing and even now, at thirty-one, he didn’t understand them any better than he had at thirteen.