by Pamela Yaye
“So, you like Ms. Karma, huh?”
Morrison coughed to clear his throat. “Who, me?”
“Yeah, you. Want me to put in a good word for you?”
“Nice try, Reagan. I know what you’re trying to do, but I’m not going to let you change the subject. What you did last night wasn’t cool, and I’m very disappointed in you.”
Hanging her head, she fiddled with her gold thumb ring on her left hand.
“Prove to me you can be trusted, and I’ll give you more freedom.”
“Sorry about last night, Uncle Morrison. It was an honest mistake. Really.”
“I’m going to cut you some slack this time, but if you ever stay out all night you’ll never drive your Mini Cooper again.” Morrison opened the center console, took out Reagan’s car keys and handed them to her. “Remember what I said.”
“I will. Thanks, Uncle Morrison.”
Driving along Main Street, he marveled at how much the Hamptons had changed since he was a kid. There were high-end restaurants, salons and boutiques popping up every week, and Morrison couldn’t go anywhere without spotting the paparazzi lying in wait. Noticing a helicopter in the sky, which was the preferred mode of travel from New York for the very wealthy, he wondered who was flying in. In the summer, residents complained of the traffic, the noise and the party atmosphere, but Morrison was looking forward to socializing and networking with foreign businessmen and obscenely rich entrepreneurs.
“Can you please take me home? I’m tired, and I’d really like to chill out in my room,” she explained. “I’ll visit with Grandma and Grandpa tomorrow.”
He took a moment to consider her request. “Fine, but I don’t want anyone in the house. No friends, no loud music, and if you decide to go out you have to be home by curfew.”
She sighed deeply, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted in a frown.
“I know you think I’m hard on you, but everything I do is for your good—”
“Okay, okay, I get it. From now on, I’ll obey your every word. Now, back to you and Ms. Karma. When are you going to ask her out?”
Morrison kept his eyes on the road. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, Uncle Morrison, keep it a hundred.” Facing him, she tucked her feet under her bottom and tapped an index finger against her cheek. “You’re feeling her, and you know it. You were staring at her hard when she left. It’s a miracle you didn’t pop an eye vessel.”
Morrison wanted to laugh, but he wore a straight face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his niece this happy, and was amused by her jokes. The truth was out. He was interested in Karma, sexually attracted to her, but he’d never act on his feelings. His focus was on raising Reagan and advancing his career, not pursuing a feisty, provocative woman from Brooklyn.
Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he thought about his ex-girlfriend. Their relationship had ended because the anesthesiologist didn’t get along with Reagan, and none of the females he’d met in recent months appealed to him. They were all savvy career women with graduate degrees, but there’d been no spark, no fire. Morrison realized he had the opposite problem with Karma. Their chemistry was so strong every time their eyes met he wanted to kiss her, to stroke every inch of her body. There was nothing sexier than a woman who was comfortable in her own skin, and Karma moved with the ease of a runway model.
“Uncle Morrison, you have to bring your A game to win Ms. Karma over and, even though you play chess and watch CNN religiously, I have complete faith in you.”
Morrison scoffed, and Reagan giggled. He didn’t mind her poking fun at him, and chuckled when she started clapping and singing off-key.
“Uncle Morrison and Ms. Karma sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” Reagan sang, dancing around in her seat, her voice strong and loud. “First comes loves, then comes marriage, then comes triplets in a Gucci baby carriage!”
Wearing a wry smile, Morrison turned into his estate and drove up the driveway.
“Men are always hounding Ms. Karma for her number, so you have to come correct when you ask her out. And don’t be late for your date. Ms. Karma hates that.”
“Bye, Reagan,” he said, unlocking the doors. “Don’t forget to put on the alarm.”
“I will. Bye, Uncle Morrison. See you later!”
Reagan threw open the door then rushed inside. Morrison was pressed for time, but he sat in his SUV for a moment, thinking about his conversation with his niece. She’d promised to be on her best behavior, but Morrison didn’t believe her. To assuage his fears, he’d call Duane and ask him to check up on Reagan tonight.
Karma’s words came back to him, playing in his ears like a song. Mistakes are a part of growing up, and if you don’t give Reagan the room to fall she’ll never learn to fly. He’d disagreed with Karma that morning in her office, still did. He knew what was best for Reagan, and his job was to protect her, to make sure she didn’t make the same mistakes his sister did as a teenager. He’d convince Karma to fire Reagan, and when she did he’d show his appreciation—in the bedroom. Encouraged by the thought, Morrison drove back down the driveway, whistling to himself. Considering his next move, he broke into a broad grin as a plan formed in his mind. Karma was no match for him, and he’d prove it.
Chapter 5
“Girl, you’re lucky I love you, or I’d steal your rich, fine-ass fiancé right from under your nose!”
The bridesmaids cackled at the matron of honor’s outrageous joke, laughing as if they were watching a comedy special on the flat screen TV, and the bride rolled her eyes to the ceiling. The Royal Suite at the Four Seasons New York was so loud and noisy, Karma could feel a headache forming in her temples and took a deep breath to stop the room from spinning.
Scared her knees were going to buckle, Karma leaned against the padded armchair the bride was sitting on. For the past three hours, she’d been doing hair and makeup for the Tolbert-Lefevre bridal party—and discreetly blogging about it on her iPhone when no one was looking—and Karma was so tired all she could think about was taking a nap.
Her thoughts returned to that morning. The bride had called her in a panic at 6 a.m. because her long-time stylist had fallen ill and couldn’t do her hair and makeup for her wedding. Torn over what to do, Karma had weighed the pros and cons of going to Manhattan. She’d wanted to help the White House deputy assistant, but she’d planned to spend her birthday weekend partying with Jazz in the city. But when the bride agreed to triple her fee, and pay for two nights’ accommodations at the Four Seasons New York, Karma had accepted the job. Karma felt guilty for changing her plans with Jazz at the last minute, but she’d be a fool to turn down the high-paying gig. It had taken some convincing, but Jazz had agreed to meet her at the hotel after the reception, and Karma was looking forward to hanging out with her bestie tonight.
The gold wedding invitation card, propped up on the fireplace mantel, caught Karma’s eye. Everyone who mattered in the world of business, politics, entertainment and sports would be at the Tolbert-Lefevre wedding, and Karma was hoping to find some new clients. The Hamptons’ upper crust was starting to notice her, and it felt good. More than anything, she wanted Beauty by Karma to be a household name. That was the only way to honor her mother’s legacy. Her mom’s words played in her mind as Karma remembered happier times. You’re smart, and strong, and capable, hermosa, and you can do anything you put your mind to. You’re destined for great things, so walk boldly into your destiny—
“It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” shrieked a pencil-thin bridesmaid, throwing open the suite door. “Breakfast is here, ladies, so eat now or forever hold your peace!”
Giggles and cheers filled the air as the bridal party swarmed the lanky waiter and his cart.
“I’m too nervous to eat,” Antoinette confessed with a sheepish smile. “Last night at the rehearsal dinner, W
inston fed me so much caviar and beignets I’m still full...”
Karma tucked her foundation brush in her vinyl makeup tool belt and picked up her water bottle. Taking a sip, her gaze wandered around the room. Bridesmaids were eating gooey pastries, snapping selfies and singing along to the R & B song playing on the Bose stereo system. The lavish suite occupied the top floor of the five-star hotel, and had all the amenities a guest would want. Eye-catching contemporary art, a champagne-filled minibar and a butler’s kitchen worthy of a celebrity chef. Ornate chandeliers hung from twenty-six-foot ceilings, and the windows offered panoramic views of the city skyline.
Determined to finish strong, Karma took a deep breath and got back to work. Blocking out the noise in the suite, she cupped the bride’s chin in her hand, and added waterproof mascara to her eyes. Karma had never dreamed of getting married, or being a wife, but she envied the forty-year-old bride from Long Island. Antoinette was living the American dream; she had a fantastic career, a supportive family and a doting fiancé. Karma had never been madly in love, or swept off her feet, and listening to Antoinette gush about her fiancé made Karma wish she had a soul mate too. Someone who would accept her in spite of her past.
For some strange reason, an image of Morrison flashed in her mind. At the thought of him, her mouth dried and her nipples hardened underneath her purple, silk shirtdress. Karma wondered how Judge Hottie was spending his weekend. Or rather, who he was spending it with. Since their run-in last Saturday at her shop she’d bumped into him twice. Once at the grocery store, and yesterday at the bank. She’d wanted to approach him, had even rehearsed what she’d say when they came face-to-face, but by the time Karma finished with the teller Morrison was gone. Not that it mattered. He thought he was better than her, so why waste her time flirting with him?
Karma added bronze blush to the bride’s cheeks, concentrating intently on what she was doing so she wouldn’t mess up, but Morrison consumed her thoughts. They were from two different worlds, and even though she was a successful businesswoman worth millions, she’d never be on his level. He had status and prestige, and she was a lowly stylist from Brooklyn; they didn’t belong together, and Karma had a better chance of winning Survivor than hooking up with him. Still, she lusted after him. She’d thought she was doing a good job hiding her true feelings, but when Reagan stopped by the shop yesterday after school she’d said, I’m glad you like my uncle, Ms. Karma. You’re perfect for him.
Karma shuddered at the memory. Mortified that her clients had overheard Reagan, she’d dragged the teen aside and set her straight, assured her that there was nothing going on between them. Though, deep down, Karma wished there was. She wasn’t looking for love, and didn’t want to get married or have children, but she was attracted to Morrison and couldn’t stop thinking about him. Thanks to Reagan, she’d learned some interesting facts about Morrison. He spoke Spanish fluently, loved fishing and horror flicks, and most shocking of all, he was an avid traveler who had been to more than fifty countries.
“The photographer will be here in ten minutes,” announced a baby-faced bridesmaid, checking out her reflection in the wall mirror. “Get yourselves together, ladies. It’s showtime!”
A shriek went up in the suite, as bridesmaids rushed about, getting ready.
“You look incredible, Antoinette,” Karma praised, adjusting the bride’s diamond tiara. “Excited to become Mrs. Winston Tolbert?”
Antoinette touched her stomach, then cupped a hand over her mouth.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong?”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she mumbled, her eyes wide with alarm.
Thinking fast, Karma helped the bride to her feet and into the bathroom.
“It’s just your nerves acting up. You’ll be fine.”
“What if I’m not?” Antoinette paced the length of the room, her fuzzy, high-heel slippers slapping against the marble floor. “What if I’m making a mistake? What if things don’t work out? What if Winston and I don’t last?”
Over the years, Karma had done hair and makeup for hundreds of weddings, but this was the first time she’d ever seen a bride with cold feet—and it wasn’t pretty. Antoinette had tears in her eyes, a runny nose and a panicked expression on her oval face. Jazz often joked that a stylist was a therapist, a mother and a pastor all rolled into one, and as she listened to Antoinette vent, Karma realized her bestie was right. She had to find a way to calm her down, fearing if she didn’t the deputy assistant would be a runaway bride.
Filled with compassion, she wore a sympathetic smile. Though she’d only met the groom a couple times, Karma liked him and thought he was the perfect counterpart for Antoinette. And if anyone could have a successful marriage, it was the bold, adventurous couple.
The door flew open, and the matron of honor paraded inside, carrying two flutes overflowing with champagne. “Sis, it’s not too late to change your mind,” she trilled, shoving a glass into the bride’s hands. “Just kidding! You have to marry Winston. He’s the only man I know who’ll put up with your crap!”
“Shut up, Bianca. No one asked you,” Antoinette snapped. “Just go. I don’t want you in here.”
Her laughter stopped, and the smirk slid off her heart-shaped face. “Relax, sis, I was just teasing.”
Wanting a moment alone with the bride, Karma gripped the matron of honor’s shoulders and steered her out of the bathroom. “Sweetie, go fix yourself up,” she whispered. “You have lipstick on your teeth.”
Closing the door, Karma winked at the bride. “Phew, I thought she’d never leave!”
Antoinette dropped onto the suede bench and dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. “I don’t know what to do,” she said quietly, staring at her solitaire engagement ring.
“Every time you come by the salon you gush about how incredible your fiancé is, so why are you doubting his love and devotion now?”
Laughter and cheers rang out in the suite, and the music got louder.
“I’m scared, Karma. This is my second marriage. What if it doesn’t work out? What if ten years down the line I end up getting another divorce? What then?”
Crouching down in front of the bench, Karma took Antoinette’s hands in hers and squeezed them, wanting her to know she wasn’t alone. “In life there are no guarantees, but—”
“Winston wants kids,” Antoinette announced, cutting Karma off midsentence. “But what if I’m too old to conceive? What if my eggs have all shriveled up and died?”
“Have you talked to Winston about your fears?”
At the mention of her fiancé’s name her eyes lit up, and her smile returned. “Yes, of course,” she said, slowly nodding her head. “He said if we can’t conceive naturally we’ll adopt.”
“You’re right, Antoinette. He is a good man.” To lighten the mood, Karma raised an eyebrow and joked, “And I wouldn’t worry about conceiving naturally if I were you. Winston’s going to take one look at you in your breathtaking, custom-made Pnina Tornai gown and drag you to the pastor’s office for a quickie!”
A bridesmaid banged on the door. “Time to shake a leg, Antoinette. The photographer’s here, and we can’t afford to fall behind schedule...”
Antoinette didn’t move.
“You’re going to have the wedding of your dreams, and as long as you remember to keep the marriage commandments you’ll have a long, prosperous and passionate union.”
Antoinette raised her bent shoulders and rose to her feet. “The marriage commandments?” she repeated, dabbing at her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe. “What’s that?”
“The rules every wife should live by, of course.”
Interest sparked in her eyes. “I’ve never heard of it. What are they?”
Struggling to keep a straight face, Karma gripped Antoinette’s shoulders, stared deep in her eyes and spoke in a stern voice. “Thou shalt love your husband, support your husb
and and rock his world in the bedroom twice every night!”
Antoinette tossed her head back and erupted in laughter.
The sound was music to Karma’s ears. “Don’t laugh too hard,” she teased, wagging a finger in the bride’s face. “You’ll ruin your makeup, and I don’t have time to redo it, so knock it off, Mrs. Winston Tolbert-to-be.”
The women embraced, and Antoinette giggled again.
“Thanks for the laugh, Karma. I needed it.”
Karma positioned Antoinette in front of the mirror, then stepped aside.
“Oh my goodness. What did you do? It doesn’t even look like me!”
“Do you like it?” Karma held her breath, hoped she’d captured the bride’s vision.
“I don’t like it. I love it,” she gushed, touching her fancy updo with her fingertips.
“Ready to marry your one true love?”
Antoinette eagerly nodded her head. “You bet your Louboutins I am. Let’s do this!”
* * *
Karma sat inside the Mother African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church in Harlem, marveling at the beauty of the oldest black church in New York. The Gothic-style building was a historical landmark that was as grand as it was regal. Sunshine poured through the stained-glass windows, casting a halo around the bride and groom, and the air was perfumed with a sweet, fragrant scent. From the extravagant flower display, to the larger-than-life archway and celebrity pianist, it was obvious the couple had spared no expense planning their five-hundred-guest wedding. Pillars were swathed in red roses, vines and peonies, creating a garden-like effect, shiny, oversize bows hung from each pew, and potted candles lined the satin-draped aisle.
Opening her clutch purse, Karma retrieved her silk handkerchief and fanned her face. Listening to the groom recite his personalized wedding vows brought tears to her eyes and made her realize everything Antoinette had ever told her about Winston was true. His excitement was palpable, and the expression on his face was sincere. The female guests released a collective sigh as the CEO gazed longingly at his bride.