Champagne Life (22 page)

He stepped onto the porch and rang the bell. He looked down at his suit and straightened his tie. Jenn never told him how to dress for the party, but he had worked a few progressive parties before and most of those functions were semi-formal.

He stared down at his polished black shoes. Maybe he overdid it a bit.

When Jenn opened the door, she was wearing a white, sleeveless cotton summer dress. Her dark hair hung loosely in wavy curls below her shoulders. She wore minimal makeup, just enough to soften and highlight her already beautiful features. “Wow!” she exclaimed, giving DeShaun the once-over. “Aren't you burning up in that suit? Is that a vest?”

“Too much, huh?”

“Just a bit.”

DeShaun felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

“No, no, I mean you look good, but it's just so—so hot.”

“I could run home and change.”

He thought about how much explaining he had already done to get out of the house in his suit in the first place. He told Naomi that the party was formal, saying that he was supervising the other service people so he needed to dress professionally to distinguish himself from the other workers.

He was in the clear when Naomi simply said, “My baby is the supervisor? Good for you.” She'd kissed him on the cheek and wished him luck. On the ride over, he felt guilty, but the last thing he needed was another argument. How could he go back now and explain changing into another outfit?

“No worries,” Jenn said, grabbing him by the hand. “I have a surprise for you.” She rushed him up the steps and steered him down a plush carpeted hall and toward a back room. He had never seen the upstairs of her house.

“Where is everybody?” he asked.

“Everybody like who? Berti is on a business trip and I'm here.”

“What about the servants?”

“What servants? I don't have any servants.”

“The people who are always here, cleaning, when you have a party.”

“We use them for the evening, like we do service people. They don't actually work here. No way could I stand having somebody in my house all day long. Besides, I like walking around nude. The only time I put on clothes in my own home is when the cleaning people come twice a week.”

She pulled him into the bedroom. It wasn't as elaborate as expected.
It looked clean and comfortable, but no hanging chandeliers or gold-plated walls as he envisioned. The paint colors on the wall were a light tan and peach. Not at all a room he pictured Mr. Herjavec sleeping in.

“Like my room?”

He nodded, not questioning why she called it
her
room, instead of
their
room.

She went to her closet and reached up to the top shelf. She pulled down a large rectangular box. “This is for you.”

DeShaun took the box and opened it. Inside was a tan casual suit with silver buttons.

“It's Armani,” she said excitedly. “Take a look.”

Before DeShaun could, Jenn pulled out the casual button down shirt and held it up to him. “Try it on in the bathroom, over there. I want to see if I guessed your size correctly.”

When DeShaun came out of the bathroom, he was surprised to see the suit fit perfectly. “How did you know my size?”

“I was a tailor's assistant when I was in college. He taught me how to size up someone's inseam with one look. “

“You worked before?” DeShaun said. “And went to college?”

“Don't sound so surprised. I had to. My parents were piss-poor. I worked my way through four years of college and came out with a bachelor's degree in liberal arts.”

“Is that where you met Mr. Herjavec?”

“My last summer at the tailoring shop, he came in, wanting a suit.”

“Did you know
his
size at one glance?”

“Believe it or not, he was huge back then. Berti has always been a larger man. He just watches what he eats now. He spends tons of money on nutritionists, dietitians and trainers.”

“Sounds like he enjoys spending money on things that keep him in shape,” DeShaun said. “There's nothing wrong with that.”

“Aside from that, he's cheap,” Jenn said. “We were so in love back then, but, I guess the love has turned into more of a mutual respect for one another. Sometimes barely that.”

DeShaun thought of Naomi. “It's good that you both have respect for each other.”

“The only thing I didn't like back then was that Berti never understood I
wanted
to work. I wanted to make my own money. Do you know what it's like to have someone not value what you do?”

He decided to plead the fifth on that one. He knew exactly what it felt like.

“C'est la vie,”
Jenn said. “It's not like I didn't come out on top.”

“Are you happy, though?”

“Happiness? That's secondary. I'm just trying to win this race with a slow and steady pace. You know, take one day at a time.” She grabbed DeShaun's shoulders, turned him around and steered him toward the full-length mirror. “You have got to see how good you look this. Berti could work out seven days a week, ten hours a day, and still not look as good as you.

He checked out his reflection. He had to admit, the suit looked good. The material of the pants, hung loosely on him and the shirt felt like silk against his chest. She was right. The clothes fit perfectly. He looked like a completely different man.

Jenn pulled open the top drawer of her dresser. “I've got one more thing for you.” DeShaun caught a glimpse of several pairs of silky, colorful panties and bras. She handed a black box to him. “You must accept this. I insist.”

DeShaun opened up the box. It was a brand-new men's watch. It looked expensive; it didn't have any numbers on the face, and a tiny diamond was in the place of the twelve. “I can't accept this.” He had a hard time taking his eyes off the sparkling piece of jewelry.

“You most certainly can,” she urged. “It goes perfectly with the suit.”

He thought of Naomi again. “I really shouldn't.” For some reason, he kept forgetting the fact that, yeah, he really should. This jewel on his wrist was worth a car payment.

“Please. I want you to have it.”

He secured the watch around his wrist, lifted his arm and then inspected every inch of it. “Thank you.”

“Your wife wouldn't mind if I gave you a tiny kiss, would she?”

He shrugged. “No, I guess not.”

“Good.” Jenn leaned up and placed a small peck on his cheek. “You like it, don't you?”

“I love it. Thanks.”

“Now, for my final gift.”

“Another one? You've already done so much. I can't accept one more thing from you.”

“Yes, you can. Besides, this one is cheap, but it will make you a million bucks some day.”

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.

“
W
ho 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.”