Champagne Life (34 page)

I looked over at Jeremy, who was still sleeping. I lowered my
voice and said, “Dad died.” I tried to steady my tone, but my voice cracked.

“Oh, man. I am so sorry, Mimi. Was he sick? Do you feel okay to talk about it now?”

“He had a heart attack.” Tears formed in the corners of my eyes. “It hurts so much, DeShaun. We're hanging in there though.”

“How's Mom?”

“She's managing, but it's a struggle for all of us.”

“Man, I am so sorry to hear that, Mimi. You should've called. I would've gone with you.”

I checked on Jeremy, who flinched a couple of times but commenced his loud snoring. I leaned over the side of the bed and lowered my voice even more. “I was going to call, but then when you called that time, you were so angry and told me you had divorce papers in the mail.”

“Shit! I'm sorry, Mimi. I was being an asshole. I was just—I don't know what I was,” he said. “I'm sorry. Were all your relatives at the funeral?”

“Everyone, including good ol' sis.”

“Cara was there?” he asked. “Did someone have to call nine-one-one to pull you off of her?”

I laughed through my tears. “Almost. That girl got on my last nerve.”

“Remember when she came to the family reunion and busted her ass playing badminton?” DeShaun said. “You couldn't tell her it wasn't the Olympics. She was going for the gold, too.”

“I remember that. She tried to get a foul on me for that point, saying I was illegally spiking the birdie.”

We both started laughing. Jeremy stirred and then opened his eyes. Rubbing his tired eyes, he looked up at me and asked, “Who's that?”

I quickly covered the speaker with the palm of my hand. “I'll be off in a second.” I removed my hand, turned away and whispered, “I have to go.”

“Okay,” DeShaun said on the other end. “Look, Naomi, I want to meet up with you when you get back. Is that okay?”

“We should be home tomorrow evening.”

“We?”

“I have to go,” I said, quickly. “I'll call you when I get back.”

“Okay, but tell your mother and Cara I said hello, even though your mother probably doesn't want to hear it.”

“You'd be surprised.”

“I bet I would.”

I felt him smiling through the phone.

I hung up and shoved the phone back into my purse, careful to avoid Jeremy's inquisitive stare. “You hungry, Jeremy? I'm starving. Want something to eat?”

Jeremy sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. With his elbows resting on his knees and his head hung low, he asked, “Was that him? Was that DeShaun?”

I stepped out of bed. “I don't want to get into it now.”

“Was it or wasn't it him? I'm asking a question.”

“Does it matter?”

“What do you mean does it matter? Of course, it does. Why would it not matter that I just told you I loved you and within hours after having sex, you're talking to your husband, ex-husband, whatever? Of course, it matters.”

“Yes, it was him. There. Are you happy now?”

“Do I look happy?”

“We are finally on speaking terms. He called, asking where I was, and when I told him, he wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“I don't get why he's calling you in the first place. I thought you said he sent divorce papers to your house. That should be it.”

“It's not that simple.”

“That's because he's not making it that simple. He doesn't need to call you and next time he does, I want to tell him that.”

“What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?”

“I love you, remember? I want to be with you and the babies. He doesn't. I don't want him disrespecting me like that again, like I'm some fool. I'm not the one and next time I see him, he's gonna know it.”

“Jeremy, it's not like that. He wasn't disrespecting you. He doesn't even know about you.”

“Oh really? Tell me this. Are we or are we not going to be together?”

“Jeremy—”

“It's not a difficult question.”

“Yes, we are going to be together. Would you please relax? I'm with you, okay?”

The tense creases around his eyes relaxed a little, so I figured everything was cool. “I want to go back to the house to say goodbye to my mother. Are you coming?”

“I'll drop you off,” he said. “I have an errand to run before we head back to PA.”

A nagging suspicion told me that this topic wasn't even close to being finished.

D
eShaun grabbed the platter of shrimp and practically sprinted out the glass patio double doors. As he hurried past the party-goers relaxing on the veranda, he noticed several other guests holding empty champagne and wine glasses.

Dammit, where the hell was M.J.?

He spotted M.J. across the patio, surrounded by several women, serving hors d'oeuvres and chatting it up like he was one of the guests, instead of the help that DeShaun had brought along to make sure this party was a success. DeShaun hadn't secured a solid party in two weeks and he was getting worried. Aside from Countess Vargas' Thanksgiving party coming up, he only had one or two smaller gigs lined up. He was pulling in over $2,500 for a larger private function, but that money had to also pay for the guys he brought along to help him serve. It didn't matter that he was still bunking on M.J.'s lumpy pull-out couch. If M.J. didn't pick it up, he was getting a smaller cut. If anyone, including his boy, was messing with his money, that was going to be a big problem.

“DeShaun,” the Countess said, holding his arm in a death grip. “Would you like to come back to my place tonight to service my
private
party?” The old woman was slurring and her eyes practically rolling back in her head as she spoke.

DeShaun smiled politely. “I can't. I have a million things to do after this party.”

“Really?” she asked. “What about tomorrow night?”

DeShaun kept his focus ahead, still in search of M.J. “We'll talk about that another time. Let me get you another drink.” As expected, that trick earned him his freedom. She released his arm and he headed toward the bar to get the Countess another drink.

“DeShaun,” she called after him. “I'm really sorry, but I'm going to have to cancel my Thanksgiving feast. I won't need you after all.”

“Excuse me?” This got his full attention. “What do you mean cancel? We have a signed contract.”

“The recession is killing me,” she said. “With everyone losing money, no one feels like celebrating anyway. I will keep you in mind for future engagements.”

“You can't do that. What about the contract we signed?”

She shrugged. “Take me to court. I'm not throwing the party.”

“Does this have anything to do with the fact that I won't sleep with you?”

“It has everything to do with that,” the Countess said matter-of-factly. “You can fuck that fat cow, Jenn Herjavec, but you won't have me?”

“What are you talking about?”

She waved her bony, manicured hand in the air, like she was shooing a fly. “Oh, please. Spare me the denial. Everyone knows.”

“But, but—” He was desperate. “I saved your life.”

“I'm an old, drunk woman. I fall into the pool at least once at every party. If it wasn't you, it would've been someone else.” She turned and started walking away. “Take care of yourself, DeShaun, darling.”

He watched her stumble away. Now what? He'd really have to hustle to get another gig to replace that one.

“Yo, DeShaun.” M.J. came running up. “We're out of Patron and Zinfandel. People are beginning to complain.”

“I have reserve bottles in my car,” DeShaun said. “It's not a lot, so fill the glasses halfway instead of two-thirds. And tell those ignorant assholes who are supposed to be working for me to stop drinking it, and that includes you!” DeShaun knew the guys dipped into the bottles and snuck glasses here and there during the service.

“Man, we don't want that mess,” M.J. said, darting off toward the car. “We like the good stuff.”

“Hello, DeShaun.”

DeShaun turned around. Berti stood there in a casual pair of khakis and a cotton button down shirt. “How are you?”

“Mr. Herjavec, I mean Berti. I wasn't aware you would be here tonight.”

“Last-minute thing.” He took a sip from the wineglass he was holding. “The Nielsons and I are good friends and they insisted I come, so here I am.”

“That's good.” He looked beyond Mr. Herjavec and toward his car to make sure M.J. grabbed the correct cases.

“Looking for my wife?” Berti asked.

“Oh, no, I was just—”

“She won't be here tonight. It's better that way.”

DeShaun chose his words carefully. “Why is that?”

Berti threw his head back and chugged down the remaining contents in his glass. “What is the saying? Something like, never biting the hand that feeds you?” He thought a moment. “I don't know, something like that. But, if you're more of a biblical man, how about, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife? Does that sound more familiar?” He shook his head. “On second thought, you seem like you'd favor the ‘don't shit where you sleep' saying. Am I right?”

DeShaun kept his face straight. “I don't know what you're talking about.” If he had to, he was prepared to battle with this man, right here, right now.

“I think you do,” Berti said. “I fed you and you bit me…hard.”

“I don't—”

“Please stop. I know.”

DeShaun raised his head and squared off his shoulders. He realized this day was coming. It was inevitable. “I've only worked one of your parties, so, in essence, you have never really
fed
me, so to speak.”

Berti's face turned red. DeShaun expected him to ball up his fists and throw a punch any second. He was surprised when Berti simply stood there, shaking his head. “Let me help you understand. You see these people? These people are
my
friends, not yours. I've allowed you to work for them and squirrel away some nuts for the winter, but not anymore. The Countess didn't cancel her party, you ninny. In fact, my wife and I will be there for Thanksgiving. You won't. I made sure of that. You really should check your messages more often. As we speak, those two other parties
my friends
booked are being cancelled.”

DeShaun stared him down. “You bastard.”

“And you're an asshole who has no respect for another man's property.”

“Like you care. Aren't you busy with your own side projects? I know about you and those young black guys.”

“By the time I'm finished with you, you'll beg me to be one of those young guys.”

“You're sick.”

Berti reached up and scratched the tiny stubble forming on his chin. “Aren't you tired of losing? When will you realize that some of us win in life and some are like you. Your wife left you and now
my wife is gone, too. You have no work. If I have anything to do with it, you will never work around here again. You neglected to realize that no woman is ever worth your livelihood. You can lose a woman and find another one, but if you lose your livelihood, you're done. No woman wants a broke loser. Now, if you will be so polite as to pack up your shit and go. This party is over for you.”

Berti turned and started walking away. He stopped, turned back to DeShaun and said, “Great party, but don't expect to get paid for it. If you got a problem with that, take it up with my lawyers.”

“My men working here have nothing to do with me,” DeShaun said. “At least they should get paid.”

“That's what happens when you associate with trash—you all get thrown away. Like I said, if you have a problem, take it up with my lawyer. You dug your own grave; lie in it.”

“W
here's Jeremy?” Mom asked. She was in the kitchen, fixing turkey and cheese sandwiches for Jeremy and me to pack into our bags for the car ride back to Philly.

“Mom, you don't have to do that. We can get something on the road.”

“Too expensive.” She slathered low-fat mayonnaise onto a slice of whole wheat bread. She grabbed two slices of turkey, a slice of tomato and some shredded lettuce and placed it onto one slice of bread. “You want cheese?”

“Two slices, please.”

She grinned as she reached for a slice.

“Hey, if you're going to make it, I'm gonna eat it,” I told her. “Got any bacon?”

“You know I do.” She opened up the refrigerator and pulled out a piece of tin foil. “Courtesy of your sister.”

“Cara cooked? Grab your sweater, folks. Hell is about to freeze over.”

Mom shot me a quick, disapproving look. “Behave yourself, please. She brought the bacon over from her hotel's breakfast bar. You know I raised me some non-cooking, non-cleaning girls.”

“Is she here, now?” The question barely left my lips before the front door opened and I heard stilettos clicking on the wooden floor.

Cara came sauntering into the kitchen. “I didn't expect to see you here this early, little sis.”

“Don't you mean you were hoping?”

“Tomayto, tomahto.” She looked around the kitchen. “Where's Loverboy?”

“None of your business.”

“Don't worry.” She grabbed a glass container full of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured herself a glass. “I won't try to steal him from behind your back. I'm not you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks. I was worried.”

“Girls,” Mom said. “I wish you two would stop bickering all the time. It's only us now. You're father is gone and I would appreciate a little more family unity.”

“It's her fault,” Cara whined. “It's always been her fault. She needs to say I'm sorry.”