Live and Learn (15 page)

I
drove my car up the Ave., my eyes looking left and right for Antoine’s ugly ass. I couldn’t find Jarvus, my regular supplier, so now I had Antoine on my mind. I just passed another bodega when I spotted his Magilla Gorilla–looking ass walkin’ out the store in my rearview mirror. My palms were sweatin’ as I turned the wheel doin’ a U-turn in the middle of the street to head back in his direction.

A car behind me blew its horn as I almost hit dey ass, but I ain’t care. I
had
to get to Antoine. I felt sick as hell like I could throw up and shit myself all at once.

I lowered the window. “Antoine!” I yelled out to him.

He turned, spotted me, and looked confused before he jogged across the street to me. “Oh, whaddup, Dom?” he asked, his voice gruff and wet sounding like he had spit in his throat. Ugh!

He bent down to lean into the window, and I had to stop myself from frowning at the smell of old Newport cigarettes, Doritos, and funk on his breath. “Let me get a bag,” I told him, holding my breath so I didn’t swallow his.

“I don’t sell weed, baby girl. Nothin’ but the real deal.”

“Don’t you think I know dat,” I snapped, pushing a twenty in his hand.

His face became shocked. “Damn, Dom, I ain’t know you got down like that!”

“Fuck the commentary and give me my shit.”

He dropped the tiny Ziploc bag of pedope onto my lap. “Do you,” he said, unconcerned. To him I was nothing but another customer.

“Yeah, whatever,” I said, pulling off as soon as he stepped back from my car.

“R
ah, it’s me. I made it to Houston okay. Thought I could talk to you before all of the conference meetings began, uhm…I guess you aren’t home.” I glanced at my newest Gucci watch. “I’ve been trying to call on your cell since early this morning. I’ll just call you back later. Bye.”

I released a deep breath as I dropped my silver cell phone into my attaché. I walked around the bedroom of my junior suite at the Hotel Derek near the Galleria Mall. I couldn’t help getting pissed as I pondered just what Rah’s little slick ass was up to. Did he even stay at his apartment last night or was he just avoiding my calls because he was still upset?

Acting like a straight bitch.

Rah hadn’t wanted me to accompany Cameron on the business trip to Houston. This conference was free, the trip was free, and all of it would help my career in the long run. Was I supposed to turn down Cameron’s generous offer? Hell no.

Rah was just trippin’. He even accused me of messing around with Cameron, which was the dumbest thing I heard in a long time. Cameron and me? Please.

Rah was just guilty ’bout his own dirt, that was all, and he still had no idea that I was on to his no-good ass. Just like he didn’t know about Lionel. What was good for the goose was damn sure good for the gander. Okay?

Bump Rah. If it wasn’t for the fact that we actually went car shopping last week, I would’ve dumped his ass and moved on to bigger and better things.

I was just slipping on the heels to match my pantsuit when there was a knock on the door. Knowing it was Cameron, I grabbed my Gucci purse before leaving the bedroom. “Coming,” I called out.

“Hello, Cam—” The rest of the words froze in my throat at the sight of him.
Well, I’ll be damned.

Cameron was dressed casually in a Tommy Hilfiger shirt and jean shorts, both fit loosely around his tall, muscular frame. He even had on a fitted baseball cap and black Jordans. He looked like one of the fellas around the way. Definitely not the tight LeTigre tucked into fitted Lee jeans like I would have expected.

“I feel overdressed,” I said, looking down at my silk Norma Kamali suit. I’d assumed he would be similarly dressed in business attire. I grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. “Have a seat while I change.”

“Take your time,” he told me, moving to pick up the remote and turn the television in the corner to ESPN.

I left him in the living room while I chose a casual outfit. When Cameron had said he was going sightseeing and asked if I wanted to tag along, I agreed. There weren’t any meetings until the following morning, and since I wasn’t familiar with the city, I didn’t want to wander alone.

I hung the outfit back on a padded hanger I brought and pulled on a pair of vintage Versace jeans, beautiful beaded peach tank, and traded my pumps for high-heeled sandals. I swapped all the stuff from my Gucci purse into the tiny beaded clutch matching my sandals. One last check of my hair and I was ready. Not bad for under five minutes.

“All set,” I told him as I stepped into the living room.

Cameron rose from the couch, his coal black eyes moving from my head down to my manicured toes. “You look…good,” he said, abruptly moving to the door to hold it open for me. “You’re very stylish. I can’t wait to see what you brought to wear to the charity ball tomorrow night.”

I froze in the hallway as Cameron closed the door to my suite. “What ball?” I asked, turning to face him.

“Didn’t I tell you about it? The company throwing the conference has this big charity ball at the end of the conference every year.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Cameron turned and looked down at me. We were so close that his cologne teased me. I could see that his eyes weren’t black but a deep shade of chocolate. “Guess we’re going shopping,” he said dryly, smiling.

The elevator dinged open. “You, Mr. Steele, are even smarter than I thought,” I told him before stepping onto the elevator.

“A ball, huh? Sounds like a date to me?”

I rolled my eyes heavenward at Cristal’s words as I finished getting dressed. Cameron was supposed to pick me up in ten minutes. “This is most definitely not a date. It’s all business.”

“Well, make it risky business,” Cristal teased through the phone line. “He is handsome, wealthy, intelligent, and cultured. He is not Rah, and he is not ghetto. Should I continue?”

“He’s not my type, Cris.”

“Liar, liar pants on fire.”

“I don’t like him like that,” I insisted, realizing that I was trying to convince Cris
and
myself.

Sightseeing yesterday with Cameron had been nice and different. I liked the places we went, the respectful manner in which he treated me, and the conversations we shared.

We started off the day with a breakfast of wings and waffles at the Breakfast Klub—a popular eatery on Travis Street that catered to Houston’s local celebrities and politicians. Next we checked out the city’s sights. I had a really good time as Cameron filled me in on little historical tidbits as we toured the Buffalo Soldiers National Museum. I had nothing but reverence for the slave documents and replica of a slave ship at the Black Holocaust Museum Exhibit. As we strolled through the Gite Gallery, I admired the fine art and was impressed as Cameron bought several priceless pieces without blinking an eye.

We rounded out the day with an early dinner of Caribbean food at Lagniappe Grill. Who knew you could get shrimp on grits?

All of it had been something I enjoyed and never knew I wanted to explore. It had been a fun day…especially shopping for the ball attire. I was quite surprised when he insisted on paying for it. It was his way of apologizing for not informing me of it.

And he went shopping for the dress with me. I modeled them for him, and he became exasperated that I couldn’t decide on one. Could I help it that I loved all ten?

My reveries ended when I remembered I was on the phone.

“Cris, I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow when I get back to Newark. Call Mo and try to find Dom and we’ll go eat.”

“Girl, I can not remember the last time I talked to Dom,” Cris said.

“All the more reason for us to find out what’s going on with her.”

“You are right. See you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and Ze? I will take it back to the old school. Cut that zero and get with that hero.”

I rolled my eyes heavenward. “Bye, girl.”

“Ta-ta.”

There was a knock at my door just as I dropped my cell into my new beaded clutch purse. I took one last look at myself in the mirror. The body-skimming strapless gown was a gorgeous and elegant ebony that seemed to make my cinnamon brown skin even more vibrant. A trip to the salon and my hair fell in delicate waves to my shoulders and my makeup was smoky and sexy for an evening look. Stiletto sandals completed my outfit.

Cameron knocked again.

“Coming,” I called out, moving toward the door.

I wouldn’t admit that I was feeling just a bit nervous about how Cameron would like my appearance. I mean the man did pay for it all—another plus in Cris’s book
if
I had told her about it.

“Hey, Cameron,” I greeted him.

I looked up at him, and I was at a loss for words. The man looked gorgeous. The tuxedo was so obviously tailored to fit his physique perfectly that there was no way it was a rental. He held a single rose that he offered to me. I accepted it, vaguely wondering if Rah or Lionel even owned or wore a tuxedo. I doubted it.

“You look beautiful, Monica,” he said in a deep, husky voice that let me know he totally meant the words.

Did I mention that I suddenly loved the way my real name sounded from his lips?

Uh-oh.

S
ome birthday.

Sahad was out of town. Moët was at some church function. Ze was in Houston. Dom was
still
MIA.

A couple of coworkers treated me to lunch. Mostly they wanted to gossip about my relationship with the boss, but at least it was something.

Days like these it really hit home that I had no history, and no family. Thank God for the girls because without them it would truly be just me. A motherless and fatherless child. My parents did not want me, and that was a bitter pill to swallow.

Ever since I was fourteen, I worked for everything I called mine. With the childhood I had endured, I felt I deserved a beautiful apartment, fancy clothes, and a nice car. I was just making up for everything I lacked coming up. A wealthy husband would ensure it all for me with none of my present worries of robbing Peter to pay Paul as I dodged creditors.

What was so wrong with that?

Ding-dong
.

I turned from the living room window to look at the front door. Sahad! Quickly I moved toward it, smoothing the silk lounging outfit I wore over my hips. I pulled the door open with a smile. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me alone on my—”

My words evaporated into nothing as I looked up into Mohammed’s amber eyes. I was absolutely speechless because I had never seen the handyman look quite this way.

“Happy birthday, Ms. Danielle,” he told me with a smile.

His dreadlocks were pulled back from his face with a leather strip to flow down his broad back. The linen sports jacket he wore fit his broad shoulders nicely and contrasted well with the crisp white shirt and jeans he wore. The bouquet of lilac roses he held finished the brotha off nicely.

Oh, the little handyman cleaned up nicely.

“Thank you…thank you, Mohammed,” I said finally, accepting the flowers. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled and looked past me into my apartment. “I hated to think of such a beautiful lady spending her birthday all alone.”

“And how did you know it was my birthday?” I asked with a curious expression as I leaned against the door.

“The day I fixed your sink I overheard you and your man talking about it.”

“Oh,” I said and raised a brow.

He bent down and picked up a plastic bag filled with take-out containers, a bottle of champagne, and a cake box. “Truce, Danielle?” he asked with a serious tone.

I looked down at the roses and then gazed up at him holding dinner and cake for me. I didn’t want to be alone for my birthday. “No strings?” I asked with a warning glare.

“No strings,” he agreed, breezing past me into my apartment with confidence and that damn scent of cocoa butter.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. The food was good. Too good.” I sighed, content and full as we sat at my elegant dining room table.

“I thought you were gonna swallow that bone, you were sucking on it so hard,” he teased in that soft Jamaican lilt as he rose from the table with both our plates.

“You do not have to do that,” I protested halfheartedly.

“Oh, you really sound like you mean that,” he drawled, disappearing into my kitchen.

I could not believe I was spending my birthday with Mohammed, a man who was so different from everything I wanted in a man. I wished Sahad were here, but Mohammed’s company had been nice. Real nice. He was funny, good-natured, and a hopeless flirt.

The lights suddenly dimmed, and I was just about to scream for help when Mohammed walked in carrying the cake with lit candles. “Hap-py birthday to you,” he sang.

I hid my smile at his off-key rendition. “It’s a good thing you’re handy, because you have no future as a singer,” I teased.

Mohammed laughed softly as he set the cake before me on the glass table. He poured us both a glass of champagne, handing me one. “Here’s to many more happy birthdays for one sexy-ass lady.”

We touched glasses together as I warmed under his compliment.

“Thank you,” I told him softly, taking a deep sip.

“Now make a wish.”

I was not an emotional person. The only people I ever deeply cared about were my girls. Still, as I gazed into those tiny embers, the painful truth of my life weighed down on my shoulders, and I felt like crying. “I…uhm, never had a birthday cake,” I revealed, surprising myself. “Ever since high school my friends and I take each other out to eat or to the club to celebrate birthdays, but I have never blown out candles and made a wish. This is…sweeter than you even know, Mohammed.”

He reached across the table and covered my hand with his own. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing my eyes to his face. “This is your first one, so make your wish extra special.”

Smiling away the tears before they could fall, I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes.
I wish that I am this happy on all my birthdays
, I thought to myself, before blowing out every last candle.

“Nothing in this world would have kept me away from you on your birthday,” Mohammed told me, his tone as serious as those damn amber eyes staring into mine.

Brrrnnnggg
.

We both jumped at the alarming sound of the phone ringing. “I better get it,” I told him, moving to the living room.

I picked up the cordless from the base and saw Sahad’s cell number displayed on the caller ID. “Hey, baby,” I sighed into the phone, glad that he called.

“Hey, how’s my birthday girl?”

“Missing you like crazy,” I told him, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Mohammed was walking to the front door.

“Wait,” I said softly, turning to call out to him.

Mohammed paused in the now open doorway and turned to face me.

“Who there? Who you talking to?”

“Nobody, Sahad. No one’s here.” My eyes locked with Mohammed’s as I lied.

He turned and walked out of the door, closing it quietly behind himself.