Man Swappers (6 page)

“Of course we have,” I taunt, grinning. “We’ll give you beautiful grandbabies who’ll be cousins and half-siblings all in one.” The line goes dead. “Love you, too, Mother,” I say, laughing.

Paris
CHAPTER FOUR

“Paradise Boutique, this is Paris speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hi, yes,” the woman on the other end says. “I, um...was in your consignment shop a few days ago...”

“We’re not a consignment shop, ma’am,” I inform her, slightly annoyed that I have to keep telling people this. “Nothing in our boutique is secondhand. And most of our merchandise is one-of-a-kind exclusives.”

Geesh. This shit never ends.
I’ve worked hard to build up my boutique’s reputation as one of the premier shopping experiences in the Tri-State area, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anyone refer to it as a damn consignment shop. After graduating from college and several jobs later, I realized that working a traditional nine-to-five was not something I could successfully do, so I decided that opening my own business was the most practical thing to do, for me.

After college, I landed a job as an assistant buyer for Bloomingdale’s on Fifty-ninth Street in New York. Although I loved my job, I realized after six months of being there that it wasn’t something I wanted to do for someone else for any long period of time. I worked there for two-and-a-half years while going back to school to get a degree in Fashion Merchandising at FIT—Fashion Institute of Technology, for those of you who
might not know, then did an internship at a major fashion house for a year.

Two years later, with savings and a small business loan, I opened Paradise Boutique—a chic, upscale clothing and handbag store in Montclair, New Jersey that specializes in one-of-a-kind fashion by new and up-and-coming designers, as well as, highend designer handbags. Then two years after I opened its doors, Persia and Porsha bought into the business, and have become partners. Persia maintains and manages the website and does all of our marketing, while Porsha handles the bookkeeping, utilizing their degrees in marketing and accounting, respectively. And thanks to them, Paradise Boutique has become one of the hottest boutiques around.

“Oh, well, excuse me,” the woman says, bringing my attention back to her. “I thought it was one of those high-end consignment shops...”
Well, you thought wrong.
I purse my lips. “Anyway, you had a lovely oval beaded clutch there and I’m hoping you still have it.”

My ears perk up, and my tone immediately changes. “Oh, yessss, you’re talking about the Judith Leiber piece. Yes, we still have it. It’s an absolutely stunning bag.”

“Yes, it is. I have a wedding to go to in a few months, and it would go wonderful with my dress.”

Dress? This clutch is for an evening gown
. I imagine her wearing some church-type getup instead of a chic gown, or flowing cocktail dress.
She’s about to fuck up this purse wearing some dumb shit.
“Oh, I’m sure it will. It’s not only eye-catching; it makes an elegant statement.”

“And what’s the cost for such a statement?”

“It’s on sale for nineteen-hundred-and ninety-five dollars.” I walk over to the glass case and unlock it, then pull the crystal and
beaded bag out, locking the case back. “If you’d like, I can hold it for you for twenty-four hours.”

“
Nineteen hundred dollars,
for a bag? Oooh, that’s a bit pricey. Would you consider coming down on the price a pinch?”

I blink, frowning.
What the fuck kind of store does this bitch think I’m running? I just told her ass this isn’t a consignment shop, and it isn’t some damn flea market where you can haggle down prices.
“Unfortunately not,” I tell her flatly, immediately unlocking the glass case and putting the bag back. “The price is firm. But, if you’d like an evening bag that is a little more inexpensive we have a gorgeous pleated satin clutch.” She asks if I can describe it to her. “It has a sleek design of alternating crisp and softly ruffled gold satin stripes with a Swarovski crystal closure. It also comes with a chain strap tucked inside. It’s definitely a gorgeous piece.”

She grunts. Tells me she doesn’t think it will go well with her dress. “And how much is that bag?”

“It’s on sale for four-hundred-and-thirty dollars.”

She coughs. Repeats what I’ve said. “Well, do you have anything a little cheaper than that?”

I pull in my bottom lip. Try to catch myself from going off. “No, we don’t.”

She huffs. “In this economy, those kinda prices for a purse is a bit ridiculous. Some people are barely making ends meet.”

Then why the fuck are you calling here?
I hear myself ask in my head. “I hear your concern, ma’am. But, that’s why they have Marshalls and TJ Maxx to cater to those same people. They offer designer wear at discount prices for people who have to
pinch
their dollars. This is a boutique; not a bargain basement store. Those who can afford the prices will gladly buy. And those who can’t, won’t. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“I don’t think I like your tone,” she says defensively. “And I don’t imagine you getting much business with that kind of attitude. I wanna speak to the owner, if you don’t mind.”

I smile. “I sure don’t. You’re speaking to her. And as I said, this is a high-end boutique, with high-end fashion at high-end prices, ma’am. No disrespect. But customers who come through these doors...are already prepared...to spend...top dollar for our merchandise. You can either afford it, or you can’t.”

I hear a man’s voice in the background saying something to her. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but he’s asking her a bunch of questions, then the sound gets muffled as if she’s covering the mouthpiece. I hang up. Two minutes later, the phone rings again. It’s her, again. “I believe we were disconnected.”

I know hanging up on a potential customer is definitely not a good look for business, but I don’t have the patience to go back and forth with a customer on a purchase. Either you’re going to buy it, or you’re not. It’s simple as that. I’m not in the business of begging or twisting someone’s wrists to get a sale. “Ummm, yes, we were,” I lie. “I accidentally hit the receiver.” Of course I wanted to say, “No, we weren’t, bitch. I hung up on ya cheap ass!” But me being the diplomat that I am, I would never be that blatantly rude. But Persia would. And what I thought is exactly what she would have told her.

She grunts. “Mmmph.”

I shift the phone from one ear to the other. “But, I am surprised you called back since you seemed to take issue with our store’s prices, and my tone. I figured you weren’t interested in buying anything.”

“Well, after hearing those outrageous prices, I wasn’t. And you’re right. I didn’t like your snotty tone. But my son just told me that he’ll buy the purse of my choice for my birthday, since
it’s in a few days. And, because I really want the one I saw in your shop, I’m going to make an exception to patronize your store. So I’ll let all that slickness slide this time...” I blink.
Oh this bitch really wants to see the other side of me
. “I’ll take the beaded clutch. Be a dear and hold it for me? My son will be down there in an hour or so to pick it up.”

“And what name would you like me to hold it under?”

“You can put it in his name,” she says curtly. “His name is Desmond.”

“Okay, I’ll have it right here for him; all boxed and ready to go.” She hangs up in my ear.
Rude bitch!

Before I can go back over to the case to pull the clutch out to place it behind the counter, the phone rings, again, as two women walk through the door. I answer the phone, eyeing them.

“Paradise Boutique, how can I help you?”

“Did you get my message?” my mother asks, sounding a bit annoyed that I haven’t returned her call. The truth is I wasn’t in the mood this morning to have to listen to her whining or complaining about things that neither of us can change. And I’m really not in the mood now.

“Yes, I did,” I tell her as another customer walks through the door. I take her in, then shift my eyes back to the two women over in the corner going through a sale rack.

“Well, why didn’t you call me back?”

I frown. Take a deep breath. “Mom, I planned on calling you later today when I had time to talk. Is there something urgent going on?”

She huffs. “No, there’s nothing urgent. I just thought it was strange that I called all three of my daughters, and the only who returned my call was
Persia
. And she couldn’t wait to let me know how none of you like being around me. Is that true?”

I sigh. “Mom, please. Let’s not do this now.”

“So, it is true.”

“Mom, don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. The three of you call your father almost every day, and I’m lucky if I get a call at least once a week without me being the one to initiate it.”

I decide to graciously bow out of this conversation before it turns sour by quickly changing the subject. “Mom, we love you, okay? Now, tell me. How are you?”

Surprisingly, in the blink of an eye, she lets it go—
for now
. “I’m good. Your father and I are going down to Atlantic City for the weekend.”

“Oh, that should be nice. When are y’all going?”

“Friday afternoon.” I ask her where they’ll be staying. “The Borgata,” she tells me, excitedly. “We’ll be back on Sunday evening.”

“Nice. Well, have fun and win lots of money,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m rushing her off the phone. But I am! “Mom, can I call you later? It’s getting busy here.” I keep my eyes locked on the customers.

“Hold on. Before you go I want to know if you and your sisters received your invitations to Pasha’s wedding?”

I shake my head, wondering why she’s asking
me
what she’s already asked Persia, like she’s going to get a different answer or something. “Mom, not to be rude, but I’m sure you’ve already ask Persia this? So why are you asking me the same question?”

She ignores the question as she always does. “Are you all going?”

“I don’t know. I really haven’t had time to discuss it with Persia and Porsha, yet. Why?”

“Because I’d like for us all to be seated at the same table, that’s
why. It’s been a long time since we’ve all been out together at a family event.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal if we aren’t at the same table as you and Daddy. I’m sure Pasha will sit us with some of our other cousins who aren’t being allowed to bring dates.”

“It’s not personal.”

“I didn’t say it was. And I don’t feel that it is. I’m only making a statement.”

“Well, make sure you don’t forget to RSVP.”

Mmmph, the last time we RSVP’d to Pasha’s wedding it ended up getting cancelled because she had been
allegedly
kidnapped by a bunch of thugs as she was walking to her car coming out of the mall. They beat her senseless, then dumped her in a park. Thank God that early morning jogger found her when she did. There’s no telling what else might have happened to her. The crazy thing about that whole situation was that Pasha wouldn’t cooperate with the police investigation, which we all thought was kind of strange. But, whatever! Her life, her reasons. She kept saying she couldn’t remember anything, or that she just wanted to put the whole ordeal behind her. And she refused to talk about it with her own grandmother, or even Felecia, who she’s very close to. It was all very bizarre. Persia, with her overactive imagination, seems to think there’s a whole lot more to the story than meets the eye. But, I guess no one will ever know what really happened now. I’m just glad she’s alright. After the murders of her mother and father, the last thing Pasha’s grandmother needed was another tragedy.

It dawns on me that I haven’t spoken to her in months; that I haven’t even had a chance to see the baby since his birth. We may not be as close as we once were, but we still have love for each other. I decide to give her a call one day this week to meet
for lunch, or maybe I’ll stop down at the shop and drop off an early birthday gift for her son since he’ll be turning one soon.

“The wedding isn’t until August. It’s the end of March, Mom. We still have time to RSVP.” Why she sent out her invitations so early is beyond me, but what do I care? Not my wedding.

“I know, but still. I want to make sure you girls are going to be there. Your Aunt Harriet really wants to see y’all.”

“Okay. Like I said, I haven’t really had a chance to look at the invitation, yet. But I’m sure we’ll most likely be there. If not, we’ll send a gift.”

“Well—”

“Mom, look, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, then. Talk to you later. Love you.”

“I love you, too.” I hang up, walking over to the case to get the clutch, then putting it behind the counter. I go back over to help two of the four women in the store with picking out scarves and some accessories. When they’ve finished selecting their items, they follow me back to the register. I ring up their purchases separately, charging their respective credit cards, then hand them both copies of their receipts.

As I’m handing them their shopping bags, the door opens. And in walks a tall, beautiful dark-skinned man wearing designer shades, looking like he stepped off the cover of a magazine. He fills the store with his masculinity and the crisp, intoxicating scent of his cologne. My pussy immediately tingles, alerting me that this man is fuckable on the spot.

I eye him as he makes his way over to the counter. I smile at him. “Hi, welcome to Paradise Boutique. Can I help you find something?”

“Nah,” he says in his thick accent.
It’s not a New York accent,
I think, trying to figure out where he’s from.
And it’s not Caribbean.
And it’s definitely not a Southern drawl. Mmmm.
“I’m here to pick up some kind of pocketbook for my moms.”

Connecticut, I bet.
“Oh, yes, you mean the clutch,” I say, allowing my eyes to travel the length of his sexy-ass body. I can tell he’s hiding a chiseled, rock-hard chest and abs underneath his Ed Hardy thermal. The two customers leaving the shop admire him as well.
Mmmph, mmmph...I’d like to fuck him real quick in the back.
I pull the purse from out of the storage drawer. “You must be Desmond.”