Valentine's Day Is Killing Me (7 page)

But as she stood in the middle of the floor, she almost couldn’t breathe as the first message rang in her ears. Jacqui was canceling? Jacqui! Miss, I don’t need no man to complete my world?

Fury and hurt made tears come to Jocelyn’s eyes as she replayed her friend’s lame message.

“Joce, girl, listen, I know you’re gonna feel some type of way about this, but Bill called…after months of miscommunication—and he wants to talk, reconcile, go to dinner, and try to figure out where we went wrong…girl, he sent
roses
to my job. Look, tomorrow, when he leaves, I’ll call you, baby. All right? You know I love you, and give the girls a hug for me, but…Joce, you know you’re my boo, right? Don’t get all mad. Promise me? We’ll do lunch tomorrow. ’Kay?”

Jocelyn stared at the telephone and had to set the wine down very slowly. If her girl didn’t sound like a man making excuses to go on a booty call, she didn’t know what! If it weren’t for the fact that her telephone was a cheapie model that couldn’t handle the abuse, she would have thrown it. But common sense told her not to press her luck with plastic.

“I cannot believe you!” Jocelyn shouted. “We made a pact! Oh, Lawd, give me strength.” She erased the message, sure now that her other girlfriends were blowing up her line while she’d been out to fuss about this transgression. But to her amazement, Freddie…level-headed, got-it-together Freddie had a long story, too?

“Girl,” Freddie’s voice was near shrill, breaking and hitching as her cell phone transmission sputtered into Jocelyn’s voice mail, “see, what had happened was, I was minding my business, and this guy, an attorney, who comes in every day, just to cut through my store to get to his offices on the other side of the mall…well, the brother is fine—no, restatement,
fionne
, and uh, he came up on me at the end of the day, said he’d been watching me, but never approached, on account of the fact that he was waiting for his divorce to go through, respect, and uh, what had happened was, his papers came in earlier this week, and he was all messed up…said he just couldn’t deal with doing Valentine’s Day alone—girl, you shoulda seen the tears sitting up in his fine eyes—pretty lashes, all black and shiny and whatnot, and he asked me if I’d just have a drink and listen to some jazz with him, girl, you know what I mean, and uh, on the way to the jazz spot, he stopped at a vendor on the street and brought me flowers—
roses
, chile! I’m in the ladies’ room at the club right now, trying to call you—
where you at
? Holla. Call me. I know you all gonna be mad, but this is a love 9-1-1, and y’all can’t be mad at a sistah, for real. I love you, boo. I’m taking this one home tonight, so I’ll call ya tomorrow—
peace
. I’m out!”

Jocelyn gripped the telephone so hard, her knuckles were turning white. When she saw Freddie, she was gonna kick her natural behind! “Oh! You and Jacqui are crazy! What a lame story! What a crock! That fool was plottin’ on your booty since the day he saw you, girl! Arrrgggghhhh!”

Pacing, she erased Freddie’s message, hitting the button so hard she almost broke a nail. “C’mon, T, don’t you stand me up, too, girl…we go way back,” Jocelyn yelled, listening to her last friend’s message. “Somebody has to hold the line tonight!”

“Jo-ce-
lyn
, my sistah,
my sistah
…”

Jocelyn closed her eyes as she listened to Tina’s voice mail message, knowing what was coming next—an excuse.

“It happened so fast—I was going on an internship run, trying to do some volunteer work for the Philly sports teams and children’s foundations they work with…and this tall, fine, NFL brother walked in…girl, we got to talking, and uh, he’s single, and uh, he was all caught up in the post season ‘what-am-I-gonnado-till-spring’ thang, and liked my posters, and my T-shirt designs for the kids…and uh, he was like, whatchu doing tonight, and uh, I was like, me and my girls was supposed to be hanging out at uh, our friend’s apartment, chillin’, and uh, he asked me if I’d like to uh, maybe roll up to the Poconos with him, given it was Valentine’s Day, and uh, he has a cabin in the woods, and broke up with his lady before the season, and was trying to stay away from drama so it wouldn’t interfere with his game—girl, lemme just say, the man is six-six, two-eighty, built like, oh Lawd, ain’t been with a woman since the season began, chile, see, so, I’ma have to make this run, but I got y’all’s gifts, and tomorrow, or maybe later in the week, we’ll catch up for dinner, you know I love y’all, right, but Joce, girl…Okay, look, he’s coming back into the gym and uh, I gotta run. ‘Bye. Luv ya. Don’t be mad.”

Jocelyn set the phone down in its cradle very precisely and put the wine and champagne in the fridge. She took out a platter and swiped off a fat, chocolate-covered strawberry, the best one on the tray and set the tray down on the coffee table. Then she walked around her apartment, stoically lighting her candles, firing up some more incense, and then turned her music up very loud. Never again. She sat down calmly on the sofa, willing herself not to cry, and dialed The Pamper People.

See, now, this was
exactly
why she didn’t do Valentine’s Day with any man, and from this point forward, with any female friend, either. Forever, this night would go down in infamy—banished from her vocabulary and thoughts. As the late, great Gil Scott Heron once said, ‘The revolution will not be televised!’

Jocelyn sat on the sofa, thoroughly disgusted, eating everything she could get her hands on as she listened to the cool, professionally icy tone stating policy in her ear.

“While we can certainly understand your disappointment, at this late juncture I’m sure you can also understand that we will still have to charge your credit card with the full six-hundred-dollar balance, Ms. Jefferson. Our pamper crew is already en route, their time has been utilized, their transportation costs must be covered, and we could have easily slotted in another client that had firmer plans, had we known
earlier
. We try to be fair, and pride ourselves on working through customer issues until a satisfactory conclusion has been reached for both sides. But an hour before they are due to arrive, it is just not our policy to offer a full refund.”

Jocelyn sighed. “Well, if you’re gonna charge me anyway, you might as well send them.”

“I’m so glad we came to terms,” the salon owner cooed. “You’ll be able to experience the full range of their treatments with so much more attention, so, who knows? Perhaps this is really a blessing in disguise.”

Jocelyn just looked at the telephone. Right about now, wine sounded like a good idea. A shower, some wine, and she’d put on her short little red kimono and matching mesh slippers and just let ’em do her.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jocelyn finally muttered and hung up without even a civil good-bye.

By the time her doorbell rang, Jocelyn had polished off a bottle of wine and had begun pouring champagne into a pretty, long-stemmed flute. She weaved, set the glass down carefully, and went to the window to be sure she wasn’t about to buzz in a burglar. She opened it with effort, and cold air slapped her cheeks as she peered down from the fourth floor. The ladies all seemed blurry as she stared at a group of women huddled against the cold on her building’s steps.

“I’m in 4-D,” Jocelyn yelled, weaving as she managed to coordinate sticking her head out of the window while reaching for her champagne.

The older ladies on the steps gave each other curious glances, swallowed away smiles, and entered the building.

Jocelyn didn’t care what they thought of her. She was beyond words, too through. To let them know that, she slammed the window down, but spilled her champagne. This didn’t make no kinda sense.

She was standing in front of her wide-open door by the time they all huffed up the stairs. Jocelyn surveyed them with disinterest. Each woman seemed to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties, and was carrying a huge, embroidered satchel with their company logo emblazoned upon it. Just her luck to have her home invaded by four Mary Poppins stunt doubles. Okay, so these were pampering pros. Fine. Their expressions seemed pleasant enough, and at least she wouldn’t be spending the entire night alone. But six hundred bucks—Jeez.

“Might as well come on in,” Jocelyn said with a weary sigh, turning to go back into her apartment. “Sorry about the steps. No elevator. Story of my life, doing things the hard way.”

“We’ll have fun, don’t worry. The other ladies are gonna miss out. My name is Agnes,” a tall, mahogany-hued woman said. She had pretty eyes, kind eyes that held a hint of mischief. Her skin was flawless, even at her age, although a slight thickening of her middle told on her a bit. She extended her hand with a gentle smile.

“I hope so,” Jocelyn said in a dejected tone. “My girls stood me up.”

“Not to worry. Their loss.” Agnes glanced around the apartment and shook her head. “You went to so much trouble, too. Well, we’ll make lemonade out of lemons, like my momma taught me. Okay?”

Jocelyn nodded, just to be polite. “You can hang your stuff up over there,” she said flatly, pointing toward a wrought-iron coatrack. “Would you like some wine, or some tea? Maybe some food? I’ve got all this junk in here, and it’ll go bad if we don’t chow down.”

“Maybe later, and thank you so much. But right now, our focus is you,” Agnes said as she took off her heavy, raisin-colored cloth coat and carefully folded it over her arm, then set her bag down on the floor. She gave a slight nod to the other women to follow suit. “My specialty is skin care,” she said proudly. “We’ll start you off with a facial, hon. Then Mildred is gonna work the kinks out of your back with a full body massage,” she added, gesturing toward a short blonde who had laugh lines around her cat-green eyes.

Mildred gave Jocelyn a little wave and a huge smile while taking off her navy pea coat. “I might be little, but I pack a punch,” she said, chuckling. “I’ll have you so loose we’ll be able to pour you in a glass when I’m done.”

To that, all the ladies laughed, and a shy, older Asian woman chuckled behind her hand.

“Let Sue-Lin do your feet last, because once she does, there’s nothing to do but go to sleep,” Agnes said, offering a slight bow of appreciation toward her colleague.

Sue-Lin waved with the tips of her fingers and glanced down at Jocelyn’s feet. “You want designs? I brought airbrush, can make
very
pretty feet, especially big toe. Smooth, like baby’s butt. You need pretty feet. All ladies must have pretty feet. Hands, too.”

“Okay,” Jocelyn said, laughing despite her mood. “Make it so, Ms. Sue-Lin.”

“Now we talkin’,” the youngest woman in the group said. She flipped off her white leather coat with flair, showing off a stunningly fit body that belied her age. “Girl, don’t let this situation stress a sister, hear? I’ma have your head beat so tight when I get done, it’ll cut ’em to the bone. Yeah, let your girlfriends know they missed gettin’ their hair did by Kimika, ’kay? Call me Mika, though—I couldn’t work with Kimberly, so I changed it. Every woman needs change, from time to time. We’ll make this makeover night, since your girls weren’t acting right. It’ll be all right.”

She strutted around in a tight circle as the other ladies laughed. Taking center stage in the middle of the apartment floor, she smoothed her hand over her slick Halle Berry cut that was a hue somewhere between strawberry blond and platinum, which offered an eclectic contrast to her almond-toned skin. “Now, if you want
color
—”

“No, no, no no, no,” Jocelyn said quickly, imagining the possibilities. Maybe Ms. Kimberly, aka Kimika, could pull off Lil’ Kim, but she wasn’t ready for that dramatic a change. “Uh, if you could just make it a gradual transition.”

Kimika laughed harder. “Oh, okay. The conservative type. My bad. But, uh, sis, we have got to lose the bun.”

The older ladies smiled and nodded as Jocelyn’s hand self-consciously reached up to feel the offending hairstyle.

“You have pretty eyes,” Agnes said, going to the coatrack. “You ever consider contacts?”

“I’m a student,” Jocelyn said with a chuckle, moving to the coffee table to offer each woman a glass.

“And? I don’t follow,” Mildred said with a shrug.

“Glasses are easier and don’t dry out my eyes,” Jocelyn fussed, remembering how her girlfriends had stayed on her about the same issue.

Agnes shook her head. “Uhm, uhm…gorgeous skin. You shouldn’t hide it behind glasses. You’ll see once I slough off all that dead skin and make you radiant again. I’ll show you some makeup techniques, too.
This
is what I do.”

“No offense,” Jocelyn said, laughing as she began to hand out glasses, “but radiant…uh…I don’t think so. Not because of skill, but you’re gonna have to grow new skin in a lab petri dish to do that.”

Kimika laughed and went right for the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of champagne. “Agnes can work wonders, chile. Radiant, like—after-you’ve-got-your-world-rocked-by-the-finest-man-on-the-planet radiant. Watch.” She popped the cork as her crewmembers squealed.

“Kim!” Agnes yelled, laughing. “How you gonna just go into the woman’s refrigerator like that?” She turned to Jocelyn. “Miss, I’m sorry,” and she spun back to focus on her team member with a glare in her eyes. “You know it’s not company policy to—”

“Aw’ight, relax,” Kimika said, one hand over her ample breasts. “This is for Miss Jocelyn. Not me. I know she had to have the bubbly in here, given how she set up for her friends. Chill.”

“It’s really all right,” Jocelyn said, not sure what to do. On one side she had a tall, very distraught-looking West Indian matron, on the other side a forty-something quasi-rap star with a South Philly grandmother, and in the middle, an Asian lady who looked like she wanted to die of shame. “Ladies, my offer stands, and please call me Jocelyn—no, Miss Jocelyn, really. Let’s eat, laugh, do the different treatments, and just all relax tonight. What do you say?” Trying to keep the peace, she went to the coffee table and selected a gift for each woman. “These are for you,” she said, giving away the presents that her girlfriends never bothered to collect.

All eyes went toward Agnes, who finally smiled. “Well, if you insist.”

“I do,” Jocelyn said, making a beeline for the champagne so she could pour.

“Don’t you wish all our clients were like this, Millie?” Agnes said. She peered down at the silver-wrapped gift. “This is…just…I don’t know what to say.”

“You know it. Got two ex-husbands and five boys,” Mildred said with a scowl, “and not a one of those rat bastards ever did half as much as this young lady just did. Imagine, her girlfriends stood her up like this. Shameful.”

“Oh…look how pretty,” Sue-Lin said, turning the glasses to the light, and then bending to touch the little gifts on the coffee table. She shook her head, made a little tsking sound of annoyance with her tongue. “You such a nice young lady. One day a good man will see.”

“This young sister is sweet—that’s the problem,” Kimika said, folding her arms. “Real genuine heart ready for the breaking. So, tonight, ladies, we’re doing an old-fashioned, get Cinderella fly for the ball, bibbitybobbity-boo on girlfriend. Gonna make heads turn when she rolls out of here to go to work tomorrow. Give her coworkers something to gossip about. Gonna make
the men all pause
, yeah,” she said, slapping five as she passed each of her pamper team members like she was an NFL coach. “This ain’t right. My feelin’s is hurt for her. So, ladies, all champagne and whatnot aside, let’s do our best work tonight on
this one
. She gets the special client treatment. I might even have to bust out and serve her wardrobe.”

Jocelyn didn’t say a word as the women murmured agreement. There was a fiery determination in their eyes that was almost frightening. It seemed as though each woman was remembering her own past personal hurts as they shared in hers, and she could tell by their lifted chins and straight backs that Kimika had ignited a quiet defiance in them—the ladies were on a mission. Once their glasses clinked, the secret, collective call to arms had gone out. One of their species was being dogged by friend and foe, so
it was on
.

Jocelyn hurried around the room, pouring champagne. “I have desserts, all sorts of good stuff.” She made herself smile and become the perfect hostess. She wasn’t sure why she was doing what she was doing—after all, she was paying six bills for the services yet to be rendered, but it was just something that had been drilled into her since conception. When people visited, you just did.

Before long, the tension eased with Jocelyn. The wall between professional service provider and client was crumbled. Huge tears rolled down her cheeks as sweet Ms. Agnes swathed her face in a warm, lavender-scented hot towel and plugged in a steam lamp. Someone kept refilling her glass, and each woman chimed in, telling her own tale of woe. Shaky spouses, no-good boyfriends, absent fathers, no card or flowers on the special day; it was a pity-fest in full effect.

Their stories made her weep, and Jocelyn even left her prone position on the sofa despite Agnes’s complaints to give each woman a long-stemmed red rose. That brought the house down. Everybody was crying. Kimika blew her nose so hard that it sounded like a ship in the harbor.

“Oh, girl, just stop!” Kimika groaned, covering her face. “Why do you think I always work Valentine’s Day? Lawd have mercy…”

Sue-Lin was snatching off rose petals to float in the foot whirlpool, sniffing. “No flowers. No candy. Just work! He never say, ‘Wife, I think you pretty. Wife, how was your day? Wife, you mean world to me.’ I know men dog. Rat!”

“Why do you think I became a bodybuilder?” Mildred said, downing her fifth glass of champagne and popping a miniature cannoli into her mouth behind it. “Met a massage therapist over in the gym—what can I say? Taught me everything I know, and then some, love. When Aggie is done, roll over, and I’ll show you some stuff that’ll make you putty, but never forget—women are tougher than them.”

Kimika nodded and knocked back the last of the champagne in her glass. “I’ma tell you what. We should really make her night and have us a for-real party. I hate feeling like this!”

“Me, tooooo,” Jocelyn wailed, sniffing hard. “You all shouldn’t be working.”

“Doll, this ain’t work,” Mildred said, and then glanced at Kimika. “Your cousin still go out with that cutie who works over at the club?”

Kimika nodded. “Yep, and I’ma call him. He should be off the poles by now,” she said with a wink and then glanced at her watch.

Jocelyn barely lifted her head as Kimika began punching numbers on her shiny little cell phone. Did she say ‘off the poles?’ It wasn’t election time, poll-watchers shouldn’t…“Uh, Kimika, did I hear—”

“Shush,” Kimika said, putting a long, Caribbean-orange talon against her ear and listening hard for a cell phone connection. “I’ve gotta go by a window. Reception sucks in here.”

Feeling too mellow to double back on the question, Jocelyn sank against the sofa, allowing parts of her body to be stretched and pulled. Her face was so clear and radiant that she’d made Agnes laugh by asking if it were a trick mirror. Her feet felt like butter, her hands so pretty. Little red hearts covered frosted white polish, something she never in her life did. Her toenails were the reverse—white hearts on a wicked red background. If it weren’t winter, she would have had to find open-toed shoes just to floss the pedicure. She’d even gone for broke and had allowed Kimika to cut off an inch, add highlights, and practically hot-rod her hair into a curly, wild profusion. She felt like a million bucks. A sleepy million, maybe even a tipsy million, but it was good to be the queen.