Flamingo Place (Mills & Boon Kimani) (7 page)

“Now, that I don’t know.” Chere who was half sprawled on the sofa flexed and arched her feet. The feathers on the silly-looking mules fluttered. “But you know there ain’t nothing I can’t find out. Why you so interested?”

Good question. Why was she? “Because it’s nice to know what I’m up against.”

D’Dawg took some calls before putting another tune on. Some had opinions about the upcoming election, others felt that Flamingo Beach’s boardwalk and ancient arcade was well overdue for a face-lift. A few had questions about the upcoming interview but were urged to hold them until Chet Rabinowitz came on.

“Maybe we should make some popcorn,” Chere suggested.

“Thanks, but I’ve had quite enough.”

“You’ve hardly eaten,” Chere said, noting that Jen still had a couple of chips she’d taken out of the bag
clutched in one hand, and the chicken leg she’d deigned to part with on the plate in front of her.

“Now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” D’Dawg announced. “In the house, and coming to you live from Flamingo Beach is Chet Rabinowitz, director of the Gay Alliance. He’s a man you all know. Chet is a florist and part owner of All About Flowers. He’s also our mayor’s son. What do you have to say for yourself, my man?”

“I’m very pleased to be invited on the D’Dawg show. You’re doing a fine job of keeping the folks of Flamingo Beach up on current events,” a high-pitched and very nasal voice said.

Chere rolled her eyes and chortled. “That’s a good one. Prying into citizens’ business is now called current events.”

“Shhh. Let’s hear what else he has to say.”

“Thank you. Let’s hope the good citizens of Flamingo Beach are in agreement. I need ratings, y’all. Tell everyone you know to tune into the D’Dawg show. But you didn’t come on the radio to talk about me. We’re here to discuss people’s reactions to last Sunday’s column. There’s been a lot of tongue-wagging and people wanting
Dear Jenna’
s head. You’ve been fielding calls from angry townspeople and answering e-mails. Care to comment?”

“Well, I
think it was an unfortunate choice of words…”

“What words are we talking about? The advice to the parent or a particular word?”

What an instigator! The host sure knew how to stir things up.

“Well I don’t know if I would have given the same advice,” Chet said, “The son is still in the closet. Suggesting to his mother she find him the right woman is insulting. I might have recommended therapy. Clearly he has issues.”

“You hear that, y’all?” D’Dawg chortled. “You know what I think is insulting, that slur that was used. Flip through a dictionary—that word means strange or odd. You’re neither.”

Jen held her breath, certain more rhetoric would be coming.

“And from here on,” Chere said, heaving her bulk off the couch and stabbing a fingernail at Jen’s nose. “It goes downhill. Every circuit’s going be busy on the air and off.”

Jen raised a finger shushing her. “Let’s listen. No point in getting riled up.”

But she was already riled up, although she was less vocal about it than Chere.

“I
s
it the word
queer
that’s got everyone so bent out of shape?” Chet asked, his voice taking on even more of a lilt.

“That’s it. That’s exactly the word!” D’Dawg shouted. “You said it. I didn’t.”

“Personally I didn’t find it offensive.…”

“You didn’t?”

“Yes!” Jen said, pumping her arms in the air. “Yes, thank you. There is a God.”

“There’s a ‘but’ coming,” Chere warned. “Just wait and see.”

She
must have ESP because right on cue it came.

“…but others did and that’s what’s important. The gay community’s worked very hard to eliminate epithets from the layperson’s vocabulary. Words like
queer, fairy, light in the loafers, fag,
that kind of thing. Those were all considered inappropriate words deemed insensitive and hurtful.”

“And you’ve made great headway,” D’Dawg said. “Your efforts have contributed to the almost total elimination of gay-bashing in this town. You’ve mainstreamed the word
gay.
Those with alternative lifestyles are now accorded respect. Look at how far we’ve come. In some states marriage between two people of the same gender is sanctioned and accepted. About time I say.”

“We?”
Jen said aloud. “No wonder this guy came after me with both barrels. The dog’s gay.”

She’d taken to calling him “the dog” because, like a salivating canine on a bone, he just wouldn’t back off. Now she knew he’d taken her comments to heart and was making going after her his personal crusade.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Chere’s head moved from right to left. “My girls say the equipment works fine but it’s been out of commission for the last few months, and no one knows why.”

“He’s probably found himself a partner.”

“No, I
would have heard.”

Chet was now yakking a mile a minute. He was passionate on his subject. “Even more states need to get with the program,” he said. “Homosexuality is a reality in today’s world. There’s at least one of us in each family. Progressive companies are offering insurance to those in same sex partnerships so…”

“Which makes it even more disheartening when a newcomer to our town sets our effort back several years.”

“Our,” Jen pointed out. “See.” She and Chere exchanged looks.

“Nah,” Chere repeated, “Don’t even go there. I told you he was all male.”

“You had to have been offended by Dear Jenna using the word
queer,
instead of gay,” WARP’s host stated, no longer interested in beating around the bush.

“As I said before,” Chet answered, “I didn’t take it personally. I wasn’t offended. ‘Queer’ is perfectly acceptable lingo today.”

“So why the huge uproar? Why are my phones ringing off the hook? Why are people looking to hang and quarter
Dear Jenna?
”

“It’s her advice that was a problem.” Chet was speaking rapidly now, warming to his subject. “There’s nothing you can do to change genetics. That’s
what
Dear Jenna’
s trying to get this mother to do. She’s trying to force the man into becoming something he’s not. That’s just wrong.”

“Hold that thought,” D’Dawg practically shouted. “We’ve got to make time for our advertisers.”

During the break, Chere helped herself to yet another beer while Jen settled for a chilled bottle of water. She needed all her wits about her to plan her counterattack when it was her turn to go on WARP.

The following fifteen minutes D’Dawg entertained questions and comments. It seemed all of Flamingo Beach had tuned in. The conversation now shifted from the perceived slur to the advice that was given. The audience was equally divided and some had quickly changed positions. Instead of wanting to crucify
Dear Jenna,
they were now praising her for staying on the cutting edge.

In many ways Jen considered this a victory. She had won over many people, and that translated, hopefully, to new fans and more newspapers purchased.

At the end of the hour, D’Dawg called a halt to the questions. He thanked Chet and confirmed that Chet’s dad, Mayor Rabinowitz would be on the air the following night.

“It wouldn’t be fair if Aunt Jemima doesn’t have her say as well,” D’Dawg said. “Two nights from
now WARP’s going to have Jenna on this show. Stay tuned—temperatures in Flamingo Beach are about to rise even more.”

“What about me?” Chere said, pointing to her ample chest. “Don’t I deserve my fifteen minutes of fame too? I help you.”

“You’ll have more than fifteen minutes,” Jen said high-fiving her. “
The Flamingo Beach Chronicle’
s distribution’s about to increase. That should mean money in both of our pockets. There’s a cruise in our future. We’ll be slurping down those Bahama Mamas in no time.”

“From your mouth to God’s ear.”

Chere’s palms were in the air, her overdeveloped bootie swung left, right, forward and center. She had that calypso music playing in her ear. In her mind she was already boogying on the upper deck of that cruise ship.

Temperatures had soared into the nineties, unseasonable for that time of year. Tre having awakened from his afternoon nap, decided lying poolside in the sweltering heat was a pleasant alternative to sitting around an air-conditioned apartment listening to tunes. He’d decided to bring his iPod with him.

He lay poolside on a cedar lounge chair with a
plump striped cushion under him, gulping iced tea, and pretending to be oblivious of the parade of hotties going by.

No more casual encounters, he vowed. They were a waste of time. At thirty-five, his focus needed to be on establishing a name for himself in the broadcast world. After that, the search would begin for an intelligent, attractive wife who wanted to have his children. She would have to be an independent woman, able to adapt to the crazy hours an on-air personality kept, and one who didn’t easily get jealous.

His mother, for one, would be ecstatic. It would put an end to her efforts at matchmaking and they’d get along much better. Marva Jones-Monroe had taken to nagging him about his single status during her weekly phone call. Much as he loved his mother, she was getting on his last nerve.

Tre had hoped the high temperatures and clear blue skies would drive his intriguing neighbor, 5C out. He’d hoped she’d bring that bottle of red wine with her. Could be she was already lying poolside. Tre glanced at the sun worshipers. Most who occupied the loungers were reading books while sucking down beers and colorful concoctions. No Jen in sight so far.

Every now and then, a resident would jump off the
diving board or plunge into the pool headfirst. A few sat on the sidelines dipping a big toe into the water. The bar meanwhile did a brisk business. And the outfits were wildly tropical running from ultra-tasteful to the outrageously bizarre.

Tre tried not to analyze what these feelings of disappointment at not seeing Jen meant. He’d had fantasies of seeing her athletic body in a string bikini. But he doubted she would be that daring. He’d pegged her as the tankini type, showing a hint of midriff, and a lot of leg. And he’d hoped that if they hooked up again he could convince her to give dinner with him a try. Lunch as far as he was concerned had been very successful.

His attention turned to the shallow end of the pool where kids were splashing. A boy’s and girl’s laughter reached him as they tossed a ball back and forth. Some tenant must have visitors since the complex was restricted to adults that were age thirty and over. Not that Tre had anything against kids, he wanted a couple himself. But with the kind of hours he kept, he could only take noise in small doses. Now he was glad he’d brought a headset with him.

After getting his iPod going, Tre shifted onto his chest, rested his head on his arms, and drifted off. Something ice-cold trailed along his spine. His eyes flew open and he flopped onto his side.

“What
the hell!”

“Well, good afternoon to you, too,” Jen said in a chirpy voice.

His dreams of a string bikini and a shared bottle of wine shattered, Tre’s gaze roamed over the red one-piece halter cut high on the thigh. It was a classy outfit but not overly suggestive, just like the woman herself.

“Is it hot enough for you?” he asked.

“I love this weather. When you spend most of your life in the midwest, the heat feels wonderful.”

“That’s right, you’re from Ohio. What made you move?” Jen seemed to roll the question around in her mind. “Hold on a sec.” Tre sprang up and dragged over a lounge chair that had just become vacant. “Might as well get comfortable.”

He picked up his glass, offering her a sip of iced tea. She accepted, sucking long and hard on the straw.

Ah, those lips.

“Thanks. That was just what I needed.” She handed the glass back.

Tre signaled to the pool attendant. “Two iced teas, please.” After the man had hurried off to get his order his attention returned to her. “So you were saying?”

Jen stretched out those shapely legs that he just
couldn’t seem to get enough of. Her toenails were painted an attractive shade of coral and matched the nails on her hands.

“What was the question again?”

“What brought you here from Ohio?”

Tre got the feeling she hadn’t forgotten the question but was buying time, thinking about how to respond.

“I needed a change.”

“Why a change?”

Jen pursed her lips. “I turned thirty-two and decided it was time to take charge of my life. A girl can get pretty comfortable in Ashton. Too comfortable. I’d just broken up with my boyfriend when this opportunity to move to Flamingo Beach came about. I jumped on it and here I am. Where are our iced teas anyway?”

That was that. Topic closed.

Tre offered her another sip of his drink. Jen sucked it down gratefully and handed the glass back. “What about you? What brought you here? Don’t tell me you are one of the rare natives?”

“Hardly.” He chuckled. “I was born and, for the most part, grew up in a tough section of Detroit. I wanted an easier life for myself and any family I might have. When I moved to Florida, living was a heck of a lot cheaper than trying to make ends meet in a big city. Now of course, real estate prices are skyhigh. But
if I hadn’t moved when I did I wouldn’t have all of this and I wouldn’t own anything.” Tre’s gesture encompassed their building and the surrounding complex.

The attendant was back. He set down their drinks on the arms of their chairs. Tre quickly signed the bill.

“It’s my turn to treat,” Jen interjected trying to wrestle him for the bill.

“No. I have an account. An iced tea is hardly going to break me.”

“You own your apartment?” She looked at him questioningly. He assumed it was because she most probably rented.

“Almost,” he answered. “I’m in the midst of negotiating the deal. You got in at the right time and should be able to as well. Flamingo Place is going condo. The insiders’ price is substantially lower than what the management’s telling outsiders. It’s something you should consider if you plan on staying in Florida.”

Jen’s eyebrows arched. It was hard to read her. “Hmmmm, there’s always that possibility. I think I’m going to take a dip.”

“I’ll join you.”

For the next half an hour they swam laps and frolicked in the water. Tre found Jen easy to be around. She attacked life with gusto. It was refreshing to find
a woman who didn’t mind getting her hair wet. Strands of smooth, straightened hair skimmed her shoulders and at times got caught in her mouth. Her face now had a sun-kissed glow to it that hadn’t been there before. Plus she had that lovely body that made his mouth water.

They toweled off and reclaimed their spots. When they were settled Tre said, “I’m wondering if you’d reconsider and have dinner with me.” She opened her mouth but before she could get a word out, he continued, “I’m thinking an early dinner, something on the water. We’ll watch the sun set and I won’t keep you out late. I have to go to work myself.”

Jen’s hazel eyes flickered over his face. “Okay, you’re on. What time will you be by to pick me up?”

“Five-thirty?”

“That’s good.”

And before Tre did something stupid like try to kiss her, he rolled onto his chest.

Half an hour passed. But no matter how much he tried, Jen’s image stayed in his head.

Jen reminded herself not to expect much. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about Trestin, yet she’d agreed to go out with him. Anyway, this wasn’t exactly a date, more like a get-acquainted session. She
still didn’t know the man’s last name but she planned on remedying that tonight. She’d try to at least get a business card out of him.

Now to find something that was flirty and fun to wear but didn’t send the message, “I want to go to bed with you.” Not that her next-door neighbor was the type of guy most women would toss out of their bedroom. But she’d made a promise to herself, no more sex until she found out what a man was really made of. She’d learned her lesson from Anderson.

Jen tapped an impatient foot, dismissing one outfit after another. Her closet for the most part was conservative and very Midwestern. She needed to go shopping and add some color and style to liven things up.

It was hot. What did she have that was cool and stylish? Tre had mentioned something about a water-front restaurant. Hopefully that meant casual. Jen tossed a handful of clothing on the bed and was about to sort through them when her cell phone played the upbeat calypso she’d programmed in.

It might be Luis. He was singing a slightly different tune since last night’s broadcast. Jen had been inundated with calls from
The Chronicle’
s staff. She’d even gotten one from Eileen. Overnight she’d turned into some kind of celebrity. Preoccupied, she didn’t check to see the inbound number.

“Hi, this
is Jen.”

“You busy?”

“Yes, Chere, as a matter of fact I am. I’m getting dressed for dinner.”

She offered too much information. A big mistake.

Chere snorted. “You going out to eat and you didn’t invite me.”

“I was invited out myself.”

“By who?” Chere’s questions often violated the boundaries of decency. Jen let the silence drag out. “All right, be like that, don’t tell me who you’re having dinner with. I’d tell you who I was sleeping with.”