Cheesecake and Teardrops (19 page)

It was a long flight. The woman next to Nate tried to make small talk, but he completely ignored her, nipping it in the bud. He was in no mood to be polite. He'd been played for a fool. And she'd been so smooth about it.

The flight attendants came by, taking orders for cocktails.

Nate ended up having three. By the time the plane landed, he had a slight buzz. By the time he settled in to his hotel room, he was downright drunk.

He slept hard that night, getting up twice to pee. By morning he was famished. He ordered room service, then called back to cancel. Hell, it was a beautiful day, and he was on a beautiful island. He might as well enjoy himself.

He showered, dressed, and had breakfast at one of the hotel restaurants. It wasn't as good as Charisma's, but he'd survive.

Life was funny. Just yesterday—was it only yesterday? He had been offered a position in the Manhattan office. He had turned it down because he wasn't quite ready for another career move. He wondered if the position had been filled.

Maybe it
was
time for a change. So much for Ellis Dearborn's blessings . . .

Charisma got to work Tuesday, not knowing how she was going to make it through the day. She hadn't returned Nate's calls from the airport Friday night, and she hadn't tried calling him at home once he returned from the trip.

It was a real mess. She just couldn't go through with it. Yet, she didn't have the heart to tell him. So she took the cowardly way out and failed to show up. She didn't even answer her cell phone. She knew he'd be devastated, but she only thought of herself.

They steered clear of each other all morning. That afternoon Nate called a staff meeting. It was her first time seeing him that day. Everyone sat down around the conference table, and Nate got straight to the point.

“I've been offered a manager's position in the Manhattan office,” he began. “And after much thought I've decided to accept it. This Friday will be my last day here.”

Shocked, Charisma looked at him closely, but he avoided her gaze altogether.

“I know I've only been here a short time, long enough to get on some of your nerves,” he joked. “But each of you has taught me something valuable about the world and about myself. It's truly been a privilege working with you, and I wish you all the best in your careers.”

Wow, he's leaving
. Charisma was stunned.

After the meeting, they had a moment alone.

“Nate, I'm sorry . . .” Charisma began.

“Hey, no apology necessary.” He shrugged his shoulders, his hands in his trousers pockets.

“I hope I had nothing to do with your decision to leave.” She searched his eyes.

“Don't flatter yourself,” he said coolly before walking away.

 

Charisma began to wonder if she was her own worst enemy.

What was wrong with her? Maybe she didn't feel that she deserved to be happy. Nate was a man who had obviously been interested in her, and yet basically she hadn't given him the time of day. She couldn't lie and say that she hadn't been feeling him because the chemistry was obviously there.

So why did she stand him up at JFK? It was mean. No, it was more than mean. It was cruel. And now he was gone, out of her life. She couldn't forget the iciness in his eyes at the staff meeting that afternoon when she approached him.

Now it was her turn to feel rejected. Life at Freeman LTD went on without Nate Arquette, but Charisma felt the loss.

That month she went on a shopping spree, charging over five hundred dollars on her American Express. When her bill arrived she was literally sick to her stomach. She called her mother and cried on her shoulder.

“I don't understand you, Charisma. How many handbags do you need? How many shoes can you wear?” Jena asked her.

“Mother, I didn't call for your approval,” she snapped.

“When you were my age, you had a marriage, a mortgage, and me. All I have is me. If I wanna treat myself sometimes, I will.”

“Okay, Charisma, you have
all
the answers. Good-bye.”

 

Chase Martini also felt the emptiness of Nate's absence. Now, who would she flirt with? Certainly, none of the remaining cast of characters. She didn't have time to waste on them. What could they do for her?

March definitely came in like a lion. The first week was filled with seven days of cold, bitter rain. She dreaded getting out of her warm, king-sized bed to brave the windy, frigid temperatures, but if she didn't work, how would she get ample wear out of her business suits and attire? And if it weren't for the new sports car her granddaddy had just bought her, how would she find the energy to make it to work on those freezing mornings?

Interesting enough, her disposition brightened when she was asked to represent the office at a marketing conference in Vegas. Sure, she'd have to attend meetings during the day, but Vegas's nightlife was awesome. A few fun-filled days in the sun would do her disposition good. Everybody in the office was jealous, but hey, what else was new?

She arrived in Vegas on Wednesday in plenty of time for the conference's meet-and-greet night, which took place in the Luxor Hotel. It was wonderfully warm that night—about eighty-five degrees—and she hobnobbed with lots of people she had only known via phone calls and e-mails. So, it was nice to finally put faces to voices and names.

On her last night there she made plans to hook up with an old friend from college. Unfortunately, their plans fell through and she ended up drinking alone at the bar.

“Chase?” she heard a familiar voice say.

She turned around in her chair. It was Nate.

“Nate?” she asked. “How are you?”

“I'm good. Mind if I join you?”

“I wish you would. There's plenty of drinks to go around.”

She already had a buzz.

He sat next to her. “I didn't expect to see you here,” he admitted.

“Disappointed?” she asked, smiling wickedly.

“Not at all.”

“Good. Let me buy you a drink,” she said, swiveling a bit in her chair.

“Trying to get me drunk?”

“Oh, I've been trying to get you drunk for a long time.” She laughed.

“Well, maybe tonight you'll get lucky.”

“I sure as hell hope so.” She tossed her blond hair.

 

Charisma couldn't recall the exact moment when she sensed that something was terribly wrong. Her menstrual periods had been getting longer and heavier and sometimes the cramping was unbearable. So much so that she began missing days at work or leaving early. Double sanitary pads had become the norm. When she could stand it no more, she made an appointment with Dr. Vale for the following week. Hopefully, her period would be over by then and the gynecologist would be able to see her.

Dr. Vale examined her and immediately ordered a sonogram. The results indicated that Charisma had uterine fibroids—one of which sat directly on her right ovary.

Charisma was devastated by the news. She didn't want to believe her ears. There had to be some mistake. Fibroids?

Impossible.

The doctor tried to assure her that the fibroids were usually benign and were quite common in African American women. Charisma's fears were not quieted. She got second and third opinions from other gynecologists, but the diagnosis was the same. If she ever hoped to have children, they had to be removed.

Charisma went home to her mother's and sobbed.

Jena held her daughter in her arms and rocked her gently.

She began to cry too. “We'll get through this together, sweetheart. You'll see. And when you get out of the hospital, I'll come stay with you for as long as you need me to. Or you can stay here and sleep in your old room. Whatever you want to do, but everything will be fine. You'll see.”

Charisma met with the surgeon and the procedure was scheduled for next month. Her insurance would practically cover everything, and she'd be hospitalized for about two days. If there were no complications, she could return to work in about three weeks.

Charisma met Tangie and Heather at IHOP one Saturday morning to fill them in. She had never so much as had her tonsils out, so she was petrified at the thought of going under the knife.

“What if they give me too much anesthesia, and I don't wake up?” Charisma exclaimed.

“You'll be fine.” Heather grabbed her hand. “I pray for you guys every night. Are you kidding me? We're Howard's Angels. Did you forget?”

“And we'll be right there when it's over.” Tangie grabbed her other hand.

“Promise?” Charisma asked.

“Promise,” Heather and Tangie said together.

“Don't tell me that's Jamal again,” Charisma said to Heather as her cell phone rang for the third time that night. They were all hanging out over Tangie's.

Heather glanced at the display. “Who else but?” She shook her head. “Ever since that night at his apartment, he has been blowing up my phone big time. Half the time I don't even answer. Here, listen to some of his messages,” she told Charisma and Tangie, passing them the phone.

“That man is whipped,” Tangie said, getting up for some more cheese doodles.

“Whipped? On what? My breath?” Heather exclaimed and Charisma burst out laughing.

“You're driving him nuts.”

“I know,” Heather admitted. “I bet he'll think twice the next time he flips a light switch.”

“Look at you. The pounds are melting off,” Charisma said as Tangie returned from the kitchen.

Heather was amazed herself. “Thirty pounds.”

“Wow, that's amazing. And without setting one foot in the gym. I can't get over your progress,” Tangie said, shaking her head.

“Have you contacted that modeling agent lately?” Charisma asked.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I have. He wants me to come to the studio and take some photos.” Heather smiled.

“Girrrl,” Charisma said.

“So when do you go?” Tangie asked.

“This weekend,” Heather exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement.

“Nice,” Charisma said.

“Wanna come with me?” Heather asked them.

“Are you kidding me? We'd be ticked off if we couldn't,” Tangie said, smiling. Then she turned serious. “I know I give you a hard way to go sometime, but I'm really proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Heather took another sip of her mudslide and laughed. “This alcohol is going straight to my coochie.” She reached for her purse, fishing inside for her cell phone. She dialed Jamal's number. “Hey, Jamal, it's Heather. I know. I just found my phone. I had dropped it under my car seat.

Uh-huh. Yeah, listen, when are we going to get together? I miss you.” Heather paused for a moment, filling her mouth with mud slide. “Tonight sounds like a plan. Let's meet at my house. Uh-huh. Okay. I'll see you in an hour.” Smiling, Heather flipped her phone shut and stood. “Well, I gotta go,” she told Tangie and Charisma. “I'll talk to you guys tomorrow.”

Tangie walked her to the door. “Have fun,” she told Heather.

“Fun?” Heather laughed. “Well, you've got the first two letters right.”

“What happened to our prim and proper librarian? Heather, you're a hot mess.” Charisma gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Get home safely.”

“
Ciao
.” Heather jumped in her car and sped down Springfield Boulevard. Within minutes she was back in Laurelton.

Her mom was working a double shift at the hospital. Once home, Heather took a quick shower with her favorite scented body wash. She had barely hopped out of the tub when her doorbell rang. Still wet, she wrapped a bath sheet around her ample body and answered the door, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her.

Jamal's smile said it all. He stepped inside and into her arms in one easy motion. Heather planted a quick kiss on his lips. It was freezing outside, and he gladly shut the door.

Jamal slid his tongue into her mouth as she tightly held on to the towel with her right hand. Gently, he tried to pry the towel from her hand. They played tug-of-war for a few moments until Jamal gave up. With knees slightly bent, he leaned back against the door and welcomed her into his personal space.

“Uh-uh-uh.” She rolled her forefinger at him as she clung to the bath sheet with her left fist. “Let me catch my breath before you completely devour me at the door.” She took him by the hand and led him downstairs to her apartment.

“Have a seat,” she told him, taking his coat.

“Don't get dressed on my account.” He smiled from the couch. “I'm enjoying the view.”

Shaking her head, Heather returned to the bathroom. She quickly lotioned up and returned to the living room wearing a robe.

“So what's going on?” he said.

“Hungry?” she asked, sitting next to him.

“I'm good.”

“I bet you are.” She grinned.

He leaned over and kissed her softly on the neck. “You smell like a dream. I bet you taste like one too.” She laughed softly.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I'm thinking about how I would absolutely love a nice, long body massage.”

“This is your lucky night. I have two big, strong hands that are just aching to pleasure you.”

“Best offer I've had all day. Follow me.” Heather and Jamal eased into her bedroom, where she hit the dimmer switch and removed her robe. She wore a cute little baby doll with black lace and red piping. Heather dove onto her queen-sized sleigh bed with its white down comforter and turned her cheek to one side. She paddled her legs ever so slightly in anticipation of his touch. Smiling, she closed her eyes.

Jamal did a quick search of her bedroom until he found exactly what he was looking for—a bottle of baby lotion. He squeezed out a quarter-sized amount, warming it in the palms of his hand. Then, he began to massage her back and shoulders in deliberate, circular strokes.

Heather let out a sigh as his hands wandered down her shoulders to her arms and then inwardly to her sides. He kneaded the flesh of her back so intensely that she couldn't decide if she felt pain or pleasure. When his hands trailed down to the backs of her inner thighs, she knew precisely what the deal was. Instinctively, she spread her legs ever so slightly, turning her check to the other side.

Taking this as a green light, Jamal paused momentarily, resting on his feet. Heather opened her eyes in response as he quickly pulled his hoodie over his head and removed his sneakers and socks. He unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans to the floor before stepping out of them. Only his briefs remained, and the vision of that damn six-pack before she closed her eyes once again.

Jamal leaned over and kissed her from the nape of her neck and beyond. He gently kissed one shoulder blade and then the other before caressing the small of her back with his tongue. He grabbed her generous behind with both hands, squeezing her amber-colored flesh. Then, he gently rolled her over and slid on top of her.

Heather's body was wide awake. He supported both sides of her neck with his hands and kissed her deeply.

There was nothing gentle about it. Her telephone began to ring, but she barely gave it a second thought. How could she with Jamal unbuttoning her nightie, his mouth finding her breasts like a newborn reuniting with his mother. In no time her nipples were as hard as the tender nipple between her thighs. She reached for his hand and led it down below, where it found warmth and wetness.

Jamal reached inside the opening of his brief and pulled out his dick. She squeezed it, feeling it rise and spit in her hands. Jamal got up from the bed once again to put on a condom. Heather smiled to herself as she watched him roll the rubber up what had to be his pride and joy. He joined her on the bed momentarily, lightly brushing his nose against hers. Tickled, she laughed softly before his lips returned to hers.

Jamal reached down and rubbed the single nipple between her thighs until it practically cried for joy, showering his fingers with its tears. He brought his fingers up to his lips and tasted her, then sunk his tongue deep into her mouth. She kissed him back just as hard.

Heather grabbed his manhood and slid it inside her. It felt so good as they gyrated together under the comforter.

Heather was almost embarrassed by the primal sounds escaping her lips. Almost. Thank goodness they had the whole house to themselves. Jamal's sweat joined hers as they both noisily climaxed together.

“You're incredible,” Jamal said, trying to catch his breath.

Panting, he rolled off of her and onto his back.

Heather heard her mother's front door shut just as Jamal got up to use the bathroom. Timing was indeed everything.

Heather, Tangie, and Charisma rode the Long Island Railroad into New York's Penn Station. From there they walked three blocks up Seventh Avenue to the A+ Size Modeling Agency.

The bright March sunshine had coaxed city dwellers outside, and though the thermometer barely touched forty degrees, it didn't stop some from walking around with their coats and jackets unbuttoned. The office took up the entire top two floors of the glass-structured building. Don's office was on the ninth floor. The mirrored elevator opened to a reception area and a receptionist politely welcomed Heather to the agency. Charisma and Tangie sat while the receptionist took Heather's coat and ushered her into Don's office.

Though Don was on a phone call, he looked up and smiled at Heather, acknowledging her presence while he worked on his laptop. Heather sat down on the ivory sofa by the window. She tried not to eavesdrop but couldn't help but hear his side of the conversation.

“I don't give a flip if her German shepherd had kittens. If she's one minute late for that shoot, she's history.” Don slammed down the phone and grabbed the large bottle of water on his desk, taking a few chugs. “Divas,” he said in disgust. “Look like 'em but never act like 'em. I'm sorry. I'll be right with you.” Don returned to his laptop, pounding out his frustrations before giving Heather his full attention.

“Long time no see, Heather. So how have you been?”

“I'm good,” she said.

“And you sure do look it.” He smiled. “Why don't we take some photos of you just as you are now. Then you'll meet with a makeup artist, and we'll take a few more. How's that?”

“Sounds great.”

“Good.” He picked up the phone and called in his assistant.

Brittany was a tall, slim white girl with a thick redbobbed hairdo. She escorted Heather to the studio where she was introduced to the photographer, Chip.

Chip instantly put Heather at ease. The brother wore a pair of designer jeans and a crisp white shirt. He immediately snapped a few shots of Heather, then put his camera down. He had Heather sit on a stool against a white background.

Chip took a few more shots of her before turning on the fan. Heather had just shampooed and blow-dried her natural curls out earlier that morning so her long, bone-straight hair was now blowing down her back.

“Beautiful,” Chip commented as he snapped away. At that point, Heather dropped her eyes and blushed. “Coy, are we?” he asked. “I love it.” He laughed.

Heather looked up and tossed her hair back. Chip took a few more pictures before Brittany returned. She took Heather to the makeup artist. Sherry was a short, plump brown-skinned woman with jet-black curls. She wore a white V-neck and black jeans underneath a black overcoat.

Sherry smiled, revealing two rows of even pearly whites.

“Nice to meet you, Heather. Have a seat.”

Heather sat as told and Sherry immediately went to work. She turned Heather away from the mirror.

“You have lovely skin, by the way.” She began by lightly tweezing Heather's eyebrows. “Your brows have a beautiful arch. I just want to get rid of a few spares.” She gently plucked them away. Cinderella would be pleased. Next, Sherry applied a light foundation. She applied a touch of under eye concealer, eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara before adding blush and lipstick. She finished up with a top coat of lip gloss. “Perfect,” she told Heather as she turned her around in the swivel chair so that she faced the mirror again. “You have amazing features. All you need is a little makeup to bring them out.”

Heather looked at her image in the mirror. She was impressed.

Not one to normally wear much makeup, she felt like a supermodel—at least from the neck up.

Don peeked his head in the doorway. “You look amazing.

Let's do this.” He escorted Heather down the hall to the studio for the second shoot.

Chip was reloading his camera. “Damn,” he said as he set eyes on Heather. “Let's get this party started. Now I want you to show me some attitude.”

Heather was center stage. This time there was no stool, no props. She was completely on her own. Don eyed her intently. She posed. She laughed. She danced. Heather was having the time of her life. Then it was over. She thanked them all and Brittany returned to escort her back to the reception area. Charisma and Tangie were flipping through fashion magazines. They both stood on her arrival.

“Wow,” Tangie said.

“Girl, I am scared of you.” Charisma said, laughing and handing Heather her coat.

“All done?” Tangie asked.

“Uh-huh. Don said he'll call me once the proofs are developed. Until then, I'll just have to sit tight.” Heather buttoned up her coat.

“Alrighty,” Tangie said as they walked toward the elevator.

“We should celebrate tonight,” Heather said.

“Where do you want to go?” Tangie asked.

“I don't know,” Heather said. “But I know one thing. I'm not washing off this face.”

Ten hours later Heather, Charisma, and Tangie were being seated at a table for four at Cabana's Forest Hills location. They began the evening with a large pitcher of sangria.

Heather raised her glass in their traditional toast. “Behind every successful woman is herself.”

“You know it,” Tangie agreed. “What a day, huh?”

“Like a dream.” Heather smiled, digging into one of two plates of appetizers. “I don't remember the last time I had so much fun. I mean, it was incredible, you know?”

“I can only imagine,” Tangie said, letting Heather bask in the moment. “So what did your mom and Jamal say?”

“Jamal is thrilled and to hear my mother talk, you'd think I was on the cover of
Vogue
or something.” Heather laughed.

Charisma was unusually quiet. Heather turned to her and asked, “Any word on Nate?”