Cheesecake and Teardrops (30 page)

After a pause, Nate spoke. “Do whatever the hell you want.” He slammed the phone down just as he heard his secretary walk in.

“Good morning, Nate,” she said.

“Good morning, Pam. Hold all my calls,” he told her, slamming his office door shut.

For a moment he sat at his desk in utter disbelief, convinced that he was living the worst day of his life. He wondered if he could convince her to have the abortion. Then again, she sounded like her mind was completely made up.

Think, Nate. What are you going to do?
It was only a little after eight, but already he needed a damn drink. Surprisingly, he made it through lunch and then through the rest of the day. He spent a good part of the day at his desk mulling over in his head how to break the news to Charisma. One thing for sure, he was running out of time. True, Chase was barely showing, but that would change shortly. He'd just have to confess even though there was no painless way of doing so. And not being much of a procrastinator, Nate decided to tell Charisma that night.

By the time he arrived home, Charisma was busy in the kitchen preparing dinner.

He kissed her quickly on the cheek and decided to take a quick shower.

“Dinner'll be ready in a few, baby,” she told him as he removed his tie and headed upstairs for the bathroom.

He stripped and stepped into the master bedroom's bath, allowing the cool stream to massage the knot of tension in his back and shoulders. He stood there for a moment before reversing his position so that the water beat mercilessly against his chest. Nate soaped up, rinsed, and was through in a matter of minutes. He lotioned down and put on a T-shirt and a pair of sweats before heading back downstairs.

He paused for a moment and took a deep breath before entering the kitchen. The table was set, and Charisma was removing garlic bread from the oven. They were having chicken parmigiana.
Great, another Italian dish, as if Chase hadn't been enough.
He sat and Charisma joined him. He blessed the food, and they dug in.

Charisma proceeded to tell him about her day. Nate listened with only half an ear. Sensing his preoccupation, she asked if something was wrong.

“We need to talk, Charisma.” He put his fork down.

“You sound so serious.” She grinned. “What's wrong?”

Nate wiped his mouth with the dinner napkin and clasped his hands together, resting his elbows on the table. “I am truly sorry. There's no easy way to say this.”

Charisma put her fork down too. She gave her husband her full attention.

“Chase Martini is pregnant. It's mine.” He exhaled.

Charisma took a few seconds to digest the news. She looked at Nate with disgust, her voice low and angry. “With all the women you could possibly pick, you choose the bitch I hate the most to have an affair with? You fucking bastard.” She jumped up from the table, trashed her barely eaten dinner, and stormed out of the kitchen.

He was right on her heels, grabbing her arm from behind and spinning her around. “We need to talk, Charisma.”

“Get off me!” She wiggled free. “I don't have a thing to say to you. I can't even have a baby, for God's sake, and you're out making babies? And now you have the audacity to want to
talk
about it? Give me a fucking break.”

“I know you're upset. You have every right to be, but it's not what you think.”

“Oh, no? My husband gets another woman pregnant, and it's not what I think? Last time I checked there was only one way to make a baby. So, don't insult my intelligence, okay?”

Charisma ran up the stairs, heading for the spare bedroom. Nate climbed the stairs two at a time to keep up. She took an overnighter out of the closet and headed for the bedroom. Once there, she began packing, throwing a pair of jeans, a couple of T-shirts, and underclothes into the bag.

“Would you just stop and listen to me for a minute?” he pleaded.

“Give me one good reason why I should. You just
had
to have her. We haven't even been married a year, and already you're out gallivanting.”

“It wasn't like that. I swear to you, Charisma. I've never cheated on you. Do you remember when I transferred to Manhattan after you stood me up at the airport on Presidents' weekend?” He continued without waiting for a response.

“Well, about a month later I ran into Chase at the marketing conference in Vegas. I was still trying to get you out of my system. We had both been drinking pretty heavily, and one thing led to another. You have no idea how sorry I am. I swear to you, it only happened once.”

“Well, lucky for you it fell on fertile ground,” she spat the words out, adding more clothes to the bag.

“Haven't you heard a word I said? I didn't cheat on you.”

“Lucky me.” She looked him dead in the eye as she dragged the overnighter off the bed.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“The hell away from you!” With her purse in one hand and the overnighter in tow, Charisma headed for the closest hotel.

Heather ran into her old high school classmate, Ava, at Patty World during lunchtime.

“Hey, chicklylicky, what's new?” Ava asked.

“Not much. You must live here,” she joked.

“No, but I love me some chicken. Come join me.” She moved her bag out the way, and Heather took a seat across from her in the Caribbean eatery. “Didn't I see you and Paula at the club the other night?” Ava asked.

“Girrrl . . .”

“Wouldn't have to do with a pill deal, would it?”

Heather was embarrassed. She took another bite of her brown stewed chicken, had a forkful of rice, and stopped.

“Paula's a trip.”

“Trust me. I know all about it.” She took a bite of her spicy Jamaican beef patty, washing it down with a sip of ginger beer. “She uses drugs as a ploy to lure women in. You're just her latest victim.”

“How do you know?”

“I was in your shoes once.”

“How'd you do?”

“I lost thirty pounds, and then I kicked her to the curb. She can't stand my guts.”

“Her loss,” Heather said, and they both laughed.

“Paula usually brings her latest victim to the Next Level before she goes in for the kill. I have an idea. Why don't we beat Paula at her own game?” Ava asked.

“What do you have in mind?”

“You look fantastic, by the way, but you really want those pills, right?”

“Uh-huh. I signed up with a modeling agency, and they want me to drop a few more pounds.”

“So get them. They sell everything on the Internet. Everything,” she stressed.

“Why didn't I think of that?” Heather asked.

“I don't know, Miss Librarian. Why didn't you?” She grinned. “But you need to get with the program.”

“What would I do without you?” Heather exclaimed.

“Be her love slave,” Ava said. “Now maybe you'll be mine.”

Heather's eyes widened.

“Relax, Heather. I'm joking. Put those flying fingers of yours to work on the Internet, and go get your diet pills, girl.”

 

By the end of the week, Heather had received her first shipment of Z3K. It was easy. Almost too easy.

“Look at you,” Charisma told Heather. “You were something before, but you're a hot mama now.” She slid a coconut shrimp in her mouth as they shared a Red Lobster girls' night out.

“How much weight have you lost?” Tangie asked.

“Thirty-seven and counting,” Heather said, sipping her raspberry lemonade.

Tangie bowed her head and said grace. “I told you. Once you add exercise to the mix, you're home free.”

Heather smiled. “I have good news. I'm going on my first photo shoot. They had wanted me to lose another five to ten pounds, but apparently somebody's interested.”

“Finally,” Charisma said.

“Look out, world. Here comes the next Tyra Banks,” Tangie said, raising her banana daiquiri in a toast. “Behind every successful woman is herself.”

“I'll drink to that.” Heather raised her lemonade, and they clinked glasses. She had another forkful of crab Alfredo, relishing its creamy flavor. “I probably should have ordered the grilled chicken Caesar salad,” Heather admitted.

“Hey, you gotta celebrate sometime. You've earned it,” Tangie told her.

“Well, I'm enjoying every bite.” She reached for another biscuit, savoring one of her all-time favorite comfort foods one bite at a time. Heather looked at Charisma, who was seated across from her. “Charisma, is everything okay? You don't look so hot.”

“I'm okay,” Charisma said.

Tangie took a second look at Charisma and thought for a moment. “No, you're not. What's going on?”

“Chase is pregnant with Nate's baby.” Charisma held her head in her hand.

“What?” Heather and Tangie said.

“Remember when he asked me to go away with him, and I stood him up at the airport?” Charisma asked.

They both nodded.

“Well, after he relocated to the city, Chase went away for a business trip, and they ran into each other. Unfortunately, the rest is history,” Charisma summed it up.

“Oh, Charisma, we're so sorry,” Heather said.

“Wow, that's rough,” Tangie added.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Charisma agreed. “I'm sick. I can't even give my husband a baby, and this heifer is having one. She's won.” Charisma began to cry. Heather reached in her purse and passed Charisma some tissue. Charisma blew her nose.

“She hasn't won,” Tangie insisted. “I bet she would love to be in your shoes. Trust me. How do you deal with seeing her at work every day?”

“She took a leave of absence, thank God,” Charisma said.

“But I just don't know what to do,” she admitted through her tears.

“We'll get through this like we have everything else. You'll see,” Tangie said.

 

Heather had her very first shoot in Midtown Manhattan for Flow Cosmetics. Although Charisma declined, Tangie came to lend moral support. Freshly shampooed and without a lick of makeup, Heather drove to Tangie's. They took the railroad and were in the city in no time.

She went from hair and makeup to wardrobe. By the time she was ready for the shoot, she was perspiring slightly, so the makeup artist had to touch up her face. The entire shoot lasted less than thirty minutes.

An hour later, she and Tangie were in Macy's. The fall collections had arrived, and they were both looking for new shoes to add to their arsenal. The crowded elevator opened to the fifth floor, showcasing shoes as far as the naked eye could see. No matter what the hour or day of the week, the fifth floor was packed. There never seemed to be enough associates on the selling floor, and that day was no different. After trying on three pairs of shoes, Heather settled on a pair of peep-toe animal print pumps while Tangie walked out with a pair of red patent leather slingpumps. It was a good day.

 

Heather was on pins and needles awaiting word from the modeling agency. Each day she rushed home to check her messages. Nothing. By the fourth day, she was welcomed home by the flashing red message light. Smiling, she listened to her one message. It was Paula. She had gotten the long-awaited fresh shipment of Z3K's, and she wanted to give Heather first dibs. Heather wasn't interested and did not even bother returning Paula's call.

Instead, she called the modeling agency and left a message for Don. He called her later that evening. Yes, Flow Cosmetics had sent over the proofs from the photo shoot. He needed her to come into the office and have a look at them.

Heather took a day of from work and schlepped back to Manhattan. She caught the 10:32 train at the Jamaica Long Island Railroad station and arrived at Penn Station before eleven. She was right on time for her eleven-thirty appointment with Don. She walked the three blocks and was seated in the busy reception area in no time.

Heather passed the time flipping through the latest issue of
Vogue
as she waited. The elevator doors opened and a beautiful brown-skinned woman stepped out. Her hair and makeup were flawless. She must have been a model. She saw the receptionist, apologized for being late, and took a seat next to Heather.

“Are you interviewing for the personal assistant?” she asked Heather.

“No, I'm a model,” Heather replied, smiling to herself as the words sank in.

“Oh, okay.” She smiled, looking obviously relieved that she was not sitting next to her competition.

The receptionist had one phone call after another. A multitasker, she transmitted several faxes and prepared packages for FedEx pickups without battling an eyelash. Finally, she stood and informed Heather that Don was ready to see her, then escorted Heather back to his office.

Heather gathered that Don was on a call with their Los Angeles office. They were in the process of scheduling a fashion show on the West Coast and needed models for the catwalk. Don looked up and motioned for Heather to have a seat. She sat opposite his chrome-and-glass-top desk and tried to appear relaxed. Inside, she was anything but.

The conversation ended and Don apologized for the delay. He got straight to the point. “Heather, we have your proofs from the mascara shoot. Those extra pounds you lost have made all the difference. You photograph beautifully, by the way.” He spread the head shots on his desk.

“Come have a look.”

Heather came around the desk and checked out the photos. He was right. The extra pounds had paid off. Her face had a definition she hadn't seen in years. “So did I get the job?” she asked.

“They like your photos, Heather. They really do, but there's one problem.”

“What's that?”

“Let me just say that they were very impressed with you.”

He paused. “But you have a slightly deviated septum, and this is a mascara ad. They felt that if they magnified your photo, they'd have to do too much airbrushing to reduce the bump on your nose. So they've decided to pass. Sorry, love.”

Heather let out a deep sigh. Just when she thought things were working in her favor, up went another roadblock. She couldn't win. “I see,” she said.

“You might want to consider plastic surgery. I can give you the number of an excellent surgeon who does great work.” His eyes searched hers gently. He checked the address book on his cell phone before jotting down the number on a business card.

Heather accepted the number and stood to leave. “I'll be in touch,” she sighed.

“You do that, Heather. Keep your chin up.”

 

 

“You know something, Heather. I'm not feeling the love,” Jamal told her one night over the phone. “How long has it been since we've spent any time together?”

“I know,” she agreed emphatically. “I've been so busy working out and running back and forth to Manhattan that I've been neglecting you. I'm sorry.”

“What's your schedule look like? Think you can carve out some time for me tomorrow?”

“I think that can be arranged.”

“Good.”

“How about my place?” she asked.

“That'll work.”

“Seven-thirty?”

“Seven-thirty it is.”

“Cool, see you tomorrow.” Just as Heather hung up, her phone rang again. She picked up again, assuming that Jamal had forgotten something. “Yes, Jamal?”

“Heather?”

“Yeah?”

“Who's Jamal?”

“A friend. What's up?”

“Didn't you get my message? I have more pills. I've been trying to hold on to them just for you, but the demand is hot. Know what I mean?”

“Of course,” Heather said simply.

“Have you thought any more about my proposition? I mean, I can't hold on to them forever.”

“I know, Paula. As a matter of fact, I was about to call you.”

“You've decided?”

“Uh-huh. I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll pass,” Heather told her.

“You'll pass? Do you know how hard it is to lose weight and then keep it off?”

“I'm willing to try, Paula.”

“You'll be sorry, you little pussy teaser. I guarantee you.”

“Don't hold your breath, but you must be really desperate to use pills to hook women. You're pathetic.” She hung up, seething, not knowing whom she was more mad at—Paula for making such a ridiculous offer or herself for almost agreeing to it.

She ran herself a bath, fascinated as the bath gel Jamal had given her succumbed to the assertive stream of water, producing offspring bubbles. She soaked until her skin began to shrivel. Having lost her appetite, she turned in early. Punching her pillow as she tried to find the right spot, she realized just how tense her body was. Tomorrow, she'd see Jamal. He'd work out those kinks.

 

Eight-thirty and Jamal was nowhere to be found. Heather had left messages on his cell and his home phones. Nothing. Curled up on her couch, she wondered what in the world was keeping him. He wasn't always punctual, but then again, he wasn't normally this late either. She sighed and sipped her wine, grabbing the remote from a nearby end table. Those damn
American Idol
contestants seemed extra-pitiful this season. Had they no shame? Apparently not, but as she headed for her bedroom in search of some batteries, neither did she.

Evidently, Heather had dozed off, awakening to the sound of the telephone sometime after midnight. It was Jamal.

“What's going on?” she asked, checking the clock on her nightstand.

“Well, you tell me. You think you know somebody pretty well, and then you realize you don't know jack.”

“Life's funny like that,” she said, not knowing where the conversation was headed.

“You should know.”

“What d'ya mean?” she asked.

“I got a really interesting call tonight on my way over to see you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yep, stopped me dead in my tracks.”

“Really. From whom?”

“My ex. You remember Paula?”

“Of course. What did she have to say?”

“Plenty. I got a real earful.”

“Is that right?” She yawned.

“I guess I know why you haven't had time for me lately. You were too busy sleeping with her.”

“What?” She was wide-awake now. “You're buggin'.”

“She filled me in on all the details.”

“Oh please, she's lying. She's mad because she couldn't buy me with her little pill-deal scheme. So she's telling you we're lovers to get back at me. Don't believe the hype,” she warned.

“What pill deal?” he asked.

“Her brother's a pharmacist, and he's been getting these special diet pills for me on the black market.”

“Jay? Please, he's as straight as they come. You gotta be joking.”

“Jamal, she's lying to you.”

“Good-bye, Heather.”