“I do have one last question, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes?”
“Did you come here to get revenge on your mother? You’re not planning to harm her or have her harmed, are you?”
“Relax, Marcella. I don’t plan to chop off anyone’s head or have them thrown into a pool of acid or lye. And no, this has nothing to do with my mother. She’s an extremely sick and revolting woman, and she’s right where she belongs.”
“Then who is it about?”
“Might we discuss that next week?”
She seemed doubtful, but, being a professional, she recognized when to let it go. “Sure, we can wait until then.”
“Feel free to stay and experience the spa. It’s paid up for until three. You can have it all to yourself, since you don’t mind that sort of thing.”
She chuckled. “It’s tempting, but I’m going to go change and head back to the office.”
“So where is your office?” I asked, making general conversation as we headed off into the dressing rooms.
Chapter Seven
I really should have been an actress in addition to being a singer. Overall, entertainment is entertainment. But one thing was for sure. The day that I met Bianca Hudson and Cherie Thompson for lunch at Acoustix Jazz on Marietta Street, I delivered an Oscar-winning performance. I had Nikki make arrangements with Frank Ski, the owner, to have a private lunch, since they actually did not open until six for dinner service on Saturdays. The worst thing about being famous is the inability to go someplace and enjoy a meal in peace, so unless you want paparazzi all over the place disturbing your meal and everyone else’s meal in the joint, you have to get creative.
After we exchanged pleasantries and I pretended like I had never laid eyes on Cherie in my life, we settled down at a corner table and ordered. I ordered the John Coltrane, Bianca ordered the Charlie Parker, and Cherie ordered the Ella Fitzgerald, which came down to steak for me, blackened tilapia for Bianca, and roasted herb chicken for Cherie. We also did the Frank Taylor crab cakes, Cab Calloway fried calamari, and Chick Corea spinach dip for appetizers. Women tend to order a ton of food when we go out to eat, but rarely ever finish it. Americans, as a whole, order in excess when it means being able to afford to do so. But I went with the flow and even ordered two bottles of wine—one white and one red—to accompany the meals. Since they had invited me to lunch, even though I arranged the place, it was on them anyway to pay, and they wanted to prove they were affluent enough to be in my presence. Straight bullshit!
Kagiso and Antonio were out front standing guard, and Diederik was chilling over by the bar, watching a special on ESPN but still completely alert to our surroundings. I stared at his side profile for a few seconds and wondered what it would actually be like to sit on his face one day. He had always asked, but that was a no-go like everything else. I was convinced that all three of my bodyguards traded war stories about how each had attempted to get inside me to no avail. By now, it had to damn near be a game. I wondered what they called it and if any monetary bets had been made. It was all shameful, but it was my life and everything served its purpose for the moment.
Cherie was really trying too damn hard to alter her appearance. Again, at least I had an excuse. The Cherie that I remembered from high school was dark-skinned with a smooth complexion, with dark brown hair and eve
n darker brown eyes. The Cherie sitting before me now, about to hit forty like me, had attempted to bleach her skin and it looked a hot mess, she had dyed her hair blond and had in green contact lenses. She looked completely ratchet, but I had to hand it to her—the outfit was banging. Surely audition-wear to convince me to let her design clothes for me. She had on a strapless burnt-orange dress with shoes to match while Bianca was donning a hunter-green pantsuit with matching shoes. I have never been a huge fan of trying to match shoes and purses exactly with an outfit, but it was working for them. Of course, I was not about to admit that to either one of them.
“Thanks for taking the time out for this lunch, Wicket,” Bianca said with her pretentious grin. “We truly appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem,” I lied. “I don’t have a lot of time for this little soiree, but Nikki said that you’ve been blowing her phone up trying to set this up.”
Both of them looked embarrassed.
“I wouldn’t say all of that,” Bianca stated defensively. “I certainly haven’t called more than a few times.”
“Are you accusing my assistant of lying about you calling seventeen times?” I took a sip of red wine and waited until the two bitches digested that. Bianca did not respond. “I thought not.” I sighed, cut my eyes at Cherie, who lowered her head in shame, and then glared back at Bianca. “That’s a moot point, so let’s get down to business. What do you two broads want?”
Cherie squinted so hard that one of her green contacts almost fell onto her plate. “Broads? How rude!?”
“If you feel like my personality does not mesh well with yours, don’t let the doorknob hit you on the ass on the way out.” I engaged in a staring contest with her until she gave up and looked away. “Let’s not get this shit twisted. I am American royalty and you are trying to jump into my playpen. Both of you want me to expend my hard-earned cash on the shit you’re peddling. Whether it’s a ten-dollar ceramic mug that I purchase in a Mexican street tent or a ten-thousand-dollar dress or some painting you think will look good over my stove, the shit is still peddling. So that makes you both peddlers.”
Bianca and Cherie gazed into each other’s eyes. Both of them were itching to curse me out, but neither one of the whores had the nerve. I was intentionally being an ass. If they were two women who I did not know from my childhood, two women who I was not aware were capable of trying to kill me, I would have been pleasant and noncombative. However, the two of them were lucky that I had not taken my steak knife and shoved it into both of the carotid arteries in their necks.
I lightened my mood and let out a laugh. “Don’t take it so seriously. It is what it is. We wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want something from me. Surely, you know I do not want, nor need, a damn thing from either one of you.”
Cherie cleared her throat. “Actually, I only wanted to meet you today. I admire and respect your business acumen and consider it an honor to even hold a conversation with you, however brief.”
It is a damn shame how greed will make someone give up their self-respect so easily, I thought to myself as I watched Cherie resolve herself to basically kissing my entire ass. I was only just beginning.
“That’s better,” I replied, cutting into my steak. “I always keep it real, and I don’t like playing games. We’re not here to eat. There is food everywhere. We’re here because you want to talk me into giving you money for clothes and design work.” I looked at Bianca. “So, I looked over the suggestions you sent over five times.”
Bianca started to say something but bit her tongue.
“Or was it six times? I can’t recall,” I said, adding insult to injury.