Sister Scribe - the Official Site of Chicki Brown

Little Big Man

Back in the 70’s Dustin Hoffman starred in a western called “Little Big Man.”  I don’t really know what the movie was about, but as soon as I started to write this essay, the title came to mind because my father, Thomas Franklin Brown stood only five feet two inches tall, yet he commanded more respect than any man I’ve ever known personally.  He was an entrepreneur and a church leader, but it’s not the public man I want to tell you about.  I want to tell you about Tommy Brown, my daddy.

 

One of my earliest memories is sitting with my cousins by the side of a dusty dirt road in Millville, New Jersey in front of my grandparent’s house watching him play softball with my aunts and uncles.  Family was his top priority.  We worshipped together as a family, we vacationed as a family and often worked together in the business he started when I was five years old.

 

Contrary to the well-meaning advice of friends and relatives, he started his own part-time printing business in our basement while he worked days as a pressman at a large printing company.  Two years later he left the job and never looked back.  When his business outgrew the house, he moved it to the first of a series of progressively larger rented buildings.  Though he never had more than three permanent employees at any given time, he supported a wife, four children and, from time to time, assorted relatives on the income this business produced.  I need to give my mother credit right here, because part of the reason he was able to do this was because she made a lot of our clothes and knew how to shop to save money.  He never worked another outside job again, which was an amazing accomplishment for a black man in the 1950’s.

 

By today’s standards he would probably be considered strict in the sense that he expected us to be obedient. And we obeyed, not because we were afraid of him, but because the last thing we ever wanted to do was disappoint him.  I’ll never forget the time when I was in 7^th grade and I got into a fight with the neighborhood bully.  Embarrassed and humiliated by having his daughter involved in a street brawl, he made arrangements with the Chief of Police in our small town and the other girl’s mother for us to be given a lecture and personal guided tour of the township jail by a uniformed officer in an effort to scare us straight.  I don’t know about her, but the experience sure did the trick for me.  As a result of his “style,” not one of his four children (now all over the age of forty) has ever been arrested.

 

We weren’t rich by any stretch of the imagination, but Tommy Brown was a giver from his heart.  He never failed to go overboard at Christmas and on birthdays, but when we wanted something in between those special occasions, his mantra was, “you save half and I’ll give you the other half.  Of course, we usually earned the money by working in his shop folding, stapling, and collating and sweeping.  He definitely got his money’s worth out of us.

 

A jazz fanatic who had an impressive collection of 78’s and 33’s, he always worked with his music on.  I believe his children all grew up to be avid music lovers because, prior to moving the business out of the house, he built speakers into the walls of the basement in order to hear the music over the hum of the presses.  Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Dinah Washington, Earl Grant, Jimmy Smith and Ray Charles provided the soundtrack for our childhood, and when he cranked it up, we could feel the floors upstairs vibrate beneath our feet.

 

Even though he worked ridiculously long hours, he knew how to have fun.  In his younger days he loved to host big backyard barbecues for which, of course, my mother did all of the work.  And those summertime gatherings usually ended with the kids toasting marshmallows over the fire on the grill while the grown-ups played rowdy games of badminton and horseshoes.  I’m hard pressed to recall a time when our back yard wasn’t much more than two huge bare spots on either side of the net at the end of the summer.

 

Never one to put vacations on the back burner in favor of the business. he and my mother always came up with fun outings for us.  When money was low, we did local excursions to the early amusement parks, Olympic Park and Palisades Park, which have long since disappeared.  With air fares being out of their financial reach back then, wherever we went we traveled by car to Atlantic City, Freedomland, Bear Mountain, Sebego Lake in New York and Hershey Park, Pennyslvania.  Once we grew up, he and my mother we finally able to fly to Bermuda, Puerto Rico and Canada, and took my daughter, Crystal along with them when she was little.

 

Sadly, in telling this story to people over the years, I’ve often received looks of disbelief.  That’s when I realized just how uncommon my story is and how blessed we were.  Tommy Brown’s name will never be written in any hall of fame, but he was a man of incredible pride, faith and integrity.  He didn’t go out to bars or hang out with his buddies.  He went to work, to church, to Chamber of Commerce meetings and spent his free time with his family, which included his nine brothers and sisters and their children.

 

During times that I only vaguely recall as stressful, his mother moved in to live with us when she became too sick to care for herself.  Years later, after her passing, another hospital bed was delivered for one of his brothers who came to live with us when he succumbed to the deterioration of advanced diabetes.

 

At my father’s seventieth birthday party, my sister, who lived in Atlanta, was unable to attend.  She sent a taped message thanking him for being the man he was.  As she spoke through tears, she told him how grateful she was that we never had those stories to tell like so many children unfortunately do – the ones about eating mayonnaise sandwiches because there wasn’t any food in the house, or having to do their homework by candlelight because the electricity was turned off, or watching their mother go down to the local bar to drag their father out.

 

My father went home to be with the Lord in 1995.  His funeral was a testament to the greatness of an “everyday” man.  My brothers, sister and I were overwhelmed by the turnout of not only friends and neighbors, but also of township officials, former business associates and even the ninety-year-old doctor who had delivered all of us into the world.

 

Today’s fathers could learn a lot from the lives of men like Tommy Brown.  He stood only five feet two inches tall, but to me he was a giant.

 

 Chapter One

Shontae

 July 1^st

What could’ve possessed me to do this again? Seven of us were staying this time – four women and three men. Living with six other people for two months is asking for drama, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to spend the summer writing by the ocean. No couples -- just friends. Friends wasn’t exactly the word I would use to describe my relationship with Kinnik, Linda’s sister though. At least it looked like nobody else had gotten there yet. Linda’s BMW was the only car parked beside the house. Unless … I hoped Kinnik hadn’t come with Linda. I’d rather see her for the first time with a room full of other people.

A gentle sultry breeze caressed my face when I stepped out onto the crushed rocks and shells of the makeshift driveway that sparkled in the sun. I was struck by how great the house looked sitting atop the sand dunes with a bright border of red tiger lilies outlining the wrap-around porch. There’s no place like the Jersey shore. The smell of salt water and the sound of seagulls do more to relax me than any downward facing dog or lotus position ever could. Of course the California coast is cleaner, and South Florida beaches offer more eye candy, but I grew up here. I’m a Jersey girl at heart. No one can convince me there’s a better place to spend the summer than any shoreline town between Atlantic Highlands and Cape May, especially if you’re not rich. And I’m not.

“You made excellent time.” Linda called to me from the porch of the contemporary beach house shielding her eyes from the sun. 

I hefted two of my three suitcases from the trunk. “So, I’m the first one here?”

She grinned. “Wasn’t that your plan? The bedrooms are first come-first served.”

“I want the sunroom this time instead of a bedroom. It’s the best place for me to work.” I wasn’t joining the house this year to lounge on the beach. I was committed to finishing my current manuscripts and appreciated her being able to relate to my commitment to work. She’d understand because she was one of the hardest-working women on the planet. She worked as a real estate agent and a self-employed accountant. That’s why she handled the arrangements with the owner, and was the official “key mistress.”

She ran a hand over the sandy-color hair she now wore in twists contradicting her otherwise conservative appearance. “Go claim your space. I’ll get your things out of the trunk.”

“Thanks.” Linda had obviously been there for a little while because all of the windows and doors were open to let the fresh air in. I loved this house, with its contemporary design and coastal colors. Both floors had a wraparound deck and sliding glass doors on every room on the ocean side. Right now it was peaceful and quiet. The only sounds were the waves lapping at the shore and the call of seagulls swooping over the beach. Before nightfall the modern upscale rental would be jumping with activity.

“What in the world do you have in here?” She struggled to drag my blue Pullman case and my CD player into the bright, glassed-in room.

“Clothes, some CDs, my laptop and Alphasmart in case the laptop decides to act up. Of course there are a couple of books too. Not that I’ll have time to read them.”

She grunted and hoisted the huge bag up onto the pullout sofa. “It feels like you brought the whole library.”

“Ooh, I’m scared of you! Guess you’ve been keeping up with your Pilates.”

“It’s vinyasa yoga. You’re looking at one sister who refuses to turn into a fat, pitiful divorcee. This body is staying in top form.” She proudly patted her hips. “The physical body reflects the state of the spiritual/emotional body.” Even though Linda was the oldest of the group, she was a bundle of energy in perpetual motion, putting the rest of us to shame. But I’m not mad at her. She feels about exercise the way I feel about writing. If I had to go more than a couple of days without it, I think I’d die.

“And that certainly doesn’t hurt out there in dating land.”

Linda’s pale brown eyes glanced toward the ceiling. “I haven’t visited datingland recently. Speaking of men, we won’t have the same crew this year. Kip is bringing a friend with him. A male friend.”

“Don’t wiggle your eyebrows at me. My only reason for being here is to write.” We both understood a new person brought a new dynamic to the house. “I don’t know how I ended up with deadlines for two different publishers thirty days apart. Both publishers have options on my next book, so I have to meet the deadlines. Plus, if I can show the mortgage company I’m not a risk, they’ll consider me loan worthy.”

“Good for you.”

“It’s a necessity. Another year of apartment life might kill me. Those thin walls are torture. My neighbor on one side is a devout Muslim who plays his Arabic sermon tapes, or whatever they’re called, at maximum volume. The woman on the other side is a freak with an endless parade of equally freaky men in her bedroom.”

“Ugh, I can understand why you’d want to get away from there.”

Calm ocean waves beckoned to me through the open door. “My muse adores the water. The sound of waves works like a snake charmer’s tune when it comes to conjuring up her presence. And I plan on giving her what she needs in order to finish these books.”

She nodded her understanding. “This is the place to let your creative energy flow.” Linda’s dual personality amazed me. Her analytical side had no problem embracing all things metaphysical. The spiritual side never stopped her from excelling in her logic-oriented profession. She was so unlike her sister, Kinnik. Sometimes I forgot they were related.

“I think I’m going to get myself situated right away to cut down on any conflict when the others get here.” I unzipped my suitcase and snatched a few hangers from the closet. “By the time they pull in, it’ll look like I’ve been here for weeks.”

“You’d better hurry up,” she said, leaning toward the hallway. “I think I heard a car door. Come out when you’re ready.” She started through the doorway and turned back around. “We need your spirit to balance the house. I’m glad you decided to come back, Tae.” The heartfelt smile that softened her lips told me she meant it.

“Yeah, me too.” I think.

The double closet and upright chest gradually filled with the contents of my luggage. As I unpacked I thought about how perfect the room was for writing. French doors leading to the deck would allow me to go in and out without traipsing through the living room where everyone hung out. The owners had set it up with a desk, a fax machine and broadband Internet connection for the convenience of seasonal renters, those of us who save up all year for our stay. Luckily, for the past two years, Linda had been able to reserve July and August for us. We couldn’t get two nights in any decent shore hotel for the two hundred a week we each pay here.

The sound of raucous laughter told me Jo had arrived. That girl was so loud sometimes it was frightening, but her big heart made people disregard her boisterous ways. For the past two summers, she’d been the comic relief and the peacekeeper in the house. I couldn’t wait to see her. Once I threw my clothes in the chest and sat my laptop and AlphaSmart on the desk, I rushed back to the living room.

“Yo, woman!” Jo shouted as she hefted her large frame from the kitchen stool and stretched her arms out in my direction. “It sure is good to see you skinny heifers.” At nearly three hundred pounds, Jovita Blasingame considered any woman weighing under one hundred seventy five to be a stick. She scanned me with exaggerated pursed lips then pulled me into a smothering hug. Once I extricated myself from her enthusiastic embrace, I took the stool beside her.

“I need to stake out my bedroom,” Jo said, trying to catch her breath. “Have either of you claimed the pink room?”

“No. I took the yellow room. Shontae is using the sunroom.

“Last summer I got stuck with that center bedroom upstairs. It was like a sauna. I almost sweated to death.” She patted her elaborate upswept hairstyle. “The pink room is a corner room with better air circulation. Kinnik is rooming with me, right?” She sent Linda a speculative glance.

“Sure, but you’d better hurry and stake your claim.” Linda peered out the open window. The caustic sounds of Lil’ Jon and the East Side Boyz blared outside as another car swung into the sand at the side of the house. “That’s Kip.” She shook her head. “I told him about that mess last year. He thinks all of Ocean County wants to hear his music.”

“You know Kip brings the party with him.” I defended him. “Come on, Jo. Let’s get your bags on the bed before they get inside.”

“Thanks. Tell Kip to get my other suitcase from the trunk, will you? It’s open,” Jo said to Linda as we dragged the two bags she’d brought inside down the hall. Once we got into the bedroom, she pushed the door shut, the armful of bangle bracelets she’d accumulated from her regular trips to the islands making a jangling sound.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay with Kinnik being here?” Her round, perfectly made-up face wore a mask of apprehension.

“I’ll be all right. This time I came by myself.” I honestly appreciated her concern for me. It didn’t interest me as much as trying to figure out how she got her metallic eye makeup to not look garish on her dark chocolate skin. Especially since all I’d managed to get on my face that morning was some lipstick. I always admired Jo. In spite of her size, she was probably the prettiest woman I knew. Besides Kinnik, that is. But Kinnik never had to work at it; she’d been born beautiful. Despite being a size twenty-four, Jo had a wardrobe to die for. I don’t know where the girl bought her clothes. She obviously laid out some serious cash for them, and cash never seemed to be a problem for her. Walter, her fifty-something boyfriend saw to that. Their relationship/arrangement left a lot to be desired, in my opinion. He’s old, dressed like a pimp left over from one of those blaxploitation movies. We’ve yet to figure out what he does for a living. To each his own, I guess.

“Well, I’m glad you came back, girl. Linda told me you’re working on a new book. You know I bought the last one for two of my friends, my cousins and my Mama.” Her creamy blushed cheeks rose into the warm smile that instantly drew people to her. No wonder she was such a popular hairstylist and cosmetologist. She not only knew her craft, but her cheery disposition and wide, friendly smile made you want to talk to her. The last I’d heard, she’d even scored a couple of movie and music stars as clients.

“That means a lot to me.” She unloaded a bag holding her toiletries that could’ve stocked an aisle at Target. “You know in my world they say you’re only as good as your last book.”

“You shouldn’t be concerned then,” Jo reassured me. “That one about the interracial couple was smokin’, girl.”

“I’m glad you liked it. I’m here to do some serious work. No fooling around this summer. I’m on deadline and I’m behind as usual. As soon as we have the house meeting and draw for chores, I’m going on lockdown.”

“What are you lovely ladies up to in here?” Kip asked in his sexiest voice from the doorway where his shoulders seemed to touch the frame on each side.

“Hey, gorgeous! Come give me a hug.” Jo beckoned to him, her hands clutching close to ten bottles of various shades of nail polish.

“Here are your bags. We’re staying for eight weeks, not eight years, woman!” His incredible biceps flexed as he pulled two enormous wheeled suitcases into the room, leaned them against the wall then wrapped his arms around her.

Kip released Jo, put both of his gigantic palms on my shoulders and scanned me from head to toe then kissed my cheek. “You’re looking good, Shontae.” None of the women in the house were ever offended by his blatant scrutiny. He loved women and studied us for future reference. His motives weren’t a secret. Even though Ogden “Kip” Lee had a legitimate college degree in Drama, he deserved a Pro Masters in feminine psychology and a Ph.D. in flirting.

I mimicked his examination and studied the amazing biceps he showcased by wearing a skimpy tank. His powerful legs looked like granite pillars extending from the baggy shorts that hung low on his hipbones. “You’re looking pretty good yourself, big boy. So NYU let you loose again to wreak havoc on New Jersey’s female population?”

“Yeah, and I’m primed for action.” He rubbed his big hands together in a hungry gesture, his eyes sparkling with trouble. “When my boy gets here, the beach honeys better watch out.”

“Right. We have new blood this time,” Jo said. “Hope he can adjust to the craziness.”

Kip snickered. “Devon can adjust to anything. He’s an actor.”

That news made me groan. One man with an overblown ego was enough for the house. “At least Doc will balance things out. We need one grounded male in the house. Is he here yet?”

“Yeah. He’s downstairs sweating Linda already.”

Curtis Whetstone taught at NYU with Kip, only he was a Calculus instructor who’d rightfully earned his nickname. The original brainiac, he and Kip were opposites in every way, yet they had been best friends for years. Doc was medium height, thin and presented a serious appearance even with his twisted hair. Kip portrayed raw masculinity at its best and used it to his advantage every chance he got.

“And exactly what do you have against thespians, Shontae?”

“Ah, let me see.” I spread my fingers on one hand to count. “Gigantic egos, having to fight you for bathroom mirror time, your little beach groupies showing up at the house all hours of the night, etcetera, etcetera.” He cocked his head to the side with a pitiful, hurt expression, one he’d probably taught to his students. “Kip, our worlds are so far apart it’s not even funny.”

“Don’t hate the player, baby.” He flashed me a blinding smile. “I’d better get my stuff from the car. Devon left the City a few minutes after I did. He should be here soon.”

“Pardon me if I don’t roll out the red carpet.”

“You’re a tough woman, Tae. We’re artists the same as you.” The serious tone in his voice tickled me.

Linda’s called from the living room telling us she was ready to start the meeting.

Doc was sitting next to her on the sofa, where I assumed he’d be. Last summer, after she’d just separated from her husband, he’d made it plain he was interested in her. At the time getting into a relationship with another man was the farthest thing from her mind. Secretly I hoped something would jump off between them because they were made for each other. This time they even had their hair done the same way; only Doc’s was black and shorter than hers. With his wire-framed glasses, mustache and goatee he looked every inch of the brilliant, dignified Morehouse man he was. Nerdy in a very cool way, Doc was the only one of the men I’d ever seen reading, at least something other than the last issue of King or FHM. Of course the writer in me loved him for that.

“Your friend is here, Kip. As soon as he comes in we can start.”

“What about your sister?” Jo asked from the easy chair where she’d chosen to sit rather than try to maneuver onto a bar stool at the counter where I’d taken a seat near the window.

“I’m not waiting for her. She operates in her own time zone. I already have her money.”

Of course. Kinnik had probably suckered Linda into covering her rent. Her sister not only operated in her own time zone; she existed in her own self-centered universe.

“I’ll give her a chore for the week when she shows up.”

Jo extended her arm in a “talk to the hand” gesture. “Make sure it’s not kitchen duty.”  Kinnik’s lack of culinary skill was legendary. In three summers the only things we’d ever seen her create in the kitchen were microwave popcorn and hard-boiled eggs.

Linda looked up from the pile of papers in front of her on the coffee table and cast her a sidelong glance. “Oh, please! I know better than that. Her creative energy isn’t geared toward food preparation.”

The slam of a car door drew my attention to the window. A tall, slender man with a complexion that reminded me of butterscotch pudding stood beside a gleaming silver drop-top Mercedes. A pair of expensive looking shades covered his eyes. This had to be our new housemate. He looked toward the window. I leaned away from the screen hoping he hadn’t seen me staring. As soon as he turned away, I craned my neck to get a better look. He turned again, scanned the house as if contemplating whether or not to come inside then pulled several garment bags from the back seat. I couldn’t decide which was more beautiful, him or his car.

“Kip, what’s your friend’s name is again?” I asked.

“Devon. Devon Burke. Yeah, what’s taking him so long?”

“He’s here. I think he could use some help. Looks like he brought more bags than Jo.”

Kip rose from the bentwood rocker and headed out the front door. I watched them share a masculine embrace before Kip lifted one of the suitcases from the sand.

Devon hit the button on his key chain. “I have some other stuff in the trunk if you grab one of those boxes, man.” 

After a few seconds he followed Kip into the house and pulled off his shades after he crossed the threshold. Suddenly it seemed as if all the air had been sucked from the room. Oh, my God! I saw his face up close and spun around on the stool so he wouldn’t see me gaping at him. My elbow hit my glass of iced tea. I jumped to catch the cascading tumbler, but my reflexes weren’t fast enough to keep the sweet liquid and crushed ice from flying across the counter and onto the shiny hardwood living room floor. I must’ve looked like a deer in headlights.

“People, this is my boy, Devon.” Kip pointed to each of us. “You met Doc at my place. Linda, Jovita and that’s Shontae down there in the puddle.”

I looked up from where I was perched on the floor to see Devon flashing a megawatt smile that left all three of us women speechless. I grabbed a handful of paper towels and mopped up the spill as he put his bags down and sauntered over to clasp hands with Doc.

“Nice to meet you, ladies.” His voice was so deep it startled me. A weird chill ran through me when he spoke. I’d heard it before. The man was ridiculously fine. His astonishing features – high cheekbones, strong chin and heavy yet neatly trimmed brows framing deep-set ebony eyes -- looked as if a master craftsman had chiseled him out of marble. It almost hurt to look at him.

“Devon, we were about to start our first house meeting. Anybody want a drink first?” Linda rose from the sofa and headed into the kitchen. Doc, Jo and Devon followed.

Once they’d left the room, I turned to Kip. “Why didn’t you tell us your friend looked – like that?”

“Like what?” His wide-eyed innocent expression made me laugh.

I glowered at him. “Don’t play dumb, Kip.”

“Men don’t go around talking about other men’s looks, Shontae.”

“Oh, wait until your girl, Kinnik gets a load of him. I guess she intends to be fashionably late so she can make an entrance.”

“Behave, Shontae. Cut her a break.”

“Why? I’m only speaking the truth.” From the corner of my eye I saw Devon making his way back toward us carrying a tall glass of tea and ice. “You may have slept with her, Kip, but I know her better than you ever will.”

“You forgot to mention that part to me, man.” Devon’s voice rumbled and my stomach did a weird twist.

“Wasn’t anything to tell. Kinnik and I spent some time together. That’s all.” Kip turned back around. “And how can you say you know her better than me?”

I peered into the kitchen to be sure Linda hadn’t heard me talking about her sister. “Because I know how her mind works. In fact, I can tell you exactly what’ll happen in the first five minutes after she gets here.”

Kip’s mouth twisted. “No you don’t.”

“Devon. You’re my witness. I can guarantee five things. In fact, I’ll put money on it.”

Not one to ever turn down a wager, Kip reached into his pocket. “So what’s the bet?”

“Five dollars for each thing I get right, or I’ll pay you five for each one I miss.”

“Deal, baby. Let me hear it.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a challenging half smile.

For the life of me I couldn’t understand why men were so naïve. “Number one, despite the fact that we all have on shorts or capris, she’ll be wearing a brand new freak-um dress,” I whispered. “Two, she’ll have on four-inch Manolo or Choo stilettos, even though she has to trudge through the sand to get up to the front door. Three, the hair will be longer and most likely a different color.” I contemplated the last two. “Ahh, let’s see … the first two things she’ll want to know are: ‘Who does the Benz belong to?’ and ‘Who is your gorgeous friend?’”

Devon chuckled under his breath. I refused to look in his direction.

Kip winked. “You’re on, sweet thing. Money on the table.”   

Linda returned to the living room with a copy of The Secret tucked under her arm.

“How’s the book?” I asked.

“Wonderful. Have you read it yet?”

“No, it’s not my style.”

“How could it not be your style? I know you, Shontae. You’re all about attracting health, wealth and happiness into your life.”

“Oh, please!” Jo stuck out her lips and folded her arms across her bountiful breasts. “I bought it. All that ‘Universe’ talk irked me. Those folks are scared to call God by His Name and give Him the credit for creating the original secret. All they did was put their own spin on what Jesus said over two thousand years ago. Shoot, I could’ve saved my money and done what my grandmother always told me –kept reading my Bible. I already know I’m magnificent.”

“To each his own.” Linda brushed aside Jo’s comment. “We’ll have to eat out or order in tonight. The only things in the fridge are a few cans of soda and a gallon of spring water.”

“No brew?” Kip frowned. “I knew I should’ve stopped and picked up a few six packs and some wine coolers on the way.”

“We might as well get started.” Linda reclaimed her place in front of the stack of papers. “I guess the best thing to do is collect your money and then go over the house rules. Okay, you know the deal. I have everyone’s first week in advance. Now I need the rest in cash.”

We put our cash or money orders in her hand and watched her record our payments in a journal before she passed the currency to Doc to count. Their left-brain ways were fascinating. He passed it back to her and told her the amount before she promptly closed it up in a metal cash box and locked it with the tiny key she wore on a delicate gold chain around her neck.

Devon sent Kip an approving look to which he responded, “That’s why the woman’s last name is Cash.”

“That’s a joke, right?” Devon asked, looking at me for confirmation.

“No. Harris was her married name. After her divorce she took her maiden name back,” I explained. 

Linda cleared her throat and let her business side take over. “I guess I’ll read the house rules for Devon’s sake and to refresh your memories. Any money collected includes rent and fifty dollars a week per person for food and household expenses, like paper products and cleaning supplies. After that, whatever is left over goes into our reserve account. If there’s a balance in the account at the end of August, we’ll use it for the party or it’ll be split evenly among us. If you don’t want to eat here, it’s on you. No refunds.” She sent Devon an apologetic glance. “Yes, the division of chores is totally chauvinistic. You get outside maintenance, garbage, or security. Also the men sleep in the downstairs bedrooms for safety sake.”

Devon raised one heavy eyebrow. “Security?”

“Yes, locking up at night and getting rid of any unwanted guests,” she explained. “Can you handle it?”

“No problem.” He tried to look unconcerned, yet it was obvious to me from his callous-free hands that other than the weight circuit at his local gym, Devon Burke hadn’t done anything physical in a long time.

Linda continued her annual speech. “Those who want to cook take turns. The cooks do the grocery shopping. Has everybody made a shopping list like I asked?” 

We handed over our food requests.

“Where’s yours, Devon?”

“I’m easy to please. Whatever’s on the stove will be okay with me.”

She gave him a skeptical glare. “All right, when Jo cooks up some pig ears and fried okra, I don’t want any noise from you.”

The horrified look on Devon’s face sent us into a fit of laughter.

“She’s kidding,” Jo reassured him. “But if you’re into all that low fat, low carb mess, I am not the one.”

“Okay, let me get on with this,” Linda continued. “No illegal drug use is allowed in the house. We agreed the first year it would be grounds for instant eviction with no refund.”

The clicking sound of high heels on the wooden steps outside drew my eyes to the screen door. I hadn’t heard a car engine, so seeing Kinnik approach caught me off guard. In the few seconds it took to adjust my expression, she’d breezed over the threshold and now stood in the room in all her glory. All conversation stopped, just as she’d probably wished and all eyes focused on her statuesque form.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said in a breathy voice.

“What took you so long?” Jo asked with her arms outstretched beckoning for a hug. Kinnik floated right into them.

“I had some personal business to take care of.” She looked at Kip. “What’s up, jigga? Can you get my luggage from the car?”

Linda shook her head. “We’re in the middle of our meeting, Kinnik. Grab a chair and relax until we’re done. Okay?”

“I guess you bitches already took the good bedrooms.” Kinnik flipped a strand of her expensive weave behind one ear, flopped down in the big cane papasan chair and crossed her long, exquisite legs.

It never ceased to amaze me how she used the word as a term of affection. Considering she was employed as a dancer in hip-hop videos, I understood why. It came with the culture. Instead of letting her know she offended me, I played to her self-centered nature. And since she had already disrupted the meeting, I couldn’t resist the urge to remind Kip of our bet.

“You’re looking amazing, K. That dress is fabulous.” I gave what she probably thought was a thumbs-up toward her microscopic strapless mini that looked like an oversized sweatband. “And where’d you get those shoes?” My hand dropped to rest on Kip’s knee, and my index finger rose to join the thumb.

A sucker for flattery, Kinnik stuck one foot out and wiggled it in my direction. “Authentic loo-bow-tahns, girl,” she said, being careful to pronounce the name correctly. “They were a gift.”

Yeah, I bet they were. “How do you do it? I mean, we all look like a bunch of slobs, and you – even your hair is perfect. Great color.” My middle finger danced on his leg.

She made a throaty sound and swept the flattering reddish-blonde locks over her shoulder, all the while keeping her gaze locked on Devon.

“Before you get back to your little meeting, somebody needs to answer me a question. Does that SLK in the driveway belong to your gorgeous friend here? Isn’t anybody going to introduce me?”

“Ka-Ching!” I whispered into Kip’s ear, holding all five fingers spread wide in front of his face. “Dinner money!”

 

I can’t leave here without a job.

 

Dani Reynolds sat perched on a barstool with her legs crossed patting her foot to the reverberating bass waiting for the owner of the club to come back. He’d told her to stay there in his office while he took care of an issue at the bar. She nervously twisted one of the two costume jewelry rings she wore on each hand and looked around the impressive office, swallowing the lump of apprehension in her throat. She had to make him understand how much she needed the job yet appear confident at the same time. Granted, she didn’t have any experience as a cocktail waitress, but she was willing to work like a slave. Mentally rehearsing her speech, she pressed the pointy toe of her shoe into the plush steel gray carpet that matched the Ultrasuede wall covering. The top of his ebony desk was adorned with pewter accessories.

 

Impressive office for a small nightclub. At least it’s not a dive.

 

Until she got a job she’d be living in the extended stay motel where she’d taken a room five days earlier when she got off the bus. Cheap hotels in Atlantic City were plentiful, especially in this part of town, far away from the Boardwalk casino hotels.

 

“Well, Danny. That’s what you said your name is, right?” he yelled over the din coming from the main room as he closed the door on the pounding beat.

 

“Yes. D-A-N-I. It’s short for Danielle,” she explained, giving him a warm smile.

 

He sat on the edge of the desk and eyed her. “Have you ever worked as a cocktail waitress before?”

 

Dani had anticipated the question. She uncrossed and then re-crossed her legs well aware that he was studying her small, curvy body. “No. I worked some restaurant jobs in college. It’s not rocket science. I’m outgoing, have a good personality and can balance a tray without destroying your glassware. Isn’t that all I need?”

 

He laughed out loud. “Not exactly. You need to be able to handle drunk, obnoxious and sometimes horny customers. We have a lot of them.”

 

“I may be little, but I’m not fragile; and I’ve had my share of experience dealing with disgruntled men. Believe me.” She tried to maintain an air of confidence and ran her fingers though the short, wavy blonde hair that complemented her soft honey colored skin tone.

 

He rubbed his chin for a few seconds. “Don’t get me wrong. My bouncer doesn’t have time to baby-sit anyone. This place can get insane at times. I need somebody who can hustle.”

 

“Mr. Girardi, I need a job. This is my first week in town. I took a room in one of those pay-by-the-week motels. They want their rent every Friday. Could you give me a chance for a week and see how I do?”

 

“You do understand the base salary is two dollars an hour? You’d have to make your money on tips.” He sounded as if he’d already come to a decision.

 

“Of course. That’s how you can be guaranteed I’ll hustle.” She grinned. “So what do you say?”

 

“Okay. I’ll give you a week to show me what you can do. The uniforms are on me. It’s khaki pants or shorts with a black T-shirt.” He walked around to the other side of his desk, opened the center drawer and handed her a business card. “This place carries what you need. Are you driving?”

 

“No. I don’t have a car yet.”

 

“The store’s not too far from here. You can take a Jitney over there.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“The cross-town mini-bus. They stop on almost every corner.”

 

"One more question. Does it have to be a T-shirt. Can I wear a turtleneck?"

         

He gave her a curious look. “Why?”

         

“I have a skin condition. Exposing my neck and arms makes me uncomfortable.”

         

He hesitated for moment as if he wasn’t certain how to answer. “Uh -- sure. I guess that’s okay. Black sneakers or clogs are fine. You have to buy those yourself, though.”

         

“No problem. When can I start?”

 

“If you can get your uniform, how’s Thursday night?”

 

“Perfect,” she said with a relieved sigh. “Thank you so much, Mr. Girardi. I promise not to disappoint you.”

 

“Everybody around here calls me Rick. Fill these out and bring them back on Thursday. Let me introduce you to the staff.” He handed her a large manila envelope and walked her back out into the clamor of the crowded club.

 

One of a few nightclubs unique and trendy enough to attract the unending stream of tourists away from the Boardwalk, Frenzy was housed in a thirty-thousand-square foot former warehouse. A huge bar and spacious dance floor encompassed the downstairs. A luxurious lounge took up most of the second floor.

 

Rick took her to the bar and introduced her to Greg, the lead bartender and the two waitresses. Sonja, a slender brown-skinned woman who appeared to be about Dani’s age, was the senior waitress. They made a connection right away when Sonja volunteered to teach her the ropes. Dani got a totally different vibe from Tikira, a tall, voluptuous beauty who reminded her of Beyonce Knowles. The moment Rick announced Dani was the new staff member; it seemed like a cold breeze swept through the room. She got the distinct feeling that Tiki, as everyone called her, saw her as a threat. Baffled by her reaction, Dani wondered how well the three of them would be able to work together.

 

He led her upstairs to the sound booth and introduced her to Chris Johnson, the youngest of the staff, better known as C.J. A disturbance on the far side of the room interrupted his welcome. The crowd parted to make room for two men in the middle of a brawl.

 

“Looks like you’ll get to see Taylor in action tonight,” Rick said. “He provides security for the staff and guests.”

 

Dani’s stomach clenched into a familiar knot when she saw two men slugging it out below.

 

“He wears the headset so the bartenders and I can let him know what’s going on. Let’s go back downstairs. By the time we get down there, he’ll have the problem under control.”

 

Rick’s confidence in his security man impressed her. “Who is he, Superman?” She giggled at the thought.

 

“Damn near.” He guided her down the steps and back into the crowd. As he’d predicted, when they reached the spot where the fight had been, the bouncer was escorting the disorderly offender to the door. He turned around to face them and Dani’s heart stopped at the sight. The most physically stunning man she’d ever seen stood before her – tall and muscular with a five o’clock shadow that gave him a thuggish edge.

 

Her eyes took in his powerful presence but froze on his full lips. He had a beautiful mouth. Handsome in a moody, brooding sort of way, his piercing dark eyes and warm complexion made it impossible to tell if he was black, Latino, Middle Eastern or a white man with a deep tan. He was so masculine words like good-looking or fine seemed weak. Her pulse galloping, she tried not to stare at the drops of moisture clinging to his forehead or on the well-defined valley between his pecs as his chest rose and fell while he tried to catch his breath from the conflict. Dani struggled to keep her composure. Her purely physical reaction to him angered her. She’d never been influenced by looks, yet the man whose aura seemed to take up the entire room enthralled her.

 

Rick introduced them. “Dani, this is Taylor Villanova.”

 

His last name only reinforced his racial ambiguity.

 

“Part of his job is to protect you from out of control customers and escort you to your transportation at the end of the evening. This is Dani Reynolds, our new waitress.”

 

She swallowed hard and recovered her voice. “Pleased to meet you.”

 

His gaze dropped from her eyes to her shoulders to her breasts. “What’s up?” He made no effort at pleasantry, yanked off his headset and wiped the blood from the corner of his sensual lips.

 

His looks are irrelevant. She mentally willed her flipping stomach to calm down. He seems like an anthropoid, an inarticulate muscle head. Definitely not her type.

 

“Okay, Rick,” she said, anxious to get out of Taylor’s presence. “I’ll be here Thursday night at seven. I’d better get going now.”

 

“Hold up, Dani. Taylor will walk you to the bus stop.”

 

The thought of being alone with such overpowering maleness upset her more than the possibility of getting mugged. “Oh no. It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

 

“Get used to it. It’s my job,” Taylor said with an emotionless stare. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

 

Dani’s eyes followed him over to the bar, pull the seltzer gun, wet a napkin and wipe the blood from the cut in the corner of his tantalizing mouth. His movements were slow and fluid, almost like a cat -- a big cat. He came back to where she stood and simply said, “Let’s go.”

 

A shiver ran down her spine when he put his large hand in the small of her back and showed her out the front entrance. At a loss for anything to say to him, the three-block walk to the bus stop seemed like three miles to her.

 

He spoke first as they walked down the dark, eerily empty street. “So what brings a woman like you to work at Frenzy?”

 

“You don’t know what kind of woman I am,” she snapped. Who does he think he is? He doesn’t know me. “I’m new to Atlantic City, and I need a job.”

 

“Where are you from?”

 

“Montana.”

 

“Hmph,” he snorted. “I didn’t know there were any black people in Montana.”

 

“I bet there’s a lot you don’t know, Mr. Villanova.”

 

“It’s Taylor. And I’m sure you’re right,” he said through even white teeth that were a pleasant contrast to his tanned skin successfully disarming her with his smile.

 

“I’m sorry. That was rude,” she said, after they’d walked in silence for a few moments.

 

“Do I look like the sensitive type?”

 

“No.“ She gave him a sideways glance. “You don’t.”

 

“So, forget about it.”

 

A Jitney pulled up as they turned the corner. He took her hand, helped her step up onto the bus and didn’t look back as it pulled away.

 

The bus let her off down the street from the hotel in front of the all-night diner where she ran in to pick up something for dinner. Once she entered her room she propped a chair under the doorknob. “This lock couldn’t stop a toddler.” At least the radio and television worked. Thoughts of her weird day ran through her mind as she ate at the round table positioned below a hideous plastic lamp suspended at a cock-eyed angle from the ceiling. Frenzy seemed to be a decent place, not the kind of place where she’d have to walk around with her boobs hanging out or anything -- the kind of place where no one would think of looking for her. The pay wasn’t much. At least it would be enough to keep her from dipping into her reserve too soon. She had some money in the bank account she’d opened yesterday. But a hundred grand wouldn’t last long if she weren’t careful. That money had to be her cushion. If she could cover her living expenses out of her paycheck, everything should be okay.

 

Strangely, it wasn’t money matters that weighed on her mind. She couldn’t seem to get visions of Taylor Villanova out of her head. He was beautiful, well on the outside anyway. But he seemed like the type who’d probably never cracked the cover of a book other than the latest issue of Muscle and Fitness. With his size and build, she should have been afraid of him. Yet she wasn’t. She knew he could easily hurt her if he wanted to. For some reason though, she knew he wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her. It had been a long time since she’d felt so safe. Even longer since a man had shaken her up like that.

 

Dani changed into a nightgown and mentally mapped out her schedule for the next day. She needed to find the uniform store, buy shoes for work and start looking for an apartment. She didn’t want to get too content in the motel, as if that was even possible. The move from California had been a big step. Finding a place near the ocean had been her main consideration when she’d made up her mind to run. She loved the weather and the scenery there. Living by the water was second nature. Only it had become impossible for her to continue living there.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

Who do you think you’re kidding? Jan asked herself as she threw her car into gear and headed for GA400. You can’t possibly be considering this? He’s practically a boy, for crying out loud. Do you know what you’d look like with him?

  

“He’s not that young,” she protested out loud, as if someone were actually sitting in the front seat next to her. “Besides, if he’s interested in me, why shouldn’t I? A lot of women are involved with younger men these days.”

 

Because you’ll look foolish, that’s why. Act your age and don’t embarrass yourself. Remember what happened to Vanessa and Terri, the voice warned.

 

She slammed another fifty cents into the greedy gaping mouth of the tollbooth. Most of her jobs were on Atlanta’s north side, and feeding the DOT’s legalized slot machine annoyed her.

 

“Yeah, but Rick is too fine to be married to anyone. And Terri’s man belonged in the pound. His age didn’t have anything to do with it,” she rationalized out loud to her invisible accuser. After momentary consideration, she sighed. “Mmm, nice thought anyway.”

 

Jan drove the rest of the way home down I-75 reflecting on the events of the evening that had spawned this internal diatribe. From the moment she tied the apron around her waist, his piercing dark eyes followed her. At first she thought he simply wanted to observe how she prepared the food, but when she caught him in her peripheral vision with his eyes trained on her legs and not her hands, she knew it wasn’t her culinary skill he was admiring. The thought that this young man, blessed with classic good looks and a dark chocolate complexion like a Hershey’s Kiss, found her attractive made her feel nervous and clumsy. Not feeling the need to make conversation, he just sat studying her as she tried to keep her hands from shaking while she chopped the onions and peppers for the sauce. She felt uneasy under his scrutiny and decided to fill the silence with some small talk.

“How long have you been living here?”

 

“A little over six months now. I moved in right after the first of the year,” he said stroking his smooth, clean-shaven face and studying hers.

 

“So, what do you think of Atlanta?"

 

“I love it. Always did. I’d come here on business several times, so when my company offered me a promotion working out of their Buckhead office, I decided to leave L.A. and make Atlanta my home.” He took the last sip of his Red Bull energy drink and flashed her a devastating grin.

 

My God, he’s fine!  And he smells so good. Concentrate on what you’re doing, girl and try not to chop one of your fingers off. Just don’t look at him. Calm down and try not to sound like an idiot.

 

She moved from the island over to the stove, sautéed the vegetables and made an effort to continue their conversation. 

“What kind of work did you say you do?”

 

“Sports management. I work with professional athletes negotiating their contracts and endorsement deals, setting up media interviews, arranging for etiquette training, bailing them out of jail. That kind of thing.”

 

“Hmm. Sounds interesting,” she said, without looking up from stirring the food.

 

He could easily be mistaken for an athlete himself with such a lean, muscular body.

 

“It’s a nice way to make a living. Plus some phat perks come with the job – season tickets, private party invitations, you know.”

 

“No. I don’t. I wish I did.”

 

“So, how did you get to be a personal chef, Ms. Davis?”

 

“Please, call me Jan. I’ve always loved to cook, but I just considered it a hobby. Then one day I read an article in the Journal-Constitution about a woman who left her job as an accountant to become a personal chef. It struck me as something I’d enjoy doing. So I went to school, got my certification and started taking clients on the side. Once I saved up enough money to do some advertising I placed a few ads in local newspapers and things just took off. It got to the point where I couldn’t work days and handle my clients too. So I resigned from my job and started my own company.”

 

“Pretty ambitious. How does your husband feel about it?”

 

Jan hesitated before she answered his question. He would’ve hated the idea. He wanted a proper corporate wife, always ready and willing to hostess those stinking dinner parties with his boring clients. It never crossed his mind to take his clients out sometimes. No, it had to be a gigantic home-cooked meal so they could see he married the black Betty Crocker . . .

 

“I’m not married. I got divorced a year ago.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding quite sincere.

 

“Don’t be. I’m not.” She gazed in his direction, bit her lip and turned away, unsure if her comment had been a little too forthright.

 

He rested his chin on his hand, a bemused smile on his lips. “Okay.”

 

She stold a quick glance at him and admired his full sensual mouth. His lips begged to be kissed. Startled by the thought sprinting through her mind, an oddly primitive warning, sounded in her brain. To get her mind off his lips, she asked, “Do you have someone to serve tomorrow night?”

 

“No. I figured I’d make it buffet style and let everyone serve themselves. It’s not a formal dinner, just a couple of my clients, a few potential clients and their dates. I guess we could go out, but I want it to be unhurried and relaxed.” He paused for a second and smiled at her as he popped open another Red Bull. “I appreciate you doing this. Ron Scott mentioned your name to me one day at lunch, and he suggested I call you. So you come highly recommended.”

          

“He’s my best friend’s husband. So it wasn’t exactly a professional reference,” she admitted openly.

 

“Well, he told me you could throw down in the kitchen. That sold me.”

 

“Thanks. I appreciate your confidence.”

 

His eyes continued following her every move as she maneuvered around the kitchen. At the moment they admired her generous rear.

 

“Would you like to join us tomorrow night?”

 

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she answered, surprised by his offer.

 

“Why not? Then I could introduce you as my personal chef. I’m sure it’d be good for your business. Most of these guys are loaded.”

 

“That’s really nice of you, Mac. I think it’s better if I just leave you some of my brochures if anyone is interested.”

 

“Okay, but meeting people in person always makes a better impression. I think you’d enjoy yourself, Jan. Besides, I like your company.”

 

His invitation sounded a bit more personal. Instantly her palm started sweating. Romantic attention was as foreign to her as ancient Carthaginian cuisine. The antithesis of the paunchy middle-aged businessmen who’d been Robert’s colleagues, Mac Sinclair appeared to be at least ten years her junior, and he lived in a sculpted muscular body.

 

When the pasta and vegetable dishes finished cooking, she prepared the dessert. They discussed everything from Atlanta traffic to religion. Mac talked about being a Christian and attending a local mainline denomination megachurch. She’d learned from living in Atlanta to take the declaration with a grain of salt. It seemed like everyone in metro Atlanta claimed to be saved, because just about everyone attended church on Sunday morning -- even if they’d spent Saturday night at the club or getting their freak on in somebody else’s bed. She’d come to realize it wasn’t so much a declaration of faith or commitment as it was a label.

 

Mac didn’t extend the invitation again until she’d cleaned up the kitchen, put everything away in the refrigerator and prepared to leave. He wrote a check and placed it in her hand. “I wish you’d think twice about joining us. I’ll be the only one without a date, and I’m the host. We should be getting started around eight o’clock.” He held her hand a bit longer than necessary, yet she didn’t pull it away.

 

Now I’m certain it’s more personal than business. “Thank you, Mac, but I make it a policy to keep my business and personal lives separate.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, licking his bottom lip and never taking his gaze from her eyes.

 

“Let me know how everything went. I’ve got to be going now.”

          

“All right. I understand. It was a pleasure, Jan Davis. I hope I’ll see you again soon.”

 

He watched her as she walked down the hallway to the elevator. Jan hadn’t realized she wasn’t breathing until he closed the door to his apartment, and she dragged in a long breath.

 

“I need to talk to somebody about this.”