Greed, page 16
part #3 of Seven Deadly Sins Series
If I had thought about it for one moment, just one, I wouldn’t have done this. I wouldn’t have put more ammunition right into Audra’s hands. I said, “It was a gift.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. “From Stephon?” She grinned. “Wow, it’s beautiful.”
I was standing on the corner of Truth and Deceit. Because the way Audra had been checking me all afternoon, I didn’t want to go through this with her again. But now that she assumed this was from Stephon, I couldn’t leave that out there like that.
So I made a right turn on the corner and said, “I don’t want to talk about this, but I’ll just tell you—it was a gift for a consulting project I did.”
Her grin rolled back, and now her eyes narrowed. “What kind of consulting did you have to do to get this?”
“Didn’t I just tell you I didn’t want to talk about this?” I snatched the bracelet from her and hooked it on my wrist myself.
“Zuri, I’m getting worried . . .”
“Nothing to worry about.” I grabbed my clutch. One glance at the clock, and I had good reason to end this conversation. “The limousine should be here by now. Would you mind putting my bag in my car, and then I can just leave when I get back?”
She folded her arms. “You’re welcome to stay. You know that.”
“Thank you, but I really do want to get home to Stephon.”
She nodded but said nothing, and that was fine with me. I moved out of the bedroom in front of her and held my gown as she followed me down the stairs. I hugged her before I stepped out of the door, and she watched me until I slid into the limousine that was waiting at the curb.
After I said hello to the driver, I turned back to the window to wave to Audra. But she had already closed her front door.
23
If I hadn’t been in a gown and wearing four-inch stilettos (which were brand-new, too), I could have walked to the InterContinental Hotel. The drive was less than ten minutes, but I was grateful for it because I needed the time to shake Audra’s attitude off of me.
And ten minutes was enough, because by the time my limo pulled to the opening curve of the hotel, I was back to being nothing but excited. Even though we’d arrived in that short time, it still took at least that many minutes for my limo to roll from the street to the hotel’s entry.
The uniformed doormen for the InterContinental opened the limo’s door, and the moment I stepped out, Alexander was there to take my hand.
“You look beautiful,” he said, and gave me a hug.
“Thank you.” And then I stepped back and did my thing. I smiled with appreciation as I took in Alexander’s Armani tuxedo. And the reason I knew for sure that it was Armani? I had been looking at all the Armani tuxedos for so long, waiting for the day when I could buy one for Stephon, thinking that he’d need it soon for a major art show or something even better—our wedding.
Alexander extended his arm to me, and though I hesitated for a moment, I realized that he was just being a gentleman. I held his arm as we passed through the bustling mass that jammed the hotel’s entry. Of course, not everyone was here for Usher’s party, but still, this was a top-shelf crowd. The men and women who milled around were all in expensive garb—casual, professional, after-five. And there was glitter everywhere: from gold that shined from watches, to platinum that sparkled from necklaces . . . and then there were diamonds, of course.
We made our way through the massive space to the Windsor ballroom, and the crowd thinned, but those who remained were dressed for the red-tie event: women in the most elegant red gowns and men wearing tuxedos with some variant of red cummerbunds and bow ties.
As we stepped into the hall that led to the ballroom, the flow slowed, but then when I saw a flash, I figured out why. There was a red carpet? And paparazzi? Of course there was; this was an Usher event.
“I’m just going to step over there,” I whispered to Alexander.
“Why?” he asked. “You don’t want to have your picture taken?”
No, I didn’t. Not with him. I didn’t want anything out there making it look like Alexander and I were a couple.
But when he said, “Ah, come on,” I agreed. There was no chance of Stephon ever seeing this photo. It wasn’t like Alexander was a big celebrity, and I certainly wasn’t anyone that anybody would know.
So when it came to our turn, I posed as if I had a man at home. Alexander did wrap his arm around my waist, but only in the way a friend does when taking a picture with a friend. My hands were in clear view of the lenses, though.
Still, I was glad when that part was over and Alexander led me to the entrance of the ballroom. There were at least two hundred people moving through the space, stopping and chatting, grabbing flutes of champagne from waiters and hors d’oeuvres from waitresses.
But then, I saw . . . Jamie Foxx. Oh my God!
“Shall we?” Alexander motioned, and I nodded because I couldn’t speak.
I could hardly breathe when Alexander shook Jamie’s hand and they chatted—well, not a conversation, but they shared at least ten words before Alexander introduced me.
“Nice to meet you, Zuri,” he said before he tilted his head a little. “You know who you look like?” But before he could tell me, someone tapped his shoulder and Jamie rushed off.
Of course, I knew what he was going to say. But that was the first time ever I wouldn’t have been annoyed by the comparison.
Alexander led me to one of the tall white-cloth-draped tables, and it was a good thing it was only a few feet away. I leaned on the table and was so glad when Alexander stopped a waiter, who served us champagne. I had to take a breath to calm myself.
“Are you okay?” His forehead was creased with his concern.
“I am . . . I just didn’t know there would be so many . . . people here.”
“Ah, yes, people,” he said. “Celebrities. But you’re correct, they’re people, too.” He chuckled.
I nodded. “And Jamie Foxx . . . he talked to me. He seemed really nice, too.”
“He is, and you’ll find everyone you meet here tonight is just like that.”
Alexander was right. After I steadied myself enough to sip the champagne, which was, like everything else in the past few weeks, the smoothest, richest bubbly I’d ever tasted, I settled down enough to mingle with the people and enjoy the ambience.
The food was never-ending, the champagne was forever flowing, there was an open bar if one fancied something other than the expensive champagne the waitstaff served, and the music . . . that was fire. But this was an event hosted by Usher, and it was known that he loved old-school jams, too.
But the best part for me—the people. Yeah, the celebrities. Alexander impressed me with how many of them he knew. He introduced me to Chris Tucker and Keyshia Cole . . . and, oh my God, when Winston Duke shook my hand, I wanted to ask him to bark at me!
I played it like I was cool and had class, though; I just said hello and sipped more champagne to keep me calm.
Meeting all of those celebrities was the highlight, truly, but it wasn’t them alone. I loved hobnobbing with the other high-powered people. No one publicly knew their names, but Charles, an entertainment attorney, kept me humored with stories about how sometimes he felt more like a babysitter than a lawyer. And Tracy, a personal stylist (she gave me her card), told me how she would love to style me because I was the perfect Coke-bottle shape. (And not one mention of Thelma.) Finally, Kathy, an art dealer, talked about how she loved discovering new artists. I so wanted to tell her about the best undiscovered talent on Earth, but how would I explain meeting her to Stephon? Still, I took her card—this was for my man; I’d figure it out.
It was hours filled with mingling and mixing and being among people and an environment that wasn’t my normal but felt like it should be. Yes, this should be me all the time.
When Usher came onto the stage and introduced his new artist, Onyx, I felt like one of his friends. I applauded with the crowd, rocked as Onyx performed a couple of R & B selections he’d written, and then at the end of the evening, hugged and promised to stay in touch with a few of the people I’d connected with.
By the time Alexander opened the door of the limousine and then slid in beside me, I couldn’t remember having had a better time, and that’s what I told him.
“Thank you so much for this,” I said.
“It was my pleasure.” He patted my hand, but didn’t move his away. “To have you there with me meant everything.”
I nodded, then slipped my hand from his. “So, this is it, I guess.”
He shook his head. “I’m hoping you have one more dinner in you.”
When I got into this car, my plan was to say good night and good-bye. But just one more dinner? What could be the harm in that?
“That would be nice,” I said.
“Great, I’ll make reservations for tomorrow night . . .”
Oh, no! There would be no way I could have dinner with him tomorrow. Not after leaving Stephon tonight.
“At Pinnacle.”
Pinnacle. Another place I’d always wanted to go. But still, no. At least no to tomorrow.
“I would love that, Alexander, but I just can’t go tomorrow. Can we do Monday or Tuesday?”
The way he shook his head, I could tell the day was nonnegotiable. And then he told me why. “I’m leaving to return home on Monday. Flying across the pond. Going back to London.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“So tomorrow is it. And I have a surprise for you.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes wide with attention now. “What’s the surprise?”
He smiled. “Now, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” He paused. “Just a way for me to say thank you for all you’ve done.”
“You’ve already thanked me.”
“How? By paying you for doing a job? By going to dinner to discuss work? Even tonight—I was there representing Abbey Global. Still all work to me. But this dinner tomorrow will be just me and you, and me saying thanks to you.”
I turned to the window as the car eased onto Audra’s cul-de-sac. Dinner . . . tomorrow . . . at a place I always wanted to go . . . with a surprise waiting for me. The surprise, what could it be? Alexander said that it was his personal way of saying thank you. It had to be some kind of gift.
“So . . .” Alexander said, right as the car stopped.
Just one last dinner. Just one last gift.
“Will you be able to go to dinner with me?”
Just one last time.
Another moment of hesitation, then I said, “Yes. I’ll meet you there, at Pinnacle.”
“Great.” He smiled, then signaled for the driver to get out and open the door for me. “I’ll text you with the time, okay?”
I wanted to ask him not to make it too late, but the time tomorrow really wasn’t going to matter. Even if we ate dinner at noon, Stephon would not be pleased that once again, I was going to be away. But for dinner at Pinnacle and a surprise, I’d just have to figure it out.
24
I was old enough to remember when my relationship with Stephon was simple. I went to work in the office, he went to work in the living room, in between we took care of personal stuff, I spent time with my dad . . . and the rest of the time we came home to just us.
But somehow, life had zigzagged into a complicated ring of twisted truths, and I was now always having to come up with a plan to get away from my man. The thought of that made my heart dip a bit, especially since all I wanted to do was spend my life with Stephon. But at least this was coming to an end. After dinner tonight, I wouldn’t have to do this anymore.
Just this one final dinner, and this one last . . . surprise.
I had done a good job of putting this day together and showering Stephon with all of the attention. After not going to church and serving him breakfast in bed, I tried to coax Stephon back to his painting.
“Nah, babe. I’m gonna spend the day with you; we haven’t had enough of these days recently.”
“What are you talking about? You act like we don’t sleep in the same bed every night.”
“There’ve been too many times when that’s all we’ve done. Just sleep in the same bed. You’ve been working so hard, and I just want to spend this time with you.”
When he sealed his words with a kiss, I switched to plan B and convinced Stephon to leave the house. Hanging out would feel more like quality time.
So I drove us to Centennial Park, and as the May sun heated the air to the high eighties, we strolled past the flags (Stephon loved to do that, just like Daddy), then bought hamburgers (of course) and shared a shake before we moseyed over to the National Center for Civil and Human Rights.
The sun was still high when we got back to the car, and just as I slid behind the steering wheel, my phone vibrated with a message:
Dinner at 7. Can’t wait for you to see your surprise.
“Is everything all right?”
I must have been staring at the text longer than I meant to. “Oh, no. Just something from . . . my boss.” Another twisted truth.
“On Sunday?”
“Yeah,” I said, wondering if there was a way for me to prep Stephon for what was to come in a few hours. “We have a big presentation next week, and he just wanted to tell me something about it.” There was no way I could call that a twisted truth. That was just a lie.
“Oh.” And then Stephon held my hand after he turned up the radio to his favorite station: classical, of course.
But after one song, I tuned to V-103 just in time for one of my all-time favorites. When that beat hit, I started bobbing my head and Stephon pretended that he held drumsticks and was a master player.
“I said you wanna be starting somethin’
You gotta be starting somethin’.”
At the traffic light, I raised my hands above my head and chair danced like I was in the middle of a club. Stephon hunched his shoulders up and down and came closer to me, and we danced together till the light turned green.
“Hee haw!”
We partied just like that, song after song, and by the time we got home, I almost didn’t want to go out. What was a dinner at Pinnacle when I could spend the rest of the night with this man?
But it was that surprise that was going to take me away.
“I’m gonna cue up Netflix. Anything you want to watch in particular?”
“Nah,” I said, glancing at the clock in the kitchen. I was going to have to have this play out pretty quickly now, since it was just after five. Counting backward, it would take me twenty minutes to get downtown, then another twenty minutes to get dressed. So I had about an hour to cuddle with Stephon and set my plan in motion. I put my purse on the sofa and then followed Stephon into our bedroom.
But even as I lay back in Stephon’s arms, my thoughts were on the clock . . . and what I would say . . . and would Stephon be too disappointed. On the sly, I kept glancing at my watch and watching the minutes tick by.
“What’s up?”
I looked up at Stephon. “What?”
“You got somewhere to be? You keep checking the time.”
“Oh, no, I was just wondering how much longer for this movie because there’s something coming on Lifetime I wanted to see tonight.”
He rolled his eyes and I laughed before I said, “Oh, that’s my phone.”
“Huh?”
“My phone . . . is ringing.”
He scrunched his forehead as if that would help him to hear better, but he shook his head.
Jumping up, I said, “I left my purse in the living room.” I dashed as if I were expecting an important call that I just couldn’t miss. My heart pounded as I pulled my cell from my purse, and I made sure it was off before I pressed it to my ear.
I began a conversation with nobody as I stood outside of our bedroom.
“Well, the numbers that I have are on the computer. You don’t see the spreadsheet?” I paused and listened to nothing. Then, “No, those aren’t the right numbers.” Another pause. “Oh, I see what’s wrong: you gave me the first estimates. I’d have to redo all of that.”
More dead air, and now Stephon stepped into the hall with me.
“Can’t we do that tomorrow?” This time, I didn’t wait for too many seconds to pass before I said, “Okay, I can come in. But all I want to do is take care of this and then get back home.” I looked up and at Stephon. “I was spending time with my fiancé.” Another pause and I finished with, “I’ll be right there.”
Stephon released a long stream of breath as I pretended to click off.
“I’m so sorry, babe.”
“I can’t believe you have to go into work again. That’s all you’ve been doing.”
“But this is my real job,” I told him. “Remember, all of the hours I’ve been working were for the Enclave. This is the one that pays the bills.”
“Still . . .”
“Still what, Stephon? You’ve always supported me with work. We support each other,” I said and glanced to the living room, which had once been as elaborate as any of the lofts I’d just designed.
But now my sofa was pushed up against the wall, covered with hefty plastic; my tables were the same, except for my coffee table, which was lined up against the wall by the door. And the centerpieces of my life were now his easel, his paintbrushes, his tubes and jars of paint.
I’d been all in for Stephon, and I wanted him to remember that.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “I’m being selfish.”
And now there weren’t words for what I felt. But “like crap” was pretty close.
“You’re right,” he said. “Go on. Take care of your business, and I’ll get some painting done.”
“Okay.” I kissed him. “That’s best anyway. I don’t want anything to get in the way of your show.” And I meant that.
“I’m gonna change. Even though it’s Sunday, I don’t want to go in like this.” I glanced down at the shorts and tank top I was wearing.
He nodded, but there was a sadness in his eyes that once again made me ask myself, Was this worth it? When Stephon walked over to his easel, began his prep, and sat before his canvas, I rushed into the bedroom. My outfit was already planned; I couldn’t do anything too casual—I was going to Pinnacle. But I couldn’t be too dressy either—that would lead to questions.
