All About Me

I sat planning my strategy while eating lunch. Yuck, I hated canned tuna fish and what could a measly boiled egg do to satisfy real hunger? I found a guest spot in Jen’s condo lot and swung the Honda into it. There were days Jen liked us to work from her condo and today just happened to be one of those days.

“So how did it go?” Jen asked, the moment she let me into her apartment.

“I got the job.”

“Good for you. By the way that stack’s getting huge,” she said, pointing to the growing pile of letters in her box. Letters I hadn’t the time or desire to read, though it was supposedly my job to tell her which ones required her attention.

She was already banging away on that laptop of hers.

I’d made no secret about this job interview. I’d been crying poverty for a long time. I’d threatened to find a job as an exotic dancer; sliding up and down poles and wagging your tits in some horny guy’s face paid bucks.

I’d told Jen I’d give the required notice if something good came along. I didn’t want her thinking I would always be here; the loyal assistant that she’d promised to take on a cruise and then dumped. Maybe if she thought I was going to walk I could finagle a big fat raise. Nobody else in town could provide the kind of inside information I could.

Grabbing the pile of letters, I made myself comfortable on the couch. A bag of potato chips would have been perfect right now. But for now I would have to settle for an awesome view of the open bay and fantasize what it would be like to live on some fancy boat with a deck hand slobbering all over me. Mentally, I had already moved in.

“Chere! Letters!”

“Okay, okay,” I jumped up and made a halfhearted attempt to read. I waved a letter at her. “This one’s from Camille Lewis complaining about Winston.”

Camille was Jen’s neighbor from hell. She and her husband lived in 5D. Camille was a nosy, loud West Indian woman who loved getting into peoples’ business. Winston, the quiet, long-suffering husband, had pretty much thrown in the towel. Why Winston put up with Camille no one knew. Some speculated she did cartwheels in bed.

“Read it to me,” Jen ordered, a pencil clenched between her teeth.

My painted on eyebrows arched, and with some satisfaction, I read aloud. I hated Camille and she hated me.

“Dear Jenna,

I have lost respect for my husband. He’s a puppy dog and just follows me around. The worse I behave, the more loyal he is. I push to get a reaction, any reaction. He’s no longer interested in sex. All he wants to do is sleep. He’s a man of a certain age. Do you think he needs Viagra? I don’t want to leave him. Should I get a lover?”

Jen frowned. “Why do you think it’s Camille?”

“’Cause there ain’t nobody in this town she can talk to about her situation. Nobody trusts her.”

“There isn’t anyone in this town she can talk to,” Jen corrected.

“Whatever.”

I was trying to clean up my act, really I was. It’s just when you’ve talked a certain way for so long, it’s comfortable for you.

“Give me that.” Jen reached out a hand.

I handed her the letter and went back to reading the others. I was bored, and sick to death of reading about other people’s problems. But something made me look up. I froze. On top of Jen’s desk was a pile of bridal magazines.

It was a sad reminder that I wasn’t getting any younger. My biological clock was going tick-tock, and I had no man around. Time to hit the john before I got weepy.

“Where are you going?” Jen called after me as I wobbled down the hallway in my three-inch platforms. “Stay away from the refrigerator.”

She knew me that well. And yeah, I was beginning to feel faint. The lousy boiled egg and tuna minus mayonnaise had made me hungrier. I blinked a couple of times and dry-eyed, doubled back.

“I’m taking the tour of my new home,” I said, trying to sound jolly. Fat girls are supposed to always be happy. I wasn’t. “When can I move in?”

“When do you want to move in?”

“Tomorrow.” I was half kidding. But this was living in the lap of luxury compared to how I lived. My landlady wanted me out. I had a running toilet and a broken dishwasher that hadn’t been fixed in weeks and I’d been slow on my rent.

“How about week after next? That’ll make it close to the end of the month,” Jen said. “It’ll give me time to move some things into Tre’s place, the rest of the stuff I’ll put in storage.”

“Yeah, two weeks will work. I need a favor.”

“I’m not lending you money.”

I cut my eyes at her. I’d only borrowed money from her once and I’d offered to pay it back with interest when my numbers came in. She’d refused to accept anything more than the loan.

“Take me shopping.”

“Sure. Do you have a credit card you can still use?”

I shot her a dirty look. “I need business clothes. Manny says if I’m to work in real estate I need to dress the part.”

“Manny is right. We could go shopping after you finish reading those letters. I’ll even treat you to dinner at the Pink Flamingo later.”

“Okay you got it.”

I had my teeth set for plump pork chops, garlic smashed potatoes and at least three buttered rolls.

“What are you going to do about your hair?” Jen asked, circling me.

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Big hair’s dated, hides your pretty face.”

I was sick to death of hearing about my pretty face. I’d been hearing about it all my life, that and my weight. Enough already, it was enough to make a body do some serious eating.

Getting rid of my weave meant I’d need a relaxer and a cut. Jen knew how much I made. Couldn’t she let the weave slide? I’d have to take out a second mortgage just to improve my appearance and I didn’t own a home.

“All right, all right. But I don’t want to look like those old ladies with the helmet hair and tight curls.”

“What about going natural. Just add a little texturizer to your hair and you should be fine. If you play up your eyes and highlight your cheekbones, I say move over Halle, Chere’s the new girl in town.” She laughed and I laughed with her.

“Okay back to work.”

Jen plopped down in her chair, her attention again on her monitor. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. “What have I got for the Sunday column?”

I snorted. At least she could say “we,” and acknowledge my contribution.

Four hours later, my car was filled with shopping bags from the three stores that Jen insisted we go into. I’d been talked into buying black everything and I wasn’t feeling the clothes, reminded me of a funeral director. I’d turned into a Florida girl and I liked my vibrant colors. But I put on a happy face and pretended to go ga-ga over the slacks, skirt and jacket she’d picked out, all in the same boring black.

Jen even made me buy old lady pumps. You know the kind with three inch heels and round tip that ladies with varicose veins wore. “Orthopedic” shoes I called them.

By the time we were through shopping I was way over my credit card limit. I had to talk the bank into upping the amount. Now I was in serious hock. I’d better sell some houses quick.

“I’m starving,” Jen announced as we pulled into a vacant spot in back of the Pink Flamingo.

I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch so I was more than starving. Even the fluttering fake flamingos on the restaurant’s ceiling looked like they might make good barbeque.

On a Wednesday night, the place was jumping. The hostess, a hot Latino woman who thought she was better than everyone, flirted with the restaurant manager, Rico. She managed to peel herself off of him to greet us.

“We want a table in the bar area,” Jen said not consulting me. Guess I wasn’t good enough to be taken into the restaurant.

Whipping long jet-black hair off her face, the hostess asked, “Is it just the two of you?”

“You see anybody else?”

Jen shushed me loudly before I could say something real smart-assed.

“Follow me.”

I clomped along behind them, looking around to see who was there. Drinks must be half-priced because the bar was jumping. Spotting Chet Rabinowitz, the mayor’s son, I waved. He and his lover, Harley, gave me the hand sign that meant “call us,” soon.

My girls were out in full force, the ones I ran into at the curl and weave; those who were forever running their mouths. Most were on their way to being hooked up or laid.

We slid into a booth. Jen and I faced each other. I was all talked out and just wanted the menu. I stabbed my finger at the first thing I saw. Jen barely glanced at hers before tossing it aside.

“I know what I’m having,” she announced. “A Cobb salad.”

“Cobb what?”

“Salad. Nice, healthy and will justify my glass of wine.”

“I’m having ribs with barbecued sauce.”

She slapped my hand. “No you’re not.”

“Am too.”

“Don’t let me slap you. Didn’t you say something about having lost two pounds?”

I stuck out my tongue. “Fine, fried chicken with collard greens on the side.”

“We’ll have two Cobb salads,” Jen said when the waitress came over. Wine for me and water for her.”

Who died and left her boss. That’s right, she was my boss.

“Isn’t that Quen seated at the bar?” Jen mumbled out of the side of her mouth.

“Where?”

My palms became sweaty and my stomach began to rumble. All on account of hunger of course. The walls around me wavered, changing from Flamingo pink to floral.

“Think the woman seated next to him is a date?”

Now why did she have to say that? Quen on a date was bound to upset me. I’d want to poison the witch.

I kept my face blank, tossed a glance in the direction of the bar, and damn near flew out of my seat.

Sheena, the “ho,” was sitting next to my man.

Not for long. I was on my way over.

Chapter 4

“Hi, Quen, Sheena,” I said, sidling up next to them.

“Hey, sugar,” Quen’s megawatt smile washed over me and I melted. “Where did you come from?”

Sheena’s glare clearly told me I wasn’t wanted and that made me madder. I pointed over to Jen who was eyeing the scene over the top of her wineglass and making sure to keep her distance. She knew I was volatile.

“Ladies night, eh?” Quen said his eyes twinkling. “What are you drinking?”

“Water because of you.” I wasn’t sure if it was an offer to buy or whether Quen was testing me. I stood my ground and gave my friend the evil eye. “You two got something going?”

“Do we have something going?” Quen put the question right back to Sheena.

“We could.”

So that’s the way it was. They were working their way toward hooking up. Over my dead body!

I planted myself firmly between them. “Quen and I have a breakfast date, don’t we, Quen?

“You know it, sugar. Try not to cheat, at least not a lot.” He winked at me.

Sheena’s gaze dripped poison. Since neither one of them asked me to sit down and Quen didn’t follow through on the drink offer, there was nothing left for me to do than crawl back to where I came from. But I’d put Sheena on notice, and that was what I’d set out to do.

The salads had arrived: a few measly pieces of lettuce, chopped egg yolk, whites and luncheon meat cut in bite-size cubes—at least that’s what it looked like. Pitiful.

“So what did you find out?” Jen asked carefully.

“That they’re not dating. Sheena’s out to get laid.”

“And that comes as a big surprise.” Jen’s hazel eyes inspected me carefully over the rim of that wine glass. “Think Quen will bite?”

I snorted. “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“Sure you do. Look I wasn’t going to tell you this but I heard Quen’s ex-wife might be moving back to Flamingo Beach?”

“What!” I was the one who heard all of the news first. So how come Jen had one up on me?

“Tre was in Joya’s Quilts the other day picking up a gift for his mother. Granny J waited on him. She told him her granddaughter, her namesake, was coming to town for a visit.”

Joya back in Flamingo Beach meant only one thing. Trouble. It had taken Quen at least a year to get over her.

I didn’t like the idea that size-two Joya with her great big gray eyes and delicate ways was going to be my competition. She’d dumped Quen, then gotten hired by an airline, and moved to L.A. where we all hoped she’d stay. I wondered if Quen knew Joya was coming back to town. I’d fish around and see what I could find out tomorrow.

“So what do you think?” I asked the tall blonde in the capris and halter top that her boobs were falling out of. She’d been mincing around the five-room apartment for over an hour, poking her head into every nook and cranny. I was still trying to figure out what she was looking for. I mean the condo was unfurnished.

Grandpa accompanying her, I had pegged as a sugar daddy. He was real old and Daisy kept rubbing those big nipples against his arm and whining, “Charlie, I just don’t know. I’m thinking we should hold out for the penthouse. You’d be much more comfortable.”

“I don’t have any penthouses available,” I said, trying not to sound disgusted, which I was. “The buildings in Flamingo Place have seven floors. You can put your name on the waiting list for a villa if you want but they’re under construction. If you’re looking for waterfront the starting price is in the high seven hundreds.”

Up until now I was doing really well; maintaining my professionalism and elocuting all over the place. Manny Varela and Mr. Cummings would be proud of me. What I really wanted to do was slap the bitch so hard her collagen lips wobbled.

Daisy didn’t blink an eye. “Villa? Did you say villa? And it’s waterfront.”

Charlie’s adams apple bobbed. “Honey, it’s not like we plan on being here in the summer. This two-bedroom condominium is more than adequate,” he pleaded.

Tears began to form in Dina Winters’s eyes. Dina was her real name; I liked Daisy better. She sniffed a couple of times and caught herself. “You should be thinking about waterfront, Charlie, waterfront. You never lose with water. It just keeps appreciating.”

Daisy wasn’t that stupid. She had a brain but girlfriend was using her assets until she had him roped in.

“Why don’t you both think about it and get back to me?” I said, flipping her another card. I had another appointment with clients coming in from New York who sounded like they were ready to buy, and I didn’t need Daisy’s waterworks holding me up.

My new business cards from Fabulous Shots were worth every dime of the two hundred dollars I’d conned Manny into spending. They really were fab-u-lous. Seventy-five dollars of his money had gone toward making me fifty pounds lighter, hollowing out my cheeks, and flattening my stomach. With a little erasing around the eyes I’d turned into one helluva guy magnet. I needed to make sure Quen got one of my cards.

“I really have to go,” I said, looking at my watch. “I’ve got another client.”

“Honey, let’s not hold this lady up,” Charlie who was totally whipped said. “We took this long plane flight and we checked everything out on the web so why not just do it.”

Daisy sniffed again. “I want you to think about water, Charlie. Can we call you tomorrow?”

“Sure you can.”

Dina, Daisy, whatever, gave the apartment one last go around, Charlie trotting dutifully at her heels.

By then I’d pretty much decided this Realtor business took a good deal of patience. Sure you could make big bucks if you bit your tongue and knew how to manipulate people. Biting my tongue was something I’d have to learn to do.

Finally Charlie and his eye candy left.

“How did it go?” Manny asked me when I returned to the office. I rolled my eyes and sucked in my breath. “That bad, huh?”

I explained what had happened. “That woman was still carrying on in the parking lot. I could hear her. She wanted Charlie to hold out for a villa.”

Manny shrugged. “What do you care? If he buys her a waterfront place, that’s more money in your pocket. Think commission, hon. Judging by their mode of transportation, old Charlie ain’t hurting none. He can well afford to buy his trophy whatever she wants.”

“I suppose.”

“Speaking of which you want to have dinner with me sometime?”

I thought about it for a second. “Sure.”

Hell I was hungry and Manny would buy me anything I wanted in reason, so I wouldn’t shoot off my mouth to Lizzie about Sheena.

He made a good point, too, about the commission. The couple had shown up in a Hummer, one of those huge monstrous things in canary yellow that reminded me of a Brink’s truck and cost a fortune.

“When’s your next client?” Manny asked.

I squinted at the tiny wristwatch Jen had insisted I wear. She claimed I needed to look professional.

“They should be showing up any minute.”

“You look nice,” Manny said. “Not at all what I’m used to seeing you wearing.”

Was he coming onto me? I glared at him. I hated the two-piece pant outfit. It wasn’t me. The black slacks made me feel like a mortician and the long black cardigan that covered the sleeveless beige shell was hot and itchy. I had a double strand of fake pearls around my neck that were choking the daylights out of me. And on my feet were the ridiculous black pumps. My arches were already aching from all that standing.

I poured myself a glass of water when what I really wanted was a big ole glass of sweet tea, or a Biggie Size soda. In a pinch, water would have to do.

The etched glass doors of Flamingo Realty pushed open and two men walked in.

“Chere Adams please.”

“Who wants to know?” I swear it slipped out. Truly it did. “I’m Chere,” I admitted in my elocution voice and handed them my card “And you are?”

“Peter and Dustin Millard. Friends of Chet Rabinowitz and Harley Mancini’s. They said to ask for you.”

Walk-in’s. I had the other appointment. I tossed a desperate look Manny’s way hoping he would help me out, but my boss already had his sunglasses in hand, and was heading out of the door.

“You’re in good hands with Chere,” he said, looking over his shoulder and winking at me.

I started to wheeze. Stress always brings on my asthma. I made the two men sit, handed them some paperwork to fill out, then excused myself and went into the bathroom. I dug through my purse, found my inhaler and gave it a good squeeze. Wheeze. Wheeze. Wheeze.

Calm down, Chere. You can do this. You know you can.

When I came back Peter was gabbing on his cell phone. Judging from what I could hear of the one-sided conversation, he was talking to Chet.

“Yes, we’re at Flamingo Realty. Yes, we got hold of Chere. You want to talk to her?”

Peter, who was the slenderer of the two held out the phone. “Chet wants to talk to you, hon.”

By now I was breathing more normally. “Hey, Chet,” I greeted in my best Realtor voice. “It was nice of you to send your friends.”

He quickly gave me the scoop telling me that Peter and Dustin were brothers in from New York scouting out areas on Flamingo Row to start a business. One was gay and the other straight. They were in serious negotiations with Carlton Rogers about taking over the old liquor shop.

The store was in the historical district, otherwise known as “The Row” and right next door to Chet and Harley’s flower shop. Now Peter and Dustin were talking about making the place a wine and cheese shop. Chet had been lobbying for a long time to get Carlton out, claiming his liquor store drew undesirables and scared off his customers.

Wine and cheese sounded too chi-chi to me. I liked Carlton’s liquor store because he gave me endless credit and had what I wanted. It was also one of the few places carrying Colt these days, or at least admitted they did. And I liked my 45.

“Peter and Dustin Millard have plenty of money,” Chet confided, lowering his voice. “Don’t let them give you this crap about being restricted to a certain price range. One’s a stockbroker, the other an attorney. Both earn easily high six figure salaries.”

“Hmm.” The cash register was ringing loudly in my ears. I repeated what Manny had said about me. “Your friends are in good hands.”

My other clients who were locals still hadn’t shown up and Peter and Dustin sounded like better prospects. The Houstons were actually Manny’s clients, but he’d turned them over to me, and that made me suspicious. Manny wasn’t that generous to begin with so there must be something up with them.

“What exactly are you looking for?” I asked, my slick Realtor smile in place. Damn it but the elastic waist of my pants were beginning to pinch and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which was another tasteless boiled egg and a bowl of Special K.

This was my first day on the job and based on the people I’d been showing properties to, most didn’t know what the hell they wanted. They were all on a mission to get something for nothing. Couldn’t say I blamed them.

“Here’s the thing,” Dustin, who had to be the gay one, said expansively. “We don’t plan to be here very often. We’ll probably hire someone to run the business if we buy it. So we don’t need much.”

I eyeballed him. I can be quite intimidating thanks to my weight, especially when I draw myself up to my full height of five foot six. “Is it a studio you want to see?”

I thought about the renovations going on in the complex. There was a corner studio that one tenant wanted to unload. She was buying a house in town and needed money quickly. But two men in a studio; one as heavy as me, maybe heavier, lord help them, they’d be on top of each other.

Peter and Dustin exchanged looks. “Perhaps not a studio,” Peter said, “Do you have a one bedroom? It doesn’t have to face water. We’re thinking of renting for short terms when we’re not in town.”

“I’ll show you what I have,” I quickly said, seeing another opportunity here. “Do you have financing?”

“Oh, yes we’ve been preapproved.”

A big hurdle crossed. “Okay, let’s see what’s available.” I grabbed my keys and whisked them out the door before they could think about returning another day.

Forty minutes later we were back in the sales and leasing office. Peter and Dustin had taken photos of several apartments with a digital camera. They promised to be back in touch. After dealing with two clients in a row I was hungrier than a fat woman on a diet. And my client with the appointment still hadn’t shown up.

I ushered the boys out the door and began rummaging through the briefcase, Jen’s congratulatory present to me. I guess she felt guilty because she hadn’t delivered on that cruise; the one she was probably taking Tre on for their honeymoon. It was unfair, I’d been the one who’d stuffed that box with her business cards, and he was an employee of WARP, the station sponsoring the raffle.

I’d just found my emergency supply of M&M’s and a bag of stale chips when a woman’s voice called from the door.

“Anyone there?”

Was I invisible? I’m not hard to miss and I was dressed like I was going to a funeral. What did she think? I was the cleaning lady? I shoved the M&M’s and chips back in my briefcase and stomped to the front door. The back of my heels were really beginning to hurt. I probably had blisters. Four children, all roughly the same age, burst in through the door almost knocking me over.

“Whoa,” I said, grabbing one of the girls by the arm. “Slow down. This ain’t the Daytona racetrack you’re on.”

“Children have a lot of energy and need an outlet,” the woman said briskly, as if it were no big deal that they were circling the place and sweeping papers off Manny’s desk. “Healthy kids like to play.”

“Not in here they don’t. What can I do for you?”

I liked kids, even wanted a few, but mine were going to be disciplined.

A finger went up in the air, shutting me up. “My husband and in-laws will be right in. We’ll talk to you then.”

Snooty. Thought she was somebody and I wasn’t.

Soon a puffed up man who seemed equally as arrogant as she, arrived with a bunch of people. I mean there were plenty of them. There was an older couple, and what must be their offspring and spouses. All together there had to be at least sixteen of them.