Cosmopolitan Girls (10 page)

Chapter 18

Watch Where You're Walking

It's time for Miranda to show me the money! And stop giving me the runaround with these bogus appointments.

I marched right up to her. “Miranda could I please have a minute of your time? It's important.”

Miranda looked down at her diamondstudded Rolex. “I'm sorry, Charlie, today isn't good. I'm leaving early, but why don't you set something up with Karen for later in the week.”

“Miranda, every time I set a meeting it's canceled. I can't help but feel you're avoiding me,” I said, looking her straight in the eyes. Before Miranda could respond Bob, another executive, walked over.

“Miranda, they've changed the location of the meeting. It's now in SoHo. If we're going to be on time we've gotta leave now.” Miranda turned to me. “Charlie, trust me, I'm not avoiding you. You and I will sit down soon, promise.”

After she hurried off, I looked down at my humble Nine West wristwatch that I'd gotten on sale. I decided I deserved an early day off too. It was high time to spend some quality time with the most important person of all: me.

The revolving doors of the towering office building in which I worked swept me out into the clusters of tourists that Rockefeller Center attracted all year 'round. I quickly high-stepped it past the cacophony of international dialects and chatter. Emerging from the sea of bodies, I finally reached the southern border of Central Park.

I almost forgot how Central Park West stretched for what felt like an eternity. But it was all good. My eyes played from building to building along the skyline that formed a backdrop to the park. Lost in my very own Manhattan rhapsody. Appreciating architectural details along the way was a habit I picked up from Michael.

I figured out two avenues down that I was just around the corner from Michael's site. Spending time with myself is one thing, but the tempting thought of seeing Michael is another. Fact is, I missed him. Maybe I could snag him and treat him to a snack, as a peace-offering, since he was working another double today.

I hate fighting with Michael. He's stubborn and so am I. Since the fight we've barely said two words to each other. One of us has to back down, and since I'm the one planning our wedding it might as well be me. We have entirely too much at stake. Not to mention I'm horny!

In no time I'd made it to Michael's site. I saw his boys, who had been over to the house for dinner many times. I'm getting all hot and bothered just thinking about seeing my man all sweaty in his construction gear.

“Hey guys,” I said, waving to the group of workers and looking around for Michael.

“Charlie, long time no see. How are you?” Phillip, one of Michael's oldest buddies, was short with a potbelly. He stood out next to the other workers' buff bodies.

“I'm fine, how's Kathy and the kids?” I asked, as my eyes searched the area.

“She's fine. I'll tell her that you asked about her. You're not looking for Michael, are you?”

“That's exactly what I'm doing. Is he on break?”

“Charlie, he's not here. I think he took the rest of the day off.” Phillip looked uncomfortable; he wasn't a good liar.

Michael was busted.

“Oh yeah, that's right. How could I forget. Okay sweetie, listen, you and Kathy have to come by for dinner soon,” I said, covering up my anger.

“You got it!” Philip couldn't get away from me fast enough.

I couldn't wait to get to the nearest pay phone. I had a cell, but unlike
her,
I'm not dumb enough to actually call from my own phone. I pulled out the piece of paper that I'd been keeping in my wallet. As I punched in the numbers, I could hear my heart beat. After two rings she picked up, laughing. It was one of those stop-playing-you-know-I'm-ticklish laughs.

“Hello?” It was her all right! I would recognize that damn French accent anywhere. “Hello?” she repeated. I hung up and was ready to vomit.

My gut was telling me that Michael hadn't been working double shifts like he claimed. Instead, he was off tickling some French hoochie. I bet she knew it was me calling and wanted to make sure I heard what a grand old time she was having with my man. That bitch!

After several blocks of me cursing Michael for all he was worth, I needed to stop and take a break. The cute pair of shoes I had on were definitely not made for walking. Thank God there was a restaurant across the street from where I was standing. I peeked in to see what the crowd was like, and one glimpse of the hard-body bartender was enough to convince me. The Shark Bar was definitely a good rest stop.

How do I look?
I thought, giving myself the once-over. I was wearing a slim skirt that complimented my odd body type—top heavy, slim waist and small buttocks. I always hated that as a sista I didn't have that infamous “onion.” Ya know, a booty so robust that it could make men cry. I gave myself a little pep talk and traipsed my butt right into the Shark Bar.

Taking a seat at the bar, I got the best view of the bartender. It was going to be nice having this handsome male specimen all to myself. I felt like getting into a little trouble.

“Hello sexy, my name is Charlie. Can I have a Midori sour,” I said, giving up my best come-hither look.

“Well, hello Charlie, I'm Stevie, I'll be right with you,” Stevie returned, with an infectious smile. His smile had me wishing he'd jump right over the counter and take me. I was enjoying being bad today.

Stevie's serious concentration while preparing my drink reminded me of a pharmacist: the way he carefully measured and added each ingredient into the tall glass. His clothes weren't tight fitting, but the curves and cuts of his body were still apparent. I wondered if he was devoted to a woman just as much as he was to the gym?

“Thank you, handsome.” I was really feeling myself today, as Kyle would say.

“That smile of yours is irresistible, Miss Charlie. And you've got those big eyes. They kind of remind me of Diana Ross's smoldering sophistication in
Mahogany.
”

Stevie was giving me a taste of my own medicine. I was blushing all over and didn't even have a comeback.

“Lucky man, whoever he is,” Stevie said, tapping my furnished hand. Yep, he was definitely messing with me now. I looked at my ring, wishing I had the courage to throw it and Michael away.

“My treat,” Stevie said, winking at me. It was good to know that if I decided to leave Michael and get back into the singles game . . . I could still play.

Chapter 19

The Meeting

Once the gypsy cab hit the Fifties I jumped out. In the aftershock of Troy breaking up with me, I needed to walk. Twenty blocks later I was exhausted. I decided to stop at an herbal tea store to get some St. John's Wort for my nerves. The sign simply read: Chinese Teas and Herbal Healing.

I entered the store, and a tiny Asian man rushed to greet me.

“What can I do for you?” he asked with a heavy accent.

After he handed me my package of tea, I noticed a display advertising natural alternatives to medical treatments. “Do you have any teas or herbs for multiple sclerosis?” I wanted to send Faith a care package to let her know I was thinking about her.

“I have just the right tea for you,” he said, disappearing behind the curtain that separated the store from the stock-room.

When he returned, he handed me a small brown bag filled with a special tea. I also grabbed a pamphlet from the tea-maker, Hanna's Herbals, in case Faith ever wanted to order directly from them. I handed him the money and thanked him as I exited and continued on my way.

The Shark Bar was only one more block away, at Seventy-fourth and Amsterdam. It was a terrible contradiction, after my stop at the herbal store, but I need a drink, bad!

The bartender, Stevie, was great, and he made a mean Cosmopolitan. My drink, the drink of all drinks. Stevie was Puerto Rican and fine. Sexy and bald with a wild tiger tat on his left shoulder, and cut. His six-foot stature had him looking like a model fresh out of a Dolce & Gabbana ad. The cool thing about Stevie was how down to earth he was. He had a great sense of humor, and he didn't get in your business like most bartenders. He just focused on making a good drink that got you super drunk, but he would crack on you if you skimped on a tip.

I hadn't seen Stevie in a while. Seeing him would be a thrill and my mouth was watering. I could taste his Cosmo walking in the door. The dinner crowd hadn't arrived yet. A soft stool at the bar provided a welcoming remedy.

Stevie had his back turned, mixing a drink and shaking his tight, perfect butt to the lively music that pumped through the speakers. I leaned into the bar.

“Hey, cutie, do fries go with that shake?”

Stevie recognized my voice immediately. “What's up, luv! Long time, no see.”

We hugged and my nostrils welcomed Stevie's crisp Bulgari scent. I felt the weight of somebody's eyes from a few stools down. I cocked my head back to scrutinize a Bohemian type I'd caught giving me the once-over when I walked in. I looked at her wild naturally curly red Afro. She was attractive, but in an eccentric, almost exotic kind of way, brown-skinned with freckles. Where in the world is she from?

“Stevie, let me get a—” I said, swaying to the beat of the music but still distracted by the woman. Stevie cut me off.

“Cosmo straight up! You know I know how you do.” Stevie hit the volume and Aretha's “Look into Your Heart” kicked in louder.

I took a long sip of my cocktail. That song epitomized my life and love life right about now. Although my experience outweighed my thirty years on earth, I was living testimony to Madame Ree Ree's message, especially after today.

“Whatever you wanna do, I wanna do it with you, baby, ooh, ooh!” The woman on the other barstool blurted out a verse.

I was intrigued even more by her wacky outburst. Stevie and I looked at each other. I know we were thinking the same thing
—only in New York.
I shook my head. By the way, she was wiggling. She was definitely a free spirit.

“You go girl!” I chuckled, along with Stevie.

Now most people would be completely embarrassed, but not this woman.

“That's right, that's the queen keepin' it real.”

She leaned in closer and extended her hand, speaking in a warm direct tone. “Hi, Charlie Thornton. I'm speaking 'cause I feel like it. I'm
not
hitting on you.”

I laughed. Sista girl was a piece of work, and out of her mind for sure. I couldn't stop laughing as I returned the gesture, shaking Charlie's hand firmly.

“Lindsay Bradley, and don't even get it twisted!” I retorted. The ice was broken.

“I just happened to be walking by, needed a drink, and this place caught my eye.” Charlie smirked at her hidden pun, winking and gesturing toward Stevie. I gave the I'mwith-you-girlfriend nod and took a sip of my Cosmo. Her private joke was all over my radar.

“Well, this is the absolute worst day of my life. My man just dumped me!” My eyes got watery. Charlie passed me a napkin.

“I feel you. My man's in the doghouse now!”

“But I told him I loved him and then he quit me on the street! And then had the nerve to tell me he wanted somebody else.”

“Oh, that's cold! Men are selfish, cheating dogs,” my new friend fervently stated.

“That's all right, he'll be the one missing out. I hope he has a shitty life. Jerk!”

“Well I say, good riddance! At least you're not like me. I live with my man, and still have to go home to his tired ass.”

We toasted and burst into laughter.

“That man had me so mad . . . I was fixin' to put my foot up his—”

“You must be from the South?” Charlie interrupted.

“Sort of. The Midwest. St. Louis. My accent tends to come out when I get mad.”

“Ooh, I heard that place is country. They even still wear Jheri curls.”

Although I hadn't been back home in years, I felt the need to defend my turf. I looked Charlie up and down. From what I saw, she didn't exactly scream New York City.

“Hold up! St. Louis is a good place to grow up. Church-going people and solid family beliefs. I'll admit some folks
are
stuck in a time warp, but I think that's part of its charm. The question is, what part of Jersey do
you
hail from, because I know you aren't from around here,” I said matter-of-factly.

“First of all, I'm from the N.Y.” Charlie took a sip of her drink.

“But are you from the N.Y.C.?” I asked, calling her out.

“Another drink, please?” Charlie summoned Stevie.

Aha! I could tell by how she blew me off and began fiddling with her cocktail napkin, she knew I was calling her out. She was busted. I motioned for Stevie to hold up a second.

“Hey, if you're from the great N.Y.C., the next round's on me, but if not, the next two are on you.” I nailed her good. “And I'll even be kind and throw in the surrounding boroughs.”

Charlie threw her hands up in a surrendering gesture and confessed. “Okay, okay, Buffalo is my hometown, but it still counts as the great N.Y.” We laughed. “Big deal, you got me,” she said, downing her drink.

“No, you got me. I feel like being a nice person today. I'll only hold you to one round,” I said, sliding my empty glass away. I noticed what Charlie was drinking, and leaned into her. “Look, another piece of advice: Midori sours go right with the concept of the ‘Big Eighties,' those Jheri curls you were bagging on, and hoochie mamas. So let me hip you to the new millennium, it's called a Cosmopolitan.”

“A what?” she asked.

“It's a martini,” I coolly replied, ordering a round.

Watching Stevie closely, I was entranced. My eyes followed the silver shaker. It gleamed off the orange-red spotlight from the overhead lighting. The room seemed still, frozen. The shaker rotated rhythmically, up and down, side to side like it was hovering in midair. The pink liquid flowed effortlessly into each chilled martini glass.

Stevie ran lemon rind around the rim of each glass and dropped it in. He sauntered over and slid our drinks across the bar without spilling a drop. Charlie was caught in a trance too. We both did a double take, looking at each other, then at Stevie, then back to each other.

“Damn!” fell out of our mouths in a syncopated stammer.

Charlie leaned sideways and whispered, “Is this man good looking or what?”

“Stevie is a finger-licking-good Butter Rican Pecan,” I said, returning her sentiment.

We gave Stevie a full-body once-over. Charlie elbowed me when Stevie caught the two of us gawking and laughing. He could see we were having too much fun at his expense.

“Looks like my Cosmopolitans have sparked a new friendship.”

“I think so,” I agreed.

“Definitely!” Charlie backed my play.

I pulled out a business card, jotting down my home and cell numbers. Charlie did the same.

“Hey, St. Louis, I really had a nice time. I only have one good friend, Kyle, and he's a guy. But you're cool. For a country girl.” We laughed again.

“Same here, Buffalo girl.”

Charlie suggested we meet every Friday after work, which would allow us time to nurse our hangovers on Saturday.

“To living!” She raised her glass.

“To talking to strangers!” I added.

We toasted.