Retail Therapy (8 page)

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Authors: Roz Bailey

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women

BOOK: Retail Therapy
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12
Alana
W
hen I saw them walk in, I was so annoyed that I considered slipping out the back door of the restaurant. Please! To send them here to watch me now—it was all so controlling, I wanted to barrel through the crowd at the door and pummel Trevor on his chest.
However, I have always been conscious of the image I cut in society, and my impeccable reputation does not come from sneaking out of establishments—save for the one time when I was aiding the escape of a well-known rock star who shall remain nameless. But I was only twenty then, and he was incredibly gorgeous, and sometimes you have to compromise a little and know that you're on a roller coaster ride that's going to end, but not without a thrill of satisfaction.
“Where are the spies?” Hailey hissed as she studied the people waiting in the reception area.
“Just my cousin Trevor and his friends. I'm sure my father sent him to keep an eye on me and report back.” I gritted my teeth. “I'm going to scream. Can I scream here?” The restaurant was crowded now, every table filled, and with the festive acoustic guitar music playing over the sound system, I wasn't sure anyone would notice an isolated shout of anguish.
“I remember Trevor,” Hailey said. “He's the party animal, right?”
“Big coke hound. Partied his way into rehab a few times. His mama, my Aunt Nessie, even sprang for the Betty Ford Clinic, but it didn't stick: he fell into the cocaine again and nearly got himself a year in jail.” I had to admit, he didn't look the druggy type tonight, his face a little more filled out, his dark eyes mellow instead of that hopped-up, nervous, glassy appearance. He wore a fine gray suit with a darker gray shirt that complemented his dark brown skin. Trevor is tall and lean, with the mile-high stature of a pro basketball player without that stretched-out look.
At the moment, he was flirting with the hostess, who seemed charmed by Trevor and his right-hand man, Xavier Goodman. Let me tell you something about Xavier; if you give him an inch, that brother wants a yard. He is a pushy, smooth-talking piece of work who makes it his daily mission to charm the panties off sweet young things. Consider X a living example of the damage a pretty face can do: give a man perfect teeth, dimples, and sympathetic eyes, and he will never bother to use the brain in his head.
“Do you recognize his friends?” Hailey asked.
“That caramel cool brother with the killer smile is Xavier Goodman. He calls himself a comedian, but I beg to differ.”
“I think I've seen him on HBO,” Hailey said.
“Oh, he'd love to hear that. And the third dude is a sweetheart. I adore Kyle. He's always polite and witty and dressed to kill. I don't get why he hangs out with those two losers, but he sticks around for some reason.”
As we talked, Trevor spotted us at our table. He made a motion to join us, but I shook my head and swiped my hand over my neck in a cutting gesture.
But did Trevor listen?
He was already pushing past the hostess, borrowing a chair from a nearby table, and tucking into the head of our four-seat table. “I should have known you'd be out doing the party thing on Cinco de Mayo!”
“Right.” I gave him a cold look as he kissed me on the cheek. “Pretend it's a coincidence.”
Bulldozing over my comment, he turned to Hailey and extended his hand. “Hi, I'm Trevor Marshall-Hughs, Alana's cousin. Haven't we met before? You do look familiar, sweet pea. These are my friends, Kyle Dexter and Xavier Goodman. Like to call him X-man, if you know what I mean. I hope you don't mind if we join you, but as you can see, the joint is jumping and packed to the gills, and we've got three hungry brothers here with places to go.”
As he spoke, Kyle and Xavier slid into the two empty chairs and started fussing over Hailey and me as if we were offering them water in the desert. It's just so typical of Trevor and Xavier, buttering up and sucking up to get exactly what they wanted.
The waitress came over and I sulked as she took our order. If my frantic night of spending was taking an unwanted detour, why couldn't it be with an eligible bachelor I was interested in? Kyle was nice enough, but not my type, my cousin was like an annoying brother, and Xavier was the antithesis of my perfect man. And now that these brothers had hooked up with us, they were a toxic mix of manicide, guaranteed to chase away any healthy, well-adjusted possibilities.
Please.
OK, dinner was a write-off. But at least Kyle had the seat next to me.
“Hey, pretty lady,” he said almost shyly. “That is one fine suit you're wearing.” He tilted his head over the table for a better look. “Damn if it isn't Chanel. And that ring ...” He lifted my hand onto the table to study my amethyst-and-diamond cocktail ring. “Now that is exquisite. It looks like a Gerrard. Did you get it in Europe?”
I squeezed his arm, my fingertips falling into the buttery texture of his sleeve. “You know your designers, Kyle. Actually, Gerrard just opened a boutique here, in a Soho loft. Haven't you heard? Jade Jagger is their creative director.”
“I did read about that, but it's by appointment only. I can't believe you got in already. I'm so jealous.”
“When are you going to get out of that horrendous insurance company and get a job that uses your talents?”
“And starve?” Kyle lamented. “No, thank you, girl. I'm happy in my little cubicle, going over actuarial tables and bringing home the bacon every two weeks. Some of us need a steady paycheck.”
Our attention shifted across the table where Xavier and Trevor were making a huge fuss over Hailey, having recalled that she appeared on a soap opera.
“A real, live actress!” Trevor shouted for the tenth time, causing heads to turn toward our table, where Hailey, God love her, was flushing strawberry pink.
“I can't believe I'm sitting beside the fish-girl on
All Our Tomorrows
,” X said.
Trevor flung a hand at him. “She ain't no fish-girl! She's a mermaid. Get it right, bro.”
“Excuse me!” I cut in. “Her past is a mystery. She doesn't remember where she came from, but was found floating in Indigo Falls. You know, if you guys can't watch, at least buy yourself a copy of
Soap Opera Digest
.”
“So, Hailey, you're a woman of mystery,” Kyle said. “I confess, I've never seen your show, but if you're an example of the new cast of daytime, I just might tune in.”
“Thank you!” she said sincerely. “Honestly, it's been a roller coaster ride since they signed me on. And New York became a much friendlier place once I could afford a cab ride. I'm not from around here.”
“How did I know that?” Trevor asked.
“Maybe it's the fact that she hasn't solicited you or lifted your wallet yet?” Xavier added.
“Not to pester you,” Trevor went on. “But can you answer me one question about the show? Are you really a mermaid? Or is that just some lame-o twist the writers threw in to make us tune in tomorrow?”
“I really couldn't say,” Hailey answered.
“Aaaww!” the guys moaned in unison.
“No, really! The truth is, I don't even know what's going to happen next week! I'm not sure the writers know yet. And forget about figuring out who my parents were and if I'm really entitled to part of Preston Scott's vast fortune. The writers seem to change their minds on those details every month.”
“That must be a challenge for you,” Kyle said politely. “Playing a scene without knowing your full character drive and motivation.”
Hailey was nodding. “Well, yeah, it is. Do you work in the business?”
Xavier laughed. “Naw, he's just in the boring business.”
“Insurance,” Kyle said apologetically.
“Well, let me give you one word of advice there, Ariel,” Trevor said. “Whatever you do, don't be getting into bed with Preston Scott, 'cause if he turns out to be your father, that is downright skelly.”
Hailey nearly choked on her margarita. “I promise, I'll do my best. Oh, that would be so
Chinatown
, wouldn't it? I hope the writers don't go that way.”
“I never did like that Preston Scott,” X said. “Man walks around like someone shoved a stick up his tuxedo tail.”
“Enough of the Q and A,” I said, turning to my cousin. “You might as well fess up now before I poison your salsa. Tell us the real reason you're dogging me tonight.”
“Dogging you?” Trevor's face crumpled in a comic smirk. “I don't think so, but let me check my calendar. Oh, right, Thursday night. It's dog-the-cousin day.”
The three guys laughed as if this were the funniest thing they'd ever heard.
I smoothed the fake-fur lapel of my plum Chanel suit, waiting for them to settle down. “Did you, or did you not receive a phone call from my father instructing you to keep an eye on me?”
“Uncle Ernest?” His eyes narrowed. “You serious about this? What's going on?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Spoken like a true judge's daughter,” he said. “Look, I swear, your father didn't sic me on you, though I'm liking the sound of this little situation.”
“Intriguing,” Kyle said.
“Almost better than
All Our Tomorrows
,” Xavier said, and Trevor shot him a scowl. “Almost.”
“So tell us, Alana. What's happening with Uncle E?”
“Nothing, really,” I lied. “Just a little cold war.”
“It's worse than that,” Hailey said ruefully. “They had a fight and Judge Marshall-Hughs cut off Alana's budget. Cut her off completely, without warning. Isn't it awful?”
She'd blurted out the whole thing before I had a chance to wince, scowl, wave frantically, or shove a corn chip in her mouth. I was left to face a table of confused, disquieted men who probably didn't have a clue about the sacred relationship between a single girl and her wardrobe budget.
“Get out!” Trevor said. “The judge has a big, soft spot for you, Alana. What you do to make him so mad?”
“Nothing,” Hailey said. “It's just so unfair.”
“Have you tried to talk with him?” Kyle asked. “It's always best to keep the lines of communication open.”
“I think it's a little soon for that,” I said. “He's still boiling over. But you know what? This is all a flash in the pan, and—hey, look at that. Our food is here! Who ordered the tamales?”
As we ate, Trevor entertained us with stories of my Aunt Nessie, how he was trying to help her computerize her business records, but she continued to back everything up with her old ledgers and notepads and clipboards.
“I come in, and everything's input on the computer and I'm like—great! But then I see Mama working on her little charts and clipboards, and she tells me she needs to have her records on paper in case the electricity goes out. Can you believe her?”
“Woman's got a point,” Kyle said. “After that big blackout in 2003? New York shut down, but Ms. Nessie still delivered her dinners to her customers, didn't she?”
X dug into his rice. “That's the beauty of cooking with gas.”
Before I was even born, my Aunt Nessie started cooking meals for the neighbors who worked too late to make dinner, and within two years she had her own homemade dinner catering business, serving Great Neck, Manhasset, Little Neck, and Douglaston. There are two hospitals in the area and lots of doctors and technicians were willing to pay good money for some home-fried chicken, meat loaf, ribs or fried flounder, with comforting sides like mashed potatoes, black-eyed peas, buttered greens, and sweet corn.
These days, she has a million-dollar business, still cooking in Maw-maw's old, though renovated, kitchen, in the house where my Daddy grew up. My other aunts, Faunia and Coral, also live in Great Neck. Faunia works in a doctor's office, but Coral helps Nessie cook, with desserts being her specialty. For them the business is a labor of love. Trevor doesn't cook but wants to take over the management, and there's some speculation among the family members that he might not “do the right thing,” though so far, my parents have not intervened.
It all makes me a little crazy, since Trevor, God love him, has gone down the tubes three times but somehow maintained his hero status. Me, I go to a charity ball where Courtney Love pops out of her bra and my father thinks my reputation is tarnished for life.
Don't you hate that double standard?
The talk segmented into different groups. I stabbed a section of lobster enchilada and turned to Kyle, who seemed to want to say something.
“I can tell this thing with your father has got you down.”
I reached for my margarita. “I'm trying not to think about it.”
“Don't feel bad. I used to fight with my dad all the time.”

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