Sinful Chocolate (5 page)

Arlene lifted her head, but was surprised when Charlie added more to the prayer.

“God of all blessings, source of all life, giver of all grace, we thank You for the gift of life, for the breath that sustains us, and for the food of this earth that nurtures life…”

He paused and Arlene opened her mouth to end with an “Amen” but her son wasn't finished.

“We also want to thank You for the love of family and friends for without which there would be no life…”

Another pause, Arlene opened one eye, waited and then opened her mouth again, only for Charlie to trudge on.

“For these, and all blessings, we give You thanks, eternal, loving God, through Jesus Christ we pray…Amen.”

“Amen!” she jumped in and lifted her head to stare wide-eyed at her son.

Charlie shoved a forkful of collards into his mouth and then realized his mother was staring. “What?” he asked after swallowing.

Arlene folded her arms. “Are you sure nothing is wrong with you?”

“I'm sure,” Charlie lied again, and shoveled more food into his mouth.

His mother stared.

When dinner was over, Arlene stood and went back into the kitchen and then returned with a red-and-gold cake box.

“Wait until you try this,” she said. “I swear this woman could give me a run for my money.”

Charlie's eyes widened at the gold script on the center of the box. “Sinful Chocolate,” he read, remembering the French beauty from his surprise birthday party. “Let me guess. Molten chocolate.”

His mother's face lit up with surprise. “How did you know?”

“I met the owner.”

“Really?” His mother voice registered her surprise. “She's a very attractive woman.”

“You don't say,” he said, amused.

“I
do
say. And if you asked me,
she's
the kind of woman you should be dating. Beautiful, smart—and if she can cook as well as she can bake—you two would be a match made in heaven.”

“I
'm sorry, Mr. Masters, but we cannot approve you for this loan.”

Stunned, Charlie blinked at the loan officer across the desk. A few erratic heartbeats later, he finally managed to sputter, “Why?” He straightened in his chair. “I have a triple-A credit rating, my paperwork is in order…”

The attractive dark-skinned beauty smiled. “Your debt to ratio is a major concern, and with this credit crisis we're taking a harder look at our loan applications. Unfortunately, you are what we call high risk at this time.”

“High risk? I don't understand. I've never defaulted on a loan, and I've been banking here for over a decade.”

The woman's smile remained firmly in place. “Again, I'm sorry. Maybe once you pay down some of your debt we can help you.”

How was it that a bank only wanted to give you money when you didn't need it? After taking a deep breath, Charlie forced himself to relax so he could think clearly. How was he going to make next month's payroll? If he laid off any more people, Masters Holdings would undoubtedly fold before he made his trip overseas.

Sighing, Charlie started to thank the woman for her time when he caught the lazy way she was looking at him. Maybe this was an opening. “Tell you what. Why don't you and I discuss this over dinner?” he suggested.

A new spark lit the woman's eyes. “Dinner?”

Charlie turned on the charm. “I know this wonderful restaurant out in Buckhead. They serve the best seafood in Atlanta. I would be delighted if you could join me.”

“Really?”

“Sure. We'll have a nice meal, some wine…” He allowed his sentence to trail off while he gave her a sly smile.

She leaned forward and folded her hands beneath her chin. “And then what?” she inquired huskily.

He shrugged. “Who knows?”

“Maybe you'll take me back to your place?” she suggested. “You'll put on some music, dim the lights and we could dance cheek-to-cheek?”

He smiled.

“Sort of like how we did six years ago when you came in for your last loan?”

Damn.
Charlie's face fell.
That's why she looks so familiar
. “Dee.”

“Yes, like the little girl from
What's Happening?
What's the matter, you stopped playing your little name game?”

Charlie coughed and then choked over the proverbial foot he'd just shoved into his mouth. “I think I better go,” he croaked, reaching for his cane and suitcase.

“You damn right,” she snapped.

He climbed to his feet. “Have a good day.”

“It's the best damn day I've had in six years.”

Charlie couldn't get out of there fast enough. He just hoped he could make it out before she caused a scene. Still wearing a plastic smile, Charlie limped across the bank as fast as could.

“Charlie!”

He kept going.

“Charlie!”

He heard the clatter of heels racing behind him but before he could push through the bank's glass doors, a hand landed on his wrist and pulled.

“Wait, Charlie.”

He finally recognized the voice and turned. “Isabella.”

She smiled up at him while she tried to catch her breath. “Didn't you hear me calling you?”

“Oh, I—I, uh, guess I was a little distracted,” he covered and then glanced over her shoulder to see Dee with her arms crossed and glaring at him from the door of her office.

“You remember Gisella, don't you?” Isabella asked.

He turned in time to see Gisella approach from his right. A new and more genuine smile caressed Charlie's lips. “I most certainly do,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle.”

“
Bonjour.
We meet again.” Gisella slid her silky hand into his, and he felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach while his heart hammered against his rib cage.

“I haven't seen you since you disappeared from my birthday party before I could finish thanking you.”

“Well, you looked a little
occupied
with your impressive fan club.”

“Oh, that's all the time.” Isabella laughed.

Charlie cringed. Surely his best friend's wife wasn't about to throw salt in his game. Not with this woman. Please, God, not with this woman.

“So what are you two doing here?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“We're about to become business partners,” Isabella boasted. “Isn't that right, Gisella?”

“
Oui.
” Gisella nodded. “
Ma nouvelle amie
here seems to think my little
chocolat
shop has quite a future ahead of it.”

Charmed by her accent, Charlie's smile widened.

“I have to agree. I had another one of your cakes for dessert last night. It turns out my mother is also a fan. And trust me, that's a rarity.”

“Then tell your mother I said
merci.
”

Charlie couldn't stop staring. He couldn't get over just how absolutely stunning she was.

“Sooo what are you doing here?” Isabella asked.

Charlie continued to stare and smile.

“Charlie?” Isabella snapped her fingers in front of his face and broke his trance.

“What? Oh!” He blinked. “I, uh, was just here on business.”

“What is it that you do?” Gisella inquired.

“I own a commercial development construction company.”
Just barely
.

“Oh.” Gisella nodded. “Impressive.” She glanced down. “And what happened to your foot?”

“Oh, it's nothing. It's just a minor sprain from playing basketball with the fellahs.” From the corner of Charlie's eyes, he saw Dee break away from her office door and march toward them.

Trouble, Charlie Masters. Trouble.

A wave of panic washed over him, telling him it was definitely time to take his leave. “Well, I gotta go. It was a pleasure to meet you again. We must do it again sometime,” he said hurriedly and turned to leave.

“What? Wait, Charlie,” Isabella said, grabbing him again. “I was just about to ask you to join us for lun—”

“Excuse me, ladies,” Dee interrupted.

Charlie groaned as he caught the mischievous glint in Dee's eye.

“Are you two friends of Mr. Masters?”

Isabella frowned.

“If not, I only wanted to warn you that he's nothing but a low-down, lying, sex-crazed egomaniac that some vet needs to put out of his misery to save unsuspecting women from being nothing but notches on his bedpost.”

Isabella was stunned speechless.

Gisella's eyes widened but then just as quickly seem to twinkle with amusement.

“And on
that
note,” Charlie said, clearing his throat and barely holding on to his smile. “I'll be leaving.”
Before I catch a case
. He turned and finally strode out of the bank, completely humiliated.

By the time Charlie made it to his Aston Martin V8 Roadster in the parking deck across from the bank, he was wishing he could go back home and start the day all over again. He slid in behind the wheel and then slumped his head back against the headrest. “You're losing your cool, Charlie,” he mumbled. What happened to the days when being a playa was fun? Where did this rash of disgruntled lovers come from all of a sudden?

The problem with playing the field too long is that you forget names and faces. It was getting harder and harder to keep them straight and apparently to keep them happy. He replayed the incident in the bank's lobby again in his mind and was convinced that if he ever had the slightest chance of hooking up with Gisella it was completely erased now.

Just then, Isabella and Gisella marched around the bank's corner and headed toward the parking deck. They were laughing and shaking their heads. Hell, he didn't blame them. No doubt Dee's tirade gave them plenty to laugh about.

His eyes locked on to Gisella, and from the safety of his car he was free to just watch the French beauty. It was a cool spring day, and Gisella wore an amazing sky blue wrap dress that hugged her perfect hourglass figure. Hands down, she had the sexiest walk he'd ever seen. As her hips swayed, her breasts jiggled slightly and her onion-shaped bottom simply hypnotized.

“Where, oh where have you been all my life,” he whispered.

Isabella said something and Gisella's face lit up and her musical laughter floated across the parking deck. He cocked his head with a lazy smile and continued to watch as her hair billowed in the gentle breeze. His eyes then zeroed in on her full lips and he felt that stirring in the pit of his stomach again while his erection throbbed against his leg.

The two women reached Isabella's red Mercedes, and he had to swallow his disappointment when Gisella disappeared from view. A few heartbeats later, he was shaking his head and telling himself he needed to change the direction of his thoughts. The last thing he needed to be thinking about is getting involved with another woman.

No matter how beautiful.

What was the point? He might have less than six months…

Isabella's Mercedes pulled out of its parking space then disappeared onto Fourteenth Street. After taking a few more deep breaths, Charlie's erection softened, and his heartbeat returned to normal. He started the car and backed up only a few inches when a thumping noise caught his attention. Shifting the car back into Park, Charlie climbed out of his car.

At first he thought that something must be wrong with his vision. But after blinking several times, he knew his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, and he was staring at two flat tires. Then something else caught his eyes. He stepped forward and noticed the hood where someone had keyed in the word
asshole
.

“Great,” he groaned. “Just great.”

S
aturday morning, Charlie strolled through the doors of Herman's Barbershop with his cane and smiled at the usual suspects as they chimed, “Yo, Charlie!”

“Morning, everybody,” he greeted.

Herman Keillor, a tall robust man who was cruising toward his mid-seventies, had owned the busy shop for over forty years. Most of the guys filtered through to hear Herman's stories, tough love advice and sharp haircuts.

Charlie and Derrick had been going to the shop since they were six years old. The other Kappa brothers started coming on their recommendation.

“Right on time,” Herman's voice boomed across the room. “I swear, Charlie. That's why you're one of my favorite customers. You don't believe in any of the CP time like the rest of these knuckleheads up in here,” he lectured on the sly.

As usual the men just laughed and waved the old barber off. Mounted high in the left corner, a twenty-seven-inch television screen was tuned in to Sportscenter.

“Come on over,” Herman directed. “I've got your seat all warmed up and ready for you.”

Charlie made his way across the shop and eased into the leather chair.

Men in the neighborhood filtered in and out daily, but Saturday had always been Herman's busiest day of the week. Six barbers ranging from old school to new school donned burgundy barber jackets with Herman's name scrawled across the back. For an old redbrick building, the shop still managed to look modern and brand-new.

“So what's been happening, Charlie?” Herman asked, smiling and draping a black smock around his neck.

Charlie hesitated a moment and then answered with his tried and true. “You know the drill. Same ole, same ole.”

“Same crap, different day, huh?”

“You got it.”

Herman's was the place to be to discuss women, politics and sports. The perfect place for men to just be themselves, to get and give advice and just plain bond with one another.

“I hear you had an off-the-chain birthday party,” said Bobby, Herman's nineteen-year-old great-grandson, who was sitting in the leather chair across from him. Like everyone else in the shop, Charlie had watched Bobby move from sweeping up the floors to trying his hand at being a weekend barber.

“Yeah. It was pretty cool.”

“Well, what does a young brother gotta do to cop an invite?” Bobby asked, pretending to be hurt by the exclusion.

“Are you kidding me? You're a college man now. Why the heck would you want to hang out with us? I'm sure there are plenty of honeys around you 24-7.”

Bobby blushed while a sly smile hooked across his face. “Honeys? Man, you
are
old school.”

“Lawd, Lawd,” Herman mumbled, reaching for his clippers. “What you need to do is forget about those fast girls and put your nose deeper into those books.”

“Relax, Gramps.” Bobby smiled. “I got it all covered like Allstate.”

Charlie laughed. It seemed like it was just yesterday that Bobby was pencil-thin with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a face covered in acne. Now, he'd filled out and his skin had cleared up and he was flexin' his playa's card. “You still pledging Kappa Psi Kappa?” Charlie asked.

“You know it.”

The bell jingled above the shop's door and Taariq and Hylan entered the shop. After a round of perfunctory “Yo, whassup,” Taariq and Hylan made it over to Charlie's chair to exchange a couple of knuckle bumps.

“What's happening, captain?” Taariq asked, grinning.

“You got it,” Charlie said.

“You gonna let me hook you up today, Taariq?” Bobby asked, getting up out of his chair and gesturing for Taariq to take a seat.

For a full year now, Bobby had been harassing everyone who came in the barbershop, trying to build up his clientele by siphoning off Herman's loyal customers.

Taariq stared him down while he wrestled with his decision. “Man, if you jack this up it's gonna be just you and me out back.”

Bobby beamed a smile at him and patted the leather chair. “Have a seat.”

There was a round of snickering, all of them probably thinking that Taariq was being incredibly brave, seeing as how just two months ago Bobby shaved a bald spot in the middle of J. T. Caesar's hair because he'd gotten distracted by a thick romp shaker in a BET rap video.

“Better you than me,” Hylan said, shaking his head.

“You ain't never lied,” J.T. agreed with a flash of his front gold tooth. “Yo, yo, Hylan. I got that new Jay-Z underground joint. Five dollars.”

“That's all right,” Hylan chuckled.

“What about some DVDs? I already got that new Will Smith joint.”

“C'mon, man. You know I don't buy none of that bootleg crap.”

“What about some socks?” He opened his jacket and pulled out a massive bundle.

“What the hell?” Hylan asked. “Has anybody
ever
bought socks from you?”

“Yeah, man. That's my hottest selling item.”

Charlie laughed. This place was just where he needed to be to forget about his troubles.

“Oh, by the way,” Taariq said, returning his attention to Charlie. “I rushed that paint job for you. You can come by the shop any time and pick it up.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

“Uh-huh. Word around town is that you're starting to have women trouble lately. Vandalism, causing a scene at the bank—”

Charlie groaned. “How did you find out?”

“Isabella told Derrick, Derrick told me, and then I told everybody I could think of.” He laughed.

“Thanks, dawg.”

“Don't mention it.”

Charlie suffered a few jeers.

Hylan rocked on his heels. “Losing your touch, ain't ya?”

“Say it ain't so!” Bobby said, wrapping a smock around Taariq's neck. “I thought it was a sad day when pimp number one went down. Don't tell me that the replacement has lost his Midas touch.”

“I take it you mean Derrick. And we're not pimps.”

“Whatever. I just know the faster you old-school playas get out the game, the more
honeys
there will be for me.”

Everybody roared at that.

“Man, if you don't get your rookie butt outta here,” Taariq said. “You still got breast milk on your breath and you up in here thinking you a real playa.”

Bobby's face darkened with embarrassment. “C'mon now. Stop frontin'.”

“Yeah, man,” Hylan stepped in and corrected Taariq. “He's been grown for at least two weeks.”

The guys cracked up again, including Herman.

The shop's bell rang again and Stanley strolled inside with his customary wide smile. None of the regulars called the lanky redhead by his first name. Instead, they affectionately called Stanley “Breadstick” and sometimes “Whitey,” probably because Stanley was the only white man to get his hair cut at Herman's.

“Yo, everybody, whassup?” Stanley greeted, acting more black than everybody else. At this point, everyone was used to it and welcomed him into the fold just the same.

“I know one thing,” Bobby said. “I'm getting more action than
this
dude.”

There was another roar of laughter, and Stanley tried to play off his confusion by laughing along with everyone else.

Herman shook his head. “Boys still playing at being men.”

The guys pretended not to hear him, but in no time Herman felt like preaching. “You know ya'll need to take a page out of your friend Derrick's book.”

Right on cue, the bell rang again and Derrick entered the shop.

“Speaking of the devil,” Hylan said and waited as Derrick made his way over to them.

Derrick tossed everyone a slow nod.

“Now this one finally got it right and settled down,” Herman said, pointing a firm finger at Derrick.

“Whoa. Whoa. What did I miss?”

“I was about to tell your friends about how nothing good can come from playing the field with all these different women. One of these days you're gonna roll up on the wrong one. Charlie already got one vandalizing his car. He's just one step away from taking a hot grits shower. If you don't believe me, ask Al Green.”

“Who?” Bobby asked.

“Lawd, Lawd, please help these knuckleheads running around here—starting with my own.”

Charlie smiled. Once Herman got started there was no stopping him.

“I'm going to agree with Herman,” Derrick said.

Charlie and the rest of the Kappa brothers rolled their eyes. Derrick had been siding with Herman ever since he'd said ‘I do'.

“Be still,” Herman warned Charlie and then clicked back on his trimmers.

“For real,” Derrick said, easing his hands into his pockets and rocking on his heels next to Hylan. “I don't regret a single moment once I finally turned in my playa's card.”

“That's right.” The trimmers were clicked off again. “There's nothing better than the love of one special woman. A man needs peace in his house—in his life.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Taariq droned, unconvinced.

“Mark my words. You learn sooner or later.”

 

Herman's speech stayed with Charlie for the rest of the day while he thought about his past relationships. And there were a lot. With the clock ticking maybe it was time he tried to set things right.

There's nothing better than the love of one special woman.

Each time Herman's voice repeated those words, Gisella floated to the forefront of his mind. But just as quickly, he would shake off the image. That avenue was closed. If Dr. Weiner's diagnosis held, then the last thing he needed to be starting was a relationship. He needed to start focusing on making peace with his past.

As Charlie made it back to his apartment building, his thoughts muddled together. Tonight, he would pull out his thick little black book and start making some calls. Hell, it just might take him the whole six months to call them all.

When Charlie slipped his key into the apartment door and stepped inside, he received another shock of his life. Sucking in a breath, his eyes roamed across busted furniture, shattered glass and the word
asshole
scrawled across his white walls in red spray paint.

“Who in the hell is this chick?”