The Beautiful Ones (Arabesque) (6 page)

Chapter 8

N
o matter how hard Solomon tried, he simply couldn’t focus on work. He canceled one meeting after another and couldn’t summon the slightest sympathy for Chelsea, who had to clean up Zandra’s screwups. For the umpteenth time that day, his exhausted secretary entered his office and caught him staring out of the window daydreaming.

“I need a raise,” she announced curtly, plopping a stack of folders on the corner of his desk.

“So you keep telling me,” he grinned slyly.

“You better pick up the hint before you end up with someone like Zandra working for you.”

He cringed. “It’s not getting any better?”

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Frankly, I think Diana picked this woman as the most unlikely woman to hit on her man.”

Solomon nodded. The thought had occurred to him, too.

A soft double rap on the door drew their attention, and before either of them could command the visitor to enter, the door bolted open.

“There’s my favorite nephew!” Willy’s voice boomed into the office as a wide smile monopolized his face.

Chelsea looked physically ill. “I’m out of here.”

“Whoa. Where’s the fire?” Willy puffed up his chest as his twinkling gaze soaked in her profile. “I see you still don’t have a ring around that finger. You know I could change all of that.” He winked.

“Not if you were the last Negro—”

“Chelsea,” Solomon sliced into the conversation. “That will be all.”

Undaunted, Willy’s smile only grew wider. “I like them feisty.”

“I guess that explains why you hooked up with Nora Gibson,” she added.

“Jealous?” He spread out his arms. “If you like what you see, fight for it, baby.”

Chelsea gave him the universal brick wall sign and headed for the door. “I’m out of here. It’s five o’clock, and I don’t do overtime.”

“I’ll make a note of that in your next evaluation.” Solomon beamed a smile at her, and it had the same effect as if he’d done so in the face of a starving tiger.

“You’re not funny,” she sassed and turned on her heels.

“C’mon and drop it like it’s hot one time for me.” Willy chuckled.

She rolled her eyes and kept moving.

Willy blew a kiss at her back, and then released a hearty laugh when the door slammed closed behind her.

“Why do you insist on pissing her off?”

“Cuz I can.” He winked again and then made himself comfortable in the chair in front of Solomon’s desk. “I see you’re feeling better. Didn’t I tell you there’s nothing like a house full of women backing it up to put a smile on your face?”

Solomon had to laugh. “Well, it must have worked,” he said, unwilling to rain on his uncle’s parade.

“Good, good. I was afraid that Selma chick had ruined things for you. Who is she, anyway?”

“Just a good friend of mine. We’ve known each other for about seven years now. She’s an entertainment lawyer and represents a few of our groups.”

“Humph. She acts more like your wife by the way she was bossin’ everyone out of there.”

Solomon laughed at the direction their conversation had taken. “She’s somebody’s wife, just not mine.” He could tell his uncle’s interest had been piqued by the way he stroked his chin.

“Married, huh? Well, she’s still an attractive woman—little meat on her bones, but I can give her a good workout.”

“Do you ever turn that off?”

“What do you mean?” Willy asked.

“Everything leads to sexual innuendo with you. Do you ever think of anything else?”

“Money. But I have plenty of that, too.” His laugh filled the room. “Come on, relax. I just like to have a good time.”

“All the time?”

“Life is short, nephew. You should know that better than anyone.”

The reference to Solomon’s father wasn’t hard to make. Solomon would be lying if he didn’t admit a fear of dying like his father had, at the age of forty-nine.

“I have a couple of eager beavers lined up tonight. What do you say? I told them all about you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I already have plans.” Not to mention he was starting to be a little creeped out that his uncle was finding him dates.

“Cancel them.”

“Can’t.”

“Can’t means ‘I don’t want to.’”

“Fine. I don’t want to. I’m taking Selma over to Ophelia’s tonight.”

Willy appeared speechless for a moment—a rare occurrence. “Why, you sly dog,” he thundered. “Creeping with a married woman. I knew you had it in you. We are related, after all.”

“No, no. It’s—”

“Hey, hey. You don’t have to explain nothing to me. I’m a slick cat from way back. ’Tween you and me, there ain’t nothing like a married woman. Am I right?”

Solomon frowned. “Please tell me you’re neutered.”

Willy just laughed and reached inside his jacket for his trademark Cuban cigars.

“No smoking in here.”

Willy ignored him and lit up. “You can make an exception for your favorite uncle, can’t you?” Willy puffed out a small cloud.

Solomon squashed his annoyance.

“Great.” His uncle’s attention advanced to one of the silver-framed photographs nestled on the corner of his desk. “Ah, check her out,” he said, ogling Ophelia. “I never did understand why you didn’t get with this pretty filly. Everyone knows you two have a thang for each other.”

“What?” Solomon’s eyes rounded. He’d never told Willy anything about his feelings toward his best friend—mainly because his uncle had a big mouth.

“C’mon. I might be getting old, but there’s nothing wrong with my eyes.”

Solomon suddenly glanced at his watch. “Hey, look at the time. I guess I better get going.”

“Oh, what’s your hurry?”

Standing, Solomon reached for his jacket from the corner hook and quickly slid his arms through the sleeves. “I have dinner plans, remember?”

“Ah, I must have touched a nerve.”

“No, I just don’t want to be late.”

“Uh-huh.” Willy didn’t attempt to get up, nor did he place the picture back down on the desk. “I know this question is a little late, but who was the chick you were trying to drink out of your system the past couple of weeks?” He met Solomon’s gaze. “And try to be honest.”

Solomon held on to his stiff smile and headed out. “I’ll never tell, old man.” He pulled open the door and was surprised to see Selma.

“Oh.” She smiled. “Perfect timing.”

“Ah, if it isn’t the old ball and chain,” Willy said, finally setting the picture down and pushing his way out of the chair. “I’m surprised I recognized you without a Black & Decker in your hand.”

“And you without a group of porno star rejects.”

“Sassy.” He winked at Solomon. “I can see the attraction.”

“I’ll catch you later, Uncle Willy.”

“Fine by me. I’ll give you two some privacy.” He winked again. “We’ll talk later.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Solomon replied.

“You know, Selma, you should come to one of my parties some time.”

“And hang out while you liquor up underage hoochies?”

“Hey, everyone knows my motto—you have to be eighteen to come, but twenty-one to swallow.”

Solomon groaned. “And on that note, we’ll be seeing you, uncle.”

Selma managed to keep it together until the door finally closed. “That man is off the chain. How on earth do you put up with him?”

“He grows on you.”

“Yeah…like fungus.” She chuckled, and quickly changed the subject. “I decided where you’re taking me for dinner.”

“Uh, about that.”

Selma moaned and dropped her head back. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out.”

“No, no. We’re still going to dinner…but there are a few things you need to know first.”

* * *

An angry Jonas paced outside the bathroom door. “I can’t believe you invited him to dinner,” he barked.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Ophelia responded nonchalantly.

“Of course you don’t,” he mumbled, but then he shouted back through the door. “I, kind of, had a romantic evening planned for just the two of us.” He paused and shook his head. “I mean, can’t you call him and cancel?”

The door opened and Ophelia stepped out, wearing a red dress that lovingly hugged her curves. Jonas’s jaw slacked as suspicion crawled around the back of his brain.

“Don’t be silly.” Ophelia tilted her head to slide on a pair of earrings. “I can’t cancel now. They’re probably on the way over.”

“Why are you wearing that?” He paused. “Did you say
they?
”

She dropped her gaze to her dress. “What’s wrong with what I have on?”

“You said
they,
” he repeated.

Looking back up, Ophelia frowned, and then walked over to the dresser mirror. “Solomon is bringing his girlfriend.” She twirled around and examined every angle. “You don’t like this dress?”

Jonas blinked and stilled his excitement until he made sure he understood what he’d heard. “Solomon has a girlfriend?”

She faced him again with a look of incredulity. “And why wouldn’t he have a girlfriend? He’s a handsome, charming, and successful man. I’m sure he has plenty of women begging for his attention.”

“Okay. That was a little more than I asked for.” He folded his arms and ignored the crawling sensation in the back of his head. “I’m just surprised. You never mentioned he had a girlfriend.”
Was I wrong about this guy?

“Well,” she said, turning toward the mirror again, “I guess it’s because I just found out today. Course, I was also the last to know about Marcel getting married. But, hey, I’m not complaining.” She inspected her figure again and flapped her arms down at her side. “You’re right, this dress makes my butt look too big. I’m going to change.”

Jonas frowned. “I didn’t say—”

“Oh, I know. I can wear that bright blue number you liked.”

Remembering the ring in his pocket, he nodded with a crooked smile. “Yes, I love blue on you.”

“Humph. You’re about the only one. My mom says it does nothing for me.”

“You don’t like blue?”

“Oh, what about that fuchsia Chanel dress I bought yesterday? Solomon always said I looked good in that color.”

“Did he now?” Jonas jammed his hands into his pockets to hide how they had curled in irritation.

Ophelia pulled the dress off the rack and showed it to him. “What do you think?”

“I hate purple.”

“It’s fuchsia.”

“It’s purple.”

The sound of the doorbell jingling throughout the house halted his next words, which would’ve surely led to an argument.