A Hire Love (6 page)

“I know, but you also asked me to plan something interesting here.”

The taxi pulled up to the horse carriages. He walked to the attendant and gave his name and we were loaded into a carriage. His arms surrounded me as we snuggled. After the horse began to trot, he said, “We have an extended ride.”

“How long?”

“Forty minutes.” He peeked at the paper sticking out of my bag. “So, you come here to read?”

I nodded.

“What are you reading now?”

“Romance…”

“Okay. You want to share?”

Since most men are repulsed at the thought of romance novels, I twisted my lips. “No, that’s okay.”

He tugged at my bag. “C’mon, sell it to me like you’d sell it to your sales team.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I know a little bit about everything. So, tell me. What are the heroine’s issues and why is the hero the chosen guy?”

I giggled. “You are so funny.”

“At least tell me their names.” He paused. “Let me guess: Fatima and Rashad.”

I giggled harder. “Okay, it’s a historical romance that occurred during the Civil War. A black soldier.”

“And the heroine.”

“She’s his general’s slave.”

“What?”

“Are you joking or do you really care?”

He stroked my hair. “I’m an actor, baby. I love a good story.”

I gave him a brief outline of the story. He flattered me with his interest in my interests. Just as I was about to tell him that he would be the hero in my script, the carriage slowed in front of Tavern on the Green.

He helped me from the carriage. Someone opened the door as we walked toward the restaurant. The doorman said, “Good afternoon, Ms. Barnes.”

I blushed and looked at Rashad in amazement. The hostess smiled when we entered, “Mr. Watkins, right this way.”

He guided me by putting his hand on the small of my back. We were escorted through the maze of corridors into a room with the best view of the park. An expensive bottle of Merlot was on the table. Seconds after we sat, our entrees were delivered. This was unreal.
Oh yeah, I forget. It is unreal. It’s scripted, Fatima!

Rashad was clearly the man for the job. If not for the food on the table I would have pulled out the contract. Instead, I smiled. “The job is yours if you want it.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll go over the contract after lunch.”

“That’s fine with me.”

He poured the wine and raised his glass. “To the perfect script.”

“Yes, to the perfect script.”

After we swallowed, he asked, “Is it okay for me to ask how you got to the point you wanted to write the script?”

I twirled my wine and bit my lip. “Well, I was married.”

“What happened?”

I took a deep breath and rested my back on the chair. “He died.”

He squinted. “How?”

“He had a heart attack.”

“Wow, that’s serious. How old was he?”

“Thirty-two.” I looked down at the china on the table. “So, I didn’t date for a long time and when I started dating, the quality just wasn’t there. And I thought it would be a good idea if I gave future dates guidelines. And most people don’t follow rules unless you pay them.”

He chuckled. “Would you consider yourself a control freak?”

I gasped and covered my chest. He said, “Okay, I’m just saying. The more I know about you, the better equipped I am to give you everything you need.”

“It’s all in the script.”

He leaned toward me. “Fatima, I like to go over and beyond the call of duty.”

He sensually licked the crumbs from his lips. My eyes lowered as I fantasized about what he insinuated. Then, he restarted the interview.

“There’s nothing in there about your family. Do you have any?”

“What do you think?”

“I’m just saying. Everything isn’t in there.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Do you have siblings? Parents?”

“Uh, everyone has parents somewhere.”

Rashad smirked at my silliness. “You know what I mean. Are they living? Are they together?”

“Are your parents together?”

“No. My mother is here and my father is in Trinidad.”

“Is he from Trinidad?”

“Both of my parents are.”

“Did you say you were born there or here?”

He laughed. “I was born here.”

“Was your father ever here?”

“He got homesick.” I twisted my lips. He smiled. “Honestly, he went back when I was four or five.”

“Were they married?”

He lowered his head and mumbled, “They’re still married.”

Since he seemed to be embarrassed by this, I shrugged my shoulders. “Hey, that’s how it is sometimes.”

“You still haven’t told me about yourself. Is your name really Fatima?”

I batted my napkin at him. “Stop.”

“Hey, I don’t know.”

“Okay. My parents are still together. They live in Alabama and I have one sister, eight years younger than me.”

“Are you close?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“You know if you’re close or not,” he said.

“When I left for college, she was ten and you know…”

He shook his head. “No. Tell me.”

“I guess we never had a bonding period.” I pushed my glass toward him for a refill. “I almost immediately got into a serious relationship and I guess I didn’t do all the things big sisters do,” I said as I took a sip.

“What do you mean?”

My eyes lowered and I played with the stem of the wineglass. “Well, like, I guess I should have gone home more often when she was in her teens. That way I would have had more influence on her and there wouldn’t be such a social gap.”

“What is she doing now?”

“Just hangin’ out in Alabama.”

“Do you think it’s too late?”

I huffed and he noticed my frustration. “You don’t have to discuss it anymore. Are you close to your parents?”

“We’re close. I just don’t talk to them all the time. You know, with work and all.”

“So, you just came to New York and disowned Alabama.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

His fingers intertwined with mine. “As long as whatever we talk about helps me learn more about you.”

Y
ou would think I’d be flattered to sign a contract for fifty-five thousand dollars to be distributed over six months, with a ten thousand advance. My coworkers hustled around me and made my date extraspecial. Their hospitality secured my chance of getting the role.

But when she announced that the job belonged to me, I suddenly felt like a damn male prostitute. Why would this beautiful woman across from me feel the need to go as far as paying for companionship?

“So, Rashad, are you close to your parents?”

My stomach rumbled. I didn’t want to explain to her that I lived with my mother. I quickly reread the portion in the contract that stated she would only need my address for emergency purposes, but most scenes would occur in her house. While I contemplated my response, she tilted her head. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I’m very close to my mother.”

“What about your father?”

I hesitated before I spoke. I hated that my father and I were estranged and I hated that it was my mother’s fault. She convinced me that he was a loser and if he was a man, he would have stayed in this country and provided for his family. It wasn’t until I came to my own revelation that I finally understood him and his stance. He was a humble man and being here for the love of money could not replace the beautiful sands in his country.

She squinted. “Are you close to him?”

“I wouldn’t say close because we don’t talk often, but I’ve definitely grown to have respect for him.”

“Did you have a relationship with him growing up?”

“Yeah, my mother shipped me to Trinidad every summer.”

We laughed and she said, “So you didn’t always have respect for him?”

“I didn’t understand him.”

“Meaning?”

I laughed. “Now, who asks all the questions?”

“I answered your questions.”

“After I nearly begged you to.”

Her expression softened. “Well, I’m begging you.”

I laid the contract on the table and took a deep breath. “When my father left the States, he gave up the promise, that’s what my mother said. He went back to Trinidad to work construction and play in a calypso band in the evening. When I was young, I thought that was quitting, now I think it’s living. Everyone isn’t motivated by money.”

She looked down at the contract. “So, you’re not motivated by money?”

“I’m motivated by happiness and, unfortunately, in this country, money provides a pathway to happiness.”

She snickered. “I was curious if you were interested in doing this for charity.”

If I had other gigs lined up, her beauty would have forced me to say I would do it for free. Instead, we both laughed and I didn’t say anything. I looked back at the contract.

She pursed her lips and her blinking eyes contemplated as she studied me studying the contract. “Do you have any questions?”

As I filled out the direct deposit information, I joked, “You’re not going to take my routing number and suck all the money out, are you?”

Her eyes zigzagged. I said, “Just playing, baby. So, as long as I stay in character around you, I can live my life?”

“As long as I’m happy. That’s the most important part.”

My smile got wider and wider as I read the last lines of the contract. I had a few questions but nothing I wanted to bring up before I signed. If I fall for another woman, I have to resign immediately. Does that mean I can still see other women? Of course, I have no plans of dating anyone until I get another gig that pays as well as this.

I was partially tempted to run it by my agent, but I am much too proud to reveal to anyone that I’d succumbed to this. When I looked at Fatima, her hair lay flat on her full breasts and I scribbled my signature on the contract. To hell with it! What could she do? Rape me.

“Your name
is
Rashad, right? That’s not a stage name or anything?”

“How did you know I had a stage name?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I used to be a stripper.”

She dropped her head. Her eyes fluttered when she finally looked up. She leaned her elbow on the table and massaged her temple as if to say,
now you tell me.
I went for it: “My stage name is Microwave.”

Her expression cursed me. I said, “I get it hot, fast.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

As I grazed the fine hair on her forearm, I said. “Didn’t you ask for a sense of humor? I’m just playing.”

The air trapped in her lungs escaped. We both laughed. I said, “This is the closest I’ve ever come to selling myself.”

“Rashad, do me a favor. Now that you’ve signed that contract and once the direct deposit goes into action, I don’t want to discuss our arrangement. I want you to make me forget that I’m paying you. Got it.”

“Got it.”

Our waiter, my homeboy José, came over with her favorite dessert. Her chestnut eyes danced with excitement.

“You’re such a sweetheart.”

As we stood to leave the restaurant, she patted her belly. “My stomach is falling out.”

“Your stomach is fine.”

She looked at me inquisitively, probably curious if my compliment was scripted or sincere. I resisted the urge to tell her it was really me and not who she was paying me to be.

W
e left the restaurant and walked hand in hand to Staples. I was really enjoying his company. Now I consider myself a smart girl, but this had to be the brightest idea I’d had in all my life. Who really has time to go through the get-to-know stage?

When we entered the copy center, it dawned on me that I was really about to hand over a ten thousand dollar check to a complete stranger. Although Mya claimed she would make sure he never worked in this town again if he ran off with the money, I suddenly felt the need to protect my assets.

He voluntarily whipped out his Staples card and stuck it into the machine. I smiled and asked, “Can I get a copy of your license also?”

He slipped it from his wallet. I glanced at his address and was happy to see that he lived ten blocks away from me. That should make his commute easy.

“I don’t know if you’d like to take care of this all today or if you’d prefer to do it tomorrow. I’d like to get another form of ID, like a social security card and/or passport.”

“How do I know this is legitimate? You could be trying to steal my identity.”

“Whatever. I need it for my protection.”

He reached out his hand. I looked down at it and raised my eyebrows. “What?”

“Give me your hand. If I’m going accept this job, you have to trust me.”

“Still, I like to…”

“Shhh. I got you. I’ll let you copy my social security card.”

“Thank you.”

I turned to operate the machine and the instructions blurred as the screen displayed a digital replica of his handsome face. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

If you stop touching me, maybe I can handle this.
After I gained my composure, I copied his license and we left the store. Suddenly, I was unsure of what to do next. We both appeared awkward. I shrugged my shoulders. He did the same. “So, when do you want to start?”

He placed his hand on my shoulders. “I started when I signed the contract.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay, so you’re my man now.”

He laughed. “Yep, I’m your man.”

“So…you want to go shopping?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

Then, I remembered that Mya and I planned to meet to discuss my final decision. “You want to have drinks with me and Mya?”

“Whatever the little lady wants.”

I batted my eyes. He stole that right from the script. Still, it flattered me. “Thank you, honey, but you don’t have to do that.” I winked. “Girl talk. I’ll get up with you later.”

“That’s cool. I know y’all have a lot to discuss. Let me know if you need me to meet you somewhere later.”

“I certainly will.”

He stepped out into the street with me and opened the taxi door. I was tempted to stay in the middle of the street with him. His warmth invited me to stand up Mya and go home with him, but I recovered and got into the taxi. Even his good-bye wave welcomed me.

My heart still rumbled from his touch as I called Mya. “Girl, let’s celebrate.”

“So, I guess you picked Rashad.”

“He signed.”

“You are lying.”

“No, actually I’m not. I got a man.”

She laughed. “Yeah. We definite have to celebrate. I’m thinking sangria.”

“I’m thinking a whole pitcher.”

“I’m headed uptown, so I’ll meet you at Pio. Are you on your way?”

When I walked into our favorite Peruvian restaurant, she was already there. The hostess directed me to where she was seated. A pitcher of sangria was already on the table. Before I could sit, Mya gave me a high-five. I giggled. “This might be the silliest thing we’ve ever done.”

“I don’t believe you sold this to me. The bad part about it, I’m more excited than you. If this goes over smoothly, I swear I’m going to start a business.”

“Girl, who are you telling? This is brilliant.”

While we gloated in our brilliance, I realized that I wasn’t so bright. “Oh my goodness. I was supposed to get his HIV and drug test results before he signed the contract.”

Mya shook her head. “Whatever. You haven’t given him a check yet. And positive test results nullify the contract. Don’t worry. Just get it tomorrow.”

“Where can we go?”

“There’s a clinic not too far from your office.”

“I’ll call you tonight for the details.”

We rocked to the Latin music and sipped more sangria than either one of us could handle. She pointed at me and I pointed at her and we praised each other over and over again. “You’re a genius.”

“No, you’re the genius.”

By the time we left, we were two pissy-drunk geniuses. Though this intoxication could hardly compare to the one I felt when Rashad’s face crept into my mind. Boy, I wish I could bottle him up and sell him. His deep set eyes still pierced through me from hours earlier. As I prepared my nonchalant speech, I dialed his number. I used the divide-and-conquer method to avoid inviting him over. By the time I got in the house, I was tempted to call him back, but I couldn’t even stand up straight, so I did the smart thing and fell asleep on my couch.