Apple Brown Betty (22 page)

“I get the feeling you like it like that,” Felicia said. “That you've had opportunities to settle somewhere but prefer to keep it moving.”

Slay thought about his sweet Kenya and her boys for the first time this day. “You probably right.”

“So where we headed?”

“I know a shorty like you is probably used to the finer things in life, fancy-ass restaurants and whatnot,” Slay said, “but I want to hook you up with something different, something that you'll straight up get addicted to.”

“Ooh, are we going to smoke weed?” Felicia said, bouncing around all giddy.

“Italian hot dogs,” Slay said.

Felicia stopped bouncing. “That's cool, too, I guess.” She burst out laughing. “You must think I'm crazy.”

“Thought has crossed my mind.”

“Don't pay attention to the stuff I say. It's mostly for shock value. I started doing it a few years ago to throw off my parents and upset my perfect brother.”

“Perfect brother?”

“Desmond,” Felicia said, crinkling her nose. “He went to college, got good grades, served his time on Wall Street, yadayadaya. Now he owns a restaurant. I love him, though.” A smile of remembrance darted across Felicia's face. “You should have been a fly on the wall when I informed my parents and my brother I was going to model.”

“Bet they was tripping.”

“Oh, hell yeah. My father was like, ‘What kind of model?', and I made a big play out of it. Told him
Playboy.
”

“Your pops didn't like that, did he?”

Felicia shook her head. “It was a riot. Once they found out I was going to be represented by a legitimate agency, doing tasteful-type modeling, they actually started to be a bit proud, just a little bit, but enough to piss me off.”

“You like modeling?”

Felicia nodded. “I've been into fashion for as long as I can remember. It is hard work. You have to deal with creepy photographers, long shoots, being picked and touched over.”

“So what does this brother of yours think about it?”

“Desmond? He's cool.”

“That's good.”

“He's been questioning me about whether I'm still chaste, though,” Felicia said.

“Chaste?”

She looked down at her crotch. “Whether anybody has run up in this.”

Slay smiled. “Has anyone?”

“Not yet, but my prospects are increasing.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Felicia nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your Mr. Perfect brother won't like that.”

“This is my pussy.”

Slay shook his head. “You've got a gutter mouth.”

“I bet I can make you like my gutter mouth.”

Slay nodded. “I bet you could.”

Felicia stopped. She was taking this too far. Kenneth's words had her all twisted up. Maybe using her obvious sexual appeal wasn't all that bad. The agency representatives hadn't thought too much of Felicia's concerns when she met with them. She didn't know what to believe anymore. She did know, though, that this Thug Lover sitting next to her stirred something inside of her. The realization was both scary and exciting. Felicia looked out the window. “When are we getting to this place? I'm starving.”

“Soon. It's over in Red Bank.”

“What's an Italian hot dog, by the way?”

Slay closed his eyes for a brief moment. “It's a long beef dog on a bun, with French fries—the round ones—red sauce, onions and peppers. This place in Red Bank, Mr. Pizza Slice, makes the best ones.”

“Damn, sounds good,” Felicia said. “I'm glad I lowered my zipper before I opened the door.”

“You did what?”

“I looked out the door and saw you standing there,” she said, “and I liked what I saw, so I lowered my top zipper a tad to show off my boobs. I think it worked.”

Slay looked over at her, licked his lips. “Right, right.”

 

Paperwork sat in a pile on Desmond's desk but he decided to leave it for later, take a walk outside and see how things were progressing with the lunch crowd. Truth of the matter was, he never took too much to the business aspects of this entrepreneur thing; he liked mingling with the people, liked joking with his staff. The day-to-day nuts and bolts operational matters, that was his father's cup of tea.

Desmond opened his office door, shut off the light as he exited, a sure sign he wouldn't be coming back in for a while, and headed out to the dining area. Karen was making heavy-footed strides toward him, a couple menus pressed against her chest, a young couple following behind her, her eyes on Desmond as if he'd harmed someone close to her, someone she loved. Desmond stopped so she could make her way by with the young couple. He smiled as the patrons crossed his path. Karen quickly seated them and came back toward Desmond. He stood waiting for her.

“What now?” Desmond asked.

“Another of your groupies, table eight,” Karen said as she swept by like a breeze.

“Who?” Desmond asked Karen, but she kept on trucking up the aisle, back toward her post at the front of the restaurant.

Desmond shrugged and walked over to the area of the restaurant where table eight was. From a distance Desmond could see an attractive woman looking over a menu. She wore tinted shades and had on a fitted gray turtleneck sweater. Desmond moved closer. The woman saw him coming and put down the menu, a smile on her face. As Desmond drew nearer he recognized the form of her nipples pressed against the material of her sweater, the deep richness of her dark skin, the full lips of her mouth. There was a slight hitch in his step but he kept moving toward her. She looked so different from how he usually saw her, so different than she did under the lights at Hot Tails. Desmond reached her table and stood there.

“Well, hello, Mr. Rucker,” Jacinta said to him.

“Jacinta,” he said, nodding, keeping his smile a thought.

Jacinta curved her mouth upward. “Mona, actually, but you can keep calling me Jacinta, if you want to,” she said. “I know old habits die hard.”

“Come again?”

She smiled at Desmond. “My given name is Mona. Jacinta's my stage name.”

Desmond nodded and let a return smile slip loose. “Life's a stage, right?”

“You're such a quick study.”

Desmond pulled out a seat and sat with her. “So what brings you in?”

Jacinta looked around her, looked down at the menu. “You're asking what brought me into a restaurant? I would think that's obvious—I was hungry.”

Desmond smirked.

“Are you uncomfortable because of your girlfriend over there?” Jacinta said, nodding her head toward the front of the restaurant.

Desmond followed her nod, his gaze falling at the podium up front. “Karen? She's not my girlfriend. She's my hostess, my right arm.”

“She's got the girlfriend attitude to her,” Jacinta said. “She was pleasant until I asked if you were in.”

“She's a bit protective of me,” Desmond said.

Jacinta drew her mouth to one side. “Hmm, I wonder what happened to make her think she needed to be your protector.”

“So, how do you like the place?” Desmond said, redirecting the conversation.

“All I've had so far are these honey and butter-topped rolls,” Jacinta said, “and they are unbelievable. I imagine everything else will be good as well.” She looked around, nodding her head repeatedly, her lips tight, impressed. “The way it's designed is nice, too. I think you've definitely got something here.”

“Thanks,” Desmond said. “Strangely, your opinion matters.”

“Why
strangely?
” Jacinta asked. “Because I'm just a go-go slut?”

“No, God no,” Desmond said, “I wasn't implying—”

Jacinta raised her hand. “It's okay, really. Men only seem to fully appreciate me when I'm in a G-string, I'm used to it.”

“That's not right,” Desmond said.

“Not right,” Jacinta said, “but a fact.”

“I'm a little deeper than that,” Desmond told her.

“That why you looked like you swallowed a horse tablet when you saw me sitting here?” Jacinta asked.

“I was surprised to see you. That's all.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Desmond reached over and covered her hand with his own. “Believe me, I'm glad you came. Glad to get to see you like this. You look just as I pictured you would offstage.” What was he saying? Worse yet, what in the world was he doing? What about Cydney? Just last evening he and Cydney had taken their relationship to the next level. That next level left no room for even harmless flirting with the likes of Jacinta.

Jacinta studied him for a moment, shook her head. “Never know what to expect from you, Desmond.”

Desmond smiled despite himself. He ignored his father's voice, ringing in his ears.
That's right, son, show your true colors.
“Expect the unexpected.”

 

Slay pulled his BMW into Desmond's circular driveway. Felicia bopped her head to the low music coming through his state-of-the-art speakers. Slay put the transmission in Park and sat watching her as she mouthed the words to the song with her eyes closed. He liked her, liked her a lot, but the fact remained that she was on the wrong side of the line, she was on the enemy's side, he had to stay mindful of that.

Felicia opened her eyes, saw Slay just staring at her, so she stopped singing. “What?”

“You be wildin',” he said.

“Do I be?” she said, then went right back to singing her song, wiggling, leaning in and making a real play of this.

Slay sat there as her cleavage waved in front of him, as her scent kept passing by his nose.

“Oh,” she said as the song finished, “Heather Headley is the shit.” She eased back in her seat, let out a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap. “So, are you coming in?”

Slay shook his head. “I better not.”

“Why? You have erectile dysfunction or something?”

He crinkled his brow. “Say what?”

Felicia waved him off. “Nothing.”

“So you got my number, you gonna call, right?” Slay asked.

“If I stay around here much longer, yeah,” Felicia said. “I'm going haywire out here in the boonies.”

“I'd really like you to get down with this weekend's party,” Slay pushed.

Felicia nodded. “Berkeley Carteret, yeah, yeah, I got it.”

“It's gonna be off the hook.”

“I hope I'll get more than an Italian hot dog and—” she looked down at the bunch of his jeans, the swell by his zipper “—a tease.”

Slay followed her gaze. “You truly ain't ready for this yet.”

Felicia licked her lips. “Oh, I truly am.”

Slay smiled. “Stick around to the weekend then. I got something for that ass.”

Felicia leaned over, went to kiss his cheek but ended up licking his earlobe. “We'll see,” she said as she opened the door and moved from the car.

“Berkeley Carteret, Saturday,” he yelled to her. She walked toward the house, throwing all kinds of twists in her step. Slay fingered his chin, smiling. “Yeah, boy, I got something for that ass, Felicia
Rucker.
”

 

Desmond walked with Jacinta from her table. He stopped at the front of the restaurant.

“I'll be back shortly,” he told Karen.

“That's on you,” Karen said. She shot Jacinta an ice-melting stare. Jacinta smiled and looked away.

“Come on,” Desmond said to Jacinta. “Let me see you out.”

They moved through the door to the nip outside. Jacinta hunched her shoulders together and Desmond placed an arm around her as she moved toward her bright red sports car.

“This is you?” he asked.

“Yeah, you like?”

Desmond nodded.

“I keep it clean, too.”

“I bet you do.”

Jacinta walked around to the driver-side door, cracked it and stood. “Well…”

“It was good of you to come,” Desmond said. He wrung his hands, looked over toward the restaurant to see if anyone was looking out. He could imagine Karen away from her podium, her face pressed to the glass in the walk-in lobby.

“So,” Jacinta said, “you were right about that apple brown betty. I can't believe I managed to finish it on my own. I'm stuffed. I need to go work this all off now.”

“You work out?”

Jacinta smiled slyly. “I like to keep my heart pumping any way I can—work that cardiovascular.”

“Ha.” A peek of Desmond's tongue crept from between his lips.