Champagne Rules (18 page)

Last year, he’d made it, though the mortgage was big enough to give him nightmares.

His mom managed a ladies’ clothing store and rented out her upstairs to Berkeley students. She insisted she loved the company and said the kids, with whom she shared her kitchen, kept her young.

She wanted to help out with the mortgage, but he wouldn’t let her. He’d never be able to make up for all her sacrifices when he was growing up.

Hard to believe the neighborhood was so pricy, he thought as he walked down the street. It was casual, friendly and most of the residents were young families and retired couples. His mom’s current boarders, Hannah and Clare, a lesbian couple, waved to him from the front steps where they sat sipping beer.

“Having a good summer?” he asked them.

Clare grinned. “Love the weather, but I’m not so happy about having to work for a living. It’s way too grown-up for me!”

Hannah elbowed her partner. “If you can call being a research assistant working for a living.”

“I work with my brains, because I happen to have some. Those who don’t, have to rely on their brawn.”

“Great for the muscle tone though, isn’t it?” Hannah countered, raising a firm brown arm and studying it. An architecture student, she’d taken a summer job on a construction crew and the work did seem to be suiting her.

Clare turned her gaze from her partner’s arm to Jax. “I hear you’re taking Darissa to Rivoli.”

Rivoli? It was popular, upscale, but reasonably priced. It just wasn’t in Darissa Navarre to pick someplace expensive. But he was already salivating in anticipation of a great meal. The last time they’d gone there—for her birthday earlier in the year—he’d had mushroom fritters that were incredible, followed by a lamb dish that was tasty and imaginative.

“And you’re coming back here for dessert,” Hannah said.

“Last night she made that chocolate ginger cake of hers. We had to smell it cooking. Then she said we couldn’t touch it until tonight when you get home from dinner. So don’t be too late, okay?”

“No, ma’am.”

He heard heels tap on the polished wood floor inside, and raised his head as his mother opened the door. He grinned at her. Darissa Navarre hadn’t had an easy life, but you sure couldn’t tell it from looking at her. Only fifteen when she’d had him, she was now forty-five, but looked far younger—and damn fine too, with her erect posture, striking face and cap of curly black hair.

“Hey, pretty lady, did you happen to see my mother in there?”

She laughed and opened her arms to him. “Come here, you flatterer.”

He hugged her tightly, then stood back. “Classy dress.” No follower of women’s fashion, he had no idea what designer might have created it. All he could see was that its color—like ripe purple grapes—made her dark skin look even richer. She winked. “Gotta love working in a clothing store.”

After she and his step dad split, she’d had a variety of jobs, all low-end. There wasn’t a hell of a lot a Jamaican immigrant could do in the States, not without her high school diploma, but she’d taken whatever she could get. All for him, so he could make something of himself.

In the last few years, she’d finally been able to concentrate on her own career. Passing her GED with top marks gave her confidence, and the needed credential to start looking for more upscale jobs. He wasn’t a bit surprised when she found them. His mom was one smart lady and a great judge of character, not to mention having a quiet dignity and a warm personality. Call him prejudiced, but he figured women didn’t come any finer than his mom.

As they walked toward her ancient Honda, he thought of his rental Porsche. “You’re going to need a new car before long. Ever thought of a convertible?”

Her eyebrows rose. “They aren’t practical.”

Practicality. The philosophy that had always ruled their lives.

“Fun, though,” he commented.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, then grinned. “Yeah, I bet they are. So, is that what you were doing this weekend?

Ridin’ around in some hot little car, maybe with some hot little honey?”

Should never have mentioned convertibles. He opened the door to the passenger side for her. “On the phone you said you had something to catch me up on?”

She was laughing when he settled behind the steering wheel.

“Not noted for subtlety, are you? Okay, so you want to change the subject, and you know what, I’m gonna let you, because I have some news.”

Grateful she’d accepted his clumsy diversion, he said, “Tell me,” as he pulled away from the curb.

“I’m thinkin’ about taking a part-time job, Friday and Saturday nights.”

“Mom, you don’t need to do that. You already work full time. Look, if you need more money—”

She touched his arm. “Hush now, boy, it’s not about money. This would be for fun. ’Member how we were just talking

’bout that foreign concept?”

He glanced over and saw the gleam in her dark eyes. “Ohoh, I’m not sure I like the sounds of this. You gonna take up stripping or some such thing?”

She hooted. “Now, if that isn’t the finest compliment, for a boy to even think such a thing about his middle-aged mama. Fact is, Tonya and I’ve been talking about me working at her new restaurant.”

He was happy his mom and Tonya had remained good friends after the divorce, but he was definitely not pleased about this bit of news. “No way, Mom, your waitressing days are long gone.”

“Would you just listen? Who said anything about waitressing? She wants a hostess. During the week she figures she can do it herself, along with managin’ the kitchen staff and the waiters and waitresses. But she’s hopin’ the weekends will be hopping, and she wants her customers to get the finest care and attention. She wants me to greet folks, make sure they get a table they’re happy with, check on how they’re doing and so on.”

“Yeah, you’d be perfect. But wouldn’t it be tiring, after working all day in the store?”

“My feet’ll get sore, I’m sure of it, but I get energy from being with people, you know that. I like mixin’ and minglin’, making sure folks are having a good time. ‘Sides, I’ll have all of Sunday to put my feet up and rest.”

He parked, and when they’d both got out of the car, she said, “There’s another reason this appeals to me.”

“What’s that?”

“Tonya can’t afford to pay a lot, but she’ll make me a partner in the business.”

“A partner? Really?”

“Oh, just an itty-bitty minor partner, but all the same, Jax, I’d be a part owner. There’d be Tonya and Benjamin, the chef, Consuela, and me. Just imagine, we’d have partners meetings and make decisions together.”

“Wow, Mom, I’m impressed.” He shook his head. His mother, a partner in an up-and-coming business. She’d always sworn America was the land of opportunity—for those who worked their butts off—and the two of them were living proof. Ushering her into Rivoli, he saw the rather starkly-decorated restaurant was bustling, but they were in luck and got a table with a view of the back garden.

Jax picked up the wine list. “We have to celebrate.” He thought of Suzanne, of how they’d talked about champagne. Keep it special, don’t let the bubbles go flat. He beckoned the waiter over and had a quiet discussion. The waiter hurried away, saying, “I’ll be right back with your champagne.”

“Champagne?” his mom said. “Why Jaxon Navarre, where’s the little boy I raised, who put every last penny of his allowance into his piggy bank?”

“I have more pennies now. I can afford to throw a few around.” He gave her a quick hug. “Especially on my favorite lady.”

“Your favorite lady?” she said. “You saying there wasn’t a hot little honey this weekend?”

“I . . .” Where was that waiter?

“What’s the big secret, Jax?” She narrowed her eyes. He knew what that expression meant. She wouldn’t be backing down any time soon. And if he didn’t tell her, next thing he knew she’d be trying to fix him up with someone again, like she’d done with Tonya.

“Okay, yeah, I did see a woman.” He couldn’t hold back a self-satisfied grin. Maybe he had wanted to tell someone about Suzanne after all. “And yeah, she’s pretty hot, if you really need to know stuff like that.”

“Whoo-hoo, my baby’s dating!”

“Don’t get carried away,” he said dryly. “I saw her once. Maybe we’ll get together again.” Or maybe not. He’d have to e-mail and cancel the weekend. Suzanne might write him off. Couldn’t expect a woman like her to sit around waiting for him.

“Well, sure you’ll get together again. Sounds like you had fun together.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have time for a relationship. You know that. It’s the main reason Tonya and I broke up.”

“I love that girl like a daughter, but she should’ve hung in longer, tried to work things out with you. Maybe I’d have grandbabies by now.”

He shook his head firmly. “Nope. Tonya did try, we both did, but it didn’t work. It was better to cut our losses. Thank God we
didn’t
have children.”

She frowned, her warm brown eyes concerned. “You’ve always been so driven. . .”

And where did he learn that? She’d worked herself past the point of exhaustion to give him a good education. They were a lot alike. Not dummies, but not so smart that things came easily to them. They both had to work damned hard for every single thing they achieved.

“Mom, you know that’s what it takes to—” Jax broke off as the waiter finally appeared with their champagne. The man deftly eased the cork out and poured. Golden liquid and fizzing bubbles rose just to the rim of each elegant flute, then subsided.

When he and his mom were alone again, Jax raised his glass and his mother picked up hers. “To your new venture,” he said.

“Here’s to Tonya and Darissa’s place.”

She chuckled. “You make it sound like a country kitchen.”

She clicked her glass to his, then sipped the champagne.

“Mmm. Delicious.” She eased the bottle out of the ice bucket and read the label, then pulled a little notebook out of her purse and scribbled something.

“What are you doing?”

She glanced up. “I’m in the restaurant business. I have to pay more attention.”

Aha. That’s why she’d changed her mind yesterday, and accepted his invitation to eat out. “This place prides itself on using fresh local ingredients, right?”

“Sure does.” She finished writing and grinned. “Rivoli’s a competitor. I’m only here because I’m doing research.”

“Want me to steal a copy of the menu?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like I didn’t already read it on-line?”

Yup, this lady was just as success driven as her kid. After she’d told him what she wanted him to order—in the name of research—she said, “How are things going at work?”

“My billable hours are higher than anyone else’s. I’m starting to bring in new clients of my own, mostly referrals from existing ones. And the senior partner just gave me a major new file.”

He’d spent the afternoon going over the papers filed by the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, counsel for the plaintiffs. Tomorrow morning, he’d set up a meeting with Sam Miller, the CEO of Family Friend. His mom’s smile split her face. “That’s wonderful.”

“It’s a big class-action suit, and can you believe, I might end up being first chair? If I can win this one, I’ll definitely be in line for a partnership.” Of course, the case probably wouldn’t be heard for years; class-action suits seemed to go on forever. But if he could prove to Jefferson he had it under control . . . His mom reached over and gripped his hand. “You’ll do it, Jax. Whenever you set your mind on something, you make it happen. I’m so proud of you.”

He knew she was, yet he never tired of hearing the words. He was all she had. He was the reason she’d left her family in Jamaica, married that American jerk and come to the States. Whatever he did, he did for her, to prove her right and make her proud.

The waiter arrived with their appetizers: goat cheese soufflé

for her, smoked salmon for him. They tasted their own, tasted each other’s, analyzed both and she wrote some more notes while Jax munched appreciatively.

When she’d closed her notebook and taken a couple more bites of her soufflé, she said, “Now tell me more about this girl you’re seeing.”

Should’ve known she’d get back there eventually. The woman really wasn’t distractable.

“It’s casual.” He shrugged. “She seems nice, we have fun.”

Sexual fun. He tried to push that thought aside. He’d always suspected his mom could read his mind.

“Sounds like a good start for a relationship,” she said. Was that a twinkle in her eye?

How could he explain? She just didn’t grasp how much work it took to succeed in his area of law. He had to put in the hours, do his homework, build his connections. Twice in his life, he’d made the mistake of overestimating his abilities. In high school, he’d dated the head cheerleader pretty seriously, but she’d cut into his study time and his marks plummeted so he’d had to call it off. The second time was Tonya. He never should have married her, but he’d been in love and feeling like Superman. He could handle everything.

Except, he couldn’t. If he’d settled for a less prestigious field, like Rick, he wouldn’t have to work so hard. But then he’d be a middle-of-the-roader, and that wasn’t good enough. He was perfectly aware of being a typical immigrant child—

an overachiever. Arriving in America as a little boy, he’d learned about his new country quickly, and one of the things he’d learned was what Americans valued in a man: money, status, power. Things that were harder—but not impossible—for a black man to achieve.

“What’s her name?” His mother’s question broke his train of thought.

“Huh?”

“The girl you aren’t having a relationship with.”

“Suzanne.” A.k.a. outrageous69.

“Pretty name. What does she do?”

I don’t have a clue.
Instead, he said, “Mom, leave it alone, okay? It’s just casual.”

“Mmm. Black girl, brown girl, white girl, yellow girl?”

“White.” Actually, she was golden.

“That a wise idea?”

“You being racist, Mom?”

“You know me better than that. But it’s a fact, there’s more stresses on a mixed-race relationship. Some people gonna look at you funny.”