Читать книгу The Trouble with Luv' - Pamela Yaye - Страница 7

“Where the hell are my thongs? The purchase order I’m clutching has an arrival date of April 28. That was three days ago.” Taking a deep breath, Ebony drew on every ounce of self-control she had to remain calm. But Mr. Rutherford was goading her, trying her patience like only he could. Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, she half listened as the owner of Logan Warehouse droned on about the latest problems with his business. Two of his best men had quit yesterday. He was understaffed. The warehouse security system was on the blink.

“The truck had mechanical problems while en route to your boutique, Ms. Garrett. You have to understand these things happen from time to time in business. But don’t you worry, little lady. I’ll have my best driver out there first thing in the morning with the shipment. Now, how’s that for service?”

Ebony’s eyes narrowed. He was patronizing her. She could almost see the balding man leering on the other end of the line, rubbing a stubby hand over his liver-spotted head. If she had the power to reach through the phone, she’d snatch him up by the collar and shake all two hundred and fifty pounds of him.

“Now, you listen to me, Mr. Rutherford. This is unacceptable and I refuse to tolerate your company’s incompetence any longer.” He tried to interrupt, but she swiftly cut him off. “This is not the first time I’ve had to put up with delays and inconveniences. This type of ineptitude has occurred at least a half-dozen times over the last six months. Tomorrow morning is simply not good enough. I want that shipment today.” Ebony paused, took a deep breath and waited for him to come up with a reasonable solution to the problem.

“Take it easy, little lady. Having a hissy fit isn’t going to get the shipment there today. Like I said, it’ll be there in the morning. That’s the best I can do.”

Ebony gripped the body of the receiver, the veins in her neck throbbing uncontrollably. “Let me put it to you in terms you’ll understand, Mr. Rutherford. If the shipment is not here by the end of the day, I’ll terminate our contract and find another trucking company to do business with.” Ebony calmly replaced the receiver. Truth be told, she couldn’t afford to do business with another trucking company. The larger companies charged astronomical fees, didn’t guarantee shipment arrivals, either, and forced customers to sign long-term contracts. Ebony was bluffing, but Mr. Rutherford didn’t need to know that. If he came through for her today, she would renegotiate their contract in a way that would satisfy them both. And if he didn’t, she’d kill him with her bare hands.

Ebony inspected her two-week-old manicure. She would call and make an appointment at Total Image Salon. Her French manicure was all but ruined. Chipped paint, dry cuticles and a broken nail needed tending to, and the sooner Ebony could get her nails done, the better.

Ebony buzzed her receptionist.

“Yes, Mrs. Garrett?”

“Please prepare a cancellation request form and fax it over to Logan Warehouse immediately.”

“Another late shipment?”

“For the last time.” Ebony clicked off the intercom. She moved over to the window and drew open the blinds. From where she was standing, it looked like colorful ants were shuffling down Eighth Avenue. Setting up the Discreet Boutiques headquarters in the Accenture Tower had been the best decision she and Kendall had ever made. The rent far exceeded what they had planned to spend, but on days like this—when Ebony needed tranquility and a moment’s peace—the location was worth every cent. Her eyes tracked the sun as it dropped behind the clouds and then faded out of sight. Wrapped up in her observations, she didn’t hear the knock on her office door.

“Daydreaming about frolicking on the beaches of Negril again?”

Ebony moaned. This time last year she had been sipping fruity Caribbean cocktails at Beaches Negril Resort, dancing with men of every shade of brown and a few in between and sleeping in hammocks under the shade of overgrown palm trees.

All business in a tweed suit, a few pieces of expensive-looking jewelry and her wavy hair pulled back in a neat bun, Kendall Douglas radiated cool sophistication. The co-owner of Discreet Boutiques sat down on one of the navy-blue padded chairs, crossed her legs and clasped her hands together.

“You’d be daydreaming too if you’d had Caribbean men catering to your every whim.” Ebony returned to her desk. Once she was settled in her leather chair, she asked, “So, how did the meeting go? Did Yolanda heed your advice, or do we have to fire her?”

Kendall smoothed a hand over hair, taking a few minutes to gauge her partner’s mood. “I got through to her, Ebony. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t tell me not to worry, Kendall. Her unprofessional behavior and complete disregard for the company have caused lost revenue and dissatisfaction among our employees and valued customers.” Yolanda Simmons, the store manager for boutique number six, had been showing up late to work, helping herself to unauthorized days off and delegating her duties to other employees for the past month. Yesterday, when Ebony had learned about what was going on, her first inclination had been to fire Yolanda immediately, but Kendall wouldn’t hear of it. Her partner liked the single mother and thought she was an asset to the company. She had promised Ebony she would meet with Yolanda as soon as possible and get to the bottom of things.

“Yolanda knows she has a good thing going with Discreet Boutiques and that she’d be a fool to mess it up. Her next raise increase is set for August 1 and I know for a fact she’s been eyeing Bridget’s position. I told her only serious and committed employees would be considered for the Human Resources post when Bridget goes on maternity leave. I told Yolanda she had two options—either clean up her act or start looking for another job.”

Ebony raised an eyebrow. “You said that?”

Kendall nodded.

“What was her response? Was she open to what you had to say?”

“The poor thing burst into tears.” Glancing down at her blazer, Kendall brushed aside specks of lint. “Cried all over me. She confided that her live-in boyfriend has been messing around, and she suspects he may have gotten another girl pregnant. You know what the crazy thing is?”

Ebony shrugged a shoulder. “No.”

“She doesn’t want to leave him! I could sympathize with her because God knows I dated my fair share of losers before I married Turner, but I never, ever allowed personal problems to impede my work.”

Ebony shook her head sharply. Happily unmarried, she enjoyed a rich life, a life more enjoyable and fulfilling than her married counterparts’. No drama. No stress. And most importantly, no heartache. “All relationships start off smelling like roses, and end up reeking like sour milk. When a diamond ring slips on a woman’s finger, she becomes a bodyguard, a private investigator, a—”

“Huh?” a completely baffled Kendall asked. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen it happen a million times before. Confident, self-assured, intelligent women will follow their men around like a Doberman, just to make sure other women don’t get too close. They’ll take a day off work to investigate whether his business conference at a five-star hotel is a company meeting, or a personal one.” Ebony added, “I like my life the way it is. Uncomplicated, stress-free and all the freedom I can stand.”

“You’re going to be thirty this year, Ebony. In two short months to be exact. You’re not a teenager anymore. It’s time you found yourself a man, settled down and started working on having a litter of your own.” Kendall chuckled at her joke. She sobered long enough to say, “You can pretend to be happy, but I know you’re miserable sleeping in that big ole house by yourself. Just admit it!”

“Girl, please,” Ebony scoffed, her mouth fitting into a smirk. “I’m as happy as a dolphin at Sea World!”

After the security alarm was disabled, Ebony shut the door behind her and kicked off her four-inch heels. There was nothing she loved more than returning home after a grueling day of work. She lived on a quiet street with other impressive homes in Linden Hills, a first tier suburb ten miles southwest of downtown Minneapolis. In the winter, the normally short commute was a killer, but Ebony didn’t mind. The privacy and solace that came with living in a respected and valued community outweighed all inconveniences.

Charmed by the elegance of the four-bedroom, three-bathroom home, Ebony had fallen in love with it on sight. It had all the features and amenities she had been searching for: lofty, ten-foot ceilings; colossal picture windows; hardwood maple floors; and a small pool with an adjoining hot tub. Ebony loved the warmth and the light of the sun, and the surplus of oversize windows guaranteed daily doses of sunshine.

Ebony had listened with half an ear, as the rail-thin Realtor lectured about the history of the house, the most recent renovations and the previous owners. After a brief walk-through, she had concluded that this was the house of her dreams. It was four thousand square feet of paradise and she was willing to do anything to call it home.

“A single woman could go mad in a place of this size and magnitude,” the Realtor had teased. Ignoring him, she had strolled through the French doors and into the tree-shaded backyard. It was the size of a tiny forest. The Realtor chatted on, and was so unenthusiastic about her buying the Tudor-style house, Ebony started to think he had other clients lined up for it. Making note of his pessimism and mentally slashing his commission, Ebony ordered him to put her offer in. This was the house she wanted, and no one was going to dampen her enthusiasm. By the close of the month she had finalized the deal and moved in five weeks later.

Dragging herself up the stairs, she stripped off clothes as she went. The master bedroom was the size of the apartment Ebony had lived in when she was a freshman in college. The light, open bedroom was an explosion of bright colors. Fuchsia bedding. A maroon area rug. Flower vases overflowing with every color of roses imaginable. The room was boldly decorated, ultrafeminine and perfectly Ebony. A full bathroom, completely outfitted in white; an enormous walk-in-closet; and a balcony wide enough for lounge chairs and a dainty glass table were her favorite aspects of the opulent master bedroom.

Not wanting her sanctuary to be muddled, Ebony had selected a few choice pieces from an antique furniture store. A mahogany dresser, a steel vanity table, an iron-rimmed chair and a pair of glass nightstands framed her elevated sleigh bed. In the adjoining office, alabaster walls were adorned with African art purchased in Manhattan at the legendary Abuja Art Gallery. Her favorite painting was positioned beside the elliptical mirror, and at the peak of day, sunshine bounced off its golden frame and reflected off the opposite wall. A shapely Nigerian woman in traditional dress, balancing a water bucket on her head, and her offspring on her hip, served as a reminder to Ebony that there was nothing she couldn’t do. As she reflected on the potency and resiliency of her evocative female ancestors, self-respect stirred within her spirit. She was proud of who she was. Proud of her heritage. Proud of the legacy of her people. And proud of where she had come from.

Ebony turned away from the picture. Clad in nothing but a black silk robe and slippers, she returned to the main floor to get a drink. En route to the kitchen, she passed the family room, which housed a fireplace which she had yet to use—comfy chairs and couches and a fifty-inch plasma screen TV. Ebony entered the kitchen and after opening the window above the sink, poured herself a drink. Ceramic tile counters, stainless steel appliances and a center table that seated eight made it a chef’s paradise. Ebony didn’t cook, so the less time she spent in the kitchen, the better off she was.

Back in her bedroom, sipping peach-flavored iced tea, Ebony selected CD number three on her stereo. Jill Scott’s hypnotic voice filled the room, offering a sweet escape. Closing her eyes, she sang along. She bobbed her head fluently, feelings of tranquility washing over her. But Ebony’s peace didn’t last long. The telephone interrupted her thoughts and yanked her back into the here and now.

“Hi, suga. Did you just get home?” Not bothering to wait for a response, Mae continued. “I called your office and that precious little receptionist of yours told me you were gone.”

“I had a nail appointment.”

“Are you okay? You don’t sound like yourself, honey.”

“I’m tired,” Ebony replied. “Wednesdays are typically hectic days and today was no exception. I was about to step into the tub for a soak when you called. Everything all right?”

Mae coughed. “Just fighting off this flu bug that’s been going around.”

“Do you need me to bring you anything?” Ebony loved aunt Mae with all her heart and she would do anything to put a smile on her face. When her husband died from heart failure, Mae had packed up her load and moved to Minneapolis to be closer to her brother and his family. Out of respect for her husband, she had never remarried or had children of her own. But the seventy-four-year-old woman would tell anyone who listened that her feisty niece was the daughter she had always wanted. Ebony had quickly grown attached to her father’s sister. And when her parents had died in a horrific car accident at the hands of a drunk driver, it had been aunt Mae who nursed her through the ordeal and welcomed her into her home.

“I’m all right, suga. I don’t need you to bring me anything, but I do need a small favor.” She paused, then added, “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind, Auntie. What is it?”

“I hate to have to bother you,” she began, her voice growing faint, “but I promised to cook tonight for the Changing Lives Through Meals program at Jubilee.”

“What are you asking me to do, aunt Mae? You know I can’t cook.”

“No, no, chile. Don’t be silly.” The thought of Ebony in the kitchen, wearing an apron and all, made her laugh. Her shoulders juddered uncontrollably. Once her chuckles subsided, she continued. “I prepared the food this afternoon, suga. Everything is ready to go. All I need for you to do is pick it up and run it over to the church for me.”

Ebony didn’t want to go back outside. It was hot enough out there to cause a serious case of heatstroke. And tonight was the first time in months she had managed to leave the office at a decent hour. There were only two things on her agenda for the evening: peace and quiet. The season finale of CSI Miami was on at eight o’clock and Ebony had been looking forward to it all week. No, there was no room on her schedule to drive halfway across the city to deliver food.

As if she could hear the deliberations going on in her niece’s mind, Mae injected her voice with cheer. “It’s for a good cause, Ebony, and it won’t take more than an hour if you leave the house right now. All you have to do is give the food to Brother Xavier, and then you can be on your merry little way.”

Ebony checked the time. Her aunt’s town house was a ten-minute drive, the church twenty. If she took a quick shower instead of a lengthy bath, she could drop the food off at the church and make it back home before the theme music for CSI started. Ebony didn’t want to disappoint her aunt, and on the upside, stopping by the church would give her another crack at Xavier. She had met some stuffy, uptight men before, but no one had ever turned her down twice. Who knows, she thought, protecting her hair with a plastic shower cap, maybe this is one of those blessings in disguise aunt Mae is always talking about. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”