“You like?”
“I like.” Some women standing close to us admired my new T-shirt. Another couple of my friends left the room after waving in my direction. I thanked Nicole for the shirt and said something about wearing it under all of my business suits.
She asked me if I wanted a slice of the cake that was now circulating, and I told her no because, suddenly, the notion to address my remaining guests struck me.
I started tapping on the champagne glass that I was still holding to get everyone’s attention as Nicole had done earlier. I, however, took it a step further and hoisted myself onto one of the tables in the room. At the time, I thought my speech was of presidential quality.
“I want to thank you, ladies, for showing up tonight. I hope you all had a great time, I did.” I lifted my flute up to prove my point. “Thank you for the lottery tickets…If I win, don’t expect a damn thing.” I may have said thang, but I’m not sure. “We gathered here tonight to celebrate my divorce. I know a lot of you ladies are married, and I admire the commitment it takes to put up with so much bullshit! I’m here to tell you that I put up with enough bullshit during the last fifteen months to last me for the rest of my life. I’ve done my time, ladies; from this day forward I am a certified DFL—divorcée for life, baby—and as God is my witness, I’ll never be married again!” I did my best impression of Scarlett O’Hara, and it would have worked except that when I flung my hand to my forehead (the universal symbol of a Southern woman in distress), my champagne flute flew across the room and crashed.
The noise startled me and I lost my balance on the table. I would have fallen ass first on the hard floor, except that the finest man I had ever seen broke my fall (I swear to God, he was the finest man I had ever seen!). I did break the heel off of one of my $350 Jimmy Choo sandals.
I didn’t normally spend so much on shoes, but they went with my dress perfectly. Besides, if a girl was going to start a new life, she needed to have the right footwear. Damn, I loved those sandals.
Anyway, I didn’t know where he came from, but he caught me as I fell backward off the table. Everyone at the party rushed over asking if I was okay. I didn’t respond, not because I was hurt, but because I was busy looking into chocolate brown eyes and steadying myself on a rock-hard chest. He was about 6’1” or 6’2”, he looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, and his skin was a golden syrupy color. The absolute best thing about his looks was the gray streak that started at his temple; I couldn’t see where it ended, but I knew immediately that I had to find out.
“Are you hurt?” His voice sounded the way I imagine cinnamon would if it had a sound—husky, sweet, and rich. I turned around in his arms and placed my hands on his chest, to steady myself. I tried to make my smile as warm as his voice.
“Yes, I am, thanks to you. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“No, you didn’t, but looks like your sandal may need a trip to the emergency room.” I was about to make some witty remark when Nicole got to us.
“When you start falling off the tables it’s time for you to go home, Fee. In fact, it was time for you to go home when you climbed on the table.” I slid my hands down his chest and turned to my friend.
“I’ll be leaving in a minute; I’m okay thanks to this big, strong gentleman.” I was still pretending to be Scarlett O’Hara. I knew he noticed how I slid my hand down his chest from the way he raised his eyebrows. Nicole noticed too, and she shot me a look, the look. I ignored her and put both hands on my hips and tilted my head like we women do when we’re trying to be cute.
“I may just owe you my life. Is there anything I can do to repay you?” He was smiling at me, looking me up and down like a man was supposed to do when a woman struck “the pose,” but playa hata Nicole refused to leave. She took one of my arms and smiled apologetically at my rescuer.
“She’s drunk. I’m putting her in a cab.” To emphasize her point, she turned me around to face the exit. “Thanks again.” I didn’t get to see his expression before she pushed me through the door that led to the larger part of the club. I was limping because one heel was on and one was gone.
“Why did you tell him that? I’m not drunk! I was trying to have a conversation.”
“Well, you were acting like you were trying to get into his pants.”
“And if I was? I’m over twenty-one and single, in case you forgot the reason for our celebration tonight.”
“Yeah, and you don’t want to be over twenty-one, single, and HIV-positive.” Nicole Elizabeth Jordan social worker/hypochondriac was always talking about HIV…or colon cancer…or warts…anything remotely medical. I smiled blindly at my three or four remaining guests as she continued to usher me through the room. When we got outside there was a cab waiting by the front entrance.
“How did this cab get here?” I asked.
“The funny thing about cab drivers is they usually come when you call them. That’s what they do for a living.”
“Very funny, smart ass, but that’s not what I meant.” I was about to explain what I meant, but I forgot.
She opened the back door of the cab and gave me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Did you have a good time tonight?” I pushed the hair out of my face and nodded. “Good. Now get in and go home. I’ll bring the lottery tickets by some time tomorrow.” She closed the door and walked to the driver’s side of the cab. She gave the cab driver my address and handed him a twenty. She waved at me as the cab drove off.
I sat back in the seat with my bottom lip slightly poked out. I wasn’t ready to go home. I wanted to continue the conversation that I had started with maple syrup man. I had every intention of doing so, but I needed Nicole gone!
When the cabby turned on to the street, I leaned over his shoulder and told him to drive around the block for a few minutes, then circle back and let me out. He looked a little confused until I took a ten out of my purse and tossed it on the seat next to him to go with the twenty he already had. He was more than happy to follow my instructions. I half-formulated a plan as I waited in the back of the cab until I was sure that Nicole was on her way home.
I snuck back into the club like I was a teenager sneaking into her parents’ house after being out way past curfew. I looked around the front for familiar faces and let out a sigh of relief when I didn’t see any. I bent down and slipped my sandals off, then walked confidently through the doors of the party room I had left moments earlier.
CHAPTER 3
Maple syrup man was still there. There was a younger looking man with him who was about to take the last chafing dish out of the room. He stopped wiping the table when he noticed that I was back. His smile was warm and polite.
“Did you forget something?” I looked around the room, then pretended to concentrate on the floor.
“As a matter of fact, I did. Did you notice where the heel of my sandal landed? I was holding both sandals in my hand. I lifted them for him to see. “I was thinking I could probably have it repaired.” His look was apologetic as he walked toward the large trash bin in one corner of the room. He reached in and pulled out the silver heel. The wood floor felt cool under my bare feet as I made my way over to him.
“I’m sorry. The way your friend hustled you out of here I thought you were long gone.” He held on to the heel a minute longer and pretended to dust it off before handing it to me.”
“I’m out. Do you need anything else?” The younger man stuck his head through the door to ask the question.
“No, I’ll get the rest.” The man nodded his head at me and left the room again. We turned our full attention back to each other. I was smiling at him, he was smiling at me; things were going just like I thought they would when I had decided