The Trouble With Luv'

Tea in hand and an affable smile on her face, Ebony turned to greet the man to her right. “Having a good time?”

Xavier turned at the sound of her voice. His eyes lingered on her full, pouty lips and ultrawhite teeth. Her chandelier earrings shimmered under the soft lights, and jingled every time she so much as batted an eyelash. Gawking was indecorous and made the doer look asinine, but Xavier couldn’t help himself. And when her smile expanded, revealing a perfect mouth, he felt like someone was squeezing his heart with both hands. She had the whitest teeth he had ever seen. Teeth so white it looked like food had never passed her lips. But the sugar in her smile, the honey on her red-hued lips and the dangerous slope of her hips told him otherwise.

Xavier took a sip of his drink before responding to her question. “I’m having a good time, thanks.”

“The food was wonderful, wasn’t it?”

He could listen to her deep vixenish voice all night. Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, he patted a hand over his stomach. “The women’s fellowship committee really outdid themselves this year. The main course was scrumptious, the desserts heavenly and the overwhelming turnout is a testament to all their hard work.”

He smiled kindly, those dimpled cheeks enhancing his nice-guy appeal. He exuded masculinity and strength and though they stood shoulder to shoulder, Ebony felt elfin standing next to him. It was a welcome change. Most men were intimidated by her size; it was refreshing being with a man who wasn’t dwarfed by her five-eight frame.

Ebony extended her right hand. “Ebony Garrett. And you are?”

“Xavier Reed. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ebony. I’ve never seen you at Jubilee Christian Center. Did one of our members invite you?”

“I came with my aunt. She visits Jubilee from time to time.”

“Have you ever attended one of our services?” Xavier asked, inhaling her sweet perfume. The scent made him hanker for fresh fruit.

“I don’t have much free time during the week, so I like to hit the clubs on the weekends. I use Sundays to catch up on sleep.” Stop babbling, Ebony chided herself. Be engaging and witty and let him know you’re both interested and available.

With a pensive expression on his face, he said, “You don’t know what you’re missing out on, Ms. Garrett. Church is where we feed the soul.” He paused briefly, unsure of whether to share a page from his autobiography. “Back in the day, I thought there was nothing better than running the street with my boys and partying the night away. But after my best friend died, I knew I had to make some serious changes in my life. I gave up that reckless lifestyle years ago and started attending Jubilee. That was the best decision I ever made.”

“Nothing wrong with having a good time,” Ebony countered, troubled to learn about his wild past. “After putting in twelve hours or more a day from Monday to Friday, I need an outlet. I need to unwind. I’m not much of a drinker,” she pointed out. “I go to the club to dance. Dancing is a great way to relieve stress. You should try it sometime.”

“Maybe you should cut back on your hours so you won’t be so stressed.”

Ebony bit her tongue. She wanted to tell him to mind his own damn business, but didn’t. In the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the flamboyantly dressed emcee swaggering toward the stage. He had a program in his right hand and a microphone in the other. She turned back to Xavier, her lips fashioned into a smile. His eyes were the lightest shade of brown she had ever seen and the overall image he projected was one of extreme confidence. Yes, he was just the kind of man she was searching for.

They talked for a few minutes about the church and then a long, painful silence settled in between them.

There was an air of shyness about him Ebony hadn’t picked up on initially. If she waited for him to build up enough courage to ask her out, they could be standing there all night, and time was of the essence. “Have you heard of A Taste of Venice?” Ebony asked, tilting her head to the right. Her stance gave him an unrestricted view of her cleavage.

Xavier kept his eyes on her face. She couldn’t be more obvious, he thought, refusing himself a glance at her chest. “That’s the new upscale restaurant on Hennepin and Ninth, right?” She nodded, and he continued. “I’ve been meaning to check it out, but I haven’t had the time.”

So far so good, Ebony thought, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. She paused, when a trio of long-haired, blue-eyed blondes approached the bar. Each woman was making googly eyes at him. How desperate can you be? she wondered, when the thinnest one in the group tossed some hair over her shoulder and winked. Heifer.

Ebony waited until the women slithered away before she spoke again. “Are you free for dinner this Friday? Say, eight o’clock. We can meet at the restaurant if you’d like.” She opened her clutch purse, pulled out a business card and had started to hand it to him when he politely declined. The smile slid off her face. “No, you’re not free this Friday or no, you don’t want to have dinner with me period?”

“Both.” His eyes smiled, belying his harsh words.

The vacant expression on his face caused self-doubt to take up residence in her mind. Is he for real? she wondered. Ebony pushed for more details. “I don’t understand why you don’t want to go out with me. It’s just dinner.”

Xavier downed the rest of his soda. It was time to bring this conversation to a close. The entertainment portion of the program was set to begin any minute now and he didn’t want to miss anything. His friend Liberty Williams was singing “Amazing Grace” and he just knew she was going to blow the roof off the church. “You seem to be a lovely woman and all, Ms. Garrett, but I can’t go out with you.”

Ebony was stunned by his brusque reply, but her face remained inexpressive. “Why? Are you dating someone? Engaged? Married?” No sense in making the same mistake twice, she thought, checking his left hand. No ring. In fact, aside from his watch, he wore no jewelry at all.

Xavier’s eyes raked the room. This was one of those situations where his bogus wedding band would have come in handy. A few years ago, he had taken to wearing a gold ring on his wedding finger, but it hadn’t been the deterrent he had hoped it would be. Women had descended on him in droves. They slipped business cards into his pocket, scrawled their phone numbers on napkins and told him his wife would never have to know. “No, I’m as single as they come.” Xavier left it at that. He had a feeling that if he said anything else, she might use it against him later.

“Then why won’t you go out with me?” Ebony cringed at the sound of her voice. She sounded desperate, pathetic, needy. Clearing her throat, she took a mouthful of soda and tried again. “What I meant was, what’s the harm in two single, very attractive people going out for dinner?” His eyes twinkled in amusement, which was all the encouragement she needed. Now she knew two things about Xavier Reed: he found her attractive and he thought she was amusing. Both were very good things. “I’m paying, Xavier. It won’t cost you a thing if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not it.” Xavier chose his words carefully. It wasn’t his style to hurt people’s feelings, but there was no way he was going out with this pushy woman. “I’m an excellent judge of character, Ms. Garrett, and I seriously doubt we’d have anything in common.”

Ebony nailed him with a look. The articulate and well-spoken man had obviously been blessed with good looks, but he was about as warm as an ice-rink. She took a step forward to leave, but the sting of his insult pushed her to ask, “How do you know we have nothing in common when you don’t know anything about me?”

I know you’re aggressive and bad news. Xavier decided to keep his observations to himself. He shrugged one shoulder. “Call it intuition.”

Ebony studied him. Low-cropped hair. Chiseled facial features. Sculptured physique. There was a distinguished almost regal bearing about him. He couldn’t be more than thirty, if that, but he was incredibly serious. Much too serious for a man so young. And handsome. Used to dating sociable, engaging men, not judgmental, ice-cold ones, Ebony quickly concluded that Xavier Reed would bore her to death and she was better off not going anywhere with him.

“Well, it was nice meeting you.” He put his empty glass on the bar, smoothed a hand over his blazer and admonished her to enjoy the rest of her evening. Xavier turned, but was hampered when she coiled a hand around his arm.

Ebony hated rejection. It was an incurable virus that could break someone down. Play with their mind. Taunt them when they least expected it. Xavier Reed might be stern-faced and aloof, but after a few drinks, and some laughs, he’d be putty in her hands. But first, Ebony had to convince him to go out with her. Then, and only then, would she seduce the pants off him. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” she purred, batting her eyelashes. “We don’t have to go to A Taste of Venice—we can go anywhere you want. When it comes to things like that I’m not fussy. I’m easy.”

I bet you are, he said to himself. Xavier slapped a smile on his face, in the hopes of screening the irritation he felt. Six years ago, he would have jumped at her offer. Easily swayed by glamorous women oozing sex appeal, he would have taken her out for an expensive meal, worked it off at one of Minneapolis’ trendy nightclubs and then whisked her back to his place for a night she’d never forget. But Xavier wasn’t the man he used to be. Gone were the one-night stands, meaningless relationships and bad-boy ways. Xavier had known it was time to quit playing the field when his closest friends had started dropping like flies.

First, Dominick had moved in with his girlfriend; then commitment-shy Lemar had gone off and gotten himself engaged; and these days, Juan was so consumed with his new lady love, two weeks had passed since they last spoke. The all-boys club had dismantled quicker than a female R&B group. He had lost his boys to women, and although he was happy for them, it made him hanker for a relationship all his own. He was saving up to buy a BMW, but aside from owning a temperamental, banged-up jalopy, every aspect of his life was in order. He owned a three-bedroom home in one of the city’s developing areas; had a substantial amount of money tucked away in low-risk investments; traveled two, sometimes three times a year; cooked, cleaned and washed better than most women and he had no baby mama drama to complicate his life. Returning to graduate school to earn a master’s degree in psychology was a long-range goal, but for right now, he was content being a high school guidance counselor and part-time economics teacher. All he needed was the right woman to complete the picture. He had played the field long enough and at thirty-two he was ready to start a family of his own. Xavier was in a settling-down frame of mind, and the woman clinging to his arm was not “the one.”

I wonder if I’ll ever find Ms. Right, he thought, as his eyes skimmed the banquet hall. Chatting with Ms. Garrett reminded Xavier of why he was still single. The twenty-first-century woman was too assertive, had more game than a rap star and didn’t have the patience to wait for a man to make the first move. She wanted to be in control. Wanted to run the show. Wanted to be the one to wear the pants in the relationship. What happened to the good old days when a man used to ask a woman out? Where are all the traditional women hiding? he wondered. The room was crawling with women. A handful of them were even beautiful enough to strut the runway. But all the ladies who had approached him tonight were of the Ms. Garrett persuasion—pushy, abrasive and eager to engage in carnal pleasures. Sweet, nurturing and modest was more of what Xavier had in mind for a girlfriend. He didn’t want to be with a human doormat, but on the other hand, he didn’t want to be with a woman who crammed her opinions down his throat and called the shots, either.

His eyes returned to Ms. Garrett. She smelled good, she looked good and she sounded good, but he wasn’t going out with her. No matter how hard she pushed. The woman was far too aggressive for his tastes. She had a backside that could rival J-Lo’s, but experience told him women who looked like supermodels—primed to perfection and smelling like a cosmetics counter—usually had the diva attitude to match. And besides, he wasn’t interested in a one-night stand; he was seeking a meaningful, long-term relationship that would eventually end up at the altar.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Garrett, but I can’t.” He freed his arm from her grasp.

“Are you sure?”

He thought, this woman is as persistent as a recurring dream. “Again, it was nice meeting you.” Xavier walked away, without giving her or her offer another thought.

When Ebony retook her seat a minute later, Opal greeted her warmly. “So, how did it go? When are you guys going out?”

“A quarter to never,” she said.

Opal broke out into a fit of giggles.

Ebony didn’t know what her friend was tittering about. The man had been about as friendly as a bulldog. Draping her napkin over her legs, she reflected on their exchange. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Mr. I’m-Too-Good-To-Go-Out-With-You was an arrogant jerk with an unlikable personality.

Her eyes searched the banquet hall. In his tailored suit and designer shoes, Xavier Reed was easily identifiable in the crowd. He was standing near the stage and, to her shock, laughing it up with a plus-size woman with an outrageous weave. So, he can laugh with her but he can’t even give me a smile? As she scrutinized him from head to toe, her eyes narrowed in distaste.

Xavier Reed wasn’t all that. He wasn’t even six feet and he had shifty eyes.

What woman in her right mind would want to go out with a short, leery-eyed, sourpuss anyway? she thought, stabbing her fork into a coconut drop. Xavier had done her a favor by turning her down. Going out with him for dinner would undoubtedly have been the longest two hours of her life. Comforted by her thoughts, she told Opal, “He’s not all that. He might look good from a distance, but up close he’s just as cute as the next guy. The man is no Taye Diggs.” When Opal rolled her eyes, Ebony laughed. “He’s not the one to help you get your groove back, girl.”

Brushing aside Ebony’s fallacious remarks, Opal said, “Who are you trying to fool? ‘He’s just as cute as the next guy.’ Please. That man is fine. He’d turn heads in the dark. You said so yourself.” After a brief pause, she asked, “Did you at least get his name?”

“Xavier Reed,” Ebony uttered, as if saying his name made her mouth ache.

“Ooh, he even has a sexy name!”

Ebony said nothing. She sampled her piece of carrot cake, and then washed it down with some sparkling apple cider. “Can we please talk about something else?”

“Oh, you’re just bitter because he turned you down. Just goes to show you, girlfriend. You can’t always get what you want.”

“Says who?”

Ebony checked her program. Eight performances left. She plopped her purse on her lap and fished around for her car keys. It didn’t matter if Kirk Franklin & the Family were up next, after this song she was going home. If Ebony had to sit through another hymn or contemporary gospel song, she was going to scream. Holler so loud people would think an evil spirit had possessed her.

When a middle-aged Spanish woman with a beehivelike hairstyle took the microphone a few seconds later and started singing an off-key rendition of Donnie McClurkin’s “We Fall Down,” Ebony bit down hard on her bottom lip. Most of the performers had an abundance of talent, but they had no stage presence whatsoever. The delivery was always the same. Take the mike, say a few words of encouragement, sing, give the Lord a wave offering or two and wrap it up. The first performance was tolerable, but by the sixth it was akin to slow torture.

Should have left with Opal, Ebony thought, folding her arms across her chest. Opal had departed to pick up her daughters from a birthday party, leaving Ebony to suffer through four more songs. Straightening her shoulders, she inched her chair back and swung her legs out from underneath the table. When Ebony caught her aunt Mae, she gave her a half wave and mouthed “goodbye.” One of the church sisters was giving her aunt a ride home, so Ebony was free to go whenever she was ready. She checked her watch again: 10:37. Time to bounce!

Ebony was thankful she had had the foresight to pick a table at the back of the hall. Now that she was ready to leave, she didn’t have to worry about disrupting the program when she walked out. The same time Ebony slipped her purse over her shoulder and stood, the emcee asked Brother Xavier to join him on the stage. I guess I can stay a few more minutes, she decided, lowering herself back onto the chair.

Xavier took the microphone, greeted the audience warmly and thanked everyone for coming. “On May 1 our ‘Changing Lives Through Meals’ program will kick off again. The last three years of the program have been an enormous success, due largely to our dedicated and selfless volunteers. We’re looking for people who can commit to helping out on Wednesday and Friday evenings for the duration of the summer. If you’re interested in getting involved in a worthy cause and want to give back to the community, please see me at the end of the program. I would love to discuss…”

No, thanks, Ebony thought, standing and moving briskly out of the banquet hall. Good night, sourpuss.

Chapter 3

“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—”