“So, how did you get my referral?” I ask as I hold up a long, royal blue mother-of-the-bride gown. It’s heavy with petals around the waist.
“Well, my nephew called me up, saying his friend, Dawn, had a client for me—”
“Potential,” I cut her off to clarify this extremely important fact.
“Well, of course. No contracts have been signed yet.” Bertha lets out a nervous chuckle.
I go back to scanning the pieces. The next is a sleeveless, maroon, sequined gown. I can swear to seeing my grandmother in decades ago.
“What details did Dawn give, Bertha?” I have to keep her talking because I quickly pick up that when she speaks, she looks away from me. I don’t want her reading my reactions—that I may not be controlling very well while inspecting the pieces.
“Well, she said that though you are young, your elegance is well pronounced…more traditional than trendy,” Bertha explains with her hands clasped together at her chest.
“Hmmmm…that Dawn knows me that well, huhn,” I mutter as I go to the next piece, a brown polyester pantsuit with off-white stitching at the cuffs of the jacket. “Did she tell you about the event?”
“Yes,” Bertha’s head pops back over to me. “She said that you’re the escort of a friend of hers…a client, I believe.”
“Ah-huhn,” I murmur as I decide I’ve had enough. I don’t believe even Yazmine would wear any of these antiquated pieces.
She smiles politely and I watch as her eyes drift down to my hand. “Oh! You’re engaged? The impression I got was that you escorted, as an occupation perhaps?”
Is she serious?
Or Dawn is that damn conniving!
“Yes…happily. In fact, it’s my fiancé’s event that I’m being outfitted for.” I don’t want to be offended by this woman’s oblivion. It’s perfectly clear to me that she’s been sent here as a ruse and not in genuine intent to assist. “Well, thanks for your time. I have another designer to screen, but will get back to you with my conclusion,” I say as I go for my phone that’s in my top desk drawer and bring it back out to the chairs. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just take a few flicks of these to keep all ideas in mind.”
On a shaky breath, Bertha concedes, “Sure. I’ll look forward to your call.”
I’m sure I knocked out the little confidence she’s been able to summons after being out of the “business” for so long. After taking the pictures, just in case I need evidence of Dawn’s tomfoolery, I see Bertha out the door. I then cross my office with my mind racing.
So, Dawn’s still vying for Azmir’s attention—or bed, huhn? The next contemplation is, ‘Do I tell Azmir or don’t I?’ I don’t want any more secrets between us than what’s been kept, but I have to be careful of my grievances regarding the woman who almost broke us. The one he’s decided to keep around.
Sprawled out on one of the guest chairs facing my desk, I take a deep breath and blow it out, finally deciding to eat this one. I need to be strategic with my handling of Ms. Taylor, calculating, even. I need to think and respond as Azmir would.
However, what needs to be handled is the sudden disappearance of Brian Thompson. I recall seeing him at the meeting Chesney and his team called with Smith, Katz & Adams Sports Medicine Center after the fellatio tape that everyone believes is starring me—or more appropriately, Divine’s girl—went viral. He didn’t seem himself there. I remember how his face was still healing and he barely gave me a glance. I was so stressed that day that I was more concerned with the meeting concluding than clearing the air with Thompson. But something isn’t right; I feel it in my gut.
I walk over to my desk and open my center drawer. Flipping through While You Were Away slips, receipts, and non-pertinent business cards for one in particular. Brian Thompson’s isn’t the easiest to find, but it’s the most distinctive, as it’s a metallic blue stationary with a velvety texture in the front. Using the information on there, I try his office first just to be told by his secretary that he’s been on leave and isn’t due to return for a few weeks. She offers to put me through to his second in command. I have to think and think fast.
“Ummmmm…this is more of a personal call…well, kind of. See, he inquired about enrollment for his niece, Brandy, at dance school last summer, and I told him that I’d contact him if there were any openings. The slots fill up quickly.” I quickly realize that as my lie is growing, so is the volume of my voice. I take it down a notch, not wanting any ear hustlers to pick up on my charade. “…and I remember how disappointed she was when we told them we were booked. He left his card, but—”