Too Close for Comfort (13 page)

“Come on, Monya, you promised,” Yaya whined. Monya promised to pick her up and take her to Ochie's, but now she was reneging, complaining about having cramps and being tired.

“Yaya, just get in your car and go. I'm tired, my stomach hurts, and I'm going to bed.”

“Fine, Monya.” She hung up the phone. She walked into her room and lay across her bed. She was starving, and she was still pissed about her missing FedEx package. She even left the salon and went to FedEx herself, but they didn't have an answer, and promised that they would call as soon as they located the box.

Ochie's was just what she needed. There was no way she was driving to the Bottoms by herself. She looked over at the clock and knew that Taryn was not coming out of the house this late. Her stomach began rumbling. She sat up.

Taking out a pair of black sweats and a Michael Jordan jersey that she had only worn twice in three years, she got dressed. She threw on her Jordan's and grabbed a black baseball cap, pulling it tight on her head. She grabbed the keys to her Honda and walked into her garage. She hardly ever drove this car and noticed the immaculate condition it was still in as she removed the cover she kept on it.

She opened the door and climbed in. She smiled as she recalled all the good times she and Taryn had riding around in what was known as the “
creep
mobile,” after she got the Lexus. Whenever they wanted to be incognito, it was the vehicle of choice.
Those were the good old days
.

She started the engine and eased out the driveway. She cut the radio on and her Mary J. Blige's
My Life
CD began blasting. Rolling with the sunroof open and the music blasting, she felt free. Her relaxed feeling quickly shifted into apprehension, as she got off the interstate and entered the lower side of town. The dimly lit streets seemed even darker than she remembered, and her eyes kept darting from one side of the street to the other, praying she wouldn't run into any trouble. She was tempted to turn around, but felt a little better when she spotted the red, green, and yellow
Ochie's
sign and the well-lit parking lot.

She turned in and parked her car, making sure to lock the doors and set the alarm.

Sounds of reggae blasted as she opened the door and walked inside. People were standing throughout the club. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. The inside wasn't that big, but larger than she thought it would be. There were tables of varying sizes throughout, and there was even a full bar.

As she continued to the counter, where she noticed the “Place order here” sign, her eyes fell on a small dance floor.

“What can I get fa ya, chile?” a friendly woman asked.

Yaya couldn't help staring. The woman had the prettiest skin and whitest teeth she had ever seen. “Um, let me see . . .” Yaya looked up at the hanging menu. “A stewed chicken dinner with peas and rice and cabbage. Oh, and a side of macaroni and cheese.”

“Be right out. What's your name?”

“Yaya,” she answered, wondering why she wanted to know.

“Okay, Yaya. You can either wait at the bar or at a table. We'll call your name when it's ready.”

“Oh, okay,” Yaya said, feeling dumb for thinking the woman had ulterior motives. She walked over and stood at the bar, watching the crowd.

“Well, well, well . . . what are you doing here?—slumming?”

Yaya turned to see Fitzgerald standing next to her, drink in hand.

“I needed a drink after all the stress FedEx has put me through today.”

“Yeah, right—you're the reason I'm here having a drink,” he told her. “Talk about stress.”

“Whatever,” she said, trying not to be attracted to his smooth, chiseled, almond-colored body. It was a challenge, since the white linen shirt he wore fit so well; it seemed custom-made for him, along with the jeans hugging his behind. His dreads were pulled back, but a couple hung behind his back.

You don't like guys with dreads,
she reminded herself
. Besides, he's not even tall enough for you. What is he?—Five nine? Let's not even mention the fact that he's nowhere near the chocolate color you desire in all your men. He's not even worth looking at.

“Whatcha doing out here all alone, gal?” It was the worst fake Jamaican accent Yaya had ever heard.

She turned to see Lincoln smiling at her. “I can see you've had a few drinks, Lincoln.” She checked out his sleepy eyes, corny grin, and the empty glass in his hand.

“Yeah, a brother is feeling kinda nice. Speaking of brothers
—
what's up with you and mine over there?”

“Uh, that would be nothing
—
what's up with you and Taryn?”

“Taryn . . .” He grinned. “That's my girl. She is so cute, and I can just be myself around her. She's cool.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

“Well, enjoy the rest of your evening.” He walked away.

“What's up, Fitz?” A small group of girls came over and spoke. Dressed in denim shorts with bright green-and-yellow fitted tops, hair braided in perfect cornrows, they looked as if they had just stepped out of a reggae video.

“Hey there, what's going on?” He smiled at them.

Yaya smacked her lips as she saw him checking them out.

“You ain't been out here in a while—you been working hard?” One girl touched his arms.

“You know I have. But I had a hell of a day today, and I needed to get out and have some fun.”

“That's what's up. Let's go have fun then!” Another girl grabbed Fitz by the hand, and they all started dancing on the dance floor.

Soon, Sean Paul's “Temperature” began pumping from the speakers, and Yaya began rocking to the beat. She watched as the girls crowded around Fitz and pumped their bodies against his.

He seemed to be in his element as he danced to the beat with all three of them. Her eyes met his, and he grinned, as he wrapped his arm around the tiny waist of one of the girls.

The girl bent her body down in front of his and ground her derrière into his crotch.

He lifted his hand and beckoned for Yaya to come to him.

She didn't move.

He laughed and continued dancing.

For some reason, the longer she watched, the more irritated she became.

“Yaya!”

They continued to move to the beat in unison, the girl grinning and rubbing her arms on him.

“Yaya!”

Fitzgerald reached and pulled her to him, and the girl threw her leg around him.

“Yaya!”

She turned to see the waitress holding up a bag and pointing at her. She rushed over. “I'm sorry, I didn't even hear you calling me.”

“I see.” The girl laughed.

Yaya paid for her food and thanked the girl. She glanced back over her shoulder towards the dance floor, just as she exited the restaurant.

Fitzgerald and his dancers were no longer there. Making sure her keys were in hand, she walked out and got into her car. She was so preoccupied that she didn't even notice the text alert on her phone.

Once home, she took a bath, ate and got into bed, fighting thoughts of Fitzgerald as she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

“Good morning,” Monya sang, when Yaya walked through the door.

“I thought you were so sick last night; you look fine this morning.”

“Yaya, you know how my body gets on the first day of my period. I do feel better today. Tell you what—I'll go get you some Ochie's for lunch.”

“I don't even want it anymore.”

“Fine then. Taryn says she'll be in late this morning. She got a last-minute call this morning for a catalog shoot.”

“Are you gonna be able to do her nail appointments?” Yaya looked at the book under Taryn's name and noticed two names listed for that morning.

“Yeah. It's gonna be tight, but as long as everyone is on time, I'm good.”

“Where the hell is Celeste?”

“Haven't seen or heard from her.” Monya shrugged. “It's not like she does any work while she's here anyway. You should really fire that lazy girl. She doesn't even fit the mold of what we said we wanted in a receptionist.”

Yaya knew that Monya had a point. They did have a certain appeal that they had discussed wanting all of their employees to have.

Celeste did abide by the black-and-white color scheme they all wore daily, but instead of the chic, tasteful outfits that Monya, Taryn, and Yaya wore, she normally had on a pair of black jeans or knit slacks and an over-sized white shirt and a pair of black Reebok classics on her feet. Celeste never wore make-up and was basically a plain Jane, right down to the gold-colored, wire-rimmed glasses she wore.

As if she suspected she knew she was being talked about, Celeste walked through the door. “Hey, sorry I'm late.”

“Good morning,” Monya said, nonchalantly.

“Hey, Celeste, look, we need to talk. Come to the back with me for a minute,” Yaya told her.

They went into her office. “You've gotta step up your game, Celeste. Monya and Taryn, well . . . all of us have been noticing some areas that need improving.”

“I know I'm late, but I thought when you got my text and the picture, you were gonna call me back.”

“What text? I didn't get a text from you.”

“I sent you a text with a picture last night.” Celeste nodded. “I should've known that you didn't get it, when you didn't call me back.”

“Hold on, let me get my phone.” Yaya walked back into the salon and grabbed her phone out of her purse. Sure enough, she saw that she had two text messages waiting for her.

“What's up, peoples?” Fitz walked in, carrying a box. He placed it in front of Yaya. “Can I get you to sign for this, please?”

Yaya couldn't help smiling. She was elated. “I thought they said this box never arrived at the terminal to be delivered.”

“It arrived this morning, and I brought it straight over here because FedEx is tired of hearing you screaming about it. Now sign, so I can get outta here.” He passed her the board to sign. “And you're welcome!”

“Thank you, Fitzgerald,” she said, anxious to open the box. “Can I get that blade?”

He passed it to her. “I looked for you when you walked out last night, but I ain't see you. Why did you dip?”

“My food was ready,” she told him as she opened the box.

“Where the hell were you last night?” Monya asked.

“Ochie's,” Fitz answered.

“What? Yaya, you didn't even say anything about going to Ochie's last night. Who did you go with?”

“I went by myself.”

“What? I don't believe that.” Monya shook her head. “You ain't roll to the Bottoms alone, no way.”

“Yeah, she was there all alone. I tried to get her to dance for me, but the young chicks kinda intimidated her, so she ain't even step on the floor. You know we were jamming to Sean Paul.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! You think Yaya was intimidated by somebody dancing? That's funny.” Monya laughed.

“Hey, Yaya, you got change for a hundred?—What's up, Fitz?” Jarrod walked in and looked over at Monya. “What's so funny?”

“Fitz said that Yaya came to Ochie's last night by herself.”

Jarrod started giggling. “Not Ms. Thang. I don't think so.”

“That's not the funny part, though, Jarrod. He says that she was intimidated by some girls that were dancing on the floor. He thinks Yaya was too scared to dance.”

Both Jarrod and Monya were laughing so hard that they were shaking.

Fitz and Yaya looked at them like they were crazy.

“Y'all are acting high.” Yaya shook her head.

“We ain't blazed nothing yet,” Jarrod replied. “It's too early in the morning.”

“I still don't get what's funny,” Fitzgerald said.

“Go ahead and show him what you got, Yaya,” Jarron said to her. “Handle that.”

“I don't have anything to prove, Jarrod.” She reached into her purse and took out a wad of money. She counted out change for a hundred and handed it to him. “Here.”

Monya got up and walked over to the surround sound and began fumbling. “You ready to handle your business, Ya? I got your back!”

“I'm telling you I don't have anything to—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the sounds of Sean Paul and Beyoncé's “Baby Boy” streamed throughout the salon.

Yaya looked from Monya, to Jarrod, and finally to Fitz, who was looking amused.

She took a deep breath and walked to the middle of the floor. Closing her eyes, she began moving her hips to the beat of the music. Soon she was gyrating and caught up in the groove. She could feel Fitzgerald's eyes on her as she swayed before him, performing the exact moves as the dancers in the video. She could feel the muscles in her calves as she stepped in the black three-inch heels she had on her feet, wishing she had on a skirt so he could see them, rather than the form-fitting slacks she wore. She strutted and stood in front of him and did the same move the young girl did the night before. Only, when she lifted her leg and placed it on his shoulder, she sexily slid down to the floor in a full split.

Fitzgerald's eyes widened; she could see the hunger in his eyes.

She swung around and gracefully stood up, blowing kisses to Monya and Jarrod.

“Whoo hoo!”

“Bravo! Encore!”

She gave Fitz a simple smile. “See, I wasn't intimidated by them. I didn't want to show them up. Thanks again for my box.” She lifted the box up and headed back to her office, almost bumping into Celeste.