Pamela Yaye - Love on the Rocks

“That sucks.”

“Tell me about it. Another Friday night with nothing to do and nowhere to go.”

“What are you going to do instead?”

Tangela shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Wash my hair, rearrange my furniture. You know, the usual single-girl crap.”

“Wanna stop by SushiSamba tonight? It’s been a while since I was there.”

“What about Hugo?”

“He’ll be fine. He has the Playboy channel to keep him company until I get home.” Snickering, she pulled Tangela to her feet. “Let’s finish up so we can go eat. Mama’s starving!”

Socializing with clients after hours was one aspect of his job that Warrick hated. Away from their wives and esteemed country club members, sane, upstanding businessmen propositioned women half their age, guzzled champagne like it was water and partied more vigorously than a championship-winning football team.

Known for its carnival-inspired decor and twenty-one-seat sushi bar, SushiSamba appealed to professionals and partiers alike. It was the place to be seen at, and international real estate mogul Hakeem Kewasi had requested they have dinner at the upscale restaurant lounge. Proud of his movie-star looks, he’d hit on waitresses and girls barely out of their teens, but seemed particularly taken by full-figured women.

Warrick was nursing his second beer, wondering how much longer he’d have to babysit the businessman, when he felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. Convinced it was his father calling to check up on him, he said, “I’m going to the men’s room.”

“You’re not sick are you?”

“No. I feel great.”

“Good because the night’s still young, and I can’t wait to check out Vixen.”

“The topless bar?”

His eyes were bright. “My brother was here last year and he said the dancers at the club look like that Beyoncé girl.”

Warrick smothered a laugh. A week after Tangela had moved out, Quinten and the guys had dragged him to the gentlemen’s club on Paradise Road. He’d had a lot to drink, but he didn’t remember seeing any beautiful dancers there. Most of them looked like teenagers playing dress-up, not like the Grammy-winning superstar. “Vixen’s not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s just a lot of Las Vegas hype.”

“Andre said a hundred bucks can get me anything I want.”

There was no disputing that. Warrick wasn’t a saint and he loved clubbing as much as the next guy, but he’d rather go home and hang out in his living room than watch some bony chicks dance. He didn’t want to go to Vixen, but his dad had ordered him to show Mr. Kewasi a good time and that’s what he was going to do.

Strolling through the bar, he noted the coltish smiles the female patrons were shooting his way. Most were wearing designer outfits but had colorful tattoos on their shoulders and arms. Attractive in their own right, but not his type. Classy, sophisticated women who carried themselves with grace piqued his interest every time. Tangela would never dream of getting a tattoo. Or would she? If she could show up at the Hawthorne party in a skin-tight cat-woman costume, there was no telling what else she’d do.

The brunette sitting at the bar waved. Warrick returned her smile. He thought of approaching her, but when he saw her see-through outfit he changed his mind. It looked as if she’d stuffed two hot-air balloons under her dress. It was a wonder she didn’t topple over. Fake breasts didn’t appeal to him, and neither did silver tongue rings.

After using the washroom, he wandered into the lounge and sat down. The inviting decor, padded leather booths and lively music created a relaxing atmosphere. Pressing his BlackBerry handheld to his ear, he listened to his messages. Making a mental note to return the calls later, Warrick slid the phone into his pocket and stared up at one of the flat-screen TVs.

He checked the score of the Mariners game, relieved to see his team was beating the Yankees. An American Airlines commercial came on and he thought of Tangela. He wondered if she was out with her friends. On the weekends, she liked to go with her coworkers to the Karaoke Hut for cocktails. Singing off-key and encouraging others to do the same was something he couldn’t get behind, but Tangela always seemed to enjoy herself.

Warrick glanced over at the bar. Mr. Kewasi was gone. He combed the lounge for his prospective client. Ten minutes after his search began, he spotted the businessman in the dining area standing with a tall, slender women. The waiter was obscuring his view of her face, but he’d recognize those legs anywhere. Tangela!

Wanting to confirm his hunch, he stepped into the lounge. Tangela’s look was a slam-dunk. The white belted shirtdress was tight in all the right places and unlike all the other sisters in the restaurant she didn’t look as though she’d spent hours getting dressed.

Relieved to see a petite woman join them, Warrick felt the tension flowing through his body recede. He was in the middle of the room obstructing the flow of traffic and other patrons were eyeing him curiously, but Warrick didn’t move. Dazzled by Tangela’s stylish ensemble, he watched as she sat down at one of the round tables and crossed her long brown legs. Warrick swallowed the lump in his throat. At the Hawthorne party Tangela had been a seductive temptress, but tonight she looked more like her old self. The golden tones in her auburn hair made her eyes sparkle and a smile sat beautifully on her rosy lips.

Warrick didn’t know how he got across the room, but he pulled up to their table and stood there, studying her. He waited impatiently for Tangela to acknowledge him, but when she didn’t, he said, “Twice in one month. This has got to be some sort of record.”

Tangela spun around, her smile frozen in place. “What are you doing here, Warrick?”

“Entertaining a client.”

Surprise splashed across Mr. Kewasi’s face. “You know these two beauties?”

“Yes. Tangela and I used to date.”

“A long, long time ago,” she added, shifting in her chair.

The businessman gestured to the chair beside him. “Sit down, Warrick. I’m buying these lovely ladies dinner. Carmen was just telling me how stressful her job is.”

“Stressful?” Warrick started to make a joke, but thought better of it. The last thing he wanted to do was antagonize his ex-girlfriend and her friend. They were being nice to his client and that was a very good thing. “The pay’s not the greatest, but I bet you’ve been to some amazing places,” he said instead.

“I have, but being a flight attendant isn’t a walk in the park. There are days when I’m so tired I fall asleep in the shower!”

Mr. Kewasi wasn’t convinced. “But you can travel anywhere in the world and your friends and family can accompany you for just a fraction of the cost.”

“Every job has its drawbacks and being a flight attendant is no different.”

“Drawbacks? Really? Like what?” Mr. Kewasi asked, studying the brunette thoughtfully.

“For starters, there’s a common misconception that we’re waitresses. We’re not. We’re highly skilled flight specialists, equipped to deal with everything from ill passengers to operating cabin equipment and handling unexpected safety matters.”

Mr. Kewasi grinned. “No offense, ladies, but you do serve drinks.”

“Imagine this,” Tangela began, facing him. “You’re on an eight-hour flight to Paris and a few minutes after takeoff, you start to have trouble breathing. Sweat’s dripping down your face, your hands are clammy and it feels like your heart is about to explode out of your chest.”

The businessman adjusted his collar.

“You don’t want a waitress coming to your aid, do you? No, you want a trained, proficient flight attendant to keep you from dying in your first-class seat, right, Mr. Kewasi?”