Pamela Yaye - Other People's Business

Autumn stole a glance at the attractive twosome, wishing she had some nerve gas to throw into their cozy semicircle. Her eyebrows wrinkled in displeasure. Shante was all over him like chocolate icing on a brownie. She looked on, utterly appalled, as the man-eater pulled out all the stops. Licked her crimson-painted lips. Twirled strands of her “hair” around her middle finger. And swayed seductively to the Ricky Martin song playing.

Women like that made Autumn sick. Trained in nothing, Shante Patterson had recently cashed in her trust fund and put the money to good use upgrading her physical assets. Her breasts had been enhanced, her eyes had been permanently eyelined and liposuction had erased her love handles. L.J. didn’t seem like the type to go for such a plastic-looking woman. But what did she know about what he, or any other man wanted for that matter?

“Come dance with me.”

Autumn peeked over her shoulder to ascertain who the throaty voice belonged to.

Omar winked at her, then his mouth broke out into an ear-to-ear smile. “I want to see your moves, Sexy Lady.”

Autumn returned his smile. Omar, the youngest of eight groomsmen and Peter’s cousin, had been flirting with her all night. She couldn’t help teasing him. “Are you sure? Because it looks like you could use a break.”

His smoky-gray suit jacket was nowhere to be found and his short-sleeved, olive-green dress shirt was drenched in sweat. He pulled out a white, crumpled handkerchief from his front pocket and wiped frantically to keep up with the sweat trickling from his neck-length dreadlocks and down his face. “Oh, I’m ready for you,” he came back with. “I have been waiting to get you out on that dance floor all night.”

Autumn opened her mouth to say maybe later, but caught herself. Why not? What she’d had with Tyrell was over. Done. Finished. To be no more. There was no use throwing away the rest of the night because she had a case of the blahs. She could analyze the demise of their relationship tomorrow. It was Melissa’s engagement party and she wasn’t about to let what had transpired with Tyrell put a damper on her night. She allowed Omar to pull her to her feet. Lobbing her shawl over her chair, she said, “All right, Omar, you asked for it. Let’s go!”

Omar wasn’t nearly as good a dancer as L.J., but he held his own on the dance floor. After working up a sweat to several radio-friendly songs, Autumn needed a break. Her feet were on fire. She didn’t know what had possessed her to dance in her cute shoes. Her heels earned high marks in the style and fashion department, but when it came to comfort they scored zero.

Autumn strained her voice so she could be heard over the music. “I need a break, Omar. I’m going to sit this one out, but I’ll see you later.” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her around the waist and whirled her around as though they were ballroom dancing.

“Just one more dance,” he begged as an updated version of a once-popular Temptations song filled the room. “Then we’ll sit.”

He had been singing the same tune for the last fifteen minutes. “Sorry, Omar, but I’m all danced out.” She untied his arms from around her waist and shouldered her way through the throng of gyrating dancers.

“Okay. But when you get your second wind, I’m first in line!” Omar called after her. But the music was so loud and the crowd so thick, Autumn could barely hear him.

Autumn was midway across the floor when she spotted Yvette, Shante and L.J. at “her” table. She thought of finding somewhere else to sit, but remembered her purse and shawl were on her chair.

She noticed L.J. eyeing her, and straightened her shoulders. Disregarding the stabbing pain shooting up her calves, she lifted her head high and put more hip into her walk. By the time she reached the table, L.J. was back in conversation with Shante, and her feet were screaming to be set free.

“Hey, girl.” Yvette swatted Autumn’s thighs playfully, then slapped a brand-new dollar bill into her palm. “Hot stuff! You looked real good out there, shaking your little money-maker for all it’s worth.”

Autumn burst out laughing. She was so loud, Shante and L.J. glanced over at her. Autumn ignored them, but quieted down. “I may have looked good, but my feet were bawling for relief,” she confessed, taking the vacant chair to Yvette’s right. Autumn slipped off her sandals, bent down and inconspicuously massaged her aching soles. The first thing she was going to do when she got home was bury the killer sandals in the back of her closet.

Three songs later, Omar shuffled over to their table and plunked down next to L.J. “Anyone interested in going to the Calypso Café? The party’ll be winding down soon, but the night’s still young, y’all!”

Yvette nodded. “Count me in. I’m in no rush to go home. Randall’s sprawled out on the couch, beer in one hand, remote in the other. He could care less what time I come home.”

Shante squeezed L.J.’s forearm. “Interested?”

L.J. nodded. “I’m game. I’m playing tennis with Pete in the morning, but it’s no biggie. I can whup him on just a few hours of sleep.” He locked eyes with Autumn, then directed his query at her. “What about you? Ready for some reggae music and an Island Mojo?” he asked in his best Jamaican accent.

Autumn wasn’t much of a drinker, but whatever it was it sounded tempting.

Reading the confusion on her face, he explained. “An Island Mojo is a fruity cocktail mixed with light and dark rum, lemon juice and grenadine. And once you try one, you’ll be hooked.”

The soothing sound of his voice and the glimmer in his eyes made Autumn wonder if L.J. was trying to work some mojo of his own. She didn’t intend to sound coy when she responded, but the look on his face said that was the message he got. “It sounds delicious, but I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll buy you one when we get to the club. You know what, Autumn? I’ll buy you as many as you want!”

Now look who’s trying to be cute, she thought, more than amused. They were out-and-out flirting and now the ball was in her court. Autumn was set to kick the game up a notch, but Shante beat her to it. “You know what my favorite Caribbean cocktail is, L.J.? Skinny-Dipping on a Nude Beach,” Shante purred. She laced her toned arms through his, and rubbed her chest across his forearm like it was butter and he was bread.

Autumn couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling. Shante was throwing out more take-me-home-tonight signs than a baseball catcher and it was annoying. This is torture, she thought, taking a mouthful of her lukewarm cream soda. Could she be any more obvious? Autumn would sooner go line dancing at a country bar than go anywhere with Shante.

Impatient for a change of scenery, Omar drummed his fingers on the table. “So, what’s the verdict? Are we going or what? People are starting to file out of here.”

“I’m ready,” Shante winked at L.J, then licked her lips teasingly. “I’m always up for some action. Anytime, anyplace, anywhere.”

Nixing another eye roll, Autumn searched for a plausible explanation for why she couldn’t join the group. Spending the rest of the evening watching Shante put the moves on L.J. was not her idea of fun. She was eager to apologize to L.J. for Tyrell’s deplorable behavior, but not with Shante the man-eater in the mix. Drinks at the Calypso was definitely out of the question. “I’d love to hang out some more,” she lied, “but I’m beat. I’ve been fighting all night just to keep my eyes open. Sorry, guys. This girl is going home to bed.”

“Come on,” Yvette pleaded, throwing her arms around Autumn’s shoulders. “I can’t remember the last time we went to the Calypso and enjoyed some live reggae music. Stop acting like a little old lady and come on. You can catch up on sleep tomorrow.”