Velvet Carter - Blissfully Yours

* * *

“If you walk out on me, you’re not getting one red cent!” Those were the last words her ex-husband, millionaire Benjamin Lewis, the founder and CEO of BL Industries, had said as Ayana left their sprawling Long Island mansion. The estate was set on three manicured acres, complete with a pool, tennis court and guest house.

Although Benjamin ran one of the world’s leading electronic manufacturing companies, making millions in the process, he was a tightwad. After three years of marriage, Ayana had become sick and tired of adhering to his strict budget. He had given her a weekly allowance of two hundred dollars, much less than she had made when she was his secretary. He only increased her allowance when he wanted her to buy expensive outfits for their black-tie affairs. Benjamin loved parading her around. To him she had been nothing more than a trophy wife.

Ayana had become tired of being treated like one of his prized possessions. She couldn’t take any more of his selfish ways and filed for divorce, citing cruel and unusual punishment. While the proceedings wore on, Ayana had spent her days in a tiny studio apartment on the Lower East Side, sparsely furnished with a futon, throw rug and nine-inch television.

A few days after she’d moved there, the phone rang, startling her out of her sleep. She’d reached for the cell and pressed Talk. “Hello?”

“You are still asleep? It’s eleven-thirty,” Reese, Ayana’s best friend, had said.

“What’s up?”

“You need to get out of that apartment. It’s a beautiful sunny day, so let’s go to lunch at that new restaurant in the Village.”

“I don’t have money to waste on lunch. All my cash is going toward attorney fees.”

“What happened to all that jewelry Ben gave you?”

“I have a few pieces here. But the rest is in my safe-deposit box. Why do you ask?”

“You need money, right?”

“Of course I need money. You of all people know how stingy Ben was,” Ayana had said, sounding irritated.

“Instead of sounding like a wounded victim, you should sell some of that ice.”

“I’m not selling my jewelry. That’s the one thing Ben did right. He may have been a frugal SOB as far as giving me cash, but he didn’t hesitate giving Tiffany, Cartier and Harry Winston his plastic. He loved telling his business associates how much he spent on my jewelry. It was like a competition to see which man could spend the most on their wives.”

“Girl, you have a fortune sitting in the bank collecting dust.”

“Like I said before—I’m not selling anything. I like my jewelry.”

“Have you ever heard of paste?”

“No. What’s paste?”

“Basically, paste is leaded glass made to look like diamonds and colored stones. I know a place where you can take your jewelry, have it copied and then sell the originals.” Reese had once worked in the Diamond District as a sales clerk, and she still had connections on Forty-Seventh Street.

“I don’t know, Reese. This jewelry is the only thing of value I have left. If I sell it, then what?”

“You’ll be able to pay your bills and not have to wait for the divorce settlement to get some much-needed cash.”

Ayana had digested her friend’s words. Reese made perfect sense. Ayana thought about the five-carat diamond engagement ring, set in platinum and sitting in the safe-deposit box. The ring that she had once treasured and wore with pride had little meaning now that her marriage was over. “I guess you do have a good point.”

“I have an excellent point. Besides, you’ll still have the same jewelry designs to wear—they just won’t be the real thing. This jeweler is so good that no one will be able to tell the difference.”

“Okay. I could actually sell my wedding set and a few other pieces. That should hold me over until the divorce is final.”

That afternoon, Ayana had gone to the bank and taken her five-carat engagement ring, diamond-encrusted wedding band and sapphire necklace out of the safe-deposit box, then met Reese at the jeweler’s shop on Forty-Seventh Street. A week later, she’d picked up the pastes and couldn’t believe how authentic the pieces looked. She’d sold the originals, making enough money to sustain herself for the duration of the proceedings.

* * *

“Ana! Ana!” yelled the children from the shelter when they saw the yellow scooter pull into the yard.

New Beginnings was near and dear to Ayana’s heart. The small, privately run shelter relied on donations from generous patrons, and Ayana was at the top of that list. She didn’t have any children of her own and considered the kids at the shelter her babies.

“Hey, guys! What’s happening?” Ayana hopped off the scooter, gathered as many children into her arms as she could hold and gave them all a huge hug.

“Now, now, chilrin, leave Ms. Lewis be. Go now and do yo work,” Marigold, the shelter’s administrator, said as she came into the yard waving her hands and shooing the children away.

“Did you get the shipment yet?”

“All dose big boxes come, and me didn’t know what to do wit all dose clothes.” She smiled. “We thank ya.”

“You’re welcome. It was no problem. All I did was collect clothes from friends of mine who were purging their closets.”

“Ya do more than send clothes. Ya send checks too, and dey help keep dis place going.”

Ayana looked a bit embarrassed; she didn’t like when Marigold praised her for helping. The shelter needed assistance, and she was just glad that she was now in a position to help.

“And dat stuff you send look brand-new. Some of dem tings still had da tags on ’em.”

“Yeah, I know. I only select clothes that are gently worn, if not new. Did you see the note attached to that blue dress? It’s for you.”

“I saw it, but dat dress is too fancy fo me.”

“It’s only a sundress.”

“Yeah, a sundress by Ralph, uh...uh...”

“Lauren. Ralph Lauren.”

“Where me gonna wear some designer dress to? After me husband die, I don’t go out much.”

“Well, you never know what life has in store. Maybe you’ll get invited to a party or asked out on a date. It’s always good to have a go-to dress in your closet.”

“I no want no date. James was de love of me life and after he die, a piece of me died too.”

“Marigold, you’re still a good-looking woman, and I’m sure James wouldn’t want you to be alone for the rest of your life.” Ayana sympathized with her friend but always tried to be encouraging.

“James did tell me not to pine away for him for too long,” she said with a sorrowful look in her eyes.

“See what I mean. James wouldn’t want you spending every night home alone.”

“Okay, okay, me keep Mista Lauren. Ya wanna come in fo some lunch? Me make kingfish stew and coco bread.”

“No, thanks. I already ate. I have to go back home and pack. I just came by to see if you got the clothes and to see you and the kids.”

“We hate to see ya go.” Marigold gave Ayana a warm hug.

“I hate to go, but duty calls.”

The truth was, Ayana wasn’t looking forward to returning to New York, but her hiatus was over. The reality show that she starred in was resuming filming in a few days. She had spent two glorious months in Jamaica, eating her mother’s home cooking, taking long walks on the beach and meditating at her favorite place high in the Blue Mountains. The serenity and beauty of the island, and being surrounded by people who loved her, had rejuvenated her soul. Now Ayana was ready to resume her hot-blooded persona and tackle another season of Divorced Divas.

Chapter 2

“We’ll be starting our descent in the New York area shortly, so please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts.”