Marcia King-Gamble - All About Me

“Well what do you say?” Manny asked, glancing at his buffed nails and then back at me.

“What do I say about what?”

“About starting this weekend?”

I gave him another hug almost knocking him over.

“You’re the man.”

“It’s strictly commission,” Manny warned. “You’ll have an office and a desk in that cubicle. And you’ll need to be on time. Understand?”

“Do I get a secretary who’s goin’ to screen my calls?”

“You’re pushing it, Cherrie.” He called me Cherrie to annoy me. “I’m just trying you out for size.”

Back to the weight thing or was it just my imagination.

I curled up one side of my lip, kinda like a dog does and snarled, “Okay, Saturday it is, first thing. Thank you, Manny.” Then I wiggled my fingers and sailed off.

I had to pinch myself. I was now a full-fledged real estate agent and already I had properties to show: Quen’s two apartments. Next on the agenda, business cards.

A big fat smile creased my face as I crossed the parking lot. Things sure were looking up. I’d lost two pounds this week, gotten two clients and had a new job. Now I needed to focus on getting that promotion at the Flamingo Beach Chronicle.

It might require Ian Pendergrass. Jen wasn’t about to hand over her column to me, and truthfully I didn’t want it; at least not all of it. I just wanted to get credit where credit was due. Talking to the editor, Luis Gomez, would be useless. Luis was too much of a wuss to do anything about it.

I sat planning my strategy while eating lunch. Yuck, I hated canned tuna fish and what could a measly boiled egg do to satisfy real hunger? I found a guest spot in Jen’s condo lot and swung the Honda into it. There were days Jen liked us to work from her condo and today just happened to be one of those days.

“So how did it go?” Jen asked, the moment she let me into her apartment.

“I got the job.”

“Good for you. By the way that stack’s getting huge,” she said, pointing to the growing pile of letters in her box. Letters I hadn’t the time or desire to read, though it was supposedly my job to tell her which ones required her attention.

She was already banging away on that laptop of hers.

I’d made no secret about this job interview. I’d been crying poverty for a long time. I’d threatened to find a job as an exotic dancer; sliding up and down poles and wagging your tits in some horny guy’s face paid bucks.

I’d told Jen I’d give the required notice if something good came along. I didn’t want her thinking I would always be here; the loyal assistant that she’d promised to take on a cruise and then dumped. Maybe if she thought I was going to walk I could finagle a big fat raise. Nobody else in town could provide the kind of inside information I could.

Grabbing the pile of letters, I made myself comfortable on the couch. A bag of potato chips would have been perfect right now. But for now I would have to settle for an awesome view of the open bay and fantasize what it would be like to live on some fancy boat with a deck hand slobbering all over me. Mentally, I had already moved in.

“Chere! Letters!”

“Okay, okay,” I jumped up and made a halfhearted attempt to read. I waved a letter at her. “This one’s from Camille Lewis complaining about Winston.”

Camille was Jen’s neighbor from hell. She and her husband lived in 5D. Camille was a nosy, loud West Indian woman who loved getting into peoples’ business. Winston, the quiet, long-suffering husband, had pretty much thrown in the towel. Why Winston put up with Camille no one knew. Some speculated she did cartwheels in bed.

“Read it to me,” Jen ordered, a pencil clenched between her teeth.

My painted on eyebrows arched, and with some satisfaction, I read aloud. I hated Camille and she hated me.

“Dear Jenna,

I have lost respect for my husband. He’s a puppy dog and just follows me around. The worse I behave, the more loyal he is. I push to get a reaction, any reaction. He’s no longer interested in sex. All he wants to do is sleep. He’s a man of a certain age. Do you think he needs Viagra? I don’t want to leave him. Should I get a lover?”

Jen frowned. “Why do you think it’s Camille?”

“’Cause there ain’t nobody in this town she can talk to about her situation. Nobody trusts her.”

“There isn’t anyone in this town she can talk to,” Jen corrected.

“Whatever.”

I was trying to clean up my act, really I was. It’s just when you’ve talked a certain way for so long, it’s comfortable for you.

“Give me that.” Jen reached out a hand.

I handed her the letter and went back to reading the others. I was bored, and sick to death of reading about other people’s problems. But something made me look up. I froze. On top of Jen’s desk was a pile of bridal magazines.

It was a sad reminder that I wasn’t getting any younger. My biological clock was going tick-tock, and I had no man around. Time to hit the john before I got weepy.

“Where are you going?” Jen called after me as I wobbled down the hallway in my three-inch platforms. “Stay away from the refrigerator.”

She knew me that well. And yeah, I was beginning to feel faint. The lousy boiled egg and tuna minus mayonnaise had made me hungrier. I blinked a couple of times and dry-eyed, doubled back.

“I’m taking the tour of my new home,” I said, trying to sound jolly. Fat girls are supposed to always be happy. I wasn’t. “When can I move in?”

“When do you want to move in?”

“Tomorrow.” I was half kidding. But this was living in the lap of luxury compared to how I lived. My landlady wanted me out. I had a running toilet and a broken dishwasher that hadn’t been fixed in weeks and I’d been slow on my rent.

“How about week after next? That’ll make it close to the end of the month,” Jen said. “It’ll give me time to move some things into Tre’s place, the rest of the stuff I’ll put in storage.”

“Yeah, two weeks will work. I need a favor.”

“I’m not lending you money.”

I cut my eyes at her. I’d only borrowed money from her once and I’d offered to pay it back with interest when my numbers came in. She’d refused to accept anything more than the loan.

“Take me shopping.”

“Sure. Do you have a credit card you can still use?”

I shot her a dirty look. “I need business clothes. Manny says if I’m to work in real estate I need to dress the part.”

“Manny is right. We could go shopping after you finish reading those letters. I’ll even treat you to dinner at the Pink Flamingo later.”

“Okay you got it.”

I had my teeth set for plump pork chops, garlic smashed potatoes and at least three buttered rolls.

“What are you going to do about your hair?” Jen asked, circling me.

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Big hair’s dated, hides your pretty face.”

I was sick to death of hearing about my pretty face. I’d been hearing about it all my life, that and my weight. Enough already, it was enough to make a body do some serious eating.

Getting rid of my weave meant I’d need a relaxer and a cut. Jen knew how much I made. Couldn’t she let the weave slide? I’d have to take out a second mortgage just to improve my appearance and I didn’t own a home.

“All right, all right. But I don’t want to look like those old ladies with the helmet hair and tight curls.”

“What about going natural. Just add a little texturizer to your hair and you should be fine. If you play up your eyes and highlight your cheekbones, I say move over Halle, Chere’s the new girl in town.” She laughed and I laughed with her.

“Okay back to work.”