Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [66]
“Hello.”
“Listen here, missy, don’t you ever hang up the phone in my face. I want my money for your aborted wedding, and I want it now. Should I call Basil, since he’s your manager, and get a check?”
“Don’t you call Basil for nothing! As soon as I get my first royalty check you’ll get your money.”
“You two are fucking with the wrong diva. If I don’t get my money soon, you’ll both be sorry.”
“Goodbye, Ava,” I said as I placed the phone back into its cradle. I walked back into the dining room and was greeted by the sound of my own voice. The ballad “I’m Not in Love” was playing, and I must say it sounded perfect.
Desmond smiled at me and said, “I hope you don’t mind. But I had a sudden urge to hear a beautiful lady do her thang.”
I wanted to cry at Desmond’s kind gesture, but instead I walked slowly toward him. Desmond opened his arms, pulled me close like he wanted to protect me from the world, and slowly we started to dance.
The Liars Who Lunch
I was sitting at the bar at B. Smith’s in midtown having my second club soda, when a woman looking like Pam Grier’s older sister walked in the place like she owned it. She paused, looked around and then strutted over toward me like she was walking the catwalk.
“Are you Bart Dunbar?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m Bart,” I said as I lifted myself from the bar-stool and extended my hand.
“Oh, honey, give me a hug. I’m Ava Middlebrooks, your partner in revenge,” Ava said as she hugged me.
“Nice meeting you, and thanks again for the little care package,” I said as I pulled away from Ava.
“Come on, let’s get a seat. I made a reservation and asked them to give us something private so we can talk without somebody hanging on our every word. You know, LaVonya and her gossip friends get a lot of their information from waiters and busboys,” Ava said.
A model-thin Asian hostess led us to a table in the back of the pale pink restaurant. Ava pulled off her aqua silk scarf and stood with her back to me. It took me a few seconds to realize she expected me to help her out of her fur coat. This woman was playing her diva act to the hilt, I thought as I removed the coat from her shoulders. Ava was dressed in an elegant raspberry sorbet-colored sweater dress that looked like mohair or cashmere, and her body looked fabulous for a middle-aged woman. She was also wearing a lot of expensive-looking jewelry. At least, it looked expensive. Could have been Joan Rivers jewelry for all I knew. The waiter pulled out a chair for Ava, who sat down like she was a graduate of Miss Porter’s.
“Would you like me to check your coat?” the waiter asked.
“No, baby. It’s fine right here next to me.” Ava smiled.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Yes, darling,” Ava said, and then she looked at me. “I never get tired of saying this,” she whispered. Then she turned toward the waiter and ordered, “Bring us a bottle of your finest champagne, darling young man,” as she released an infectious laugh.
“I don’t know if I should be drinking in the middle of the day. I have a couple of callbacks this afternoon,” I said.
“Callbacks. Oh, how I love that word. Are you an actor, darling?”
“Not really. I do some videos, and if I’m lucky, a commercial every so often. I hope you didn’t think I was being shady when you called me. There are so many crazies out there. I have to watch my back,” I said.
“No, I didn’t even think about it.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“So you’re a model slash video hunk? You are a good-looking, man. I see why that Basil was after you. You need to consider letting me manage you once we finish with Basil,” Ava said as she picked a piece of sourdough bread from the table’s wicker basket. She delicately took the proper knife and spread butter on the edge of the bread.
“So you’re a personal