Chapter Eleven
Lola
Finesse had given me another chance. I was determined not to make any more mistakes. It was time to put on my game face because time was running out for me to come up with the money I needed to keep my family on the path to prosperity.
This time when I got a text message on my private line, Precious and Michael were at my neighbor’s house spending the night. Jeremy was at a friend’s house too, but he told me he’d be back later. I changed into the elegant dress that I’d modeled for Finesse during my interview. The text message simply read: Dress your best. A limo will pick you up in front of the Gateway Arch at 7:45. Don’t be late and if you fuck up this time, you’re finished.
It was ten minutes to seven so I wasn’t working with much time. I brushed my long, fluffy curls over to one side, doing my best to look like a million bucks. Hadn’t a clue what kind of man I would be meeting tonight, but I suspected it wouldn’t be pretty.
I hoped like hell this was one of those instances where I just had to show up and be somebody’s eye candy for the night. I could do that very well and the way the one-shoulder, satin silver dress with rhinestones flowing at the top hugged my curves, I was sure any man would be pleased. I stepped into the glitter peep-toe platform pumps, feeling like a movie star on her way to the Academy Awards. My M•A•C makeup was on like a work of art. With a touch of nude gloss covering my lips, I was ready to go. I drove at a fast pace down Interstate 70, trying to make it to the Gateway Arch on time. I parked my car in a parking garage; then I hurried because it was already 7:42 P.M.
I sat waiting on a concrete bench with my legs crossed. My elegance captured the attention of many admirers, but I didn’t feel out of place because wedding parties had a tendency to take pictures on the Arch grounds. I looked across the street at a couple who had just gotten married. They looked too adorable and seemed happy as ever. Just for a moment, the couple took me back to my happier times with Xavier.
He was a good man, until he started cheating and lost his job. Everything went downhill from there, and it was so funny how you could think you had your life all planned out, then life threw you a curve. Never in my wildest dream did I ever think I would be sitting here waiting for a limo to come pick me up so I could meet a man I didn’t know.
I continued to think about who he was, what his occupation was, and how he was going to look. Could I even get through this? I wasn’t sure, but as I saw the white Jaguar limo with shiny chrome roll in front of me, I knew it was now or never. The chauffeur got out and I stood, moving forth in his direction.
“Lola Jones,” he said, already pulling the back door open for me.
“Yes. That would be me.”
His eyes beamed; then he closed the door behind me. I eased onto the plush white leather seat that curved to my backside, making it very comfortable. The limo drove away, and I sat all alone eyeballing the lavish surroundings. Inside was a mirrored ceiling with neon purple lights, and a bar that had numerous champagnes and other alcoholic beverages. My heels sunk into the rich black carpet, making me feel like a movie star in the making. As I listened to the soothing jazz play, my mind drifted. I closed my eyes and rested my head back on the adjustable headrest, trying to take all of this in. My deep breaths were supposed to help calm my nerves, but not even this five-star treatment could ease the nauseated feeling I had inside. I figured the alcohol would help to put me at ease, so I nibbled at my nails and decided to make myself a drink. My choice was cranberry juice and vodka. It would help to loosen me up, calm my jitters, and wash away the memories from my head of my first experience. I twirled the ice and liquids around in the crystal glass; then I went all in. Tasting more cranberry juice than anything, I added more vodka. This time it was right.
While drinking, I kept looking out of the window, eager to know where the driver was taking me. He was headed toward the airport. When he merged right at the Lambert Airport exit, I wasn’t so sure where he was going. I seriously thought I was about to fly somewhere, until he pulled in front of the Holiday Inn. I waited until he opened the door, but I was unsure about where to go from here.
“I hope you enjoyed your ride, Ms. Jones. When you go inside, look for the Ambassador Ballroom on the lower level. The gentleman you’ll be accompanying tonight is Mr. Mannish Major. Have a nice time and call me when you’re ready to be picked up. My name is Stan.”
He handed me a business card that had his name and phone number on it. I tucked it into my glittery purse, which matched my shoes, and slowly walked into the hotel. The lobby was decorated with contemporary furniture and was lit with hanging chandeliers. Since the chauffeur mentioned the lower level, I headed to the gold elevator to find the ballroom.
From a short distance, I could hear someone talking and a whole lot of people laughing. I stood outside of the door at the Ambassador Ballroom, taking a few more deep breaths before entering. I felt a bit woozy from the alcohol, and my vision was slightly blurred.
“Mannish Major,” I whispered underneath my breath. “Tuh, what kind of name is that? I hope Mr. Mannish has good manners.” I chuckled, trying to pull myself together, realizing just how unprepared I was for this. I patted my hair to make sure no strands were out of place. After one more deep breath, I pulled on the heavy, wooden door. I hoped to see many people walking around mingling. That way, no one would notice me. However, that didn’t happen. As soon as I crossed the threshold, my eyes came in contact with numerous people sitting in rows of chairs. The light-skinned, attractive man standing up front talking paused to glare at me. His untimely action caused everyone sitting to snap their heads in my direction. I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights. The stares made me jittery. I tiptoed in, searching for the nearest seat I could find.
“There’s a seat right over there,” the man standing up front said, pointing to a seat that was two rows from the front.
I didn’t know who this Mannish person was, but I was sure he was somewhere within the crowded room. The last thing I wanted was for him to see how uneasy I was, so I pretended to be a woman in command and down the middle aisle as if it were a runway, sauntered working it. Many people in the room, particularly the women, looked on with jealousy escaping their eyes. Most of the men’s eyes were full of glee. Some people were whispering, but the man up front appeared to be in awe. He resumed his discussion after I took a seat.
“So, where was I?” he said, easing one of his hands in his pocket and gliding across the floor as he spoke.
The brother was razor sharp in his straight-leg pants and silk striped tuxedo shirt, which was neatly tucked in. The sleek shirt tightened on his muscles that bulged through, particularly on his chest and arms. But his arrogance annoyed me.
“Right,” he said, snapping his finger. “The beautiful lady over there had asked me about my agent and how an aspirant writer must go about finding one. Well, my agent, Jacqueline Wells, is an awesome woman who truly knows what’s up with the book industry. The moment I spoke to her, I knew we would be a good fit. The key is finding an agent who is a fit for you and for the kind of genre you write. Your query letter must be catchy, and it has to pull the agent into your story, even if they’ve never read your manuscript. Make sure your query is error free, because many agents are turned off by those who do not take the time to perfect it. Remember, those letters are a representation of what kind of manuscript they can expect to see. If it’s all jacked up, you don’t stand a chance of getting even a sample chapter read.”
The young lady across the room nodded and several more hands went up. Mr. Arrogant answered more questions, but as the night went on, I found myself moved by his professionalism and his keen sense of humor. He definitely knew how to make the audience laugh, and I had a thing for men with perfectly straight, clean white teeth. I had stopped looking around the room at the name tags on people’s clothes, trying to find Mannish. Instead, I focused on the man up front who walked smoothly across the floor, having my attention on lock.
He paced the floor while talking, stroking his perfectly trimmed goatee every once in a while, and stared at me with his sandy-colored eyes. The Ralph Lauren belt holding up his pants made his waistline look fit, and I imagined myself easing my arms around him just to take a squeeze.
My naughty thoughts were back, trying to creep into my head. But they immediately faded away when I started to think about my real purpose for being there. It definitely wasn’t to listen to an author discuss his book. I crossed my legs and turned my head to observe more name tags. Many of the men who I looked at smiled, some winked, and another one puckered his lips. I didn’t want to become a distraction, so I turned around and got back to admiring the plausible speaker.
He folded his arms across his broad chest and stood back on his bow legs, which were separated. I wanted to eat him alive, and when his captivating eyes connected with mine again, I felt a sharp jab inside my pussy. I tightened my legs, hoping that he hadn’t noticed me squirming or my nipple imprints poking through my dress. I wondered if any of the other women in the room had an urge to run their fingers through his Caesar haircut and stroke his natural waves. But that answer became obvious when he invited everyone to come forward and get a peek of his next book and purchase another one. The thirsty women in the room rushed up to him, flocking around the table where he sat. It was so crowded that I could no longer see him.
Everyone in the room was standing and waiting in line to meet the author. I started to get a feeling as if I was in the wrong place. I must have looked at every man’s name tag in the room, until something finally hit me. Finesse said his Champagne Ladies catered to authors as well. As top-quality as this man was, and with all of the women flocking around him, there was no way he needed an escort. Besides, he had a wedding band on his finger. I didn’t know his name yet, but as I stood in line, looking very out of place with my after-five dress on, a man behind me tapped my shoulder. I turned around.
“You don’t have a name tag on, so I wondered if I could get your name? You’re very attractive, and if I wasn’t sitting when you came through that door, girl, you would have knocked me off my feet.”
I smiled while looking at the older, polite gentleman with gray hair. He definitely was not my type. “Lola,” I said with my eyes on his name tag. Thank God his name wasn’t Mannish. “Thanks for the compliment, Ernest. I regret being so late. How long has this been going on, and what’s the author’s name again?”
Ernest looked at his watch. “I’ve been here since six-thirty. Mannish Major is one of my favorite authors. I have every single book he’s written. I had to come out to get my books signed by him.”
The man showed me one of the books he was carrying in his hand. And sure enough, the name Mannish Major was plastered on the front cover. A handsome black-and-white picture of him was on the back, and I couldn’t believe that he was the man I’d be spending my time with, and, moreover, the one I had been undressing with my eyes. This, indeed, may turn out to be much easier than I originally thought.
I continued my conversation with Ernest, and he made me promise to give him my phone number before leaving.
“Maybe so,” I said, blushing but knowing I wouldn’t dare.
The lady in front of me moved to the side, and that was when it was my opportunity to speak to Mannish. He looked at my hands, noticing that they were empty. I barely had twenty dollars to purchase one of his books, and if I gave him a check, there was a possibility it would bounce. Just so he wouldn’t think I was a fan of his work that I’d never read, I had to make him aware of my purpose for being there.
He extended his hand. “And your name is?” he said.
“Lola Jones.” I waited to see if my name meant anything to him or rang a bell. It didn’t. He seemed clueless.
“Have you read any of my books?”
“No, I haven’t, but I hear they’re pretty good. I may have to pick up a copy one day, but my goal tonight was to come and meet you.”
The women standing around were listening to every word I said to him and his reply. I didn’t want to tell him I was sent here as his escort for the night. My hope was he’d put two and two together. After all, he was the one who called for me.
“Well, I hope you get a chance to read my work. It was a pleasure meeting you, Lola, and why don’t you hang around for a while?”
Still not sure if he was aware of my purpose, I simplified it for him. “My friend, Finesse, said that you were nice. He didn’t exaggerate.”
As soon as Finesse’s name slipped from my mouth, Mannish’s face fell flat. His eyes examined me, stopping at my breasts. I guess he’d gotten the picture. He stood up and peeked over my shoulder to observe the long line behind me. Losing a bit of his confidence, his hand eased into his pocket and he used the other hand to swipe across his forehead.
“I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Lola. Let me knock out this line and handle my business with my readers.”
“Sure,” I said, moving aside, allowing the others to meet the man they had all come to see.
Now that I knew who Mannish was, I left the ballroom to go to the bathroom. The alcohol from earlier made me feel hot, and I still felt kind of lightheaded. I wasn’t sure if Mannish wanted me to hang around to have drinks with him or to mingle later with some of his readers. He’d given me no direction, but the moment I walked out of the bathroom, there he was.
“I . . . I thought you had left,” he said. “Sorry it’s taking me so long, but here’s my keycard. Go upstairs to room 325. I should be there within the hour. Make yourself at home and remind me later to thank Finesse for sending you to me.”
I took the keycard from his hand, wanting to thank Finesse my damn self. Mannish was nothing like the fat-ass man who turned me off, and I hoped Mr. Author was capable of making my night worth it. He winked then displayed a crooked smile before disappearing into the ballroom.