Maria walked into Della’s, her familiar smile in place as she greeted stylists, their assistants, and various shampoo girls.
“Good morning, everyone.”
“Morning, Maria,” they chorused in unison, returning her smile.
“She must have had a bumpin’ weekend,” KiKi mumbled under her breath.
“I know you didn’t, because a man would have to be blind to be seen with you. Your hair is busted,” Maurice volunteered. He gave her a knowing look as he mixed and measured colors over a sink.
KiKi folded her hands on her hips and moved closer to the colorist. “Don’t be gettin’ in my business, Moe-reese,” she retorted. She rolled her head and glared at him from under her lashes. “Dee Dee’s about to do my hair today.”
Maria bit back a smile, slipping into her smock at the same time Maurice leaned in closer to KiKi and quietly explained the rudiments of proper grammar, which sent the shampoo girl fleeing toward Della Frazier’s office.
Most times the good-natured rivalries among Della’s employees amused Maria, but there were times when it spilled over and the clients were made aware of an undercurrent of hostility. And she knew this was something she would never tolerate once she established her own salon. She would hold weekly staff meetings in which everyone would be encouraged to air their differences.
Retrieving her calendar from the drawer of the manicure table, she noted the date. It was July 27, and three weeks had passed since she and Cameron began seeing each other. She also had begun counting down the months because she now had less than six months before she tendered her resignation at Della’s House of Style. Then she would start the new year planning and setting up her own house of style.
A dreamy expression settled into her features when she thought of Cameron. They had returned to her parents’ house from their Fourth of July stroll and spent the next few hours in the family room, talking, laughing, and listening to music. She had surprised him when Peter pulled her up to dance to an upbeat salsa by the recording star India. Yvonne had tried getting Cameron to dance with her, but he refused, saying he found the steps too intricate to follow. But they did share a dance when Rafael put on a CD featuring classic soul and R&B favorites from the body + soul love serenade compilation.
Dancing together had become commonplace because whenever he called her for a date he usually selected a venue that included dinner, music, and dancing. They had eaten dinner at the Rainbow Room, Sunday brunch at Tito Puente’s Restaurant in the City Island section of the Bronx, and had taken a Tuesday evening jazz cruise along the Hudson River.
Each time they met, it was with the intent to discuss her establishing her salon business, but the meetings always ended without either of them broaching the subject. And each time Cameron escorted her into the lobby of her apartment building she realized the meetings were a foil for the beginning of a comfortable friendship with deepening feelings for each other.
There was an occasion when she met Cameron at his office in a row house along Striver’s Row. The space that had contained offices for a lucrative dental practice was renovated to accommodate Cameron’s accounting and investment firm. A very proper middle-aged receptionist greeted her warmly, then requested that she have a seat in the reception area because Mr. Cameron was on the telephone with an overseas client.
She had been impressed with the tasteful elegance of the offices of King Financial Services. The softly diffused lighting cast by recessed lights and handsome porcelain lamps bathed the space with warmth. The sienna hue in the petaled lamp bases picked up the color of a coffee table constructed of lacquered wood covered with linen. The walls, sofa, and two love seats were covered in a cream slubbed wool. An Oriental rug repeated the colors of a hand-woven wall hanging, creating the illusion that the two were one continuous, harmonious element. Live potted plants on the table and in a corner brought the outside indoors and added color to the very sophisticated furnishings.
Retrieving the materials she needed for a client who had requested silk wraps, she banished her musings of Cameron to the back of her mind—temporarily.
* * *
The morning and afternoon sped by quickly, affording her only fifteen minutes to eat a tuna salad and drink a glass of refreshing lemonade from the adjoining café. She finished up her last client at four forty-five and looked forward to going home to enjoy a quiet evening relaxing on her terrace.
Ramona met her as she walked out of the employees lounge. “Maria, I’m sorry, but I meant to tell you that Mr. King has a five o’clock manicure.”
Her pulse quickened at the mention of his name.
“When were you going to tell me? And when did he make the appointment?” she questioned the receptionist.
Ramona managed to look remorseful. “His secretary called and made it late yesterday afternoon.”
Maria wagged her head in disbelief. Cameron had continued to come in for her to do his nails, but most times he had his receptionist call for an opening if his schedule permitted it. “I checked your book this morning and I didn’t see his name.”
“That’s because I forgot to write it down.”
Kimm Gilmore glared at the receptionist while sucking her teeth. It was the third time in less than a week that Ramona had neglected to write down an appointment. “If you’d stop eyeballin’ the man so hard when he walks in here, you’d remember to do your job.”
Ramona tossed her shoulder-length relaxed hair over one shoulder, rolled her eyes at the aesthetician, then strolled to the front of the salon with a deliberate sway of her generous hips.
Maria returned to the lounge, put away her handbag, picked up her smock, and returned to her manicure station. Her pulse raced a little faster when she spied Cameron approaching. He was impeccably dressed in a celery-hued linen suit, white cotton shirt, and a patterned tie with geometric designs in contrasting colors of brown, green, and yellow.
Her bright smile indicated she was glad to see him after a two-day separation. “Good afternoon, Mr. King.”
He nodded, returning her smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Parker. He removed his jacket, hanging it on the nearby coat tree.
She motioned to the chair opposite her. “Please sit down.”
Cameron complied, placing his hands in her outstretched ones. A mysterious smile played at the corners of his mobile mouth as he stared at her lowered head. Leaning closer, he whispered, “I’ve missed you.”
Maria did not raise her head but glanced up at him through her lashes. “I’ve missed you, too.”
She felt the heat of his gaze on her face as she went through the motion of filing his nails, pushing back the cuticles, then buffing the nails to a natural shine.
Her head came up and she smiled at him. “You’re finished.”
Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, he placed a bill on the table. He always overtipped her.
Her professional smile did not falter. “Thank you, Mr. King.”
His eyes crinkled attractively behind his glasses. “You’re quite welcome, Miss Parker. I hope to see you again next week.”
She nodded, watching him retrieve his jacket, then make his way across the salon floor to the reception area, her gaze following him until he disappeared from her line of vision.
“Careful, chica,” Maurice warned close to her ear. “It’s only a matter of time before everyone at Della’s will know that you and your Mr. King have something going on.”
Her head swung around and she stared numbly at the colorist. “Is it that obvious?”
“To me it is.”
She patted his solid shoulder. “That’s because you’re more perceptive than the others.”
Maurice ran his hand through her hair, the ends curling around his fingers. “When are you going to let me highlight your hair before you cut it again?”
“Never, Reecie.”
“Come on, chica. Just a few warm gold-brown highlights. It will match the gold undertones in your skin.”
Maria shook her head. “No.”
“I’m certain your man would like it.”
“He’s not my man,” she hissed through her teeth.
“Quit lying, Maria. It’s not an attractive trait.”
Her temper flared. “Just because we’ve gone out a few times, that doesn’t make him my man.”
“Who are you going out with?” Deirdre Lee questioned as she approached them.
“Clark Kent,” Maurice drawled, ignoring Maria as she shook her head vigorously. She did not want anyone at Della’s to know that she was dating Cameron.
“Ah, sookie, sookie,” Dee Dee crooned, snapping her fingers over her head.
“What’s up?” KiKi asked.
“Maria is dating Clark Kent,” Dee Dee announced in a voice loud enough for everyone at Della’s to hear.
The heat flared in Maria’s cheeks as a few of the stylists applauded. She swept off her smock, picked up her handbag, and made her way across the salon floor. She did not have to turn around to feel the gazes following her retreat.
“How is your Superman, Lois Lane?” KiKi shouted over the din whirling around the shop with the latest piece of gossip.
Maria stopped suddenly, then turned slowly. She glared at the nosy shampoo girl, retracing her steps as KiKi back-pedaled until a styling chair stopped her escape.
Maria had not wanted to advertise her private life, even though she had nothing to be ashamed of. Cameron claimed everything most women sought in a man—and then some. But then, she did not want whatever she did with Cameron to be bantered about the shop as if they were public figures, either.
All conversation came to a complete halt, only the soft sounds of smooth jazz coming through audio speakers, and all gazes were trained on Maria and KiKi. For the first time since KiKi Jackson walked into Della’s House of Style as a permanent employee, she feared that she had stepped over the line.
Maria saw a flash of fear fill KiKi’s eyes, and she felt sorry for the younger woman. Even though the shampoo girl had recently celebrated her twenty-first birthday, she still had a lot of maturing to do.
“Do you really want to know, Miss Mouth Almighty?” The younger woman bobbed her head up and down, eyes round as saucers. “He’s good,” Maria crooned, inches from her moist face. “Damn good!”
“You go, girl!” Dee Dee shouted to Maria, who waved her hand above her head in acknowledgment. Turning her attention to KiKi, she snapped her fingers at her. “Stay out of other folks’ business, KiKi,” she warned. “You also better clean up the shampoo area before Della comes out of her office and gets all over you.”
“You tell her about it, Dee Dee,” an assistant mumbled angrily, echoing the other employees who also had had enough of KiKi’s constant meddling.
Ramona stared at Maria’s ramrod-straight back and closed expression as she stalked through the reception area and pushed open the door. “Good night, Maria. I’m sorry about forgetting to pencil in Mr. King for his appointment.”
She wasn’t disappointed when Maria stopped, turned, and smiled at her. “It’s okay, Ramona. No harm done. Good night.”
Ramona’s mishap did not annoy her as much as KiKi’s constant insinuations. She made a mental note to talk to Della Frazier about the shampoo girl’s lack of professionalism on the salon floor. There were occasions when everyone joked and teased one another, yet they had always managed to project a modicum of decorum in the presence of the clients who came to Della’s House of Style not only for its many services, but because of its reputation for being one of the most professional, upscale full-service salons in New York City. Once the customers walked through the doors of Della’s, they were afforded the most up-to-date services with an unwritten guarantee of competent, undivided attention.
* * *
Walking out onto 125th Street, Maria fell in step with the throng of pedestrians moving quickly toward the east side. They know about you and Cameron, a voice echoed in her head. She had sought to keep her liaison with him a secret, knowing sooner or later someone would uncover their clandestine meetings. And each time Cameron came into Della’s and sat down at her manicure table, she had to struggle to remain indifferent to his presence. She always greeted him as she did her other clients, but unlike her other clients she kept the conversation between them to a minimum.
She skirted an elderly woman who seemed intent on walking directly into her. She looked up, and then she saw him. Cameron stood on a corner of Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard, waiting for her. The rays of the afternoon sun had darkened the lenses of his glasses where he could observe her without her seeing his penetrating gaze.
His mouth curved into a beguiling smile as he moved over and took her hand. “Good evening, Miss Parker.”
Tilting her chin, she returned his smile. “Good evening, Mr. King. Have you taken to waiting on street corners to drum up business?”
He chuckled deep in his chest. “Let’s hope I’ll never have to resort to that method.” His fingers tightened slightly on her delicate hand. “There was a time when you promised to take me on a tour of your neighborhood. If you don’t have a prior engagement, I’d like to take that tour now.”
His suggestion startled her as she stared at him in astonishment. “But aren’t you scheduled to work late tonight?”
“I was until I managed to switch an appointment.”
“Why?”
He took a step closer and Maria felt the heat radiating from his large body; she inhaled the sensual scent of his aftershave, and she was swallowed whole by the energy and power that made him so undeniably attractive.
“Why, Maria? Because I don’t want to see you once a week. That’s just not enough for me. And coming to Della’s for a manicure doesn’t count.”
Curving her free arm around his waist inside his jacket, she pressed her face against his chest. He had freely admitted what she had felt and had been feeling since their Fourth of July encounter. She had opened up her heart to Cameron King and in doing so she had let go of her fear of loving and losing.
Whenever he took her in his arms to dance, she was always astonished at the sense of fulfillment she experienced. And after each dance they shared a tender kiss that managed to convey more gratitude than any word either of them could summon.
She found Cameron patient, gentle, attentive, and what she had tried to deny from their first encounter was that she was falling in love with him. She had admitted it to herself the night they shared the jazz cruise. Sitting together, holding hands, listening to live music while the majestic ship sailed along the Hudson River under a star-littered summer sky stripped her of all of her fears and inhibitions so that she wanted to shout to the world that she had fallen in love with Cameron King.
She was certain he felt her slight trembling when she asked, “What is it you want from me?”
“I want whatever it is you are willing to offer me.” What he did not say was that he wanted her—all of her—for a lifetime. She had changed him. Since meeting Maria Parker he had reexamined his life and his priorities. He had proven he could manage a successful business, but that was no longer as important as finding and securing personal happiness.
After she completed his manicure he’d walked out of Della’s, stood on the corner, retrieved his cellular phone, and called his administrative assistant to tell her to reschedule his seven o’clock meeting for the following week. It was the first time in his life that he had rearranged a business meeting for a woman. And as soon as he pushed the button, ending the call, he knew he had made the right decision.
Maria bit down on her lower lip, composing her thoughts. “I’m not certain what I can offer you, Cameron. But whatever I give you will come from my heart.”
Cameron cradled her to his chest and buried his face in her hair. “Thank you,” he whispered against her ear.
“You’re welcome,” she replied, laughing softly. “I’ll take you on the tour, then we can have dinner at my apartment.”
Pulling back, Cameron stared down at Maria, complete surprise freezing his features. He drove her home after their dates, but she had never invited him up to her apartment. He usually waited in the lobby until she boarded the elevator, and once the door closed behind her he felt the detachment, knowing instinctively that she was not ready for him to encroach upon the memories of her life and the lingering love she still shared with her late husband.
It was not his intent to wipe away her memories of Tyree Johnston, but to set up new ones that included Cameron King.
“I like that idea,” he stated, delight radiating from his shrouded gaze.
Reaching for her hand again, he escorted her across the wide boulevard.