All of the employees at Della’s gathered around Maurice. “Put up or shut up,” he hissed at Dee Dee’s assistant. “What day do you want?”
“Put me down for Wednesday the twenty-ninth.
“How about you, Mighty Mouth?”
KiKi chewed on the tip of her forefinger. “How much are the bets?”
“Five dollars!” everyone chorused.
“What’s going on here?”
Everyone jumped at the sound of Della Frazier’s voice. All eyes were trained on the face of the woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to Diahann Carroll. All gazes shifted from Della to Maurice.
“We’re placing bets,” he stated candidly.
Della folded her beautiful hands on her slender hips. “You know the rules. No gambling and no hustling in my salon.”
“We ain’t gambling, Miss Della,” KiKi announced. “We just taking bets on when Clark Kent will ask Maria to marry him.”
She arched a questioning eyebrow. “Clark Kent?”
Everyone looked at KiKi, unofficially making her the spokesperson. Realizing all gazes were on her, the shampoo girl offered a dramatic narrative of the latest salon romance.
Much to everyone’s surprise, Della doubled over in laughter. She recovered enough to ask, “How much is everyone betting?”
“Five dollars for each day.”
Della glanced at the calendar, then smiled at Maurice. “Let me go and get my money from my office. Reecie, put me down for Thursday and Friday.”
KiKi stuck out her tongue, giving Reecie a high-five fingertip handshake.
Maurice marked the names on the calendar, then counted the money. “If he pops the question after Labor Day, then someone will have a nice post-holiday stash.” He glanced up at everyone standing around him. “If anyone breathes a word of this, I’ll sue them.”
“You ain’t practicing lawyering,” KiKi retorted.
Reaching over, he patted her cheek. “Honey, do me a favor.”
Her eyes widened in delight. “What?”
“Just don’t talk.”
KiKi’s mouth fell open, then closed as she rolled her eyes.
Della gave her a knowing look. “KiKi, just this one time why don’t you listen to Maurice?”
“Yes, Miss Della.”
Della glanced up at the clock. In less than five minutes the door would open for another day of beauty at Della’s House of Style. “Everyone to their stations. You know we never keep anyone waiting.”
* * *
Maria walked into Della’s Thursday morning with a mysterious smile curving her mouth. She had taken special care with her appearance. Dee Dee had trimmed her hair the day before, Kimm Gilmore had waxed her eyebrows, and she had given herself a manicure and a pedicure.
Cameron had sent her another bouquet of flowers with a card, this one bearing the letter E. She had checked with Ramona, who told her that he was expected in at four-thirty for a manicure, so she intended to be ready for him.
“Who you looking sexy for today, chica?” Maurice had never seen Maria dress so provocatively. She wore a black tank dress that hugged every curve of her petite, compact body. The bodice revealed a soft swell of tanned breasts and the hem a generous amount of shapely legs. She had added several inches to her height with a pair of black patent leather sling-strap heels.
Folding her hands on her hips, she ran her tongue over her crimson-colored lips, grinning. “Clark Kent.”
Maurice placed a hand over his heart. “Please don’t hurt the poor brother.”
She laughed, remembering her threat to hurt Cameron real bad if he did not make love to her. “I’ll try not to.”
A pregnant hush descended over the salon, and before Maria could pick up her smock and cover her revealing attire, Cameron King stood in front of her.
Leaning against a column, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. His gaze moved slowly from her face down to her feet, then reversed itself. Reaching into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, he withdrew a small card and handed it to her.
Maria knew her hands were shaking, but she couldn’t control them as she took the square of vellum. Her lids fluttered wildly as she stared at a question mark.
Her head came up, her eyes widening when she saw Cameron slip out of his suit jacket and hand it to Maurice. Her jaw dropped when he removed his tie, then slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
She took a step, stopping less than a foot from him. “Cameron. No!”
He stopped long enough to hand Maurice his glasses, then resumed unbuttoning his shirt. Maria covered her face with her hands, unable to look at him disrobing in front of the salon staff and their clients.
“Don’t do this to me,” she pleaded through her fingers.
“Do what to you?” he questioned as he shrugged the buttoned-down pale blue shirt off his shoulders. “Think about what you’ve done to me.” He caught her wrists. “You’ve cost me a small fortune sending you flowers. You’ve just about destroyed whatever male ego I’ve managed to salvage when you ignored the messages I left on your answering machine.”
She lowered her fingers, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Not here,” she whispered.
“Why not here? Why not at Della’s? Isn’t this where I met you? Isn’t this where I fell in love with you?”
“You tell her, Clark Kent!” someone shouted.
“And you think I didn’t know everyone called me Clark Kent behind my back? And why didn’t you tell me that you graduated with a degree in accounting? Were you laughing at me when I offered to help you with your project? Well, the last laugh is on you, Miss Parker, because it’s my time to put on a show.”
Maria’s gaze slipped from his face to his chest, and she couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up in her throat. Under his shirt Cameron wore a blue T-shirt with a big red S emblazoned on the front. His stoic expression softened as he went to his knees. Closing his eyes, he sang the opening line to “Maria” from West Side Story.
She did not know whether to laugh or cry as Cameron sang the beautifully haunting song in perfect pitch, his baritone voice filling the salon.
Reaching for his arm, she tried easing him to his feet. “Cameron, let’s go outside,” she whispered when he finished singing.
He stood up, bowing from the waist and waving as if he were on stage before thousands of his adoring fans. He retrieved his glasses from Maurice. Turning to Maria, he cradled her face between his hands and kissed her tenderly on the lips.
“You have all of the cards, my darling. Do you have an answer for me?”
Forgetting that she was in Della’s, she curved her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. “The answer is yes.”
Cameron’s arms tightened around her waist as he lifted her effortlessly off her feet. He shifted her slightly and swung her up in his arms and walked across the salon floor amid whistling and applause.
KiKi raced to the reception area, tugging at his arm. “Did you propose to her, Clark—I mean Mr. King?”
He smiled down at the shampoo girl. “Yes, I did.”
KiKi turned and pointed her airbrushed forefinger at Maurice. “Pay up, Moe-reese!”
Della, who had come out of her office to observe the romantic, passionate interchange between her nail technician and Cameron King, shook her head. She had stopped counting the number of clients and employees who had fallen in love at the salon.
Raising her expressive eyebrows, she returned to her office, wondering who would be next.