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Chapter Three

Miranda

T he thought of carrying a new life is terrifying, and exhilarating. I’m clueless. I have no idea how I’m going to accomplish anything. All I know is that this baby that I am carrying is going to get the best of me.

I rub the small pudge of my stomach. Three months pregnant and the nausea is finally subsiding. I hope it’s a girl, I never thought of having a baby till now and I want her to be a beautiful girl.

The door to my bedroom opens and my mom comes in. I have the best mom thankfully; I chose not to tell her who the father is. She did fret, and the disappointment is evident in her eyes. I think disappointment has taken permanent residence on her face.

My mom is tall, dark, and beautiful. Her cheek bones are high, her skin is a deep bronze, silky smooth. Part of me wishes that she would shout at me. I wish she would use her Caribbean accent on me and scream. But not my mom, no she is kind and patient with me.

“I have a plan,” she says as she sits on my bed. She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it.

“Mom?”

“I’m sending you by Aunty Baby in Charleswood.”

“Ma, that’s like hours away I can’t ? —”

My mother raises her hand to stop me. “You are going to Charleswood. You can’t keep moping around here, praying for that boy to come to his senses.”

I bow my head not bothering to deny who my child’s father was.

“You will leave next Saturday. I wanted you to leave earlier but your Aunty is in Trinidad till next Friday,” she huffs.

My heart drops when I think of next Saturday, Dereck and Ilyana are getting married.

“You aren’t going to be like me. It will hurt, you will get over it. We are going to break this cycle.” What cycle is she talking about?

I nod as tears begin to run down my face. “Yes, Ma.”

“I have a check here from Mr. Jacobs.” She pulls the check out of her bra. Puts it out to me.

I pull away from my mom. “Why are you taking money from Ilyana’s dad?”

“It doesn’t matter why child.” She tugs my hand and places it in my palm.

I open the crumpled paper only to see six figures staring back at me.

“MOM! This is too much money. I can’t.”

She rubs her hands together and says softly. “You will keep every damn cent.”

“I will go to Mr. Jacobs to carry this check back.” I begin to roll to the side to get off the bed.

“He will not take it,” she says calmly as she gazes down at her nails.

“Why not, Mom?”

Her shoulders tense. “You will take that money and pay for med school and take care of my grandchild.”

“Why will Mr. Jacobs refuse the money Ma?” I can feel it. The change in the air, the humidity, the heaviness.

“You never wondered why Mr. Jacobs and his wife treated you so well child? The child of their housekeeper?” Her eyes water as her shoulders drop.

I look at her head wrapped in a checkered white and blue cloth. In a different lifetime I believe my mother was a queen, royal and elegant.

“They treated me well because they are nice people.” Denial is the best form of delusion.

My mother throws her head back and laughed. “Child nothing nice about those people especially Mrs. Jacobs and her daughter.”

I think of the expensive private schools, the ballet classes, everything Ilyana did, I was able to do. Then the thought dawns on me…

I shake my head. “No, Mr. Jacobs is not my….”

Inhaling, my mother dusts her skirt off. “Yes. Now take the money, leave this cursed place and break this cycle.

“He never told me.” I think of all the times Mr. Jacobs spoke to me. Always sweet. He asked about school. He was pleased with my grades. Always commending me, taking keen interest. He just never wanted to acknowledge me as his.

The sad smile stays on my mom’s face, all this time staying at his housekeeper. Under the roof of his wife…

“Why did you stay?”

“Because I ran away from the Caribbean to come to America for a better life. I had nothing, no college degree, just my primary school education. But I could cook and clean so, I got a job, and the rest was history. I have nothing to go back to.” She shrugs like her story meant little. Like she accepted everything in her life.

I have so many questions to ask her, but instead I hug her and pull her tightly against me.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” I hiccup in her neck as I begin to cry.

“Child, I love you. Now go to Charleswood. Don’t come back here.”

I pull away. “What about you? You can come with me.”

She smiles sadly as she wipes away my tears. “My place is here. I will come to visit. But Aunty Baby will take care of you and my grandbaby.”

I nod, and the tears fall down my face faster. “I will become a doctor, just for you ma.”

“No, do it for you and your baby. You break this cycle. I love you so much honey.”

I place my face on my mother’s chest, and I begin to cry. “I love you too, Ma.”

* * *

TAREK

Two charcuterie boards, several cups of coffee and bathroom breaks, I don’t want her to go. Being in her presence is like basking in the glow of a sun.

Her sense of humor is macabre and bubbly at the same time. The way she explains things and tells a story is exhilarating. Everything through her eyes feels fresh and new and I want to explore it. There is also a hidden truth. I find pleasure in watching her eat. I stood from afar, watching her devour each meal that was presented to her. It has been ages since I saw someone shimmy their shoulders, dancing at the table all because the food is good. There is something about the way she places a fork in her mouth. The way her eyes close as she savors the meal. It’s almost…erotic. I will take that back, it’s not almost…it is.

The restaurant is now empty; my staff is currently cleaning up the main dining room. Normally I would be in the Look Out with Marco, discussing the night, and the things we can improve tomorrow. Closing off the register. Marco will have to take care of that tonight.

I haven’t laughed and felt this relaxed in a new person’s presence in a long while.

“Shit, it’s 1:30. I think I should go. Can you please pass me my jacket?”

I clutch my jacket in my arms wanting to say, “No.” I meant it that no.

Reluctantly I pass the jacket to her. “I enjoyed this, friend of Rhet’s PA.”

“You think they will be all right?” she asks, throwing the jacket over her shoulders.

“Between us, I think they will be more than all right.” I stand stretching my hand out for her to take it.

I have heard in books you feel a snap of energy when you meet someone you like. To me it’s more like a pleasant warm tingle running up the length of my arm.

“Let me walk you to your car.” I still haven’t released her hand.

The sliding glass doors swish open and a chilly air nips at my skin.

The valet rushes to get her car.

“Thank you for an unforgettable night, Mr. Fairisles.” She genuinely meant that. It wasn’t to get in my pants, to make me fall in love. She’s telling the truth.

“Let’s do this again sometime.”

The valet brings her car to a halt in front of the stairs.

“Yes.” She slides into her car, while I stand and hold the door open for her.

“I’m serious I own several restaurants; I would love to sit and share a meal with you again.” I pull my phone out and pass it to her.

“Okay.” Her fingers move quickly over my keyboard. “If I don’t answer, leave a text. By the way, your phone security needs updating.”

The phone slips back into my palm and I close the door. I flash my number on her phone. “I got it.”

“It’s a pity you’re not attracted to me Penelope.” I want to bend and kiss her good night, but I don’t.

“Yes, Mr. Fairisles, it’s a pity.” If she bites her bottom lip one more time…

“Good night, Penelope.”

“Good night, Tarek.” With a small wave, she speeds off, leaving tire marks behind.

Yeah, Penelope will definitely be seeing me again. May be sooner than later.

Normally around this time, I would be heading to my club Nowhere, see who is performing for the night, have a drink or two. After hanging out with Penelope, all I want to do is call her back so we can talk some more about anything.

Her voice is husky and soft. It’s like drinking a chilled honeyed wine on a hot summer’s day. Shit now she is turning me into a fucking poet.

“Are you ready, Tarek?” a grainy fussy voice breaks my train of thought.

“Right. Bella let’s cancel tonight.” Just the thought of being in her company makes my eye itch.

“Excuse me. I waited all night,” she screeches as we re-enter the dining room, leaving the chill night air.

“Listen, let me get one of my drivers to get you home safely.” My fingers dig into my side pocket in search of a much-needed nicotine relief.

All the chairs are flipped onto the tabletops; the white linens hang over them like ghosts swaying in the night.

“You can do better. She has nothing on me,” she shouts.

I halt mid step turning to see her standing in the middle of the dining room.

Within two strides I’m in front of her breathing.

With practice puppy eyes she looks up at me. “Tarek.”

“I don’t even remember your name. You stand here disregarding your pride and dignity waiting for a man who hasn’t spared one glance in your direction. While he entertains another you wait. All in hope that you will ride my dick to a fucking ever after. Pick up your dignity.”

Yes, I definitely need a cigarette, shit. It’s like Penelope leaves and my world is pulled back into the mire that is my life.

“All this for her, she is not even pretty.” Now she reverts to her tears, wiping her pale cheeks.

The slow slide of her tears angers me. “You my dear would have been prettier at the back of your mother’s throat or in a tied off condom in a hotel trash, but here you are.”

She clutches her hands to her chest and wipes her eyes. “Fuck you, Tarek.”

“That’s something that you will never have the privilege of doing. Forget my driver…LEAVE.” I don’t bother to escort her out.

The metal door flaps as I push through the kitchen, as expected its clean and pristine.

My temper is simmering; I should have thrown her out by her neck.

My phone buzzes. Who the fuck is texting me at two thirty in the morning…Oh it’s Penelope.

Pen: Maybe next time we can have pizza.

Me: I will bring the wine.

Pen: Wine? You’re the chef. Make the pizza.

Me: Are you trying to acquire an invitation to my house, Penelope?

Pen: Goodnight, Mr. Fairisles.

Just like that the need to smoke is gone.

* * *

PENNY

My focus is off today. I can’t help but think about how great last night was. All day I fought with myself, pulling my fingers away from dialing his number.

The grainy sandy feeling in my eyes signals for me to take a break. What time was it? With a stretch I feel my back lengthen.

“Snap its 7:30pm already. I have been sitting way too long.” What should I do? My belly grumbles out loud.

“Okay tummy I will feed you.” Shuffling slowly to the kitchen I open my fridge, a carton of hazelnut coffee creamer, milk and butter sat neatly.

“So, Food Dash,” Taking my phone from out of my cardigan, my fingers shuffle through the list of restaurants.

“Birria Taco?” After such a rich feast last night, I should go easy on my stomach. The most difficult thing is to be hungry and scrolling through a food app.

I think about food and my thoughts instantly turns to the man; he was the best dinner companion I ever had. It took all of me not to melt, when he smiled at me, or when his eyes were trained on my face, taking in every word that I said.

I wanted to say, “It’s okay to kiss me.” But nope, that’s not what last night was about. Do I find Tarek attractive? What woman with working eyes wouldn’t? He is beautiful but dark, it’s hard to explain. His hair is cut in soft layers, curling just slightly at the ends. And those lips, full, with that perfect dark pink kissable kind of pout. I know on paper that description shouldn’t work. But trust me, it does. I’m about five foot five, the perfect height in my opinion, and I think Tarek is about six foot five.

I didn’t focus on his height. No, my attention was on his hands and the way it swallowed mine. Good lord. But I tend to tread lightly with men. Especially since my breakup with Melvin.

I am always weary of men. Men are a treacherous species as a whole. As a big girl you come across a platter of men. Some men, just want to hug and fuck you…but in private. Never outside, never for the world to see. The others will act like they love you, then a Fitness by Gabby link will be sent to your phone. Oh, how can I forget the men who thinks of me as a fetish, someone that they jerk their small, tiny cocks off too. Then there is a group of men who approach big women thinking we have low self-esteem, and we will fall for anyone. No matter how much of a great time I had last night, I have to remember Tarek is still a man, a rich man with power. I will be weary of him to.

My belly grumbles again.

“Okay, okay.” My bones feel heavy, while I drag my feet across my wooden floor to the couch, finally plopping down on the fluffy pillows.

Tarek

Hi

My phone becomes like lead, and I drop it onto my lap. Should I respond now? Or wait for thirty minutes and act like I am busy.

My brows frown at the thought. Stop your bull-shit Penny.

Picking up the phone with nimble fingers I typed.

Penny

Hi

I stare at the phone waiting for a response, several blinks later nothing.

“Child, order your food and forget about this man.” I begin to scroll to the app again.

Hmm, two birria tacos with extra cheese and one small ramen birria.

The edges of my phone blinks purple and is vibrating in my hand all because Tarek was calling.

Should I answer? Oh, maybe let it ring out and act like I didn’t see it.

The phone stops ringing, and I exhale a breath that I didn’t even know I was holding.

Tarek

I know you’re seeing my name. Answer the phone.

A stifled chortle leaves my throat. The phone rings and this time I answer.

“Hello.”

“Are you finished trying to take over the world?”

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Fairisles?” Please invite me to dinner for more free food and good company.

He clears his throat and says, “Part of me wants to say you, me, dinner, now. But I don’t think that would work on you.”

Actually, sir it would, my standards are high but for the right kind of man, they can also be very low.

“You are correct,” I reply.

“I know you’re busy, but I would find great pleasure if you would grace me with your presence for dinner.”

I jump off my couch. I press mute on my cell as I dance around the room.

“Hello?”

Shit, he is still on the phone. “Where is this dinner?”

“At GH. I am having a tasting for a new hotel in the Caribbean name Helios, and I was wondering if you can be my second taster.”

The clock on the wall shows me that it’s now 7:45 p.m. “What time are you looking at?”

“Um, maybe in an hour or so?”

I could be there in ten minutes if he asked me too. Sprinting to the closet, I begin to search for an outfit.

“Penelope?”

“Yes. I was just thinking about my schedule. It can’t be late like last night,”

“No. We are eating in the back kitchen. So, no need to dress up.”

I didn’t like how he said that. “How are you dressed?”

“Usual black shirt and pants. Unimpressive…unless you think that it is?”

“What did you say?” I ask, my hands pause on a t-shirt dress.

“Nothing. When you arrive text me and I will come out for you,” He states.

“See you in an hour.”

It really does take me an hour to get dressed. I didn’t want him to think that I was trying too hard. Also, it’s The Glasshouse, I didn’t want to look under dressed. The mountain of clothes that I left behind on my bed tells a story of indecision and insecurity. Don’t get me wrong I know I’m beautiful, it’s just I have some tiny insecurities like my fupa or the roll that is sitting right under my arm, or my tiger stripes.

However, I stuffed all of my negative thoughts in a box and opted to go with the jumpsuit. Now I am stepping up the Glass House stairs wearing a strapless beige jumpsuit. Last night I didn’t get to show off my curves, a work T-shirt and jeans doesn’t scream sexy. Tonight, though, this simple jumpsuit is hugging every curve (with the help of my SPANX) and it’s extending down to my feet with a flair at the ankle. My locs I have gathered into a side part and a bun. Light makeup, I add a small brown handbag and gold accessories.

As the glass door swipes open, I stand behind a couple as they are confirming their reservation with the host.

I take out my phone and text Tarek, I am here where are you?

“Good evening. Welcome to the Glass House. Do you have a reservation with us tonight? Or are you confused as regards to which restaurant this is?” The hostess smiles widens as she blinks her eye rapidly at me.

“No, I don’t, and no, I am not confused.” Before I can utter a word, she jumps in.

“I’m afraid we are fully booked at the moment, but we can add you to our waitlist. The current wait list time is approximately two months.” She flicks her screen and smiles. “I do have some places that I can recommend to you.”

Her snide tone is making me itch, I close my eyes for two seconds to gather my thoughts. “Can you please call Tarek Fairisles? He is expecting me.”

The hostess chuckles behind her hand. She lifts the phone and speaks into it,

“Mr. Marco there is a lady here to see Mr. Fairisles. No sir, she doesn’t. Okay.”

With a smirk she puts the phone down. “It seems that Mr. Fairisles is indisposed. Now I can suggest some restaurants for you. How about Mc Donalds or the Popeye’s down the street?”

I begin to dial Tarek’s number, and it goes straight to voicemail.

“Have a great night, now can you go. Good night,” the host flicks her hands at me.

“Listen you can play with your hair and your kids but don’t play with me.” I know my temper is about to rise, so I move out of the line, and I head back to the valet. Maybe this is a sign not to do this, whatever this is.

“Why are you leaving?” Tarek’s stern voice stops me in my tracks.

I exhale and look around. Of course, he is standing there looking gorgeous in his all black suit, smelling like the sample section in a Vogue magazine.

“I tried to call you, and you didn’t answer. The whole evening is off; I should just go home.” I want to go back up to the host and slap the shit grin off her face.

Fuck her for trying to make me feel some sort of way.

Tarek hurries down the stairs. “No, no. Wait tell me what happened? My phone died, I am so sorry.”

I begin to relay the story of the hostess and myself. With each line, Tarek face remains expressionless.

“I do apologize. I really want to have dinner with you…. please.” He stretches out his palm toward me. Gently I place my hand in his.

“Come with me.”

* * *

TAREK

I’m fucking fuming. No, it’s more like my temper feels nuclear. At first, I was worried that Penelope would ghost me only to realize my phone is dead. I did the next best thing and head to the security cameras to see if she had arrived. Shockingly, I see my hostess raise the phone to her ear then speak. From Penny’s calm, deadly expression, I know there is hell to pay as she begins to descend the stairs.

I rush down to the valet, like a mad man, where the hell did she think she was going? I cleared my schedule just for her.

“Where are you going?”

“If you must know, your hostess, just told me to go to Popeyes or Mc Donalds since I didn’t have a reservation.”

“What the fuck did she say?”

Penny flairs her nose and folds her arms over her chest.

I put my hand out to her. “Penelope I’m sorry, my phone is currently charging. Give me a chance, let me fix this.”

Sighing she places her hand gently in mine.

With a firm grip, we climb the stairs back into the restaurant, my hostess instantly smiled until she saw who’s hand I was holding.

“Mr. Fairisles,” she begins to stutter.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Janet, sir.”

“Janet, who did you call on the phone?” A violent rage is simmering under my skin.

“Um, I…” She looks around at her colleagues for help. They all turn their backs and continue to work.

“If you lie, I will become your worst fucking nightmare,” I seethe. Penny begins to rub my arm.

“I called no one, sir.” A tear slips down her eye as a small crowd gathers outside. Smartly another hostess begins to usher the newcomers to their seats.

“No one?” I ask.

“I pretended to call someone,” Janet bottom lip trembles.

“Did you speak to this woman here?” I ask, tugging Penelope to my side. Her expression is flat and unreadable as she gazes at the hostess.

“Sir, she didn’t have a reservation. So, I told her to leave. The rules say if someone—” She had the nerve to try to cover her ass.

“Shh, no one gives a fuck about the rules that I wrote at this moment.”

The hostess wipes her tears away.

“Apologize, now. Her name is Ms. Penelope Holt.”

The hostess swallowed and stare at Pen, “I’m so sorry Ms. Penelope Holt.”

Penelope looks at her in disgust and says nothing.

“Now the same restaurants that you told Ms. Penelope to eat in, are the ones you will have to go find a job at. You’re fired.”

“But, Mr. Fairisles,” she hiccups, her breathing sounds rushed.

Bending down to her ear, I whisper, “Would you like me to have security escort you off the premises?”

Her voice trembles. “No, sir.”

“Pick up your check tomorrow night. Leave now.”

It’s a rare day that my employees see me angry, because I run The Glass House like a well- oiled machine.

“You okay?” I inquire as I look down at Penelope.

“Yes, I am good. Can we go in, we’re causing a scene?”

“Sure,” I stride into the dining room with long purposeful steps. Penny is running to keep up with me. The eyes of the patrons are on both of us, I can hear Penny’s small hellos as we pass by the tables.

As the kitchen doors flap open, the smell of roasted meats and sauteed vegetables greets us.

Marco, as if sensing my unease, begins to clap loudly, the sound cuts through the bustling kitchen.

Instantly the staff goes silent, and everyone watches Penelope and me.

“We have a special guest tonight–This is Penelope,” I announce, my voice cuts the air.

A soft chorus of, “Hi, Ms. Penelope,” goes through the room as the staff all try to greet her.

“Oh my God, Tarek you are making a scene, stop this,” she tugs at my sleeve.

I look down at her, and she instantly falls silent, dropping her hand to the side.

“Ms. Penelope is a VIP guest like my guys. She has a table, she doesn’t pay for food, and she doesn’t have to have a reservation.”

“What? Can we pause for a second, Tarek that’s just—” Her words are cut short, when she sees the look in my eyes. Instantly she changes her tone. “Yes free food, yes of course. I mean yay.” She raises a fist and shakes it in a mock victory.

“Are there any questions?”

“No, chef,” they all say together.

“Continue with your work.”

They all resume working.

“This way.” Her palm tightens around mine, as I take her past the kitchen into a small alcove. In it there are two chairs, a table covered in white linen and dinner settings.

I pull out the chair for her, allowing her to sit.

“Thank you,” she mutters.

Taking my jacket off I throw it behind my chair, then I take a seat. I should have added candles to the table. But I didn’t because I thought it would spook her.

“This room looks like those mob shows where they have secret meetings in the back of the restaurant.” She snickers.

“Let me make you an offer you can’t refuse,” I mock the voice of the Godfather.

God, she was beautiful.

The single light above us cast a glow across her skin, like shimmering gold dust. I want to touch. I want to see if she feels as creamy and soft as she looks.

“Why did you dye your hair red?” I take my lighter out of my pocket to keep my hands to myself.

Instinctively, she touches the back of her hair. “Um.”

“Shit, I like your hair and how it looks. I just wondered why red.” I needed to clarify that I love her hair color.

“At the time I just wanted change and to be bold. My mom used to watch a show called My So-Called Life and the girl’s hair was red…and it has fascinated me since then.” She smiles shyly at me.

“You’re cute. So, we are going to taste food from Trinidad and Tobago, a beautiful island in the Caribbean.”

She takes the napkin off the table and places it gently on her lap.

“So, jerk chicken?” she asks, interlacing her fingers and placing her chin on top of her hands, her elbows resting on the table.

I chuckle thinking of the conniption my Trinidadian friends would have if they heard jerk chicken being presented as their cuisine.

“No, here comes the first meal.”

* * *