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“Hello, Toussaint,” she said with a wide smile. “You’re looking nice today. Is that a new suit?”

  “Hello, Chardonnay,” Toussaint responded. “This is not a new suit, and you look nice as well.”

  “Thank you.” Chardonnay preened. Like most women who worked at Taste of Soul, she fantasized about being with Toussaint Livingston. “I like that chain too. It’s platinum, huh?”

  Shyla cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but is Toussaint the only customer you see at this table?”

  Naw, bitch, he’s just the only one I wanted to speak to! “Uh, hi, Shyla.”

  “I’d prefer that you call me Ms. Martin, and, Toussaint, shouldn’t she address you as Mr. Livingston? You are a top executive, while she’s … well … at the opposite end of the spectrum.”

  Chardonnay ignored Shyla and looked at Toussaint. Zoe said she’d bet money this skank ho was fucking you. I bet she’s right.

  “You know we’re not that formal,” Toussaint said, smiling at Chardonnay. “Besides, we value every employee in the corporation, no matter their position.”

  Shyla wasn’t ready to leave Chardonnay alone. This troll is almost drooling, for God’s sake. Toussaint would never stoop to the level of your ghetto ass! “At Taste of Soul, we pride ourselves on excellence in every area.” Shyla scanned Chardonnay from head to toe. “Your blouse is wrinkled, your shoes are not shined, and that blob of barbeque sauce on your skirt is disgusting. Do you feel this is the best you can do in representing us?”

  Chardonnay looked down at the splotch, more to mask the fire in her eyes than anything else. She needed this job, or she would have already mopped up half the floor with Shyla’s weave. Plus, she figured if Shyla was sleeping with Toussaint, she might have enough clout to get her fired. You’ve gone and crossed the wrong sistah, Chardonnay thought, even as she fixed her face with a look of embarrassment. Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to fuck with the person who was fixing your food? “I’m sorry,” Chardonnay said in a kind, soft voice. “I didn’t notice the stain. I just finished serving a family with children. Should I take your order and then go and remove it, or would you like me to remove it first, while you two decide what you want?”

  “Where’s Jermaine?” Shyla asked. “I’d rather he wait on us. I don’t like your fake, syrupy attitude.”

  “Now, now, ladies,” Toussaint said. “Let’s not fight. We’re on the same team, and I’m ready to eat. We would love for you to take our order, Chardonnay,” he continued. “What are the specials today?”

  Chardonnay rattled off five different specials from memory, with specific details about each one above and beyond what was required. Her special care with customers brought her big tips, and she wanted to take special care with the man currently at her table. After taking their orders, Chardonnay smiled at Toussaint and apologized again to Shyla. “I’ll bring your drinks and then take care of this stain,” she said. “Thanks for pointing it out to me. I know I’m representing the company and want to look my best.” With that she turned and walked away, knowing how the navy skirt that was part of her uniform emphasized her bubble butt and knowing that Toussaint was watching.

  She was right. Toussaint watched Chardonnay’s swaying backside until she turned the corner. “A bit hard on the help, don’t you think?” he asked once he refocused on Shyla.

  “She was rude and blatantly disrespectful,” Shyla answered. “I’m surprised you didn’t check her before I did.”

  “How did she disrespect you?”

  Shyla rolled her eyes. Men! Put a pair of titties and a big ass in front of them and they go deaf! “Never mind, it’s over,” she said finally, not wanting to give Chardonnay any more air time. Shyla had more important fish to fry than the ones being prepared for Toussaint’s plate. Such as getting a little platinum of her own—namely an engagement ring. “Given any more thought to my suggestion?”

  “What suggestion?” Toussaint asked.

  “My moving to your department and us working together. And about taking me with you when you move to LA.”

  Toussaint laughed. “Girl, the plans aren’t even off the paper yet and you’ve already got us living in Malibu.”

  “Oh, please. You know your plans, at least phase one, are going to happen. You always get what you want, Toussaint.”

  Not always, Toussaint thought, remembering his interior designer’s polite but firm rebuff the week before. And then, as if he’d conjured her up, Alexis St. Clair came walking toward him, followed by a handsome, nicely dressed older man.

  “Alexis!” Toussaint said, rising and extending his hand. “I see that designing isn’t the only place you have good taste.”

  “Hello, Toussaint,” Alexis replied as she shook his hand. “This is one of my favorite places to dine, and that was so even before I met you.” Alexis felt eyes on her and looked beyond Toussaint. From the look that was returned, she assumed the woman to be Toussaint’s love interest. “I’m Alexis, Toussaint’s interior designer,” she said, wanting to nip any misconceptions in the bud. Alexis prided herself on living a drama-free lifestyle and intended to keep it that way. That’s one of the reasons why, as fine as Toussaint was, and as much as she’d wanted to do otherwise, she’d refused his advances. “I never mix business with pleasure,” she’d told him.

  After introductions were made, Toussaint spoke again. “Would you two care to join us?”

  “We’d love to, but we have business to discuss,” Alexis answered. “Shyla, it was a pleasure meeting you. Toussaint, I’ll see you next week.” The gentleman with Alexis shook Toussaint’s hand and nodded at Shyla before following Alexis around the corner to the restaurant’s second dining room.

  “Wow, Toussaint, keeping secrets from me. You didn’t tell me you were redesigning your penthouse. And you’ve found quite the attractive designer to assist you.”

  “I don’t tell you everything, woman.” For instance, I won’t tell you that there’s something about that sistah that turns me all the way on!

  While Chardonnay returned, sans barbeque stain, with their salads and placed them on the table, Toussaint pondered his latest prey. Alexis was a short, dark brick house who reminded him of Lauryn Hill. Her features were exotic, which in the conversation the week before, Alexis had attributed to her Caribbean grandparents. She wore her hair dreadlocked, the thick, long dreads falling almost to her waist. But it wasn’t just her looks that drew Toussaint to her. Alexis was a study in contradictions: at once bold and shy, confrontational yet compassionate. She’d nailed Toussaint’s personality and taste with one walk-through of his condo. And she had a subtle sense of humor that she unleashed at the most unexpected times. And there was something else, an alluring, mystical quality that he couldn’t define. She was a puzzle, one that Toussaint planned on solving. You always get what you want, Toussaint. Toussaint planned on putting Shyla’s words to the test. In the meantime, he steered their conversation back to a safe topic—business. “What are your thoughts for our holiday campaign?”

  Back in the kitchen, Chardonnay waited impatiently for her order. “This is for Toussaint,” she told the head chef, yet again. The two worked well together and were always teasing around. “Act like you know.”

  “Look, I put quality on the plate no matter who it is. Everything I do is quality, believe that.” The chef’s eyes roamed Chardonnay’s body before he gave her a wink. “Yeah, whatever, man. Just try not to burn the catfish.” A minute later, the chef put a perfectly prepared plate on the pickup counter. “Order up!”

  Chardonnay immediately walked over and reached for Shyla’s order. “Move!” she said to Jermaine, who was also waiting for a customer’s plate.

  “Aren’t you going to wait and take these both out together?” Jermaine asked.

  “Yeah,” Chardonnay said over her shoulder. The head chef frowned slightly as he watched Chardonnay walk around the corner to the pantry.

  As soon as Chardonnay turned the corner, she did what she’d planned—gave Shyla Martin a litt
le something extra to eat. She returned quickly, just in time to see the chef set down Toussaint’s order. She balanced the two plates expertly as she walked out of the kitchen.

  Chardonnay hummed the Supremes track that had been playing in the bar when she’d walked past it on the way to the restroom. She laughed out loud as she imagined Shyla enjoying her extra creamy mashed potatoes. Now, you haughty-ass heifah, that’s just what you get! She danced up to the counter to key in her next table’s order. “I saw you.”

  Chardonnay huffed as Bobby “Butt Stank” Wilson came up behind her. The man had been trying to get in her pants ever since being hired as a line cook two months ago. “Boy, quit jaw jacking and get outta my face.” “Baby, I’m getting ready to get all into yo fine ass. Unless you want me to just go ahead and tell management what I saw.”

  “Okay, nucka,” Chardonnay said, putting a hand on her hip as she turned around. “Just what in the hell do you think you saw?”

  “Not what I think, what I know. I saw you spit in that plate of food. And that was after you’d stuck your finger in your panties and then swirled it in the cabbage.”

  6

  Zoe’s phone rang. She crawled across the floor to answer it, trying to catch her breath along the way. She’d been laughing for a full two minutes, ever since Chardonnay had told her what happened at the restaurant earlier. She’d laughed so hard and so long that Chardonnay had finally hung up on her. At least that’s what Zoe assumed. As she looked at the caller ID, she realized she was right. It was Chardonnay calling back.

  “It ain’t that damn funny,” Chardonnay said as soon as Zoe picked up. “Zoe! I know your ass can hear me.”

  “Ooh, girl, wait a minute.” Zoe took another calming breath. “I’m trying to catch my breath … wait.” She took a couple more deep gulps and squeezed her eyes tightly together to shut out the picture that Chardonnay’s story had created, the one that had her rolling on the floor laughing. “Did you really do that?” she asked once she could speak. “Did you really season a sistah’s cabbage with some pussy juice?” The question sent her howling again.

  “You ain’t got no damn sense,” Chardonnay chided. But Zoe’s laugh was infectious, and pretty soon, Chardonnay found herself laughing again as well.

  “Girl,” Zoe said, wiping her eyes. “When you texted me that you needed to talk, I was expecting anything but this. Whew! That’s some hot ghetto mess action right there!”

  “She asked for it,” Chardonnay said as she fixed plates for her two young children. “Tangeray! Cognac! Come on in here and eat! Hold on a minute, girl. I’ma have to do a beat-down to pull these heathens away from the television. Tangeray!”

  Zoe used the time it took Chardonnay to gather her kids around the dinner table to further compose herself. She went into the bedroom where she’d deposited her purse on the nightstand, pulled out a pack of Newport longs, and lit one up. Taking a deep drag, she slipped into a pair of bright yellow Pooh slippers and headed to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of her friend’s namesake. Taking what was once a Peter Pan peanut butter jar, she filled it halfway and took a long swallow.

  “Zoe, you there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good, because I need your advice on part two of this shit.”

  “You mean there’s more?” Zoe took her glass and headed back to the bedroom, wishing she’d copped some weed earlier, as she’d planned.

  “Probably not, but a sistah can’t be too careful.”

  “Chardonnay, I’m not following you. What’s going on?”

  “Bobby said he saw me.”

  “Saw you spit in sistah-girl’s food?”

  “And put my hand in my panties.”

  Zoe took another long drink of her chilled white wine as she pondered this tidbit. “Girl, young blood is probably just trying to get in your panties. He’s been sniffing your behind from day one on the job.”

  “He’s trying to apply pressure … says he captured what I did on his camera phone.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Did he show you?”

  “Not yet. A large party came in and we got busy. I had to leave as soon as my shift was over to pick up the kids.”

  “So what’s he want? Some money or something?”

  “Hell no, girl. What do you think a jacked-up-looking fool like him wants?”

  Zoe smoked her cigarette as she pondered this question. She’d brought a plate home from the restaurant but hadn’t eaten, so the chardonnay had gone straight to her head. “Well, he’s a stupid fool is all I can say. He knows you don’t make much more than him. Don’t know what else he could use the pics for unless he’s trying to come up in the company. Or unless he’s … Oh, damn.”

  “Exactly. He wants a little taste of that juice I stirred in Shyla’s entrée.”

  “His ass is so hard up that he’s got to blackmail somebody for sex?”

  “Are you surprised? One look at his face and you can understand that shit. When God was handing out looks, he ran out of ‘handsome’ and just slapped a dose of ‘butt ugly’ up against Bobby’s face.”

  Zoe laughed despite the relative seriousness of the situation. “Are you going to give him some?”

  “Hell no! Have you walked close to Bobby lately? He smells like fifteen kinds of funk on a good day, and his breath is worse than a fart generated from refried beans. I’d rather kiss Uncle’s pit bull in the mouth.”

  “Ooh, Chardonnay. Why you want to lie about a man like that? True, Bobby ain’t much to look at, but he’s a hard worker. He’s always working double shifts. I even heard Mr. Livingston talking about how dedicated he is. You could do worse in a father for your kids.”

  “Oh, really? Then why don’t you give him some? I’m trying to come up with somebody like Toussaint.”

  “Toussaint? Please, you’re never going to get a man like him.”

  “Humph. You’re just saying that because you want his ass. Girl, let me get off this phone. Yak is trying to beat his sister in the head with a rib bone. Don’t tell nobody what I told you.”

  “Who am I going to tell? Bougie Shyla Martin? I might have to ask her how she liked the cabbage, though.” Zoe started laughing again.

  “Heifah, you’d better keep your mouth shut. I ain’t playing.”

  “Girl, your secret’s safe with me. I’ll holla later.”

  The conversation she’d had with Zoe stayed with Chardonnay for the rest of the evening, even while she bathed her kids and got herself ready for bed, and even as she rolled up a blunt and settled on the couch to watch another crazy episode of Bad Girls Club. She thought about what it would be like to sleep with Bobby. And then she thought what it would be like to ride a fine brothah like Toussaint all night long. It was a no-brainer. If she was going to delve into the company dick pool, Chardonnay decided she’d aim straight for the top.

  7

  Toussaint smiled as he snuck up on his mother. He tiptoed up to the island in the center of the designer kitchen and placed a light kiss on her neck.

  Candace screamed as the Caesar salad dressing she’d been making flew off the whisk and landed everywhere. “Boy! What is wrong with you?” She took the whisk and popped Toussaint in the middle of the forehead. “Trying to give your mama a heart attack?”

  “Dang, Mama!” Toussaint said, still laughing as he walked over, calmly reached for a paper towel, and wiped the dab of salad dressing off his face. “You’re about to turn that whisk into a deadly weapon.” He reached for a few more paper towels and began looking on the floor for liquid spots to clean up.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. Beverly can clean it up later.” Candace was referring to the Haitian housekeeper she’d hired the year she turned fifty and decided she’d washed enough dishes and swept enough floors for her lifetime. She’d further justified the decision with the knowledge that the salary she paid Beverly fed her six family members who were cramped into a two-bedroom apartment on Atlanta
’s west side.

  “I’m still adjusting to the fact that you have hired help,” Toussaint said. He’d ignored his mother’s suggestion and was now wiping a bit of dressing off the stainless-steel refrigerator door. “If you don’t watch out, people are going to think you’re bougie … trying to keep up with the Joneses.”

  “Please, son, you know better than that. We’re Livingstons. The Joneses are trying to keep up with us.”

  Toussaint stuck his finger into the bowl of salad dressing. “This is good, Mama.”

  “Boy, get your finger out my food. You haven’t changed a bit—still that rambunctious child who shot your cousin in the back of the head with a BB gun.”

  “Ha! That’s why you love me, Mama.”

  “That I do, son. That I do. That’s probably your brother,” Candace said when the doorbell rang. “Unlike you, who walked into our home as if you still lived here and scared me half to death, your brother has manners and is ringing the bell.”

  A half hour later, Adam, Candace, and their two sons were seated around the massive mahogany and cherrywood table that anchored the Livingston’s dining room. They’d just finished the Caesar salad and were digging into Candace’s seafood lasagna with gusto.

  “Victoria is going to be sorry she missed this, Malcolm,” Toussaint said around a mouthful of food. “I bet y’all’s cook can’t compete with this dish … no way.”

  Malcolm shrugged. “Chef does all right. Of course, nobody can compete with Mom’s cooking.”

  “I’m sorry she and the kids couldn’t join us,” Candace said, repeating what she’d said earlier when learning that only Malcolm would be joining them. “That new church she joined sure keeps her busy. But then again, it’s been a long time since there’s been a Sunday dinner with just the four of us.”

  “I can’t believe July is around the corner and the year is halfway over,” Adam said.

  Toussaint nodded his agreement. “Fourth of July next week. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

  Speak for yourself, Romeo. Malcolm reached for another slice of the bread Candace had made from scratch. He took a bite and groaned his pleasure. “Remember Malcolm Mondays and Toussaint Tuesdays? When y’all would have to eat what we cooked?”