Cheesecake and Teardrops (6 page)

No matter how many women he had been with, there was never anything like that first dip in a new sauna. It was the thrill of victory. Li'l man couldn't stay away from those steam baths if his life depended on it. It was an obsession that kept Blade in trouble time and time again. On the other hand, it served him well. Real well.

He turned his attention to fucking the hell out of the blonde pussy underneath him, enjoying her just as much as she was enjoying him. Chase was a loud one. Finally, her body began twitching in the spasms that let him know his mission was successful. He let go himself and came too, collapsing in a pool of sweat, thoroughly exhausted. He lay silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

Chase climbed on top of him. “Mmm,” she purred softly.

“You are something else. You know that?” he said.

She smiled and snuggled up to him as he rubbed her back.

“Ready for some more?” Chase asked.

In response he grabbed her ass and rolled her right over.

She laughed, definitely ready for more.

 

Stone Canyon wondered where the hell his granddaughter was as his family prepared for Sunday Mass. She knew how important it was to him, and yet she tried his patience at least twice a month. When she left the house last night for God only knows where, didn't he remind her to be home in time for church? And didn't she assure him that she would? It was already after seven and she was nowhere in sight. He called her cell phone. No answer. Next, he tried calling her best friend Loren, who had obviously been sleeping.

“Hello?” she said, her voice groggy with sleep.

“Loren, this is Stone Canyon.”

“Yes, Mr. Canyon.” She cleared her throat.

“Have you heard from Chase?”

“Uh, yeah,” she lied. “She just left. We went out last night and got back really late. She spent the night here.”

“Okay, Loren, sorry to wake you.”

“No problem, Mr. Canyon, buh-bye.”

Loren disconnected and immediately dialed Chase.

Chase picked up on the fourth ring, awakened by Loren's ring tone.

“Yeah, what's up?” Chase asked.

“Your grandfather just called here looking for you. Where the hell are you?”

“I'll explain later,” she said simply. “What did you tell him?”

“That you crashed at my house last night, and that you had just left.”

“Shit,” Chase said, jumping up out of bed. “I already missed Mass last Sunday. What time is it?”

“Seven-fifteen.”

“Well, playtime's over,” she said, searching for her panties.

“Thanks for covering for me. I owe you.”

“No problem. Just get your buns home.”

“I'm leaving now,” Chase said, diving into her black jeans and looking for her left shoe. Where the hell was it?

Blade stirred just as she hung up. He tried to pull her back to bed.

“Gotta go, babe. I am so late it isn't even funny.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek, grabbed her purse and keys, and headed out the door.

Stone knew it was time to start keeping tabs on his granddaughter—again. Chase had always been a wild child, but lately she was taking it to a whole new level. She'd come home at all hours of the night, or not at all. And he didn't believe she was spending all that time with her girlfriend Loren, either.

Whatever meetings he had that day would have to be rescheduled. He was already late for his appointment with Johnston's Athletics Equipment and time was money. Thank goodness his driver was waiting for him as he left the building.

Stone was just about ready to open his fifth health club. He met Nico Antonelli, his corporate attorney, downstairs and together they closed the deal. Though only thirty-five, Nico was a brilliant attorney, and Stone was lucky to have him on his team.

Two hours later, the two were back in Stone's office sipping champagne. “I'd love to see the look on the face of that loan officer who turned me down. What was his name again?” Stone asked.

“Dearborn,” Nico said.

“That shithead,” Stone said, refilling their flutes. “Why don't you come over for dinner tonight? My granddaughter would love to see you.”

“You know Chase is too wild for me,” Nico admitted, draining his glass.

“One day my granddaughter will come to her senses. I'll get you in the family yet.” He winked.

As if on cue, Stone's secretary, Juana, entered with her steno pad ready for dictation. Familiar with the routine, Nico grabbed his coat and briefcase and prepared to leave. Stone stood as well and walked his attorney to the door.

“Good job,” he told him, firmly shaking his hand.

“Give my regards to the family.”

“Take care, Nico.”

Juana and Stone both waited for the elevator to close before she locked the office door. Stone took her in her arms. She stroked his head, loving the feel of his white mane. For a seventy-two-year-old man, his hair was remarkably thick, and their passionate kisses always warmed up his steel blue eyes, something that his wife Lola hadn't done in years. Juana had been his mistress for more than five years. He took care of her rent and expenses in exchange for the best sex he'd had in years. At forty-one, Juana wasn't some starry-eyed bimbo expecting her Mrs. degree. She knew that she was simply a diversion for her boss and that he would never leave his wife. But she was willing to stay with him as long as both their needs were met.

Juana freed her French twist as their two bodies riveted toward the blue leather custom-designed sofa that exactly matched his eyes. The sofa was imported from Italy, and he had had the deliverymen return it twice before the furniture store landed the perfect shade. Juana paused for a moment to retrieve a blanket from the closet to cover the sofa.

Within minutes the Valentino suit and silk blouse he had bought her on one of their shopping sprees in Manhattan joined his in a heap on the carpet. It wasn't long before they were working it out on top of the blanket. She rode him like a bronco, rolling her hips with the same intensity that she rolled her
R
's. It wasn't long before he was totally spent, and they lay satisfied on the sofa.

They dozed off for a minute until they were awakened by the phone. A completely naked Juana jumped up to answer it while Stone's eyes followed her ripe body admiringly.

“Just a minute, Mr. Caparelli.” Juana handed the phone to Stone.

“Yes, Zynk,” Stone said, rising and wrapping the blanket around his waist. “Okay, I'll meet you at O'Neil's in half an hour,” he said before hanging up.

Thirty minutes later Stone and Zynk were seated at a table in O'Neil's Pub and Steakhouse. Zynk was a private investigator, and Stone had hired him to keep tabs on Chase.

They ordered drinks and got straight to the point.

“So what did you find out, Zynk?”

“Well, Mr. Canyon, your granddaughter is a very busy lady. Seems like she has a new friend.” He reached into his jacket pocket and removed an envelope, which he handed to Stone.

Stone opened the envelope, revealing photos of Chase and some black guy going into and coming out of a bar and then into a hotel.

“Who is he?” Stone asked.

“Blake Watson. They call him Blade.”

“Blade, huh? Nothing surprises me anymore. What does he do?”

“He an exotic dancer at some club called the G-Spot.”

“It figures. Do you think he knows how much she's worth?”

“I'm not sure, Mr. Canyon, but I will say they hit the hotel about twice a week. And a couple of times they made out in the back of his car. Apparently, they've been seeing each other hot and heavy for almost a month now.”

Stone shook his head in disgust. “Please spare me the details.

My granddaughter is going to give me a heart attack yet.” He took a sip of his vodka.

“So what's the next move?” Zynk asked.

“I want you to set up an appointment between this Blade character and me. There is no way I'm letting this shithead mess over my granddaughter, and I sure as hell don't need the publicity. Everybody has a price. I'll write him a check with enough zeros to cover his.”

 

Tangie hadn't seen Blade in weeks, and it hurt. She was beginning to think there was someone else. He didn't return her phone calls or he was always working. She didn't wear rejection very well. She never had.

Tangie got to the gym early Tuesday morning, surprised by Blade's presence. He was in the back lifting weights and didn't see her at first. It was only when she stopped in front of the women's locker room to speak to a coworker that he caught her voice and walked over to her.

“What's going on?” he asked her.

“Hey,” she said coolly.

“Listen, I want to see you tonight. Are you busy?”

“I'm not sure. What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“I have a business appointment this afternoon, and I thought if everything goes well maybe you could come by and I'd make us dinner. How does that sound?”

“Sounds doable.”

“It sure does,” he agreed. “What time do you get off work?”

“Six.”

“Why don't I call you when I get in?”

“You do that,” she said, feeling his eyes on her butt as she walked away.

Heather worked late at the library Wednesday evening. It was her second late night that week, and she felt like she was coming down with a cold. Thankfully, she was off the next couple of days so she took her schedule in stride.

She clocked out. Forty-eight hours of sweet freedom before she returned to work.

By the time she left work, visions of a hot bubble bath were what navigated her home and into the tub. She eased into the water, feeling like the original Calgon lady.

Afterward, she checked out her body in the bathroom mirror. She turned, viewing herself from various angles, covering her nose with her fingers. Shit. Apparently, all the eating she had done lately was catching up with her. She stepped on the scale, looking over her pouch down to her toes. Damn, she was back to her pre-diet pill weight.

Twenty pounds down the drain. She kicked the scale back into the corner, turned off the light, and shut the bathroom door.

Heather went straight to bed, but her stomach wouldn't let her sleep. Should she or shouldn't she? She tossed and turned for a while until her cravings won the battle. Hell, if it was too late for dinner it only meant it was time for a latenight snack.

She headed for the kitchen. With one hand she grabbed the half pound of ground beef from the bottom shelf of her fridge while snatching a small onion with the other. She closed the door with her leg. Heather reached under the microwave shelf for her George Foreman, placed it on her counter and plugged it in. She quickly seasoned the meat and chopped up the onion before mixing it up in the bowl.

By then the grilling surface was hot, sizzling as it met the beef. She reached for a saucer and the bag of potato buns in the bread box.

She slid the burger on the bun, topped it with a red onion ring and a dab of hickory and brown sugar barbecue sauce. Heather hadn't eaten all day. She started to pop a diet pill into her mouth, but who was she kidding? Instead, she threw the half-used bottle in the trash. Nothing but net.

She smiled as she bit into the juicy burger, the sweet, tangy sauce oozing ever so slightly from the corners of her mouth. She lapped it up with her tongue. It didn't get much better. She washed the burger down with a glass of raspberry lemonade, suddenly wide awake, then headed into the living room and grabbed the remote.
Waiting to Exhale
was on. She made a quick trip to the kitchen and snatched the package of chocolate chip cookies off the counter. Heather ate an entire sleeve of cookies before the first commercial. Then she conked out on the couch.

The next morning Heather cleaned her basement apartment and did laundry before stepping one foot outside her door. It was a brisk November day, worthy of a turtleneck and leather jacket. On second thought, she went back home and grabbed a scarf. She was susceptible to colds at the drop of a hat. She spotted a neighbor watching her as she sashayed down the block to her parked car. She was tempted to walk backward as much press her behind got.

She always caught him checking her out. Unfortunately, so did his wife. His tongue might as well have been hanging out his mouth. Men, could they be any more obvious?

The mechanic had given her car a clean bill of health when she picked it up from the shop the other day. With the car seat pushed all the way back, she eased into her late-model coupe. With all the heavy eating she'd been doing lately, she had developed a steering wheel gut. Apparently, the diet pills were useless if she continued to eat like a pig. She still couldn't believe she had regained twenty pounds. It was back to the drawing board. Luckily, her car started right up. She hated spending the money on a new alternator, but it was either that or the bus. She headed for the Green Acres Mall to pay her Ashley Stewart bill. Ever since her payment got lost in the mail about six months ago, she paid in person. She worked too hard for her money to blow it on late fees.

The parking lot was full. Maybe her New Year's resolution would be to start parking farther away from her destination, but for now she lucked up with a spot a few feet from the entrance.

Though surrounded by new holiday merchandise, Heather grit her teeth, paid her bill in full, and walked out the store. She checked her watch. It was too early for lunch, but a Dunkin' Donuts coffee coolatta would more than hit the spot. She knew it was a bad move on her part, but maybe if she cut back for the rest of the day she'd be okay. Walking to the center of the first floor, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror before riding the escalator up. Even without a stitch of makeup, she seemed to invoke the wrath of a female passerby or two. They rolled their eyes as they crossed her path. It didn't seem to matter that an extra sixty pounds padded her girth, their stares were still icy.

As usual, Heather zoned the women out, focusing instead on walking down to Dunkin' Donuts. She got her hazelnut-flavored drink, found a seat in the food court, and took a load off her feet. She closed her eyes as the coffee crept down her throat, glad she'd had it made with real cream instead of watery skim milk.

Heather sucked down another mouthful with her French manicured fingertips gently grasping the straw. She stirred her coolatta slowly, her mind drifting to her car. Lord only knew how much she needed a new one, but she hated another expense. At least her car was paid for. She had more than the recommended twelve months of living expenses saved in her bank account, but that was beside the point.

She just wasn't ready for another bill.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she barely noticed the man standing over her until his shadow became evident, hovering on the table.

She sneezed unexpectedly, giving him the perfect opening.

“Bless you,” he said simply. “I couldn't help noticing you from across the way.” Heather looked up at him. He was about five foot nine with heavy eyebrows and a full beard, dressed in cords, a crewneck sweater, and a leather jacket.

He handed Heather a business card inscribed
A+ SIZE MODELING AGENCY
.

He looked familiar. Where had she seen him before?

Then it dawned on her.

TV One had recently done a show on the plus-sized modeling industry.

“I know you've heard this before, but you look amazing. Ever consider modeling?”

“Oh sure, every night as I nuke the Häagen-Dazs,” she assured him.

“You laugh, but I'm serious,” he said. “Do me a favor, when you drop forty pounds, give me a call. I'll be waiting by the phone.” He smiled. “Better yet, make that twenty pounds, as good as you look.”

“Whatever,” Heather said under her breath as he walked away. She shook her head. How long had she been waiting to be “discovered” by an agent? Too long. But she didn't have the chutzpah to sashay herself down to a modeling agency in the city and take her chances. She was too afraid that they'd laugh her big, fat ass all the way back to Queens.

And now look what happened. Twenty pounds. Twenty freakin' pounds. Why couldn't their paths have crossed last week? Was life fair or what? She drove to Red Lobster and ordered a dozen cheddar biscuits to take out. Unfortunately, they didn't make it home. That night as she stared at her reflection in the mirror—nose and all—she made a decision.

Slowly, she leaned over the toilet and stuck three fingers down her throat. The rest was easy. It would be her little secret.

 

Later that week, Heather dialed Charisma and Tangie for a threeway about getting together that night.

“Let's have dinner at Cabana,” Charisma suggested.

“Cabana?” Heather whined. “They have to practically roll us out the door every time we eat there. Thanksgiving'll be here before you know it. How about Manhattan Proper for drinks?”

“Okay, Heather. We'll do Manhattan Proper,” Tangie said.

“You need me to pick you up?”

“No, I'm good,” Heather reassured her.

“Meet you guys there at seven?” Charisma asked.

“Seven's good,” Heather agreed before hanging up.

Apparently, it wasn't. Tangie and Charisma waited over half an hour for Heather to show that night.

“That damned car,” Tangie said. “I knew one of us should've picked her up.”

“I'll call her cell phone.” Charisma dialed Heather's cell phone. “I'm just getting her voice mail.” Charisma shook her head.

“I hope she's not stranded somewhere.” Tangie reached for her wineglass.

“Let me call her house. Maybe she hasn't left yet. It's ringing,” she told Tangie. “Heather, we're at Manhattan Proper waiting for you. It's something to eight. Call us when you get this message.”

“Hello?” Heather yawned.

“Heather?” Charisma said. “What's wrong? Were you sleeping?”

“What time is it?” Heather asked her.

“It's a quarter to eight.”

“Oh, my gosh. I'm so sorry. I came home and took some cold medicine, and I guess it knocked me out.”

“Well, stay home and get some rest, Heather. We'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, Charisma. Bye.”

“What happened?” Tangie asked Charisma.

“She's all right. She was asleep. She took some cold medicine, and it made her drowsy.” Charisma popped a couple of peanuts in her mouth.

“Oh, okay. I'm starving. Let's eat something and call it a night,” Tangie said.

“Good idea. I have an early meeting tomorrow. You wanna hear something funny?” she asked without waiting for an answer. “I've been debating whether I should invite Nate over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Are you cooking?” Tangie asked.

“No, my mother's having Thanksgiving dinner, and I thought that maybe if he didn't have plans he could have dinner with us.”

“Do it,” Tangie pleaded. “The holidays are the perfect time to get together. Wait a minute. Didn't you say he has a son?”

“Yeah, he has a teenaged son. Maybe he's already made plans to spend Thanksgiving with him,” Charisma said.

“Ask him anyway,” Tangie insisted. “Plans change.”

“I don't know. You know Dex always comes by.”

“So, the more the merrier. Wait a minute, Charisma. Don't forget,” Tangie said, raising her glass. “Behind every successful woman is herself.”

“I must be crazy to let you talk me into this.” Charisma shook her head.

 

Heather spent the following Monday at the main branch of the New York Public Library in Manhattan. She took the E train to Times Square and walked a few blocks to Fifth Avenue.

She had stood all the way from Jamaica Center Parsons Archer to Forty-second Street, and no matter how comfortable her shoes had started out, the low-heeled leather sling pump was rubbing against the corn on her right pinkie toe. She double-checked her purse to make sure she hadn't forgotten her toothbrush and whitening toothpaste. She had done a lot of research lately on bulimia, and the advice was all the same: Take special care of your teeth to prevent gray or yellow teeth from tooth erosion.

Also, stomach acids in vomit eat away at tooth enamel and cause bad breath. The last thing Heather wanted to do was to offend anyone with her breath.

Compared to the Queens Library in Jamaica, where she worked, the Manhattan Library was like a universe of knowledge.

From the moment she hurried up the stairs guarded on either side by statues of the landmark lions, she felt like she was entering the halls of wisdom.

Heather removed her coat and draped it over her left arm. As instructed, she signed in at the front desk. Her ID badge, clearly displayed, hung around her neck. She road the elevator to the fifth floor and found room 503.

The class was mandatory for all library personnel, and though most employees were fortunate enough to be taught in their home branch, Heather was unlucky enough to have to schlep to Manhattan that day. There were approximately one hundred people in the class and after introducing herself the lecturer asked everyone to move up as close to the front as possible, filling in all empty seats.

Heather chose an aisle seat.

The lecture lasted for three hours and then they broke for lunch. She walked to the nearest bank of elevators and waited along with the others. Four elevators passed before she would get one, and even that elevator was packed to the gills. Heather left the building and walked around the corner to the Bryant Park Grill.

She didn't beat the lunch crowd and had to wait fifteen minutes for a table. The waitress brought her a glass of water, with which Heather washed down her diet pills. When she returned to take Heather's order, she took one look at the menu and ordered a slice of chocolate-layer cake and coffee.

She checked out her surroundings. The skinny minis, as she called them, were in rare form, looking as though they had just stepped out of the pages of
Vogue
. Then again, considering that she was in Bryant Park, home of New York's Fashion Week, some of them probably had.

Heather didn't know what made her eyes widen more—the sight of
Black Enterprise
's Ed Gordon walking past her table or the arrival of her lunch. In either case, presentation was everything and the combination nearly took her breath away. Certain that she'd never sample his succulently full, juicy lips, she resolved to enjoy her meal in between stealing glances at his impressive form. The cake, which sat a full five inches high, was simply mouth-watering with chocolate shavings galore. Heather cleaned the last morsel of chocolate from her plate like it was the most precious commodity on earth. So much for saving some for manners.

She left the restaurant, straining her neck for one last glimpse of Ed Gordon, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was just as well. He'd probably never give someone like her a second thought anyway.

She took one last backward glance as she left the establishment and ran smack into a passerby on the sidewalk.

She was more startled than he was.