Destination Wedding Read online

  I caught my reflection in one of the mirrored panels of the building, digging out my security badge from my purse. My brown pantsuit with a cream silk shirt and leather ankle boots was one of my favorite outfits. As a teenager in New York City, I admired the men in business suits on Wall Street that I saw when my girlfriends and I went shopping downtown. While they dreamed about pretty dresses and marrying the cutest boys in our neighborhood, I dreamed about wearing business suits and having the kind of jobs the men had. That vision stayed with me as I completed high school, graduated from Spelman College, and earned an MBA from Emory University. What I was wearing was proof that there was more than one way to be a woman in this world. I smiled and then I sighed. What am I going to wear on Saturday?

  “Good mernin, Mizz Warner,” a syrupy, high-pitched Southern voice said, interrupting me as I worked on a client’s report at my desk.

  “Huh?” I answered, temporarily confused. “Oh, good morning, Nashaun. I’m sorry. Is it already 8?”

  As I waited for her answer, I realized a solution, albeit temporary, to my dilemma was in front of me. My assistant Nashaun Nance was ghetto gone good. Although her “outside” voice—which she used everywhere—and country twang sometimes irritated me, she was the best assistant I had ever had.

  “Izz something wrang?” Nashaun said. Her carefully sculpted, painted-on eyebrows wrinkled while she swung her long wavy weave from her shoulders to her back. When did weaves become everyday wear? When I was at Spelman, a few girls had weaves, but most of them only wore them for special occasions. Now, it seemed that Atlanta women were divided into two groups: those who were going natural and those who wore extra-long weaves. Short, permed hairstyles like mine weren’t as popular as they were in the ’90s when everyone wanted to look like Halle Berry and Toni Braxton. Jarena was always telling me that my natural curls needed to be released instead of relaxed, but I had a corporate image to maintain.

  “Nashaun, I’m going to a restaurant on Saturday night,” I said, eyeing her blue dress, which was lace at the top and solid at the bottom. I’m so glad her blazer covers her big, round behind. She was overweight, but she didn’t carry herself like an insecure big girl. “I want to look hot but not easy. You always look so nice at work, so I thought you could help me out.”

  “Thaaank you, Mizz Warner,” Nashaun sang as she twisted all of the way into my office. “I don’t want to get all in your bizness, but are you going on a date? I hope you don’t mind me asking.” She put her hands on her hips and scrutinized me right back.

  “Yes,” I said, wondering if I was going to regret the conversation.

  “A new guy?” Nashaun asked.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Well, you know I like to be jazzy, but I know you’re on the conservative side,” she said as she walked around me. “How about a wrap dress? Wendy Williams wears them all the time on her talk show, and she always looks guud in them. I bet you would too, even if you’re not working with all she has.”

  I rolled my eyes. I remembered Wendy Williams when she was just a big-boobs-with-a-mouth-to-match radio deejay in New York. She was not known for being a fashionista.

  “What is a wrap dress?” I said, trying my best to keep my voice neutral.

  “Guuurl, I mean Mizz Warner,” she squawked, “can I use your computer?”

  “Can you?” I said. “You mean, ‘May I.’” I waited for her to catch on.

  “Oh yes. May I use your computer, Mizz Warner?”

  “Yes, you may,” I replied.

  She sat down in my chair while I stood and looked over her shoulder.

  “Ooh, this chair feels soo guud, Mizz Warner!” Nashaun said with a smile as her hips spread in my leather chair as if she had already had a long day. I always had to fight the urge to stare at one of her side teeth, which was framed in gold. What makes her think that is cute? “Don’t worry. I won’t get too comfortable.”

  I nodded as I saw wrap dress examples pop up on my computer screen. Nashaun was right. Wrap dresses were conservative and sexy at the same time, and they looked good on every body type I saw.

  “You should get sum nude platform heels to go with a red wrap dress,” she said, swiveling my chair to look at me.

  “I don’t know about platform heels, but I think I will look for a wrap dress later today, probably after work,” I said. “Thank you, Nashaun.”

  “Anytime, Mizz Warner,” she said as she got up and walked toward my door. “I hope you have a good time on your date.”

  “Me too,” I said as I sat down.

  I would buy a sexy wrap dress after work, but I had no idea how to actually be sexy.

  • • •

  An hour before Dexter was scheduled to arrive, I called Mimi for a few tips on being sexy.

  “Bossy,” Mimi stated after the first ring. “What’s good?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, sliding my left hand through my hair before snatching my hand away, remembering my manicure an hour before. I walked into my closet and pulled out my red wrap dress.

  “So what you call me for, den?”

  “Must you always be ghetto when I know you know how to speak?”

  “Heffa, you called me!”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” I said. “I need your help. I have a date tonight with a guy that I ran into at a networking event. Remember, I told you guys about him. He went to Morehouse, so I met him in college.”

  “Oh, are you recycling him?” Mimi hollered. “You gotta be careful when you do that.”

  “No, I didn’t date him in college. We were strictly friends.”

  “Oh okay, so what’s up?”

  “Well, you are my sexiest friend,” I admitted to her. “So give me some tips about being sexy tonight. But tastefully sexy, Mimi.”

  “You know you crazy, right?” Mimi said as she laughed. “Off da top of my head, make sure you smell like sumthin other than soap. Look into his eyes like erethang he says is interesting, and laugh A LOT. Be bubbly. Also, you want to be confident and vulnerable at the same damn time. It’s tricky, but you can do it if you think about it.”

  Half an hour later, after realizing that I didn’t have any perfume, I opted to wear some Frederick’s of Hollywood lotion that Nashaun got me for Christmas. I hoped my scent was “sexy, not stank,” as Mimi would say.

  A stickler for punctuality, I tried not to be annoyed when I realized Dexter was fifteen minutes late. When the doorbell rang, I thought about effervescence, confidence, and vulnerability.

  “Hey, lady,” Dexter said with a confident smile as he wrapped his muscular arms around me. “You smell good.”

  I returned his hug and smile. Between my all-red ensemble and his black sweater and slacks, we could be Falcons fans. I loved football.

  “We look like we’re going to a Falcons game,” I said.

  “I may have to take you to a game next season,” he said while walking with me to his car. “I love football.”

  He’s already thinking about next year!

  “I have concluded we are twins,” I said while sinking into the plush black leather passenger seat of his BMW. “We have the exact same car, except I have tan interior.”

  “Hopefully we will discover we have even more in common tonight,” he said, looking at me.

  I was glad my skin was dark brown, so he couldn’t tell I was blushing.

  Despite Atlanta’s always-heavy traffic, we made it to Buckhead in forty-five minutes. I couldn’t resist checking myself out in the mirrored wall outside the jazz club and restaurant. Although I had a naturally small frame, I wasn’t as petite as I was in college. I hadn’t gained weight, but 118 pounds at twenty-one years old looks different than it does at thirty-two. I wondered if Dexter noticed. I hated going to the gym, but maybe hiring a trainer would help me to get into a regular workout routine. I sucked in my stomach as we were shown to our booth. I tried to judge how far to sit away from him and decided to leave enough space that another person could sit between us.
First date etiquette was so tricky.

  “So update me on the last ten years,” Dexter said as he laid his BlackBerry next to a menu. “You look the same as you did back then, except when we first met you had glasses. Whatever happened to your glasses, by the way? They were gone by junior year.”

  I slowly exhaled before responding.

  “I got rid of them after I pledged Delta—or rather, my Delta big sisters got rid of them. They had an image to maintain at Spelman,” I said as I chuckled.

  “So, back to the present,” Dexter said, looking directly into my eyes. “I’m sure you have conquered the world by now. I heard from my contacts that you are on the short list for president of the National Black MBA Association.”

  “Who told you that?” I said, wondering about his contacts. “I just want to run for president of the Atlanta chapter. Maybe I will run nationally one day, but first things first.”

  Dexter’s BlackBerry buzzed on the table, and he looked down to check it.

  “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  “I was saying that working at the national level of the association feels like a natural progression for me, although I’m not sure how I would make time for my responsibilities with the association and my work.”

  “Lady, I’m sure that you can handle it like you handle everything else,” Dexter said. “So are you ready to order? I hope they have a good steak. I heard this place was a nice jazz spot, but I hope they have good food too.”

  “I’ve been craving steak all week myself,” I said, marveling at how much we were alike. “I’m trying to eat less red meat, but one night won’t hurt. I think I’m going to order the rib eye.”

  Had I been alone, I would have eaten my entire meal, but I decided to leave a few bites on my plate. Dexter, on the other hand, ate his whole meal. He asked me to dance after we both declined dessert. Mimi told me that you can tell how a guy is going to be in bed based on how he dances, and I was eager to hit the dance floor.

  The restaurant’s house band sang a variety of songs, from modified hip hop to bona fide slow jams. Dexter pulled me to him and swayed as the band performed a competent rendition of D’Angelo’s “Lady.” He sang the lyrics as we danced. I almost gasped when I felt his pants vibrate before realizing it was his BlackBerry again. I liked his rhythm.

  We sat back down at our table to rest for a second. When the bill arrived, I reached for it while simultaneously reaching in my purse for my credit card.

  “I got it,” Dexter said, putting his hand on mine and shaking his head. “Is that how Atlanta women roll nowadays? I know I haven’t lived here since college, but have things changed that much?”

  “I can’t speak for all Atlanta women, but I can afford to pay my own way when needed,” I declared. “I make six figures. Do you?”

  He almost frowned but then smiled instead. “You don’t need to tonight,” he said. “If you let me be the man, you can be the woman. And yes, I am working with six figures too.”

  Later that night, as I tied my hair down in my scarf, I smiled, remembering feeling Dexter’s breath in my ear when we were dancing. I studied his LinkedIn page before going to sleep. Based on his profile, he had made all the right moves since college. And now he was employed by one of the country’s top Fortune 500 companies. Plus, he had a powerful network. He was vice president of the Miami chapter of the Black MBA Association! I wonder why he didn’t tell me. Wow, we really are alike. I made a mental note to ask him about that the next time we talked.

  So far, Destination Wedding was on track. Tonight a first date. Six months from now an engagement. And Puerto Rico in December would be perfect for a wedding.

  CHAPTER 4

  March

  Destination Wedding Meeting #3

  SENALDA CORRALLED THE WOMEN for their third Destination Wedding meeting at The Veronique Experience, where the owner, Veronique Carter, would help them select sexy but age-appropriate clothing. Senalda’s former business-image consultant highly recommended her. Her clothing boutique was located in East Atlanta Village, a quaint assembling of refurbished brick buildings, busy eateries, and brightly painted wooden shotgun homes, with major retailers sprinkled in.

  Spring was still days away, but Atlanta weather changed without warning. Mimi wore cutoff jean shorts, a baby-doll T-shirt, and thong sandals, while her friends were still covered up. The women chatted as they bustled through the door.

  “Hi ladies, come on in,” called out a tall, elegantly thin, light-skinned black woman with silky, very long black hair draped over one shoulder. It seemed the only makeup she had on was bright red lipstick, which wasn’t even necessary to enhance her refined beauty. She wore a baggy green print dress that flared at the sides and sparkly gold flats, an understated yet stylish ensemble.

  “I’m Veronique Carter. You must be Senalda Warner,” she said, walking up to Senalda and extending her hand toward her.

  “You are correct,” Senalda confirmed, removing her sunglasses with one hand and shaking Veronique’s hand with the other. “And this is Jarena and Mimi.”

  “Good,” she said. “Let’s get started. Judging by what you’re wearing, I’ve already got a good idea about your personal styles. My specialty is helping women define and enhance their personal style. I don’t want to change what you wear. I simply aim to enhance it.”

  “Perfect,” Senalda chimed in. “I’m more of a conservative dresser, so I’m usually in black, brown, or navy pantsuits for work, but I have been experimenting lately with other colors.”

  “Jarena, I can tell your style is conservative too, but with a twist,” Veronique said, gesturing toward her. “Your clothing is pretty conservative, but your hairstyle shows me that you have some alternative thoughts or ideas.”

  “I cannot believe you just described me!” Jarena said, stealing a look at her fluffy, defined Afro in one of the mirrors. Some days her curls refused to separate, and her hair looked like clustered black cotton balls affixed to her scalp, but today they stretched themselves into shiny ringlets. “I don’t know if anyone has been able to do that so quickly. So what do you have in mind for me? I think—”

  “Well, you probably wear a lot of solid clothing in primary colors,” Veronique said, interrupting Jarena. “But I think you should explore wearing prints.”

  She walked over to some silk blouses hung on a nearby rack. “You could pair this black-and-white leopard-print blouse with this red pencil skirt,” she said, picking up the skirt and placing it next to the blouse. “The solid bottom is conservative, and the black-and-white colors are conservative, but the leopard print shows that you have a wild side. Do you want to try these on?”

  “Okay, but I was thinking—” Jarena replied.

  “Where is your dressing room?” Senalda said as she stepped to Veronique, took the clothes from her, and handed them to Jarena while rolling her eyes.

  Veronique smiled while pointing toward the back of the store.

  “I got next,” Mimi piped. “Lemme save you some time by telling you that my style is tomboy chic/ATL playa. So whaddaya think?” Senalda and Jarena nodded while chuckling.

  “Exactly,” Veronique confirmed. “But I know you’re a radio personality for KISS 103, which mostly plays ‘urban’ music. Your style is fine for a rock ’n’ roll radio station, but I would imagine that you probably stand out at work or industry parties.”

  “I wanna stand out,” Mimi blurted.

  “Yes, you should, but in a good way,” Veronique continued. “No disrespect, but I think we are all in our thirties. You also have to allow room for getting older or more mature in your clothing choices. Your coloring and body frame are very similar to my coloring and body frame, although our personal style is different. I think you should wear more form-fitting but conservative clothing in pastel colors. What about this baby-blue dress? It would accentuate your curves so that you would stand out, but the style of this dress is more R&B and mature.”

  “Miss Thang Mimi already gets men
in baggy or ripped clothing, so I don’t know what will happen if she wears that dress,” Senalda nearly shouted.

  “I can tell she is flirty, but this style would attract a different kind of man,” she said, handing the dress to Mimi.

  “Wow, are you a life coach or a clothing stylist?” Senalda said. “You know what you’re talking about! Girl, get back there and try on that dress!”

  “Okay, okay,” Mimi said, “but I already got da man I want. And I do wear tight stuff to radio events sometimes, but not in dis color.”

  Senalda rolled her eyes before looking at Veronique. “So what about me?” She spun around, perusing the store. “I’ve been wearing red lately since I started dating a new guy, so I think I may have a head start in changing my wardrobe. Of course, I am open to a more informed opinion.”

  “I’ve been envisioning your style since we spoke on the phone,” Veronique said. “Obviously, you are a very polished and professional woman. You are strictly business. Wearing red goes with your skin tone, but have you ever thought about adding some other jewel tones? Like fuchsia, blue, or green? Colors that pop!”

  “Me in all of those colors?” Senalda exclaimed, pointing to herself. “I don’t want to look like a rainbow!”

  “I think they would soften you a bit. You mentioned that you’re looking for love this year in our initial conversation, and I think these colors are very feminine but strong.”

  Senalda’s inner feminist wanted to shut down the stylist, but she had been sneaking peeks at Veronique’s colossal diamond on her slender wedding finger. She was apparently engaged to someone wealthy enough to buy her a beautiful solitaire that could be the down payment for a home. Her personal style was flawless. And her store was beautiful.

  “How about this fuchsia chiffon dress?” Veronique walked to a black wardrobe bag hanging on a stand behind the cash register and unzipped it. Senalda took the dress from her and held it in front of her body as she looked in a full-length mirror. It was the type of dress that you wore to party with a man, as it was short enough to be flirty but with enough material to be respectable.