Valentine's Day Is Killing Me Read online

  Jocelyn set the phone down in its cradle very precisely and put the wine and champagne in the fridge. She took out a platter and swiped off a fat, chocolate-covered strawberry, the best one on the tray and set the tray down on the coffee table. Then she walked around her apartment, stoically lighting her candles, firing up some more incense, and then turned her music up very loud. Never again. She sat down calmly on the sofa, willing herself not to cry, and dialed The Pamper People.

  Chapter Three

  See, now, this was exactly why she didn’t do Valentine’s Day with any man, and from this point forward, with any female friend, either. Forever, this night would go down in infamy—banished from her vocabulary and thoughts. As the late, great Gil Scott Heron once said, ‘The revolution will not be televised!’

  Jocelyn sat on the sofa, thoroughly disgusted, eating everything she could get her hands on as she listened to the cool, professionally icy tone stating policy in her ear.

  “While we can certainly understand your disappointment, at this late juncture I’m sure you can also understand that we will still have to charge your credit card with the full six-hundred-dollar balance, Ms. Jefferson. Our pamper crew is already en route, their time has been utilized, their transportation costs must be covered, and we could have easily slotted in another client that had firmer plans, had we known earlier. We try to be fair, and pride ourselves on working through customer issues until a satisfactory conclusion has been reached for both sides. But an hour before they are due to arrive, it is just not our policy to offer a full refund.”

  Jocelyn sighed. “Well, if you’re gonna charge me anyway, you might as well send them.”

  “I’m so glad we came to terms,” the salon owner cooed. “You’ll be able to experience the full range of their treatments with so much more attention, so, who knows? Perhaps this is really a blessing in disguise.”

  Jocelyn just looked at the telephone. Right about now, wine sounded like a good idea. A shower, some wine, and she’d put on her short little red kimono and matching mesh slippers and just let ’em do her.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Jocelyn finally muttered and hung up without even a civil good-bye.

  By the time her doorbell rang, Jocelyn had polished off a bottle of wine and had begun pouring champagne into a pretty, long-stemmed flute. She weaved, set the glass down carefully, and went to the window to be sure she wasn’t about to buzz in a burglar. She opened it with effort, and cold air slapped her cheeks as she peered down from the fourth floor. The ladies all seemed blurry as she stared at a group of women huddled against the cold on her building’s steps.

  “I’m in 4-D,” Jocelyn yelled, weaving as she managed to coordinate sticking her head out of the window while reaching for her champagne.

  The older ladies on the steps gave each other curious glances, swallowed away smiles, and entered the building.

  Jocelyn didn’t care what they thought of her. She was beyond words, too through. To let them know that, she slammed the window down, but spilled her champagne. This didn’t make no kinda sense.

  She was standing in front of her wide-open door by the time they all huffed up the stairs. Jocelyn surveyed them with disinterest. Each woman seemed to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties, and was carrying a huge, embroidered satchel with their company logo emblazoned upon it. Just her luck to have her home invaded by four Mary Poppins stunt doubles. Okay, so these were pampering pros. Fine. Their expressions seemed pleasant enough, and at least she wouldn’t be spending the entire night alone. But six hundred bucks—Jeez.

  “Might as well come on in,” Jocelyn said with a weary sigh, turning to go back into her apartment. “Sorry about the steps. No elevator. Story of my life, doing things the hard way.”

  “We’ll have fun, don’t worry. The other ladies are gonna miss out. My name is Agnes,” a tall, mahogany-hued woman said. She had pretty eyes, kind eyes that held a hint of mischief. Her skin was flawless, even at her age, although a slight thickening of her middle told on her a bit. She extended her hand with a gentle smile.

  “I hope so,” Jocelyn said in a dejected tone. “My girls stood me up.”

  “Not to worry. Their loss.” Agnes glanced around the apartment and shook her head. “You went to so much trouble, too. Well, we’ll make lemonade out of lemons, like my momma taught me. Okay?”

  Jocelyn nodded, just to be polite. “You can hang your stuff up over there,” she said flatly, pointing toward a wrought-iron coatrack. “Would you like some wine, or some tea? Maybe some food? I’ve got all this junk in here, and it’ll go bad if we don’t chow down.”

  “Maybe later, and thank you so much. But right now, our focus is you,” Agnes said as she took off her heavy, raisin-colored cloth coat and carefully folded it over her arm, then set her bag down on the floor. She gave a slight nod to the other women to follow suit. “My specialty is skin care,” she said proudly. “We’ll start you off with a facial, hon. Then Mildred is gonna work the kinks out of your back with a full body massage,” she added, gesturing toward a short blonde who had laugh lines around her cat-green eyes.

  Mildred gave Jocelyn a little wave and a huge smile while taking off her navy pea coat. “I might be little, but I pack a punch,” she said, chuckling. “I’ll have you so loose we’ll be able to pour you in a glass when I’m done.”

  To that, all the ladies laughed, and a shy, older Asian woman chuckled behind her hand.

  “Let Sue-Lin do your feet last, because once she does, there’s nothing to do but go to sleep,” Agnes said, offering a slight bow of appreciation toward her colleague.

  Sue-Lin waved with the tips of her fingers and glanced down at Jocelyn’s feet. “You want designs? I brought airbrush, can make very pretty feet, especially big toe. Smooth, like baby’s butt. You need pretty feet. All ladies must have pretty feet. Hands, too.”

  “Okay,” Jocelyn said, laughing despite her mood. “Make it so, Ms. Sue-Lin.”

  “Now we talkin’,” the youngest woman in the group said. She flipped off her white leather coat with flair, showing off a stunningly fit body that belied her age. “Girl, don’t let this situation stress a sister, hear? I’ma have your head beat so tight when I get done, it’ll cut ’em to the bone. Yeah, let your girlfriends know they missed gettin’ their hair did by Kimika, ’kay? Call me Mika, though—I couldn’t work with Kimberly, so I changed it. Every woman needs change, from time to time. We’ll make this makeover night, since your girls weren’t acting right. It’ll be all right.”

  She strutted around in a tight circle as the other ladies laughed. Taking center stage in the middle of the apartment floor, she smoothed her hand over her slick Halle Berry cut that was a hue somewhere between strawberry blond and platinum, which offered an eclectic contrast to her almond-toned skin. “Now, if you want color—”

  “No, no, no no, no,” Jocelyn said quickly, imagining the possibilities. Maybe Ms. Kimberly, aka Kimika, could pull off Lil’ Kim, but she wasn’t ready for that dramatic a change. “Uh, if you could just make it a gradual transition.”

  Kimika laughed harder. “Oh, okay. The conservative type. My bad. But, uh, sis, we have got to lose the bun.”

  The older ladies smiled and nodded as Jocelyn’s hand self-consciously reached up to feel the offending hairstyle.

  “You have pretty eyes,” Agnes said, going to the coatrack. “You ever consider contacts?”

  “I’m a student,” Jocelyn said with a chuckle, moving to the coffee table to offer each woman a glass.

  “And? I don’t follow,” Mildred said with a shrug.

  “Glasses are easier and don’t dry out my eyes,” Jocelyn fussed, remembering how her girlfriends had stayed on her about the same issue.

  Agnes shook her head. “Uhm, uhm…gorgeous skin. You shouldn’t hide it behind glasses. You’ll see once I slough off all that dead skin and make you radiant again. I’ll show you some makeup techniques, too. This is what I do.”

  “No offense,” Jocelyn said, laughing
as she began to hand out glasses, “but radiant…uh…I don’t think so. Not because of skill, but you’re gonna have to grow new skin in a lab petri dish to do that.”

  Kimika laughed and went right for the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of champagne. “Agnes can work wonders, chile. Radiant, like—after-you’ve-got-your-world-rocked-by-the-finest-man-on-the-planet radiant. Watch.” She popped the cork as her crewmembers squealed.

  “Kim!” Agnes yelled, laughing. “How you gonna just go into the woman’s refrigerator like that?” She turned to Jocelyn. “Miss, I’m sorry,” and she spun back to focus on her team member with a glare in her eyes. “You know it’s not company policy to—”

  “Aw’ight, relax,” Kimika said, one hand over her ample breasts. “This is for Miss Jocelyn. Not me. I know she had to have the bubbly in here, given how she set up for her friends. Chill.”

  “It’s really all right,” Jocelyn said, not sure what to do. On one side she had a tall, very distraught-looking West Indian matron, on the other side a forty-something quasi-rap star with a South Philly grandmother, and in the middle, an Asian lady who looked like she wanted to die of shame. “Ladies, my offer stands, and please call me Jocelyn—no, Miss Jocelyn, really. Let’s eat, laugh, do the different treatments, and just all relax tonight. What do you say?” Trying to keep the peace, she went to the coffee table and selected a gift for each woman. “These are for you,” she said, giving away the presents that her girlfriends never bothered to collect.

  All eyes went toward Agnes, who finally smiled. “Well, if you insist.”

  “I do,” Jocelyn said, making a beeline for the champagne so she could pour.

  “Don’t you wish all our clients were like this, Millie?” Agnes said. She peered down at the silver-wrapped gift. “This is…just…I don’t know what to say.”

  “You know it. Got two ex-husbands and five boys,” Mildred said with a scowl, “and not a one of those rat bastards ever did half as much as this young lady just did. Imagine, her girlfriends stood her up like this. Shameful.”

  “Oh…look how pretty,” Sue-Lin said, turning the glasses to the light, and then bending to touch the little gifts on the coffee table. She shook her head, made a little tsking sound of annoyance with her tongue. “You such a nice young lady. One day a good man will see.”

  “This young sister is sweet—that’s the problem,” Kimika said, folding her arms. “Real genuine heart ready for the breaking. So, tonight, ladies, we’re doing an old-fashioned, get Cinderella fly for the ball, bibbitybobbity-boo on girlfriend. Gonna make heads turn when she rolls out of here to go to work tomorrow. Give her coworkers something to gossip about. Gonna make the men all pause, yeah,” she said, slapping five as she passed each of her pamper team members like she was an NFL coach. “This ain’t right. My feelin’s is hurt for her. So, ladies, all champagne and whatnot aside, let’s do our best work tonight on this one. She gets the special client treatment. I might even have to bust out and serve her wardrobe.”

  Jocelyn didn’t say a word as the women murmured agreement. There was a fiery determination in their eyes that was almost frightening. It seemed as though each woman was remembering her own past personal hurts as they shared in hers, and she could tell by their lifted chins and straight backs that Kimika had ignited a quiet defiance in them—the ladies were on a mission. Once their glasses clinked, the secret, collective call to arms had gone out. One of their species was being dogged by friend and foe, so it was on.

  Jocelyn hurried around the room, pouring champagne. “I have desserts, all sorts of good stuff.” She made herself smile and become the perfect hostess. She wasn’t sure why she was doing what she was doing—after all, she was paying six bills for the services yet to be rendered, but it was just something that had been drilled into her since conception. When people visited, you just did.

  Before long, the tension eased with Jocelyn. The wall between professional service provider and client was crumbled. Huge tears rolled down her cheeks as sweet Ms. Agnes swathed her face in a warm, lavender-scented hot towel and plugged in a steam lamp. Someone kept refilling her glass, and each woman chimed in, telling her own tale of woe. Shaky spouses, no-good boyfriends, absent fathers, no card or flowers on the special day; it was a pity-fest in full effect.

  Their stories made her weep, and Jocelyn even left her prone position on the sofa despite Agnes’s complaints to give each woman a long-stemmed red rose. That brought the house down. Everybody was crying. Kimika blew her nose so hard that it sounded like a ship in the harbor.

  “Oh, girl, just stop!” Kimika groaned, covering her face. “Why do you think I always work Valentine’s Day? Lawd have mercy…”

  Sue-Lin was snatching off rose petals to float in the foot whirlpool, sniffing. “No flowers. No candy. Just work! He never say, ‘Wife, I think you pretty. Wife, how was your day? Wife, you mean world to me.’ I know men dog. Rat!”

  “Why do you think I became a bodybuilder?” Mildred said, downing her fifth glass of champagne and popping a miniature cannoli into her mouth behind it. “Met a massage therapist over in the gym—what can I say? Taught me everything I know, and then some, love. When Aggie is done, roll over, and I’ll show you some stuff that’ll make you putty, but never forget—women are tougher than them.”

  Kimika nodded and knocked back the last of the champagne in her glass. “I’ma tell you what. We should really make her night and have us a for-real party. I hate feeling like this!”

  “Me, tooooo,” Jocelyn wailed, sniffing hard. “You all shouldn’t be working.”

  “Doll, this ain’t work,” Mildred said, and then glanced at Kimika. “Your cousin still go out with that cutie who works over at the club?”

  Kimika nodded. “Yep, and I’ma call him. He should be off the poles by now,” she said with a wink and then glanced at her watch.

  Jocelyn barely lifted her head as Kimika began punching numbers on her shiny little cell phone. Did she say ‘off the poles?’ It wasn’t election time, poll-watchers shouldn’t…“Uh, Kimika, did I hear—”

  “Shush,” Kimika said, putting a long, Caribbean-orange talon against her ear and listening hard for a cell phone connection. “I’ve gotta go by a window. Reception sucks in here.”

  Feeling too mellow to double back on the question, Jocelyn sank against the sofa, allowing parts of her body to be stretched and pulled. Her face was so clear and radiant that she’d made Agnes laugh by asking if it were a trick mirror. Her feet felt like butter, her hands so pretty. Little red hearts covered frosted white polish, something she never in her life did. Her toenails were the reverse—white hearts on a wicked red background. If it weren’t winter, she would have had to find open-toed shoes just to floss the pedicure. She’d even gone for broke and had allowed Kimika to cut off an inch, add highlights, and practically hot-rod her hair into a curly, wild profusion. She felt like a million bucks. A sleepy million, maybe even a tipsy million, but it was good to be the queen.

  When the doorbell rang, the ladies began laughing all over again. She stared at them, and then remembered, oh yeah, this was her apartment. Jocelyn stood with effort and staggered to the window.

  “I got that,” Kimika said, yanking the stubborn pane up. “You just got your nails done. Don’t mess ’em up!”

  “Yeah, right,” Jocelyn said, fussing. “And I know those heifers didn’t come here after wherever they were expecting to get done. See—”

  Her words caught in her throat and she jerked her head back, holding Kimika by the arms. “It’s the cops! Ohmigod. My neighbors hate loud music, and—” She ran to the stereo and clicked it off. “Okay, okay, okay, why would the cops be ringing my bell?”

  Kimika shook her head, Agnes had her hands over her mouth, Mildred was laughing so hard she slid from the sofa to the floor, and Sue-Lin was rocking and giggling in a chair.

  “Do you hear yourself, chile? You are looking around this apartment at some wine and champagne like we’re in the middle of the Prohibitio
n era. Girl, get a grip. Loud music?” She waltzed over to the stereo and flipped it back on. “You have on mellow jazz,” she said with disdain, and then switched it from CD to tuner and found a hip-hop station. “This is loud music,” Kimika announced, and then proceeded to crank the volume.

  The doorbell rang again, and this time someone was leaning on it.

  “Go on and let the man in, girl.” Kimika stood wide-legged with both hands on hips. “Pullease!”

  Jocelyn buzzed the buzzer and shut her eyes tightly. Why would the cops have to harass her tonight? Yeah, okay, mostly graduate students lived in the building—people with small children, a few old ladies—they had to be the culprits. She sighed and walked to the door when a loud banging began.

  “Officer, listen,” she said as calmly as possible, not trying to sound flippant. “There’s no reason for you…to…Oh, my…God…”

  The finest male specimen she’d ever seen had stepped around her, tossed his hat, and instinct kicked in—she knew exactly what Kimika had done. Jocelyn slammed the door, covered her mouth, and screamed with the other women in the room. A dashing, mega-white, cosmetic-dentist-manufactured smile greeted her. A two-hundred-pound bodybuilder frame ripped off a uniform top at the snaps, and she covered her face as a greased body strutted forward. When he made each nipple jump, Jocelyn began running, laughing all the way into her kitchen.

  Body-blocking this ebony Adonis with a refrigerator door, she kept the metal between them as the pants went next. The music changed; Jocelyn looked down once and almost broke her nose on a shelf as she ducked behind the door. Never in her life had she seen a piece of thong hold that much beef. She covered her head and laughed harder. These ladies were insane.