All About Me - Marcia King-Gamble

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even know if I can afford the rent.” I played my ace card. “There is a plus to having me live there.”

      “And what is that?”

      “Being that I’m officially in the real estate business, and I know a lot of people, I could keep an eye out for a tenant. You’d be my very first client.”

      “Hmm.”

      All these “hmms” were beginning to annoy me. I might be a lowly peon at the Chronicle but I was well connected. Jen knew exactly who’d gotten me this job; Ian Pendergrass himself. She also knew I’d introduced her to a lot of important people.

      “Could you manage to pay say six hundred dollars a month?” Jen asked. “That would be half of my mortgage. I’ll pick up the other half until you find me a tenant.”

      “I could pay five,” I countered, crossing my fingers behind my back. Five hundred would be a steal for Jen’s two-bedroom water-view apartment, and I would be able to put aside a few hundred per month. She didn’t have to know the rattrap I lived in was costing me close to a thousand.

      I’d slaved to make the place pretty. The toilets leaked and the pictures on the walls hid holes and flaking plaster. Even the partitions were thin. During the late hours you could hear the neighbors’ bedsprings squeak. I’m sparing you the graphics. You don’t want to know.

      “Okay, we’ll agree on five.”

      I squealed loudly and moved in to hug her.

      The phone rang and we both reached for it.

      “This is Dear Jenna,” Jen said in her professional voice. I was surprised when she handed the receiver to me.

      “New boyfriend? He’s got a sexy voice.”

      I wish.

      “Hello, this is Chere,” I said, the elocution classes I attended one night a week finally kicking in. Plus I remembered the reprimand I’d received from Jen for saying, “Hey.”

      “Just a reminder, tomorrow morning at seven. Don’t mess up.” It was Quen Abrahams again. I’d missed one session two weeks ago and trust me I’d heard about it. I’d needed my beauty sleep and I’d overslept.

      I groaned. I’d forgotten all about making that appointment. Plus I didn’t have the extra sixty dollars to pay him even though he was giving me a break.

      Quen was not only Flamingo Place’s health club manager and on-site nutritionist, but was doing me a favor personally training me.

      “My legs are killing me. Every bone hurts,” I whined.

      “It’ll get better,” Quen said in that voice that reminded me of nights when the temperature in Florida dipped into the fifties and you broke out the wine and Barry White. “Did you weigh in today?”

      I grunted something. I’d totally forgotten.

      I could feel Jen’s eyes on me and sensed the wheels turning. Everyone thought I was easy and had a string of men. They should only know what it took for me to sleep with a man. Courage. Ian and I hadn’t exactly slept together. The old geezer liked to look and touch.

      “I’ll see you tomorrow at the club then. Seven o’clock sharp, remember,” Quen said.

      “I’ll be there.” I blew a kiss through the mouthpiece. “Love you, too.”

      Under my breath I muttered, “slave driver,” and slammed down the phone.

      Chapter 2

      Crabby because I was still hungry, I clomped home and had a salad for dinner. I was starving. I stuck my head in the refrigerator, found a turkey leg in one of those Ziploc bags and yanked it out.

      I zapped that leg in the microwave and quickly wolfed it down. Food never tasted so good. Afterward I sat down and made a list of what I needed to do to improve myself.

      The phone rang just as I was thinking how much all this reinventing was going to cost.

      “Talk to me,” I said, picking up the receiver.

      “Chere?” Sheena, one of my girls greeted in her usual high-pitched squeak. She didn’t wait for me to acknowledge her but began babbling away. Meanwhile my stomach was still rumbling. I considered having another piece of turkey just to quiet things down.

      “So did I hear right?” Sheena yakked. “Your boss is taking a stroll down the aisle with our favorite disk jockey?” That girl didn’t miss a thing.

      “You heard right.”

      “When’s the wedding?”

      “I don’t know.” I didn’t want to talk about any wedding unless it was mine.

      My short answers didn’t bother Sheena one bit. She was off and running. “What’s happening with your real estate? You selling any houses yet?”

      “I just passed the test a week ago. Cut me some slack,” I said irritably. I wasn’t going to say one word about my two clients. That news would be all over town in a Flamingo Beach minute and I didn’t want to be jinxed.

      “Then you must not have sold anything,” she said. Sheena could be a bitch at times. “I hear they’re looking for part time help selling or renting properties at Flamingo Place. Manny Varela is the property manager. You want me to put in a good word for you?”

      “No, thanks. I know Manny. I can speak for myself.”

      Sheena had been sleeping off and on with Manny for over a year. Sleeping with men that weren’t hers was Sheena’s favorite pastime. It was an ego thing. True, Manny with his jet-black hair, olive complexion and expensive designer suits wasn’t bad. But it was the Benz he drove that made him a catch.

      “Well let me know if you change your mind,” Sheena said, “And call me the minute you hear something.” She hung up.

      These next few months were going to be devoted to me. I planned on losing weight, getting my man and starting a new career, and not necessarily in that order. Earlier, I’d placed a big toe on the bathroom scale and was pleasantly surprised to see the number was lower. Growing braver, I’d given the scale my whole weight. I still had eighty-three pounds to go, but losing two pounds for me was a big deal and should be celebrated.

      Over the years I’d pretty much convinced myself that being big worked for me. I hadn’t lacked admirers. What you don’t know is there’s a slew of “chubby chasers” out there; men who think being full figured is hot. They weren’t necessarily what I was looking for but what I got. My expectations were set way high. This year I’d made resolutions; one being to get Quen Abrahams.

      Quen with the corded arms and strong thigh muscles also came with a degree and ambition, and he could string two sentences together while flashing you a gut-wrenching smile. Since I had a degree and had worked damn hard to get it, I needed a man who was my equal, especially if he was going to father my child.

      Tomorrow we were working out of Jen’s condo; a good thing, too, because I’d probably be dead after my session with Quen. During lunch I had an interview with Manny Varela, the property manager Sheena mentioned earlier. Like she said, his sales and leasing office was looking for part-timers. I needed a second job and I needed it quickly. These personal training sessions were pricey and diet food cost money.

      Now I had just fifteen minutes to get to my elocution class. The class had been advertised in one of those inserts you get in the Sunday paper. It was a continuing education course given by one of the neighboring high schools and aimed at a certain type of person. Although it cost $150, I whipped out my credit card and paid. I was investing in myself. I couldn’t think of anyone better.

      Deep down I’d always known if I wanted to be somebody I’d need to walk the walk and talk the talk. Not that I was turning my back on my roots, mind you. Like I said I knew who I was and I didn’t need to prove anything

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