Other People's Business. Pamela Yaye

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      Chapter 4

      Ten minutes later, Autumn was back in the tent, trying to keep up with the mindless chatter.

      Darcee Kingsway, a willowy, pencil-thin Asian woman standing next to her, gulped down the rest of her drink and then waved over the crinkly-haired waitress standing nearby. Darcee dumped her empty wine flute on the tray the waitress held and helped herself to another. “So, I understand your parents are vacationing in Martinique. When are they due back?”

      “I have no idea. They keep pushing back their return date, but I suspect it’ll be sometime next month.”

      Darcee twisted the dazzling rhinestone bracelet on her left wrist, and in a tone that was more alcohol-induced than natural, said, “Vance bought me this when we went to Martinique for our first wedding anniversary. Since then, we’ve been to the island at least a dozen times. It’s the place to go to be properly spoiled and pampered, you know. We always stay at the Ilet Oscar, a tiny private island offshore from the town of Le Francois. The enormous nineteenth-century house is simply delightful! It’s staffed with a full-time, live-in maid, cook, masseuse and boatman. Would you believe the house has a twenty-acre tropical reserve and…”

      Why didn’t I just go home? Autumn wondered. After watching Tyrell disappear down the block, she had spent some time outside gathering her wits about her. She wasn’t upset that Tyrell had yelled at her. She was ticked off that he’d made a fool of her in front of L.J. Sure, he was a virtual stranger, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed being humiliated. She had returned to the party with the sole purpose of apologizing to him, but after scouring the tent and spotting him huddled in a tiny, dark corner with Shante, her interest had died faster than quick-dry nail polish.

      Autumn stole a glance at the attractive twosome, wishing she had some nerve gas to throw into their cozy semicircle. Her eyebrows wrinkled in displeasure. Shante was all over him like chocolate icing on a brownie. She looked on, utterly appalled, as the man-eater pulled out all the stops. Licked her crimson-painted lips. Twirled strands of her “hair” around her middle finger. And swayed seductively to the Ricky Martin song playing.

      Women like that made Autumn sick. Trained in nothing, Shante Patterson had recently cashed in her trust fund and put the money to good use upgrading her physical assets. Her breasts had been enhanced, her eyes had been permanently eyelined and liposuction had erased her love handles. L.J. didn’t seem like the type to go for such a plastic-looking woman. But what did she know about what he, or any other man wanted for that matter?

      “Come dance with me.”

      Autumn peeked over her shoulder to ascertain who the throaty voice belonged to.

      Omar winked at her, then his mouth broke out into an ear-to-ear smile. “I want to see your moves, Sexy Lady.”

      Autumn returned his smile. Omar, the youngest of eight groomsmen and Peter’s cousin, had been flirting with her all night. She couldn’t help teasing him. “Are you sure? Because it looks like you could use a break.”

      His smoky-gray suit jacket was nowhere to be found and his short-sleeved, olive-green dress shirt was drenched in sweat. He pulled out a white, crumpled handkerchief from his front pocket and wiped frantically to keep up with the sweat trickling from his neck-length dreadlocks and down his face. “Oh, I’m ready for you,” he came back with. “I have been waiting to get you out on that dance floor all night.”

      Autumn opened her mouth to say maybe later, but caught herself. Why not? What she’d had with Tyrell was over. Done. Finished. To be no more. There was no use throwing away the rest of the night because she had a case of the blahs. She could analyze the demise of their relationship tomorrow. It was Melissa’s engagement party and she wasn’t about to let what had transpired with Tyrell put a damper on her night. She allowed Omar to pull her to her feet. Lobbing her shawl over her chair, she said, “All right, Omar, you asked for it. Let’s go!”

      Omar wasn’t nearly as good a dancer as L.J., but he held his own on the dance floor. After working up a sweat to several radio-friendly songs, Autumn needed a break. Her feet were on fire. She didn’t know what had possessed her to dance in her cute shoes. Her heels earned high marks in the style and fashion department, but when it came to comfort they scored zero.

      Autumn strained her voice so she could be heard over the music. “I need a break, Omar. I’m going to sit this one out, but I’ll see you later.” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her around the waist and whirled her around as though they were ballroom dancing.

      “Just one more dance,” he begged as an updated version of a once-popular Temptations song filled the room. “Then we’ll sit.”

      He had been singing the same tune for the last fifteen minutes. “Sorry, Omar, but I’m all danced out.” She untied his arms from around her waist and shouldered her way through the throng of gyrating dancers.

      “Okay. But when you get your second wind, I’m first in line!” Omar called after her. But the music was so loud and the crowd so thick, Autumn could barely hear him.

      Autumn was midway across the floor when she spotted Yvette, Shante and L.J. at “her” table. She thought of finding somewhere else to sit, but remembered her purse and shawl were on her chair.

      She noticed L.J. eyeing her, and straightened her shoulders. Disregarding the stabbing pain shooting up her calves, she lifted her head high and put more hip into her walk. By the time she reached the table, L.J. was back in conversation with Shante, and her feet were screaming to be set free.

      “Hey, girl.” Yvette swatted Autumn’s thighs playfully, then slapped a brand-new dollar bill into her palm. “Hot stuff! You looked real good out there, shaking your little money-maker for all it’s worth.”

      Autumn burst out laughing. She was so loud, Shante and L.J. glanced over at her. Autumn ignored them, but quieted down. “I may have looked good, but my feet were bawling for relief,” she confessed, taking the vacant chair to Yvette’s right. Autumn slipped off her sandals, bent down and inconspicuously massaged her aching soles. The first thing she was going to do when she got home was bury the killer sandals in the back of her closet.

      Three songs later, Omar shuffled over to their table and plunked down next to L.J. “Anyone interested in going to the Calypso Café? The party’ll be winding down soon, but the night’s still young, y’all!”

      Yvette nodded. “Count me in. I’m in no rush to go home. Randall’s sprawled out on the couch, beer in one hand, remote in the other. He could care less what time I come home.”

      Shante squeezed L.J.’s forearm. “Interested?”

      L.J. nodded. “I’m game. I’m playing tennis with Pete in the morning, but it’s no biggie. I can whup him on just a few hours of sleep.” He locked eyes with Autumn, then directed his query at her. “What about you? Ready for some reggae music and an Island Mojo?” he asked in his best Jamaican accent.

      Autumn wasn’t much of a drinker, but whatever it was it sounded tempting.

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