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My mother’s desire to entertain didn’t escape me and my friends either. In fact, her habit came in handy when I was growing up. While other parents tried to force their children out of the house when their friends came over, my mother welcomed everyone with open arms. I’d have friends over and she would make us special treats and let us play dress-up in her closet for hours.
“I’ll be there,” I said, remembering my mother running around the apartment to get everything perfect before she would accept visitors.
“Yes,” she answered. “And one last thing, Troy.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Be nice to Kyle at dinner tonight.” She hung up quickly and I sat frowning, looking at my cell phone. How had she found out about Kyle? See what I mean…private investigator.
Divalicious
It’s next to impossible to become anything if you don’t have a role model. If you’re an aspiring diva, there’s a green room full of divalicious role models to choose from. Salute the savvy sisters of yesteryear. From Patti’s “Lady Marmalade” to Aretha’s fierce furs, those sisters keep it interesting and oh-so divalicious. They paved the way so you too could wear chinchilla in the winter and Manolo Blahniks in
the spring. Don’t forget to add the divas in your life to the list. A toast, please!
Name and Divalicious Destiny
Aretha Franklin: Soul singer who demands R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Most folks know not to mess with “The Queen.”
Diahann Carroll: The one sister on Dynasty who showed the world what it’s like to be brave, beautiful, and brown.
Diana Ross: Bold eyes and big dreams. The diva supreme proved that Mahogany is where it’s at.
Leontyne Price: The original diva who was the first black international classical singer.
Madame C.J. Walker: Became one of the richest black women in history by giving sisters a new ’do.
Oprah Winfrey: Media mogul who makes her own rules and breaks every one of theirs.
Patti LaBelle: Made every black girl dream of flying after hearing her sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
How to Kill Two Birds with One Lip Liner
If it wasn’t for my desire to curse out Kyle’s ass for telling my parents about our date—no, meeting—I would’ve gone straight home after church. I was dead tired from all the hustling to get the car from the Bronx and then down to Harlem to pick up Nana Rue for church, but I had a bone to pick and it was with Kyle. Where did he get off telling my mother about our meeting? I was in the middle of trying to get Julian back and I wasn’t interested in Kyle—no matter whom he had on his side. Period.
When I arrived at Paola’s for dinner, thirty minutes late, I peeked inside to see if Kyle was still there. I found him sitting at a table in the back of the restaurant. There was a vase filled with magnolias sitting on the table in front of him.
Determined to get my point across about him calling my mother, I stormed toward him, ready to use even my lip liner as a weapon.
“Kyle,” I said angrily. Just as I was about to speak again, he looked toward me and smiled wide enough to make me stop dead in my tracks. He stood up with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.
“These are for you, Troy.” Kyle handed me the bouquet and pulled out my chair. I sat down, holding the flowers in my arms, and I do believe I literally felt myself melt. My anger got lost somewhere between his smile and the calming scent of the magnolias. In the spring, Nana Rue decorated her entire brownstone with fresh-cut magnolias. The scent was so strong you could smell them in the street when you walked by. They were my favorite. But how did he know?
“These are lovely,” I said, looking at the flowers. “My favorite.”
“Well, I wanted to surprise you, so I called your mother this morning to ask her what your favorite flowers were. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Kyle, this is really wonderful.” I paused. “It’s amazing.” Sitting there with one bouquet of my favorite flowers in my arms and another on the table in front of me, my little complaint about Kyle calling my mother felt tiny and insignificant.
“I just wanted to cheer you up after last night. I know you were stressed about the whole thing with your car and then your friend. How is she?” Kyle smiled, and for the first time I noticed a tiny dimple in the middle of his chin. It was just small enough for me to stick my pinky finger in. It was adorable. I had to admit, Kyle was truly a good-looking man. He had a kind of classic, young Sidney Poitier fineness to him.
“Tasha’s better,” I said, forcing myself to look at the menu and not at the dimple.
“Well, that’s good to hear. She seemed pretty shaken up.”
The waitress came over and Kyle ordered for both of us.
“I must say, it was nice to see you last night,” he said as she walked away. “It was nice to get to know the real Troy.”
