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“Yes.”
I saw Tamia standing in the lobby as soon as I stepped out of the limo.
“Troy! Troy!” she yelled, running through the lobby of the Mondrain like it was the Days Inn.
“Hey, Mia.” I hugged her. She looked fabulous. She had a great tan and she’d let her hair down for once. “You look great,” I said, stepping back to look at her. “I see someone’s been doing more than just sitting in a courtroom all day.”
“Well, I had to make some time for the boys on the beach.” Tamia grabbed my bag. I was happy to hear that. I had been worried about her putting a lot of stress on herself and then falling back into those pills, but she seemed okay. And she sounded much better than she had the night before, like a different person altogether.
“Let the bellhop bring the rest of your things,” she said. “Penthouse,” she told the bellhop.
“Great,” I said, admiring the Mondrain’s sleek, cream-colored lobby as we walked through. It was already climbing to the top of my favorite hotels list—and it was a long list. I felt so peaceful standing at the elevator, I couldn’t wait to see the spa. In fact, the entire place looked like one big old spa. After the stuff with my mother and Grandma Lucy, I was sure there would be a dark cloud over my L.A. trip, but so far, the hotel was sure lightening things up. In the limousine I’d decided to put my best face forward and wait to tell Tasha and Tamia about my grandfather when we all got back to New York. They were my girls and I knew if I’d told them then, we’d have spent the entire trip hashing the thing out. This was supposed to be our good-time summer trip. I didn’t want to ruin it for them. Tasha was pregnant and Tamia was whooping ass in court. Neither of them needed any unnecessary drama. It would all be waiting for us when we got back. “I love this place,” I said.
“You know Tasha wouldn’t have it any other way. She told Lionel she needed to be comfortable.” We both laughed. Tasha was milking the pregnancy thing for everything it was worth.
“Wait, Tasha’s already here?” I asked, puzzled.
“Yeah, she’s upstairs in the room taking a nap.”
“But I thought she was coming later than me. That’s why we took separate flights.”
“Well, apparently she decided she wasn’t going to her doctor’s appointment and caught the first flight out this morning. I think her and Lionel had an argument. He didn’t want her to come,” Tamia whispered. “You know how he gets when his Tasha is away for too long. And now that she’s pregnant—forget about it.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” I said softly.
“Yeah, you try telling Tasha that.”
“So how’s ‘Operation Mommy Dearest’ going?” I asked.
“Well, Porshe will be here for breakfast early tomorrow morning,” Tamia replied. “She has a photo shoot or something at noon, so we had to make it early.”
“Does Tasha suspect anything?”
“No.”
After I’d put my things down and spent thirty minutes “oohing” and “ahhing” with Tamia about how much Tasha’s tummy had grown in the month she’d been pregnant, although it really hadn’t, I jumped in the shower to freshen up for dinner. Tamia got reservations at Shonda’s, one of L.A.’s hottest restaurants where anyone who was someone went on Friday night.
Before we got dressed, Tamia, Tasha, and I laid out our outfits together on one bed. It was a purely superficial ritual but it stopped many a fashion faux pas before we ever walked out the door. Whenever we were going somewhere—a frat party, nightclub, football game afterparty—we’d put all three of our outfits out together and look them over. From the earrings to the shoes, each part of the outfit was judged by the other two girls before a “hell yeah” or “hell no” was given. And if one piece resembled something from another girl’s outfit, both girls had to find a replacement. We called it the “Runway Run-through.” Tasha, obviously, was usually the most unforgiving of the judges. She’d toss our clothes across the room, yelling like she was putting together a photo shoot for Vogue.
Her stylistic fits were usually focused on Tamia, who thought anytime was a fine time to wear a turtleneck. And while I often felt sorry for Tamia as she searched her closet for something “less churchy” to wear, Tasha was usually right. “No lace, no plaid, no corduroy,” Tasha would say, standing behind Tamia in the closet.
We were years away from the low riders and hot-pink tube tops we’d worn in college, but things hadn’t changed much between the three of us. Tamia pulled a turtleneck from her bag and Tasha immediately sent it darting across the room. We all laughed.
I settled on wearing my white Gucci wrap dress. It was simple and sexy, and it made me look like a movie star—a black Marilyn Monroe. Not bad! I wasn’t exactly on the market, but I still wanted to show the L.A. boys what a New York honey was working with. I topped off the dress with matching white single-strap heels and gold hoop earrings. Sexy, sophisticated, and simple. Grandma Lucy and Piero would be proud.
Tasha’s outfit, on the other hand, wasn’t that easy. She complained that she looked fat in everything she put on. Tamia and I sat on the bed, fully dressed, as she tried on what had to have been seven outfits, before settling on the first one.
“You haven’t gained any weight yet,” Tamia said, trying to relieve Tasha. It was no use. Tasha didn’t even respond. She just kept walking back and forth between the bathroom and the closet, saying how she needed new clothes.
“Mood swings,” Tamia and I agreed, watching her. “Mood swings.”
Runway Run-through: Because It Girls Care
Remember the saying “You are the company you keep.” If you allow your girl to go out with you looking like your third-grade teacher, then you may as well throw on a plaid jumpsuit too. If you run into a situation where one of your girls needs a runway run-through before you go out, be nice, be gentle, and remember, bad fashion happens to everyone.
Instructions:
Set up a getting-ready party at your house. Invite your friend who is in need of attention. Tell her to bring her outfit so you can get dressed together. Have some extra clothes handy in case her clothes are completely awful. Get dressed and turn on some music so you can model your clothes in the mirror together. When your friend is ready, look her up and down and tell her the truth—and nothing but the truth. She may hate you then…but she’ll love you later when she has her new look.
