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“We’re getting married in Central Park,” answered Yero. “Churches make some people feel uncomfortable. We have friends who believe in a higher power but it isn’t always a Christian God.”
Daddy was about to say something but Evelyn gave him a leave the kids alone stare.
“What about the party? Where is that going to be?”
“Daddy, we found one place over near Jamaica Estates. It’s called The Crystal Palace. It is really beautiful but they want too much money, so we’re still searching.”
Hugo shrugged. “How much?”
“Two hundred fifty dollars per person.”
“Ay, Dios mio!”
Daddy went to the refrigerator and got another beer. “Humph! Oh, my God in Spanish isn’t enough. You need to say it in Italian, German, Hungarian and Yiddish. Two hundred fifty dollars per person! Are they crazy? Does that include an open bar all night with premium brand liquor? What type of food do they serve for that kind of money?”
Yero cleared his throat. “Phil, we’re not planning to serve any alcoholic beverages at the reception.”
“I’m expected to shell out two hundred fifty dollars per person and sit there stone cold sober?”
“Get a grip, Phil,” said Evelyn. “Saundra has already said that it is too expensive and they’re looking at other places.”
“Yeah, Daddy. Calm down.”
Evelyn added coarse salt and Roma tomatoes to the vegan pizza dough. She looked very unhappy and I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. We should all be planning her wedding to Daddy. She still lived with her mother on Long Island. Daddy lived in a three-bedroom house with me in Queens. The two of them must have had sex
at hotels because she was never in his bed here and this whole silly mess had been going on for six years.
What on earth was she getting out of the relationship? Why didn’t she just end it?
How could Daddy be so wonderful with one female (me) and so self-centered and callous with another (Evelyn)?
I combined the chickpeas, pecans, bread crumbs, carrots, pepper, celery and parsley in a big bowl.
Yero and I dug our hands into the mixture, smiled at each other and started making patties.
Chapter 7
ASHA
Nick Seabrook was in town!
He called me at work and asked me out to dinner, but I had a far more exciting idea. I was going to drive him crazy.
Nick was the gorgeous twenty-six-years-young playboy heir to a chain of soul food restaurants that his parents built from scratch. Seabrook’s Soul Food had an outlet in every major city except New York. He had an MBA from the Wharton School of Business and spent most of his time traveling cross-country checking up on the managers who were in charge of the day-to-day operations of each establishment. I had no idea why Nick kept a condominium in New York since he usually stayed with me. Every time I asked him, he said that he wants to marry me someday and we’ll live there. I know he is only teasing about that, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not marrying anybody. Ever. I love my life just the way it is.
There is a four-star Italian restaurant about three blocks away from my apartment. Normally, they don’t offer take-out service but I spend so much money there, I was able to convince the owner that sending a feast for two up to my place was good for future business.
Once my dining room table (which seats eight) was set with fine white linen, heavy silverware, delicate china, Waterford crystal glasses, and two red candles, it was time for me to get dressed.
By the time I opened the door to let him in, I was wearing a waist-length, shiny black wig with a center part, false eyelashes, red lipstick, a red miniskirt with no panties on underneath, red stiletto heels, and my only top was a red silk, see-through bra.
Nick’s lips parted in a great big smile and seeing the sexy gap between his two front teeth made me want to hit my knees and blow him right then and there. But that would have spoiled my plan.
His eyes rested on my nipples and a “Wow!” escaped his juicy lips.
He reached out to grab me but I wriggled away and gave him a chaste kiss on one cheek. “Nick! How delightful to see you. Please hang up your coat and make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be ready in a moment.”
It was hard for me to keep a straight face as I marched demurely toward the kitchen like a housewife in a 1950s television show.
