Chapter Three
Three
Jamilah wasn’t in a partying mood. In fact, if anyone asked what was the absolutely last thing on earth she wanted to do right now, her answer would involve socializing.
She hadn’t recovered from losing Blair as her ride-or-die chef and the main reason her restaurant was still open.
Thanks to her mother, Jamilah already had abandonment issues.
Blair quitting with no notice could have unraveled years of therapy.
Yet here she sat, successfully holding it together in the parking lot of a small, private club in Grandview, Missouri, a suburb of Kansas City, while watching black, white and gold balloons dance in the wind to announce the nearby celebration.
She pulled down the visor and used an overhead light to check her makeup and ensure her don’t-give-an-eff face had been properly hidden behind foundation and bronze.
Wispy eyelashes covered worry, while shimmering cinnamon lipstick hid mounting stress.
The makeup magic worked: pretty on the outside while inside feeling as ugly as a wart on a pig’s snout.
She blamed Blair, of course, even though, truth be told, there were other reasons for the psychological funk.
Still, it was convenient to focus on her ex-cook.
After dropping the nuclear bomb that had shifted Jamilah’s world beneath her, Blair had had the nerve to try to show her a bright side—a new cook in town looking for a job.
Fantastic was how Blair had described the man Jamilah would audition tonight without him knowing, the only reason she’d agreed to attend the party that Blair couldn’t because she’d just started her new job and was working tonight.
It was her mother-in-law’s fiftieth birthday.
Jamilah was there as a plus-one for Leon, Blair’s husband and only son of Monique, the guest of honor.
Jamilah checked her watch. Fifteen minutes remained of the cocktail hour before dinner was served at eight. Perfect. She reached for the gift bag on the passenger seat and stepped out of her silver Lexus SUV. Showtime.
The fall temps had gone down along with the sun.
It was unseasonably cold for October. Jamilah clutched her leather coat tighter, glad she’d passed on wearing the matching knee-highs with four-inch heels and selected the less flashy but more sensible two-inch suede ankle boots.
A long, hip-hugging off-white sweater dress that suggested she might want to lay off dessert kept her in line with the host’s white-only theme.
She wasn’t big, just curvy, a solid size ten.
Her hair was swept up into a simple ponytail, highlighting the dangly diamonds she’d given herself four years ago as a twenty-fifth birthday present.
They paired well with the diamond heart-shaped necklace from her father when she’d turned twenty-one.
Next year she’d hit the big three-oh. Would there be a special someone in her life to buy her a new diamond or throw her a bash?
Jamilah shook away the discomforting questions along with the depressing fact that there was no one in her life right now.
She followed the balloons up a flight of stairs and entered the building’s small foyer. Nineties music and a din of chattering voices greeted her, as did the delicious aroma wafting from somewhere toward the back of the room. If the food tasted anything like it smelled, she was in for a good time.
Jamilah’s mood lifted along with her attitude.
Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Working full-time as a restaurant server to pay the bills, juggling the Side Chic’k business part-time, and in between boyfriends, Jamilah needed some fun in her life.
Nothing serious, mind you, wounds from her last breakup were still healing, but she’d welcome a nice distraction from her workaholic life.
Nodding at a few friendly faces, Jamilah took in a plain room with cream-colored walls decorated in black, white and gold.
White cloth-covered tables and black folding chairs sporting white and gold bows continued the theme.
Black strips of fabric across the tables further broke up the starkness.
Gold candles flickered. White miniature lights glowed.
Jamilah spotted a gift table and walked toward it.
On the way she saw Leon with Anna, who’d previously visited Side Chic’k with the birthday girl, Monique.
“Hi, Jam,” Leon greeted her.
“Hey, Leon.” They shared a casual hug.
He looked awkward and a bit out of place in his khakis and plaid button-down shirt amid the more typical party attire.
Still, Jamilah was grateful to see the easy smile on his boyishly handsome, freckled face.
Leon wore his nerd membership proudly. And he should.
He was smart, brilliant even. If he were as focused and driven as Blair, Jamilah believed he could someday be a wealthy man.
“You remember Anna,” he said, motioning to the woman beside him.
“Of course,” Jamilah replied, giving Anna a brief hug as well. “I’m Blair’s friend, Jamilah. It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise. You look nice. Love that dress.”
“Thank you. Coming up with a look that’s warm, cute, and comfortable ain’t easy.”
“Tell me about it. Trying to squeeze this size-eighteen ass into leather pants almost created internal combustion.”
Jamilah held back a laugh with her hand.
A man Jamilah assumed was Anna’s husband sidled up to her. “You’re not fat, baby,” he said with a squeeze. “You’re thick.”
“Yes, and so is a walrus.” Anna gave him a talk-to-the-hand gesture. “In-tee-way…”
“I love your pants,” Jamilah said. “You look very nice.”
“You do look nice, Anna,” Leon further affirmed.
“But not as good as the lady of the hour,” Anna exclaimed. “Look at your mama, honey. She’s doing the dang thang!”
A dinner bell tinkled. Jamilah followed Anna’s gaze to a beautiful woman in the center of the room. She reminded Jamilah of Beyoncé’s mom, Tina, looking regal and queenlike in a shimmering white mermaid-style gown, sparkly crystal-covered heels peeking from beneath the velvet fabric.
“Good evening, friends and family! For those just joining us, thank you so much for coming to help me celebrate this special milestone—the big five-oh!”
Claps and cheers mixed with the sound of party horns. The DJ added an exclamation point by blasting the music for a few beats before lowering the volume once again.
“Y’all have another five or ten minutes to get drunk, I mean, break my bank—oops, excuse me—choose a libation, before the open bar closes.”
She paused as once again laughter and various reactions rang out around the room.
“After dinner and for the rest of the night there will still be a variety of beers and wines available. Hope you’re hungry, because I’ve sampled dinner, and all of it is amazing.
The cook is from California, and he’s the real deal.
Everybody here knows I’m addicted to the Cooking Channel and that Asian is my favorite cuisine.
He stuck to that concept, at my request,” she coyly added, giving a royal curtsy, “and created a wonderful menu. So sit back, relax, and enjoy!”
Jamilah followed Anna to a nearby table while Leon refreshed his and Anna’s drinks and brought Jamilah her requested wine spritzer.
She further relaxed into the evening’s enjoyable vibe.
Mixing and mingling with a steady flow of patrons had been her favorite part of the restaurant’s bustling days those first two years, until a popular chicken chain moved in nearby and sent her chick to the sidelines.
Now she realized she missed that more than the money.
She missed the restaurant constantly buzzing with guests.
She missed her friends. Her ex, Walter, was involved in Kansas City’s political scene, always getting invites to the latest events—concerts, the theater, grand openings, fundraising parties.
His packed social calendar had been her social life.
She missed that, too. Okay, and maybe him a little.
She definitely missed having a man in her life.
“How’s Blair?” Jamilah asked Leon, once he’d sat down.
“Exhausted.”
“I bet. She texted when I called her and said she’d talk on her off day, whenever that is.”
“Yeah, the hours are killer, but she really likes the chef. He’s patient and doesn’t mind sharing his secrets.”
“Like Blair with me,” Jamilah admitted. “I don’t know how I’ll ever replace her.”
Anna eyed Jamilah as she sipped her drink. “That’s why you’re here, right? To try Rashad’s food?”
“I told her,” Leon said at Jamilah’s mildly surprised expression. “Blair and I met him when he first came to town. Don’t worry. She’ll keep the secret. He’s staying at her house.”
“Oh, so you know Rashad?” Jamilah suddenly didn’t care that her secret was out. The casual conversation was now a reconnaissance mission.
“A little bit,” Anna answered slyly. “He’s my godson.”
“Really.” Jamilah was all ears. “What can you tell me about him?”
“Nothing that he isn’t more qualified to tell you about himself. Or convey through his food.”
Jamilah picked up the unspoken message Anna had put down. She wasn’t nearly as open to telling Rashad’s business as Leon had been to share why Jamilah had RSVPed.
Before Jamilah could respond, the same big guy who’d spoken with Anna earlier, a good six-two or-three and around two fifty ambled over to the table and joined them.
“Baby, this is Jamilah. She owns that restaurant Side Chic’k that I told you about, the one where Blair worked. Jamilah, this is my husband, Charles.”
“Nice to meet you, Charles.”
He offered a bear paw-sized hand. “Likewise.”
Jamilah watched as a small army of preteens dressed in all black approached the tables. They set down menu cards next to glasses of lemon water. She watched in surprise, trying not to let how impressed she was show all over her face.
After thanking the server for her lemon water, she picked up the menu card.
Wonton-O-Mo BBQ