“No,” he said firmly. “There’s no part to look. And I don’t need you to fit in either. But I want to give you the best. You can take it or leave it. You can select from these outfits, or you can wear what you bought from that store in Milton. From that Walmart place. It’s entirely up to you. Not me. And certainly not the stylist. It’s up to you.”
“Are you saying that I can decide to wear my Walmart clothes around your friends rather than all of these Dior and Prada clothes, and all of these Chanel and Hermes bags, and all of these Christian Louboutin shoes?”
Vince nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s wholly up to you. Which do you prefer?”
“Let me see,” said Ricki, her face a mask of anguish. “I have my Walmart clothes on the one hand, and Chanel and Dior on the other hand?”
“That’s right.”
She pushed Vince aside and hurried to those racks of designer clothes. “Boy get out of my way! Do I look like I’m crazy to you?”
Vince burst into laughter.
“Get that lady back in here,” Ricki said as she began checking out the clothes. “I may need help picking out which dress goes best with which handbag, but I don’t need a psychiatrist!”
Vince was laughing so hard he had to bend over.
Which made Ricki start grinning too. “Like I’m gonna choose Walmart over all these beautiful clothes. Like I’m that stupid. Boy bye!” she said, and Vince laughed even harder.
It was the best laugh he’d had in years.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Vince and George were waiting downstairs, both in dark suits with wine glasses in their hands, as they held conversations with the various guests in attendance. Although Vince was surrounded by a group of male senior executives from Fontaine-Bachman, in addition to some of his male friends from his social circles, a group of women still managed to find their way over to him.
Led by Brooke and Lori, two of Vince’s former sleep partners, they were only in attendance because the guest of honor, Linda Darsch, invited them. At the time the retirement party was planned, which was several months ago, Linda nor Vince had any earthly idea that he would fall in love with a woman named Ricki and that she would also be an invited guest too.
But he didn’t mind their attendance. He wanted every woman he’d ever been with to know unequivocally that his status had permanently changed. “Hello Brooke,” he said as they approached. “How are you, Lori?”
Lori, who was always mischievous, was smiling from ear to ear. “Don’t you look, how shall I say? Scrumptious,” she said and grinned.
Vince smiled. “You don’t look bad yourself. Still working out I see.”
“Oh baby,” she said, her glass of wine wasting as she was already a bit inebriated, “you just don’t know how I’ve been working out.” Then she laughed and coughed at the same time.
“What a classy lady you are,” said George.
“Oh fuck you, George,” Lori said, giving him the finger. “You are such a party-pooper. I don’t know why Vince puts up with you.” Then she belched.
Vince smiled. She was always only in it for the fun and he got that. George shook his head. She was one female he never liked.
But Brooke, on the other hand, he thought, as he smiled and looked her way, was his definition of all class and all bombshell. “Nice to see you again, Brooke.”
“You as well,” Brooke replied. Then she looked at Vince. Their parting wasn’t as amicable as his parting with Lori. Mostly because Brooke, like Cecily, had visions of becoming the next Mrs. Fontaine. It never was going to happen, Vince made that perfectly clear from day one, and she never showed any signs to him that she was in love with him. But she was in love with him. “I left you several messages. You don’t return your calls anymore?”
Vince looked at Brooke. Still so beautiful. It was a tossup, once upon a time, between Cynthia, whom he eventually made wife number three, and Brooke. He chose unwisely, he quickly realized. “I’ve been busy,” he said to her.
“She’s officially available,” Lori said. “You don’t have to sneak around anymore to be with her. That’s why she was phoning you.”
Vince looked at Brooke. “You’re divorced?”
“We were never married, but yes, I’m no longer with Peter.”
Vince nodded. “Sorry to hear that.”
“She’s not sorry,” Lori said, and everybody laughed. “But back to you,” Lori continued, looking at Vince. “Cecily claims you’re all involved with some beautician? I said abeautician? Bougie Vincent with abeautician? That can’t be accurate! And she’s black too?”
“Black?” Brooke, and the executives in that group, all appeared shocked to hear it. Brooke even shook her head. “Not true,” she said. “Cecily always exaggerates. I’m certain she’s doing so now. Vincent would not contaminate our circle with such a person. He would not do that. Would you, Vincent?”
