But Vincent was staring at Brooke. He knew she was a snob, but he never figured her to be a racist too. Not that it ever came up. Their circles were as lily-white as they themselves were. “Why would dating an African-American hairstylist contaminate our circle?”
Brooke smiled. “It certainly goes without saying.”
“Pretend I’m slow,” said Vince. “Say it to me.”
They all looked at each other. Most in that circle were fiscal conservatives alright, but socially they considered themselves quite progressive. They viewed racism as a very unadmirable trait. Brooke’s comment made them uncomfortable too.
When she looked around and realized she was a woman on her own little island, she backed off. “No worries,” she said. Which, to Vince, was always a catchphrase that in the end meant nothing.
“The point isn’t what she will or will not do to our circle,” said Lori. “The point is,” she said and belched again, “can you confirm that what Cecily said is true? Are you fooling around with a black beauty?” Hiccup. “I mean beautician?”
“My lady is a hairstylist,” Vince said. “That’s correct.”
Lori was tipsy, but she wasn’t so far gone that she couldn’t understand what he said. “Yourlady? You’re claiming her? You never even claimed your wives, but you’re claimingher? I don’t believe it.”
“Neither do I,” said Brooke.
“Believe it, ladies,” said George. “I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.”
“You’ve seen what with your own two eyes?” a now-irritated Brooke asked him.
George saw that Vince was already looking up the stairs. He looked too. “It’s not what,” he answered Brooke. “It’s her.”
Everybody else looked to see who George meant. And that was when they saw Ricki, in white and pink stiletto heels, slowly descending the winding staircase. She was dressed classically beautifully in a Valentino Garavani funnel-neck, crystal button, bright-pink mini dress that gave great contrast to her velvety-smooth unblemished brown skin, and showed just how remarkably shapely were her smooth-as-silk brown legs. With her thick hair in a dramatic up-styled hairdo, and her professional manicure and pedicure, she looked like a perfect princess to everybody watching her. Which was everybody at that party. Including the mostly-African American household staff. She could see them proudly elbowing each other. And then they were looking over at the boss as if they didn’t know he had it in him.
George couldn’t believe it was the same person. Where was that messy ponytail? Where were the jeans and that sleeveless, tucked-in blouse she had been wearing? And he never saw her with makeup on her face ever. Not that she needed any. She didn’t. He had pegged her to be one of those natural beauties. But that makeup, skillfully administered, truly highlighted just what a uniquely beautiful face it was. And that magnificently slender-but-curvy body. Even he was getting turned on. She was simply adorable!
But Ricki didn’t feel adorable. She felt terrified by all those eyes staring up at her. The men, she’d admit, seemed enamored by her. As if she was some circus freak they were trying to figure out. But those women? All those white women were standing down there looking up at her with nothing but contempt on their faces. As if not one of them could believethat somebody like her, a struggling hairstylist no less, would be capable of winning the heart of a man like Vince. They couldn’t do it, how could she? She wasn’t entitled to a man of his stature, their looks seemed to say.
She knew it too. They weren’t saying anything she hadn’t already said to herself a thousand times over. She was over her head. She was out of her league. All of that. But regardless of how they felt, and how inwardly she agreed with them, she held her head high as she walked slowly down that staircase.
But her nerves were getting the best of her. So much so that she tripped over her own foot and had to hold onto the banister to stay upright.
Vince was so in love with her silhouette as she made her way downstairs that he didn’t consider how unnerving this moment had to have been for her. But when she nearly fell, he rushed up those stairs, taking them two at a time, just to get next to her.
Lori and Brooke and everybody else in that room were astonished. Was it a mirage? Or was Vincent Fontaine actually running up his staircase to assist some beautician? Vincent of all people? The man who never even acknowledged his wives in public were running to that woman’s aid? It looked crazy to them.
But what looked like crazy to them was becoming normal for Vince. That was why he wasn’t thinking about what it looked like to them as he ran up those stairs. He just wanted to get to Ricki.
When Ricki saw him hurrying up those stairs, and when he took her hand, her heart finally relaxed again. She could always count on Vince to be there for her.
“Okay?” he asked her in his soothing tone as their eyes met.
“Now I am, yes,” she said as she squeezed his hand.
They held hands as they walked down the staircase together. Vince kept looking over at her. He was just that proud. And when they made it downstairs, he ignored Brooke and Lori and took her straight to the retiree.
“Rasheda,” he said, “This is our guest of honor, Linda Darsch. Linda, please meet my girlfriend, Rasheda Richardson.”
Linda smiled, although Ricki could tell the wordgirlfriendhad thrown her. “So nice to meet you, Rasheda.”
But Ricki had Vince. She had no points to prove to these people. She smiled too. “Nice to meet you as well,” she said. “And congratulations on your retirement.”
“Thanks.”
The head butler then eased over to Vince. “Dinner is served, sir,” he said, Vince made the announcement, and they all made their way to the dining hall.
Vince pulled out Ricki’s chair and sat her to the right side of his seat, while George sat on the left side. Vince sat at the head of the table. Linda, in her capacity as guest of honor, sat on the other end of the table directly facing Vince.
