where have you been? Shannon’s been looking everywhere for you.”
“Oh, Lord.” Ciara rolled her eyes. “Is she breathing fire?”
Chelsea appeared stumped. “Isn’t she always?”
Ciara laughed. “I suppose you’re right. So what does the dragon lady want now?”
“Something about a story she wants you to cover.”
“Am I the only reporter around?” Ciara wailed, grabbing Chelsea by the arm and pushing her into the ladies’ room nearby.
“Is it me?” Ciara pulled a brush out of her purse and proceeded to smooth her golden locks until they shone. “But doesn’t it seem like she enjoys giving me a hard time?” Ciara asked, surveying herself in the mirror. All in all, she was pleased with her appearance and turned to face Chelsea.
“You’re her whipping boy—I mean, girl—right now,” Chelsea said, touching up her lipstick with a fresh coat.
“I wish she’d find someone new to pick on. I mean, it’s not like I’m not a seasoned reporter. I’ve been at the station for five years.” Ciara folded her arms and pouted.
“Cheer up.” Chelsea patted her shoulder. “Pretty soon, Shannon will find something or someone new to focus her energies on.”
“Maybe she should get herself a man, release some of that pent-up energy, then she wouldn’t be so focused on the rest of us.”
“It sure couldn’t hurt,” Chelsea chuckled. “Wait a sec.” She stared into Ciara’s eyes. “Does this mean that you’ve found yourself such a man to relieve stress?” she teased.
“Who me?” Ciara played coy but couldn’t resist grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah you,” Chelsea replied. “Don’t you hold out on me. You know I’m living through you vicariously.”
“Well.” Ciara paused for effect. “If you must know. I’ve met a truly amazing man. He’s absolutely gorgeous, tall and has the most well-defined body I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Chelsea’s eyes grew wide at every adjective Ciara used to describe her fine mystery man. “And? Who is he?”
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” Ciara said, glancing around the restroom to make sure they were the only two people there. She bent down and peeked under the stalls, but didn’t see anyone.
“Well? Spill the beans,” Chelsea said, frustrated.
“It’s Jonathan Butler,” Ciara said. “We met last night at a bar and the sparks flew.”
“You mean that gorgeous fox that’s supposed to run for his father’s congressional seat?”
“Nothing’s official yet,” Ciara said.
“Yeah, but we all know it’s going to happen,” Chelsea responded. “So when are you going to see him again?”
“I’m not going to say anything more. You know the walls around here have ears.” Ciara glanced around the restroom. “And I don’t want this to leak until I’m ready to use it to my advantage.” She had probably said too much, but she was so giddy with excitement, she couldn’t contain herself.
“Okay,” Chelsea replied. “We’ll talk more over lunch.”
“As long as I’m not stationed in Timbuktu, I’m all yours,” Ciara said, shutting the door behind her. Neither of them heard the toilet flush several moments later or saw Shannon exit from the restroom with a broad smile on her face. The station manager wanted ratings; well, Shannon had just hit the jackpot.
Lunch with Chelsea was all girl talk as always. Ciara enjoyed filling her best pal in on all the details of her date with Jonathan and watching her eyes bulge out with envy, but unfortunately she had an unenjoyable task ahead of her and her name started with a D.
Her mother, Diamond Miller, telephoned her three times at work, asking Ciara when she would come by with the money. Why couldn’t she get the money from her boyfriend? thought Ciara as she drove up South Street. Although known for its ten blocks of party bars, some areas were somewhat sleazy with homeless people, hookers and drug dealers. It was the slums and, although it may have been her roots, she hated being reminded of her humble beginnings. But every time she visited Diamond, it was unavoidable. She’d tried to get Diamond to travel to her side of town, but Diamond refused.
Afraid to park her car in the rear, Ciara parked in front of the bar instead. Situated on the corner, the exterior of the Oasis was in desperate need of a coat of paint and some serious siding. As she pulled open the door, Ciara took a deep breath and steeled herself to prepare for another of one Diamond’s dramas. She found the bar relatively empty except for a few lone patrons.
“Vince.” She nodded at the barkeep, who just so happened to be dating her mother. Balding, middle-aged and overweight, Vince was loud and crude with a thick New York accent and he should have been every woman’s nightmare; instead, he’d found solace in the arms of her ditzy mother. “Is my mom upstairs?” Ciara asked.
“Yeah, she’s up there doing her nails or something. You be sure to tell her that she’d better call Suzy and make sure she’s covering for Candy. Otherwise we’ll be one short for tonight’s show.”
“I’ll be sure and do that, Vince,” Ciara said sarcastically, sauntering past him toward the dressing rooms. Who did he think she was—his secretary? Ciara climbed up the back staircase to the small apartment Diamond and Vince shared and knocked on the door.
“Coming,” a voice rang out from inside. Diamond opened the door seconds later and Ciara was rewarded with a loud screech.
“Ciara! Oh, baby girl, it’s so good to see you.” Diamond kissed either cheek and squeezed Ciara’s shoulders. A hug that Ciara did not return. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you since yesterday.”
Ciara looked her mother up and down and was embarrassed. Her mother was overly made-up, wearing a tight bustier that revealed her ample bosom. She’d paired the bustier with some tight leather capris. How did Diamond always manage to find clothes that made her look trashy? She was forty-five years old for heaven’s sake. Why didn’t she dress like it?
“I do have a life, Diamond,” Ciara replied, walking inside. She looked around the modest apartment for a place to sit, but the tiny living room was cluttered with clothes and paper. Diamond didn’t work and could easily clean up the place. What did she do all day? Ciara wondered as she stepped over clothes and brushed some newspaper onto the floor and off the couch to make room for a place to sit.
“Don’t be a grouch.” Diamond closed the door behind her daughter and plopped down in her recliner to watch Judge Mathis. Picking up her bottle of ruby-red nail polish on the coffee table, she returned to polishing her toenails.
“I’m not a grouch,” Ciara said, throwing her purse on the side table.
“If you say so,” Diamond huffed. She knew her daughter didn’t approve of her, but she didn’t care. As long as she was happy with herself that was all that mattered.
“Well?”
