Carl Weber Presents Full Figured 6: Plus Size Divas Read online

  “Artemis . . .” she said as her voice cracked. Had my pleas finally not fallen on deaf ears? “You’re . . . you’re not my daughter,” Ruth mouthed softly.

  “What do you mean? I . . . I’m adopted?” I spat, my buzz totally gone. “Or are you saying you’re disowning me?”

  “No, neither. I’m not saying that. But I can’t keep this up any longer,” my mother replied. “Artemis, you’re Henry’s daughter . . . just not mine.”

  “Mama, stop. This ain’t funny,” I begged.

  “It sure ain’t, baby,” she agreed, her voice dripping with a hint of softness I hadn’t heard since I was a child. “I accepted you and took you into my home despite my reservations. But it’s always been hard living with a reminder of Henry’s infidelity all these years. Then when he left us all . . . for another one of his . . .” Ruth muttered, and she paused. “Lawd,” she said, unable to complete her statement.

  “I don’t understand. Who’s . . . my real mother then?” I begged to know, still struggling to process it.

  “Some trifling woman he met on one of those trail rides,” she replied, referring to the horseback-riding groups my father used to hang with out in the country. “Don’t know much about her except that she was unfit. She just showed up at our doorstep. With you. Said she couldn’t raise you. You were barely a year old at the time. I wanted to shoot Henry and her both. But then . . . I saw you. And everything changed in my heart.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What good would that have done?” she offered.

  “It would’ve explained why you despise me so much. Would’ve finally made sense,” I proclaimed.

  “I don’t despise you. It’s just—”

  “Daddy,” I answered, cutting her off. “And my resemblance to him. I see it in your eyes sometimes. It reminds you of all the shit he’s done to you over the years. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, baby. And I’m sorry if I’ve played favorites with Anitra over you. It wasn’t intentional. I’m so sorry. I’ve always just wanted to do right by you. Even if your father didn’t.”

  “Mama,” I said, the word sticking in my throat as I said it. “This . . . this is too much for me to deal with right now. I’ma have to call you back. Later.”

  “All right. But just promise me you won’t do anything rash. I can go over there if you’d like.”

  “No, no. Don’t,” I said as I suddenly felt like throwing up. And, maybe breaking something. “I won’t do anything crazy.”

  My father, Henry Clay, was a jolly soul. The bear of a man was outgoing to a fault and way too charming for his own damn good. Thing is, his charm was always wasted on the next young thang to come along. I remember the day the woman I’d considered my mother finally kicked him out the house.

  And kept me with her despite what she’d just told me.

  None of us had either seen or heard from him since.

  Word from my Aunt Freda, his sister, was that he’d moved to Midlothian and started another family.

  With a sudden sense of purpose, I went to my bedroom, where I opened my laptop and went online. With the two windows I opened in Internet Explorer, I used one to check my Bank of America account balance while searching travel sites with the other. My mouth curled as I confirmed what I already knew.

  I had a little less than $3,000 to my name. Certainly nothing to sneeze at in today’s economy.

  Except I had about $4,000 worth of bills due.

  It was hardly the most liquid of situations, especially with news no bonus would be coming. And it was not like me to do anything random and reckless either.

  Until today, that is.

  Armed with all I needed to know, I focused on the other Web site. The one that was more pleasurable than the reality of a bank balance on borrowed time.

  Turns out I didn’t know who I was. And didn’t want to be who I thought I was. Maybe it was time to live a life other than my own for a change. And to be someone I wasn’t.

  To do that, I moved the mouse over what I’d been searching for.

  And clicked.

  Chapter 5

  “Well. Viva Las Vegas to me,” I mouthed under my breath after saying “buh-bye” to the ever-smiling flight attendants. I’d safely arrived here at McCarran International. The four-inch heels to die for I was wearing were doing just that: killing me. Since people were being so nice, I should’ve asked for a foot massage on the way over.

  I’d narrowed my foolish choices down to Ocho Rios or Sin City. But with my nonexistent budget, I figured it best to keep my slightly irrational ass stateside rather than wind up in a Jamaican jail with no money to get home. Besides, I’d never been this far west, nor flown first class in my life, so it was still all so lovely. Sure, I felt some guilt over the price of my seat on the United flight out here, but being able to sit without feeling like I was wearing Spanx was oh so worth it. A sister could really get used to this, I remember thinking as I wiggled about in my seat with ample leg and hip room. But as the people in general boarding filed past me to their rows, it was as if they could sense my empty bank account and that I was simply fronting. I just buried my face in one of those SkyMall catalogs and waited for that separating curtain to shield me from their knowing, accusatory eyes all the way from Houston here. When given the warm towel by the flight attendant, who politely called me by name, I had to wait for the other passengers in my row to see whether to put it on my face or use on my hands. It probably startled them how many “free” Bloody Marys I’d downed while in the air, but I was making the most out of every step of this trip. And with my killer shoes and best outfit on, those steps were gonna be memorable.

  Finite funds didn’t mean finite fun, right?

  Lord knows I was gonna pay for it when I returned to a home back in Katy without electricity.

  “Business or pleasure?” a voice called out to me as I daydreamed about that which was more like a nightmare for me.

  “I’m sorry?” I said to the man who had shared the seat beside me in first class.

  “Are you a gambler?” he asked, still bothering to converse while hastily stowing his iPad in his satchel. Looked like some idealized western businessman with his chiseled features, suede blazer, crisply ironed jeans, and denim button-down shirt.

  “You might say that,” I replied sheepishly. Of course, there was no risk in what I was doing because I didn’t even know what I was doing. When I booked this trip with the last of my money and credit, I just wanted—no—needed to get away. To be free is all. Because sometimes in life you gotta say, “Fuck it.”

  “I figured you were. You got a serious face yet dress like you’re here for fun, little lady. You look very lovely,” he commented with a smile.

  Was he actually checking me out? Guess he had no qualms with my being thicker than a Snickers, or my milk-chocolaty goodness.

  “When you hit it big, just be careful with them winnings. And don’t forget to tip your dealer. Everybody counts when good things happen,” he offered.

  “I will definitely take your advice, sir,” I answered, wishing I really were a gambler. As bad as my luck was, I’d probably wind up owing the casinos money.

  Just past the TSA security, we went our separate ways as he had bags to retrieve. Not wanting to spend a dime more, I rolled strictly carry-on. Just beyond the luggage carousels, finely dressed limo drivers held signs with their fares’ names displayed in black marker or even pre-printed for the higher-end folk.

  The third one of those drivers I saw caught my curiosity and held it. In his black suit, he was a smooth peanut-butter complexion with dazzling green eyes. And he held me in his manicured fingertips.

  Well, actually he held a sign with my name in his hands. Close enough. Details, details.

  “Miss Clay?” he asked as I stopped before him.

  “Please. Call me Artemis.” I gushed over having a man like him in my service, even if only as my driver from the airport. He was such a cutie.

  “Oh.
I thought you were Jill Scott for a second,” he said, smiling widely. “Welcome to Las Vegas.”

  And I did my best to outdo his smile.

  Chapter 6

  I told my driver that it was my first time in Vegas, so he volunteered to drive slowly, providing me a mini-tour of the Strip before dropping me at my hotel. From my limo, I marveled at all the places I recognized from television such as the MGM Grand, that pyramid-shaped Hotel Luxor, Caesars Palace, and the fountains outside the Bellagio from that movie with George Clooney’s sexy-old ass, Ocean’s Eleven. At one point, I couldn’t contain myself and briefly stood out the sunroof to yell at the top of my lungs. I think that was just the last of the Bloody Mary in my system kicking in though.

  My driver just laughed as I’m sure he’d seen it all. “Treating yourself, ma’am?” he asked.

  “Why, yes, I am,” I replied as I flopped back onto the long leather bench seat, kicking my feet about with excitement like some kid on Christmas morning. “And stop with the ‘ma’am’ stuff. I ain’t that old,” I playfully chided him.

  “No. You most certainly aren’t,” he commented as our eyes met in his rearview mirror. We probably were within a few years of one another in age. My sister—half sister—Anitra would look down on him even though he was obviously a hard worker. But, with those irresistible looks of his, she might make an exception. Of course, I wasn’t about to play matchmaker for her siddity ass. Just thinking to myself, s’all.

  “Where ya from?” he questioned, the formality tapering off this time.

  “Houston,” I replied. “You ever been?” I asked, a little too concerned with his answer. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t interested in him for Anitra, but I wasn’t ready for a relationship for me either. Even though he turned out to be nothing like I thought he was, maybe Carlos’s death was my tipping point to get me to this moment.

  “Yeah,” he answered, pausing to check an incoming message on his phone. It was probably his instructions for his next fare, if I had to guess. “Have some cousins in Texas. They live west of Houston. Small town called Sealy, I think.”

  “I know where Sealy is. Actually, I live in Katy,” I admitted, intrigued. “Sealy’s not too far from me.”

  “Oh? We’ve been to that mall in Katy before. Katy Mills, right?”

  “Yes, that’s the place. You and your wife went there?” I asked, having picked up on the “we” in his comment.

  “Nah. I’m divorced,” he replied. “I went to your mall with my moms. That was when she could travel. How about you? You married? No worries, no matter what you tell me,” he offered. “Because whatever happens in Vegas—”

  “Stays in Vegas!” I completed with a soft chuckle.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen the commercials. But, no. I’m a widow,” I offered, surprised to be sharing that much with a stranger. Don’t think he could handle not one, but two, grown-ass men dying on me.

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.” He gasped as he watched a couple crossing the street in front of us while arguing with one another. When the woman cocked back and slapped the man, we both winced.

  “Don’t be. It was awhile ago. I’ve since moved on,” I admitted. Yep, right into the arms of the next man to die on me. With my track record, I sooo wasn’t in Vegas looking for a match. It being the wrong city for that anyway, this was just an escape from myself. Or maybe I was seeking the real me before it was suffocated, never to be found.

  “Good to hear you’ve moved on,” he said, a little too cheery, before catching himself and clearing his throat. “Oookay. Well, we’re almost to your hotel, ma’am. Just up ahead at the end of the Strip,” he said, directing me where to look.

  But I couldn’t miss it anyway. It looked just like the online pictures, only more beautiful. I’d booked myself four nights’ luxury accommodations at Aquos, the second addition to what was, in the end, going to be a set of four towers and casinos themed on the elements: earth, wind, fire, and water. Aquos had been open for only a month, joining its sister hotel, Stratus, the older, air-themed one on the grounds. From what I’d read, people like Mariah Carey, Samuel L. Jackson, Kim Kardashian, and the ginger Brit, Prince Harry, had already stayed there.

  “You’re gonna like it there,” he stated.

  “Oh?”

  “Beautiful inside. I had a hookup and got to take a walk-through before the grand opening. Its water theme is bananas, like something outta Hollywood. Any plans on seeing some shows ’n’ stuff while you’re gracing us with your lovely presence?” he asked, blatantly flirtatious now.

  “Let me stop you right there. Thanks, but no thanks,” I blurted out before he tried to steer me to one of those seedy places where he got commissions for referrals. Just because I’d never been to Vegas didn’t mean I was stupid. I wasn’t trying to get bogged down in some tourist trap.

  “Got it. Just shut up and drive,” he remarked, taking a professional tone once again. “My apologies, ma’am.”

  “I . . . I didn’t mean it like that. And I apologize if I came across as rude,” I stated. “This whole trip was impromptu and I don’t want anything planned because I don’t even know what the next hour holds, so . . .”

  “Got it. No pressure. I try too hard to help sometimes. My bad,” he said with a sweet grin as the black limo pulled up to the Aquos hotel. My driver popped the trunk then exited to retrieve my bag.

  On my phone, I received a notification that someone had posted on my Facebook page. I should’ve ignored it, but checked nevertheless. It was from a few of my coworkers back in Houston. With the time difference, over half the workday had elapsed back home. And I hadn’t bothered to call in or anything. I read the two most recent posts on my timeline:

  Girl, they said you’re sick. Hope you get well soon.

  Call and let us know you’re okay. Praying for you in Jesus’ name.

  As I considered replying and what I would say, the driver opened my door. Looking at him made me draw a blank as to what I would say anyway, so I instead tossed my phone back in my purse. And admired him.

  “Got a call you need to take?” he questioned.

  “Nah. Just mindlessly checking my Facebook page. You busted me,” I admitted, grinning way too much to where my damn cheeks were hurting.

  He chuckled. “The Internet’s a good thing, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes it connects us too much in ways that aren’t so healthy.”

  “And it’s lacking that personal connection?” I asked with a raised eyebrow over his voluntary observations about the Internet and social media.

  “Right! Right!” he agreed wholeheartedly. “It distracts you from the here and now with junk like friend requests, tweets, ‘retweets,’ ‘catfishing,’ ‘Likes,’ and other petty stuff. That’s not how the world got along back in the ‘stone ages’ before that. That kind of stuff shifts priorities from what’s really important.”

  “The world’s changing though. And we can’t do much about that,” I said with a sigh. Boy had my world changed.

  “Ahhh, but we can control that which we can control. Like maximizing the important up-close encounters,” he dropped all philosophical on me as he took my hand to help me exit the limo. “My name’s Lowell, by the way. And here’s my card,” he offered as he plopped a business card in my purse before I could object or politely decline. Then he smiled as if daring me to remove and discard it in front of him. When I didn’t, he continued. “In case you need anything during your stay, I am volunteering to be your personal driver. Or even for just a ride back to the airport once your business has concluded. I hope that you will consider me and my humble car service.”

  “Thank you, Lowell.”

  “No. Thank you, Artemis,” he said in a way that made me feel all good inside.

  Good. Not gooey. Get your mind out the gutter.

  “Oh. And I have one simple request,” he said.

  “What’s that, Lowell?” I asked, curious and intrigued.

  “Could you go to my Facebook page and ‘Like’ my car serv
ice? It’s listed on my card,” he said comically.

  As the doorman held the door open for me, I just shook my head and turned to enter the gleaming building, surrounded on both sides by backlit glass holding coral and fish.

  Chapter 7

  “Welcome to your adventure,” the doorman said as he refused to let me carry my own bag. “Do you already have a reservation with us, ma’am?” he humbly asked.

  “Of course. Don’t leave home without one,” I replied, trying to play that indignant role. I know I looked like a baller because I’d dusted off my best, least-used clothes for this trip. I guess playing “dress up” suited me.

  “Well, allow me to show you to your reservation host, ma’am. Right this way,” the young man with honest, old eyes ushered. The exterior wall of the entire first floor was one large aquarium, its projected lights bathing me in an otherworldly glow as if we were entering a tunnel of light. When we emerged out the other side, I stared wildly at my new surroundings.

  People snapped away with their cell phones, taking countless pictures as I was led to whatever a “reservation host” was. Made me feel special ’n’ shit. Of course, they weren’t snapping them of me exactly. Rather, they were capturing images of the hotel and I was just part of the background, a perfect blend of the contemporary with traces of the ancient.

  “Ms. Clay?” the desk clerk asked as my reservation was retrieved from the transparent computer screen she tapped with her perfect French tip. My girl’s weave was one of the best I’d ever seen and she carried herself with the poise of an actress. Hell, things in just the hotel lobby alone looked like something from off a movie set. Even the group huddled at the desk next to me, Lake Scott, rising star with the Brooklyn Nets, and his big-ass entourage were gawking at the neon-colored women swimming beneath our feet. Visible through the illuminated glass floor, they swam about like new-age mermaids, waiving at stunned guests like us then disappearing, probably to come up for air somewhere out of view. How much were they paying these bitches, anyway? The whole thing made me feel like I was in the middle of one of those Cirque du Soleil productions, an adult Disney World, or something.