Too Hot for TV Page 3

  When he got to the clinic, Keith was sitting in the lobby with a barrage of questions for Raymond and he barely allowed his friend to get his foot in the door before he started. “So, are you going to do it? Did the producers like you?”

  Raymond put his hand on his hip and looked at Keith. “You know they did,” he said. “When I told the producers that I was raising money for the clinic, they ate that up. But, man, on the way over here, I saw this woman—ah, never mind.”

  “Wait, wait,” Keith said, waving his hands as if he were an air traffic controller landing a 747. “A woman got to you and not the other way around? It must be a cold day in hell.”

  Raymond laughed. “She nearly got hit by a car; I took her to a café to look at her. She had skin like silk and a body that would make Jessica Rabbit jealous. But she probably has a man or something. A woman like that needs a man to shower her with gifts.”

  Keith drummed his fingers across his knee. “Oh, so she’s one of those women? Pay to play type chicks, huh?”

  Raymond shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea. I’m just judging a book by its beautiful and sexy cover,” he said. “All right, enough of that. Let me get back to work.”

  “We don’t have any patients waiting. Tell me more about this woman. Did you at least get her number?”

  Raymond shook his head. Keith slapped him on the shoulder. “Are you slipping or what? If this woman is all that you said she is, you should have at least gotten her number.”

  He shook his head. “It’s all right. The moment has passed and if it is meant for me to see her again, then I will.”

  Keith raised his eyebrow. “There are millions of people in this city, and there is no way you’re just going to run into her again. I can’t believe you let one get away. Satan is zipping up his parka right now.”

  Raymond shrugged his shoulders. “I have charts to review.” He headed down the hall, trying not to think about the mystery woman with the scraped knee, but he couldn’t help himself. Damn, I don’t even know her name, he thought.

  Chapter 3

  Imani rubbed her knee as she sat across from Edward’s desk. She closed her eyes and imagined the handsome doctor stroking her knee.

  “Imani? Are you all right?” Edward asked.

  She nodded like a bobble-head doll. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you seem distracted,” he replied. “So, how did the meeting go at the network? I really believe this show can lead to bigger and better opportunities for you. All we need is a foothold and reality TV seems to be the way to go these days. And before you protest, I know that you’re a real actress, but unfortunately without a sex tape and some controversy, talent doesn’t seem to be enough anymore. I’m still trying to figure out why the Kardashian family is famous. But I digress. Imani, we have to make this work. This reality show will lead you to the stardom that you want. Just don’t pull the diva card out.”

  She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “This show is going be stupid. Couch potatoes call in and vote on who should get engaged. Really? That’s what passes for entertainment these days? Then the couples go through these trials, testing their teamwork. And how long does America think the winners of this show are going to stay together?” Imani pulled her hair back and twisted it into a loose bun. “If I didn’t need the money so badly, I would’ve told that producer a thing or two. She had the nerve to say, ‘No one is forcing you to do the show.’ I think Con Edison’s disconnect notice is forcing me to do this nonsense. I’m not doing it on my own free will, believe me.”

  Edward looked at her and smiled. “That’s a good look for you. I know how you wanted to keep your hair in its natural state, but this will make you a little more marketable. Now, here’s the plan. You’re going to be hot on this show and we’re going to have to strike fast. Dana is in her studio and she’s ready to take new head shots of you. While you’re in Hawaii, hopefully showing off what you can do on this show, I’m going to sell you to some of Hollywood’s best and brightest directors. And if you make a big enough splash on TV, I might even be able to get some Broadway shows lined up. But one thing is certain, Imani, if you’re having the financial problems that you’ve been talking about, we’re going to have to go commercial. That’s why I love the straight hair.

  “I have a source at the network that I’m going to lean on to get you a check cut early. Hopefully, I’ll have some news for you by tomorrow and you can get some much needed money in your pocket. Despite what you think about this show, it’s getting some buzz and people are going to be watching. I’m not just talking about the folks you call couch potatoes, either,” he said. “You can’t back out of this. I’ve dropped a few whispers in the ears of some industry insiders about you being on the show.”

  Imani groaned and shook her head. “Your industry friends who won’t send a script my way? The same industry friends who have said that my career is dead because of one craptabulous movie?”

  “But they’re talking about you again and that’s what’s important. Stop being so negative and think about how this will change things for you.”

  Imani narrowed her eyes, wanting to ask Edward if he was sure that she’d have a check coming in soon. The sooner she paid off her back rent, the more secure she’d feel and she wouldn’t have to deal with her landlord’s creepy come-ons. “Do you really think you’re going to be able to swing an advance for me? I really need that money,” she said.

  “Imani, I’m not going to let you down,” he said. “You’re going to have a check by the end of the week, all right?”

  She wanted to shout hallelujah and dance a jig, but she played it cool. “So, do I need to call Dana and let her know that I’m coming?” Imani asked.

  “She’s expecting you,” he said.

  Imani stood up once she heard his answer. She was excited to see Dana, knowing this would be a chance to clear her mind. Dana was not only her photographer, but one of her best friends. As a matter of fact, Dana was the only friend she had whom she could be totally honest with—about everything—and not worry about that information being used against her. She didn’t have to pretend around her. Dana knew the struggles Imani was going through. Dana and Imani had attended college together and for a while, they were both struggling. Dana considered joining the paparazzi and their endless quest for the candid celebrity shot, but her break finally came when a talent scout saw her portfolio. The man, who just happened to be Edward Funderburke, asked her to take some pictures of his clients. From those head shots, Dana became one of the most sought after photographers in the city. Imani was glad to see her friend’s star rise, but she was also ready for her own time to shine.

  Imani walked into Dana’s studio space. “What’s up, girl?” she said, catching the lanky photographer’s attention. Dana turned around, swinging her ink black dreadlocks.

  “What’s going on, superstar? I see Edward talked you into that relaxer,” she noted as she looked at her friend. Imani flung her hair back as if she were in a shampoo commercial. “I’m surprised that it looks so good on you. But at least you can go back to the curls whenever you want to.”

  “This is what Hollywood is going for,” she said. “Besides, it will grow out and I can’t wait. I’d rather have my straight hair than a lace-front wig or a bunch of tracks sewn into my scalp.”

  Dana shook her head. “I know acting is your dream, but how much of yourself are you willing to give up for this?”

  Imani rolled her eyes. “Relaxing my hair does not equate to me giving up anything about myself. I just want to be marketable, a bankable star.” She waved her hands in the air. “Just take my pictures.” Imani hobbled over to the camera.

  “What happened to you? Trip up the ladder to stardom?” Dana asked when she noticed Imani’s gait.

  “I almost bought it on Fifty-ninth Street. But luckily, there was this fine doctor there to save me from becoming the finest chalk outline in the city,” she said.

  Dana opened a box of batteries for her c
amera. “A doctor, huh? And he was fine? So, when are you guys going out?”

  Imani reached into her purse, pulled out a brush and began brushing her hair. “We’re not. I don’t even know his name. Besides, the way he looked, he has to be married, gay, or otherwise involved. But he had the biggest hands and emerald eyes that sparkled in the sun. He was such a man, though. Arrogant, cocky, overconfident . . .”

  “Just your type,” Dana interrupted.

  Imani put her hand on her slender hip and scowled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Dana walked over to her friend and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Let’s take some test shots, and then you can go change and put on some makeup.”

  Imani grabbed her hand. “Dana, what do you mean by that little statement?”

  “You need makeup for your picture,” she replied. “You want to put your best face forward, don’t you?”

  Imani sucked her teeth and folded her arms across her chest. “You know what I’m talking about,” she retorted. “I don’t have a type. I just have bad luck when it comes to men.”

  Dana rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Bad luck? That’s what we’re calling poor choices these days?” She laughed, then fired off two shots of a frowning Imani. “You know the kind of men you have dated. This man sounds like a chip off the old dating block.”

  Imani walked over to the vanity set up behind the camera. She opened the drawer and pulled out the stash of foundations and blushes that Dana kept on hand. Imani pulled her hair back in a ponytail and began applying the makeup. “You know what? I don’t want a relationship right now. I’m just going to focus on my career and that’s it. I’m never going to see this guy again, so I don’t know if my bad luck will continue.”

  Dana raised her eyebrow. “So, why are you going on a show to get married?”

  Imani shrugged her shoulders and continued to put her makeup on. “It is a means to an end. Who says that I’m going to last long enough to get paired up with some desperate man looking for a wife on TV?”

  Dana laughed. “I hope you find the fame that you’re looking for,” she said. “Because I couldn’t go through with it. What has happened to marriage in this country? There was a time when it meant something. My parents have been married for thirty years.”

  “Dana, marriage is up to the individual. No one cares about lasting marriages these days. You have people like Britney making headlines for quickie marriages in Vegas. Hell, if getting married on a reality show will get me a movie role, then fine,” she said. “No one said I had to stay married.”

  “Whatever, Imani,” she said. “Now, let’s get started.”

  Keith and Raymond closed up the clinic Friday around seven and decided to hit the town for a guy’s night out. They headed to BlackFinn for some women watching and to take their minds off their troubles and the clinic’s financial issues. The place was the ultimate happy hour destination and both of them decided they needed some happy in the long hours they’d worked this week. More bills had been rolling in and the MRI machine, which had been threatening to break down for months, finally bit the bullet. They’d been trying to work out something with Harlem Hospital Center to get their most important cases looked at with some priority. But of course, the hospital wanted to be paid and that’s where the problems came in.

  Tonight, Keith and Raymond said they weren’t going to talk about work or anything health related. They planned to eat food they’d told their patients to avoid and drink until they needed a cab. Raymond had gone for a casual look, dressing in a pair of ivory linen pants and a tan tank top that showed off his luscious body—sculptured arms and flat stomach. Raymond’s black and red phoenix tattoo peeked out from underneath his shirt on his right shoulder. While Keith was no slouch in the fashion department, his blue jeans and vintage Jimi Hendrix T-shirt could have been a set of rags, because all eyes were on Raymond.

  “All right, this might be the last chance you have to come out as a single man,” Keith ribbed as they walked into the bar. “What if you win this thing?”

  “It won’t matter, because I’m not making a mockery of marriage. Marriage is a serious thing. I want a marriage that will last until my wife and I die. I want to love my woman so much that my day is incomplete without her.”

  Keith began playing an imaginary violin. “Brother, please,” he said. “In this instant world, if a marriage lasts two years, you’re doing well. Women are just as commitment shy as men these days. They aren’t looking for Mr. Right, just Mr. Right Now.”

  “Even Celeste?”

  Keith shook his head. “No, but I’m not sure that I’m ready to settle down. I love her, but I’m not in a stable position right now. Look at how we’re struggling to pay our bills. Sometimes, I’m not sure if Celeste understands that when I’m working all of these long hours and don’t have a pocket full of cash to show for it that this is what my being a doctor means. And, honestly, I need to be sure that I’m ready to settle down before I say, ‘baby, let’s get married.’ It’s the only way to be fair to Celeste. Why should we get married if one of us plans on cheating on the other one or if we’re not sure about spending forever together?”

  Raymond shrugged his shoulders and waved for the bartender to come over. The woman, who kept her brown eyes focused on Raymond, smiled as she sauntered to the end of the bar where he and Keith sat. “What can I get for you gentleman?” she asked in a husky voice that was sexy and seductive.

  Keith eyed the woman and smiled. “Can you pour yourself in a glass?”

  The bartender rolled her eyes at Keith and turned her attention back to Raymond. “What are you drinking?” she asked, gently touching his hand.

  “I’ll have Royal Grape,” he said. “And get my boy a Cîroc and orange juice.”

  She smiled and fixed the drinks. She placed Raymond’s glass in front of him and winked as she placed a stirrer in his glass, then she turned to Keith and slid his drink to him without much of a second look. “Are you having a good time tonight?” she asked Raymond, ignoring Keith’s request for a stirrer of his own.

  “Yes, so far, so good,” he replied. “Does this taste as good as you look?”

  She placed her hand on top of Raymond’s and stroked it. “Maybe. But if you want something tasty, you should stick around for a few hours until my shift is over.”

  Raymond winked at her and said, “I just might take you up on that.”

  “Don’t tease me with a good time,” she said with a wink, and then sauntered over to a new group of customers at the bar.

  “You know I hate you, right?” Keith quipped.

  “What? A little harmless flirtation with the bartender means we’re going to drink all night without waiting.”

  Keith shook his head. “I’m willing to bet that you will be invited to go home with her tonight as soon as she’s off the clock. No wonder you’re in no hurry to settle down.”

  Raymond shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “I’m in no hurry to settle down because when I get married, I plan to do it once.”

  “You know what they say about the best laid plans,” Keith said, then drained his drink. “That was pretty good. Call your girl over so I can get another one. Being that I don’t rate on her radar.”

  Raymond caught the bartender’s eye and waved her over. “Yes, sir,” she breathed.

  “He needs a refill and I need to know your name,” Raymond said. He could tell by the wide grin on her face that he would get that invitation Keith had alluded to.

  “Namina,” she replied as she picked up a cocktail napkin and scribbled her number on it. “I’m off in three hours.” Before he could reply, another customer called her away.

  Keith punched Raymond on the arm. “And you claim you’re looking for the one,” he said.

  Raymond turned around and grinned at his friend. “I didn’t say I was looking for her right this minute.”

  Before Keith could reply, his cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket.
When he pulled the phone out and saw it was Celeste, he excused himself from the bar.

  Namina walked over to Raymond with a smile on her plump lips. “So, you know my name. What’s yours?” she asked.

  “Raymond.”

  “Are you going to use that number tonight?”

  “We’ll see,” he replied, returning her smile. “But it’s looking that way.”

  She leaned in closer to him and stared into his emerald eyes. “You have beautiful eyes, but I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”

  “Yes, but it sounds great coming from a beautiful woman like you.”

  “What is it that you do?”

  “I’m a doctor at a free clinic,” he said.

  Namina cocked her head to the side. “That doesn’t sound really profitable.”

  Great, he thought, she’s another one of those. His attraction to the bartender was waning. While he thought about telling her that he made more than a bartender, he just took another sip of his drink. He wouldn’t be using that number after all. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Keith making his way through the crowd.

  “You know what,” he said to her. “I’m going to have to take off. My friend has to get home to his wife.”

  “Umm,” she said, obviously showing that she’d lost interest in him because his job didn’t reach her expectations. Raymond rose from the bar stool and met Keith.

  “What’s up, man?” Keith asked. “I figured you and the bartender would be sucking face by now.”

  “Funny. Is everything all right with Celeste?”

  “Yes. She was just wondering what time I’m coming home tonight, so I’m going to make it an early evening. She’s been watching the Food Network again and wants to feed me,” Keith said, then glanced over at the bar. “What’s up with you and Hot Lips, the bartender?”