mention scads of paperwork to fill out. While a different HR associate stood at the front of the conference room and discussed the employee handbook page by page, Vienna and Derek sat together and made up games to pass the time.
“If you had to have sex with one person in this room, who would it be?” she asked.
Derek scanned the room for someone attractive but couldn’t spot anyone who was his type. “Nobody,” he answered.
“Not even me?” Vienna asked, feigning hurt.
He bit his lip, pretending to mull it over as he looked her up and down. She had on black high heel pumps, a short skirt, a white shirt, and a fitted jacket. Her body was all curves, but very toned, and her makeup was minimal. She was attractive, and if Derek hadn’t had a boyfriend, he thought he might be persuaded to give heterosexuality another try. “Sorry. No,” he said.
“It’s okay. You’re not my type either.”
“Why? Because I’m white?”
“No, fool. Number one, you’re too young. I like my men a little older.”
“Really? How—”
“Don’t you even ask that,” Vienna whispered threateningly. “Number two, I like to make more money than the men I date.”
“That’s absurd. I’m going to be selling shoes. You’ll be selling cosmetics. We’ll be on equal financial footing.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Vienna explained. “I’m talking about independence. I don’t like to rely on other people for anything. You, on the other hand, have no problem in that respect, do you?”
“How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”
Vienna looked smug as she said, “I know all about you.”
“But we just met.”
“Trust me. I know everything that goes on in this mall.”
Derek eyed Vienna suspiciously while she secured her wild hair behind her head and began filling out an insurance form. Her self-confidence and insight made him nervous. He hardly knew her, so how could she know anything about him?
Vienna glanced over and saw him staring at her. “We’re supposed to be filling out these forms. You’d better get to work.”
“Are you playing mind games with me? What do you think you know about me?” he asked.
Vienna smiled and said, “I know you live in the hotel.” Then she added, “And I know you’re a kept boy.”
Suddenly Derek wanted Belgian waffles more than ever.
2
Oops…I Stabbed You Again!
Vienna Talbot never hesitated to pamper herself. In her thirty-five years on earth, she’d learned that everyone was looking out for himself, so she’d better follow suit. If she had a long day, nothing soothed her nerves like a pedicure. If she saw an outfit in a window, she told herself that it wouldn’t look better on anyone else; she’d then prove her assumption correct by trying it on and buying it. She liked to be surrounded by beautiful objects. For breakfast, she preferred freshly sliced fruit with yogurt in a Baccarat bowl.
Davii often called her a diva. Vienna hated the word. It had connotations she didn’t relate to: a pushy, demanding bitch who always had to be the center of attention and get her way. Vienna knew she was the complete opposite of that description. Sure, she enjoyed getting her way every now and then, but she was more than willing to learn from her mistakes. She felt more comfortable on the edge of a crowd, observing, taking in a scene, rather than making one.
From the time she was a little girl, she’d known she was pretty. A fact confirmed by the members of her father’s parish, who were quick to point out her beauty when they saw her at church or when they came to the Talbot home for dinner. She appreciated a compliment and was quick to offer thanks for an accolade, but it wasn’t the be-all and end-all of her existence. Her self-confidence was strong and she didn’t demand compliments, or anything else, from anyone.
Vienna stood in front of a full-length mirror in a dressing room at Drayden’s, comparing the little girl from her memory to the woman she’d become. She ran her hands over her stomach and scrutinized her reflection. She was tall, but not exactly slender. Her body could be described as womanly, curvy, but nothing kept moving after she stood still. She ate right, and her only vice was alcohol, but not in excess. Vienna turned and looked over her shoulder to examine her butt in her black lace panties.
“Ain’t no junk in my trunk,” she said to herself.
“Did you call me?” a perky voice called to her through the dressing room’s curtain.
“No,” Vienna said quickly and firmly. She’d finished her last day of training, four hours of register procedures and three hours of diversity class, and decided to reward herself with lingerie. She hated it when salespeople didn’t respect a closed curtain. “I’m fine. But could you find me this set in red, too? And can I try the merry widow that’s on the mannequin?”
“Of course.”
Vienna readjusted a bra strap and tried to look at herself as if she were a stranger. Or how a man might view her. She smiled, liking the way her light brown skin looked in spite of the fluorescent lighting. Her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes were free of makeup, save a light foundation and eyeliner. Her lips, however, were painted a dark red, drawing attention to her mouth, which she thought was her best feature. Although with the way the new bra lifted her breasts, she began to reconsider.
“I’d do me,” she decided aloud.
“Here you are,” her sales associate said, passing the requested items through the curtain.
“Thank you,” Vienna said.
“My name is Jeanine. Call me if you need me.”
“I will,” Vienna said, even though she knew she wouldn’t. There was no way Vienna would ever wear red lingerie. She’d only asked for it to give Jeanine something to do, to keep her out of the dressing room. However, Vienna had always wanted to try on a merry widow. It was something she never would’ve considered buying before she moved to Terre Haute. It wasn’t becoming for a preacher’s daughter or a respected psychologist.
But the Vienna in the mirror, in her lacy black bra and panties, looked like a completely different person from the girl from Gary, Indiana. Just thinking about Gary made Vienna cringe. She couldn’t wait to leave her hometown when she was young. She wanted to get away from the industrial fumes, the suburban boredom, and her overbearing, hypercritical mother. Vienna knew the key to escape was her mind. She studied hard and accepted the first scholarship that came her way, taking her to Bloomington. Even at Indiana University, Vienna kept her nose to the grindstone, never deviating from her plans for success. However, a defensive lineman named Kevin did sidetrack her.
Kevin Martazak was a star on the field and off. A physiology major, he was on the dean’s list, and he danced with IU’s African American Dance Company, though he swore he did it only to help his agility on the field. Kevin and Vienna met in statistics class when they both knocked their textbooks off their desks at the same time. They introduced themselves after class, and Vienna stated that the odds of them having the same accident at the same time were one in fifty. Kevin asked what the odds were for going out on a date, to which Vienna replied, “From where I’m standing, they’re looking good. Better by the second.”
They lived together for three years before they got married. After graduation, they got an apartment off campus and pursued their master’s degrees while holding down part-time jobs. Then Kevin, working as a therapist in a downtown hospital, supported her while she got her doctorate. Eventually they bought a house in the suburbs, with matching Volvos and hectic lives. Vienna found an office with a group of psychologists in a professional building near their new home.
Their life seemed perfect.