A Meeting In The Ladies' Room by Anita Doreen Diggs Page B

I help him on the project. “Jackie worked very hard on her days off with no extra compensation to shape this biography into the work of art that it is now.”
    Work of art? It was a piece of shit!
    â€œMy wife felt that it would smack of nepotism if she published All About Moms here at Welburn, but now I think this is the best place for it. Why should another house and some other editor get the credit after Jackie worked so hard? So, when this terrible business is over, we’ll get to work, put it on the schedule, and place Miss Mabley’s story in the hands of readers everywhere. I’ll let Jackie tell you about her mad dash across my lobby which the media has managed to turn into something sinister.”
    For what seemed like the hundredth time, I told the story of meeting Craig to work on All About Moms, accidentally leaving my portable organizing system in the Murray home, and racing to meet Jamal Hunt. “As you know,” I concluded, “Jamal is the newest and brightest star on the Welburn roster.”
    I walked Keith out to the elevator. “What do you think?” I asked anxiously.
    He whispered into my ear. “Up until this morning, Craig Murray was at the top of my list. But that man did not kill his wife and now I have no idea who did.”

17
    BACK AT THE PACK
    I got the clear sensation that I was the subject of mucho gossip when I reached the Black Pack table the next Friday night. Who could blame them?
    They were all in attendance and the waiter had pushed three tables together to accommodate the group. My eyes locked with Victor’s as I stood beside an empty chair, and for a moment I didn’t hear or see anything else in the room. Not the cluster of thirsty people crowded around the bar, the framed photographs of the restaurant’s celebrity owner, not even Paul, who was saying something to me as he tugged at my sleeve. My heart was hammering—I forgot all about Victor’s humiliating e-mail. I just wanted to throw myself at his feet and worship him like an Egyptian god.
    His skin was the color of deep, dark Godiva chocolate; he had close-cropped black hair with a razor part on the right side, thick, dark lips, and big, sexy eyes which rivaled those of the long-dead movie star, Bette Davis.
    I might have stood there frozen forever if Paul had not sucked his teeth so loudly that the people at the next table turned around and stared. It broke me out of my trance and I hastily sat down.
    My African-American sisters and brothers welcomed me like I was an escaped slave who had managed to get to their collective hiding place somewhere in Canada. It felt warm and sweet enough to make me burst into tears, but that would have made my well-applied makeup run down my cheeks, and I was not about to let that happen in front of Victor. So, I blinked hard a few times and stared at Rachel’s blond pouf of hair, which formed a halo around her blue-black skin, until I felt a giggle coming up in my throat.
    â€œOkay, what were y’all saying about me before I came in,” I said, to lighten the moment.
    â€œPaul was telling us how he hooked you up with Keith Williams. Girl, it would be worth doing twenty years in jail if you could end up with him afterward,” Rachel laughed.
    â€œI’m not interested in Keith.”
    All I want is Victor Bell is what I started to say, but that would have been way over the top .
    â€œDid Keith buy you that hot pink suit?” Rachel continued. “It is to die for.”
    I fingered the gold buttons on my new suit, which was actually a deep, flattering fuchsia. “Of course not.”
    â€œYou should have worn that suit when you did your end run across that lobby, girlfriend. Because that coat you had on was not working. It made you look like two tons of fun.” This was from Dallas, but there was relief in her eyes and I knew she was really glad to see me.
    Everyone laughed.
    â€œWell,” I replied while