All About Me. Marcia King-Gamble

wisecracking radio personality, Tre Monroe. His radio audience called him D’Dawg.

      “You’re early,” Jen said, sounding astounded. “Is something wrong?”

      “Good morning to you to, missy, and no, there ain’t—isn’t—anything wrong.”

      She was right; I was always at least half an hour late. Mornings were rough on me. They made me hungry and grumpy. I was what you called a night person.

      “I’ve been working out at the gym,” I announced, twirling around. “New Years resolution, remember?” We’d both made resolutions, mine was to lose weight and exercise, Jen’s was to exercise more patience. It was only the second week of January but I’d managed to keep mine. I waited for her to compliment me.

      “Good for you. You’re sticking to the program. Is Quen still working with you?” Jen raised a sculpted eyebrow as if she didn’t think that was possible. She must think I was bluffing about losing weight?

      “Yeah he is. Why?”

      Jen stood and stretched. There wasn’t a ripple in the midthigh skirt she wore or a bulge where her belly should be. “Nothing. I’m getting coffee. Want a cup?”

      Fetching coffee was my job but I never seemed to get around to it. “Sure and while you’re at it bring back a couple of them chocolate donuts the girls brought in.”

      Jen shook her head and wagged a finger in front of my nose. “Chocolate is totally off-limits. Those calories will go straight to our hips. I need to lose five pounds so that I can fit into my wedding gown.”

      I began bouncing up and down and screaming. “Jen’s getting married, y’all. Tre’s finally popped the question.”

      Several heads poked over the divider. The commotion had gotten the attention of the clerical staff who were on their desks looking over.

      Jen held up her left hand for all to see. My mouth flapped open like I was catching flies. Shoot, I’d never seen a rock quite that size. D’Dawg had to be making some big bucks. I wanted one just like hers.

      Oohs and aahs came from the other side of the partition. My girls had calculators for brains. They were crunching those numbers, and computing the cost of that ring right down to the last dollar.

      “Congratulations!” Envy dripped from that word.

      “Good luck, Jen. You caught yourself a good one.”

      I heard a rustle and several stifled screams.

      Heads disappeared, which meant Luis Gomez, the big cheese had come in.

      I was hugging Jen when Luis, stinking of cigar smoke, stuck his head in our office. “Morning, Jen,” he said, totally ignoring me.

      “Morning,” she replied.

      I stuck a tongue out behind his back. I couldn’t stand him. Never could. But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about me. I had the owner of the paper, Ian Pendergrass’s ear. I’d been Ian’s housekeeper once; the worst one he’d ever had. But I’d served a purpose. Ian, the old goat with his randy ways deserved me.

      “I’ll be back with that coffee,” Jen said smoothly, slipping out of my embrace.

      I’d never be married. I’d never even come close. But I’d had my share of men and most of the population of Flamingo Beach thought I was a “ho.” Not true. But it was good for my image for them to think that. No one should ever know that brazen-faced Chere Adams actually lacked self confidence.

      And that was another reason I needed to get the weight off. It was also the reason I’d spent two months studying like crazy for that real estate exam. I wanted to be somebody. Needed to be. I was thirty-three years old and going nowhere fast. And I wanted Quen Abrahams and babies.

      I refused to think the health club manager was out of my league. Maybe he was, but a girl could try, couldn’t she? I wanted the man to start thinking of me as a woman, and not just a fatso with a crazy sense of humor. We’d been friends for a long time. Now I wanted more than friendship.

      Where was my coffee? I needed a pick me up and I needed one of them chocolate donuts to hold me over. Hell, I would even settle for a jelly-filled one; anything sweet. My stomach was queasy and every bone hurt.

      The minutes ticked by before Jen sauntered back in minus donuts. She was carrying two mugs in her hand. She set one cup down on my desk and flipped the switch on her computer.

      “Where’s the food?” I demanded.

      “No donuts. You’re on a diet. You should be eating breakfast bars.” She rummaged through her drawer and flipped a couple at me.

      I caught them, glared at her and bit right through the wrapper. I was that hungry. Easy for her to say “You’re on a diet.” She was built like an athlete with curves in all the right places. That glowing coffee complexion came from nights of good loving. Tre Monroe was delivering and I was getting zilch. Nada.

      “How are your real estate classes coming?” Jen asked, after she was settled in and staring at her monitor.

      It would be pointless to lie. In a town the size of Flamingo Beach everyone knew everyone’s business and what they didn’t know they made up.

      “I passed the real estate and property management exam,” I said, proudly sticking out my triple Ds. “Now I am officially a full-fledged Realtor.”

      “Good for you. Will you be juggling two jobs then, or will you be quitting on me?”

      Better to play it cool and keep my mouth shut. Jen didn’t have to know I had high aspirations; one of them being to get the credit I deserved at the Chronicle. I didn’t want her job, I just wanted equal billing. Dear Jenna and Chere, sounded sweet to me.

      “You know I can’t afford to quit,” I said smiling brightly. She was after all still my boss. “I need a regular salary. Besides who said I didn’t like my job.”

      One side of Jen’s lips curled up. “I thought you were bored opening mailing and cataloguing it.”

      “Who said I was bored?”

      She cut her eyes at me. I didn’t have her fooled.

      I wasn’t exactly bored, but I did have a short attention span. I hated sitting for hours. Plus much of the advice Jen dished out came from me. I knew everything there was to know in Flamingo Beach. And even if the people who wrote in didn’t sign their real names, it was easy to figure. Nothing but nothing escaped me.

      I dug into a drawer and found a letter opener, no point ruining my nails. Manicures were expensive. Especially those that had fancy artwork and sequins on them. This week mine had dolphins jumping. I’d turned into a Florida girl through and through.

      “You set a date for the wedding?” I asked, my stomach rumbling thinking of that wedding cake with strawberries, fresh cream and icing.

      “Tre and I will do that this weekend.”

      It sounded to me like Tre Monroe was delaying committing. Not that I would tell Jen that. He’d been the beach’s most eligible bachelor up until missy here, from Ashton snatched him up. They’d hated each other on sight. Then somewhere along the way that hatred had turned to love. Now the buzz was they were living together.

      “What’s going to happen to your apartment?” I asked, partially because I was curious, and partially because I needed to find out if she wanted to rent. Heck I was a Realtor plus I had my own ulterior motive.

      “I’m thinking about renting.”

      I wound a lock of weaved auburn hair around a jeweled fingernail and thought about how to play this. I needed a place to live. My landlady claimed her daughter and her kid were moving back to Flamingo Beach. She’d given me notice to start looking.

      If I put my stuff in storage, and moved into Jen’s fancy apartment, it might work. Flamingo Place was the type of