Pick Me Blues (The KoKo series Book 5) Read online

  Pick

  Me

  Blues

  From the KoKo Series

  B I E N – A I M E W E N D A

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Bien-Aimé Wenda

  All rights reserved

  PROLOGUE

  “You know, babe, it’s not too late to call this whole thing off.” I tease.

  My fiancé and I both stare in anticipation as the queen of Louisiana-high-society herself, Ms. Collette Roux, struts down the long corridor of LAX. Beside her, an airport employee drags two bulky Louis Vuitton suitcases behind him on wheels.

  My mother, the primadonna, takes her time strolling towards us in what looks like a pair of gold Jimmy Choos.

  My mother is the only woman I know who flies halfway across the country in designer heels, long black gloves, a knee-length black Vera Wang dress, and a black wide brim hat; looking every bit like an extra on Beyoncé’s Formation video.

  I can tell my fiancé is nervous by the sweat saturating our intertwining fingers.

  He squeezes my hand.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, baby. I’ve already paid a hefty deposit for the wedding band and for whats-his-face to sing at the chapel and that’s nonrefundable. This wedding is happenin’.”

  “Oh, the deposits? Nothing to do with your undying love for me, hunh?” I chuckle.

  “Like I said, I had to fork up a pretty penny. We’re having this damn wedding.” He repeats.

  It’s my turn to squeeze his hand.

  “Just be cool, babe. My mother is all bark and no bite. Besides, you’re loaded, which means she doesn’t have to worry about you mooching off my money.” I half-joke.

  My mother and the airport employee stops a few feet away from us when she digs in her carry-on bag to withdraw a bill which she then hands to the man. He looks down in surprise at the bill with a big toothy grin, then releases the handle of her luggage and take off in the other direction.

  “Here goes nothing.” I say loud enough for only me to hear as my mother’s heels click-clack across the tiles towards us, leaving her bags behind.

  “My baby is finally getting married! There is a god!” She squeals in a Baton Rouge drawl as she approaches me with outstretched arms.

  Her thin arms envelope around me in a tight embrace.

  “And this must be my soon-to-be son-in-law.” She says as with a wide smile as she gives my fiancé a hug.

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Roux. I see where your daughter gets her good looks from.” He greets after separating from their embrace.

  I hold my breath as my mother eyes my husband-to-be in his grey 3-piece Versace suit down to his black Versace patent leather shoes.

  “Call me Collette-better yet, Mom, dear. The way my daughter here has kept you hidden for the past 2 years, I was convinced you had to be a stunt double for Shrek. You picked a good one this time, Vonne. He’s a very handsome young man.”

  “Thanks ma. We should get going.” Inwardly, I release a sigh of relief.

  “Is anyone here yet?” She asks.

  “You’re the first to arrive, ma. They should all start arriving this week.” I inform.

  My mother turns to my fiance.

  “Son, be a dear and grab my bags.” She points her chin towards her abandoned Louis Vuitton luggage just a few feet away.

  She wait until he’s out of hearing distance then lowers her voice, “I don’t know how you did it, gal, but you done landed you a gold mine. I had your cousin Rozella look him up for me online and wouldn’t you know, my daughter done snagged Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor! No kids, no prior marriages, and worth billions. You done good this time, gal. A man like that could have taken up a young gal. For some reason he wants to marry you. Don’t you go fucking this up, ya hear?”

  1

  “You’re such a ‘Pick-Me’.”

  I crinkled my brows. “A what?”

  “You heard me. A ‘Pick-Me’ chick. Your whole existence centers around finding ‘Mr. Right’. You do and say anything and everything to be accepted or approved by a man in hopes of being the chosen one. Basically, a desperate bitch. Girl, fuck these niggas. Get a mind of your own. You need to start doing you, boo. Life does not end if you’re single, chile.” KoKo ranted.

  “I am not a pick-me.” I protested.

  “Really?” She crossed her arms. “Only a pick-me would be okay with a so-called picnic inside a car as a first date.” She said with a look of disgust.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “That happened two years ago.”

  “Honey, you were still old enough to know better.” She said.

  “Look, I’m not like other females. I don’t need a man to spend money on me. I don’t mind hanging out in the backyard stargazing or eating at a fast food joint on a first date. So what? I love catering to a man and I’m not hard to please.”

  Both of KoKo’s eyes widened dramatically. “Bitch, that’s the fuckin’ problem! You settle for just the bare minimum. No chase, whatsoever.”

  “Excuse me for not sleeping with a man in exchange for a pocketbook.”

  KoKo rolled her dark brown eyes towards the ceiling.

  Although it’s been three years,

  I remember that conversation as if it were yesterday. I remember thinking that all I wanted was to meet the man of my dreams, show him off, splurge on a lavish wedding, and have a baby shortly after. Desperate to be viewed as “wife material”, I catered hand and foot to every man I’d ever been with in hopes of getting a ring. I had even gone as far as purchasing a brand-new Mercedes for a man I had only known for seven months.

  I woke up from a coma after seven months of being unconscious from a car accident and found a new lease on life. As soon as I had gone through physical therapy and had gotten over Adrian, I decided the best thing I needed was a fresh start on the west coast. Admittedly, the whole fiasco with Adrian left me feeling bitter and realizing that I wanted Isaac after it was too late taught me a valuable lesson. It took me awhile to learn that romance in the real world do not play out the way it’s portrayed in fairytales, Disney movies, chick-lits, or lifetime movies. Take it from a former “pick-me” chick: the best thing a woman could ever do is discover who she is and love herself before attempting to love anyone else.

  I found it kind of ironic that as soon as I had stopped obsessing over men and marriage and was blossoming into the self-assured and self-confident woman that I am today, the love of my life showed up. It was at London-Marie Paisley’s cocktail party that my husband-to-be unexpectedly waltzed into my life. He had been ogling me from across the living room of the mansion for nearly fifteen minutes, before finally ditching his female companions to make his way towards me.

  His sweet yet musky scent of his cologne wafted through the air to greet me first.

  “Ivonka Roux, right? I don’t believe I’ve had the honor of meeting you in person.” He said, extending a hand to me. “I’m Ezra Chiffon Banks II.”

  His smooth brown skin reminded me of creamy peanut butter. Impeccably decked in a custom navy blue designer suit, I quickly concluded that he was someone of great wealth and stature. My eyes discretely roamed the blue floral-prints of his silk lapel and his
gold Hermès cufflinks.

  I squinted my green eyes at him. “I’m sorry, how do you know my name?”

  “Pardon me. London-Marie recommended your firm to me a couple of months ago. Crème de la Crème?”

  Launching an L.A. branch of Crème de la Crème Entertainment Law and Management proved to be one of my smartest business moves. Business was doing so well in both my L.A. and Miami offices, that my net worth had increased to a little over forty million dollars a year.

  “That’s my firm.” I nodded. “Hopefully we’ve been able to meet your needs and have shown why we’re considered the crème-de-la-crème in law, Mr. Banks.”

  He looked sheepishly at me.

  “Actually I never got around to meeting up with your firm in person. I did however have my assistant look up some background info and stats on your firm. Nothing personal,” He quickly added, “My last lawyer was a snake and just wanted to make sure I did my homework this time.”

  I nodded. “Seeing that you didn’t hire us, I take it you found yourself a reputable firm or attorney to handle your affairs?”

  He chuckled. “Not quite. I mean, I did, but ended up having to fire the guy.”

  I lifted a brow in curiosity.

  “Fired the new guy, too? You sure you aren’t the issue, Mr. Banks?” I asked boldly.

  He released a deep hearty laugh and my vagina quivered. I hastily reminded myself that it was all a façade, a mask. All men were nice and harmless in the beginning but they were all after one thing or another. I had been doing just fine without a man the last year and a half after my break-up with Adrian. I was perfectly happy with my new life filled with traveling the world, theater and acting classes, yoga, sculpting and kick-boxing.

  Mr. Banks surprised me by kissing the back of my hand.

  “Mrs. Roux, you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever laid eyes on. Please don’t take this the wrong way but I did a little background on you, too. I was thoroughly impressed. Not only are you beautiful, but you’re a graduate of Princeton Law. You graduated at top of your class in high school and despite having been born with a silver spoon, you’ve managed to stay on the Forbes top 100 black successful entrepreneurs. ”

  I almost blushed.

  Almost.

  Those were the exact words Adrian would always compliment me with. In reality, Adrian Michaels had been a con-man who had preyed on my vulnerable state. I had vowed to never let another man take advantage of me ever again, even if he was as sexy as Ezra Banks.

  “It’s Ms.” I corrected, quickly withdrawing my hand from his grasp.

  “Pardon me for that. Just didn’t expect a woman as graciously beautiful as you to-”

  I held up a palm for him to stop. “It’s fine. Are we done here?” I asked.

  As much as I wanted to jump Ezra’s bones, especially after being celibate for about a year or so, I couldn’t yet trust my judgement anymore when it came to men.

  He looked amused.

  “You must not know who I am.” He stated arrogantly.

  Thanks to London, I had frequented enough star-studded gatherings to learn that a lot of these single and married famous men often left with willing groupies for a fuck-fest back at their hotels. Sometimes the women they left with were women in the industry. I had even witnessed wealthy Hollywood heart-throbs kissing, groping, and even leaving venues with other men.

  I tried my best to sound indifferent as I replied, “You’re Ezra Banks. You just told me who you were.”

  “Yes, but do you know who I am? What I do?” He smirked.

  He must be used to women kissing his ass. I thought to myself.

  “I don’t think I care to know or I would’ve asked.”

  I knew exactly who he was. Ezra Chiffon Banks II; famed writer, director, and producer of more than a dozen hit movies.

  Smiling, Ezra took a sip of what I assumed to be a gin and tonic and stared eerily at me.

  “I like you. You’re very refreshing. Most women would’ve thrown themselves at me by now. Where are you originally from?”

  Taking a sip from my own cocktail, I asked, “Thought you did your research on me? What makes you think I’m not from L.A.?”

  He chuckled.

  “I detect an accent.”

  “Born and raised in Louisiana.” I answered dryly.

  “What’s your nationality. You mixed with something?” He asked, eying my short sleeveless gold Oscar De La Renta tulle cocktail dress.

  “I’m Black, just like you.” I answered curtly.

  He raised a hand in defeat. “My fault. I just assumed-”

  I cut him off. “My green eyes and light skin? I get it all the time. My mother is half Greek, half Creole, and half Cajun. My father was full-blooded Haitian. Does that answer your question?”

  “So then you’re a mutt?” He chuckled.

  I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling.

  “Enjoy your night, Mr. Banks ” I turned to leave before I could lose my temper.

  He grabbed my wrist.

  I raised an eyebrow at him and he quickly released me.

  His jaws tightened.

  “Why is your guard so high? I’m just trying to make friendly conversation like normal people do in social settings.”

  “You saying I’m not normal?”

  He released a forceful chuckled as he shook his head from side to side.

  “Aw fuck it.” He said, downing the remainder of his drink.

  “You have a nice night.” I repeated before sashaying towards the exit.

  A couple of days after our disastrous initial meeting at the party, London-Marie arrived at my doorstep with a bouquet of Birds-of-Paradise, white roses, tulips, and pink lilies.

  “Guess who has an admireeeer?” She sang as she extended the floral arrangements towards me.

  “Somebody’s jonesing on you, girl. Who sent you these?” I asked, intrigued.

  “They’re not for me. They’re for you. Here. They’re from Ezraaaa.” She revealed, handing the bouquets to me. “He wants to take you out. It’s on the cards attached.”

  “You read the cards?” I asked London, as she brushed past me to the living room.

  “I had to, they were delivered to my address. Apparently, someone told him we were neighbors. He wasn’t able to figure out which neighboring house to send the flowers so he had them sent to my address, for me to pass along to you. It’s a good thing he had. I don’t think he’s aware that Keyshia Valentine’s just moved in the mansion besides me. Could you imagine the chaos if he had sent those to Keyshia in error? That woman is a bonafide troublemaker. I hate that I have to live next door to her.”

  “Her house is nearly a mile away and surrounded by shrubs. I’m sure you won’t ever have to see her face.” I reminded her, laying the arrangements on the coffee table.

  I made up my mind to throw them out as soon as London left. I damn sure didn’t need a man tempting me. My life was relatively stress-free at the moment and I didn’t need a man disrupting that.

  I gave London a once-over as she clicked on the television. I hadn’t realized that she had strode in with her body draped in full leather, which included thigh-high leather stiletto boots.

  “Why in the hell are you dressed like cat woman in this 90-degree weather?”

  Her long brunette ponytail swung behind her as she glanced down at her attire.

  “Oh this? I have a play date this evening.” She smiled.

  I groaned inwardly in response.

  London Paisley, born Katherine Marie Cazzia was Hollywood royalty. Her late father, Leonardo Cazzia, had been notorious for his role in a well-known mafia and her late mother, the legendary Greta Cazzia, had been a huge starlet in the 60s. Taking after her mother, Katherine Marie Cazzia began her acting at the age of 5 when she starred in her own television series, The Wonkerous Life of Kimmy Bonkers for eleven seasons. On her 18th birthday, Katherine made headlines when she married actor Tim Paisley, a man more than three times her age, who had
played her father on the sitcom. Their marriage had barely lasted a year under the scrutiny and disapproval of the public eye. After receiving an annulment, Katherine made headlines again after announcing that she not only would be keeping Paisley’s last name, but had also legally changed her name to London-Marie Paisley. Despite the headlines and scandal, London’s acting career flourished. Now 29, London Paisley was a well-respected Academy, Emmy, and Tony award-winning actress for her blockbuster films and Broadway shows.

  Anyway, in addition to her infamous cocktail parties, London often held these weird play-dates from time to time. She claimed only certain members of Hollywood were allowed and that’s why she couldn’t invite me. Before moving to Cali, I had always heard about alleged secret Hollyweird parties. Eventually, curiosity got the best of me. I knew that she held these parties every fourth weekend, so I purchased the highest-quality binoculars I could find a week prior to one of her play-date parties. When the evening of her play-date arrived, I climbed up my attic in an attempt to see anything from the windows of my attic into her windows. Don’t judge me. I mean, wouldn’t you want to know if they really were sacrificing babies for fame like a lot of these conspiracy theorist sites claimed? I did. Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t able to make out anything between her vertical venetian blinds. I did however, notice that all of her guests were arriving in black masks that only covered around their eyes. Another thing was they each sauntered to her front door garbed in all black attire: spandex, latex, or leather. To this day, I have never mentioned what I saw to London or anyone else.

  “Well, I gotta get going.” London announced.

  “Have fun.” I said, walking her to the door.

  “Are you gonna call him?” She asked.

  “I don’t know-” I started.

  “No one’s asking you to marry the guy. Just one date, Ivonne. Live a little.”

  “I’ll think about it.” I lied.

  “Just call him! He’s nice guy!” She shouted over her shoulder, looking every bit of a black panther as she sauntered down my front steps.