Full Figured 6:

Book 6: Full Figured

by Electa Rome Parks, Eric Pete

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Big, bold, and beautiful are three adjectives that describe Erika to a tee. Named after her mother's favorite soap opera vixen, Erika Kane is self-assured, headstrong, and opinionated. But she's also unlucky in love. Whenever Erika thinks she's found everlasting love, it always ends up being short-lived—literally. She has three dead husbands to prove the point, and it's earned her the title "The Black Widow." But just when Erika is about to give up on true love, she learns that, just like in the soaps, love sometimes shows up when you least expect it—though sometimes it can be deceiving.

Once again, life has gone wrong for Artemis Clay. It seems she's always unlucky in love, and this time it's even worse than she could imagine. Her own family looks down on her, and everything seems hopeless. Artemis decides to leave everything behind for a last-minute getaway and, while enjoying her newfound freedom, discovers not one but two reminders that all hope may not be lost. Is she ready to take a chance on love again?

Max is a music mogul in the making, and with his wife Trina's support, he's bound to succeed. Of course, that all depends on what happens with Sharon, who could write a book and give seminars on what it is to be a true ghetto queen.

Ahmad is a born-again virgin, only he can't figure out why. No matter what he does or says, his wife, Shay, refuses to be intimate with him. What happens when her decision to confide in him is too late?

Release date: June 1, 2013

Publisher: Urban Audiobooks

Print pages: 304

Sample

A few years ago, when I was going through my self-discovery phase, I took a continuing education journal writing class for four weeks, two evenings per week, at the local community college. I was and am always searching for new and innovative ways to educate, improve, and entertainment myself. I admit I have a short attention span and get bored easily, so I’m always trying and experimenting with new ideas and concepts because I’m all about growth as a person. If we aren’t elevating ourselves to the next level, what’s the point?

But I digress . . . One of the first assignments from the thirty-something, sandy-haired, plain-Jane, anorexic-looking female instructor was to write down three words, three adjectives, that captured the true essence of who we were.

As I casually glanced around the drab classroom, with our desks situated in a semi-circle, I observed that many students had difficulty simply coming up with three adjectives. They were clueless as they sat at their desks, pens perched and ready to write, deep in thought, while I immediately wrote in bold, cursive letters on the first page of my lined, one-hundred-page pink journal: “big, bold, and beautiful.” Those three words described me in a nutshell. Nothing more needed to be said. That was easy. Bam! Next!

By the way, I’m Erika Kane, named by my now deceased, high-spirited mother, for the heroine of her favorite soap opera, All My Children. At least she spelled the c in Erica with a k for a bit of distinction. Back in the day, I hated my name with a passion because I was always teased about it. Lucky for me, even then, I didn’t suffer from any low self-esteem issues. In fact, I am and was probably the exact opposite, suffering from an overt high level of self-esteem.

I don’t know what my mother was thinking, who knows. I am nowhere vaguely close in physical appearance to the Erica Kane on TV, or should I say the one who was on TV until the soap was cancelled after forty-one years on air. Erica Kane, the one who weighs ninety pounds soaking wet with her clothes on, with porcelain skin and barely towers over five feet, is my polar opposite.

I’ve accepted the fact that I’m a big girl, big boned and proud of every pound and every huggable, squeezable inch. There is simply more of me to love and go around. That’s what my mama always told me, and I have come to terms with the fact that I love to eat. There is nothing wrong with that, nor is there anything like a hearty, delicious, fulfilling meal. I laughed at these skinny minis who starved themselves to remain a size four. For what? It should be a crime to have a 5.7.9 shop at the mall. Not me, honey; give me a twelve-inch well-done porterhouse steak with sautéed onions and a creamy, loaded baked potato with sour cream, extra butter, and chives any day, and I’ll show you a happy lady.

My boldness, well I inherited that from my mama. I have always believed in giving credit where credit is due. My mother, bless her soul, was a damn fool, and I say that with nothing but love and respect. Mama didn’t take anybody’s shit, male or female. Plain and simple. That’s probably why I had three different stepdads before I was eighteen and she was fatally stabbed by a lover the month before I turned twenty-five. I knew I carried her genes because I’m just as opinionated, feisty, and outspoken as she was.

No one has ever had a conversation with me and walked away without knowing my stance on issues ranging from religion and politics to sex. I don’t scare easily and I rarely back down. My boldness and sassy mouth have gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion, but they have also gotten me the upper hand in situations as well. So, I consider them an asset.

Now, as for my beauty, I learned I possessed that early on. When some of my jealous teenage girlfriends, from back in the day, tried to make me feel bad about my weight by suggesting I try various diets, I ignored them. They thought they were so cute with their flat, deflated butts, tiny Barbie doll waists and 34B breasts. I had noticed how their so-called boyfriends couldn’t keep their eyes off my ample bosom, plump thighs, or high-rise, juicy booty. I soon learned that the only thing that wanted, or needed, a bone was a dog. Men wanted a little cush in their push. And I had cush to spare, for days. No, I never had any problems attracting the opposite sex. Men flocked to me like bees to honey and my honey spot was sweet. Sweet enough to eat.

To top it all off, I had a great sense for fashion; I was definitely a fashionista. I could shop until I dropped, seven days a week if I could. I may have shopped at Macy’s, Lane Bryant, or the big-girl racks at T.J. Maxx, but I rocked what I wore to perfection with full, sista attitude. I loved color and plenty of large accessories, big bags, and high heels.

Yes, big, bold, and beautiful, that was me.

It was Friday. Friday the 13th to be exact. Bill day. Come rain or shine, I wrote out checks for my bills every Friday like clockwork. I got that from my mama. I was sitting behind closed doors in my chic new office at Last Chance, my newly remodeled hair salon, when there was a heavy knock at the door that pulled me out of my daydreaming reverie.

“Yes. Come in,” I called out.

Nobia, my assistant-slash-receptionist and best friend in the whole world for the last three and a half years, stuck her head in, smiling. That’s what I adored about her: she always had a pleasant, peaceful demeanor about herself. If she was having a bad day, you would rarely be able to tell, unlike me. When I was having a bad day, everyone knew it. I made sure of that.

“She’s here. Are you ready for me to send her in or do I need to give you a few minutes?”

I shook my head in confusion. “Who’s here?” I asked. “Send who in?”

“Jasmine Bass,” she said, raising her eyebrows in a quizzical expression. The last few days I had been absentminded.

“Oh yes, you mentioned she was on her way; send her right in.” Jasmine was the young woman I had heard about through a long-time client. I had asked Nobia to contact her and ask the college student to come see me at the salon just the other day.

“Will do,” Nobia said, stepping back out into the plush-carpeted hallway.

A few minutes later a pretty, young girl with bangs and a short bob entered my office dressed in dark denim jeans, a form-fitting multi-colored top, and red Van sneakers. She stood tall, lanky, and confident.

“Hi, Jasmine. Come on in. How are you?” I inquired. “Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable. I’m Erika Kane, the owner of this shop,” I stated, standing up and reaching out to shake her small hand.

To my surprise, she offered a firm, self-assured handshake and then proceeded to sit down in the chair in front of my massive Italian black lacquer desk. She looked at me as curiosity shone clearly in her bright, receptive eyes.

I cleared my throat. “I realize we have never met, so I guess you are wondering why I asked you to come to my salon/office?” I inquired, taking a seat back behind my desk in my black swivel chair.

“Actually, I was,” she said, twisting slightly in the pink-cushioned black chair that accentuated my office. In fact, my entire salon was decorated in shades of pink and black, my favorite colors.

“Well, to be honest, I overheard one of my clients, one of your mother’s friends, talking about your predicament a few days ago.”

Jasmine remained silent, listening.

I continued. “I understand you are a junior at University of West Georgia, an education major and sociology minor. I understand you will not be able to go back fall semester, which begins in a couple of days, because you are short five hundred dollars.”

She nodded and spoke. “Miss Erika, I worked two jobs this summer, as many as possible, but I’m still short by approximately five hundred because there were a few emergencies that came up that I had to help Mama out with. I’m a little short on my fees and I don’t have any money at all for books. They get even more expensive once you start classes in your major,” she said rapidly. “I guess I’ll have to sit out this semester.”

I didn’t skip a beat. I reached into my open desk drawer and pulled out a check. “You aren’t short now. I want you to have this,” I said, walking around my desk, handing her a check with a beaming smile on my face.

She glanced at the amount. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” she shouted, jumping up to retrieve it from my outstretched hand. “You didn’t have to do this. You don’t even know me,” she said, staring at me in utter disbelief.

“Yes, I did. I didn’t have to know you. I believe in you, Jasmine. There is no way in hell I could have slept at night if I knew of a young girl trying to make a better life for herself and couldn’t finish college because of a five-hundred-dollar deficit. By the way, I wrote the check out for one thousand to give you an extra cushion to play with.”

Jasmine jumped up again, hugging me tightly. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

I pulled her back so I could see her face. “You already have. The smile on your face and the joy in your heart is enough. Paid in full.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Thank you so much, Miss Erika,” she said with tears in her eyes. “You don’t know how much this means to me. I can’t wait to tell Mama.”

“Just study hard and make us both proud, which I know you will,” I said as I escorted her to the door. “And whenever you have the opportunity, lend a helping hand and pay it forward.”

“I promise, I will,” she said, walking away with a priceless smile.

As I closed my door to return to my bill paying and privacy, I felt giddy inside. Giving back always gave me a warm, euphoric feeling that I thrived on. That was another thing I had discovered about myself. If something made me feel good, then I was going to get mine, over and over and over.

“Are you about ready to go?” Nobia asked, sticking her head into my open office door. I was shutting down my desktop computer. “It’s almost eleven-thirty,” she said.

“Yes, I’m starving,” I said as I opened and reached into my lower desk drawer for my large leather purse that I had purchased last weekend. “I have been craving burritos with black beans, sour cream, guacamole, and pico de gallo all week. I can almost taste it.”

“Me too, girl. Let’s get out of here so we can try to beat the rush-hour crowd. You know their Friday’s specials bring in the customers from far and wide.”

We walked up the hallway to the front of the salon.

“Ladies, we will be back in an hour or so. We are just down the block if you need me, at the Mexican restaurant,” I called out to two of my stylists who were standing at their stations with clients. Loretta had been with me since the beginning of my new journey, over two years now, and the new kid on the block was Destiny. I had hired her about a month ago and was still getting to know her. As usual, Carla hadn’t arrived yet, even though she had a client waiting impatiently in the sitting area, flipping through a magazine and checking her watch every few minutes. I never understood how Carla kept clients, but I guessed they were able to overlook her shortcomings because of the magic she performed on their hair. She was an excellent, sought-after stylist and the problem was that she knew it.

Nobia and I made our way a half block down to one of our favorite eateries. The service was good, the staff was friendly, the prices were reasonable, and the food was excellent. This restaurant, and many other retail storefronts just like it, was one of the main reasons I decided to open Last Chance in this particular neighborhood. I appreciated the entrepreneurial spirit of the small business owners and I relished how everyone looked out for one another in an ethnically diverse area.

“Erika, did I tell you that you were wearing that jumpsuit, girl?” Nobia asked, looking me up and down with no qualms, admiring my chic black outfit with gold accessories, including the open-toed high heels that gave a peek at my recent, weekly pedicure. I couldn’t get enough of pampering myself. I deserved it.

I paused to model on the sidewalk, turning in a slow, deliberate rotation with my arms outstretched.

“You have, but you can tell me again.” I laughed, tossing my long, straight, silky hair. Even though I owned a salon and had a cosmetology license, I adored wearing wigs and had many. Today I rocked my Naomi Campbell look, with bangs and straight black hair that hit right below my shoulder blades. I looked fierce, if I must say so myself.

Nobia and I walked farther, taking our time and enjoying the seasonal weather of September. “It’s such a beautiful day. I wouldn’t trade Georgia weather for anything or anyplace,” Nobia shared. At forty, she had a round, chubby baby face that made her look younger. She had on a blue maxi dress with dark sandals, and usually wore her hair in a dark brown body wave that stopped right at the nape of her neck. She was also a big girl, but I still had to work with her on her sense of style because she would wear a maxi dress every day of the week. I think she thought they concealed her size.

“I’m waiting.”

“On what?” she questioned, pausing in mid-step and looking at me curiously.

“I’m waiting for you to tell me again how gorgeous I look today.”

Nobia burst into good-humored laughter. “Girl, you are too much.”

“I know but you love me anyway.”

As we opened the door to the restaurant and stepped inside, we were immediately greeted with “buenos dias” and cheerful smiles.

“Where do you want to sit?” Nobia asked, surveying the remaining open booths. At the moment, the place was only half full, but it was quickly filling up as customers filtered in for Tuesday’s specials.

“Let’s sit near the bay window, our usual spot, so that we can people watch and gossip,” I shared, scooting into a wide booth near a large, open window that displayed all the activity up and down the busy intersection.

“Perfect,” I said, exhaling as delicious aromas assaulted, tickled, and teased my nose from the nearby kitchen. I relaxed for the first time that day and admired my surroundings as I looked around. I simply loved the ambience of the restaurant; it was chock-full of vibrant color. There was original artwork displayed in every nook and cranny, along with handmade furniture. One-of-a-kind pottery vases and plants adorned high-perched shelves and there were hand painted details on the walls with countless suns, birds, frogs, and turtles everywhere the eye could behold.

There was no need for Nobia and me to study the colorful menus because we knew exactly what we wanted, so we were ready to order when the pretty Mexican waitress with the clipped English came over with pen and paper in hand. We placed our burrito orders and reclined, ready to enjoy each other’s company and a good meal together.

“Are you pleased with the outcome of the remodeling project at the salon, Erika?” Nobia asked, dipping crunchy, hot tortilla chips into spicy-salsa-filled colorful ceramic bowls that had immediately been brought to our table.

“I can honestly say I am. I think the salon now has a chic, modern, sophisticated feel and that’s exactly what I wanted. And you know my favorite colors are black and pink and the interior designer incorporated them perfectly.”

“You don’t say,” she kidded. “Your favorite colors are black and pink?”

“Nobia, you are silly, but seriously I’m very pleased with how everything turned out. What do you think? Do you like it?”

“I think the salon looks great and I’m proud to work there. I must say, it was good to come back last week after the shop was closed for two weeks. I missed you guys.”

“Oh, that is so sweet of you. You do wonderful work keeping me organized and sane. Hiring you was one of the best decisions I made.”

“Thank you, girl. Did you notice the ‘for lease’ sign is gone from the window of the empty space next to us?”

“I’m glad you mentioned that because I noticed it was gone too, but I haven’t seen anyone over there,” I said, taking a sip of my diet Coke, which the waitress had placed in front of me. “I wonder what type of business is going to open. Hopefully, it won’t be competition.”

“I guess we will find out soon enough. Won’t we? With the salon project out of the way, we need to focus on getting you a man.”

I held up my hand. “Don’t go there. I am just fine with me, myself, and I. I adore my own company. There’s never a boring day in my world.”

“Erika, I’m your best friend and I know it has been difficult getting over the death of Edward. Hell, you pretty much took to your bed the first year after he passed and shut down. I was so worried about you.”

I nodded and sighed. “It has been difficult. Edward was the love of my live and, sometimes, I still can’t believe he’s gone. I still expect to hear his contagious laughter or hear him call me baby.”

“You know I loved me some Edward, but it has been three years, girl.”

“Three years next Tuesday,” I whispered.

“Wow.”

“Yep.”

“Erika, he would want you to move on and live your life to the fullest. You deserve that. You are vibrant, full of life, beautiful, and you do so much for others. You are only forty years old and you need someone to share the rest of your life with.”

“I’m doing just fine,” I said. “I manage just fine without a man. Thank you very much.”

“You are a hopeless romantic and have always been one from what I can tell. Regardless of what you say, I know you haven’t given up on love. I know you, Erika. Stop kidding yourself.”

“Now you are telling me what I need and what I feel?” I asked, staring her down, with a hint of annoyance in my tone.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I am. Again, I’m just fine. Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl.”

Minutes later, our food was delivered to our table and we wasted no time digging in. Both Nobia and I didn’t play when it came to our meals. Silence followed for the first time since we had sat down.

“Hmmm, this hits the spot; this is so good,” I managed to say between bites. “I’ve been craving burritos since last week.”

Nobia nodded in agreement.

“Girl, looks like you got you one,” she said, grinning and looking directly over my shoulder.

“What?” I asked, turning in my seat to see what had captured her attention.

I spun around to see a fine, dark-skinned brother seated at the counter, but staring in our direction with no shame. He had a handsomely rugged, swagged-out look that used to appeal to me when I was younger. My first husband, Malik, fit the description.

I turned back around, uninterested, and continued eating.

“He’s cute,” Nobia gushed.

“He’s okay.”

“After we leave here I need to take you over to Lens-Crafters and have your eyes examined. I think you need glasses, Erika. No, I know you need glasses.”

“Nobia, for the last time, I’m not looking for a man and definitely not a boy,” I exclaimed.

“He does look kind of young, doesn’t he?”

“You think?” I kidded, turning to take another look at him. He smiled. “Looks like he was recently weaned from his mama’s tits. I think I see a milk moustache.”

We laughed, enjoying the remainder of our lunch and knowing we had to return to the shop soon. Fridays were always busy. I rarely came in on Saturdays and we were closed on Sundays and Mondays, as most salons were.

“Uh huh, looks like he’s coming this way with his sexy ass. Check out those arms and that six-pack beneath that black tee, girl,” Nobia whispered under her breath.

I glanced back nonchalantly when I heard him clear his throat a couple of times.

“Yes?” I asked, in my most professional tone. “May we help you?”

“How are you lovely ladies today?”

“Fine now,” Nobia volunteered, outright flirting. I didn’t comment one way or the other. I took another sip of my diet soda.

“Before I left, I had to come over and introduce myself when I saw two beautiful sisters enjoying lunch and each other’s company. I’m Jacob.”

“Thank you,” Nobia said, clearly taken in by his apparent charm and good looks. “I’m Nobia and this is my girlfr. . .