The Next Best Thing
The Next Best Thing
Deidre Berry
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
To Richard,
my biggest supporter and greatest inspiration
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I would like to thank God for giving me this opportunity and blessing.
Richard, you already know! It gets greater later, right? Absolutely.
A special thank-you to my Aunt Alberta “Jeannie” Bly. From day one you have been in my corner and stayed there whether I was right, wrong, or somewhere in between. Thanks to you, I am living proof that the prayers of the Saints availeth much.
To all of my relatives in the Berry, Fortner, Reed, Stokes, Jones, and Reid families, I love ya’ll!
Lutishia Lovely, your kind words and stamp of approval are greatly appreciated. You are an awesome writer. Keep doin’ your thang!
Selena James, you are the best editor a writer could ask for. Thank you for taking a chance on me. I am forever grateful.
Thank you in advance to all the readers, book clubs, distributors, and bookstores across the country. I couldn’t do it without you!
* * *
You Are Cordially Invited
Together with their families
Tori Lorraine Carter
and
Roland Elijah Davis
request the honor of your presence
at their marriage
on Saturday, the third of April
at one o’clock in the afternoon
Mount Zion Bread of Life
Metropolitan Missionary Baptist Church
of the Living Gospel
338 South Wayne Blvd.
Kansas City, Missouri
* * *
Prologue
The Bride Is Coming!
The Bride Is Coming!
Finally. After three years of shacking up, Roland and I were jumping the broom—and baby we were doing it in style!
The invitations were beautiful. Burgundy suede covers opened to reveal embossed roses and elegant fourteen-karat gold calligraphy. Each one of our three hundred guests received these invites via Federal Express along with a gift basket packed with François Payard praline truffles, a magnum of Laurent-Perrier Rose Champagne, and Cuban stogies from Le Comptoir du Cigar.
Pure Opulence. That was the theme, and “my day, my way” had been my mantra from the minute Roland whispered, Marry me in my ear, then collapsed on his side of the bed in a sweaty heap. Two minutes later, he was snoring.
And that was it.
No ring, no loving words of endearment, and nowhere near the romantic marriage proposal that I had been fantasizing about since I was eleven years old.
Afterwards, I pulled the bed sheets up to my chest, shocked, elated, and just a skosh disappointed that Roland had asked for my hand in marriage in such a half-ass manner.
Men were supposed to plan these things out, weren’t they? I mean, seriously—come onnn! I can’t one day tell my grand-babies that Paw-Paw proposed while he was banging Grandma.
If we could rewind the tape and do it all over again, Roland would have gotten down on both knees and proposed to me on Christmas night in front of my entire family. Of course I would have said yes! and the Christmas party would have instantly turned into this big, emotional affair with everyone hugging and crying, happy that Roland was finally going to make an honest woman of me.
Barring that scenario, a hot air balloon ride in the countryside would have been memorable; and atop the Eiffel Tower would have been most impressive. Hell, now that I think about it, the very least Roland could have done was the old ring-in-the-dessert trick.
But, half-ass as it was, it was a marriage proposal.
I sprang into action the next morning, giving myself a one-year deadline to plan the wedding of the century.
And to think. This long, crazy journey to the altar began four years ago when the two of us met at a wedding. Courtney Adams, my old roommate from Kansas University, was marrying Aaron Graves, a fraternity brother of Roland’s.
Ironically, I hadn’t even wanted to go to that wedding.
Not because I disliked Courtney so much, but because I was going through the breakup blues, and just was not feeling very sociable that day.
The source of my doldrums was Joseph.
A wonderful man with whom I had spent eleven wonderful months, only to find out that this fool had umpteen kids by umpteen different women.
Ooh! The breakup was nasty.
It almost got to the point where I had to put a restraining order out on his black ass, because the brother just refused to accept that I was breaking off the relationship.
This is about me and you, Joseph had said with tears in his eyes. What do my kids have to do with us?
Hello! Who in their right mind would unnecessarily invite all of that baby mama drama into their life? I’m sure as hell not the one. I don’t care how good the sex is.
Besides, if Joseph and I had gotten married his financial obligations would have become my financial obligations, and I just can’t see myself handing over my entire paycheck for someone else’s child support payments.
Don’t get me wrong, Tori loves the kids.
However, when those kids number close to double digits, baby, that’s where I have to draw the line. Hasta la vista, baby. See ya next lifetime.
So, there I was at my old college roommate’s wedding, single, and cynical as hell.
Roland may have been tall, dark, and Tyrese Gibson–fine, but as he confidently strolled over and introduced himself, I was certain he was just another well-dressed loser who would promise everything, expect everything, and give absolutely nothing in return.
But Roland proved me wrong.
Right off the bat, he struck me as being warm and sincere. By the end of the night, he had won me over enough for me to give him my phone number; and we proceeded to fall for each other fast and hard.
After just a few months of dating, I was already marveling at my good fortune in landing such an outstanding catch. This man was the ultimate romantic. He cooked for me (okay so the meals weren’t always that great but the point is, he tried), wrote me poetry (he’s no Langston Hughes, but the effort was sweet), and handled his business in the bedroom like no man before him ever had (well, except for Vincent, but that’s
a whole ’nother story).
As far as I was concerned, I had finally found the one.
In spite of my mother’s adamant warnings about giving the milk away for free, I allowed Roland to move into my two-bedroom condo on the Plaza, and all was blissfully right with the world.
Fast-forward four years and here we were, about to become man and wife, with a wedding tab of $202,536.24, and counting. My friend, Simone, jokingly compared the out-of-control budget to one of those telethon tote boards with the numbers rising rapidly by the second, but seeing as how I had an image and a reputation to maintain, I didn’t give a damn about the cost. Being a senior event coordinator with over a decade in the business, I’m known for throwing ridiculously extravagant soirees, so naturally, it was expected that my own nuptials be over-the-top fabu-lous. It was a lot of work, but it was truly a labor of love, and in the end, the stage that I had so painstakingly set, conveyed over-the-top opulence that had to be seen in order to be believed.
Tori’s Big, Beautiful, Fantasy Wedding
ORDER OF EVENTS
The Ceremony
Built in 1873, Mount Zion is the oldest African-American church in the Kansas City area. The massive gothic-style structure boasts a bell tower and magnificent stained-glass windows.
Inside the church, the heavenly scent of seven thousand gardenias fills the sanctuary, which is the size of a football field. Uniformed ushers seat our guests, while an eighteen-piece orchestra plays an assortment of contemporary and classical music.
The wedding party enters to “Ava Maria.”
Seven groomsmen escort seven bridesmaids down the aisle. My cousin Cookie is among them, as well as my best girlfriends Simone, Nadia, and Yvette. My bridal court ranges from sizes zero to eighteen, but they are all equally stunning in strapless, burgundy gowns with matching chiffon scarves.
The orchestra segues from “Ava Maria” to the “Wedding March.” The chapel doors open and here it is: the big moment I have spent the last year orchestrating, and my whole life waiting for.
Entering on the arm of my father, I am a life-size version of Grand Entrance Barbie in a silk, halter-style Badgley Mischka gown with a hand-beaded bodice, crystal-beaded seventeen-foot train, and satin Manolo Blahnik high-heel sandals. My bridal jewelry includes a gorgeous double strand of Mikimoto pearls and matching pearl earrings encircled with diamonds. I smile at my guests through a nine-foot-long tulle veil, held in place by an antique diamond tiara. Even my bridal bouquet is spectacular, with four-dozen full-bloom red roses interwoven with Swarovski crystals.
Looking up ahead, I see that Roland has tears in his eyes as he waits for me at the altar under an enormous canopy of red roses and sweet-pea blossoms. My man looks so handsome and dapper in his Giorgio Armani Black Label tuxedo that I am already thinking about the honeymoon.
Reverend L. C. Thompson, the man who christened me at birth, leads us all in prayer before Roland and I light a unity candle and exchange traditional vows.
The Wedding Reception
To quote Shug Avery from The Color Purple, “I’s married now!” A Maybach limousine whisks my husband and me to the Roseville Country Club Mansion where we are greeted by our guests, and so many photographers that it looks like an army of paparazzi. (There’s no such thing as too many wedding pictures.)
The reception kicks off with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres out on the veranda, overlooking the rose garden and a twelve-mile long lake.
After an hour of mingling and picture taking, two trumpets sound to signal the beginning of a sumptuous sit-down dinner.
Inside the eight-thousand square foot ballroom, there are so many fresh flowers that it resembles a botanical wonderland. And adding to the elegance are gold and crystal chandeliers that, all together, are worth millions.
In addition to the head table, there are forty round tables that seat eight, each one dressed in gold silk cloths with burgundy overlays, lit by gold four-wick candles, and topped with centerpieces made of lush red orchids and pink peonies in cut-crystal vases.
At each individual place setting, there are gold Tiffany charger plates adorned with gold-rimmed bone china, matching crystal goblets, linen napkins embroidered with our initials, and elegant printed menus that offer:
PISTACHIO SALAD
KOBE FLATIRON STEAK
WITH GREEN PEPPERCORN SAUCE
CHILEAN SEA BASS
ROASTED WHITE ASPARAGUS
LOBSTER MASHED POTATOES
SPICY SAUTÉED SCALLOPS
PASSION FRUIT CRÈME BRÛLÉE
CHOCOLATE FONDUE FOUNTAIN
ROTHSCHILD BORDEAUX 1997
CHASSAGNE-MONTRACHET CHARDONNAY 2002
VEUVE CLICQUOT CHAMPAGNE
Next to each place card is a snow globe containing a black Cinderella holding hands with her prince. The keepsakes are engraved with the words: ROLAND AND TORI—HAPPILY-EVER-AFTER
So cute!
Immediately following dinner, the reception is moved into a separate ballroom where we have a round of champagne toasts, and then cut the seven-tier Grand Marnier chocolate truffle cake with buttercream icing that is adorned with fresh orchids and red rose blossoms made of sugar.
Roland and I dance our first dance as husband and wife while Ms. Patti LaBelle serenades us with her version of “The Best Is Yet to Come,” followed by “You Are My Friend.” (Yes, I got Ms. Patti! It cost a queen’s ransom, but hey, Mademoiselle LaBelle is worth every penny.)
Once Ms. Labelle wraps up, the DJ takes over, and we party hearty all night long to a mix of everything from Earth Wind & Fire to 50 Cent.
Hours into the festivities, Yvette takes center stage to sing Natalie Cole’s classic “Inseparable.” I made sure to schedule her performance waaay late into the evening with the hopes that everybody would be too tipsy to notice that the girl can’t hold a decent note to save her life. She had begged me to let her sing at some point during the wedding ceremony, which was a definite no-no; but since Yvette is my oldest and dearest friend, whom I love like a sister, I compromised and agreed that she could “sing” one song at the reception.
After partaking in Louis XIII cognac and vanilla-flavored cigars hand-rolled on the spot, we all gather outside for the grand finale, a huge twenty-minute fireworks display. The second that’s over, Roland swoops me up into his arms and we head off for a blissful month-long stay at a five-star luxury resort in Aruba.
Sounds like the start of a beautiful life together, right? Well, that was the way I envisioned my wedding day from start to finish. Unfortunately, though, things did not work out as planned. Not even close.
Those beautiful wedding invitations that I loved so much were quickly replaced with announcements that read:
Mr. and Mrs. Cedric Carter announce that the nuptials of their daughter Tori Lorraine to Mr. Roland E. Davis have been canceled and will not take place.
All gifts will be returned. We are sorry for the inconvenience, and ask that the privacy of this matter please be respected. Thank you for your support.
1
What happened? Well, before I get to that, let me digress for a moment to say that besides the category-four wind/rainstorm that raged outside the church that day, everything on the inside really was beautiful and fairytale-like. Exactly one hour and thirty-three minutes after the ceremony was to begin, now, that is when things got ugly.
Upstairs in the bridal room overlooking the sanctuary, my bridesmaids and I were all dolled up and ready to go. Counting various relatives, there were almost a dozen people in the room, all of them with big mouths and big personalities to match, but it was so uncharacteristically quiet, that the silence shook me to my core.
No one knew what to say or do, given the circumstances.
“Call him again,” I told Nadia, taking deep breaths in an effort to keep from hyperventilating.
“Okay, I’ll give it another shot…” Nadia sighed, simultaneously exchanging a worried look with Simone.
Nadia had been trying to reach Rola
nd for me for hours, which was inexcusable. The man has two cell phones, and our calls kept going straight to voice mail on both of them.
Since there was nothing else to do but wait, I watched through the one-way glass overlooking the sanctuary, hoping that Roland would come dashing into the church at any minute, apologizing profusely, and anxious to get the show on the road.
Instead, what I saw happening down below were three hundred guests who were all starting to fidget, check their watches, and whisper among themselves.
Daddy paced back and forth in the vestibule with a pissed-off scowl on his face.
Roland’s friends, and the rest of his family, were all in attendance, some of them looking just as confused as I felt.
Sophie, my boss, was there, as were a great number of my co-workers and business associates.
Seated on the front pew, my brother Junior kept repeatedly cracking his knuckles, looking as if he were seriously contemplating Roland’s homicide. Seated right next to Junior, Aunt Rita was trying her best to comfort my mother while she cried and carried on as if she were at a funeral, instead of what was supposed to be a wedding.
Roland’s mother, on the other hand, was obviously thrilled that things were turning out as they were. Mrs. Davis was smiling from ear to ear, looking like she was enjoying herself so much that the only thing missing was the popcorn.