Breakfast in Bed Read online

  Tonya had been employed for a year when the IRS placed a lien on the restaurant because the owner failed to pay millions in back taxes, and she found herself looking for employment elsewhere. Wishing to diversify her skills, she left her young daughter in the care of her parents once again, and this time she flew to Europe and Asia to take a series of cooking courses. Tonya found her niche in France when she traveled throughout the country perfecting regional dishes. Cooking had become an addiction—one she never wanted to give up.

  Now she planned to invest in a new venture, which would afford her total autonomy and a share in the profits of the DuPont Inn. It also meant she would have to relocate, but that did not pose much of a problem, because there wasn’t anything binding her to New York. Her daughter, who had begun her senior year at Spelman College, elected to live off campus in an apartment with a roommate, while hinting she had planned to make Atlanta her permanent home once she pursued graduate studies at Georgia State University.

  Transitioning from living in New York to New Orleans was certain to go smoothly for Tonya. Her parents had settled into a gated retirement community in Florida, and the timing was right because her apartment lease was due to expire at the end of January. Hannah suggested she live in one of the guesthouses until renovations to the main house were completed. Then she would move into one of the first floor bedroom suites.

  Earlier in the year she had celebrated a milestone birthday, and at fifty she decided it was time to change her life. She cut her shoulder-length dreadlocks, joined a sports club to work out, took yoga lessons, and scheduled a standing monthly appointment for a facial and full-body massage. The result was a twenty-five-pound weight loss; not only did she look younger, but also felt better than she had in years. The week before, she had cut her hair again—this time into a short, curly style that showed off her face to its best advantage and was perfect for the warmer Louisiana climate.

  She sighed softly. In two days she would be a bridesmaid when her friend married a man whom she had not known she loved when both were in high school. It had taken Hannah forty years to openly express to St. John that she had always loved him, and just seeing the way they looked at each other, Tonya knew they were meant for each other.

  Although Tonya professed not to want to marry again, she was realistic enough to know there were some forces she was unable to predict or control. Her breathing deepened, and after a while all thoughts of men and marriage faded as she finally fell asleep.

  Chapter 2

  Tonya stared at her reflection in the mirror and smiled. It had been a long time since she’d had her face made up by a professional. The esthetician did an incredible job of accentuating her eyes with smoky shadows and several coats of mascara. The orange lipstick matched her gown and complemented the orange undertones in her brown complexion.

  Hannah had secretly made appointments for her cousins, LeAnn and Paige DuPont, and her bridal attendants to undergo a complete beauty makeover. Teams of hairstylists, makeup artists, and masseurs had descended on DuPont at exactly ten o’clock that morning and supplied their services in second story bedroom suites.

  When Hannah made plans for her wedding, she insisted it would be small and intimate, declaring she wanted none of the pomp and pageantry of her first wedding, to the son of an influential Baton Rouge family. She and St. John agreed to limit the number of guests to fewer than fifty, which included family, close friends, and his colleagues. Hannah joked that if she had not chosen her former coworkers to stand in as her attendants, the Toussaints and Baptistes would’ve outnumbered the DuPonts ten to one. The afternoon ceremony was scheduled to take place at four o’clock in the estate’s garden, followed with a cocktail hour, and then a sit-down dinner promptly at six in the mansion’s ballroom.

  Tonya’s beauty regimen began with the expert ministrations of the masseur lulling her into a state of utter and complete relaxation. After a light lunch of a green salad, sliced melon, and fruit-flavored sparkling water, the stylist had cut her hair in a becoming style before directing her to the adjoining bathroom to shower and wash her hair with a thick avocado-based shampoo, followed by a Moroccan argan oil leave-in conditioner.

  The esthetician completed her makeup by midafternoon, and once the stylist brushed her hair into a sophisticated style, Tonya could not stop staring at her image in the mirror. The talented woman had tapered the sides and back, and brushed lightly graying curls off her face. All of her life Tonya had attempted to tame her curly hair with chemical relaxers, flatirons, and large rollers, followed by sitting under a hair dryer, but the strands seemed to have a mind of their own, and they either curled tightly in the rain or frizzed in high humidity. Exasperated, she decided not to cut her hair; instead she wore twists, which she washed and re-twisted every weekend. Once they were shoulder-length, she fashioned them into a bun at the nape of her neck.

  The stylist brushed a few wayward strands into place. “Do you like it?”

  Tonya turned and smiled at the stylist, who had spiky black hair and light-blue eyes and a pale complexion that indicated she was not a sun worshipper. “I love it.”

  Callie smiled. “You have wonderful wash-and-wear hair. If you keep it this length, then you shouldn’t have a problem managing it.” She reached into the pocket of her smock and handed Tonya a business card. “Try to come by the salon every four to six weeks for a trim.”

  Tonya stared at the card and noted the address. The salon was located in the Lower Garden District. “Do I have to call to make an appointment?”

  “Our shop is always crazy busy, so call me on my cell. The number is on the back of the card. Let me know when you want to come in, and I’ll program you into the computer.”

  “I will. And thank you.”

  Waiting until Callie walked out, Tonya slipped the orange silk duchesse satin gown off the padded hanger and stepped into it. She eased it up over her hips and adjusted the spaghetti straps over her shoulders. When Hannah mentioned she was having a fall wedding and wanted orange as a dominant color, Tonya, Nydia, and Jasmine met at a Madison Avenue bridal boutique and after several hours selected dresses in the same color, which flattered their complexions. They had chosen slip-style gowns with narrow straps crisscrossing bared backs.

  Tonya selected a high-waisted A-line design with a low neckline, Nydia a wrap style with a bow accentuating her narrow waist, and Jasmine had chosen a gown with a squared neckline, drop waist, and fitted bodice with a French lace overlay and beading. After adjusting her gown, Tonya slipped her bare feet into a pair of silk-covered, four-inch pumps in variegated shades of yellows, reds, oranges, and browns.

  Peering closely into the mirror, Tonya studied her face. She had been blessed with skin that was as close to perfect as any woman would want. It was neither too dry nor too oily, and it lacked discolorations. The makeup artist had blended foundations and powder until they were an exact match for a complexion she likened to henna. It was not often she wore makeup, given her profession, but there was something about the eyeshadow, russet-hued blush on her cheekbones, and the terra cotta color on her lips that made her feel ultra-feminine. And it had been much too long since she had felt that way. The last time was when she spent the year in Europe. Men, regardless of their ages, shamelessly flirted with her. Some were bold enough to approach her, saying they liked her face or hair, and others her voluptuous body. Even with the weight loss she still thought of her figure as curvaceous.

  Three taps on the bedroom door garnered her attention. Turning on her heel, she walked over and opened it. Coiffed and resplendent in her gown, Jasmine flashed a Cheshire cat grin. “Wow! You look stunning.”

  “It’s the makeup.”

  Jasmine swept into the suite with the aplomb of a runway model. Her black, silky hair was brushed off her face and secured with crystal hairpins behind her right ear. Charcoal-gray shadow on her lids accentuated her almond-shaped eyes, while the gown’s burnt-orange color complemented the tawny undertones in her khaki-brown comp
lexion.

  “It’s more than makeup, Tonya. I don’t know why you downplay your looks, but you’re definitely the total package. No one would ever believe you’re fifty.”

  She wanted to tell Jasmine that she had worked hard to get into shape, and worked even harder to stay in shape. Tonya knew one of the first things she needed to do after moving to New Orleans was find a health club where she could work out. Although she and Jasmine were the same height and weight—five-five, one hundred thirty pounds—the younger woman had retained the slimness of someone half her age.

  She opened her mouth to inform Jasmine that fifty was nothing more than a number, when Nydia and Hannah entered the suite. Smiling, Hannah held her arms out at her sides. The tall, green-eyed, natural blonde was stunning in a platinum gown with a flowing skirt and empire-waist of beaded silk crepe and georgette. Orange blossoms were pinned into the elegant chignon on the nape of her long neck.

  “How do I look?”

  “Beautiful,” Nydia crooned. “St. John is a lucky man.”

  Resting her right hand over her throat, Hannah closed her eyes for several seconds. “I’m a lucky woman,” she countered. “I still can’t believe that I’m going to marry a man I’ve loved from afar all my life. And it never would’ve happened if it hadn’t been for you guys. You’re the sisters I’ve always wanted.”

  Nydia blinked back tears. “Stop it, Hannah, before I start crying and can’t stop. And let me warn you that I don’t cry pretty.”

  Tonya approached Hannah and grasped her hands, her gaze fixed on the dazzling cushion-cut emerald surrounded with brilliant blue-white diamonds on her right hand. “Please don’t get teary, Hannah. Not today. I’ve always said I didn’t want to marry again, but if I found someone like your St. John, I’d marry him faster than a cat could flick its tail.”

  Jasmine moved closer. “I thought you said you’d never marry again.”

  Tonya gave her a long, penetrating stare. “I said I didn’t want to marry again, not that I’d never. You’re the one who said you never wanted to get married again.”

  Lowering her eyes, Jasmine stared at the toes of her pumps, which matched those of the other attendants. “You’re right.”

  Nydia joined the others, reaching for Jasmine’s and Hannah’s hands. The others followed suit as they formed a circle. “I want to give thanks for my friends who always keep it real.”

  “Amen,” the other three chorused.

  “Mom, everyone’s waiting for you.”

  Tonya stared at Wyatt Lowell standing in the hallway outside the suite. Hannah had asked her son to give her away in marriage. When he had arrived at DuPont House for the rehearsal and the dinner that followed, she noticed many of the women in attendance staring at him. Tall, dark-haired, and deeply tanned, the pilot, wearing a tailored tuxedo, looked as if he’d just stepped off the pages of GQ. Hannah had spoken proudly of her son, who’d graduated from the U.S. Air Force Academy and become a test pilot. After fulfilling his commitment to the military, he went on to fly commercial jets for a major airline carrier.

  Tonya noticed he was extremely attentive to his attractive stay-at-home wife and two young sons, wondering if he felt guilty about having to leave his family for extended periods of time when he was reassigned to international routes on which he flew to many to Asian countries.

  Hannah inhaled, and then slowly let out her breath. “I’m ready.”

  Lifting the hem of Hannah’s skirt, Tonya, Jasmine, and Nydia followed Hannah and Wyatt along the hallway to the rear of the house. They descended the staircase to a door opening out onto the path leading to the meticulously maintained garden.

  The weather had decided to cooperate. Although warm, the humidity wasn’t oppressive, and there was a hint of a breeze blowing in off the waterways surrounding the city. Hannah had insisted on simplicity, refusing to wear a veil or carry a bouquet of flowers. The only allowance for flowers were the ones in her hair and the orange blossom boutonnieres worn by St. John; Daniel McNair, St. John’s father and best man; his cousin Eustace Toussaint; and brother-in-law Kenneth Vernon.

  Two large white tents were set up in the garden; chairs covered in white organza and tied with orange satin ribbons were set up theater-style under one, and round tables with folding chairs and several long tables with chafing dishes under another, while dozens of burning citronella candles kept insects away. The mouthwatering aromas wafting in the air reminded Tonya that she needed more than a green salad and melon for her to sustain her energy.

  She still could not wrap her head around the fact that within three months she would move from New York to put down roots in a suburb of New Orleans. She would leave behind the sound of car horns and the incessant wailing from emergency vehicles around the clock. And instead of crowding into a subway car like sardines in a tin can to reach her job, she would walk less than a hundred feet to guesthouses that would be configured into a café for a buffet breakfast for the inn’s guests and a supper club for the general public.

  At exactly four o’clock, the wedding planner ushered everyone into their places as the string quartet playing concertos segued into the Anita Baker classic hit “Just Because.” The song was also one of Tonya’s favorites. She was moved by the heartfelt lyrics—“I love you because you’re you”—and it was obvious to Tonya just looking at Hannah and St. John, they truly did love each other because of who they were.

  There had been a time when she believed she and Samuel were going to spend their entire lives together, but unfortunately it was not to be. If only he had allowed her to follow her dream, she knew they still would be married. The most difficult decision she had had to make was depriving Samara of growing up with her father, because Samuel had not grown up with his. She agreed to allow Samuel visitation, but after two years he stopped coming to see his daughter. He had married again and become the father of twin boys. For him, Samara was out of sight and out of mind.

  A videographer and photographer took their positions and captured every action and image for posterity. Tonya smiled at St. John’s father as he offered her his arm. The former New Orleans police officer looked incredibly elegant in formal wear. The skin around his light-brown eyes crinkled when he returned her smile with a gentle one of his own. When she met Daniel McNair for the first time, she never would have guessed that he had recently celebrated his eightieth birthday.

  They processed slowly down the flagstone path, which was strewn with white rose petals, stopping several feet from the pergola of climbing white roses where the black-robed officiant waited to begin the ceremony. Her smile grew wider when she saw Daniel exchange a fist-bump with St. John as father and son stood next to each other. Jasmine followed, escorted by Eustace, and then Nydia with Kenneth.

  The garden at DuPont House was the perfect setting for an afternoon autumn wedding. There was no deck, patio, porch, or terrace separating the house from the garden, and the flagstone path reminded Tonya of a carpet leading into a fairy tale–like, year-round Garden of Eden, with trees, mosses, grasses, and colorful flowers seemingly growing in wild abandon.

  The day before, she lingered in the garden before the rehearsal and admired the variegated grasses, climbing ivy and roses, succulents, and arbor of fruit trees. Tucked away in an area where seeded ornamental grasses grew to a height of two feet were all-weather benches and chairs positioned just feet from a man-made waterfall filled with koi. Having the garden so close to the guesthouses would be convenient once she planted a vegetable and herb garden. As a chef, she knew freshly picked fruit, vegetables, and herbs were certain to enhance the flavors of any dish.

  The quartet playing the familiar strains of the “Wedding March” shattered her musings. Tonya could not pull her eyes away from St. John’s face when Wyatt led Hannah down the path, and he stood with his father. Nothing on him moved, not even his eyes. And it was not for the first time she felt that Hannah had been given a second chance at love with a man with whom she would spend the rest of her life. Hannah
and St. John were the perfect pair. Both were tall, slender, and extremely attractive.

  The first time Hannah introduced her to St. John, Tonya was taken aback by his good looks, intelligence, and sophistication. Rays of sunlight filtering through the ancient oak trees shrouded in Spanish moss illuminated St. John’s deeply tanned tawny face and cropped silver hair. His neatly barbered mustache and goatee added character to his lean face. It was only when the minister asked who was giving the bride away in marriage that a hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth at the same time he extended his left hand to Hannah.

  Even though Hannah had insisted on simplicity, there still was an atmosphere in the garden that reflected an ethereal elegance. All the groomsmen wore tuxedos, dress shirts with wing collars, and orange silk bowties, while St. John added an orange satin vest under his tuxedo jacket. Tonya felt moisture pricking the backs of her eyelids when Wyatt placed his mother’s hand in St. John’s outstretched one, the younger man kissing her hair.

  At the rehearsal dinner Wyatt’s ten-year-old son had asked Hannah that if she was their grandmother, then was St. John their grandfather? It had been Wyatt who told them yes, he was, because his father had died before his first son’s second birthday. Both boys appeared overjoyed they now had two grandmothers and two grandfathers.

  Time seemed to stand still as Hannah and St. John exchanged vows, followed by an exchange of bands. When the minister gave St. John permission to kiss his wife, those in attendance applauded and whistled as he kissed her and lifted her off her feet. Her face was nearly the color of the orange blossoms in her husband’s boutonniere as they traversed the path amid a shower of flower petals. Tonya followed the newly married couple, her left hand cradled in the bend of Daniel’s elbow.

  * * *

  Time seemed to go by in slow motion for Tonya as she posed for photographs with the wedding party, the bride and groom’s parents, and family members before she and the other bridesmaids headed into the tent where the cocktail hour was winding down. She managed to nibble on bite-size morsels of cocktail corn cakes with spicy mango salsa, buckwheat blinis with sour cream and caviar, and deviled eggs with red caviar, while washing them down with a glass of bubbly rosé champagne. It was enough to stave off hunger until dinner. Lifting the hem of her gown, she filed into the house with the rest of the wedding party and into the ballroom where tables were set up banquet-style.