“Deny it all you want,” Amal said. “We both know why you don’t want to go back to Africa, and it’s not because you’re afraid of some crazy dictator. You’re afraid to see Leo.”
Shaking her head, Vivian wanted to tell Amal she was wrong, but the words wouldn’t come.
“If you go back to Africa, you know you’ll cross paths with Leo, the love of your life,” Amal said. “I know your feelings for him haven’t changed. You still love him. You still want to be with him. That’s why you’re terrified of seeing him again. I understand that.”
“How could you possibly understand, Amal? You’ve never been in love,” Vivian reminded her. “You've never wanted to fall in love, never wanted to be in a committed relationship. You just go from guy to guy to guy.”
“Yeah, and that works for me, for now anyway,” Amal said, her tone a tad softer. “But who knows, in the future, maybe if I found the right guy, I just might give him my heart.”
Vivian snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Amal shrugged and gave her a smug smile. “Well, you might see it very soon, so get ready to start believing.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?” Vivian asked, curious and excited. “Are you seeing someone?”
“I might be,” said Amal, her tone vague.
“Wait, you might be seeing someone, and you haven’t told me?” Vivian stared at Amal.
“Don’t try to get me in a white dress. It’s not serious—yet.” Amal laughed.
“Well, anyway, enough about me,” said Vivian, lifting her palmito from the table. “Your turn to raise a glass.”
“Give me a minute,” Amal requested, grabbing a goat fritter from the platter between them. “I need to think.”
“You need to think?” Vivian shook her head and laughed. “Amal, you have so many things to raise a glass to! For one, your dream business endeavor, Phoenix, the premier medical spa catering to A-list celebrities, billionaire socialites, debutantes, and fashionistas all over the world.”
“Not exactly, not just yet, but soon,” Amal said. “My clientele is still mostly bored rich housewives whose faces might shatter into a million pieces if they get another Botox injection, but I can’t complain. Their seething, unrepentant vanity pays the bills. For the most part, anyway.”
“For the most part?” Vivian questioned, taking another sip of her palmito.
“Well, you know …” Amal exhaled under her breath as her cell phone buzzed again.
“Everything okay?” Vivian asked as Amal snatched the phone from the table and frowned once more, staring at the screen.
Her thumbs stabbing the small QWERTY keyboard, Amal said, “Businesses take time to get established, to make a profit.”
“Are you having problems?” Vivian asked, concerned.
“What?” Amal stared at her, a trace of suspicion in her dark eyes. “No, I mean, it’s just that being your own boss is hard work.”
Amal’s phone buzzed.
Vivian asked, “You sure everything is okay?”
“Yeah, well, sort of,” Amal said, distracted by the phone. “I’m dealing with a new vendor and a new administrative assistant—Snowdrop Sanders. Can you believe that’s her real name? Anyway, can I tell her to call me at your house in a few hours? That okay?”
Vivian nodded and gave Amal the number to her condo, which Amal texted to her assistant.
After dropping the phone into her purse, Amal said, “Okay, that’s taken care of, so there should be no more interruptions.”
“Good,” Vivian said. “And your sixty seconds are up, so what are you raising a glass to?”
“I want to raise a glass to myself,” Amal said. “Because no one is ever going to make a fool of me again.”
“What do you mean by that?” Vivian questioned, staring at her best friend. “Who made a fool of you?”
Hesitating, Amal took a drink of her wine and then cursed.
“What is it?” Vivian asked.
“Well, it’s not pinot noir, which is what I asked for,” Amal fumed, beckoning for a waiter. “It’s pinot grigio.”
The waiter arrived with an expansive smile. “How may I help you, beautiful ladies?”
Amal glared at him. “Were you paying attention when I gave you my drink order?”
His smile wavered. “Yes, ma’am—”
“You couldn’t have been paying attention,” Amal said. “Otherwise, you would have heard me request pinot noir.”
“Yes, ma’am, I remember.” He nodded. “You ordered the pinot noir.”
“Then why did you bring me pinot grigio?”
Bristling from the rebuke, the waiter said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, I—”
“I don’t need your apologies,” Amal snapped. “Just bring me my pinot noir. Now. Please.”
With a slight bow of deference, the waiter scurried off to do Amal’s bidding.
“Seriously, Amal?” Vivian asked. “Did you have to bite his head off?”
“He needs to do his job,” Amal said, unwilling to cut the waiter any slack. “And, I need to go to the ladies room. I’ll be right back.”
2
In the ladies room, Amal closed and locked the stall door and then leaned against it. Removing her cell phone from her purse, she accessed the last text message she’d received. Reading it, she wondered how the hell she could have been so stupid. How could she have allowed herself to be scammed, duped?
Two years ago, she became the owner of Phoenix, a medical spa which offered age-defying medical treatments and state-of-the-art products and services with guaranteed results. She envisioned Phoenix as a leader in the aesthetic industry, dedicated to providing the best in personal enhancement. By her estimation, Amal figured her success would be effortless, inevitable, and destined.
During her final year in graduate school, for one of her classes, the final exam required students to create a business plan outlining a vision for reviving a failing business. Amal had chosen the low-rent medical spa where she worked part-time as a receptionist. The assignment had been a piece of cake for Amal. The spa was rarely booked, and she often passed the time making lists of reasons why the spa wasn’t successful and outlining the changes she would implement to make it a premier exclusive establishment.
Four months later, when she graduated, she turned down several lucrative job offers and decided instead to bring her business
