Read Apple Brown Betty for Free Online Page A

Des-that-ing the entire car ride here. I’m glad I just had to deal with it from the train station to here. I couldn’t have stood all that syrup the entire ride from Pennsy. That chick was about to make me diabetic.”
    â€œShe wants to remain close,” Desmond said, sighing.
    Felicia smiled. “She must not know about the legend of Desmond Rucker. No one, regardless of how beautiful, intelligent or whatever, can get close to the black Clark Gable. No one can tame you…not counting Daddy, of course. See you at the table, Romeo.” She tapped Desmond playfully and walked to join the others. Desmond stood in his place, looking like he was searching for his car in a crowded mall parking lot.
    Karen returned to the podium and loudly shuffled the appointment book across the podium surface. “How come you never told me about your pretty friend?” she asked. There was a definite edge in her voice.
    Desmond turned quickly. “What?”
    â€œMiss America over there,” Karen said, nodding her head in Nora’s direction. “How come you never told me about her?”
    â€œNothing to tell really,” Desmond said.
    â€œYou could fool me. You looked like you saw a ghost when she walked in. She had stars in her eyes. There’s definitely history between you two.”
    Desmond tapped the podium and smiled. “Yeah, history, as in of the past, over and done with.” He reached up and touched Karen’s cheek as he left to join his family.
    Â 
    It was a large crowd at Cush that first night, but sadly, the majority of the patrons were Caucasians. The blacks in the community were not at all supportive, even though the place served food targeted to their taste buds.
    One table had an older white gentleman, gravelly-throated like Redd Foxx, wearing a black mock turtleneck, a tweed jacket and purplish tinted shades. He was entertaining a brunette too young to realize she resembled Raquel Welch. Mr. White Foxx kept the waitresses busy, ordering multiple glasses of the most expensive champagne. One of the waitresses suggested he purchase a bottle, but he brushed her off, telling her neither he nor his date were big drinkers.
    At another table, the mayor of a nearby municipality entertained a party of seven—all of them big-time political movers and shakers. Loud raucous laughter emanated from the table every few seconds. For serious-minded folks, they surely were having themselves a blast.
    Off in the romantic corner of the restaurant, a young man with reddened cheeks kept peering over his shoulder as his giggly girlfriend continued to ask him why he was acting so funny. After much prodding, he reached in his side pocket, pulled out a velvet-covered jewelry box and dropped to his knee. Her giggles stopped, replaced by the heavy fanning of her hands and a high-pitched squeal.
    â€œYou must be mighty proud of this turnout, baby,” Desmond’s mother called to him from across the table. Desmond nodded, looking at Nora out of the corner of his eye.
    â€œLooks almost as good as our first place on opening night,” Desmond’s father added.
    Nora leaned in, a slice of cleavage appearing, and reached across Desmond to retrieve a pat of butter from the butter bowl. “Excuse me,” she said in that breathy soft tone that she knew made Desmond wild with heat. Desmond shot a glance at his sister across the table; she looked away and smiled.
    â€œBuild this up the right way,” Frank Rucker offered, “before you start going and thinking about expanding or opening up another one. Too many restaurants fail because the owners move so fast. I can already see from looking at your menu that you’ve got quite a bit of a learning curve. Some of these entrées and appetizers seem out of place in here.” Desmond nodded, thankful for the advice. He scanned his mother and father. Over thirty years they’d been married. Just another reminder of his