Just Perfect! (Persaud Girl) Read online

  Just Perfect!

  A Persaud Girl Novel

  Also by Teisha Mott

  Persaud Girl : The Bet

  Persaud Girl 3: On Time

  Just Perfect!

  Teisha Mott

  Just Perfect!

  Just Perfect! Copyright © 2012 by Teisha Mott.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  ISBN: 1478170905

  ISBN-13: 978-1478170907

  3

  Just Perfect!

  To Thalia, Tania, and Darren. As far as siblings go,

  you three are Just Perfect!

  Always, T.

  3

  Just Perfect!

  3

  “The human story does not always unfold like a mathematical calculation on the principle that two and two make four. Sometimes in life they make five or minus three; and sometimes the blackboard topples down in the middle of the sum and leaves the class in disorder and the pedagogue with a black eye.” ~Winston Churchill.

  Just Perfect!

  chapter one

  March 21, 2003

  “Am I a ten or what?” Nikki DaCosta struck a pose in the middle of the apartment she shared with Bridget Joshi and Samantha Persaud. “This outfit and I spell ‘PAR-TAY’, and I’m ready to tear it up!”

  “Can I tell you!” Bridget retuned, strutting and twirling around the living room, showing off her brand new silk one-shoulder party dress. “I’m in the mood for loud music, the two cutest guys in the club and a screaming orgasm – the drink, I mean, but after the week I’ve had, if someone offers the real thing, I am not turning it down!”

  “Stop twirling like that before you hurt yourself!” Samantha advised, looking up from her favourite spot on the couch, where she had her nose buried in a formidable-looking Economics textbook. “Where are the two of you going tonight?”

  “Petunia Rose's Pink Party,” Bridget bragged, applying more lipstick to her already over-rouged lips. “That’s all everyone who is anyone has been talking about for the past two weeks!

  Samantha raised her eyebrows at the name of Manhattan’s latest “It girl”. "Petunia Rose?” Samantha asked incredulously. “You were invited to Petunia Rose's party?”

  “Yeah!” Nikki confirmed.

  Samantha was unconvinced. She looked at her friend. “Really?”

  “Okay, fine!” Bridget relented. “We’re crashing. But can you imagine if we get in… Come with us, nuh, Sam?”

  “Absolutely not!” Samantha declared vehemently, and Bridget and Nikki rolled their eyes. They knew Samantha would say no. They had been roommates for the past eight months and had known each other since they were five years old, and as far as they were concerned, Samantha Persaud was the least fun person in the entire world.

  Samantha was a few weeks away from her twenty-second birthday, but most people thought she was older. Perhaps it was because she had an old soul, she always explained. She was wrapping up her second semester at New York University, where she was reading for a Master’s Degree in Economics. Samantha was a statuesque, stunningly beautiful girl with a caramel complexion and a figure that was turning heads from before she turned twelve. She had soft brown hair that she had straightened and streaked with blonde highlights, huge hazel eyes, a wide expressive mouth.

  Samantha was a Persaud. That meant she was a part of the wealthiest family in Jamaica and who, according to Forbes Magazine, floated somewhere among the top 500 wealthiest in the world. Her grandparents, Ravi and Sylvia Persaud, were the majority shareholders in Persaud Enterprises, the largest conglomerate originating in the Caribbean. Persaud Enterprises was Banking, Hospitality, Fashion, Publishing and Health Care, and had presence in every major city worldwide. Ravi Persaud was pleased to inform everyone who would listen that Persaud Enterprises was, and always would be, a family run business. All five of his children held leadership positions in the group of companies, as would his grandchildren, Samantha included

  Her parents called her ‘Samantha Doll’. She was their first born and their first love, a fact that Samantha never doubted. Not that her parents, Kingston Economist, Andrew Persaud and his fashion designer wife, Janise, did not love her other siblings, but her sister, Anne-Dru, who everyone called Andie, seventeen months younger than her, was supposed to have been a boy, and ten year old Christopher was an afterthought, coming along when their parents were positive they were through having children. Samantha was their ‘perfect child’, the one who never talked back, who obeyed the rules, who rarely forced them to raise their voices. She was content leaving the angst to Andie the middle child, and the sauciness and snarkiness to Christopher, the baby. She was happy being the one who made her parents pleased they had children.

  Samantha had morphed from the perfect little girl into the perfect teenager -- the one who got good grades, respected curfew and was always willing to baby sit-- then into the perfect young woman -- dependable, charming and gracious. Samantha Persaud never had a hair out of place or a wrinkle in her designer dress, and having a face that the camera adored, made her photograph a constant feature in the Gleaner’s style page. Girls across Jamaica found a hero in Samantha. She was not the run-of-the-mill trust fund brat. She was a role model! In addition to her fierce sense of style, and flawless features, Samantha also had a sound head on her body and as icing on the cake, a perfect boyfriend.

  She had decided at the ripe old age of 16 that she would not have a boyfriend before she turned 25. Boys under 25, she thought, only had one agenda, and that was to brag about all the girls they had ‘nailed’. Too many girls she knew had been the lunch time discussion of hormonally charged post pubescent boys, and Samantha had no intention of being a statistic. She would rather wait, she told her parents, until they had gotten over the fact that their gonads had other uses than for peeing in a circle, and settle down with a nice, young man -- one who was as focused as she was. Of course, all that changed when she met Micah Elliot during her second year of University. She had first noticed Micah during registration week at the University of the West Indies as she waited to sign up for a library card. It was definitely not love at first sight -- Samantha did not believe in that sort of rubbish -- but she thought he was good looking – tall and dark with low cut hair, and a neatly trimmed goatee, and he looked grown-up, not like the other skinny, wimpy-looking teenagers that roamed the campus. Still, having decided not to have a boyfriend for at least the next seven years, she quickly decided to put him out of her mind.

  The first year of University flew by, and between scoring straight A’s and maintaining her ‘perfect’ reputation, Samantha did not have time to obsess about boys. She spotted Micah in the library sometimes from time to time, studying with the same two guys—who she assumed were his best friends, 'Cutie McCute', and another guy whom she christened ‘The Incredible Hunk’. She later learned that ‘The Incredible Hunk’ had the nasty habit of sleeping with girls and then telling everybody about it, and surmised that regardless of how good looking Micah was, birds of a feather usually flocked together, and she wanted nothing to do with him or his friends.

  Second year came, and Andie joined her at University. One month later, much to her surprise, one of Micah’s study duo, ‘Cutie McCute’, aka Nathan Hansen, started buzzing around Andie. Samantha could not understand it. Andie was not the type of girl that she would have expected a ‘hot boy’ like Nathan to be interested in. Having a perfect sister with a perfect life plan that included everything from her ultimate goal in life (to become the Governor of the Bank of Jamaica) to what age, when and where she would 'engage i
n intercourse for the first time' (25/honeymoon/South Pacific) had not worked out too well for Andie. She was always trying to play catch up to Samantha and failing miserably, which pretty much decimated her confidence and self-esteem. However, that had changed when she started dating Nathan. Suddenly, she was bright and smart and pretty. Of equal importance was the fact that, Micah Elliot was becoming more and more appealing to Samantha. He was twenty-three years old – four years older than Samantha; just like Samantha, he majored in Economics and Statistics, and best of all, the attraction was mutual. For the first time in her life, Samantha had not stuck to her perfect plan. She was 19 years old, and had fallen in love -- six years before her planned timeline, but her perfect boyfriend complimented her perfect life. Good-looking, check! Bright, check! Hit with her parents, check! Good morals and standards, double check! She had hooked herself a winner! And they were going to be together forever. They would get married, and get perfect jobs and spawn perfect children.

  At the end of her third year of University, Samantha found herself at a crossroads. It happened the day she received her acceptance package from NYU's graduate school. She had only applied to appease her best friends, Nikki and Bridget. A part of her life plan was to do her MSc at UWI straight after Undergraduate, and maybe tutor a first year Economics course. Moreover, she had no intention of leaving Micah for three whole semesters. All her family, particularly her grandparents thought she should go, but she would not even humour them. It was when Micah suggested that she take NYU up on their offer that Samantha actually began to give it some serious thought.

  “I would have done anything to do my Masters at NYU!" Micah told her. "Go, so I can live vicariously through you!"

  “Aren’t you going to miss me when I’m gone?” Samantha asked.

  “Of course!” Micah told her. “But I'm not going anywhere, and this is NYU!"

  It took some convincing, but finally, Samantha agreed to go to NYU. When the day finally came when she had to leave Micah, she didn't think she could survive. How could she go day after day without seeing him? The adage ‘out of sight, out of mind’ never meant anything to her until that moment when she sat with the rest of the first class passengers on that Air Jamaica lovebird that cruelly whisked her away from the love of her life. Her eyes filled with tears as she recalled their goodbye the night before. She had cried then, too, as Micah held her.

  “Hey, hey!” Micah had said. “What are the tears for?”

  “I miss you already, Micah,” Samantha wept, hating herself for being needy and desperate. "How can we be apart for almost two years?"

  “We’re going to be fine,” Micah assured her. “We’ll have holidays and instant messaging and I’ll call you as often as I can, okay?”

  Samantha nodded as one tear trailed down her cheek. Micah used his index finger to lift the tear from her face.

  “I love you, Samantha,” he whispered, looking her in the eyes. “You know that, right.”

  She nodded again. “I love you, too Micah.” She said, trying to smile. “Don’t you dare forget about me!”

  Micah smiled, and Samantha took a mental picture of his handsome face before he brushed a soft kiss on her lips. “Ditto!” He murmured.

  She sighed and wiped her eyes. No more tears, she decided. Positive thoughts only. Another adage came to her: ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’. She smiled. Perhaps the time away from Micah would make him love her even more. She settled into her seat with that thought in mind. They would write each other the most beautiful love letters and e-mails every day, and when she graduated and returned home, he would meet her at the airport with the most gorgeous engagement ring, and they would get married in the University Chapel the following June. She imagined walking down the aisle on her father’s arm in her stunning Izzy couture wedding gown; Micah waiting at the altar, their honeymoon in the Seychelles... They would have the rest of their lives together. What was three measly semesters in the grand scheme of things?

  Her aunt, Phoebe Persaud Javar, was waiting at the airport in a tinted black Lincoln Navigator.

  “Samantha, darling!” Aunt Phoebe kissed her cheek. “How was your flight? Come, come, quickly my dear. Let me get you home, because I have to rush back to the office. This afternoon is the editors-in-chief meeting!”

  Aunt Phoebe was, at 51, still remarkably beautiful, and reminded Samantha of a twenty-first century Dorothy Dandridge. She was so elegant and charming, from her tailored navy Izzy pants, white silk top and lightweight jacket, to her patent 5½ inch Jimmy Choos. Her skin was smooth and dark like coffee with cream, and her wavy dark hair was styled into an elegant figure eight knot. Aunt Phoebe smelled like essential oils – a mixture of lavender and cinnamon, and at that moment, Samantha could not imagine a prettier, cleaner smell. Aunt Phoebe had left Jamaica to attend Columbia University when she was eighteen years old, and had never returned to Jamaica to live. She was only a Freshman Communications major when she met Uncle Kyle Javar, who was a senior, also majoring in Communications. She had married Uncle Kyle while in her senior year, and they had both worked at numerous newspapers and magazines, before joining Persaud Publishing, Inc, and launching the fashion magazine,Bella15 years before. Over the years,Bellahad become a household name, and they joked that the magazine was the third child they never had. Their daughter, Kamilla was now editor-in-chief ofBella.

  Aunt Phoebe slid gracefully into the backseat of the SUV, whipped off her Chanel sunglasses and began typing furiously into her Pocket PC. Samantha found that she was ignored for a full ten minutes, so she took the time to gaze out the window and ponder the next eighteen months. There would be no time wasting at NYU. The sooner she finished this degree, the sooner she could go home to Micah. It was Wednesday. She would use the remainder of the week to reacquaint herself with Manhattan, and perhaps indulge in some retail therapy. Then, on Monday, she would get to whatever building her classes were being held (the damn College did not even have a proper campus, she thought) and begin the business of learning. Samantha knew she would be among the youngest in the class, but that would not bother her. She would maintain a position in the top ten percentile of her class, and perhaps get inducted into Phi Beta Kappa. She smiled at her marred reflection in the car’s tinted window, and imagined herself in the middle of a lecture theatre, expounding Economic theories and impressing grey-haired professors and middle aged students who first scoffed when they saw the young girl coming into class. New York might not be so bad after all...

  “I’m so sorry for ignoring you, darling! But I say all the time that nothing good can come from being in charge of seven different magazines!” Aunt Phoebe said, replacing her Pocket PC to her oversized Hermes bag. She smiled widely, exposing straight, white teeth.

  “That’s alright,” Samantha said smiling back. “I’m sure I’ll have the same issues when I am Governor of the Bank of Jamaica.”

  Aunt Phoebe continued smiling. “Look at you!” She gushed. “You are stunning. Did you get prettier since summer?”

  “I don’t think so,” Samantha countered, blushing a bit.

  “And you are all grown up. It was just yesterday that you were born and we could fit your little bottom on to one tissue square, and now, here you are talking about reading for an MA and becoming Governor of the Bank of Jamaica…”

  Samantha smiled. Whenever she or her sister or cousins were around Aunt Phoebe, she would always bring up the days when their ‘little bottom could fit on one tissue square’. It was her trademark way of saying how much they were grown. "Those days have long gone, Aunt Phoebe!"

  "I know!" Aunt Phoebe sighed. "Soon you will be getting married and having babies of your own! Speaking of... How's Micah?"

  “He's okay. He’s starting his final year MSc in Econ and tutoring Introduction to Micro Econ at UWI.”

  “I see,” Aunt Phoebe said. “Well, I don’t suppose being so busy you’ll have time to miss each other.”

  Samantha shook her head. “I missed him from the
day I decided to come here.”

  “Well, eighteen months are not that long,” Aunt Phoebe said, patting Samantha’s hand gently. “You’ll be done with NYU in no time. And you’ll have Bridget and Nikki to keep you occupied as well.”

  “I hear you!” Samantha murmured.

  Samantha had initially thought she would live with Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Kyle for the eighteen months of NYU. Her Aunt and Uncle owned a penthouse apartment in a grand limestone and brick Romanesque revival building on Fifth Avenue on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. The 12,500 sq ft triplex had 5 bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, sitting room, and walk in closet. It boasted a private elevator, floor to ceiling windows that offered a 360 degree view of the city, a fully equipped gym with sauna, a library/den in which Samantha and Andie and their cousins would hold ‘conferences’ when they were little, and more terraces than Samantha thought necessary. It was also home to two maids, a young chef called, Leo (who Samantha’s cousin Klao had thought was ‘such a duck’ and once ‘crushed on’, but when he ignored her, declared him ‘as gay as a dickie bird’), and Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Kyle’s 28 year-old son, Phillip.

  Living with Aunt Phoebe, Samantha thought, would be like living in a hotel! That would be the best part of going to NYU! Unfortunately, Nikki's father owned a three-bedroom 'dream' in TriBeCa that he would not allow his daughter to live in unsupervised - and not by Bridget, who was equally, if not more irresponsible than Nikki. Nikki balked at the idea of taking her Nanny to graduate school with her, and begged Samantha to take the third bedroom and be her 'Jiminy Cricket'. Samantha had hoped that her parents, Aunt Phoebe or even her grandparents, who were known for, as Grandpa Ravi often stated ‘throwing their oar in’, would have vetoed that plan, but they did not. In fact, they approved. They hoped that the free spirited Nikki and the fun loving Bridget would help to break the sometimes starchy Samantha. According to Bridget, 'the new and improved ‘I-threes' were going to conquer Manhattan’. But Samantha was having none of it. She wasn't in New York to conquer anything but NYU's syllabus, and maybe Madison Avenue on occasion. She was Samantha Persaud - poised and cultured. An afternoon at the Met or an evening on Broadway was her scene - not the loud, drunken debauchery that seemed so attractive to her friends. Tonight was no exception, especially when the planned event involved crashing a party hosted by that ridiculous Petunia Rose - Samantha was still not convinced that was her real name - but that did not stop her roommates from trying to try to change her mind.