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Dynasty Publishing Inc
Charlotte, North Carolina
© Copyright © Kameisha L. Jenkins, 2009
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission in writing from the author or publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Characters are not intended to depict any real persons, past or present. Any resemblance to persons, living or deceased, are coincidental and the material of this author’s imagination.

Published by:
Dynasty Inc. Publishing 5585 Central Avenue Charlotte, North Carolina 704.563.4520
[978-1-59712-305-1]
[Direct Graphics]
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
This book is dedicated in memory of my beloved mother, Arizona Elizabeth Jenkins. A Dream deferred.
This book is also lovingly dedicated to my son, Myles Langston Jenkins. A Dream fulfilled.
“Son, life for me aint’ been no crystal stair…”
-Mother to Son by Langston Hughes
To all of the family, friends, professionals and supporters of this effort, thank you for your encouragement. Thank you James for us when I needed us. Thanks Chevonie and George for being true friends.
To my brothers – Anthony Jenkins, Germaine Jenkins, and Tevan Green – Thank you for knowing that I could do this when I didn’t.
To my aunties (all twelve of you)- thanks for lending me the wisdom that only your lives could offer. I was paying attention when you were trying to teach me to cook, sew, pay bills, start businesses, date men, and be independent women and fabulous mothers…in the process, I learned how to make a mean pot of collard greens with stilettos on.
To my army of first cousins – Can I hold twenty dollars? Thanks for the love.
Daddy – Benjamin “Old School” Jenkins, jr. – Thank you for showing me that honesty is sometimes unapologetic.
To God, thank you. None of this is possible without you. Period. vi
Chapter 1 Ilene

“Put it through again, your damned machine must be broken, because I know that this card works.”
Ilene Campbell seethed as she insisted that the cashier at Lord& Taylor was not educated enough to handle a simple transaction that required arithmetic. But then again, she thought and uttered under her breath, “what can you expect for minimum wage?”
“Maam, I am sorry but your card is declined. Would you like to pay with cash?” The friendly sales clerk replied, trying to make the best of an awkward situation.
Clearly annoyed with the pert cashier’s assumption that she had only one charge card at her disposal, Ilene felt the anger rushing through her reddened skin that now defied it’s creamy unblemished appearance and angrily snatched the card from her.
“You know what? I want to see your manager.” Ilene decided to teach the woman that she instantly decided was a ‘hood rat’ a timely lesson. The clerk was accustomed to the response and didn’t hesitate to respond.
“Well, she’s just going to tell you what I just told you…the card is declined, and our machine is working fine.”

Blue eye shadow covered eyes rolled . The cashier decided that she would wage a battle with yet another socialite housewife with nothing better to do than spend hubby’s money and bitch with the hired help.

“Keisha, is it?” Ilene paused for dramatic effect. It was her way.
“La-Keisha”, the now irritated sales clerk pointed at her name badge and corrected Ilene at once.
Ilene instinctively stretched her eyes to suggest that she could care less about what the woman in front of her chose to call herself. She wo what ridiculous nick name that woman was called in her ‘hood and settled on “Ke-Lo”. She did little to hide her growing disgust for the marginally educated sales clerk who she was certain was enrolled in a welfare to workfare program, judging from her cherry red hair color and tattoo of “Devontae and Dejanee 4 Life” on her wrist. Ilene regretted that she too, was a black woman. What a burden to be forced to deal with “those kind of people”.
“Um, whatever. Shakeisha. You, my dear, are a bit rude and quite honestly, I don’t care for your attitude. So pick up that little black phone, if that’s not too hard for you, and call your manager before I become any angrier than I already am. Thanks.” Ilene turned away from the woman to let her know that it was not up for discussion.
With that, La-Keisha rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth simultaneously as she grabbed the receiver and dutifully summoned her department manager, who she was sure would tell this Vanessa Williams wannabe where to go and how to get there.
Ilene eyed her suspiciously and awaited any secret code that might alert the phantom manager that she was a pretentious black woman with bad credit trying to pass off a maxed out platinum card. The truth of her thoughts stung her.
The exchange captured the interest of a few otherwise
CHAPTER 1
occupied shoppers who magically discovered a new interest in woman’s active wear. Careful of this, Ilene decided that she would play the role of the intelligent and sophisticated shopper who simply could not understand why she had received such sub-par customer service from a seemingly disgruntled employee. The rich bitch role had not been working for her this week.

Ilene began to mentally prepare herself for the ensuing discussion. She cringed as she realized that the department manager was the approaching black woman in the red power suit with far too much gold ornamentation on it for it to be considered tasteful. “They just don’t get it. Broke bitches are so funny.” Ilene thought to herself as she plastered on a plastic smile. She instinctively adjusted her eyes to the woman’s shoes that were once a beautiful pair of crimson Via Spiga pumps. Ilene was sure that the red suited woman used her discount at the high-end department store to get them. Through a teethy grin, the manager spoke.
“Good morning maam, how can I help you”?
Obviously La-Keisha had not had the opportunity to prep her about the customer from hell. Ilene took advantage of her good fortune and played the victimized but loyal customer to a tee. She dropped a few names of the store’s administrators that she had only heard in passing in her cosmetic surgeon’s office and waited for the results.

Almost as if she were cued, the department manager overrode the declined card and processed the four hundred and thirty five dollar purchase of the burnt orange cashmere scarf. The department manager then gave Ilene her business card and thanked her for her loyalty.

Ilene thought it a bit brash of the enterprising department manager, but took the card and faked a genuine interest in the woman’s introduction.

As she exited the store, Ilene labored a sigh that she had not been exposed. Again, she cursed her husband for being financially inept to support her lifestyle. She hated the fact that she married an educator with dreams who participated in human rights marches and not an affluent and greedy businessman. She hated that she had to practically prostitute herself to the dealer for 7 months for the Mercedes CL 630 that she drove. Most of all, she hated that her husband did not recognize that she needed what he could not ever give her…comfort.

The chill of the morning breeze in Atlanta brought Ilene back to reality as she entered her car. The black leather seats began to warm as soon as she put the key into her ignition.

When she was sure it was safe, Ilene removed the cargo that she unlawfully concealed in her well-nes New York wool pantsuit. “Fabulous”, she mumbled as she inspected her bounty: 2 more cashmere scarves, one Donna Karan knit sweater, and a Prada handbag that she had to have. Reveling in the thrill of victory, Ilene’s smile warmed as she recalled the look on the sales clerk face as she walked away with her purchase. “Oh well, those bastards have insurance, they’ll just write the shit off.” Ilene had stopped feeling guilty about her brand of shopping years earlier when one of the clerks refused to show her a private collection by Louis Vutton for preferred customers only. As she pulled out of the Phipps Plaza parking lot, she decided that she would have brunch in pricey Buckhead. The fact that she did not have a penny to her name did not appear to deter her as she sped down Lenox Avenue wondering what the rest of her day would bring.

Chapter 2 Natalie

“I am so over this shit.” Natalie mumbled to herself for the tenth time in less than an hour. As Natalie Logan lounged on a chaise that was far too uncomfortable to be called therapeutic, she found herself belaboring the recent events in her life brought her to Dr. Juanita Reade’s non-descript Houston office to “talk”.

Certainly, she understood that as a teenager she was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder, but that was practically 14 years ago. Her mother regularly reminded her that her issues were only the figment of an overworked imagination. Since then, she managed to graduate from Yale with honors, obtain her MBA from Cornell in just under two years, negotiate a six figure salary with one of the largest media relations firm in the country, and maintain her trademark flawless chocolate skin and size 8 figure. Her choice to tell people that she wore an eight instead of a more honest size ten had permeated her own psyche.

While tapping the wand on her exhausted Palm Pilot, she added and subtracted the names of men who readily rearranged their schedules on her whim. No crazy chick could pull this shit off. In her mind, she was more than okay.

The sound of Dr. Reade’s overly therapeutic voice was beginning to annoy her. For only $150 an hour, she was paying a psychologist to ask her the same questions she had asked herself for free. She readied herself for another useless session.
“So, Natalie, would you say that you’re still angry?”
Dr. Reade asked her as if she already knew the answer. Choosing to save herself the cost of another session, Natalie opted for a strategic maneuver.

“Yep. I AM angry and I blame myself. There’s no one to blame but myself. Maybe that’s why I treat people so horribly. I don’t like myself.” Natalie chuckled quietly as she tossed her shoulder length mane of sable and auburn Number 24. She had the receipt and paid thirteen hundred dollars to have it sewn in, so technically, it was HER hair.

Satisfied with her well-rehearsed answer to Dr. Reade’s question, Natalie began to mentally dismiss the soft-spoken therapist. She reasoned that the doctor’s jealousy was because Natalie was prettier, and most importantly, stronger than her. Her mind told her that even though Juanita Reade had degrees from Georgetown and Meharry, she spent her days listening to the problems other people had because her life was incessantly boring. She was married to a white man, Natalie reasoned, how much more boring and pathetic could you get? Not even a black man could stand her lame ass.

Recognizing the detached look on Natalie’s face, Dr. Reade decided that she had her full of this patient for one hour.
“Why don’t we just pick up here next week, unless you had anything else you wanted to add?” Dr. Reade asked while looking over the rim of her reading glasses.
Feigning a smile, Natalie rose from the chaise, grabbed her black Gucci clutch and slipped her oversized Dior shades onto her petite chocolate face.
A PRICE TO PAY FOR EVERYTHING
“No, I think we did well this week and I actually think I might fore go an appointment next week. These sessions have been okay, but they are a bit costly and I wonder how long I can continue to afford them.” She lied.

Perplexed that her patient was willing to spend more on her purse than her mental health, Dr. Read felt the need to communicate the importance of more therapy.

“I am disappointed to hear that Natalie, but to be completely honest with you, given your psychosis, I don’t feel you can afford not to continue.”

At that Natalie decided that Dr. Reade had added the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back and would no longer have her as a patient. She retreated to the saccharine smile she reserved for those she secretly hated. Perfectly aligned and whitened teeth, the best her money could buy. Her expensive shades concealed her look of disgust. A worthy $500 investment.

“Well, I didn’t realize that we needed this much time, but you’re the doctor. I’ll see you the same time next week”.
Disbelief clouded the doctor’s mind, but years in the mental health field afforded her a face void of sincere expressions.
“Very good, and have a good weekend Natalie.”
As Natalie walked out of the office, she made a mental note to have her secretary screen all of her calls next week. The last thing she needed was a money hungry shrink hunting her down to add to her aggravation.
She boarded the elevator and pressed one as she descended to freedom. She glanced at her Breitling and realized that she would just make it to her massage and aromatherapy session at the Mandarin Spa. She released a breath of relief and reclined on the back of the elevator’s shiny walls.
Her eyes were closed when she heard words that made her question reality. She simply could not believe her ears.
“You stupid bitch, that doctor doesn’t give a damn if you don’t come next week. You’re the nut, not her. I bet you think your ass is smart now don’t you?”
Natalie swirled around frantically so that she could identify and berate the idiot that dared to address her that way. Didn’t they know she had an MBA? Surely they knew she was the youngest executive in her company and the only black woman who ever graced that position. She was going to tell them…
The elevator was empty.
Tears flowed down her face. The voices in her head were getting louder. Natalie looked around suspiciously as she exited the elevator and decided that she would have her secretary confirm the appointment with Dr. Reade for next week as she had for the last six years.

Chapter 3 Marc

Friday mornings always excited Marc. Almost mechanically, he jumped out of his king sized four-poster bed and turned the Bang Olufsen stereo system to the Steve Harvey Morning Show. He giggled at the host’s hilarious stint as a lounge singer while he sifted through his wardrobe of business suit’s to find the khaki chinos that he always wore on casual Friday. After grabbing the slacks he scuttled over the hardwoods floors of his brownstone and poked his head out of the window to gauge the temperature.

“Dayumm!” The chill in the air bit Marc and instantly his café au lait skin grew flush with redness. He hated when that happened. It reminded him of how nature had been cruel to him by making him the spitting image of his mother. No doubt, she was a beautiful woman, but he always loved the way people automatically respected his father for his smooth dark skin that likened him to Richard Roundtree in Shaft.

Just as he made a dash for the shower, he heard his cell phone ring. His better judgment told him not to answer as he allowed his caller to speak only to his recorded voice. He needed to start the day right, even if it would inevitably end wrong.

When the hot water hit his skin, he jolted, stunned from its intensity. He adjusted as he exhaled deeply and planned his day of boring project meetings and fruitless interviews of contractors willing to sell their first borno be in his call-on file.

He envisioned ways he could continue to mask his distaste for his administrative assistant, Dora. Certainly, she was as nice as any admin could be that was assigned to him, but she seemed to have a penchant for staring at him a little too long. He wondered if she admired that he was a young black executive doing his thing or if it pissed her off that she was 24 years his senior, making 4 times less than he did. Either way, he reasoned, she was going to respect him and he often alluded to the fact that she was as disposable as the green contact lenses she wore.

Metro was extra crowded for a Friday morning, but then again, it was the weekend of Howard’s homecoming and that always promised to be tedious time for the city. As Marc searched for a seat, he eyed all of the potential pickpockets and hustlers. Though he loved the chocolate city, he wasn’t idealistic about the element he surrounded himself with in his urban utopia.

He found a seat next a sister who seemed enthralled with the conversation that she was having with her cell phone. He chose to ignore the annoyance that he had with such a pretentious activity and said hello as he slid his 6’3 frame into the seat made for a man at least six inches shorter.

“ Oh hey. How ya doin?” Cell phone woman mouthed urgently as if she had been disturbed from a briefing from the president.
The scent of White Diamonds overdone choked him as in inhaled his neighbor’s undeniable presence. He wondered what odors she was trying to mask by spraying so much perfume. He wondered why she didn’t notice that she had overdone it, or if in her lineal thought pattern, she sprayed enough to last all day. He wanted to give her the number of his friend at Prescriptives in
A PRICE TO PAY FOR EVERYTHING
Georgetown who could explain to her that a woman’s fragrance should be subtle and inviting, not loud and offensive.
As she continued to converse with the phone, unaware of his critical analysis of her, he wondered why her mother had not explained this to her.

Remembering that he had an early meeting with his new clients, a black owned architectural firm out of Atlanta, he reached for his attaché for his notes and the project management proposal.

As he adjusted his seating to get to his Coach attaché, he noticed the chipped and broken by product of what used to be a French manicure holding the cell phone. Some of these chicks just don’t know. He made a mental note to make sure that all of the women he dealt with “knew”.

“Foggy Bottom”, the recorded announcement freed him from his torment as he collected his things to exit the train. He could finally stop holding his breath. He hurriedly cleared the aisle to get to the doors and just avoided making any eye contact with his former sitting buddy. Just that quickly, he had formed an opinion of this woman whom he had never met prior to their recent encounter.

He hated that he was so instinctively judgmental about a woman’s carriage. He knew that it was the result of years of watching his mother checking her make up when his father’s car pulled up. After twenty-five years of marriage, she still never let him see her “real” face, not even when she gave birth. Marc was fond of that fact up until recently when he began to question what his mother had been hiding under her make up.

Unlike the trusting and loving relationship that most men have with their mothers, Marc saw his mother more as an entity that he was forced to deal with for obligatory reasons only. She did give birth to him, but she was as distant as any person who had a child for financial security could be. She was greedy and cold, but most importantly, judgmental. She questioned the motives of everyone around her. She even refused to allow Marc to join the Boy Scouts because she thought it would make her look ridiculous to host cub meetings, and she was certain that one of his fellow scouts would steal toys because they were envious.

Marc understood that his mother’s attitudes had spilled into his character. He thought it a good defense mechanism to weed out all of the gold digging chicken heads he happened upon every now and then. Most of them, anyway.

When he walked into his Georgetown office, Dora sat at her desk and feigned busy, as she often did. She glanced up and mumbled good morning out of duty, rather than courtesy and mannerism. She struggled to minimize the Black Planet chat session on her computer screen that featured a large middle-aged black man with a baldhead. When is that shit gonna end? Thanks Michael Jordan. Decidedly rude, Marc pretended not to hear her salutation and headed straight to his office. He rethought his actions and decided to turn around to greet her as he slipped into his leather high back chair.

Just as he rose to return to her area, he saw messages waiting on his desk. The first two were from potential clients that he had been trying to win bids from, but the third shook him and forced him back to his seat.

It was the call that he had awaited in anguish and fear. He held his breath as he picked up the receiver and dialed the numbers scribbled onto the paper in black ink.
As the phone rang, he closed his eyes and prayed that his life would not be changed forever.
Chapter 4 Natalie

Traffic was ugly. So many places to go, even more reasons why. Natalie felt confident that she had beaten the worst of it as she left the Mandarin Spa in downtown Houston. Glancing at the dashboard temperature of 88 degrees, she sat in her BMW 325 I, the leather seats now scorching her newly waxed legs as she cursed her decision to wear her mini skirt this morning. Realizing that she was in for a long wait, she pressed the sound button on the steering wheel and was instantly being serenaded by Wynton Marsalis on the smooth jazz station that was programmed into the car’s memory when “a friend” gifted it to her three years ago.

After listening for a few minutes, she decided that she would have a ghetto moment and listen to Hot 107.9, the city’s notoriously hip hop and R&B Station. A cute R&B singer was telling someone to move his stuff to the left, ‘everything he owned in a box to the left.’ Natalie smiled at the young singer’s declaration, but then wondered why the hell someone as beautiful as she was would ever have to buy a man anything. She had bought a few men some nice ties and maybe even the occasional watch, but a damned Jag?

Natalie’s thoughts drifted to Milton, her former college lover, and now an established oncologist. She burned with anger as she remembered sharing her college tuition fund with the promising black student who vowed to make her his wife as soon as he completed medical school. She could still smell the stale cigars at the club where she stripped for a semester to help pay his rent, because he was after all, going be a doctor and needed to devote all of his time to his studies.

She closed her eyes tightly as she recalled the betrayal that lodged itself in her throat when he announced at his graduation that he was marrying his med school classmate. A woman from a distinguished family, and overall more socially acceptable prospect as his wife. It was only when the love of her life delivered a greeting card and a check for twenty thousand dollars for her “tireless support and constitution as a great friend” that Natalie realized that love was not going to be an indulgence that she would enjoy. She taught herself to find comfort in one-night stands and occasional out-of-town flings who were more familiar with her body than her heart.

Weeks later she RSVP’d Milton’s wedding invitation with her regrets. It was symbolic. She resisted her desire to attend and announce the pregnancy that ended in “miscarriage” when he reminded her that it was the typical course of deceptive and shiftless women to trap a black man with a child at the burgeoning s career and expect compensation. Jerk.

Natalie’s mood lightened. She chuckled as she heard callers belting out the catchy anthem in broken keys as the announcer reminded everyone that the singer was going to be in her hometown soon, and that tickets were sold out weeks before the concert. The desperate callers were trying to get tickets for the songstress and readily embarrassed themselves for the privilege. Natalie laughed aloud as one caller sang the song in Spanish and then began to utter muffled sounds that baffled the listeners as well as the animated the morning personalities who quickly disconnected the call.

As she reveled in lightness of the moment, she noticed that traffic was starting to break and she would no longer be at the halt she was locked in for 15 minutes. She eased her foot off of the breaks and felt the trickle of cool air massage her neck and down her sweaty back that she now lifted from the leather seat. She knew she needed to have the air conditioner serviced, but she was trying to wait to take it to the dealership so that it could be done when the car got its annual tune-up. But this was Texas. Even in the fall, the heat was sweltering, so she decided to take it sooner rather than later as she exited the freeway and headed for the nearest service station.

She was sitting at the light when she was startled by the sound of her cell phone ringing. Though she knew it was a necessary evil for her line of work, she hated the idea of someone being able to reach her, at any time. Control freak.

As soon as she pressed talk, she heard the blare of an organ and gospel choir before the caller could manage to say hello. The sound of the Spring of Hope Missionary Baptist Choir in the middle of a hallelujah automatically told her that it was her mother. She literally felt a knot form in her stomach as she began to speak.

“Hey momma, what’s up?” Hopefully your damned blood pressure.
“Well hey yourself. You are hard to keep up with little girl. I left you a message yesterday to call me back.”
Rosemary Logan responded with a decidedly Maryland twang in her voice that made Natalie happy that she left those bammas where they were.
“Yes maam, I got it but I just got a little caught up at work and this morning I had an appointment.”
Natalie hoped that her mother wouldn’t catch on that she was alluding to her doctor’s appointment this morning.
“Chile, why are you still giving your money to that head doctor that aint gonna do nothing but tell you what I been telling you for years? I’m your momma, I gave birth to you, and aint nothing wrong with you but for being spoiled. That crazy mess aint nothing but the devil. You better turn your life over to the Lord and let him heal you.”
Here we go.
“Momma, she’s a psychologist, not a head doctor, and there’s nothing wrong with me talking to someone about how I have been feeling.”
Silence. It was Rosemary’s way of shooting a nasty look over the phone.
“You need to talk to God. And anyway, when’s the last time you fell up in somebody’s church?”
Natalie wondered when well-meaning Christians would understand that you attract more with honey than you do with vinegar.
“Momma please, that has nothing to do with…” Natalie didn’t get to finish before her mother did the infamous grunt she instituted to signal her disapproval.
“I know one thing, honey. Rose Logan is strong and her family is strong. We don’t need no damned doctor getting in our head to tell us our tea. All those damned degrees got you stupid girl”.
Rosemary’s words cut Natalie sharply and forced her into the silence she often retreated to when she was younger. She hated the fact that her mother, a marginally educated government worker, could still manage to cripple her despite her many achievements and honors. She had far surpassed her mother at that age and never could understand why she never won her mother’s respect.
Instead, her mother grew more insolent with every accomplishment Natalie garnered. As tears welled in her eyes, Natalie willed herself not to show her vulnerability to her mother.
“Mother, you did call for a reason, right?”
Natalie was careful not to let her anger slip through the cracks. She chose to play the intelligent unaffected high ground against her mother’s indignant attitude. Rosemary rewarded her with another healthy dose of silence before she spoke again.
“You know LaVonte’s christening is next month, you still coming?” Rosemary asked curtly. She knew that her daughter would make up some kind of excuse for not attending another family function.
“I don’t know yet… I’ll let you know. Work has really got me swamped, but I’ll see…”Or not. Natalie had no intention on attending the christening ceremony for her newest nephew and she was sure her mother was aware of that.
“You need to be there Nat’lie. People have been asking about you, and aint nobody seen you since you graduated from college. You need to come to at least show your face. Tanya might be upset if you don’t make it this time.”
And I care because…?
“Momma, I will try, but I can’t make any promises, okay? Unlike Tanya, I am not living in your house rent free with four kids. I have to take care of myself.”
Another grunt.
“Now wait a minute Ms. High and Mighty. That girl helps me out around here, and I love having my grand kids around me…And who made you her judge and jury anyway?”

The anger grew in Rosemary’s voice at every word as she considered her daughter’s pretentiousness. She was just getting warmed up as she began to read her youngest child.

“She’s having a hard time and I am helping her out. I would do it for any of my children. You and your brother don’t want to be bothered, and frankly I don’t care to bother you. I am a mother…”
Natalie interrupted her mother’s tirade.
“She’s been having a hard time since she got pregnant the first time at fifteen. Nobody told her to open her legs…”
“Watch your filthy mouth little girl. You have been around those white people too long, cause I know you’re not talking to me in that tone. I didn’t give birth to a child to have her speak to me in that way.”
Natalie heard the faint sound of a car horn in the background. God is good.
“Listen, that’s Ms. Deb coming for me to take me to my missionary meeting at the church. Are you going to be there or what?”
“I guess so momma.” Natalie was clearly defeated.
“Family is all you got little girl, remember that.”
Right, that’s what you call it.
With that Natalie said good-bye to her mother and revisited the entire conversation in her head. She hated the fact that she had agreed to return to Oxon Hill, Maryland for another one of her mother’s orchestrated family events.
She did not feel that she could bring herself to feign happiness at the fact that her sister had delivered yet another child for a man constantly in and out of prison. She was truly pissed at her sister for staying in their childhood home with four otherwise fatherless children and forcing their father to continue working at the power company, even though he should have retired years ago.
What angered her most was her mother’s jubilance and pride in the fact that her eldest daughter, Tanya, never amounted to much more than her. In fact, they shared the same bullish temperament and defeatist attitudes towards education and careers. They both felt like men should be educated and women should be wives and mothers. Any departure from that did not deserve their respect.
Natalie was made aware of this when they both were noticeably absent from her graduation from graduate school. The blow was lessened when she saw the beaming faces of her father and brother, her real family, she reasoned mentally. The missing women later gave excuses about childre and work that kept them from such an important event in Natalie’s life. She had learned to dismiss their actions as jealousy and thought it an effective coping mechanism that need not be disturbed.

As Natalie pulled into the service station, she could not help but notice all the brothers in the garage with faces covered with a mixture of car grime and sweat. Instantly reminded of the minstrels that performed in black face, she closed her eyes and opened them to remove the picture from her mind. The men had not noticed her drive up and chatted endlessly amongst themselves about what they would do if they won a million dollars.
She listened as they talked about buying their mothers new houses and buying themselves houses and cars.
The stout brother with “Ricky” embroidered on his shirt said he would build a church and name it after his grandfather that used to be a deacon before he passed. He proudly showed them the jailhouse tattoo of his namesake displayed prominently on his neck. It always amazed Natalie that even the most thugged out brothers had a spiritual intercession at one point in their lives. She wondered if that was why black people always thanked God for winning awards, or why some black men came out of prison shunning pork and praising Allah.

Another brother said that he would get a Bentley like the one he saw in the rapper TI’s video and buy one for each of his four brothers. Natalie wondered if he really understood that that would be an interesting feat with only one million dollars. She was saddened because none of the men said anything about saving or investing their money. None of them even spoke of college funds for their children or starting businesses.

One particularly graying brother said he was going to “move to one of those islands and marry me one of them chinky lookin’ broads”.

Nauseated by the comment, Natalie hopped out of her car and slammed her door to bring attention to her arrival. All of the men instinctively looked up and gave her a glance over. Apparently, not in the mood to humor her, they thought better than to hurl derogatory remarks her way and opted for a quick nod and selfconscience smile.

Thinking too much of herself to associate with the field hands, she retreated to the cool air-conditioned office adjacent to the garage and awaited a white owner to emerge to assist her with her car care needs.

As she waited in the office that had not been refurbished since Eisenhower was president, she noticed all of the service awards lining the walls, and even a dusty plaque that had the picture of a little league team that the business owner sponsored: “MR . HENRY RAINES, MAN OF THE YEAR, COMMUNITY DEVELOPMENT COALITION, FIFTH WARD, HOUSTON TEXAS 1994”.

She reasoned that the business owner was shrewd in his decision to incorporate community projects with his marketing strategy. The name recognition on the back of those little t-shirts would serve him well for years to come. Her career as a corporate strategist was leaking into her personal life, though she struggled to separate the two. She made a mental note to give the owner her card as she slid into the leather chair in front of the terribly cluttered desk.

After ten minutes of waiting, she looked around and did not see anyone. Apprehensive and doubting, she decided to venture back out to the garage where she originally saw the greasy brothers working on cars and shooting the shit.

Just as she rose from the chair, one of the men from outside entered the office, cleaning his hands with some type of degreaser and a hand towel that appeared ineffective. He was a bit muscular but hid it well under the pale blue uniform top and navy Dickies that had weathered one too many washings. Though soaked with sweat, he had a coolness about himself that made him appear relaxed and aloof. Natalie assumed that his physique was a result of time spent in a jail cell. That seemed to be where all of the eligible bachelors in Houston were.

“May I helpou, maam? He asked her in a tone that suggested that she was disturbing his otherwise urgent duties. Excuse you Fifty Cents?

“Yes, may I speak with the manager, please?” Natalie replied and waited for the man to promptly summon his manager.
“You got him.” The manager replied with no hesitation in his voice and awaited Natalie to state her business with him. He decided that her suit was too provocative for her to be with the IRS, and that she was probably the token black salesperson for some corporation trying to peddle their inflated insurance services in a black neighborhood.
“No, really, I need to see a manager about my air conditioning. It’s a BMW, and I don’t know if you all have the proper equipment to service it.” Natalie felt the exasperation growing in her voice as she noticed that the office did not have any pictures of the management team.
“Then why didn’t you just take it to the dealership? Oh, my bad, I didn’t tell you who I was. My name is Rodney and I manage this station.” He wiped his hands in preparation to greet his new customer.
Clearly not about to accept his oil soaked hand for a handshake, Natalie stared at it and then reached for her purse as a distraction. She was irritated by the fact that the manager of the service station did not have the business sense to separate himself, in appearances at least, from the other grease monkeys. She also thought that he was lying and decided that she was going to tell him off as soon as she finished dealing with the real manager.
“Look, I don’t have time to play games with you. I know that you are not the manager and you are wasting my damned time...” Natalie snapped.
“Hold it down now, little mama. You don’t know me like that to be swearin’ at me. I know you all pretty and shit, but damn little mama. I told you that I manage this station and that’s all you need to know. What you sellin' anyway? ‘Cause your sales pitch aint worth a damn.” Rodney was clearly growing agitated with the pretty businesswoman and could not hide it.
Natalie struggled to maintain her composure. No this mutha lova' didn’t.
“Alright then, since you insist on proving yourself an asshole, I want to see Henry. He is a close friend of mine and I know that he would not appreciate your lack of service.” Natalie waited for Rodney to flinch when she name-dropped. Instead he grinned.
“Henry? Is that right? Well he aint’ here. I am.” Rodney replied to Natalie’s challenge while forming a crooked smile. She felt her anger pulse through her veins and then out of her mouth.
“Perhaps I don’t understand what the fuck suddenly became funny, but yes, he does own this station doesn’t he?” Natalie clenched her fist so tight that her nails were cutting the insides of her palm.
Now giggling at Natalie’s growing anger, Rodney decided that he liked the way she looked when she was frustrated. She looked so powerful and powerless at the same time. At the very least, she was entertaining.
“Look Ms…?” He paused for Natalie to fill in her name.
“Logan.” Natalie spat as if she dared him to utter another word.
“I am sorry but we are not interested in any more life insurance, time shares, or fast and easy ways to increase our net worth…” Rodney quipped.
“Excuse me, do you think…?” Natalie prepared to tear into her newest victim. Rodney stopped her cold by placing his greasy hand up to her face, sending Natalie into hysterics.
“You know what? To hell with this. Whoever your manager is needs to know how sorry your ass is as a worker. I am sure he has a business card and I am not leaving until you find one. I got all day, how about you Sambo?” Natalie demanded and instinctively placed her hands on her hips. She felt the need to be stand offish, but remembered that she had an appointment with a client in an hour.
As she collected her belongings, her business cards fell from her organizer. Angered by the fac she was beginning to look like a bumbling fool, she snatched them up quickly and deliberately, making sure that Rodney could see that she was agile and not some softy that he could just railroad. She then stood straight up and folded her arms like she did when she was a little girl in Maryland challenging her brother to a quick relay race to the power line at the end of their suburban street.
Rodney met her determination with a curious amusement that was displayed on his face as he reached into the desk and handed her a business card with the service station’s logo. Natalie instinctively inspected it for legitimacy and shoved it in her purse.
“You just messed up, negro.” Natalie said matter of factly to launch a final assault to seal her victory.
“I here you shawdy. Thanks for stopping by Ms. Logan.” Rodney added a hint of pronounced nastiness when mouthed her last name.
Natalie stormed out the office, hopped into her BMW and exited the service station. She heard the voices in her head start to scream obscenities and slammed her hand against the staring wheel as she pressed the volume button until the voices were drowned up by the sound of the same songstress proclaiming that someone didn’t know about her.
“See, that’s what happens when you try to show a black business some love. Fuck him!” She screamed at the top of her lungs and was clearly shaken by the sound of her own voice.
“That mutha’ fucka’ don’t know who he messin' with. He aint gonna' have a job when I finish with his punk ass. Who the fuck does he think he is…don’t he know who I am? Stupid assed niggahs can’t stand to see a bitch with shit…I got something for his ass though.” Only, her lips weren’t moving.

Natalie began to shake and cry uncontrollably as her anger began to consume her. She knew that she was taking the incident too far by trying to have the rude attendant fired, but she had to let him know that she demanded respect, and if it were not offered to her, she would forcefully take it.

At the service station, Rodney stood dumbfounded by his experience and began to grow nervous about Ms. Logan’s threats. He wondered how far she would actually take the issue and decided that it was not worth the worry.

Deciding that he had enough drama fending off the neighborhood gang members that regularly tried to rob the station, he thought it better to smooth over the rough edges just in case.

He noticed that she had missed a card in her rush to grab her belongings that fell on the floor. He was about to reach down to assist her, but she scowled at him and he retreated immediately. He made himself remember that the card was still under the desk and not to bring it to her attention. He retrieved the card and noticed that her first name was Natalie. He wondered how such a hard woman could have such a soft name. He knew that she wouldn’t make it to her office for at least an hour because of the lunch rush and left her a message apologizing for the incident.

Given her behavior, he knew that it was likely that a message on her voice mail would not be enough to soothe her. Praying that she wasn’t someone checking up on him from the Board of Trade, he hung up the phone and hoped for mercy. He didn’t need anything messing up his plans to franchise his late father’s service station.

Chapter 5 Ilene

As Ilene turned the key in the lock of her expansive home, a part of her wished that it wouldn’t work. She said a silent prayer for her husband to have changed the locks or leave all together. The sight of his black Cadillac Eldorado parked in the garage suggested that she would not be so lucky.

His voice sounded urgent when he interrupted her lunch at Justin’s in Buckhead. He demanded that she come home immediately. She fretted about enduring another argument that he would forgive her for anyway. A nervous uneasiness made her stomach flutter as she considered what the cause of his anger might be. Had he ner screw up?

Two years ago, she made the mistake of removing her wedding ring when she was entertaining one of her “associates” who just happened to own the firm that her son wanted desperately to work for. When she was done with their “visit”, she forgot to retrieve her ring and knew better than to expect for a cleaning lady to turn in a 2-carat princess cut solitaire left by people who checked in as Michael Jackson and Pat Boone.

After her son obtained the position, Ilene made it clear that she had no further need for her convenient friend and threatened haul his ass to court with damning evidence if he tried to fire her son. Her insurance policy was the videotape of their love making that she made him view as proof of their affair. She coyly informed him that the tape could be delivered within an hour if ever he opted to change their arrangement.

She quickly replaced her lost ring with hush money her friend called a gift, leaving her husband none the wiser. Though she always denied her alleged affairs, Ilene knew that her missing ring would be irrefutable evidence that pointed towards her infidelity this time.

Deciding that her farce of a marriage had gone on too long, she made the decision to admit her infidelity and finally take them both out of the misery they existed in for 25 years. But only on her terms.

The thought of one of her “friends” informing her husband angered her and she was determined that she would stop short of nothing to make sure they paid dearly for their actions. She always made sure that she had evidence of the affairs or some type of trump card that could ruin their perfectly ordered lives.

Her most recent tryst involved a local attorney and councilman, Paul Cummings who, Ilene learned from her private investigator, had a particular zeal for young boys. While she found excuses not to sleep with him, she had him followed and waited for her opportunity to expose his secret. Undoubtedly bothered by the fact that his mistress no longer wanted to sleep with him, Paul confronted her in hopes of announcing the end of their affair.

Disgusted and amused by his gall, Ilene pretended to cry profusely. In an attempt to console her, Paul reached for his handkerchief and offered it to her. She pushed it away and reached in her purse.

Assuming that she was going to retrieve a delicate handkerchief to wipe her tears, Paul drew back and gasped for air as he realized that what she was retrieving was actually the mesh underwear that his young male lover wore the previous night, stained with his DNA.

She slipped her manicured hand into her purse again and pulled out 5 pictures that colorfully illustrated him and his lover in compromising positions gratifying themselves and each other.

Immediately infuriated, Paul knew what Ilene was capable of as her sobs turned into muffled giggles. He retrieved his checkbook in quiet defeat. It would be the first of many monthly checks written out to cash in the amount of $15,000 a pop. He would later be forwarded bills from various department stores charged to his account.

His accountant tried to discreetly warn that his liabilities should be checked before it became a bigger problem. Knowing that his account histories were public records due to his elected post, Paul struggled to rein Ilene in. Nothing worked. Reluctantly, he paid her costs deciding that the truth would be far more expensive.

As she slipped out of her chocolate suede Stuart Weitzman pumps, she listened intently to see if she had any uninvited guests. She heard nothing. She walked slowly across the 2-story marble foyer, her feet stinging and turning beet red as they adjusted to the cold surface. Instinctively, she turned on the heating subsystem that heated all of the flooring in the home. Though it was 73 degrees in Atlanta, she hated when her feet were cold. It reminded her too much of death.

“Ilene, is that you?” Charles Campbell yelled as he came around the corner with a handful of pap. Damn. Ilene’s heart began to race.
“Yes, it’s me. What’s wrong with you Chuck? Why are you yelling?” Ilene asked.
She quickly decided that she would go against her original plan to confess. The fact that her husband’s nostrils were flaring wildly influenced her decision.

He quickly approached her. The gray hairs in his head seemed to have overpowered the black ones. Instead of looking distinguished and well aged, he began to take the posture of an old man exhausted of his wife’s antics.

Ilene’s pulse quickened as her enraged husband came dangerously close to her face. She winced as he spoke.
“What the hell is this? I am sick of this shit, girl!”
Charles was clearly not in a mood to be soothed as he waived the documents he clenched in front of his wife.
“What are you talking about?” Ilene began to feel her stomach rise to her throat as she feared her husband’s next words.
“You tell me. You got a goddamned story for everything. So what the fuck is this?” Charles waited for his wife’s admission.
Ilene’s feigned ignorance incensed Charles as he threw the papers in her face.
Wincing from the sudden thrust of papers in her face, Ilene quickly refocused her eyes so that she could decipher what was on the document before it hit the floor.
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
When she realized what the documents read, she slowly closed her eyes and tears flooded them. Charles had the bank statement for the account in Trinidad that she had never disclosed to her husband. The account had over one hundred and twenty five thousand dollars in it and was registered in her maiden name. But how did HE get it?
“We been married for 25 years, and you still got secrets. I never asked you to work and you have the fucking nerve to do this shit. Look around Ilene, you’ve been the queen and I’ve been the worker bee. All those times I had to take out loans to buy you those expensive assed clothes to wear around the house, and I find this shit!”
Charles grew disgusted at the sight of Ilene’s tears.
“Chuck, you’re overreacting...” Ilene sounded dismissive but later evolved to an apologetic tone when she realized that Charles began to bite his bottom lip the way he did right before he hit her the one time before.
“I had this account before we got married. It was a gift from my grandfather. He put it in my maiden name so that I could always have access to it. He told me to hang on to it in case things didn’t work out. I never told you about it because I didn’t want you to hate my family anymore than you already do.” Ilene pleaded.
Damn. That shit was actually believable.
“Hate your family? Ilene, please. Those people hated ME ‘cause I looked too much like a niggah and too little like the cracker you were dealing with when we met. But that don’t change the fact that the account is still open.”
Charles felt relieved that he was able to remind Ilene of his distaste for the fact that she was engaged to white man before they got together.
“His estate contributes money to it monthly as a ward of his will after he died. I wouldn’t keep something this important from you. I told you when he died a year ago that he left me something in his will, remember?”
Ilene pleaded with her husband to accept her story. He didn’t.
“Yeah, but you said that he only left you a few dollars and that taxes would probably eat it up anyway. You didn’t say shit about this much money. This is over $125,000!” Charles said as he desperately tried to believe what his wife was saying.
“Because there was nothing to say. This money is yours as well as mine. I will give you the account number right now if you want it.” Ilene declared knowing that her husband was too proud a man to ever accept money from her.
The look on his face told her that he didn’t fully believe her story so she decided to embellish a little.
“I know how hard you worked to eep the household going and I wanted to surprise you with that time share in Key West, right on the golf course. Don’t be mad, Chuck I was going to tell you. I just wanted to get all of the financing together before I said anything.” Ilene said.
She looked curiously at her husband to gauge his reaction. His anger had disappeared and was replaced with a defeated look. Visibly torn between believing his wife and telling her that he was sick of her conniving ways, Charles chose the path of least resistance. His tight scowl was coming undone.
“Look Ilene, it’s real nice that you want to get me that time share, but I don’t like how you kept this shit from me. You should have told me. And anyway, we don’t have to get a time-share. It’s another bill and the cost of keeping it up would be more trouble than it’s worth. Why don’t we use some of that money to plan a trip like we wanted for our honeymoon? Your punk assed granddaddy would love that.”
“Hey now, don’t speak of him that way. He might have had his ways, but that man loved me more than my own father. He never looked down on my mother because she was black. He was just trying to take care of me, that’s all.” Ilene interjected.
“I’ll take care of you. I have been doing it for this long, right?” Charles said as savored the idea of having Ilene’s white grandfather pay for the room where he would have sex with her like the whore he knew she was deep down.
He grabbed his wife and held her head close to his chest as they embraced. Ilene whimpered and moments later Charles’ shirt was dampened with her tears. They were tears of relief. After a few seconds passed, Ilene lifted her head from his chest and looked into her husband’s eyes.
“I love you Chuck, you know that don’t you?” She said as she searched eyes for the answer.
“And I love you too, baby. Sorry about coming off on you like that, but baby you got to be honest. You know I don’t like finding things out third hand.” Charles said to his wife as he placed her head back on his chest.
He knew at that point that she was lying about the account because she only told him that she loved him when she was trying to apologize for one of her many mistakes. Instead, he chose to love his wife and let it go.
As Ilene closed her eyes and enjoyed her husband’s embrace, she made a mental note to open another account for Paul Cummings and the rest of her “friends” to make their monthly payments to.

Chapter 6 Marc

“Hello, may I speak with Sherise please?”, Marc asked as he listened to the background noise of crying babies and Barnie that was about two settings too loud to be enjoyable.

“Hole on”, a juvenile voice answered and screamed out the name of the person he called for.
As he waited, Marc closed his eyes and promised God that he would never bring someone home from the club again if he gave him this one favor. He was startled by the sound of someone wrestling to pick up the phone.
“Ha-lo?” Sherise was overwhelmingly ghetto. What the hell? It instantly made Marc queasy.
“Sherise, hey it’s Marc. I see you called me today…”, Marc started.
“Hello Marchevis. So nice of you to finally get around to calling me. Have you been THAT busy? You know that we need to meet.” She asked with sarcasm dripping from her words.
“Well, um, you know work has really had me swamped. In fact, I think I gotta work late tonight, but I might be able to break away for a minute.”
The last thing Marc wanted to do was “meet” with her again.
“Look, I am not about to beg you to deal with this. Either you do or you don’t, but I assure you that you won’t like the outcome if you keep trying to blow me off.” Sherise decided not to beat around the bush. She knew that Marc had money and she wanted some of it.
“I know we need to talk about the situation, so what if I meet you for lunch?” Marc asked knowing she would not give portunity to relieve him of a $200 lunch. He cringed at the thought that he had sex with someone so utterly repulsive to him.
Her apparent sophistication was only a thin layer that masked her overwhelming crudeness and blatant contempt for men who didn’t bow when she entered a room. She believed wholeheartedly that she was royalty and the fact that she lived in public housing was a mere setback that could be corrected with the right “investment”.
“Oh, is that what you call it, a situation? I aint mad at that. Well, I was gonna go work at the shop for a lil’ while, but I guess I can call my sister and let her drop me off from there unless you gonna be in the area.” Sherise replied hoping that Marc would pick her up from the hair salon where she worked so that she could show him off around all of the females there.
Her imitation Fendi boots and Prada purses further punctuated her need for public adoration or hatred. Either suited her just fine.
“I’m not driving today, so you should probably get your sister to bring you. If not, I’ll pay for your cab.” Marc answered knowing what Sherise had in mind.
Clearly disappointed that she couldn’t be seen getting picked up in a shiny Mercedes, she attempted to mask her disappointment.
“Oh no, it’s cool then. I’ll just hop a cab and meet you.”
“Good, how about twelve o’clock at McCormick and Schmicks on 17th and K.”
Marc asked knowing that Sherise would agree to meet him for a plate of shit if he asked.
“Sounds like a winner to me. I’ll need to tie up a few loose ends on this side before I arrive.” Sherise added and waited for Marc to respond.
Finding her last comment comedic, Marc covered his mouth and laughed at her attempt to sound official. He knew that she was likely reading the latest issue of Sista 2 Sista, acquainting herself with the latest celebrity gossip.
“Alrighty then, I’ll see you at twelve.” Marc said as he was about to hang up.
“Bye big daddy”, Sherise decided to add her own twist to the conversation.
Again, Marc laughed and this time, noting the stinging irony. Without warning, he hung the phone up. He knew that Sherise was still on the phone but did not care.

At 11:45 am, Marc told Dora that he was leaving to go to lunch and she acted as if nothing was said to her. Choosing to remind her that he was still her employer, he doubled back and told her that she needed to get him a report of all the clients he served this year by the end of the business day. Knowing that this would at least keep her off of the phone, Marc felt satisfied that he had created the look of calculated, but careful contempt on her face.

“Oh, and I need to review all of your time cards for the last four months. Business is slowing up and I may need to trim your hours a little. So if you could have that on my desk today also, I’d greatly appreciate that.” Marc said with stern resolve.
Dora’s’ raised eyebrows let him know that she understood her place in his world.
As he walked down K Street, Marc could not help but notice how clear the sky was. It reminded him of the cobalt blue Brooks Brother shirt that he wore the night he met Sherise. His smile dwindled. The vibrancy of the azure day greeted coeds rushing to their destinations. It seemed like a stark contrast for what he was about to deal with from Sherise.

She was certainly any thug’s fantasy, but for him, she was simply another sex escapade that went too far with the wrong person. From the minute he woke up and saw her lying next to him one Sunday morning, he swore off late nights at Love Nightclub.

They danced for at least six songs, and she never let any of her ghetto tendencies show. Hell, he thought that she might have been an attorney by the way she was dressed. He later found out that it was the suit that she wore to impress the caseworkers who would reinstate her food stamps. It was one of many nights that he returned home from the club with an overnight guest. Lately, he found himself wishing he could turn back time…

As the cab pulled up in front of Marc’s brownstone, Sherise perked up and sprinted to the front door. Marc paid the cab driver and the two entered his home without saying a word to each other. As soon as he locked the door, she slammed him against it, dropped to her knees and started tugging at his zipper. Startled by her ambition, Marc hesitated, not completely sure if he brought home a prostitute. Noting this, Sherise wasted no time as she carefully unzipped his charcoal Kenneth Cole slacks and slipped his gift into her mouth. His knees buckled as she devoured him hungrily and placed his hands into her wild hair. The loud and wet sounds that filled the room caused Marc’s penis to stiffen and pulse uncontrollably as Sherise greedily sucked his dick. As he was about to reach his erotic peak, she pulled away enough for him to see her mouth contort as she struggled to swallow the loads that spilled down her throat.

Invigorated by her sexual prowess, he led her to his bed upstairs for round two. He remembered how turned on he was when she saddled him and rode him until he came, all while moaning his name and growing wetter with each stroke. He couldn’t resist the urge to squeeze her ass roughly as he forced her wet pussy down onto his painfully erect tool. He still got erect when he thought of her smooth brown skin and an ass the size of cantaloupes. As he entered her from the rear, she allowed her petite hands to part both of her ass cheeks to accept the fullness of his dick. When he came for the final time, the evidence was discharged onto the thick cheeks that welcomed it and Sherise lavishly rubbed it into her skin.

He was both encouraged and cautiously apprehensive about her amazing sex skills. He wondered what ex convict boyfriend had taught her how to spread her legs so suggestively, but later decided that she was probably an undercover porno addict. She was not wild, but he could certainly tell that she was a talented woman.

The next morning he awoke to her make-up smeared face and formless hair. Instantly disgusted with his action, he reasoned that it was only one night of casual sex and that it was over. No need in dragging this poor girl into his life when he was sure that a committed relationship was the last thing he wanted. He considered keeping her as a booty call but the concept seemed too random and generic. Marc then calmed himself and enjoyed what he could remember from the previous night as his partner slept. He chuckled at his own recklessness and decided he could at least fix her breakfast for last night’s performance.

It was then that he realized that he didn’t know her name. This was interestingly humorous to Marc, reminding him of one of the porn movies in his collection with poor dialogue and an even worse plot.

When he reached over the bed to tap her, he saw the name ‘Sherise’ tattooed on her forearm with roses around it and assumed that his bedmate needed to remind herself of her name in case she forgot it. Smiling by now, Marc decided that he might even go to church after his guest left as he sat up to rise from bed.

He schemed that he would fix her breakfast and send her away by faking an important appointment that he could not miss. Satisfied with himself, Marc leapt to his feet and slipped on his silk Ralph Lauren boxers from the night before that lay on the floor next to the pile of other discarded clothing.

He froze in his tracks and was shocked into reality as his eyed the three pack of Magnums on the night stand, all three unopened. His frustration forced a scowl on his face and sealed his distaste for the woman that slept peacefully on his bed.

As Marc walked into McCormick & Schmicks, he instantly noticed Sherise among the sea of blue and gray suits in the dimly lit restaurant. Her interpretation of conservative was a low cut pale blue body top and matching mini skirt. A sudden feeling of panic overwhelmed him as he remembered that man of his business associates frequented the establishment. Scanning the door for his entrance, Sherise leapt to her feet and waved frantically when she saw him. For a moment, Marc saw her innocence and vulnerability. He saw past their sexual encounter and saw that she was just a twenty three year old woman that wanted to be loved, at any cost. As he moved toward her, her almond shaped eyes sparkled with the radiance of a star-crossed lover. Marc was a little disappointed in his inability to return a sentiment that remotely matched hers.
“Joe, you know you late, right?” That DC accent and slang was back with a vengeance. She was a pro at turning in off and on.
Her voice instantly annoyed him.
“Oh, yeah, I apologize, but I couldn’t get a cab to save my
life”, Marc explained as he offered a formal hug and quickly took a
seat in the booth where Sherise was seated.
“I guess you a magician too, huh?” Sherise quizzed. “What are you talking about?” Marc asked genuinely unaware
of what she was talking about.
“You know, they see the hell out of you when you in a group
of other black people, but when you need one of them jokers to
stop, you magically disappear.” Sherise said laughing at her own
remark.
“I guess I am a magician, because a brother couldn’t catch a
cab in Georgetown if he had Jesus walking with him.” Marc said
adding his comedic addition to the light-hearted conversation. “Yeah, they would stop for him ‘cause they think he white.
But if they knew he was a brother, that fool would be prepaying
too.” Sherise said smiling and appreciating Marc’s banter. She wondered how long it would last as his laughter tapered
off and he cleared his throat like he was about to make a business
proposal to a board of directors.
“So, have you ordered yet?” Marc asked knowing that Sherise
couldn’t resist the opportunity to order things she couldn’t
pronounce on someone else’s dime.
“Yeah, I ordered for myself some calamari to start and a
cosmopolitan.” Sherise answered trying to return Marc’s
professional tone.
Marc wondered if Sherise understood that you don’t order an
appetizer for a lunch meal, but chose not to correct her at this point.
The fact that she was drinking an alcoholic beverage gave him a
ray of hope.
“Oh, so then you already grabbed a menu?” Marc asked
knowing that she did.
“Yep, I looked over it so I could know what I wanted by the
time you got here. I got one for you too.” Sherise replied careful
not to give Marc the implication that she was there an hour early
just to make sure that they would have a good seat near the
window, in the event that any of her friends were passing by. “Thanks for the menu, but I already know what I want.” Marc
replied in a manner that suggested that he couldn’t care less about
her effort.
Almost as if cued, the waiter arrived. He was a thin, stringy
haired white man in his late twenties. Though he was properly
dressed in the uniform that the other waiters were required to wear,
he had a grungy look to him that suggested that he thought that
bathing was overrated.
“Are we ready to order?” He asked Sherise as if he had
already established a pleasant rapport with her.
Marc cringed as he thought of the type of things that Sherise
may have revealed to this man.
“I’m ready, Robbie. Are you ready, boo?” Sherise asked as
she attempted to romantically link herself to Marc.
Clearly annoyed with her, Marc allowed a brief pause to show
his contempt and nodded for Sherise to order first.
“I’ll have the grilled tilapia stuffed with crab imperial and
also, a baked potato on the side.” Sherise said, especially pleased
that she had time to review the menu and have the waiter assure her
that she pronounced it correctly prior tc’s arrival. Knowing that she had time to rehearse her order, Marc chose
to repress his growing disgust and smiled at the waiter as he
ordered the ginger broiled salmon and asparagus with lemon sauce.
As the waiter left the table, Marc could see Sherise’s growing
discomfort as she awaited his punishment for such an implication. “Look Sherise, we need to talk. I don’t think you
understand…”, Marc began but was interrupted when the waiter
returned to the table.
“I’m sorry sir, but I didn’t get your drink order.” Robbie said
as he waited for Marc’s response.
“I’ll have Absolut straight, no ice. Please.” Marc answered
knowing that he was in for a long lunch with Sherise. As soon as the waiter left the table, Sherise seized the
opportunity to speak.
“Joe, what is you mad about? ‘Cause I said boo? Puh-leeze,
that wasn’t nothing.”
Sherise said knowing that she had already irritated Marc by
the comment.
“It’s not just that, I don’t like that you insinuate that we’re
together every chance you get.” Marc said trying to control his
voice that rose naturally when he was angry.
“And how do I do that?” Sherise asked knowing that Marc had
an arsenal of answers.
“Well, for one, being rude to my assistant when she tells you
that I am not available.” Marc answered.
“You don’t like her anyway. Who cares about her old ass?
Whatever Joe. She got smart with me because I asked her a
question.” Sherise replied defensively.
“You asked her who I was with and told her that you were my
woman when she asked the nature of your call. When she told you
she couldn’t give out that information, you called her a bitch and
hung up.” Marc angrily replied as he grew irritated with the
satisfied smirk on Sherise’s face.
“Well, she don’t know me to be trying me. I don’t allow
someone like her to treat me like some scrub.” Sherise answered
waving her index finger in the air and matching it’s motions with
her neck.
The look of it infuriated Marc as he decided to be firm and
unwavering with Sherise.
“Let her know what? I mean, yes, we had sex a few times, but
that does not make you my lady. I told you, all I can offer you is
friendship. Anything outside of that, I can’t do.” Marc said as he
slammed the napkin into his lap.
“Oh, but you still fucking me, right? Aint this yo’
muthafuckin’ kid in my stomach?” Sherise said, pointing at her
stomach.
She raised her voice to add another level of embarrassment
when the waiter approached with her calamari.
“Not for long.” Marc countered when the waiter walked away. Clearly hurt by Marc’s comeback, Sherise decided not to
speak as he peered at her, brimming with anger. An uncomfortable
silence came across the two as Marc sipped his drink and watched
everyone else’s table in an effort to dissociate himself from the
company he was with.
He decided to break the silence when the entrees arrived. “So how are we going to handle this?” Marc asked in a hushed
tone.
Incensed by this, Sherise replied.
“What is there to handle? You want me to kill my kid so you
can go ride off into the sunset with one of these white bitches in
here.” Sherise’s loudness was beginning to attract attention from
other tables.
“Sherise, you know damn well that has nothing to do with it. I
am not ready to be a father, and certainly you’re not ready. You
still live with your mother.” Marc said as he thanked himself for
not mentioning the fact that they both resided in DC most notorious
housing project.
“Oh, so you better than me ‘cause you got a little change?
Niggah please! I been with niggahs with more money than yo’ trick
ass and they could fuck better than you too. You mthink you
the shit cause you light skinned, but you still a niggah.” Sherise
said as she forced a mouthful of food into her mouth.
Marc’s exasperation shrouded his face.
“Whatever you say, Sherise. Why don’t we just settle this shit
so that we can both move on? I think that would be the best thing
for the both of us.” Marc said in a dismissive tone, decidedly aloof
to Sherise’s comments.
“What the fuck ever!” Sherise replied and returned Marc
harshness with a condescending tone.
Marc then pulled out his checkbook to reiterate his
commitment to ending their misery.
“About how much do you think that you will need? I’ll pay for
you to stay at the Monarch while you recover.” Marc said as he
began to write the check out to Sherise for one thousand dollars. Enraged that Marc was treating their situation like a business
transaction, Sherise leapt to her feet and grabbed her imitation
Coach bag.
“I’m a ho’ now? You think you can just blow me off by
throwing your money at me? I don’t need your shit niggah. Take
your bamma ass back to Atlanta, because I can’t stand you. Fake
assed white boy!” Sherise screamed as she berated Marc and left
the restaurant.
Marc’s face was flush with irritation as the waiter brought the
bill. He promptly paid with his black card and took a deep breath as
he tore up the check that he started to write.
He had hoped that today would be the end of his
“relationship” with Sherise but knew better. As he left the
restaurant, Marc noticed that the sky was now gray and threatening. “Ironic”, Marc said as he smiled and decided to walk twelve blocks back to work.

Chapter 7 Natalie

When Natalie walked into her office on the 12th floor in the plush executive building, she was shaking. Pleased that she was able to mask her instability from her co-workers, Natalie retreated to the privacy of her own office where she could take her prescription of Wellbutrin outside of the judgmental eyes of her coworkers. She recognized her deterioration as she sobbed quietly into her cupped hands.

They were the same feelings that she experienced four years ago right before her voices started forcing her to cut herself.
Fearing her loss of control, Natalie immersed herself into her work and decided that her mental illness would have to take a back seat today because she had several clients she needed to see and it was already 2:30 pm.
She found herself shuffling files and paperwork furiously, unable to focus on one task. Finally, she decided to return some of the calls in her voice mailbox. The indicator light was blinking, informing her that it was full. A half-hearted feeling of contentment overcame her as she pressed one and found that there were eleven messages waiting for her. She enjoyed the fact that she had so many messages because it was a reminder of her importance at the company.
Her personal life, she thought, was a different story all together. Most of the messages were from clients needing followup consultations, which literally meant $4500 a pop to teach old white executives how to diversify their workforce and improve their public image. Her consultation services usually ran about $10,000 for three sessions. She found that she was the cheapest corporate strategist in the industry and often used that as her selling point.
Natalie was one of only two black corporate strategists in Houston’s office of McLeigh and Associates and had close affiliations with every black organization from the NAACP to The Links. She became a powerful tool for companies that had pending discrimination or equal opportunity suits, and she made them pay dearly for her services.
As she wrote down her messages, she prioritized who she would return calls to. The clients with the largest potential payoff were always first. Clients with smaller pockets followed suit. Her sororitther professional organizations followed close behind. Friends and family were always last on the list, if they were fortunate enough to make the list at all.
By the time Natalie finished her list, she had to make appointments to see four CEOs, one Human Resources Director, return the call to her mother, her older brother, Eric and call the owner of the service station and let him hear the pathetic message that his underling, Rodney, left apologizing for his behavior.
Memories of their previous encounter returned to her and caused her anger to soar as Natalie shoved her hand in her purse to search for the business card of the owner that she grudgingly obtained from Rodney. She decided to replay her encounter with Rodney in her mind before she called to make sure that she did not omit any important details. She was certain that he would be fired for his behavior if her testimony were compelling enough.
As she reached for the phone, she was startled when it rang and picked it up without checking to see who was calling on the display unit.
“How’s my favorite high priced ho?” The female voice asked when Natalie picked up the phone.
“Just shakin’ my shit, daddy.” Natalie said as she burst out into laughter in response to her friend’s hilarious question.
She knew that it was an inside joke that only the two shared and thought about the evolution of their friendship.
“What are you doing tonight, because a sister needs to get her shake on.” Elise said to Natalie.
Elise was as close as Natalie could get to a best friend. They met at a gala four years for the 100 Black Men of Houston and found, to their surprise, that they had both dated the same man, at the same time. Jason Culbert was a fine as they come, and he had the female clientele to back it up. His ability to make women feel like they were his own personal goddess usually kept them content and unwilling to account for the nights he stood them up.
The night of the gala was no exception. He gave Natalie and Elise the same excuse for not attending and even had his mother validate his story. He simply overbooked himself for the night. The women thought too much of themselves to go at it like chicken heads when they found each other’s name listed next to his as spouse on the guest list for the event. Instead, they chose to make a $500 charitable donation on his behalf to P.R.I.D.E, one of the local homosexual lobbying organizations, and had his membership card and subscriptions of the monthly BOYS LOVE newsletter sent to his home and work address. Monthly contributions were continually made on Jason’s behalf and he quickly became a favored sponsor. He even found himself the unsuspecting recipient of hardcore gay porn, delivered to his parents’ address and at work, no less.

The women often reminded themselves of the look on his face when he was awarded Philanthropist of the Year for his generous support of the gay and lesbian community in front of his frat brothers and family. Together, Natalie and Elise orchestrated the event by convincing Jason, separately of course, that the Boys and Girls Club had chosen him as mentor of the year. Fed Ex delivered an “official letter” from the organization, and the ball was in play. After inviting all of his friends and family members, Jason received the surprise of his life and the women sipped champagne as they quietly celebrated their victory.

Embarrassed by the honor, and careful not to be too attentive to any one of the many females who came to celebrate “their man”, Jason suspiciously eyed the two and thought they were too tickled to blame it on the champagne. He confronted the women and forced their confessions, though they were laced with their contemptuous laughter. He called them “broke down high classed hoes” with nothing better to do with their time and stormed out of the reception hall. They laughed and danced all night and sealed a friendship born out of Jason’s betrayal.

“Girl, you heard me?” Elise quizzf her friend who now seemed lost in her thoughts.
“Huh? Oh yeah, I heard you. I don’t think that I’ll be able to make it tonight, I have to finish up a lot here.” Natalie responded.
“That work aint goin’ nowhere. Child, how often do we get a girls night out? And anyway, I gotta’ show off my new friends.” Elise replied.
“Okay, I’m going to need for you to stop calling your fake assed titties new friends…I’m surprised your butt can even talk, cause you know you sounded like hell yesterday. I told you not to do it.” Natalie said laughingly to her friend.
“Look ho, they are not fake. They are one hundred percent saline. And anyway, I was laid up in the plastic surgeon’s office high as a kite and all you kept asking me was did I feel different. I sure did. 2 cup sizes bigger and about fifteen thousand broker. I don’t even remember the rest of our conversation, but I DO remember you hanging up on my ass.” Elise replied, sharing laughter with her friend.
“Fine, keep your salty titties. I hung up on you because you started talking some gibberish about grit’s or some shit. Girl, even when you high, you talk about food.” Natalie added.
The two women laughed, as they often did during their phone calls.
“Whatever is cleva, sugah’. I just want to get my party on and aint nothin’ like a little Demerol to get it started.”
“You know you’re a hot mess, right?”
“The hottest! You better know this. Shit, I had to sell three houses in 4 weeks for these girlies. You know I am going to write them off as a business expense on my taxes at the end of the year.” Elise said.
“And just how in the hell do you plan on doing that?” Natalie asked.
“Girl, they are a marketing tool. Do you know how many men are going to buy houses from me now? I might have a degree from Howard, but believe me, men don’t ask to see my resume when I tell them I am a real estate agent.” Elise said.
“What?” Natalie yelled as she listened to her friend’s explanation.
“It’s easier for a woman to sell men. They are impulse buyers. And they are most impulsive when they see a rack of tits and round ass. Girl, it’s supply and demand.” Elise replied again between chuckles.
“That’s it. I am hangin’ up on your crazy ass. You have really lost it this time.” Natalie replied, overcome with laughter.
“We’ll see when I start raking in the money. Those white girls do it all the time. I’m gonna’ take them on a test run tonight at the 12th Street Grill for happy hour. If I get more than three drinks for free, then I know they are sound investments”, Elise said assuredly.
“Well, take your ass on then. Are you gonna’ really go out right after you had surgery?” Natalie asked with concern.
“Do fat kids love cake?” Elise replied in a comedic tone.
“Do your thing, girl. Be careful and please don’t fall up in someone’s house or bedroom again without knowing their name.” Natalie warned.
“Names are so formal.” Elise added and the women shared a laugh.
The two women ended the conversation the way tradition dictated. Natalie gave her best impression of a pimp and yelled, “Gimme’ twenty dollars.”
Elise always replied in a raspy voice playing the part of his overworked whore, “I aint got it , I aint got it”.
Natalie would return with fake anger, “broke assed ho”, and they would both hang up. The two ended their conversations about love, life, success, and family in the same fashion each time. It was their assurance that life was hard, but to never take it too seriously.
For Natalie, it was the only connection she made with another female and it validated her on many levels. Some might say it was the only normal thing about her.

After finishing her conversation with Elise, Natalie thought it best to retain her good mood and avoid calling Rodney’s manager. Instead, she returned the call to her largest client, Smith-Line Pharmaticals to arrange their next meeting. Her clients had just settled a class action lawsuit filed by Hispanic applicants who were not considered for sales positions because of their race. Natalie’s job was to help restore the company’s reputation of diversity and community involvement. While the company’s Human Resources Director informed Natalie that they typically hired people who had a “trustworthy and professional” appearance, it was common knowledge that the predominance of the industry was white men and women. One of the applicants suing the company had secretly acquired a recruitment report that stated: “Particular subgroups are not inclined to excel in sales sectors due to traditional inadequacies in public speaking and presentation and should be encouraged to pursue a more appropriate path of career modeling.” While cleverly worded, the statement blatantly endorsed discrimination and cost the company $86 million to settle out of court. Needless to say, the company execs were more than willing to hire a black corporate strategist and a Hispanic legal team to ensure such a thing never happened again. Natalie almost fainted when she was offered a $100,000 retainer and guaranteed fees of $500,000 for the consultation.

She created a campaign for them that would saturate the ethnic communities and middle classed white communities. She set up photo ops for the company CEO to deliver sizable checks to black and Hispanic community-revitalizing organizations. Partnerships with small minority-owned businesses were created that offered scholarships to disadvantaged students in the target zones that Natalie identified.

By securing invitations to high exposure events like the NAACP Trumpet Awards for her clients, she ensured her clients that they would have at least one photo op featured in Ebony.

She helped them to foster relationships with several Hispanic staffing agencies in the area and reconstituted the company’s employment policy to a gender-friendly and racially diverse code of ethics and practice. She suggested that the company institute a sales training program for associates in other areas of the company that expressed previous interest in sales and marketing.

In short, she did her damned thing. Always aware that her reputation was what paid her bills, Natalie never hesitated to stay long nights to complete her projects. Her clients both rescheduled and left her with a day to herself. It was rare. It was 4:00 when Natalie finished all of her professional calls and debated if she should call her mother back. She decided against it and started dialing her brother’s number when she was stunned by his reality.

“Hello, Logan residence.” A decidedly feminine and highpitched male voice said after the phone rang once.
Thrown off by the unfamiliar voice, Natalie asked, “May I speak with Eric, please?”
“And who might I say is calling?” The voice returned with an attitude of suspicion.
Natalie returned the sentiment and replied. “His sister, and who is this?”
Still defensive, the voice released a curious grunt. “His sister, huh? I got ya sister all right. Eric never said anything to me about having any sisters.” The young angelic male voice snapped.
“Probably because it’s none of your goddamned business. And who the hell are you anyway?” Natalie began to get angry at the voice keeping her from her brother.
“Oh no the hell you didn’t. I just know you didn’t curse me, fish. I am the queen bitch in this hive, but that has nothing to do with you dear.”
Natalie could not hold her anger.
“Look, you little faggot…”
CLICK.
The dial tone let Natalie know that the voice did not care for her choice of words and chose to end the call. Natalie’s fingers couldn’t dial the numbers fast enough as she prepared a barrage of curse words for the person that answered her brother’s phone. When she finished dialing the line was busy, which probably meant that the phone was deliberately taken off of the hook. As Natalie seethed, she wondered what mess her brother dragged in off the street and decided to call a “roommate” this time.
Her phone rang and interrupted her line of thought. It was her brother calling back.
“So what the hell was that?” Natalie asked her brother as she picked up the phone.
“Sorry about that sis, you know how the children can be. Always thinking somebody wants to take their stash. What’s cracka-lackin’ witcha’?” Eric asked his sister.
Natalie attempted to calm herself.
“Aint a thing but the rent. Speaking of rent, who is the new roommate?” Natalie asked, careful to place the emphasis on mate.
“Just a new little toy, oops, I mean boy. You know it can get cold at night and don’t nothing keep you warm like some hot chocolate.” Eric responded with a particularly feminine tone that Natalie had seldom heard. It sounded like a Jerry Springer sound bite. She realized how much she didn’t like it instantly.
“Is that right?” Natalie asked, annoyed with her older brother’s careless attitude towards his sexual partners.
“Yes it ‘tis sugar, but I know that you didn’t call for that, so what’s goin’ on with you?” Eric answered, desperately trying to move the conversation away from his love life and the inevitable hell and brimstone speech that would follow.
His sister recognized his desire and followed suit.
“I was returning your call, remember? You left me a message today.” Natalie answered.
“Oh yes, honey! Did mommy dearest call you today? You know I already had my dose and I had to share the healing, halleluyer!” Eric said mocking his mother’s normal religious zeal.
“Boy, you know you aint right. I talked to her this morning, but you know how that went. She wanted to make sure that I was coming back to Maryland for the christening. I’ll probably go, but I promise, I will be drunk the whole time.” Natalie said to her brother as she chuckled.
“Then pass the Patron, ‘cause Lord knows can’t nobody drive you to drink like sister Rosemary Logan. Honestly, I get so tired of faking straight for her. She still says that I am only pretending to be gay. She even asked me if I was going to bring Tara to Maryland.” Eric said in an exasperated tone.
“You don’t mean your ex-girlfriend from eight years ago when you were in college?” Natalie asked amusingly.
“None other.” Eric paused to swallow what was likely a shot of something trendy and alcoholic. “I barely kissed that girl. Shit, I was only with her because I had a crush on her brother, but your mother insisted that I invite the poor girl to our house for Thanksgiving dinner. I think she had to prove to herself and daddy that I wasn’t gay. But then again, daddy always said he knew I was gonna be a faggot.” Eric said with resignation in his voice.
“Now Eric, you know damned well daddy never said that to you. Momma maybe, daddy wouldn’t say that.” Natalie said in defense of her father.
“There you go, always defending dear old dad. When are you going to get it through your head that our family is fucked up? But don’t worry, everybody’s got their own cross to bear, so you cope accordingly, I guess.” Eric said.
“Now you are trippin’. Why are you always on some I-hatethe world shit? You can’t blame family for your mistakes. Nobody stuck a dick in your mouth and told you to be gay.” Natalie said to her brother. She regretted her tone and bluntness, but chose not to back down.
Taken back by her blunt remark, Eric collected his thoughts and replied.
“Hold the fuck on, Dr. Phil. Rather you like it or not, all of us are fucked up. Your cute little degrees don’t stop your ass from being crazy as hell and cutting yourself. Your sister keeps breeding for a negro that will never see the light of day, let alone raise her kids. And daddy hates living so much, he’s drunk more than he’s sober. And while you mention it, someone did stick a dick in my mouth, but everybody thought it was easier to ignore that it was our favorite uncle that did it. You know, our little Logan family secret. But of course you know, don’t you?” Eric asked with venom in his voice.
CLICK.
Natalie hung up the phone and the tears flooded down her face. Her brother was the only person that she confided in when her father’s best friend, who she was taught to call an uncle, came into her bedroom at night.

She still felt his fingers that were sticky with oil from a car’s engine, moving up her nightgown as a child. She remembered the filth on her cotton panties stained with his DNA and her blood. He always made her give them to him so that her mother would never find them. She never felt clean after those nights. She would use borax to scrub her legs, but somewhere in her mind, the stains never went away.

The impulse to cut herself always emerged when she relived those nights. With every slash she felt like she was cutting away his dirty little fingers. In her mind, that was the only way to remove the stains he left. When her wounds healed, the stains came back.

She would struggle for years to explain to countless psychologists and psychiatrists why she felt good after she cut herself. If only she could make them really understand that she wasn’t crazy. In fact, cutting made her feel…normal.

Natalie was startled by the voice of her assistant. “Natalie, I have your brother on line two and he says it’s urgent.”
Natalie looked down and realized that she had not pressed “release” to clear her line. “Just send him to my voice mail.” Natalie responded without emotion. Natalie wasn’t willing to endure another one of her brother’s animated apologies, complete with the emotional and much belabored “I’m gay and nobody loves me” hysterics that would accompany it.
Instead, she wiped her face with some Kleenex and refreshed her make-up. Her demons would not get the best of her today, she thought as she dialed Elise’s number and left her office and her past in the dark.

Chapter 8 Ilene

Two weeks passed since Ilene’s husband happened upon her secret bank account. She thought it wise to suspend all dealings with her male “friends” until her husband’s suspicion died down. She played the role of the consummate housewife to throw him off of her trail. She accounted for every second that she was not in his presence, and even went so far as to call from every location so that the number would show up on the caller ID display on his cell phone.

Still, she felt that he would always question her motives about the money. She wished that she hadn’t told him that she was going to use the money on him. Now he thought it was okay to purchase items that their previous household budget could not afford. She almost lost her lunch all over their family room when she learned that Mr. Frugal actually spent $5,000 on golf equipment.

His final insult to injury, Ilene reasoned, was that he asked her to accompany him to a golf event that Emory University was sponsoring for the faculty. He knew how much she hated being outside, but what she hated worse was mingling with a host of intellectuals hell bent on voicing their opinions on everything from reparations to grass roots politics. They all shared the same preoccupation with their educational legacies and tailored their conversations around it.

The women who accompanied them often boasted of their gardens and exchanged salacious gossip about those who were snubbed by their elitist sorority. She knew that this was her punishment and that her husband would never make such a request unless she was in the doghouse. Nevertheless, she faked excitement as they got dressed and pretended to be genuinely interested in the school’s upcoming Founder’s Day festivities, where her husband would be participating in a golfing event. As they exited the house, Charles wore a playful and blissful look on his face. He could not resist the oortunity to slap Ilene on her rear end. Instinctively, Ilene swirled around and smacked his hand in an exaggerated motion.

“Aw, come on. A brother can’t cop a free feel around here now?” Charles asked his wife jokingly.
“You can get all the feels you want if you let me ride in that big black caddy.”
Ilene was referring to her husband’s prized Cadillac El Dorado. He bought it cash with the money he received when he was named a fellow at the University of Georgia, five years ago. He had it detailed every two weeks and never let the gas drop below three quarters full. He loved that car.
Ilene felt that her husband thought that his ability to pay for a Cadillac meant that he arrived. Ilene knew far better. She believed that people who had to work for their money weren’t really rich. She quietly wished that her husband were a crooked politician or had some illegal extra activities that help augment their income.
Instead, he was a professor that gave up a tenure that guaranteed six figures to be the director of the African American Student Caucus at Emory University. She hated his indignant refusal to be ambitious in his career. He was satisfied with the fact
A PRICE TO PAY FOR EVERYTHING
that the few black kids that went to Emory thought that he was God.
He sometimes invited the ones that lived far away for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. Ilene always played the gracious host, but was sure to scold him after the guests left.

On the ride to the golf course, Ilene noticed her husband watching her out of the corner of his eye. At first she ignored it, but decided that he was being too obvious for her not to comment. “What’s the matter, Chuck?” Ilene asked.

“Nothing baby. Why do you ask?” Charles responded with a big smile on his face.
Knowing that her husband wanted desperately to engage her in conversation, she half-heartedly played along. “Because I see you looking at me like you want to say something.” Ilene responded coyly while applying her MAC lipstick.
“Yeah, you got me. I do have something I need to say to you.” Charles responded, still smiling.
“Okay then?” Ilene responded quizzically. Her patience with him and their marriage was wearing thin, but she would end it on her terms. This was her show.
“I was trying to wait until our anniversary next month, but you know I can’t hold anything from you.” Charles responded, beaming with pride.
Unfortunately, Ilene was unmoved by the comment. “That’s real nice baby.” Ilene returned with no inflection or emotion in her voice to support her statement.
Her years of marriage taught her that Charles was up to something.
“I hope you like this babe, I heard you talking about it to Ms. Kelsey next door.” Charles said as he pulled out two airline tickets to St. Lucia and proudly presented them to his wife.
“Oh Chuck, a trip! When are we leaving? How did you…” Ilene asked her husband while feigning excitement. Inside, she railed with anger that he was presumptuous enough to assume that she wanted to invest two weeks of her time with HIM.
“Uh-Uh, money is no object, remember? It’s time that we start enjoying the fruit’s of our labor. We can go whenever you want. The tickets are open and are first class, too.” Charles offered proudly.
Secretly annoyed that her husband had blown about two thousand dollars of her otherwise non-existent inheritance, Ilene continued to fake excitement as she walked hand in hand with her husband on the golf course.
As Charles registered for the golf challenge, Ilene spotted and nervously eyed Paul Cummings who seemed visibly uncomfortable by her presence, though she was over 70 yards away. She almost choked when Charles gave him a familiar wave and grabbed his wife’s hand. Ilene searched her mind for ways that the two might have similar affiliations or clubs. She drew a blank.
Noticing the troubled look on his wife’s face, Charles asked her what was wrong. Prompted by her husband’s question, Ilene smiled and said to her husband, “lets take that trip sooner rather than later.”
“No arguments here.” Charles responded to his wife’s request and hoped within himself that the trip would restore the marriage that he once recognized.

Chapter 9 Marc

After a week of continuous hang-ups on his answering machine and countless urgent messages left at work, Marc decided that he had to confront Sherise about their situation for the sake of his own sanity. His approach would be subtle and unassuming, careful not send her into another one of her tirades. He intended to call her the day after her performance at McCormick and Schmicks, but got tied up at work.

His work as a project manager often made him the point of contact for company financial officers, anxious about their projects coming in under budget and offering tantalizing incentives to ensure it. His high six-figure salary was hardly touched because of his tedious work schedule and inability to truly invest time for his personal life. This made it easy for him to accept the convenience of one night stands with beautiful, sometimes nameless women. Rationalizing that he would be cheating them out the time that they truly deserved because of his demanding work habits, they settled for the occasional tryst and late night quickie calls. He was, if nothing else, a salesman at heart.

But Sherise was an altogether different beast. Too slow to respond to his quick wit and dry humor, she provided little mental stimulation and even less intellectual exchange, though she struggled gallantly to conceal it. She was at best, an around the way girl, using what she had to get what she wanted. In an ironic way, Marc respected her for that, but found it impossible to ever consider her as a potential mate.

As he dialed the number to Sherise’s government subsidized apartment that she shared with her mother, Marc’s pulse quickened, and he cowardly hung up the phone before anyone answered. Though he knew that his time was becoming dangerously close, he chaffed at the barrage of insults that Sherise would launch at him when he broached the subject of an abortion.

It baffled him that she was so overwhelming willing to indulge in casual sex with a total stranger, but suddenly got a dose of religion when he suggested that they terminate the pregnancy.

He decided to bite the bullet and dial the number quickly before he lost heart. He closed his eyes tightly as the phone rang for what seemed like hours. He was about to hang up when a lofty voice that sounded like Sherise answered the phone.

“Hello, may I speak with…”
CLICK.
Dial tone. The person hung up the phone at the sound of his

voice. Marc was certain that it was Sherise because he couldn’t imagine anyone else in the household that even knew him. Angered, he decided he would try again and this time he was going to be addressed. As the phone rang, he corrected his posture and decided that he would use his asshole tone to discourage any more stupidity. This time the person picked up on the first ring and did not say anything. Marc decided that he would break the awkward moment and speak first.

“Sherise, listen, we need to talk. I know that you have been calling and hanging up. This shit has got to…” Before he finished his statement Marc was interrupted by a soulful older woman with a warm voice that sounded like Lena Horne and Patti Labelle mixed in one.

“Hey honey, YOU listen, Sherise aint here and I wish yall would have some guddamned respect when you call folks house.” Marc was dumbfounded and sat silently at the women’s comment.

The woman, unmoved by his silence, decided that she had more to say to the rude caller. She paused to take a drag of her cigarette and then proceeded after exhaling a mouthful of smoke. Her voice took on a slightly raspier tone.

“And who the hell is this anyway?” She asked, daring Marc toanswer.
“This is Marc Campbell, your daughter and I are acquaintances, and we really need to talk, maam.” Marc said trying to show the woman that he had some semblance of respect for her seniority.
“Marc, huh? I aint never heard bout no Marc. But chile, that aint my bizness’. Sherise aint’ here baby. You need to call back after seven when she gets home from work, or call the shop.” The woman said with a distinctively southern twang in her voice.
“Thank you”, Marc said as he hurried off of the phone to answer his other line.
It was his personal line blinking and he knew that only a few people had it.
“This is Marc Campbell…” Marc started.
“What’s going on man?” Reggie, Marc’s college buddy and closest line brother in their fraternity enthusiastically answered.
“Aint nothing, sand. Just holdin’ it down.” Marc answered trying to be a little more Ebonic that he typically was. His life was a balancing act.
“Brah, I haven’t heard from you in a minute. We were lookin’ for you at the spot, but a niggah was missin’ in action. You know it was Howard homecoming, right?” Reggie asked.
“Ah, yeah that’s right, how was it?” Marc asked already anticipating his friend’s answer.
“Come on, dawg! You KNOW a niggah held it down for the brothas on lock down. Friday night Marc Barnes shut down Love cause hoes were everywhere. The fire marshal had to shut that shit down there was so much ass in that spot. Man, wall-to-wall ass.” Reggie said excitedly.

Marc knew his friend well enough to know that he went for the snooty women that on an ordinary day would not give him the time of day, the type of women who were typically one shade away from white and ten income brackets away from him.

Reggie was a marginally handsome chocolate skinned brother with perfectly white teeth. He had slanted chestnut brown eyes that drove women crazy and quickly out of their panties. He was an interesting cross between Malik Yoba and Tyrese, and regularly used his devilishly attractive looks to his advantage. He was never satisfied with the women that eyed him all night or sent him drinks. Instead, he preferred the women who glanced at him once and dismissed him immediately. He loved the challenge and savored the look of defeat in their eyes after he left them $20 bill on the nightstand after conquering their sex after only a few hours of flattery. His reasoning was that pretty girls know that they’re pretty and it was the way of game to make them think that they were not worthy of his time. When he destroyed their defenses, he had sex with them and refused to call them back. Reggie believed that day old pussy was worthless and stuck to his no-call back rule religiously.

Consequently, he was the constant victim of slashed tires and broken windshields. He didn’t even have his phone number listed and always blocked his number when he made phone calls. According to him, this was a player’s dream, but all of his friends knew better.

Marc was jolted back into the conversation when Reggie’s voice raised an octave.
“Man, this broad let me hit her and her friend, dawg! Then the freaks starting doing each other. They must have been on ecstasy or some shit!” Reggie screamed into the phone receiver.
“What? Are you serious? How did you? What did you…?” Marc asked dumbfounded and amused by his friend’s good fortune.
“Look dawg, all I know is these broads were off da’ hook. And one more thing dawg’…the shit was outside in the parking lot!” Reggie’s voice lowered as he recounted this part of the story.
“Niggah, quit bullshittin’. Come on man!” Marc answered, mimicking his friend’s hushed tones.
“No lie, dawg. Ask Buddah, this niggah saw the whole thing. Bitches were lickin my brand and shit. We only stopped because a crowd was starting to form and the girls said some shit about getting back to their dorm.” Reggie answered, still amused by the events of that night.
“They were in college man?” Marc asked wondering why Reggie still dealt with women ten years younger than he was.
“Hell yeah, they were in college, and they were fine as hell, too. I think they go to Howard. And you know how those uppity bitches are really the biggest freaks on the low.” Reggie said proudly.
Marc felt his amusement slowly growing into disgust. He knew that Reggie had a little sister in college and would kill any man his age that looked at her too hard.
“I hear you man” was all that Marc could manage to get out.
Reggie was too proud of his accomplishment to let his friend’s self-righteous undertone destroy his jubilance. He decided that this was a good time to change the subject.
“So what’s been going on with you, man? Business must be boomin’ like a muthafucka’ cause you been missing all of the good shit. That firm got you working like that?” Reggie asked wondering why one of his closest friends hadn’t called him in over 3 weeks.
Marc explored the thought of telling Reggie about his dilemma with Sherise. He knew that his friend would not judge him, but forever loose the esteem he took years to attain among his friends. Marc was notoriously known for dating the “granola girls”, or all natural women with long curly hair, light eyes and a complexion that defied the fact that they were black. Their bank accounts usually rivaled his. The only characteristic that usually suggested that they were African American was an occasional curvaceous ass or ample hips. Marc reasoned that there was no need to mention Sherise because she would soon be a bad memory in his history of ill-gotten and discarded pussy, so Marc rejected the impulse to tell his friend.
“You know a brother got the lead assignment for the new executive complex Pratt is building in Southeast. It’s a part of some community rejuvenation project that the mayor started this year. That shit has kept me here damn near every night. But the payoff is like that.” Marc stated. He immediately regretted the last statement. His father warned him long ago about sharing the details of his wealth with close friends. Familiarity breeds contempt.
“Word, how much this time man?” Reggie asked anticipating his friend’s answer.
“Let’s just say, if all goes right, that Benz is as good as paid off and I will be taking a trip to San Tropez to pick up a little something to go in it. Either way, in 5 months it will be completed and I can get back to my normal life.” Marc said, trying to believe his own statement.
“Man, you know those island bitches know voodoo and shit. But I hear you, though. Just put a niggah on with one of the cousins that don’t speak English. One of those ‘ci, papi’ broads. I heard they give some sick head. Something about all the fruits they eat and shit. Catchin’ all that juice in their mouth.” Reggie said laughing at his own statement.
“Whatever man. I gotta run, you know a brother got appointments.” Marc said adding a wide mouth emphasis to the end of his statement, a habit typical of many men in their notoriously rambunctious fraternity.
“Okay then dawg…Oh yeah, I almost forgot why I called you. Are you going to participate in the charity auction next month? You know how much money you raise and I already told the president of chapter that you would do it.” Reggie said assuredly to his friend.
Marc regretted his friend’s presumption. “I am going to try, but I can’t make any promises.” Marc said annoyed by his friend’s actions on his behalf.
“Bet. I’ll see you Sunday on the Springlawn course.” Reggie said.
Marc agreed and hung up the phone. He entered his 7:00 am tee time into his palm pilot and decided he would play a full 18 holes on Sunday.
Marc began to work on the final phase of his project management proposal for a new sports and fitness center coming to the Maryland area. It was owned by two former NFL players and an entertainment attorney and had been making a klling in Atlanta. Called “The Pro Source”, it was going to be a 15,000 - 25,000 square foot facility that had two indoor regulation basketball courts, full 100 yard indoor astro-turf football field, general exercise areas, sauna, private bathrooms, and fully staffed massage and exercise therapists.
The primary reason for the success of the chain in Atlanta was that the owners were forward thinking and closed the facility completely to the public and only engaged professional sports teams for contracts. The teams that played the Falcons, Hawks, or even the Braves often used the facility as a practice arena when outside conditions or scheduling did not permit it, and from time to time played exhibition games to test their skills.
The men hoped the chain would be lucrative in D.C. since the Redskins were under new management and the Ravens franchise was gaining momentum quickly. Marc was offered a 5% draw in the profit’s if he could line up all of the subcontractors and create a working management plan within three months.
He won the bid when he flew to Atlanta to attend his father’s sixtieth birthday party and met up with one of the owners, who just happened to be a frat brother. The next day they went over the timeline and tentative budget, and the deal was set. Marc was going to draw an additional five percent of $3 million if the project successfully completed it’s five phases of development on time. Marc would then assume the role as General Manager of Operations, and eventually draw a larger percentage of the profits.
Marc chose not the mention this to the company that he worked for. He knew that they would say that he was in violation of their employment agreement and would fire his ass without hesitation. Rather, he chose to wait until his first check was signed and deposited safely in his the account in Trinidad that he kept for such instances.
He had disclosed this information to no one except his father, who was the master of discretion. He vividly recalled secrets that he and his father shared from his youth that his mother remained ignorant of, even after twenty-five or more years. He struggled with his decision not to tell his father about Sherise, but decided that he would tell him only after the ordeal was over with.
His mind returned to thoughts of Sherise, and he became anxious at the thought of her busting into his office loud and causing a scene. He decided that he would face her head on as he grabbed his coat and headed out of the door.
As the yellow cab pulled up to the curb in front of A Hair Affair Beauty Salon, Marc pulled himself together for what he knew would be an ugly confrontation with Sherise. He gave the driver a ten-dollar bill and asked him to wait. The driver immediately told him no and dismissed what would surely be a suicide mission in the neighborhood that the aged hair salon was in.
Southeast DC was nowhere for a man dressed in a five hundred dollar Brooks Brother suit that looked like he was two shades the wrong way. Attempting to act unmoved by his environment, Marc ignored the stench of urine that turned to ammonia as he walked toward the salon in Southeast Washington, DC.
When he entered the dark salon, all eyes were immediately fixed on him. Conversations about sorry baby daddies and long throaty laughs all ceased in one instant. A marked hush fell across the room as women with their hair undone shrank in their seats from embarrassment. Marc scanned the room for Sherise but did not see her. Just as he was about to step closer to the women, a dark skinned woman with shiny black hair and glossy pink lips stepped forward.
“Can I help you?” The woman asked in her attempt at flirtation. She stood with her hands on hips that were masked by the black styling jacket that she wore.
Marc could still detect the roundness in her hips and ass as he looked at her. Too bad she’s so damned ghetto.
“Yes, is Sherise here?” Marc asked, sure to flash a warm smile.
This melted the receptionist/har stylist, who thought it necessary to smile in return, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth separated by a gap at least an inch wide. Because of this, the woman spoke with a lisp.
“Who, Shay? Oh yeah, she went to get something to eat. She should be right back, though. You got her cell number?” The receptionist asked Marc in an attempt to gauge his relationship with Sherise.
Shay?
“Actually, I do, but I’ll just wait here. She doesn’t know I’m waiting for her.” Marc said hoping that this would discourage the receptionist from pursuing him.
His statement seemed to intrigue the woman and discourage her at the same time as she raised her eyebrows and mouthed “okay”. She added some swing in her hips as she turned and walked away. She made a smirk as she turned her back to him. The other women thought this was hilarious and burst into a roar of laughter.
Marc decided to ignore this as he sat on the filthy couch waiting on Sherise. After about a minute or so, the women resumed their conversations and Marc listened intently while pretending to peruse his palm pilot.
After about ten minutes, Sherise walked through the door with a greasy brown bag and a wide grin. The women’s eyes then turned to Marc sitting to her left in the corner.
Her face instantly grew dim as she recognized his face. She looked right through him and started walking towards her styling station. Marc tried to head off her by walking towards her and looking into her eyes. He felt a flush of emotion, but struggled to remain level headed in front of the growing audience.
“You know we gotta talk right?” He said as he hovered over her five-six frame.
“What about?” Sherise asked in a nonchalant tone that seemed to dismiss Marc’s anguish.
“Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?” Marc attempted in a hushed tone. Noting this, Sherise decided not to indulge her audience any more and headed outside. Marc instinctively followed her.
“Just what the fuck are you doing here?” Sherise screamed as soon as the salon door closed. Marc returned the animosity.
“Look, I really don’t need this shit, Sherise. You play too many fucking games, and this shit is ridiculous. You are a grown assed woman, why are you acting like a child?” Marc said.
“Oh, but I bet I wasn’t a little girl when we was fucking, though.” Sherise answered with contempt.
“Sherise, please with that bullshit! Yeah, we fucked. So what? What the fuck do you want from me? I told you from the start, I don’t want…” Marc started.
“You know what, damn all of this. You want to go? Bounce muthafucka’! Aint nobody beggin’ you to stay. I sure as hell didn’t ask your ass to show up here. In fact, this fucking conversation is over and you need not come back because we don’t have shit to talk about.” Sherise said as she reached for the door handle.
Marc grabbed her arm and in a single motion pulled her back so that she was facing him.
“I think you better get your hands off of me.” Sherise said in a taunting tone.
“Or what? I am sick of your stupid assed threats. I can’t wait for this shit to be over.” Marc said angrily as he forcefully pushed Sherise’s arm away. He saw the red and purple ring he left on the part of her forearm that he held. He was apologetic but refused to let it show.
“You aint the only one muthafucka. I really hate the fact that I ever let you in sniffin’ distance, because you aint shit.” Sherise answered.
Marc was incensed by her comment.
“It wasn’t that hard. Shit, everybody on this block probably already had a piece of you. I was just the only employed one. But it’s cool. I’ll pay whatever I need to get your ghetto ass away from me for good.” Marc said.
As soon as Marc finished, tears begin to well in Sherise’s eyes. He knew that he went too far. She stared at him as if he had just stabbed her in the heart, but could not bring herself to words. She sucked her teeth and willed her tears away.
“You know what Joe, you aint all of that. Just because these …Man, I aint even goin’ there. Let’s just get this shit over with.” Sherise whimpered, trying to prevent her voice from cracking.
“Sherise, I’m …” Marc started.
“Don’t…Let’s just handle it and act like we never met, for real. I already made an appointment for next Tuesday at 10:30. It’s at the Women’s Gynecological Center on 18th and U Street, near the metro. It’s going to be four twenty five, so we can split the cost.” Sherise said in a defeated tone, knowing that Marc would gladly offer all of the money.
Marc didn’t know exactly how to respond, but knew he had to say something.
“I will go with you if you want me to. I have a meeting next week, but I can cancel it. I know that this is going to be hard for you, and you didn’t do this by yourself.” Marc said in an apologetic tone.
“Don’t worry about it, I can do it myself. I might as well get used to not seeing you anyway.” Sherise said in a decidedly helpless tone.
“Sherise, I am sorry that things turned out this way. I really think that you are a cool person, but I am just not ready for fatherhood. If things were different, who knows? But I know that this is good for you too, with you trying to open your own salon and get your own place? Having a baby would change all of that. Right?” Marc asked, hoping to lead Sherise to the answer he needed to hear.
“Yeah, I guess. But I don’t like the way you tryin’ to carry me.” Sherise responded, her anger beginning to resurface.
Marc recognized this and decided to handle her with care to avoid another ugly exchange.
“I’m not trying to carry you, it’s just that I don’t know how to take you. I mean, we have sex on the same night we met, and you said that you understood when I told you that I didn’t want anything serious right now. Then you flipped when I suggested an abortion.” Marc said.
The word abortion seemed to take Sherise’s breath away. The situation became that much more real to her. She had to face an unwelcome reality. The man that she secretly watched for months and plotted to “causally bump into” did not want the child that she was carrying. She replayed in her mind how she saw him at a Big Brother function that her little brother was involved in. She schemed and planned the perfect coincidental meeting at Love Nightclub. She even bought a conservative, but revealing suit from Filene’s to impress him. To make sure that he wanted to take her home, she slipped the bartender a fifty for the opportunity to deliver his drink to him, which gave her the perfect opportunity to lace it with a liquefied form of Ecstasy.

He played right into her plan, and together they would become a family. She was ready to enter his world of monogrammed shirts and overpriced artwork, rather he was a willing participant or not. But as he uttered the word “abortion”, she felt her dream of being a pampered wife and socialite slip from her fingers.

She decided not to make herself his enemy and quietly acquiesced as he gave her a fifteen hundred dollar check. He told her that he wanted her to treat herself to a day at the spa the week after the procedure was over. He assured her that he would be at the office with her to hold her hand through it, and to make sure that she got home safely.

With this, he gave her a half-hearted hug and waved a taxi. As the taxi disappeared in the distance, Sherise could not help but think about the luxurious home that he was enroute to, a home full of shiny leather furniture and overstuffed down pillows.

On the night of their interlude, she roamed the house as he slept. She sat on his blonde hardwood floors and warmed herself by the oversized marble and jade fireplace. She peered at his collection of African American art by Paul Goodnight, Annie Lee, and yes, even a Romare Bearden. She heard about the latter artist when she worked as a valet parker aFreer Gallery when there was an exhibit of his artwork by invitation only. She knew that the painting was worth at least $20,000. It was then that she decided that she was going to be Mrs. Marchevis Dunbar Campbell.

The yellow taxicab became a tiny blurb of color in the distance and Sherise turned to enter the hair salon that now looked even more gray and dingy. The stench of the urine caused her to vomit for what seemed like hours.

When she was done, she rubbed her marginally swollen stomach and smiled. Carefully, she reviewed the check that Marc wrote and placed it in her well made imitation Chanel purse. She waved a cab for herself and made a decision. Smiling, she told the cab driver to take her to Bank of America and exhaled as she disappeared from the stench and grime of her past life.

Chapter 10 Natalie

Pay back is a bitch. As Natalie sat in the Smith-Line Pharmaceuticals meeting room, she found herself reflecting this very point. There she sat with the CEO, Thomas Paxton, Arlinda Ramirez, the newly hired HR director, and a room full of nerdy corporate attorneys wishing that she were somewhere else. They all shared the same mission, defending the company against claims of reverse discrimination launched by current white employees.

The employees organized themselves and threatened a class action suit if their requests were not met. Recognizing the changing trends in their company and it’s newly vested interest in minorities, other groups sought the advice of an attorney who instructed them that this was a blatant display of discriminatory practice and went against the company’s equal opportunity mission statement.

The company’s bylaws were carefully crafted and all but defecated on the notion of granting any group preference for reasons other than performance and seniority. Now, after Natalie’s tireless efforts, the ethnic immersion project that Natalie spearheaded concentrated on bringing more attention to the company’s diversity was under attack by it’s white employees.

She foolishly assumed that the whites in the company were going to be okay as long as their positions weren’t jeopardized. To her disappointment, an over zealous CEO all but eradicated white management positions, which ultimately worsened the original problem. Yet again, they were caught with their proverbial hands in the cookie jar.

“So now what? We took care of the Hispanics and the blacks and now the white employees are offended? Just what the hell are we supposed to do now?” Thomas asked to a roomful of blank stares and intimidated glances.

One particularly brazen male attorney decided to respond. Heath Andersen was one of the less nerdy attorneys that specialized in contractual law.

Mentally, Natalie had given herself to this man on many occasions, each time leaving her exhausted and in need of a change of underwear. She even created the details of his life in accordance with the love affair they maintained in the recesses of her mind.

Natalie imagined him going to small, quaint coffee shops with her and coming home to a sparsely furnished condo with a few expensive pieces.

She saw him owning extravagant skin and body lotions that smelled of sandalwood and citrus At least, that was the scent that lingered when he brushed past her to get to his seat at the long executive meeting table. After three reconnaissance visit’s to Bergdorf’s, she found out that the fragrance was called Borghese and was priced at $150 an ounce.

Heath was a mesmerizing sight. His brilliantly colored form was a contrast to the large black chair that he commanded. He seemed out of place in his crisp white shirt and European tie that was loosened just enough to reveal the trace of a ribbed wife beater beneath it. His body was perfectly sculpted with just the right balance of toned muscle and a thickness that made him irresistible. His demeanor suggested that he was aware of the fact that he was born to be a model, but chose to becomea lawyer to show another dimension of himself.

When he rose to speak, both of the women in the room focused their attention squarely on him, fully prepared to lavish him with the undivided attention that his presence demanded. He captured the perfect natural lighting of the sun that beamed from the floor to ceiling windows of the conference room, which lent him the look of a Greek Adonis as his olive colored skin struggled to compete with the naturally curly dark hair that spilled carelessly from his head. Aware of his captivated audience, he began to speak.

“Tom, I gotta tell you, I actually don’t think we should rush to a response with this one. Because they extended a settlement resolution with their suit, they want to avoid litigation. This means one of two things. Either they don’t have substantial evidence that will hold up in court, or they can’t finance a long drawn out proceeding. Either way, the ball is in our court.” Heath said confidently as he took his seat.

Thomas’ face turned beet red as he responded to the statement. “How the hell can you say that? The media alone will crucify us, not to mention the fact that our stock prices have been declining since their press release. The shareholders will have our asses if we screw this up anymore. We can’t afford to roll over and let this ride like some type of cunt case.” Tom Paxton said, carefully avoiding the eyes of Arlinda and Natalie.

A “cunt case” was what the big execs at the company called sexual harassment claims filed by what they thought were women more than willing to spread their legs to advance in the company. The company stance was usually to settle out of court with the agreement that the women would not seek any further damages or violate a discretionary clause prohibiting them from discussing the case or seeking further damages. Though this was immoral and swimmingly illegal, the women usually took the deal in hopes that it would give them leverage in the company. While they were typically promoted to higher management positions, their pay was far inferior to men in the position that they held, and they often resigned due to their recognition of the catch twenty two that they hastily plunged themselves into.

It was rumored that Arlinda was one of the women that benefited from such a questionable rise to position. Perhaps it was why she gasped when Tom made the lewd comment, despite his audience. The fact that her position was at best, a conciliatory gift, forced her to retain her silence, though she was moved to outrage. Natalie could not hold her contempt.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Paxton. It’s unfortunate that we are in this position, but it’s comments like those that will keep us in them.” Natalie said careful not to sound too emotional and discredit the impact of her statement.

“Absolutely Tom. If you’re going to act like a pig, at least grant us the graces of doing it behind our backs.” Arlinda said after summoning the courage.

Taken aback, Tom grunted and shook his head. Natalie was in his line of fire and he secretly blamed her for the current fiasco.
“Look ladies, I didn’t mean to offend you, but you’re playing with the big boys now. If we can’t be brutally honest here, then what’s the point?” Tom asked in a tone that suggested that he resented their presence.
A few of the lawyers grunted a “yeah” to show their solidarity with Tom’s bullish temperament. This infuriated Heath in the way that white boys get so angry that they can’t contain their composure. His voice cracked a little as he began to speak.
“The point is, Tom, that you are a leader in this company and you have, at least a corporate responsibility, to be politically and culturally sensitive. And frankly,…you haven’t done a great job at that. We are constantly putting out fires because of your indignant and asinine attitudes. That and comments like it, is why we have to have a ten man counsel to defend this company." He briefly paused fffect. "Is it that hard for you to listen to a voice of reason every now and then?” Heath asked said before a hushed audience.
He knew that he had crossed the line. Though Smith-Line was contractually bound to honor his annual $350,000 salary, he could still be dismissed. He had violated the cardinal law by going against the boys club that was established in Smith-Line management, and Thomas Paxton, was the ringleader. He knew that by crossing him in such a public way, he would be blackballed from the most important client meetings.
He knew that his name would suddenly disappear from the list of arbitrary bonuses distributed to the attorneys for their performance. Knowing all of this, he laid back, flush against his chair and watched as all of the other attorneys struggled not to make eye contact with him.
Natalie found herself moved by his brazen candor but refused to let herself show even the slightest emotion. She then thought it appropriate that a gentleman speak up, they were after all, in the presence of ladies.
Tom was visibly annoyed by the ordeal and showed it by grunting and shaking his head as he rose from his seat. Using the edge of the cherry wood conference table as leverage, he rose and began to pace the room. Shoving both hands in his pocket, he started speaking angrily.
“To answer your question, Heath, I do listen to the voice of reason. In fact it is my voice of reason that has kept this company afloat for the past fifteen years. And I realize this may pale in comparison to a shiny Harvard law degree, but I tend to think they have the right man at the helm. I have weathered employee walkouts, lay offs, the unions, two ex-wives, and hell, even a scandal or two that was exploited by the press. But do you want to know the one thing that separates me from those pricks that try to can me everyday? I’ll tell you…balls! I roll the dice and I don’t flinch when shit doesn’t fall in my favor. I don’t whine when someone doesn’t call me by the politically correct name and I don’t bitch because somebody decides that they don’t quite like me. I say fuck ‘em and feed ‘em fish. I am the leader of a multi-billion dollar organization and they eat beans for dinner.” He waved his hands emphatically to punctuate his statements.
“And you know what? It burns people that I am willing to say exactly what is on my mind. I am about results, the kind that you can cash. And public opinion? Gimme a fucking break! Those reporters are nothing more than some second rate whores willing to sell their first born for an exclusive scoop. Humph, I may be called some pretty nasty things, but what they will call me is honest. So you will excuse me if I am not politically correct. Ladies, you have my sincere apology for any perceived disrespect. I just want everybody to understand that Smith Line backs down from no one, especially those idiots filing this ridiculous lawsuit.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Paxton”, a brown nosing attorney chimed in.
Heath couldn’t allow the monologue to go unchallenged.
“Tom, nobody here is questioning your years of experience. I am merely saying that I feel like our approach should be conservative and strategic, so that we can manipulate what is put out about the company. I say stall for at least a year and then offer a settlement one quarter of what they’re asking. That gives the media time to forget about it, and it saves us the effort of defending ourselves against claims on the individual level. After a year and no pay, people usually remove themselves from a class action suit, lessening it’s strength. That alone will save us a couple of million in legal proceedings.” Heath offered assuredly.
Tom was unimpressed.
“And just what are we supposed to do in the meanwhile? I got reporters up my ass pressuring the ACLU to look into our hiring practices, not to mention the judiciary review pending with the Equal Opportunity Commission. The last thing we need to do is run scared. We might as well give them the companon a silver platter if we do that. Isn’t there a way for us to do some damage control for Christ’s sake?” Tom asked rubbing his temples in preparation for the migraine that was looming.
Natalie never understood why so many people insisted on using that term yet never so much as thought of praying when faced with problems like this. Though Tom was a bigot and a jerk, he was passionate, and Natalie respected that. She respected Heath for putting his status on the line for the sake of correcting a well-noted wrong in Tom’s behavior.
It had always been hard for her to relate to white men, ever since her days at Yale. They always made it unquestionably clear that she was there for affirmative action reasons and not the merit of her educational achievement. She competed with many of them head on academically.
She recalled receiving an A in her Applied Business Theory class for her model of a high return yielding savings and loan operation. She had studied the history of the defunct type of business entity and even traveled to New York to speak with former employees. She felt the A was well deserved and relished in the fact as she bragged to one of her classmates.
As she exited the class, she heard two of her white male classmates suggest that her grade was given to her only because she would loose her scholarship if she failed the class. That was the beginning of a future of combative relationships with men, and more particularly, white men.
She amazed herself in her dealings with Thomas Paxton, as he was the most blatant racist and sexist that she had ever countered. Heath was the exact opposite, and she struggled with herself not to be attracted to him.
The meeting progressed with the lawyers exchanging information with Tom as they etched a plan to address their latest debacle. By the end of the meeting, it was decided that the company would offer a settlement one tenth of the requested amount and if it was not accepted, they would tie the case up in legal proceedings for a couple of years before they made another incremental settlement offer.
Tom was visibly unpleased with the arrangement, but decided not to go against the plan. Heath sat back in his chair with his jaw tightened. He had not said much during the talks and Natalie could tell that he was purposely not investing much into the strategy. Tom adjourned the meeting as he normally did and the participants scuttled about the room as they left.
Arlinda approached Natalie and started talking to her about how ridiculous Tom was. Natalie allowed the woman to vent without contributing to the conversation. She decided that she would not engage Arlinda because it would jeopardize her own objectivity as a contractor with the company, and that was the last thing that she needed.
As Arlinda walked away, Natalie noticed Heath waiting for the elevator. She walked over glancing at her watch, suggesting, non-verbally at least, that she did not notice Heath’s presence. When the ring of the elevator bell summoned, she looked up from her notes only to find Heath watching her.
“You shouldn’t get so angry with Tom. His ignorance is not his fault. It’s many years of inbreeding with cousins.” Heath said warmly to Natalie as they shared the elevator. His smile was shy but genuine and put Natalie at ease.
“I actually knew that he was an ass, I just didn’t know how big of an ass that he was. So much for don’t ask, don’t tell.” Natalie returned in her attempt at wit.
“I hope that you don’t think all of us are white devils, some of us are okay you know?” Heath asked with the same smile and nervous attempt at racial humor.
Natalie thought it brave of him and rewarded him with a wide smile and open-mouthed chuckle. The thirty second ride lasted for what seemed like hours in a shared awkward silence between the two. As the door opened to the lobby, Natalie warmly told Heath that she didn’t hold that sentiment of him and began to exit the elevator. Perhaps feeling confident withesponse from Natalie, Heath rushed to catch up with her.
“So since you don’t hate me, does that mean that you will join me for lunch?” Heath asked as one the unruly tendrils of black and auburn hair fell out of its perfectly gelled coif. It gave him a wild, yet tailored look against the backdrop of his heavily starched white shirt and well tailored Oswald Boateng suit.
Natalie found it irresistible but chose not to act on her first instinct. She decided that she would not allow this beautiful white man to add an exotic looking black woman to his list of conquests.
“I would love to, but I have a meeting on the other side of town, so maybe next time, okay?” Instinctively, Natalie reached for her purse and handed him her card.
Noticeably shocked by her refusal, Heath nodded in agreement and accepted the card. He wondered if the fact that he was white, by her definition, influenced her decision. As he watched her exit the building, he couldn’t help but allow his eyes to travel to the roundness just beneath her waist. He smiled to himself as he thought of her in a lustful way and made his way to the garage to his most recent German engineered bonus from Smith-Line.

Chapter 11 Ilene

Who knew a tropical island could be so dreadful? Ilene had convinced Charles to leave for St. Lucia two weeks after he presented her with the tickets. Her haste was brought on partly by a need to reconnect with a husband who was growing tired of her ways, but predominantly by a brief encounter she had with Paul Cummings. She struggled to maintain the jubilation that Charles felt with his new found lease on his marriage. Ilene thought it nothing more than an obligatory situation that required the occasional maintenance. This trip was exactly that.

She was relieved that her husband was still otherwise ignorant of her dealings with Paul Cummings. Her fear that he would catch on to her barrage of lies and absences fueled her fervor to maintain absolute order with Paul.

One week before the trip to St. Lucia, Ilene had an encounter with Paul that made her question if she could continue to keep secrets from her husband.

She checked the account activity that Paul usually made discreet payments to on a monthly basis. After noticing the deposit amounts were growing smaller and smaller, she decided that she would pay him a visit to remind him of his obligation.

As she waited in her car, across the parking lot outside of his office, she sank down into the bucket seats, careful not to look too obvious. After about an hour of waiting, Paul emerged from his midtown office and headed straight to his car. Ilene figured that he was on his way home, so she had planned the intersection where she would pull up next to him and demand an impromptu meeting to discuss their arrangement.

As Paul approached the anticipated intersection, he made a left instead of proceeding straight, suggesting that home was not his next destination. Thrown off a bit, Ilene cautiously followed him to a cigar parlor in Buckhead called Bailey and Banks and parked in a nearby parking space across the street from where Paul had parked his BMW 745 IL.

Ilene thought the establishment a bit pretentious for Paul, since he claimed an indignant disdain for the affluent black establishment in Atlanta. She decided that she would enter the establishment without hesitation and walk directly to Paul. She would demand that the agreed upon payments resume or she would reveal his secret to the world.

As Ilene entered the establishment, she was quickly greeted by the stench of cigars and a dimly lit mahogany encased seating area. The bar was expansive and had crystal accents that suggested that it was handcrafted just for that venue. The letters BB were tastefully monogrammed onto cloth napkins that were perfectly folded on the china that sat atop the tables in the private dining room. A massive crystal tear drop chandelier centered the room and gave everything a look of radiance. As the witers and waitresses hurriedly prepared the space, Ilene suspected that there would be a meeting of some important dignitaries and wondered if Paul would be included.

Scanning the room for Paul, Ilene was disappointed that she could not find him in the room of distinguished looking businessmen. Perhaps she should return here another day to do some prospecting.

She settled into a corner table in the parlor and quietly looked for Paul. Struggling to make out the faces of the men in the dimly lit atmosphere challenged Ilene. The bar offered a mysterious ambiance of hushed conversations and million dollar business deals, legal and otherwise.

Ilene reclined in the plush velvet seat and eyed Paul engrossed in conversation with a white haired black man dressed stylishly for his age. The men did not look up, not even when the bar maid attended to their cigars or refreshed their aged brandy. The intensity of the conversation suggested to Ilene that there was a relationship between the men, sexual or otherwise.

Pretending to be a visitor to the Atlanta area, Ilene engaged one of the bar maids in mindless banter about the parlor. She feigned an interest in the dignitaries that frequented the establishment like the former mayor of Atlanta and the pioneering president of Morehouse College.

From the hapless waitress, Ilene was able to discover that the white haired man was William Bronteau, a club owner and well known businessman in the area. It was rumored that he was one of the backers of the infamous Gold Club, a high end strip club in Atlanta that was raided. The club was prime property in the heart of Atlanta and soon was acquired by the city which quickly converted it to office space for the Department of Housing and Urban Development.

Ilene struggled to figure out the relationship between the two men, but could not find anything to link them. She assumed that the relationship wasn’t sexual because both men stood to loose substantially if the rumor mills were fed such salacious evidence.

Ilene renewed her dedication by walking in the direction of the table. Paul’s back was facing Ilene. She did capture the attention of Bill Bronteau, who eyed her suspiciously as she approached. Distracted by his company’s distracted glare, Paul instinctively turned to see what drew his attention. When Paul saw Ilene, his otherwise pleasant facial expression morphed into an uncomfortable growl that begged to know why she was present. He quickly adjusted his glasses as he did when he was nervous and rose to offer an in genuine greeting to Ilene, in the hopes that she would not make a scene.

“My, my, my. Hello Ilene. How are you?” Paul asked attempting to mask his nervousness and using his infamous political voice.

Recognizing this, Ilene knew that she capitalized on her powerful position and wore an expression that proclaimed her knowledge. She allowed Paul to hug her as she whispered in his ear that they needed to talk immediately. The urgency in her voice prompted him not to toy with her. Paul was careful. He quickly introduced Ilene as a business associate and excused himself so that he could speak with Ilene.

He whisked her away to the one of the private dining rooms and closed the large mahogany door for added privacy. “So what the fuck do you think you’re doing Paul?” Ilene angrily quizzed.

Clearly assailed by Ilene’s comment, Paul threw up his hands like he was blocking imaginary bows speared in his direction. “What are you talking about?” Paul asked, looking genuinely miffed by Ilene’s comment.

“Don’t fucking play with me, you faggot. You know exactly what I am talking about. You stopped making your installments and I know you don’t want me to let your dirty little secret out of the bag.” Ilene scoffed.

Seemingly unmoved by her perceived power and in a symbolic gesture, Paul rolled his eyes as if she was boring him with what she was saying.

“You know Ilene, this shit has become a bit juvenile, een for you. I don’t know what kind of bullshit you are trying to sell, but I aint buying. Not with another dime of my money. You seem to have a little dirty laundry yourself, so I would suggest you rethink the theatrics. Okay?” Paul then painted on a false smile and patted Ilene on the shoulder.

Ilene seethed as Paul threatened not only to permanently stop her income, but to also expose her lifelong secret to her husband. She had clearly lost control of the situation and Paul knew it. She was not willing to allow the tables to be turned on her. She stood absolutely still until her mind was clear and she could return the venom that was being launched her way.

“You fucked any young boys lately, or have you just let them eat your dick, daddy?” Ilene asked while laughing cynically.
Paul could no longer contain his anger and struck Ilene across the face. The blow shocked Ilene as she fell helplessly to the floor.
She was incensed and immediately grabbed the crystal vase that sat on the buffet that she fell near. With all of her might, she launched it at Paul, who in turn, ducked at the projectile coming towards him. The vase smashed against the wall into a thousand radiant pieces that resembled tiny diamonds against the dark hardwood floors.
Laughing at Ilene’s feeble attempt to injure him, Paul walked over and knelt where Ilene cowered on the floor, grabbed the front of her blouse and forcefully jerked her close to his face.
“You spoiled little bitch, you can’t destroy me. See, I ‘m not the dumb niggah you think I am. I did a little homework and found out a few less than stellar things about you Ilene. Funny, I never pictured you for a thief. But then again, like momma said, when you lie, you steal…By the way, how are the kids? Oh yeah, I know about that little thing.” Paul uttered while staring Ilene in the eyes.
Neither one of them flinched as Paul continued talking.
“Now we can go on and live nice lives drama free or you can make this hard for yourself. Yeah, you can blow the whistle. I’ll have my spin people down play the story and make you look like a fucking raving idiot. Your husband will leave you and then what? One of your friends will take you in? Doubt it. You better play nice, bitch, or it will be more than your husband you loose.” Paul said in almost in a whisper.
He smirked and then rose to his feet. After shooting Ilene a menacing look, he ceremoniously straightened his tie and smoothed the wrinkles in his suit. He gave the political smile that he had been trained to give and exited the room, carefully closing the heavy wooden door behind him.
Ilene sat with her make up running and whimpering, still shaken by what Paul said to her. She wondered how he knew about her children and who he had been talking to. She needed control. She needed to be back on top. She refused to let Paul ruin everything that she had worked so hard for. She reached for her bag and grabbed her compact so that she could mask the bruise on her face.
After applying her MAC Honeynut Concealer, she smoothed her hair and got up from the cold hardwood floor. She was determined to make Paul pay, at any cost.
As she exited the room, she noticed that Paul had returned to the table and his company. He looked up at her with a smirk on his face and then resumed his conversation.
This infuriated Ilene as she stormed out of the parlor. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she emerged into the cool Atlanta air. It shocked her into the reality of her situation and reminded her that she decided to follow Paul to the parlor where she had such a horrible experience.
She regretted her decision, but refused to indulge in self pity. She felt that pity was for the weak, and she was anything but weak. After finding her keys in the bottom of her Marc Jacobs bag, she pressed the remote to unlock her doors.
She began to walk towards her Mercedes and noticed Paul’s shiny BMW. Without missing a beat, she reached for the metal fingernail file and stabbed a jagged hole into the front tire. She then dragged the key against the finish of the car, making sure that she applied enough pressure to penetrate several layers. To add final insult to injury, she spat on the door handle.
Ilene eyed the environment to see if there were any witnesses. Everyone seemed preoccupied with their own dealings and paid little attention to Ilene’s mischief. She quickly entered her car and sped off.
On the way home, Ilene searched her mind for ways that Paul could know of the secret that she had managed to keep from her husband and the rest of the world for over 27 years. She wondered what else he was able to uncover. Now worried for her marriage, she decided that she would push her travel date up to give her some time to think of her next move, safely away from the danger of Atlanta and Paul Cummings.
She also made a decision to inform her husband of the skeletons in her closet before anyone else had a less savory version for him to consider. She pondered his possible reactions and thought it would be wise to tell him in a public place, perhaps over a dinner. She knew that he was far too reserved a man to make a scene, and would not dare striking her in the presence of others. It was decided. She would tell her husband of the two children that she left in Trinidad for him. She hoped that his judgment would not be too harsh, as she knew that he would never lack the moral fiber that she did. Never allowing herself to believe that she “abandoned” her children, she reasoned that her departure was for their benefit and quietly financed their education with questionable funds. This way, she would ensure them of the life of private education and privilege that they should have and the rest of her world would never be disturbed. So she thought.

Chapter 12 Marc

It had been five days since Marc last spoke to Sherise. He knew that her decision to abort the pregnancy was not one she willingly arrived at, but was pleased nonetheless that she finally came to her senses.

He now regularly questioned if the pregnancy was planned, but reminded himself repeatedly that it was his own drunkenness that made him neglect the condoms on his night stand.

Marc was the picture of nervousness as he sat at his desk, impatiently counting the minutes before he could meet Sherise at the clinic. He hated the idea of going to a clinic for anything, but thought that Sherise would be offended if he offered her the card of a private Georgetown educated gynecologist that he knew, and at one point, briefly dated.

He had talked at length with the doctor about the physical and emotional side effects of termination of a pregnancy. Marc decided that he would finance sessions with a psychiatrist he heard about for Sherise to help her deal with the termination of their pregnancy.

It was closely approaching 10:00 am, and Marc cleared the rest of his day so that he could be with Sherise for support. He didn’t think of himself as heartless and thought this would be a good way for the two to mend their fences. More importantly, he needed proof of the act. He was all too aware of stories his frat brothers told about women lying about abortions and using the money to finance shopping sprees and spring break vacations, only to come back needing more money for a now more costly procedure after three months had passed. Some of the more brazen females mockingly teased the men that they were never pregnant in the first place. Marc often held his breath in the hopes that Sherise would be so cunning, but knew she wasn’t sophisticated enough to tailor a tale that elaborate.

He decided that he would catch the train so that he would have a little walk to the metro station to clear his head. It proved to be an eventless voyage as he found himself staring mindlessly at the orange carpet that lined the trains. As he approached the clinic, his heart raced with nervous anticipation they way that it did just before his father learned of his terrible behavior in school when he was a rebellious teenager.

He reached for one of the metal bars that covered the doors and windows and pulled the door open with one thrust. The waiting room was starkly lit by fluorescent lights with stained covers. It gave the room a distorted color that suggested filth and uncleanliness. It lent the office an aura of shame and secrecy that Mark hated.

The receptionist was housed in a tiny office that had a glass cut out just large enough for her face and an even smaller opening for the charts and paperwork clipped to the clipboards that patients were given to complete. The pen was chained to the desk, compelling Marc to assume that the persons who frequented the establishment had questionable ethics and had to be treated in that manner.

He resented the fact that Sherise was so unapologetically ghetto and willing to wear it as her own badge of honor. Nevertheless, their joint actions brought them to this point and he was not about to leave his future in the hands of this otherwise irrelevant person.

“Hi, I am waiting for my…friend. Has Sherise Jenkins signed in?” Marc asked in a polite, but professional tone.
The receptionist looked up from reading one of the charts as if Marc had disturbed her from completing a masterpiece. Clearly annoyed, she blurted, “Is her name on the sign in sheet?”
Marc glanced down at the long list while mouthing “this bitch” in a tone inaudible to even the well trained ear.
“I actually don’t see it up here”, he replied and smiled. As soon as the words left his mouth he was answered with more venom.
“Well then I guess she aint here, sir.”
Marc was insulted that the poorly trained and visibly unprofessional person that sat before him felt that adding sir to a rude comment somehow endorsed it. He glanced at the clock and it was 10:15.
He figured it was in Sherise’s character to arrive late and blame it on the poor public transit system. She would then implore Marc to co-sign for a vehicle on her behalf. He would refuse and the argument of the hour would ensue. He weakly sighed as he considered the possibility of her absence.
He sat in one of the uncomfortable resin chairs and waited for Sherise. Staring intently at the door, Marc attempted to will her arrival. The clock marched past ten thirty and then eleven o’clock. Marc boiled in his seat as he saw dazed teens come in and leave the questionable clinic. None of them were Sherise.
At eleven forty five, Marc angrily got up from the chair and stood at the door. In his mind, this was symbolic of his last stand and he mentally vowed that he would no longer tolerate Sherise’s antics.
He didn’t know where she was, but he was damned sure of what she was up to. He immediately thought of yesterday when he reviewed his bank statement online and saw that Sherise cashed the check the very day that he wrote it to her.
“Little conniving bitch. Who the fuck…!” Marc started yelling as he walked away from the clinic. There was no audience but Marc continued.
“I should fucking kill that bitch. I know one guddamned thing...” Marc screamed as people started to stare at him curiously.
He walked wildly and flailing his arms like he was preparing for a heavy weight bid for the championship. He shook his head in disbelief as he often did when he was angered by something.
Just as he entered a cab to head back to his office, his cell phone rang. The caller I.D. had a number that he didn’t recognize, so he ignored it, knowing that he did not have the patience to deal with a new person, let alone anyone wanting him to do work at his office.
After mumbling his home address to the cab driver, Marc closed his eyes. He covered his mouth with his right hand and then exhaled deeply as he sorted through the maze of emotions in his mind. He wanted desperately to cry, but was taught by his father that men suffer quietly and use their pain as strength. A man’s strength is his worth and respect, if challenged can never be restored.
It pained Marc to think about sharing a child with the woman who was nothing more than a one night stand. He knew that he did not want to father a child with Sherise, no matter what. He could not see any good result from it and refused to let himself fantasize about the son he secretly longed for, only not with Sherise. Illegal and violent actions to rid himself of Sherise drifted through his mind, but he convinced himself to neglect them.
As the taxi driver pulled near his doorstep, Marc pulled out a crisp twenty dollar bill and gave it to him. “Thanks, my man.” Marc said to him as he stepped out of the car. “Thanks, brah”, the cab driver returned and pulled away from the curb.
Marc walked slowly up the stairs that led to his brownstone as if he were hesitant about going home. The space was expansive and nicely appointed, but he just never felt that it was lived in. It was the place that he brought the occasional date to for the night. It was the place where he entertained and impressed his boys with his expensive furniture and pricey art work. It wasn’t home. It didn’t tell loving stories about togetherness. It did not have women’s toiletries sprinkled here and there. As much as Marc declared that he wanted to avoid serious commitments, he loathed the idea of waking up alone in his bed every morning.
As he turned the key into the house, he felt his feelings of anger towards Sherise resurface when he saw a note taped to the door. He cursed himself for falling prey to her generic games. Marc entered the foyer of the brownstone where they shared their first sexual interlude while staring at the small envelope with his name written neatly on it. He opened it immediately, not surprised that it was a letter from Sherise that attempted to normalize what she had done. It read:

Marc,
I know that if you are reading this, you didn’t find me at the clinic. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I just couldn’t do it. I know I owe you your money back, and I will pay you back. As for me and this baby, we gonna be alright. I don’t want nothing from you. I decided that it would be best if I left for a while to get things sorted out. Don’t worry, I will be fine. I am sorry that things couldn’t work out for us, but I think you’re a nice guy. Please don’t be mad.
-Sherise
Marc was incensed. “Who the hell does this broad think she is?” Marc asked to an empty room.
He was not going to let Sherise force him into having this kid. He knew the game. She would say she didn’t want anything and then disappear, only to come back years later wanting her to stake her claim.
His father had warned him of how cunning women could be and he often suspected that his father’s collective knowledge on the matter derived directly from experiences with the woman that insisted she become his wife after he got her pregnant. Twenty seven years later, and he was still paying for the same mistake. Marc would not be like his father. He had a say in the matter, and he was going to find Sherise to make her hear it.
He grabbed his cell phone to call her, only find the message indicator light blinking on it. He put in his code to check his messages and found that it was Reggie reminding him of the fraternity’s Annual Bachelor’s Auction. He deleted the message before he heard the end of it and called Sherise’s house. After two rings, someone answered and informed him that Sherise was not there.
Undaunted, Marc grabbed his coat and headed out the door. He was lucky enough to hail a cab on his first attempt, a veritably rare phenomenon for black men in Washington, DC. He instructed the cab driver to take him to the Hair Affair Salon in Southeast. The cab driver turned and looked at him questionably. When Marc returned his look with a stern and unwavering stare, the driver then told him that it would be fifteen dollars. Internally humored at the driver’s feeble attempt to discourage him from staying in the cab, thereby forcravel to southeast, Marc smirked. “Sounds good to me man. In fact, here is twenty if you can get me there in a hurry.” Marc said to the visibly nervous Indian cab driver. After snatching the money from Marc’s hand and mumbling something in Arabic, the cab driver pulled away from the curb violently and began his trip to the notoriously criminal and predominantly black southeast borough of DC.
Marc recited the letter in his mind over and over again, attempting to gather additional meaning from the words that Sherise wrote. He drew a blink. He was certain that Sherise was not going to just fade away quietly. She wanted something, but she had underestimated him.

As the cab driver entered the tip of southeast, Marc noticed him glance backwards to make sure that the doors were locked. Marc assumed that the driver probably had a weapon stored somewhere nearby for situations like this. He only slowed at stop signs and eyed everyone suspiciously when he was forced to remain stopped because of the traffic lights. The streets of southeast were littered with fast food bags and miscellaneous discarded items of residents ill concerned with the aesthetics of their neighborhood. The people there defied their surroundings. Little girls with brightly colored barrettes in their hair jumped rope carelessly in a way that mocked their dismal surroundings. Proud business owners still kept their storefronts clean, though the effort paled in comparison to the amounts of litter that accumulated along the streets. It moved Marc that the neighborhood he scoffed at was more authentic than the contrived urban utopia that was created in his neighborhood as a result of extensive gentrification and random policing.

The cab driver slowed near the hair salon and prepared to stop. There were a group of teenagers standing where he needed to stop. The driver’s apprehension was apparent, so Marc took him out of his misery. “Right here is good man. I can get out and walk.” Marc said as he prepared to get out. The driver simply nodded and pulled the cab to the curb. As Marc exited the cab, he waited for the driver to say thank you. Annoyed by the gesture, Marc extended an aggravated “thank you” and slammed the door.

The group of teenagers glanced over him once and dismissed him, more enthused with the freestyle battle that they were engaged in. Marc walked up to the hair salon and exhaled deeply in preparation for the scrutiny he was about to subject himself to. The door swung open as he approached it. A very attractive woman pranced out with a closely cropped hair style that seemed to frame her face perfectly. Marc found that he savored her look, though he traditionally chose women with long hair. The woman with the freshly styled hair noticed his attraction and lingered just long enough to make eye contact, smile, and walk away. The hair had a stench that resembled raw eggs and Marc covered his nose instinctively, but later moved his hand in fear of offending the otherwise hostile women in the salon.

Marc moved confidently towards the receptionist after a quick scan of the salon for Sherise. “Hi, I’m looking for Sherise. Is she working today?” Marc asked making sure that he smiled through his question.

He hoped that his charm might win over the receptionist. This was not the same woman that he encountered on his first visit to the salon. “And you are?” The receptionist asked more for personal reasons than Marc’s inquiry.
“Oh, I am a personal friend of hers. My name is Marc. She still works here, right?” Marc asked, trying to gather clues about
Sherise’s whereabouts.
The receptionist was less than receptive to his charm. “Yeah, she works here but she won’t be back until next week.

I think she went down south to visit somebody. You said your name was Marc? Oh, that’s right. I know who you are...you her baby’s daddy, right? She said that you would be coming around this week.”

Marc’s grimace announced his irritation with the term “baby daddy� and he merely nodded his head to continue the flow of the conversation.

“Actually, she told me that you and her didn’t have anything to discuss and not to give you the number to where she is. I mean, she ‘aint bothering you. She don’t want none of yo’ money. Isn’t that what you wanted?” The receptionist said.

This infuriated Marc, but he wasn’t about to let it show. “Really, this is between Sherise and I. I don’t know you, and you can safely assume that you don’t know me. I just want to talk to her to make sure that everything is okay.”
“So now you care about how she’s doing? Puh-lease! It’s niggahs like you that mess it up for us black women now. She told me about you, and no, I aint givin’ you her number so you can stress her out some more. Just leave her alone.” The receptionist said angrily as she moved her head in a circular motion.
Marc was overcome by anger. He lunged forward violently, stopping just short of the receptionist, and slammed his hand on the wooden counter.
The receptionist instinctively flinched and then stretched her eyes in a manner that suggested that she dared Marc to touch her.
Marc was unmoved by this. Obviously, Sherise gave this woman the impression that he would go for this kind of disrespect.
“Alright. Look, you don’t know me. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck about what you think about me. This is none of your business. What you need to do is get your nose out of my shit and worry about when your fucking welfare check is coming. I don’t know what Sherise told you, but you must have me fucked up. If you’re not going to give me the number, then fine. But I would advise you to keep your simple assed opinions to yourself.” Marc angrily said to the irate receptionist.
“Just who the fuck do you think you talkin’ to? Sell out motherfucka! Sherise might let you talk to her like that, but me, I aint no little girl. And you aint’ gonna come in here huffin’ and puffin thinking somebody’s gonna jump. You betta’ get yo’ yellow ass the fuck out of my face before some shit gets ugly.” The receptionist returned as she rose from her seat revealing her full figure and challenging Marc’s will.
Just as Marc was about to reply, an middle aged woman with almond colored skin and slanted eyes approached Marc and reached for him.
Instinctively, Marc snatched his arm back in protection of himself from the stranger that approached him.
“Hi Marc, my name is Elisha. I own the shop. I apologize for Brenda, but I can’t have you disrupting my clients. Come and take a breather with me so you can calm down.” The stranger said to Marc as she reached for him again.
Brenda the receptionist was agitated by Elisha’s comment and fired back one of her own. “Don’t apologize for me Elisha. He came in here disrespecting me. I don’t appreciate that and I don’t have to tolerate that. He owes me an apology.” Brenda said as she stood with her hands on her hips.
Marc was taken aback by the statement and bit his bottom lip to avoid cursing the receptionist for making such an asinine statement.
Noting this, Elisha quickly interceded and asked Brenda to answer the ringing phone lines. Begrudgingly, Brenda sat and began to answer the phone lines, all while rolling her eyes at Marc.
Elisha seized the opportunity to whisk Marc out of the line of fire.
“So, you’re the one Sherise’s been talking about.” Elisha said to Marc after they were safely outside of the shop.
Marc was hesitant about being guarded with Elisha. He didn’t think it was necessary. She seemed to show semblance of intelligence, and probably was not about to assail him.
“Yes, I am the big bad wolf, if you let her tell it.” Marc said was exaggerated exasperation in his voice.
“No, no, no. Nobody said that. I know that there are two sides to every story, so I can’t say that. And anyway, it’s really not our business. It’s between you and Sherise. We’re just a littlprotective of her. She still has a lot to learn.” Elisha said in a calm, mellow voice.
It put Marc at ease and made him feel comfortable about talking to her. She had the deepness in her voice that made her words sound sexy and alluring. Marc appreciated her demure demeanor and secretly had sex with her in his mind as she spoke.
“Thanks for having an open mind. I wish all sisters could be like that.” Marc added emphasis on the later sentence and nodding in the direction that the receptionist was seated.
“It was really not my intention for things to end up like this with Sherise. I told her I didn’t want a relationship, and I definitely didn’t want a kid. Now, she’s somewhere scheming and I am supposed to sit around and deal with it? I don’t think so. I’m not calling your girl a gold digger, but this shit is a little too ironic. I mean, we meet in the club, have sex within the first four hours of knowing each other, and then she’s magically pregnant? How many times has she done this shit before? Your girl aint as innocent as you think.” Marc said.
Elisha decided not to get angry with Marc. Instead she would force him to take a look at himself as harshly as he viewed Sherise. “Oh, no, nobody’s saying that Sherise is innocent. But you strike me as an intelligent brother, so the thought of you getting with someone you met in the club, uhm…unprotected, seems a little dumb. I mean, not using a condom? Everybody knows that DC has one of the highest rates of reported cases of AIDS. Real talk. That’s just stupid, and from the looks of you, I don’t think she held you down and forced your ding-a-ling inside of her. Was she scheming? Probably…Did you get caught slippin’? Absolutely. But the blame is not all hers. How much of this could have been avoided if you didn’t take her home with you?” Elisha said and waited for Marc to respond.
He flinched when she mentioned AIDS, but quickly shut the thoughts out of his mind. He wondered how much of the story Sherise revealed to these strangers. He felt violated that they had such intimate knowledge of him and he barely recalled their names.
“You’re right. I could have said no, but I went into this knowing damned well that it was just one night. I told her that and she said she was cool with that. Then she started trying to be with me, and that was not what I wanted. She is not my type. I mean, she’s cool and everything, but for someone else. I know that she’s trying to have this baby to keep me, but that’s only going to make things worse.” Marc said in a pleading tone.
As if she had disregarded everything else Marc said, Elisha asked, “What do you mean she’s not your type?”
“I mean, she’s just not …, I can’t see her…., we’re just too different. Like I said, for somebody else, she might be perfect. For me, she’s just not…”
“Good enough?” Elisha asked as she raised her eyebrow. Marc’s face grew red as the commented flustered him.
“No, I never said anything like that…” Marc began.
“But that’s how you’re acting. You didn’t even want her to call you at work. That’s more fucked up than a little bit. Don’t you think?” Elisha asked as she folded her arms.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I told her not to call because she kept getting into arguments with my assistant. But you know what, none of that is important. Sherise is playing a game. I just need to know where she is. If she’s keeping the baby, which is the dumbest thing she could do, then that’s what it is. But, she is not going drag me all over the courts trying to get my money because she opened her legs. I don’t owe her anything. Not now, not ever. So do you know where she is or not?” Marc asked as he grew agitated.
Elisha remained even-tempered despite what she perceived as Marc’s elitist attitude. She then shifted her weight to one leg and began to speak to Marc with a renewed resolve to put him in his place.
“You know as well as I do tht I have her number, she works for me. That’s not the issue. She asked me, specifically, not to give it to you. While you may think that she is scandalous for what she’s doing, that’s your own thing. I think that maybe you need to take a long look at yourself before you judge her so harshly. She didn’t get pregnant by herself.” She paused to adjust her hair that was now being blown wildly by the wind.
“I will tell you that she will be back in about a week, so maybe you should try her back then. If I were you, I wouldn’t come at her the way you were talking today. Things might end up bad for you if you do.”
“So what? Now you’re trying to threaten me too?” Marc quizzed angrily.
“Brother, nobody’s threatening you. All I am saying is that Sherise is young with nothing to loose. Pissing on her won’t end up good for you. Believe me, I have seen it before, and you don’t want that. She always gets what she wants, no matter what…You take that how you want to.” Elisha said as she turned and begin to walk into the hair salon.
Marc grabbed her arm to attempt to stop her entrance into the hair salon.
“Man, what the hell is that supposed to mean? You telling me I should be afraid of this broad? Please! You better let your little friend know that I am not some okey doke niggah she can pull this shit on. She picked the wrong one.” Marc said as Elisha forcefully snatched her arm free from his grip.
“Whatever you say, just don’t bring that drama back to my shop. And you would like to keep your hands to yourself. You don’t know me like that.” Elisha commented, rolled her eyes, and entered the hair salon.
Marc stood outside bewildered and feeling out of control. He was angry that he hadn’t received the answer that he wanted. He was angry that he was trapped by a woman far below the standards he subconsciously set for the mother of his children. He was angry because he should have known better.
Marc pulled himself together and decided to leave the dank area that seemed to mock his misfortune. It seemed so appropriate that he would find the worst news of his life in such an environment of defeated goals and broken dreams. He walked for six blocks, not a taxi in sight. He was watched closely by area thugs who stalked his every move. Struggling to conceal the fear that crippled him, he assumed an exaggerated swagger and hoped that it would help him to bluff his way out of the neighborhood that was ethnically his, but socially and philosophically, completely foreign to him.
The guys crouched close to the ground rose from their craps game to acknowledge his presence. He gave his best rendition of a self assured nod and kept walking. The men, aware of Marc’s awkwardness, laughed at the gesture and returned to their game.
At last, he arrived at the Amoco station on South Dakota Avenue and was able to hail a reluctant cab driver to stop. Marc didn’t bother to berate the driver for taking so long to acknowledge him. He did not question when the driver demanded to be paid up front. He ignored the driver’s attempts at small talk. Instead, he gave his address and sat back in the cab with closed eyes.
He was shutting out the stench of the streets that he had just walked. He was shutting out the anger that surged each time he thought of Sherise. Nothing would disturb him for the rest of the night. He needed to sleep. Thinking seemed like a task far too difficult for him to conquer.

When he arrived at his home, he went right to bed, fully clothed. He scoffed at the blinking message light on his answering machine. He chose not to take out the trash that exuded a stench of day old Chinese food. He did not want to exist in his chaotic life. He longed for the peace that sleep offered, even if only for a few hours.

Chapter 13 Natalie

The past couple of weeks had been eventful for Natalie. She worked with her usual ambitious fervor, save the moments that she found herself locked into the abyss of her deiorating mental condition.

She regularly visited Dr. Reade who thought it was a good idea for her to increase her dosage of anti-depressants after her “episode” with Rodney at the service station. All of her attempts to ignore the plunge of her mental illness were futile.

The voices that Natalie heard in her childhood became louder and more violent. They were menacing and often cursed her and told her that she was dirty. She avoided mirrors, for fear that she would continue to see the filth her voices so loudly proclaimed. In an attempt to qualm the voices, Natalie submitted to hour long showers where she scrubbed her skin mercilessly with household cleansers. The abrasive cleansers began to take a toll on her skin, forcing her to find another way to wipe away the dirt that the old man with oily hands left when she was a little girl. The pH in the caused puss filled lesions on her skin that Natalie regularly scraped raw in her more cathartic moments. She secretly began to cut herself and found a peculiar joy in watching the “dirty” blood flow down the drain and away from her body.

She had developed a cynical view about her sickness, choosing to accept it as a part of her existence, rather than the diabolical mental anomaly that was invading her life. She reasoned that everyone probably heard voices, they simply masked it better than she was able to.

Her appointments with Dr. Reade went from once a week, to three times a week, and at her most vulnerable period, right after the “episode”, she was required to check in once a day.

The “episode” that launched Natalie into psychological turmoil started in earnest. She awoke one unassuming Tuesday morning and prepared for her day at work.

She laid out her grey Jones New York pantsuit and Manolo Blahnik pumps to prepare for her final meeting with Smith-Line pharmaceuticals. Careful not to wear anything that brought too much attention to herself, Natalie readied herself with her version of a power suit.

She prepared three nights in a row for her presentation to the company’s management body. She had been battling her pending depression by delving deep into her work. She had gathered four years of research and public sensitivity polling into a twenty page report that detailed the public resiliency trends and how this would impact their campaign. Natalie related in her report how to best exploit the trends in their favor. Work was what she needed to feel normal.

She was determined to prove to the doubting white men that hired her that she was worth every dime. Though she would adamantly argue otherwise, Natalie was still very affected by the way others perceived her worth.

The morning of the meeting was overcast, but Natalie refused to allow herself to call the clouds ominous. As Natalie smoothed the stray hairs in her shoulder length mane, she rechecked her perfectly applied MAC powder foundation and headed towards the door to her garage.

Her cell phone rang as she locked the door to her tri-level townhouse. Without looking at the Caller ID display, she answered the ring that sounded more urgent than usual. It was Sherry, the timid assistant to Thomas Paxton. She nervously asked if she was speaking to Natalie Logan and waited for confirmation. She then managed to collect her nerves and informed Natalie that Mr. Paxton and the management board thought it would be a good idea if she didn’t attend the meeting.

Smith-Line was going in another direction with the campaign, and severed the contract they had with Natalie and the company that employed her, effective immediately. The company decided that they were going to go with a larger firm to outsource their human resource and public relations issues.

This left Natalie in the line of fire, and she found herself among many of the unwitting victims of corporate downsizing. She knew that Thomas Paxton personally signed her walking papers, complete with his own chauvinist overtures that suggested that the campaign was an she could handle alone.

Smith-Line cited a line in their contract that allowed them to severe her contract at will without penalty. They graciously paid her negotiated fee of retainer; however, they made it clear that her services were no longer needed. She was going to be visited by a messenger with some “standard” paper work that needed to be completed. She had to sign confidentiality agreements that prohibited her from discussing the information she collected about the company with anyone.

After the messenger left, Natalie called the office and cancelled her appointments for the day. The heaviness of her depression enveloped her before she had an opportunity to fight it. The nervous feelings and anxiety manifested themselves as a continuous trembling that debilitated her attempts to pour herself a glass of water. The shaking, growing more intense as each moment evolved, forced the glass out of Natalie’s hand and onto the ceramic tiled floors in the kitchen. The sound bounced off of the walls and ceiling and echoed loudly in her mind.

It’s sound awoke the voices in her head and they all screamed in agony at once. Instinctively, Natalie cowered to the floor and covered her ears, hoping to shut out the indelible screams of the people that existed in the dark corners of her mind. She did not want to go here. She had come so far…Natalie’s voices decided to remind her of their presence.

The little girl named Mary that feared everything and everyone told her to go into the closet and hide from the dirty man.
The nasty middle-aged woman screamed obscenities at such cowardice act and dared the old man to come near her. She proclaimed that she would “fuck that dirty nigger up” if he ever touched her again.
The little girl was far too bashful to ever confront Vera, her louder and more opinionated counter part. Vera was the prominent voice that often berated Natalie in her moments of weakness. She hated Natalie for being such a pretentious, scared, and powerless victim.
The two voices, though completely separate in their disposition, always thought Natalie’s actions inappropriate and spoke when they were bothered that she was trying to ignore them. For years, Natalie had been successful at listening to them without response. Today was different. She decided she would challenge them and force them away from her for good.
In her prior attempts at sanity, Natalie had cried and begged them to leave her alone. They never relented. She had swallowed mouthfuls of pills hoping to escape them. Others called it a suicide attempt. The anti-depressants only suppressed them temporarily, as they saw it as Natalie’s preemptive strike against them. Their presence was overpowering her existence and she declared war on them.
As Natalie trembled on the cold ceramic floor in her kitchen, she felt a stinging in her hands and noticed that the glass that was slammed to the floor had managed to splinter and slice a deep gash on her foot. The blood that flowed from it comforted her.
Vera would not allow even a moment of solace and verbally attacked Natalie. “You dirty little slut. Yep. I always knew that you liked it when he came into your room. You thought you were pretty, until the blood started coming…”
“No!” Natalie screamed in protest, covering her ears in an attempt to drown out Vera’s abuse. Mary’s whimpers grew into a loud screeching lament that sounded like lambs en route to a slaughter. They sounded more forlorn than the cry of a human being. The cries sounded more primal, as if one’s soul were pleading for itself at the threat of impending death. Vera continued.
“He stopped touching you when the blood came. He knew you were dirty. And guess what? You weren’t pretty anymore. How about that Ms. Bitch? No more pretty, just your dirty blood.” Vera menaced, reminding Natalie that her sexual abuse ended when she started her menstrual cycle.
Perhaps her abuser thought it was wise to avoid impregnating her. Natalie’s mental delusion forced her to hate and love her own blood. It was what caused him to not want her anymore. It made her dirty and ugly.
She still harbored animosity for the mechanic with greasy, oil stained hands for ending his abuse. It was the same grease and oil that she saw on Rodney’s hands at the service station. She would later admit to Dr. Reade that she returned that night to the station and set it ablaze to kill the hands that touched her. The very hands stopped touching her when she began to bleed like a woman.
Dr. Reade attempted to explain that she mistakenly equated his pedophilic advances with his love for her and her worth as a person, and not a manifestation of his own psychological and social deviances. Dr. Reade suggested to Natalie that this was a particularly common outcome for victims of sexual abuse, though she thought Natalie’s was a peculiar situation, as she internalized her own blood as an object of uncleanliness, whereas most victims equate their vagina or breasts.
She reasoned to Natalie that many victims of sexual abuse experienced intimacy issues because of their difficulty in dissociating healthy sexual attitudes from those which the abusers impressed upon them.
Natalie chose not to tell Dr. Reade that she regularly vomited after sex. It was conveniently omitted in her preliminary interviews that she allowed five members of her high school football team to have sex with her at a party and ejaculate onto and into her body.
She would later pretend it never happened when they jaunted her as she walked the halls. Perhaps the doctor’s judgment would be too much…Too much like the judgment her mother forced to face as she disclosed her actions before a curious congregation who would later brand her with epithets that suited her actions. The pastor that she would confess her sins to at her mother’s persistent urging, too sadistically explored her body, claiming to rid her of the demons that possessed her.
She relished the fact that only Vera knew of her promiscuosity, though she constantly berated her in mock of it. Even at this moment, Vera’s cruelty would not relent.
“That’s right you little slut, you just sit their and cry. Such a fucking coward. Why do you even bother waking up? Nobody cares about you. You’re dirty now.” Vera said in a menacing and increasingly militant tone.
She was determined to incite Natalie’s fragile sensibility.
“I’m not dirty.” Natalie whispered back in contrast to the loud and belligerent Vera.
Still clutching her ears, Natalie repeated the statement over and over, hoping that it would make Vera disappear in frustration as she had in the past. Today would be different. Natalie’s continuous whispers infuriated Vera who lashed back with damning vengeance.
“The hell you’re not. Why don’t you just prove it? Where are the babies? Huh?” Vera asked in a sing-song voice that seemed aimed at mocking Mary’s hushed and childlike tones. Natalie fought back.
“Stop it. Stop it you miserable little bitch. You want me to be crazy. Well, fuck you, leave me alone!” Natalie neglected her quiet tones and began to scream as loud as her voice and throat would allow. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” Natalie cried as she tucked herself into a fetal position.
Vera would not relent. “I know why the babies didn’t come. God said you were too dirty. That’s right. God knew what all of us knows. Everything about you is too filthy for anything good like a baby. Aint that right, Nat? Aint that why you can’t have no babies?” Vera asked cynically.
This pushed Natalie beyond an ability to control her rage. She reached for one of the pieces of broken glass and began to cut Vera. She was determined to get rid of her once and for all, even if she ended her own life in the process. Natalie continued to rip her flesh with the jagged chard of glass until the room became dim and she felt her eyes grow heavier. She surrendered to the darkness that now invaded the room.
She remained unconscious in a pool of her own blood until a police officer called by a frantic Dr. Reade broke down the door to get in. As the paramedics struggled to regain a pulse for the now limp and troubled woman, they couldn’t help but notice that the slacks of her very expensive business suit were still neatly pressed. Her makeup remained, despite the chaos and turmoil of the tragedy, flawless.

Two days later, Natalie awoke in a bed at Westvalo Psychiatric Center. It was one of the nicer hospitals in the area. The mayor’s wife was rumored to have spent a week or two at the facility after learning that her husband had fathered a child with a woman on his staff. The room that Natalie had was ornately decorated with rich cherry wood furniture, lush flooring, and a private bathroom that boasted a garden tub and separate shower. Natalie wondered who had to be threatened for her HMO to agree to pay for this.

As she attempted to adjust herself on the bed, she noticed how heavily bandaged her arms and wrist were and instantly cringed at their implications. She wasn’t ready to explain to people why she started cutting herself in the places that she knew held the most blood. She wasn’t ready to explain why the word “Dirty” had been carved into the palm of her hands with chards of broken glass. She wasn’t prepared to pretend that what happened was accidental, when she secretly hoped that she would be successful in her attempt.

She sensed that the serenity of the room seemed staged, as if she were being watched, and she instantly rang the nurse’s buzzer for a semblance of human interaction. She was greeted instead by Dr. Reade, who appeared to have a look of relief on her face to see that Natalie was displeased with her arrival. Dr. Reade approached her cautiously. The look of pity on the doctor’s face instantly made Natalie uneasy and she struggled to mask her contempt.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Dr. Reade asked Natalie as she stood next to the extravagant four-poster hospital bed.
“Good, I guess”. Natalie replied without inflection.
Dr. Reade’s facial expression was a mass of disbelief and curiosity. Natalie suddenly felt particularly self-conscious and brushed her long hair back away from her face. Her hair felt brittle like it had been shampooed with cheap products. She decided not worry about it at that moment. She was, after all, being watched.
“I imagine I have had better days.” Natalie said while flashing Dr. Reade a half-hearted smile and a quick glance at her bandaged wrists.
“You’ve been through a lot, Natalie. Sometimes we just need to escape. We all have our own crosses to bear.” Dr. Reade attempted to be diplomatic.
Natalie felt the pang of judgment and loathed it. She remained tight lipped as the doctor continued.
“What’s important now is that you have help, and now you can rest.” Dr. Reade finished.
Natalie hated the way she placed emphasis on “rest”. It sounded too much like death.
“Dr. Reade, I appreciate you getting me here. I really do. But I am not crazy and I certainly don’t need people telling me what I already know. I don’t know how long I can stay in here. I have a life…” Natalie started.
Dr. Reade put her hands on Natalie’s shoulder as if to calm her like she was raving. Natalie was secretly enraged by this.
“Natalie, I know that you don’t feel like you have a problem, but honestly, I wouldn’t be a credible physician if I allowed you to ignore the fact that you attempted to end your life.” Dr. Reade asserted.
“I don’t think that you understand. I didn’t take my medication or I messed it up somehow, but I knew that something was wrong. I would never try to kill myself. This is just a misunderstanding. I don’t need to be here.” Natalie recognized that she was beginning to sound like every other person she had met while “resting” and corrected her posture immediately.
“Natalie, this isn’t permanent. We just want to lp you with your issues so that you don’t harm yourself again. Believe me, I know that you want to get back to your normal routine, but it’s important that you do this first.” Dr. Reade placed her hand on Natalie’s hand for effect.
Natalie snatched her hand away immediately. Dr. Reade had too much experience with Natalie’s attitude to allow it to offend her. She pitied Natalie’s refusal to see herself for the wreck that she was. Though she vowed long ago not to form personal judgments about her patients, Dr. Reade could not help but wonder if Natalie would have been different if her mother loved her in a more tangible way. She had secretly grown to hate working with black patients who constantly refused to allay any of their emotional flaws on their sainted mothers.
“How long will I be here?” Natalie’s voice startled Dr. Reade back to reality. Natalie seized the opportunity to continue.
“I need to make arrangements for work, and I have appointments and…”
“You will only be here for a few weeks, the doctors are…”
“What the hell do you mean a few weeks? I can’t stay in this place that fucking long. I already told you that I am fine. I don’t know why you can’t seem to get that shit through your head, but you can bet your ass that I won’t be here THAT long. I have a very important job and if I am gone…”
“Listen Natalie, this is not up for discussion. As your physician, I am telling you that you need to stay here. If you leave, then I can’t be responsible for what happens to you. You are free to leave on your own accord. No one can force you to stay here, but by law, you can’t be released after attempting to take your life for at least 36 hours. And then you must have supervision if you are released. Chances are, if you leave here, you will likely be arrested for endangerment, and you will start this entire process again. This is not a game and you need to understand that.” Dr. Reade was as forceful as her soft, hollow voice would allow. The speech seemed to appeal to Natalie as she drank Dr. Reade’s every word.
She was preparing herself to pounce. She waited until she was sure that the doctor was done and decided to launch her own assault.
“As a matter of fact, Ms. Reade, I am well aware of my rights and resent your attempt to force me into staying in this overpriced nut house. As for supervision, that can easily be arranged, I will hire a nurse or someone to help with my rehabilitation. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you have no right to come in here and speak to me like I am some kind of…psycho.” Natalie said as she rolled her eyes at the doctor.
“And as a matter of fact, if I can be released on my own accord, then you really have nothing to do with this. In fact, if you’ll excuse me, I need to call the nurse.” Natalie angrily said as she sat up in the bed, placing her hands flush against the bed to balance herself. She refused to acknowledge the pain as she thought it would give Dr. Reade a small victory.
The buzzer sounded as Natalie pressed the button labeled “NURSE” and a woman with a particularly cheerful voice answered. Her happiness instantly nauseated Natalie and a frown overtook her face.
Dr. Reade watched in disgust with her arms folded and an undeniable look of annoyance on her face.
“Yes, I need to see my physician as soon as possible.” Natalie snapped at the annoying sound of the nurse’s voice.
“Is there something that I can help you with?” The cheerful nurse countered, eager to avoid paging a doctor for yet another whining patient. She had been scolded sharply for interrupting the very busy work of physicians.
“Yes, you can help me. You can get my damned doctor.” Natalie snapped at the nurse.
Dr. Reade covered her face in embarrassment.
Natalie was too irate to notice.
The nurse, who had been previously briefed about Natalie’s case history, was hardly humored by the comment. She remained composed and ansred Natalie in a tone that suggested that she was only answering the question out of duty and not courtesy. She spoke deliberately slow as she explained to Natalie that her primary physician had left for the day, but the attending physician would eventually return after making his rounds.
“What the hell do you mean after he has seen other patients? I want out of the place and I need to start the paperwork as soon as possible…” Natalie responded to the intercom. She was appalled as she heard the nurse promptly click the intercom to the “OFF” position.
Dr. Reade saw Natalie’s growing fury and seized the opportunity to prevent further incident.
“Listen, Natalie, I will start the paperwork if that’s what you really want to do, but I have to tell you that it is against my professional advice.” Dr. Reade said begrudgingly.
“Actually, Dr. Reade, your professional advice hasn’t been worth shit lately. I went to your sessions regularly for what? There is nothing wrong with me and I am tired of telling you this. You must have misdiagnosed me because had I been given the right medication, then I would not be here.” Natalie said.
Dr. Reade knew that Natalie was referring to her constant requests for Valium that the doctor repeatedly denied. She was becoming increasingly annoyed with Natalie and found it difficult to overlook Natalie’s constant insults.
“Natalie, I’d like to think that the medication that I prescribed, when taken properly and not abused, works well. Your psychosis is too fragile for anti-depressants that might trigger more frequent psychotic episodes, and I think it was in your best interest that you maintained the regiment of medication that you were using. But again, if you would like to seek a second opinion, then you are more than welcome to do so.” Dr. Reade said sharply to Natalie as she retrieved her camel colored leather attaché and rifled through it for the discharge paperwork.
Natalie prepared herself for the ensuing battle that she was about to wage.
“You know Dr. Reade, I don’t particularly care for the way you have handled this entire situation. You have admitted me against my will, notified my employer without my permission, and you have even falsified my condition. I am not suicidal and I happen to know that those are the only grounds for keeping me here. In fact, you should be thanking God that I haven’t sued your ass for malpractice.” Natalie said as she sat straight up in the bed and attempted to stand to her feet. Her resentment of Dr. Reade had finally surfaced, and she wasn’t about to stop herself.
Dr. Reade had successfully retrieved the paperwork and began to write frantically in her required section. She knew better than to provoke Natalie, but was growing tired of her ranting. She decided that she was going to have to release Natalie as her patient for the sake of her own professional ethics. She was growing to hate her and did not want her own personal feelings to interfere with her ability to treat her patient.
Natalie detected Dr. Reade’s resistance and took advantage of it. As she stood, she was careful to make sure that she pointed directly in the face of her physician.
“You have been jealous of me since I started coming to you. You try to make me think that I am crazy because you think that you are better than me. Well, I have news for you Dr. Reade. Your little degrees don’t mean a fucking thing. You are the same ugly assed girl that nobody wanted to be around in college. I know that the only reason you married a white man is because none of the brothers wanted your lame ass…”
Dr. Reade removed her glasses patiently.
“Okay, that’s about enough Natalie. I have endured your abuse because you are sick, but this is where I draw the line. You have tested my professional courtesy and my patience. Your sickness is no reason for you to behave like the spoiled little princess that you have. I can no longer have you as my patient, and I am referring you to anot psychologist that is better equipped to handle your situation. Here are your discharge papers and good luck in the future.” Dr. Reade said to Natalie as she snatched her belongings and started toward the door.
Natalie quickly lunged in front of her and peered directly into the doctor’s eyes. She wasn’t about to take a rejection as great as that without a challenge. She summoned the strength and sprang into action. The force of her lunge took her breath away and winded her for a moment. As she struggled to maintain her breath, she took on the look of a deranged woman clinging to her last semblance of sanity. This forced the doctor to take a step back, as she thought that Natalie was preparing to assault her. Noting this, Natalie spoke.
“Who the hell do you think you are? I am tired of you and your indignant pretension. I ignored your snide comments and pretended not to notice your looks, but I am not blind. You call yourself a doctor and you don’t know shit about me or my case. You damned right I am going to see another physician because it is obvious you don’t know what the fuck you are doing.” Natalie started.
An orderly walking the floor looked in at the sound of raised voices, but was quickly turned away by the look of hot anger on Natalie’s face when he was about to enter the room. She continued when he was gone.

“Why don’t you do one useful thing and give me the damned discharge papers so I don’t have to see your ass again. It’s been real, bitch.” Natalie said as she looked the doctor up and down and then looked in the direction of the door.

Dr. Reade had stood peering at Natalie with a stoic look on her face that suggested that she had prepared herself for Natalie’s tirade. She laid Natalie’s paperwork on the desk near the bed and started purposefully towards the door. She stopped at the entrance and turned slowly as she began to speak.

“You know Natalie, I am sorry that I couldn’t help you, but I need you to know that I have never jeopardized my professionalism and confidentiality with you. I imagine that you will soon realize that the problems that you have mentioned were unfounded. Rather you like me or not, you failed to look at one thing. I am not the one admitted to a mental hospital, you are. Good luck Ms. Logan.” Dr Reade said as she exited the hospital room. The sound of her expensive shoes hitting the tiled floors of the halls echoed in Natalie’s ears.

Natalie rushed to the door and slammed it with all of the force that she could muster. Tears streamed down her face and Natalie rushed to the bathroom to wash her face that now appeared lifeless and dull. She splashed cool water onto her face and cursed herself for not maintaining her composure. She let the doctor’s words seep into her mind and she slowly began to process them as if they held the meaning of her life.

She reached for the towel to dry her face and inhaled it’s freshness for a while. She began to sob into it quietly. She wiped her face yet again and stood erect in the small bath area, willing her strength and decidedly reclaiming her sanity.

As she exited the bathroom, she glanced in the mirror. She stood frozen as she saw a cold and worn face staring back at her. She cringed at the reflection. It was Vera. Vera, to Natalie’s horror, bore a striking resemblance to her mother. “Noooo!” Natalie mumbled as she let herself slip out of consciousness and away from reality.

Chapter 14 Ilene

Ilene had allowed some of the island girls to braid her hair for a few dollars. She grew tired of sweating out her curls in the Caribbean heat. The cornrows made her face look radiant, but Ilene hated the implications that such hairstyles usually carried with them.

Ilene begrudgingly admitted that she had rediscovered the bond that she and her husband shared years ago before all of the lies and deception, on her part, of course. They even managed several nights of love making without the usual precursor that inved hours of coercion and pleading, and in some cases threatening.

The island rejuvenated Ilene and made her forget her aged face told stories of betrayal. Instead, she saw a jubilant young woman with long flowing braids and bright eyes. A woman with the world safely in the palm of her hand.

Charles saw her in the same way, and could not help but question why his wife wasn’t in such good humor during their normal day to day dealings at home. He noticed her checking her messages and the look of stress that immediately shrouded her face. She dismissed it as credit card debtors doing their usual rounds of annoying calls. His knowledge of his wife told him otherwise. He hoped that whatever she was up to was ending soon. He was growing tired of looking the other way when men eyed his wife accusingly. Charles always managed to look distracted to protect his wife from explaining the menacing stares. He loved her with the fullness that a man loved his wife.

She was the one that he had sacrificed so much for. She was beautiful and vulnerable, in so many ways. He came to realize after years of grief and elevated blood pressure that he fell in love with her because of her flaws. Over time, he learned to live with the fact that she would never be the pristine and moral woman that he had once been married to. Could he blame her? He was a married man when he impregnated her and left her to fend for herself. She was giving him the best she would ever offer to any man. Who could ask for anything more?

Ilene managed to sneak away from Charles to return a few phone calls left by her “friends”. She ducked into an open air bar on the water called “Castaway Bay”. She had heard that they had the best mixed drinks in the area and was conveniently on the other side of the island, far away from where her husband golfed carelessly. She knew he would be tied up for at least a couple of hours.

As Ilene settled into one of the many rattan chairs that lined the patio, she retrieved her cell phone from her purse and browsed through the many missed calls. It appeared that Paul Cummings had called several times, but chose not to leave a message. There was a message from her son that was pretty rudimentary. She did sense something else in his voice, and made a mental note to call him as soon as she returned to the states.

She decided that she would check her newly acquired account in Grand Cayman to see if Mr. Cummings had come to his senses and paid his monthly stipend. There was no change in the balance. Immediately enraged, Ilene dialed the numbers to Paul’s office. Remembering the difference in time zones, she hung up and decided that she would deal with him in person when she returned to the states. This time he would clearly understand why he shouldn’t fuck with her.

As she simmered with anger, she hardly noticed that the waitress stood before her, placed a bowl of mixed nuts on the rattan table, and requested her order. After ordering a passion fruit martini, Ilene leaned back in her rickety and unbalanced chair. She exhaled deeply and then closed her eyes as she took in the salty ocean air.

“Nothing’s that bad”, a booming voice said from behind her with a familiar, but distant tone.
Ilene opened her eyes slowly and focused on a tall dark skinned man in his late thirties. She searched her mind for where she once knew his face and why it was so familiar, but drew a blank. He obviously knew who she was, and seemed to quietly enjoy the fact that she did not share the same knowledge.
“No worries here darling.” Ilene returned, mocking the island colloquialism of the natives. Her smile tempted the visitor to move forward but the seriousness in her eyes suggested that he should tread cautiously. He decided to ignore the latter threat.
“Do you mind if I have a seat?” the gentleman asked as he pulled the mis-matched chair from the table.
“Well, since you have invited yourself, I don’t see how I can object.” Ilene said with a slight t of irritation.
“I mean, I don’t want to trouble you, but when I see a beautiful woman sitting alone, I can’t help but intervene.” The stranger said confidently to Ilene. She was almost tickled by the fact that the man thought that such a lack luster comment would hold her interest for more than a passing moment.
She rolled her eyes in a manner that suggested that his visit should be short lived. As her drink arrived, she nervously eyed the stranger who seemed perfectly at home seated with her. After watching her take a long throaty sip of the drink that the waitress returned with, he took the opportunity to speak.
“A strong drink for a strong woman. I like that. We’re going to get about just fine.” He said as he leaned forward.
This statement annoyed Ilene and she could not prevent herself from responding.
“Listen, you little jiggalo wanna be. I am not some lonely widower that came here to have a fling with one of you little island montells. So no, I don’t want you to make passionate love to me and no, I am not searching for a little young honey to come sniffing behind my dirty drawers. I aint Stella and you sure as hell aint Winston, so keep it moving. Thanks, but no thanks.” Ilene said dismissively and hoped that the venom in her words hid the fact that the young stranger made her very uncomfortable.
The stranger, amused by her speech, was tickled and seemed to enjoy Ilene’s comments. He placed one hand under his chin and leaned in as she spoke. When she was done, he clapped his hands together as if he had just witnessed a Broadway show.
“Very nice. Do you speak to everyone so rudely? Lucky for you, I am not easily swayed. I didn’t take you for the mourning widower type, at least not with those ghetto dooky braids anyway. And do believe me…If I wanted to have you, I would.” He paused to reveal a pearlescent smile. “But no Ilene, I am here for quite a different reason.” The stranger said with a beguiling smirk on his face.
Alarms went off in Ilene’s head.
“Who the hell are you and how do you know my name?” Ilene asked defensively.
“Oh no, don’t be alarmed. I am kind of like your guardian angel of sorts. I am here to make sure that you don’t get into any more trouble. You are quite a ways from Atlanta you know,” he returned with a devilish smile.
Ilene’s throat burned from the heat of vodka she had just gulped down.
“Who the fuck are you and what do you want? If it’s money, you can just kiss my ass because I am not the type of woman that scares easily.” Ilene snapped.
“Whoa there, easy now. I don’t have a need for your money. I have been well compensated. I do have a message for you though.” Another teethy smile.
“I just bet you do. Who the hell has you following me anyway, you do know that shit is illegal, right?”
“Fancy you talking about legalities…I wonder if you were quite that interested in the law when you did the detail job on Paul Cummings’ car in Buckhead. You have been a naughty little girl Ilene. A friend just wants you to know that when you play with fire, sometimes you get burned.” The stranger said as he rose from the table.
Ilene caught the wrist of her visitor and dug her nails into it, with more force than she actually intended.
“Listen, you little prick. You and your gay assed boss Paul do not scare me. You don’t know who you are fucking with, and I would suggest that you stay the fuck away from me if you value your life.” Ilene mouthed in a dastardly tone.
Again, the stranger was undaunted. He snatched his hand away from Ilene and smiled. “He said that you would be a little feisty, but this takes the cake. Don’t threaten me. You’ll just piss me off. Why don’t you get your drunken ass back to your hubby at the hotel? Good ole’ faithful Charles is probably worried that you have hooked up with some island local. He knows how you are. Hell, if he had some sense, he would get himself a piece of ass all of Atlant hasn’t had.” The stranger said while chuckling at his off colored humor.
“You don’t know shit about my husband, so keep his name out of your mouth. More importantly you little twit, if I even think that I see your black ass again, I swear I will bring harm to you. You might be Cummings’ flunky, but to me, you are nothing more than a little bitch that needs to be put in his proper place. I wont give you a warning again. Don’t fuck with me.” Ilene said as she pointed her index finger directly in the face of her opponent.
Irritated, the stranger batted her hand away and backed off chuckling. He threw both his hands up as if to surrender. “You’re right. Your husband has nothing to do with this. This is business. The payments from our mutual friend have ended. You will never contact him again. You will destroy anything that might be damaging to his career. If not, well, you just might have some of your skeletons revealed. It’s your choice, I’m just a messenger.” The stranger gave a celebratory smirk to Ilene after his speech and disappeared into the humid atmosphere of St. Lucia.
Ilene was incensed as she snatched up her belongings and left cash on the table for her bill. She was slightly dizzy as she charged towards the main street and waived for a gypsy car to take her back to the hotel.
“Hotel Madeira on the waterfront, please.” Ilene said to the driver as she collapsed in the back of the musky vehicle. Then, within seconds, everything went black. She was drugged. She struggled to make sense of the formless blurs around her. Her arms and legs felt heavy. The driver looked back and seemed to dismiss her state for a drunken stupor.
He dutifully took her to the hotel and alerted the doorman. The doorman then gave the driver some folded bills and retrieved Ilene from the vehicle. Ilene felt her limp body being moved and lifted but was powerless to act. Everything went black again. This time Ilene didn’t try to make out the blurred objects. She instead allowed herself to fall into the abyss of her unconsciousness preferring the numb darkness to the stark pain of reality.

When Ilene came to, she was lying in her hotel suite. Charles stood over her carefully gauging her face for lucid consciousness.
“Baby, are you alright? How are you feeling?” Paul asked his wife worriedly.
As Ilene spoke, she felt a sharp pain slash through her head. She rubbed her head instinctively to calm the throbbing that overwhelmed her temples.
“I think so, what happened? I need an aspirin or something. My head is killing me.”
Ilene’s weakened voice responded.
“The hotel physician said that you might have a headache because of the cocktail you were given.” Paul said.
“Cocktail? What are you talking about? Was the alcohol rancid or something? I just had a martini, maybe with a little grenadine in it. What happened to me?” Ilene returned not fully understanding what her husband was alluding to.
“It looks like someone slipped something in your drink. Apparently, that happens a lot to the tourists around there. They usually pass out and then they are robbed by passers by pretending to help them. Your wallet is missing your driver’s license and a few credit cards. Did anyone speak to you? The police want you to make a report.” Paul said.
“I don’t remember anyone speaking to me.” Ilene lied. “I just wanted to try that place on the other side of the island that people have been recommending. I guess the proof was too strong on the vodka or something. I haven’t eaten all day, too. Mix all of that with this unbearable sun and it’s a wonder that I didn’t zonk out right there at the table.” Ilene remarked to her husband. Her attempt to laugh off the incident did not convince her husband.
“Listen, we have another week here, and I am not going to let you out of my sight. Those braids are a little too tight if you think that you can just run off alone on an island that you have never been on. Baby, you are a ready prey for these bums on this island looking to snatch a few bucks. I would feel a lot better if we were together for the rest of the trip”. Charles said as wrinkles formed in his forehead.
Ilene grimaced at her husband’s request, but decided to humor him and remain his constant companion for the week.

When the couple returned home there was more than two weeks of mail waiting for them. Someone, Charles described as teenage vandals, had knocked over their mailbox and broken two of the windows in the front of the house. Ilene knew better.

When the couple cautiously entered their home, they were relieved to find that nothing was disturbed, so they ruled out robbery. Charles asked their neighbors if they had spied anything peculiar. The universal answer was “no”.

This annoyed Charles as his neighbors’ very watchful eyes never missed an opportunity to contact the homeowners association when his car wasn’t parked inside of the driveway or if his lawn had surpassed the 2 ¼ inch limit. Nevertheless, Charles attempted to settle into his home life, despite this disruption. He hated to admit that this shook his sense of security in his otherwise quiet and unassuming suburban Alpharetta subdivision of million dollar homes. He hid this from his wife, not wanting her to loose the respect he had fought tirelessly to secure. He could not help but notice that Ilene was particularly distracted. The look on her face suggested that she understood that this was more than some kids vandalizing. She seemed to internalize the incident by shaking her head and closing her eyes as they pulled up to their home. Charles could see a look of vengeance forming in her eyes. He knew the look was reserved for enemies that had crossed her. He knew his wife had secrets and wondered if they were connected to the damage to their home.

He pretended not to hear the conversation that his wife snuck into the guest bedroom to have. She told the listener that he or she had crossed the line. Her anger was one that he had not recognized, it was foreign and primal. It danced on desperation and suggested that Ilene had a lot on the line.

Charles reasoned that a lover had a problem with her when she tried to break off the affair. He had figured out a long time ago that his wife wasn’t faithful when he noticed a change in her body odor and constant need to douche. He decided that he would watch his wife a little more closely, as he couldn’t trust her to be honest and forthcoming. He was willing to face the truth about his marriage, even if it meant that Ilene’s secrets would destroy it.

The next day, Charles hired a private investigator and visited an attorney. He lovingly told his wife that he was spending the day working on her upcoming fiftieth birthday bash.

She smiled and seemed genuinely warmed by his loving deed. “You are too good to me.” Ilene said as she wrapped herself in her husband’s arms.
“I know I am.” Charles said to his wife as they lie in bed and pretended that their marriage was secure.
Chapter 15 Marc

“I can’t believe that you’re really going to have the baby.” Marc said to Sherise’s voice mail after she delivered her news and promptly ended their call. Her decision was eminent and despite Marc’s heartfelt pleas, there was no escaping it. Marc had finally spoken with Sherise and she made the final decision to keep the child that resulted from a night of recklessness.

He first tried to reason with her, informing her that it would be logical to end the pregnancy and develop her career before trying to do anything else. When that didn’t work, he thought it effective to trample on any hopes of the two uniting. He knew that Sherise’s hope for a union was the underlying motivation for maintaining the pregnancy.

He explained to her that he never really respected her and couldn’t ever imagine marrying her. He added salt to the wound by saying that his parents wanted him to marry an educated woman saw the defeat in Sherise’s eyes as the words were released from his lips. Sherise, steel in her resolve, would not abandon her hopes.

They sat on the plush butter colored leather sofa in Marc’s den for hours, with momentary breaks for Sherise to relieve herself in the restroom. With every reason Marc offered, Sherise countered. When she had no more energy to counter, she simply folded her arms and rolled her eyes to the back of her head.

As Marc grew angrier, Sherise became more insolent and decided she would defend her decision.
“Look Marc, I aint’ askin’ you for nothin’. If you don’t want to be a part of our lives, then it’s fine.” Sherise stuttered as she offered more deception. “I, I know you think I am tryin’ to trap you, but I aint.’ So what, I don’t have a degree, do that mean I can’t be a mother?” Sherise asked. Marc mentally corrected her broken English.
“You are missing the point, it’s not about that. It’s about you having a kid for the wrong reasons. What can you possibly offer a child? Nothing! You are not thinking about the baby, you’re thinking about yourself and your dumb assed plan won’t work.” Marc said as he stood and began to pace the bamboo hardwoods of his den.
He peered out of the floor to ceiling windows onto the deck as he considered the implications of Sherise’s decision. Would his child grow up on the projects and learn to speak the broken English of his mother? How could he adjust to this when it seemed so illfated? Sherise was not the woman that he wanted to present to his mother, and more importantly, his father.
He wanted to be proud of his wife and the mother of his children. He wanted her to come from a family with a notable name that made contributions to society. He wanted her to belong to a sorority, and to have affiliations with groups like The Links or Jack and Jill. He simply wanted…more.
His gaze then turned to Sherise sitting on his couch rubbing her belly as if it held the magic genie that would grant all of her wishes. He knew that he was as good as it got for her and hated her for forcing herself into his life. Struggling with himself not to reveal his disgust, he compelled himself to look away from her, as he did not want her to witness the growing contempt that was making it’s way from his stomach to his face. He turned back to the window and cursed his situation…again. “That time made thirty two”, he thought.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Sherise’s muffled sobs. Marc was hesitant about turning around. He did not want to comfort her. He wanted her to suffer, as he had, since she made her grand announcement. The better breed in him forced him to turn around and approach the couch.
Without thinking, he held her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. No words were spoken. There were no kind ones that he could offer. Instead, he sat there, holding her until she stopped sobbing. They both sat there locked in an embrace, clearly in two foreign worlds. Neither person said a word to the other until Sherise prepared to leave the brownstone thirty minutes later.
Sherise pierced the silence as she turned the knob to the door.
“For real Marc, I’m real sorry that you feel this way. I know you don’t want me, or this baby. It’s wrong for me to try to force it on you. This baby is the closest thing to love I’ve ever had. I aint’ just gonna throw it away. I know you want to be with somebody who’s educated and refined. But all I got is me. That’s it. I hope that we can at least stay friends, for the baby’s sake.” Sherise said and walked out of the door.
Marc hated to admit to himself that he was momentarily moved by Sherise’s words. She seemed so clear about the situation, but so completely powerless to control the circumstance. He decided at that moment that he would accept the child for what it was. Though he wasn’t going to be with Sherise, he was going to be supportive of the child that he helped to fatherfter he watched Sherise hail a cab and disappear down the street, he went to his study. He looked at his portfolio and organized it so that he could clear a few thousand dollars within the next couple of days. He then called his realtor and told him to look for a two-bedroom condo in a nice neighborhood. He didn’t have to be with Sherise, but no child of his would ever see the inside of government housing.
His next call was to his father. He dialed the numbers slowly as he tried to think of the words to inform his father of this tremendous event in his life. After the phone rang twice, his father answered.
“Hey, dad, what’s up?” Marc asked, trying not to reveal how disturbed he was.
“Marc, man I thought you forgot about me. I called you when your mom and I were in St. Lucia. They had some pretty young things there, and I thought about you. What have you been up to?” Charles asked, excited to hear his son’s voice.
“Just work. I just wanted to talk to you about a couple of things. You got a minute?” Marc asked, knowing his father would move a mountain if it separated him from his only son.
“Come on, you know I got time. I need to talk to you anyway. You know your mother’s birthday party is in two weeks, and I expect you to be here.” Charles said in a tone that sounded more like a warning than a suggestion.
“Dad, you know I wouldn’t miss that. I have this bachelor auction next weekend, but after that I’m all clear. Has mom been driving you crazy about it? I don’t know why you didn’t just hire a party planner. Mom can be a lunatic when it comes to these things.” Marc said jokingly to his father.
“Don’t I know it. Son, I tried to convince your mother to hire an event planner, but she said that they could never capture her taste for things. So now, she’s running herself ragged about the details and threatens to call it off at least three times a day. Man, I will be so glad when this is over.” Charles said to his son.
“I hear that. All that aggravation for one day. What’s up with women? They’re like that for parties and weddings. You would think that their lives depended on it.” Marc replied.
“Wedding, huh? Son, what made you mention that? You aren’t calling me to tell me you found “the one” are you?” Charles asked with growing anticipation.
“Nah, nothing like that. I just wanted to check on you. You know you’re my ace...” Marc started, but was interrupted by his father.
“Look man, don’t go pissing on me and telling me it’s raining. I’m your dad. I wiped your little baby balls. I know when something is up with you, so what’s going on?” Charles asked.
Marc searched his mind for the words to explain to his father that he was going to become a father unwillingly. There was a brief pause on the phone, and Charles knew his son well enough to know that if he spoke, his son would loose his courage. Instead, he remained quiet.
Marc cleared his throat as he began to speak.
“Okay dad, I’m gonna give it to you straight. I have a baby on the way.” Marc spat the words out and exhaled deeply as soon as he was done.
Charles remained silent for about thirty seconds.
“Dad, are you there?” Marc asked nervously, unable to read his father’s silence. He thought he could almost hear his father’s heart beat.
“Yes, yes. I am here. I guess the next question is are you getting married?” Charles asked bewildered by his son’s comment. He troubled himself with trying to think of the last female his son had spoken to him about. There were so many, all of them seemed temporary. He wondered what the situation with this woman was. Was his son withholding secrets from him for fear of his judgment? He quickly dismissed the thought.
“Nah, I am not getting married. That’s just the thing…Uhm, this was an unplanned pregnancy and I have no intentions on being with this woman. But she is insisting that she has this baby and here we are.” Marc said to his father.
He felt his shame grow as his father took in the situation. On the other end of the phone, Charles sat in awe of the irony. He was forced to marry Ilene for reasons much like those that his son now faced. He forced words out of his mouth.
“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a situation. Have you tried to reason with her? This could be the worst thing for the both of you, as well as a baby.” Charles said.
“Dad, believe me, I have tried everything. But her mind is made up. I think that she thinks that having this baby is going to make us stay together. Really dad, I just wish this whole thing never happened. She and I are so different. I just don’t want to be with her. I don’t want to be a dead beat dad, either.” Marc said.
“Well, that’s the last thing you’re going to be, rather you are with this woman or not. Your mom and I raised you better than that.” Charles allowed his comment to hang in the air before he spoke again. “How long have you known her?” Charles asked.
“Briefly.” Marc answered.
“And her family?”
“Let’s just say she doesn’t come from preferred stock.”
“Son, how exactly do you know this woman?” Charles asked hoping that his first grand child was not the result of a one-night stand.
“Dad, just know that everything is a mess and it’s not what you and mom planned for me. Hell, it’s not what I had planned for myself. But the baby is coming, and I have to deal with it for what it is.” Marc said assertively as he tried to make himself accept what he just said.
“I hear you son, and you know what? You’re right. It is what it is, and Campbell men handle their business… No questions asked. But I think you know that you need to get a blood test when the baby is born.” Charles said sternly to his son.
“Without question. I just wish things didn’t happen this way. I don’t want to resent her for the rest of my life.” Marc said in a defeated tone to his father.
“Then don’t. Look, I don’t know how you and this woman hooked up, but I can pretty much guess that having a kid was the last thing on your mind. Life is like that. Shit happens. I am not saying that you should go out and marry this woman, but it doesn’t help to be miserable about what will inevitably happen. I’m just glad that you trusted me enough to tell me the truth. I would have wondered what was up with you if you suddenly showed up with a little crumb snatcher.” Charles said with a chuckle.
“Yeah, that would have been a little rough. Speaking of rough, dad please don’t…” Marc started.
“You don’t even have to worry. You know that I wouldn’t mention this to your mother. It’s your business, you tell her. Besides, I want to be far away when Ilene Winters Campbell is told that she is going to be a grandmother. She wouldn’t be able to get to those botox injections fast enough.” Charles said laughingly.
“But seriously son, I want you to know that if you need anything, anything at all, call me. It’s not going to be an easy road, let me warn you now. If this woman has watched Oprah’s ass at least once, she is going to try to take you for some money. Make sure you have an attorney, preferably a Jewish one. They’re greedy and smart. That’s a perfect lawyer. I know a few people at Georgetown. I can call in a few favors.” Charles offered.
Marc was amazed by his father’s desire to protect him, even when he had made a very adult decision. He decided to decline his father’s offer, partly because he had to let his father know that he would handle the situation, but mostly because he didn’t want his father to be privy to Sherise’s “animated” disposition.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m cool. I already spoke to someone, and I think things are going in the right direction. I appreciate your help dad, seriously.” Marc said, borrowing his dad’s seriousness for the moment.
Marc thought it was a good point in the conversation to change the topi “No more about me and my baby mama drama, how was the trip? I know you golfed your heart out.” Marc said as he pictured his father teeing off in front of a perfect sunset clothed in those ridiculous plaid pants and a coordinating golf shirt.
“Actually, I didn’t get much in. Your mother and I toured the island, did some snorkeling, and really just hung out. It was relaxing and long overdue. Man, I got myself a massage from one of those island women when your mother was getting her hair braided. Ooh Wee! Man, I think that might have been the highlight of my trip.” Charles said as he laughed devilishly.
Marc did not know what blew him away more, his ultra conservative father letting it loose or his uptight socialite mom getting her hair braided. Either way, he was happy that they weren’t settling into old age without a fight. In his mother’s case, he knew that her fight would include an arsenal of fade creams, supplements, injections, and even surgery, if she thought that she were loosing ground.
His father’s laughter warmed him and made him long for his teenage years when he and his father would go out after his Friday night football games and talk. They spoke candidly without the fear of retribution on either side. When he went to college, Marc regularly returned home just so he could spend Sundays on the couch watching football with his father. His bond with his father far surpassed that which existed with his mother. It was a wellknown fact in their family and seemed to go unchallenged.
He looked forward to spending time with his father in two weeks. The fact that his mother was celebrating her fiftieth birthday was a footnote, at best. The two men were bonded beyond familial ties. They shared a collective experience of being a black man that refused to accept a mediocre existence. Their bond transcended blood and DNA. Both men knew it and were glad that they had such an intimate relationship of support.
The two continued their conversation about topics from current events to politics, and back to politics again. Charles gave Marc a brief synopsis about the bash for his mother. Complete with a catered meal of filet mignon and seared lobster brochettes in a truffle sauce, the event that would host one hundred twenty of Ilene’s “closest friends” had easily surpassed the $25,000 mark. Ilene insisted that the atrium room of the Ritz Carlton was the only suitable venue for such an event. The ornate gold molding of the room and painted murals seemed to attest to Ilene’s penchant for extravagance for the sake of public accolades. Charles despised that about his wife, but learned early on in their marriage that this was one of her lesser demons. The amalgamation of flowers that would be draped over anything that would stand still were an assortment of various white flowers in everything from magnolias to calla lilies to an exotic Japanese orchid that only bloomed for twelve hours once a year. The pomp of it all was dizzying to Charles who preferred writing the checks to attending the actual planning of such a grandiose event.
Marc mentally lamented for his father and his inability to tell his mother that his income couldn’t sustain such a lavish production. But he knew that his mother would only go into one of her unreasonable rants and declare, for the hundredth time, that she would not have married him if she knew that she had to live such a meager existence.
As the two men continued to chat, Marc noticed the sudden formality of his father’s dialogue, and knew instinctively that his mother was near. Marc quickly wrapped up the conversation and made a hasty exit. He wasn’t ready for his mother’s probing and disapproving moments of measured silence. He would tell her when she was ready to hear it and more importantly, when he was ready to defend it.

Chapter 16 Natalie

“Girl, what the hell are you doing?” Eric asked of his sister as she stood in the mirror of her cramped bathroom and washed her face continuously last fifteen minutes. She ignored his question. He walked to the bathroom and plucked the back of her neck like he did when they were younger. True to form, she sprung up in battle stance and chased him around the house. “Girl, you better stop, you gonna make me fall and then I will have to kick your ass.” Eric warned as he scuttled away from his sister.

Natalie ignored this warning and shook her wet residue of PhisoDerm and water onto her brother’s perfectly pressed Emmanuel Ungaro button down shirt.

Eric, a professed fashionista, decided that he would excuse his sister’s disrespect of his high end clothing.
“You know what bitch, I am gonna give your ass a pass this time because you’re crazy as all hell. You keep poppin’ them pills and by next week, you gotta an ass whippin’ coming.” Eric said as he smiled and said a quick mental prayer for his sister’s recovery.
When Dr. Reade called him and told him that Natalie had attempted suicide, he told his supervisor at the Cheesecake Factory in Atlanta that he would be leaving and would be gone for at least a month. The coveted manager’s position would likely be given to a young associate chef, who had been secretly vying for it for months. Eric chose to ignore the clandestine plot to expose his declining profit margin to upper management. He did, after all, have tons of friends that he regularly allowed to eat on the house. It was one of four ‘dream jobs’ he captured and lost in the last three years.
When the call came, he didn’t hesitate. He knew his sister needed him and didn’t flinch as he emptied his marginal bank account to fund his trip to Houston. He had a “roommate”, so he had managed to stash away enough money to keep things moving in case he found himself in the familiar position of unemployment.
Sensibility and years of experience instructed him not to call his mother. Her discerning voice alone would force anyone back into a psychotic state. The fact that she dismissed Natalie’s mental condition as nothing more than the effects of a spoiled childhood only fueled Eric’s determination to protect his sister from the dysfunctional family that they emerged from. Natalie was his heart. He hated himself for his ability to be cruel to her, but would readily head straight to the state penitentiary for killing a mofo that dared to hurt her.
Their bond was made stronger when he decided to come out of the closet. He decided to make the announcement at his high school graduation party. He tried his best to explain to his mother that he loved men and wasn’t a blasphemous sociopath. The latter was easier for Rosemary Logan to accept. She threw him out of the house, complete with the cake and few items of clothing that he owned. Noone, not even Earl Logan, the supposed patriarch of the family, dared to challenge her actions. Instead, they busied themselves with other things in the house as Rosemary began rebuking Eric in the name of Jesus and swore that the devil would not abide in her house.
Broken and dejected, Eric lived with friends for months and worked at an alternative nightclub to support his immense passion for clothing and ‘the life.’ He developed a nasty little coke habit that he was able to kick after a brief stint at a quaint rehab center in Palm Springs. Natalie was his only visitor. She even lent him the proceeds of her savings to help him get back on his feet. He was able to afford a small studio apartment in Northeast DC that his sister regularly frequented. She used the opportunity to update him on the household goings ons. The latest arguments that Rosemary had won, Tanya’s most recent pregnancy, and of course, her own distaste for the life of misery that he was fortunate enough to escape.
On occasion, Natalie would invite Tanya to join her when she visited Eric. She usually declined, but Natalie remained persistent. Her final request was met with dissention as Tanya proclaimed, “I don’t want to go see his faggot ass. Look how much trouble he caused momat church. His little gay ass is gonna burn in hell.” Natalie never asked her again.
Eric knew about his sister’s disapproval and allowed their relationship to fall to the wayside. Natalie was all the family he needed. Her voice snapped him back to their stark reality. “So we gonna leave or what?” Natalie asked standing by the door shaking her keys.
Eric had hardly noticed that she had gotten dressed, did her hair and make-up, and readied herself for their evening out. “Where you going with that monstrosity for an outfit on?” Eric asked as he stretched his eyes in amazement of his sister’s ensemble of baggy blue jeans, a frumpy Old Navy performance fleece sweatshirt that was red once upon a time, and black sneakers. He gave an appropriate nod at the make-up that was immaculately applied, but quickly sent her back to change clothes. “Honey, I am a fag, but you don’t have to look like a hag. It’s no wonder you can’t keep a man. Coming out here looking like who killed her and why. And I know you got clothes, cause you obviously aint spending this money on decorating or furniture. Lawd! Who still has a wicker queen chair? Where is your airbrushed picture of a BMW to go with it?” Eric asked as he sat in the chair posing for an imaginary picture.
“Kiss my ass. Not everybody can afford that Euro trash shit in your place. Can’t even sit on it. A ten thousand dollar couch and you can’t even sit on. What sense does that make?” Natalie responded.
“Oh, the poor and repressed. It is a sofa…not a couch. That is what you have. You wouldn’t know taste if it was rammed down your throat. I am FAB-U-LOUS and everything I own is an extension of me. What the hell does a stained brown ottoman say about you? I’ll tell you what it says: Load up on some triple A batteries cause you’re gonna need it!”
“What part of kiss my ass did you not understand? I own my home, thank you very fucking much. I have the American dream…”
“Well your ass needs to wake up and hire an interior designer ‘cause this shit is depressing. You know I have a friend who…”
“Oh, hell no! Not another one of your temperamental little bitch boys in my house. The last person you referred to me painted my room teal. What the fuck matches teal? Sorry, brah, but I will stick to Pier 1.”
“Pier 1 is so ghettry.”
Ghettry was the term the two adopted to describe something that was ghetto and country.
“At least I can afford it.” Natalie added with selective venom that she hid with her laughter.
“What the fuck ever.” Eric said as he rolled his eyes at his sister’s loaded comment.
Natalie emerged with a camel colored leather skirt, matching boots and a black angora sweater that rested off of her shoulders.
“That’s what you should have looked like the first time.” Eric said as he nodded in approval of his sister’s chic outfit.
“Yeah, I know. It’s too bad that you look like Barney on crack in that purple people eater shirt.” Natalie said as she chuckled and wrapped herself in a black cashmere pashmina.
“Okay, that’s it. First of all, bitch, the color is amethyst, and second…you know what, forget it. Let’s just get out of here before the furniture eats me.”
Natalie turned off all of the lights in her house except the hall light and locked the door behind them. The two entered the car and Natalie immediately turned on the radio. The rapper Fifty Cents was the first sound that they heard telling his audience that they could find him in the club with a pocket full of dubs. Both listeners bobbed their heads to the catchy club beat.
As Natalie headed down the street, she reminded herself that she took her medication before she left. This subsequently meant that she could not drink anything alcoholic. The song eventually ended and the DJ came on to announce a slew of parties for the upcoming weekend. This made Eric and Natalie uncomfortable and their silence affirmed their collective despair about impending doom this weekend offered. Natalie attempted to be upbeat, nonetheless and attempted to disrupt the silence.
“So, you ready to see your new nephew, Lavonte?”
Eric grimaced and answered, “Yep, him and the rest of the children of the corn. And why in the hell did Tanya name that boy after a cheap assed car? Damn, that girl wouldn’t know class if they was giving it away at the Safeway.”
“You didn’t tell momma about me being in the hospital, did you?” Natalie asked, clearly concerned.
“Girl…and risk having an exorcism when we get there? Look, I might be a lot of things, but stupid aint one. And speaking of going, you got me on the airline ticket, right sis?” Natalie stretched her eyes in disbelief.
“Negro what?! You mean to tell me you don’t have enough in your little stash to pay for your damned plane ticket? What about one of your ‘associates’?”
“Bitch, this ‘aint no E. Lynn Harris book and I don’t have no rich lover who can fly me all over the place. These children are out there struggling just like everybody else. They just happen to struggle with finesse.”
“Well, finesse or not, you better sell some of those clothes, ‘cause I am not paying for your ticket. How ‘bout that?” Natalie added stress to the latter statement more for herself than her brother. Eric knew his sister well enough to know that she would pay for the ticket so didn’t see the need to continue to fight a battle that he already won.
Natalie glanced at her brother as she awaited a smart response. When there was none, she became nervous and quickly sparked another conversation.
“You’re gonna’ like this place. I hear there are a lot of influential black people that hang out here. Two players from the Houston Oilers own it. It’s got a laid back, upscale feel. Like Justin’s in Atlanta.”
“How did YOU hear about it? That doesn’t sound like your type of place.”
“Elise brought me here for my birthday one year, and I come by every now and then to check it out. Why?”
“Because I know that if the chitlins’ to chardonnay ratio is too high, your ass won’t return.”
They both chuckled at Natalie’s notoriety for frequenting restaurants that don’t host a large black crowd.
“You make it sound like I don’t like black people or something.”
“Well if the Manolos fit…”
“Whatever. I can party with the best of them. I just prefer to be in the company of those who don’t think that an exotic drink is a forty ounce with a cherry in it.”
As the two continued effortless banter about the party scene, they approached the circular driveway of the bistro. Natalie felt a sudden rush of apprehension and began to grip the steering wheel of her BMW tightly. Just as she was about to suggest that they go home, Eric smiled at the approaching valet attendants.
“Ooh, this IS nice. You know you have arrived when you got little white boys waiting on you hand and foot.”
Natalie smiled and relaxed as they exited the car and watched it disappear down the street. Almost as if they were cued, the live band began to play their rendition of “Happy Feelings” by Frankie Beverly and Maze when Eric and Natalie entered. Ornate wall sconces of polished jade stones lined the walls. The darkness of the stones against the backlighting gave an intimate appeal to the eatery. The hardwood floors were dark cherry wood and polished brilliantly. All kinds of tasteful oversized artwork framed the cranberry colored walls. The most notable feature of the establishment was the floor to ceiling frame windows that hosted window seats large enough to seat three people. Tasteful tapestry of reds, burnt orange, and browns were sprinkled through out the room. The bar was an amalgamation of diamond cut glass and marble.
The crowd was a sophisticated mixture of blacks, browns, and the occasional peach. They schmoozed as they sipped champagne with blackberry currants, cosmopolitans, bleach blondes, ad of course, personal bottles of Moet Chandon. They all clutched their drinks mercilessly as they offered complementary chuckles and shared conversations about everything from mutual funds to the benefit’s of Barack Obama’s likely succession to the white house.

Eric quickly found someone who shared his verve for fashion and shared a drink with the meticulously coiffed gentleman. The fact that he seemed to drip money from his fingertips added a welcomed incentive to Eric.

Natalie was quickly bored by their comparison of Robert Cavali to the more classic and clean lines of Kenneth Cole. She found herself drifting from corner to corner of the large great room. She settled near the 6 foot, intricately carved marble fireplace and quietly observed the conversations and business deals happening around her. She sipped on cranberry juice and watched people watching everyone else. She moved from side to side as the band played a mellow version of “Sumthin, Sumthin” by Maxwell. She thought about how it would be nice to move rhythmically in the arms of a strong someone for the night. Secretly, she longed for the feel of a man and desperately missed the feeling of being desired, even if only for one night. Almost as if God had instantly granted her wish, she felt the warmth of someone standing behind her.

“Enjoying yourself?” An undeniably deep male voice inquired.
Natalie turned around slowly to find Heath Anderson staring at her. His rich rust colored cashmere v-neck sweater competed with his bronze colored skin. His decision to wear chocolate colored slacks seemed sensible for the atmosphere. The perfectly curled brown and auburn ringlets framed his face that was now not as closely shaved as Natalie remembered from their meeting at Smith Line.
Natalie forced herself to focus on her words and not on the Greek Adonis standing before her.
“Actually, I am. This is a really hot spot.”
“You look really nice. We must have been thinking the same thing when we left the house. Gotta’ love cashmere, so soft against the skin. ” Heath said as he gently touched Natalie’s scarf.
Looking down nervously, Natalie’s only reply was “Yep, must have been.”
There was a cool silence between the two as Natalie suddenly regretted that she had not called Heath once since he gave her his phone number over four weeks ago.
“So, how have you been? I heard that you LEFT Smith Line. I can’t say that I was surprised. They are a bunch of racist jerks over there anyway.” Natalie appreciated his play on words, despite his knowledge of the truth.
“Well, sometimes you have to cut your losses. I guess I was too… I don’t know, too honest for them.”
“Unlike us sleazy lawyers, right?” Heath asked with a devilish smile.
Natalie’s discomfort surfaced and distorted her face. “Relax, I’m joking. Don’t take me seriously. Really.” Heath attempted to put her at ease.
“I knew that. I actually never classified you as one of the sleazier lawyers there. You seemed to be the only one to have the balls to stand up to Tom. Now, you talk about sleazy and underhanded…”
“You don’t have to tell me that. I work for the asshole.”
“Lucky you. At least you are on still on the payroll.”
“Listen, you didn’t let them sever your contract without paying it out, did you?” Heath instantly wished that he could pull his words into his mouth.
Natalie smiled at his inability to mask his embarrassment. Natalie attempted to console him.
“So much for corporate discretion. I know you knew how messy things got with them. When they sent my confidentiality contract, I refused to sign. After thinking about it for a little while, I decided to take my money and run.”
“If I’m not being too intrusive, can I ask you how much you ran away with?”
Natalie was thrown off by Heath’s interest in her settlement. She wondered if he was sent by Smith Line to provoke her in breaking her contractual agreemeof confidentiality. She glanced up at his olive colored face and decided to trust him.
“About ten, the agreed upon retainer. I didn’t break the bank, but it was a nice piece of cash to forget about the whole thing.”
Heath’s face grew distorted as Natalie revealed the pay off.
“Oh, well, okay then.” Heath said as he stared into his vodka and tonic, nervously.
Natalie was growing hot from the fireplace and shifted her position away from the fire. She stood directly in front of Heath and instinctively sensed his apprehension.
“Is there something wrong Heath?” Natalie asked as she touched his arm.
The tension in Heath’s shoulders eased a little as they welcomed Natalie’s touch.
“No, nothings wrong. It’s just that if you held out, I think you could have gotten a little more.”
“You think?”
“Alright, you know that I know, but I am a little nervous about divulging company information over a vodka and tonic.”
Natalie sensed that the conversation had lost it’s intimacy and was moving toward an awkward place that made the hairs on her neck stand on end. A familiar silence returned as they both mentally searched for ways out of their conversational abyss.
Heath made the proverbial first move.
“Where are my manners, can I refresh your drink? What’s that a cosmopolitan?”
“Well, it is if you hold the vodka.” Natalie replied as she moved the small straw around in the ice.
“Conservative drinker, huh? I can appreciate that in a woman. Cranberry juice it is.”
Heath disappeared into the crowd and Natalie watched him walk away. She also noticed the distasteful stares of black men who hadn’t given her a second glance when she first walked in. She returned their looks of betrayal with a sly smile and decided that she would savor the attention that she held for the moment. She smoothed her hair back behind her ears seductively like she had seen actresses on TV master. It always made them look demure and approachable. She had hoped that it did the same thing for her.
She managed eye contact with a tall brother that seemed interested, but decided to play the elusive role. Natalie wasn’t sure that she wanted to play along. She could tell that he was accustomed to the attention because there were several women vying for his attention. He gave a respectful nod in Natalie’s direction. The diamond encrusted basketball hanging from an oversized platinum necklace made his neck look strained and unsteady. Natalie decided that she didn’t want to be another stallion in his stable and turned her back to the Cristal drinking pseudo celebrity. She never understood why athletes felt it necessary to drape themselves in the gaudiest jewelry. The Roca Wear sweat suit he wore was loud and intended to announce his affluence. It, too, was oversized. ‘Why would a six foot nine man need to have clothing that was obviously too large for him?’ She thought as she eyed him curiously.
She then noticed the man approach Heath. The two were immediately engulfed in conversation as they moved away from the crowd. Natalie reasoned that Heath was probably helping him out of some paternity mess that seemed to frequently plague athletes. The two spoke with the ease of familiarity that did not resemble the relationship that an overpaid athlete had with his attorney.
Natalie couldn’t help but notice all of the black women that suddenly developed an interest in Heath. Perhaps his association with a wealthy ball player contributed to his new found popularity. She refused to conform to the predictable behavior.
While scanning the room for Eric, Natalie saw a group of four women enter the eatery. With oversized rocks dominating their fingers, the women gracefully moved about the club with a well rehearsed, if not synchronized, sense of entitlement. They were the players’ wives. As they headed towards the VIP section they flashed dismissive looks at the other women in the club and laughed at corny jokes that y made amongst each other.
One particularly petite wife had flair about her that separated her from the other women. She was clearly the leader of the pack. A very eclectic mix of African American and Asian lineage afforded her an exotic look that defied normalcy. She had her hair pulled into a tight pony tail that draped down her petite back. Her tanned skin seemed to make her surroundings appear drab and lifeless. Even with her Jimmy Choo stilettos, she was the shortest and from her lightly muscled body, most well maintained. As she entered the VIP area, the women looked on with measured envy, the men with poorly veiled desire. Her eyes met Heath’s and she quickly diverted them, like she did not want anyone to detect their clandestine connection. Natalie made a mental note that Heath had a penchant for women of color and decided that she would purchase a gym membership first thing in the morning. Just in case their little “thing” turned into more. She would have to compete with women like that and she wasn’t about to come up short.
Natalie mentally envisioned herself as his wife and the world that it would offer. Glitzy parties, ball players and entertainers frequenting her home, vacationing on yachts in exotic countries. She quickly dismissed it as she pondered the infidelity and inevitable paternity suits that wives of prominent men were subjected to. “I’ll pass.” Natalie mumbled to herself as she continued to scan the room.
“Talking to your invisible man again?” Eric asked, chuckling as he emerged from behind his sister’s back. He was clearly tipsy from the alcohol. His eyes were now reddened.
Natalie knew that he had found someone that he could “relate” to. She waited for what she knew was coming next.
Eric cleared his throat. “So you gonna be alright if I leave with a couple of friends?” Eric asked while looking at two men who could be models in GQ.
“Sounds like you already made up your mind. Boy, you don’t even know them. They could be killers or something.” Natalie attempted to reason with her sedate brother.
He laughed and waved it off.
Heath eyed the exchange her from a distance though he was in the midst of a very involved conversation with the ball player. It made Natalie blush.
Eric waived at his waiting buddies and told Natalie that they were gonna party at a males only club in downtown Houston and a few other late night spots. Natalie shook her head as Eric mused about how much money the guys dropped in the eatery on champagne and food. Natalie interrupted his monologue with a relevant question.
“So how you gonna get home?”
Eric appeared unaffected.
“I’ll get there. You just make sure that you have your phone on in case I have to call. You don’t know what kinds of tricks these fools might have up their sleeves.” Eric smiled devilishly.
“I thought that was what you liked.” Natalie hissed.
“Whatever! You are such a fake assed Mary Poppins. At least one of us should see some dick tonight.”
As the two coordinated where she would leave the spare key outside of the house, Heath walked up behind Natalie. While not territorial, he was careful to make his presence know.
Eric’s eyes stretched as far as the cannabis he had just smoked would allow. Instinctively, Natalie turned around to see what the distraction was. When she laid eyes on Heath, he radiated a glow that was indescribable. It was like passion mixed with anticipation. It looked like he wasn’t sure if jealousy was the right reaction, but he was at the brink of it. He bit his bottom lip just slightly. It made Natalie’s body quiver with electricity. The energy that flowed through his eyes was being transmitted to her. She recognized this and did her best to conceal the attraction.
“Oh, you’re done with your talk. Is everything okay?” Natalie asked wondering if he his jealousy made him forget her drink.
“Uh, uhm, yes, actually, everything is great.” Heath said as he placed a hanhe small of Natalie’s back. His symbolic gesture excited and frightened her at the same time. She snuggled against his hand just enough to let him know that his gesture was welcomed.
Eric sensed the uneasiness in Natalie’s face and decided not to ruin his sister’s groove. He extended his hand to Heath, and put on his best impression of a threatening older brother.
“I’m Eric, Natalie’s brother. Pleased to meet you.”
Heath’s facial muscles relaxed into a smile as he extended his hand.
“Heath Anderson, nice to meet you. Your sister and I used to work together once upon a time.” Heath said assuredly.
“Yes, I think she mentioned you. A lawyer, right?” Eric asked.
Heath was pleasantly surprised that he had been the topic of one of Natalie’s familial chats with her brother.
“I am, yes. I can imagine what words she used to describe me.” Heath’s attempt at self defecating humor worked and the two shared a chuckle.
Natalie looked on with a smile that hid what she truly said to Eric about Heath.
“It was good, don’t worry. Look, I would love to chat with you guys, but you probably have boring legal stuff to go over and I have a few friends waiting on me. Nice meeting you, man.” Eric excused himself and left Natalie and Heath staring at each other unsure of what to say next.
The awkward moment was interrupted by the sound of laughter emanating from the bar. Heath used the opportunity to break the ice.
“So…I have you all to myself, damn I’m lucky.” His smile melted Natalie’s thong that was now soaked. She wondered if he knew as he continued to speak. “Would you like to grab a bite to eat? I kinda fumbled and forgot your drink and I am a little hungry.” Natalie wondered if ‘hungry’ had a deeper meaning. She fought herself to remain strong.
“Oh, it’s kinda late. I don’t think I can afford to eat anything this late at night.” Natalie said modestly while patting her hips.
“From where I’m standing, everything looks just fine. A little appetizer won’t hurt anything. Come on, live a little.” Natalie resented how sexy and convincing Heath’s charm was.
She wanted to give a little, but not enough to make him think that she was easy and accommodating.
“Okay, just dessert. And then I am going to go home and hit the treadmill.” Natalie chuckled internally at the fact that she did not own a treadmill.
“Awesome. I think I can get us one of the best tables in here.” Heath grabbed her by the hands and led her to the back of the eatery to a private dining room.
Again, the eyes of envious men and women followed them and immediately assessed the nature of their relationship as a thing of disgust. Natalie locked eyes with a man that she immediately recognized as Rodney from the service station. She held her breath.

Chapter 17 Rodney

Rodney’s eyes widened as he recognized Natalie as the woman he met on the day some gang bangers torched his father’s service station for his refusal to pay them a tax on his business. They locked eyes as he quietly cursed her out for being a sell out. Their glares went unnoticed by the tall white man that hurriedly led her to the private dining room. “Probably’ gonna’ run through her gold diggin’ ass.” Rodney thought to himself as he followed them with his eyes until they left his line of vision. He seemed to brim with contempt as he assessed that Natalie was the type of woman that would seem perfectly at home with a white man in a room of black men.

He then decided that she was what she appeared to be on their first meeting. Shallow, needy, and constantly searching for validation. Those type of women, he surmised, could not deal with a real black man and often dated white men. “Fuck that ho”, he mouthed to himself as he sipped on his Heineken and eyed a rotund woman with a blond afro and bright fuchsia lips.

He knew that she was probably nothing like Natalie and rolled his he approached her. He hated that he longed for the woman who resented his existence, the very type of woman that would just as soon spit at him than say hello.

He hated himself for wanting Natalie or someone like her and he hated her for wanting someone he thought was better than him. He smiled with the woman he settled for and bought her a drink. He was growing tired of settling for less. Even more, he was tired of being thought of as “less”.

Chapter 18 Natalie

Natalie tried to remain calm as she managed her way though the crowd and into the private dining room. Did Rodney know it was her who destroyed his father’s service station? Was that why he stared at her so menacingly? A patchwork of faces and snide remarks bombarded her as she held Heath’s hand so tightly. So many distasteful stares and hisses. They sounded so much like the voices that the medication was attempting to drown out. It was an overwhelming experience for her and she struggled to maintain her wit.

She breathed a sigh of relief as Heath opened the ten foot mahogany doors. The large crystal chandelier made the room radiant and classic. Polished woods and leather seem to offset the trendy contemporary feel of the rest of the bistro. Natalie wondered what lawyer privileges had been extended to Heath from the management and what secrets he would take to the grave for it. The room was completely empty and lit only by the glowing chandelier that bounced brilliant rainbow colored flecks of light off of the china that was daintily etched with platinum and pearl accents. The crystal goblets were cut in intricate patterns that boasted their richness and pedigree.

The regalia of the room encouraged Natalie to imagine for a moment that she was a princess as Heath led her to the singular round table covered with starched white linens. She nervously awaited awkward moments to come and wished that she could have something with alcohol to take her edge off.

Heath noticed her discomfort and decided to break the silence. “I hope that you don’t mind, but out there seems so impersonal. I thought we could come in here and have a little more intimacy”. Natalie’s brow raised and Heath instantly corrected himself.
“Privacy, I mean, privacy.” Natalie laughed at his quick recovery and relaxed.
Heath did as well. “So, what would you like to have?” Heath asked while scanning the leather bound menu.
“You.” Natalie answered mentally thankful that Heath couldn’t hear her thoughts.
“I recommend the beef Wellington and asparagus mousse. It’s delicious.”
Natalie tried to mask that she was not particularly moved by asparagus.
Instinctively, Heath adjusted.
“The fire grilled prawns with mango chutney are great also. If you don’t like that they have a really great chicken cacciatore…”
Natalie stopped Heath’s nervous offerings by touching his well toned arm.
“I am sure that whatever you suggest would be just great. You seem to like this place and something tells me you have great taste.” Natalie winked to punctuate her last statement.
Heath could not stop himself from revealing a boyish grin that implied shyness long overcame by life and experience.
“I trust your judgment.” Natalie added suggestively.
“Do you really trust me? A lawyer? A big white lawyer? Wow. I am feeling so lucky I better take advantage of this opportunity while it presents itself.” They both chuckled and Heath carefully moved a little closer to Natalie.
Natalie used the shared comfort to quiz Heath about his connections and how they managed such lush accommodations.
“So, what player did you save millions in paternity suits? What contract did you renegotiate that had fail safe that ensured a paycheck despite drug test results?” Natalie asked expectantly.
“I’m sorry?” Heath asked and immediately resented the fact that it sounded so formal.
“Uhm, I mean, do you know the owners? I hear that they are ball players. I guess you represent a few of them?” Natalie attempted to clarify her insinuations.
“Oh, well, yeah. I give them a little advice every now and then. You know, a few contract revisions every now and then, maybe an order of custody that favors them. Light stuff, really. No Johnny Cochran shit.” Heath said, downplaying his relationship with the professional ball players that were rumored to own the restaurant.
As a lawyer, it was a dubious thing to associate oneself exclusively with one athlete. All of their legal ramblings often followed the lawyer long after the athlete and their multi-million dollars contracts have expired. Heath wasn’t interested in a similar fate for himself so he learned early on to verse himself in many facets of law from corporate and contractual law to real estate and acquisitions. His lawyer friends often joked that his greed made him such a successful attorney because when one well ran dry, he quickly created another to draw from.
Heath appreciated Natalie’s interest in him and decided to look a little closer at her. He heard rumors that she took a lot of time off from work and wondered if the episode at Smith-Line took a toll on her emotionally. He couldn’t tell by looking at her.
Natalie’s eyes brightened as she began to ask question after question. The two talked about everything from the OJ verdict and reactions on both sides to family upbringing to corporate America to religion and back to OJ again.
He shared with her his desire to own a beach home in the south. He spoke of his grandmother’s home in Charleston, South Carolina and how kind the people were there, vividly recalling hot summers with cold glasses of lemonade and pecan pralines as big as a fist. He described spicy crabs and mornings of shrimp with grits.
“I’d love to see it sometime.” Natalie heard herself say without editing her thoughts first.
Natalie imagined herself on a there with him, on a porch. Swinging in a rickety swing and saying things like, “that’s divine” and “certainly dear.”
“Maybe we can go sometime. You’ll love it. I am actually heading down there next month to close on some land there in an area called Mt. Pleasant. It’s a small island with ridiculously beautiful homes, beaches, and great shopping. I am building my vacation home there.”
Natalie wished she could recall her childhood as fondly as Heath did. She told him of her upcoming and dreaded trip home. She winced when he told her that he had family issues as well.
“If only you knew.” Natalie heard one of the voices whisper in response.
The two dined on grilled salmon, ginger infused prawns, Kobe beef tar tar, and crab stuffed mushrooms. Natalie hated to think of what the total came to as they finished up their final course of white chocolate gelato and chocolate covered strawberries. She couldn’t help but notice that the waiter never returned with a check.
“You have some very generous friends. That dinner must have cost a fortune.”
Heath blushed boyishly.
“Yeah, they’re okay. After all, it’s just money, right?”
Natalie pretended not to be impressed by his statement
As Heath helped Natalie from her chair, her sweater slipped off of her shoulders haphazardly. Heath noticed peculiar bruising on her arms and shoulder. He remembered the fights against her sister that Natalie spoke of and reasoned that the elder sister got the better of a young Natalie. He smiled as he imagined what she looked like in her youth, beautiful and conquering, like she did when he first noticed her in Thomas Paxton’s office. He wanted her. The two ended their dinner quietly with Heath insisting that he escort her to her car. He walked Natalie to her car and gave her a warm embrace good night.
“Can you use my number this time?” He asked hoping that Natalie would not disregard his interest again.
“I just might do that counselor.” Heath wished that Natalie could separate him from the lawyer personashe had created for him.
“Thank you for a wonderful night. The food was unbelievable and the company was even better.”
Heath blushed in gratitude and kissed her hand gently.
“The pleasure was all mine, bella.”
Again Natalie felt herself become moist.
“Oh yeah, tell your mafia, ball player, or real estate mogul friends that own this joint that this is one of the hottest spots in Houston. I have to come back again with a friend.” Natalie winked again at Heath before she pulled off.
Heath savored the experience and appreciated the moments he spent with the very elusive Natalie. He turned to re-enter the bistro that he co-owned and stopped to say hello to one of the staff members. She informed him that there were some payroll checks that he needed to sign and some invoices on his desk that needed to be approved for payment. She read a list of socialites and dignitaries that were in the bistro and the comps given. He nodded approvingly and went to the office of his establishment. Seated in the brushed leather seat of his office, he closed his eyes. All he saw was Natalie. He decided that he didn’t want to see anything else.

Chapter 19 Ilene

Trouble had a face for Ilene. Paul Cummings had become quite aloof despite several threats that Ilene made openly against him. He expressed his contempt for their arrangement and threatened to inform Charles of Ilene’s infidelities. Undaunted and clearly defiant of his threats, she continued to press him for her compensation.

Unlike his normal percussive reaction, Paul’s response was one that Ilene was truly bewildered by. He said nothing except that he was going to handle things like a man. He ignored her threats of exposing his tryst with the young boy and began to disregard her calls. Ilene was prepared to launch an all out war when something, or someone, stopped her dead in her tracks as she was “shopping” again at Phipps Plaza for her fiftieth birthday bash.

She was selecting some hand blown crystal goblets that were priced at $150 each. She felt they spoke of her class and breeding and would look smashing as a place setting on one of the tables during her bash. She was prepared to slip one of the goblets in her pricey satchel, but thought she better make sure that there were no witnesses to her “victimless” crime.

She began to look around for a sales associate and quickly found a tall mocha colored woman staring at her with her arms folded. Dressed in a jersey knit black dress and gold hoops dangling from her ears, the youthful woman stared directly at Ilene. Ilene instinctively placed the goblet back on the display case. The woman then began to approach Ilene, which immediately caused alarm. Ilene gave a dismissive look at the goblet display case and began to walk away. She was intimidated by the woman’s beautiful and flawless brown face and almond shaped eyes. Something looked familiar about the woman but Ilene could not place the face. Her long wavy hair convinced Ilene that she was one of the many trophy wives of the NBA and NFL players who frequented the upscale boutiques in Atlanta. They usually spent their days shopping in Phipps Plaza and decorating their monstrously large mansions.

The woman continued to follow Ilene as she made her way into the shoe gallery of Lord and Taylor. Aware of this, Ilene decided to stop the woman short. She spun around and faced the woman head on. Alarmed, the woman stopped as well. Ilene’s pursuer cautiously continued in Ilene’s direction. The unknown follower pursed her lips tightly as her if coral lipstick announced her pending approach. Ilene could not help but notice the flawlessly applied make up the woman carried off with perfection. She was then convinced that this woman had to be someone who she saw in public before. She appeared too young to be a society wife and too old be a young party vixen. Ilene readied herself for battle mode as the young woman came within speaking distance. Ilene held her breath watched the woman began to speak.

“So, you’re her.” The woman said in a contrived voice that mixed pleasantry and contempt.
Ilene was not in the mood to be toyed with. Especially not by a Janet Jackson wanna be.
“I beg your pardon?” Ilene asked with equaled contempt.
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t know me. But I sure as hell know you, Ilene.”
“And how is this? I don’t believe we run in the same circles.” Ilene scoffed as she turned her nose up to dismiss the annoying stranger. Ilene turned to leave.
Her urge to leave was hastened by the two security officers that walked inside of Lord and Taylor. She was growing nervous that they had detected the booty of stolen goods that were cleverly concealed in her large and now bulging purse. Ilene prepared to make a hasty departure, but the stranger grabbed her arm and snatched her back to her original position.
“Bitch, you know exactly who I am. Or maybe not me, but my husband’s dick for sure.”
The woman’s lewd comment threw Ilene for a loop. Which wife was this? She continued her cathartic rant, refusing to release Ilene’s arm, despite the struggle.
“I thought you would have been younger, or hell, even prettier. He cheated on me for you? I should drop your celluloid ass right here. I worked too hard on my marriage to have a little cunt like you destroy it…”
Just as the woman was about to slap Ilene in the face, the two security guards approached and broke up the melee. Ilene broke loose and grasped her purse tightly.
“I don’t know who the hell you are, but if you touch me again, I will snatch that cheap assed weave out of your hair.”
“Why don’t you come on granny? Better yet, take a few Geritol and get at me. I will whip your klepto’ ass all over…” The woman then stepped closer to Ilene.
After separating the women again, one of the two security guards spoke.
“Ladies, we are going to have to ask you to leave. We can’t have you disrupting our clients here. This is a respectable establishment.”
Ilene disregarded the comments and spat words at her assailant.
“If you can see through the pound of make up on that acne ridden face, then by all means, come on. I don’t even know who your husband is, but I can see why he would cheat on your ghetto ass.”
The security guards chuckled and interrupted them again.
“Ladies, please don’t force us to escort you off of the property. We don’t want to get the local police involved in this, really.”
The mention of the police sobered Ilene and she calmed herself for the sake of escaping certain jail time.
“You know what officer, you don’t have to worry. I was just leaving before this maniac attacked me. If you don’t mind, could you please keep her at bay until I make it to my Mercedes.” Ilene stressed the last word of her statement.
The woman lunged at Ilene as she attempted to leave again. Ilene laughed and looked back at the enraged woman being held back by one of the security guards. The other guard was escorting Ilene to the parking lot. She couldn’t resist the urge to taunt her new enemy.
“Make sure you keep that bitch on leash, she looks like she’s in heat and could fuck anything not tied down.”
Incensed, the woman then spat at Ilene.
“You’re the whore. You fucked my husband and then begged for money. You dirty little slut. Check her bags, she’s a fucking thief! Why don’t you take you wrinkled ass on the strip where some other fool might pay you for that tired shit. You better stay the fuck away from my husband or I swear I will kill your ass!”
As the guard prepared to check her bags, Ilene then remembered where she saw the woman. She was standing next to Paul Cummings when he was at a ribbon cutting ceremony for a community center in his ward. She was …his wife? Paul told her that the woman standing next to him was his daughter. The irony of the situation choked her, but Ilene refused to show arack in her cool armor. She snatched her bag away from the officers and walked towards the woman, where she launched her final assault to Mrs. Cummings.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me messing with your husband, he was a horrible screw. But then judging from the looks of you, I can see why he would want a break from your psycho ass. Oh, and by the way…how do I taste?”
Ilene’s comments sent Mrs. Cummings into a fitful rage. She then broke loose and sprinted towards Ilene. After tackling her to the ground, she released several blows to Ilene’s face. She managed a fistful of Ilene’s hair as he held her in a headlock and attempted to tear the hair out of her head. Ilene screamed in horror.
The two security guards rushed to Ilene’s aid and began to restrain the woman by putting her hands behind her back. She clenched her fists around Ilene’s extracted hair as if it were the trophy that she treasured. Ilene spat in her face and backed away cautiously. The security guards commanded Ilene to leave the premises immediately or she would be prosecuted for trespassing.
Ilene enjoyed a jittery, but menacing laugh as she walked away. She overheard the guards telling a distraught Mrs. Cummings that they needed to hold in her their facility until she signed an agreement that banned her from the establishment. She would then need to have someone witness the signing that would be a guardian for the agreement. Ilene chuckled and yelled as she walked out of the clear mall doors.
“Don’t worry. I’ll call your husband for you.”
Ilene left the mall smiling, though her face ached uncontrollably. She called Paul Cummings as soon as she could find her cellular phone. His answering machine picked up. She decided to leave a message.
“Paul, it’s me, you know, your fairy godmother. Looks like your bitch, also known as your wife, had a few choice words today. Really Paul, what strip club did you get her from? But then again, we know how you love slumming. Don’t we? I think you had better tell her to steer clear of me before she finds out more than she wanted to know. I have to say, I am disappointed, even for you. You really must hire better help to sleep with. I trust that my money will be where it needs to be by the end of the day before I make things difficult for you. I AM NOT BULLSHITTING. You don’t want to fuck with me. I have given you enough chances. Have a great day.” Beep. That ended Ilene’s message.
She started her car and drove off hoping that Paul would take her threat as seriously as she meant it.

When Ilene arrived home, she found Charles sitting at the granite and mahogany island in their kitchen. She often found him sitting there reading the newspaper or grading term papers.

She was nursing a massive migraine as a result of her altercation with Mrs. Cummings. Things had returned to relative normalcy in their household, barring the occasional spats over Ilene’s exorbitant taste regarding the fiftieth birthday bash that was in planning. The event had ballooned to a $50,000 budget though Ilene originally insisted that she was going to host an intimate gathering of a few of her dearest friends.

Charles knew better than to challenge Ilene’s spending too much. He picked his battles carefully. Ilene approached him with a smile that resembled the one she plastered on when she saw friends she purposely lost touch with.

“Hey Chuck, what’s up? How was your day?” A customary peck on the cheek followed.
He leaned in and responded with the same jubilance.
“Oh, I can’t complain. I did a little yard work. Then I went down to the hall to meet with the banquet manager at the Ritz Carlton. Do you know she wants to give out bottles of Moet as departing favors for your guests? Moet! I told her to forget it. Who the hell does she think we are, the Trumps?” Charles chuckled incredulously and shook his head in disbelief.
Ilene frowned in disgust. Her head was now throbbing immensely.
“Why did you ell her that? That’s a fabulous idea. None of my friends have done that before. That would have been…classic.” Ilene’s mind began to drift into visions of grandeur.
Charles’ grumbling jolted her into reality.
“Have you lost your ever loving mind woman? I am sinking into debt to finance this mess in the first place. Why the hell are you always trying to compete with your friends anyway? I let you go overboard with this. This is not a damned wedding. It’s a freaking birthday party for God’s sake.”
Ilene’s face grew flush with irritation and exhaustion.
“You know what? This is getting so old. We have the money, why not spend it? You only turn fifty once. Why not enjoy it? You’re acting like we’re poor or something.”
Charles’ eyes stretched in disbelief.
“News flash Ilene. We ‘aint exactly living it up. Have you forgotten the bills for your constant botox injections and the lipo you had to have? Or maybe the tummy tuck slipped your damned mind? Oh yeah, you must have lost recollection of your little shopping trips that blew our credit card bills to hell.” Charles threw his hands in the air in frustration.
Ilene bit her bottom lip regretting that Charles was ignorant to the fact that her “inheritance” money funded most of the party. She decided that she was not in the mood to have another battle with him. She would simply call the banquet manager and okay the Moet when Charles left for his poker game down the street. Opting to earn a few brownie points, Ilene digressed.
“Chuck, you’re right. This is just a party and I don’t want to upset you. This is supposed to be a happy occasion, right? So, let me make it up to you. What do you want for dinner tonight?” Ilene asked in an attempt to calm and distract her irate husband.
Charles’ doubtful grimace let Ilene know that she would have to try harder to win his affection.
“Nothing, I already ate. I had lunch with a few of my former students to see what they were up to.”
Ilene feigned interest in Charles’ students, assured that he would enjoy talking about their worldly contributions to society and their wide eyed dreams of black nationalism. Charles began raving about one of his students named Regina and how she was blazing a trail in SWATS, South West Atlanta, an area where drug abuse and poverty once went hand and hand. The area was slowly regaining its stature among Atlanta’s desirable neighborhoods.
Ilene struggled to appear interested as Charles spoke of building Habitat for Humanity houses and a new job skills center. Charles was overjoyed. Ilene was bored.
“I think I am going to start volunteering on Saturdays. They could use the help and Regina would try to take it on by herself if she could. She was always such a dedicated student…”
Ilene was at her wit’s end. It was growing harder and harder for her to pretend to be interested in her husband and his causes. She would make a gallant effort nonetheless.
“You should invite her to the party. I would love to meet her. It’s so hard to find people who care about the less fortunate. That’s why I donate all of my out of season clothes to the House of Ruth for battered women.” Ilene proudly asserted.
Charles instantly felt nauseated by Ilene’s trite contribution to society as a whole. It was another reminder of how different they were. He was about to explain to her the importance of giving wholeheartedly and anonymously when the phone rang.
Ilene anticipated the pending lecture and sprang up to answer the phone.
“Hello.” Ilene answered cheerfully.
“Hey ma, what’s up?” Marc’s voice boomed through the phone.
“Hello my baby, it’s so nice to finally talk to you.” Ilene radiated love every time she spoke with her son.
“Sorry we haven’t talked, I have been so busy with work and things. You’re still my favorite girl, though.” Ilene blushed like she was in high school talking to the object of her crush. Her son always made her feel like she was flawless.
“I better be, I didn’t go through eighteen and a half hours of labor for nothing.”
Marc smiled remembering that his father had secretly revealed to him that his mother was not actually in labor for longer than an hour and a half without strong anesthesia that dulled her labor pains.
“So, you’re ready for your big party? I heard the Queen of England didn’t even get invited. I hope I made the list.”
“Don’t be ridiculous child. In fact, when are you getting here? I wanted you, me and your father to take some photographs by this fabulous photographer friend I have.”
“Oh yeah, I am going to get in on Wednesday. I wanted to meet with a few people about some business prospects, and I want to take you guys out to dinner on Thursday night. I know you will be getting ready for the party on Friday, so I figured Thursday was the safest bet.”
“You’re taking us out to dinner? What’s going on? You’re not going to tell us that you’re gay are you? Let me know now so I can start grieving…”
“Ma, relax. It’s nothing like that. I just wanted to spend some time with you guys, you know catch up on things.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll make reservations at Bonefish. You love it there. It’s a little bit too trendy and yuppie for me, but hey, I can be hip. I love their artwork. You know you should really look into investing into one of these restaurants that they are building on the west end of Atlanta. It’s becoming really trendy and you know I have a few contacts…”
“I think I got everything under control ma, thanks. Is dad around?”
Ilene ignored Marc’s question.
“So, how are things going with that Rachel girl? Is she still modeling? Her parents owned the nicest bed and breakfast at Martha’s Vineyard. It’s so understated and beautiful. Your dad and I vacationed in Martha Vineyard years ago. It’s a little bit too ‘new money’ for my taste. Honey, you should go sometime. The salty air is good for your skin. Are you taking care of your skin? You know how fair your skin is and you really need to exfoliate regularly. I am going to make an appointment for you with the aesthetician at the Nseya Spa in midtown.”
“Fine, whatever ma. But can I talk to dad please?” Ilene resented Marc’s closeness to his father.
“Sure, I just thought that you maybe had more than two words for your mother that carried your for nine months. But here’s your dad.” Ilene reluctantly passed the phone to Charles as she rolled her eyes and walked away.
Charles smiled triumphantly at his son’s slight of queen Ilene. Charles immediately chuckled when he started talking to his son.
“Boy, you’re a mess. What’s going on with you youngster?” Charles’ enthusiasm irritated Ilene who pretended to be in the next room not listening.
The two men enjoyed a playful conversation that seemed to lack the frigid structure that Ilene and Marc shared.
Ilene used the opportunity to call the banquet manager. She knew that Charles would be far too distracted to detect her conversation. She overrode Charles’ decision and gave the okay for the Moet. She also added a caviar bar and chocolate fountain for the cocktail hour.
As Ilene pressed “END” for her call, she noticed that she had an incoming call. The number was blocked and Ilene hesitated before she pressed “TALK”. She thought that it might have been Paul calling after receiving her message and could not resist the urge to gloat. She allowed her finger to press the button and listened before she said hello. The person did not allow her the time to offer her salutation before the voice commanded her to look outside and quickly hung up.
Fear gripped Ilene as she walked slowly towards the front door. She looked back to see if Charles was watching her. She found that he was far too engrossed in what seemed to be a secretive relationship with their son to notice her actions. As she approached the front of the house, Ilene grabbed the iron fire prod from the fireplace. She swung the door open and looked around frantically to see what was going on. She found nothing. She hurried over to her car to see if there had been any damage done to it. Nothing. She instinctively looked in the mailbox and found nothing. With each moment, Ilene became more aggravated. Annoyed by someone toying with her at her place of residence, Ilene prepared to launch her phone onto the cemented circular driveway.
Just as she was about to toss the phone, it rang again. Again the number was blocked. This time Ilene would not allow someone else to control the conversation. She pressed “TALK” and began to spew insults and curses to her would be assailant. When she finally stopped her rant, the voice emerged again. “Now that you have acted like the raving little bitch that you are, I just want you to turn around and take a look behind you. You haven’t done a lot of that in your life. It’s time for you to see the mess that you leave behind.” The phone hung up again.
The caller sounded like Paul Cummings, but Ilene reasoned that he sounded too relaxed and not at all unnerved by her threats.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Ilene asked to no one.
She turned around in just enough time to see Charles walking towards the French doors that led to the backyard. He seemed to be drawn by something that was in the middle of the deck. Ilene rushed behind him to see what he was seeing. She noticed the cordless phone lying on the island in the kitchen. As the two grew closer to the door, Ilene nearly lost her breath as she felt a wave of heat coming from outside. The wooden veranda connected to their house was set afire and quickly spreading to the back of the house.
“Oh my God!” was all Ilene heard from Chuck as he rushed to grab the garden hose to attempt to extinguish the fire.
Ilene was shocked and frozen in her tracks. “When you play with fire, you get burned.” Ilene recalled the ominous words that she heard from the stranger in St. Lucia.
Charles looked up in annoyance at Ilene’s frozen stance and commanded that she call the fire department. Ilene backed away slowly and grabbed the phone on the counter. Without thinking, she dialed 911 and told them that the veranda was on fire and gave her address. Her cell phone rang just as she pressed “END” on the cordless phone. The number was blocked but she knew who it was and snatched the phone from her pocket where it rested.
Ilene had enough of the games and decided that she was going to even the score. She calmed herself and answered the phone.
“Hello”. Ilene answered calmly.
The male voice answered. “Everything okay Ilene?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Oh, I don’t know, if my house were on fire I might be a little, I don’t know, vexed.”
Ilene’s lips tightened involuntarily.
“Not at all. We have insurance. I don’t sweat dumb little things or people. Though, I have to say, you should have been more careful about who you pick fights with. You just started a shit storm for yourself.”
The voice responded with a deep throated laugh.
“A fight? Nah, that’s too clean. What we have here is an all out war and you’re on the loosing end.”
“I guess we will soon see, wont we?”
More cynical laughter.
“I can’t wait. See you at the party.” The phone clicked and the call was disconnected.
Ilene felt panicked and angered at the same time. She was forced to face reality when heard Chuck scream out.
The wind shifted causing one of the flames to graze his face. He was bent over in pain by the time that Ilene reached him. Her guilt was compounded by the fact that she spent time on the phone that she could have been helping to control the fire that now threatened her house.
“Did you call the fire department?”
“Yes, of course I did. They should be here any minute. Let’s get away from this until they get here. Theycan handle it. The wind keeps shifting and it’s dangerous.” Chuck acquiesced reluctantly and they both came around to the front of the house to await the fire department.
Within seven minutes, they heard the sirens nearing their gated community and were surrounded by neighbors who congregated in small groups rapidly exchanging whispers and their theories about the mysterious fire. No one offered buckets of water or hoses.
“Bigots…they probably set it. The south will never change.” Charles hissed as he mentally processed the moment.
Ilene rolled her eyes as she understood that Charles’ militant mind was hard at work.
The engine roared up to their house and men jumped off before it came to a full stop. Ilene gasped as the firemen pushed her aside and asked who the owner of the house was as they quizzed the mass of all white on lookers.
Charles emerged from the interior of the house where he went to close off the windows to prevent the fire from leaping into the interior. Clearly shaken and annoyed at the racist implication of the chief fireman, he raised his hand and approached him. The southern drawl of lower class whisky drinking white trash greeted him with contempt.
“This YOUR place?” The words seemed to pain him as a spittle of white foam formed at the corner of his mouth. Clearly a sign of alcohol abuse, Charles reasoned to himself. Charles forced himself to be decent in front of Ilene, and more importantly, a mob of white onlookers waiting to see if he would evolve into the proverbial angry black man of their preconception.
“Yes, I am the owner. Charles Campbell, thanks for getting here so quickly.” Charles extended his hand for a handshake and it was returned half heartedly.
“Yeah, well it looks like a lil’ brush fire that got out of hand. You folks been burnin’ yo’ trash? You know that’s against the law around here.”
The term “you folks” lingered in the air as Charles shook his head no.
“Well, it looks like it’s not gonna do much damage, there was some kind of accelerant used to ignite it. It smells like lighter fluid. Sometimes teenagers do this type of stuff as a prank. Definitely, I would call the police to file a report for your insurance claim. I will give you a report to give to them.”
Without waiting for Charles to respond, the fireman disappeared into the group of fireman that had extinguished the fire in the rear of the house. Charles looked at Ilene to gauge her emotions. He couldn’t read the blank expression on her face. It almost appeared to be measured vengeance. He would attempt to diffuse the situation.
“Honey, kids do this dumb shit all the time. Our insurance will cover it. Did you notice any of them hanging around here lately? I see them all trying to look like thugs around the neighborhood. What a joke, those little clowns have no idea of what struggle is.”
Ilene remained stoic. When Charles wrapped his arms around her shoulders, she was forced to provide a response.
“I know Chuck, but this is so low class. We paid $750,000 for this house. Hell our homeowner association dues are $500 a month and this is the shit we have to deal with.”
Charles was impressed that Ilene even bothered to take note of the monthly expenses.
“Well, we’ll definitely address it in the next meeting. If I wanted to stay in the hood, I would move to SWATS.” Charles said.
The reference to that area of town reminded Ilene that her vendetta with Paul Cummings had just reached a new plateau and it was now time to wage her war. She decided to make a trip to Kinko’s the next morning when Charles left for work. Her days of playing were done. She meant business and he was going to understand it one way or another.

Chapter 20 Marc

Life was beginning to resemble normalcy. After resigning to the fact that Sherise would indeed bear his child, Marc began to prepare for the inevitable. He still resented the pregnancy, but decided that hating Sheris was not the answer to his problems.

He and Reggie shared strained conversations about Marc’s absence at the gym and standing Friday happy hour outings. He was decidedly secretive about his pending child and made few concessions with Sherise as she insisted that they spend more bonding time together for the sake of the baby.

Marc noticed her persona change and wondered how much of it had to do with the fact that she was having a baby. Hardly two weeks had passed since Marc agreed to attend the first doctor’s visit with her and she was already pushing him to let her move in. Though he knew that would never happen, Marc decided that he would make sure that she was in a safer environment.

He had been meeting with a realtor to get her into a condo in Laurel, Maryland, a suburb about twenty minutes outside of DC that was quiet and known for their great schools. He reasoned that a change of environment would at least give the baby a fighting chance, even if it’s mother was the scheming hood rat that he thought she was. It was also a good insurance policy because it would be damn near impossible for Sherise to pop up unannounced.

Marc remained absolute about his desire to control the fate of his life. He wasn’t going to be one of the men who got suckered into marrying women just because they get pregnant. He did not want Sherise and wasn’t going to settle for the mediocrity she offered him.

Marc often tried to contain his contempt as Sherise would site her goals of leaving the salon to pursue a degree in international business. She would occasionally leave college admissions booklets haphazardly when she visited, though Marc never witnessed her reading them. She appeared to be more interested in reading Sista 2 Sista and Black Hair magazines. His anger was worsened by the fact that Marc felt that the comments of a professional career were made solely for his listening enjoyment and knew that Sherise had truly believed that she had cashed in her lottery ticket when she announced her pregnancy.

Nonetheless, he forced himself to be supportive and to stop making hateful comments to her. Today was particularly challenging because he had been getting pressured by Sherise to introduce her to his family so that they could start getting to know each other “for the baby’s sake”. He reluctantly promised her to take her down south for his mother’s retirement celebration.

Today they were meeting at the doctor’s office and then going to dinner so that they could discuss Sherise’s living arrangements. Apparently, Sherise’s mother received a notice from the housing authority that she had exceeded the number or tenants allowed to reside in public housing and had to have any unauthorized persons living there gone by the end of the month or she would be evicted. Sherise swore that her mother’s nemesis, and fellow welfare recipient neighbor, Ms. Donna, had called and reported the infraction since her mother had not sold her any of her food stamps this month. The whole situation made Marc nauseous and regretful that he had impregnated the poster child for ghetto fabulousness.

Marc had already started talking to a realtor and had a few condos lined up. He was sure that Sherise would jump at the chance to live like white folk on someone else’s dime.

“Uhm, you think you could help me with this?” Sherise’s voice startled Marc as he stared at the aquarium filled with expensive luminescent tropical fish and white rocks in the doctor’s office. Shopping bags from Nordstrom, Lord and Taylor, and Bloomingdales overwhelmed her as she struggled to balance herself in her three inch Jimmy Choo-ish sandals.

Marc moved quickly to help her as he didn’t want her to have a reason to revive the attitude she was undoubtedly nursing.
“Sorry about that. I would have met you at the train station if I knew you were going shopping.”
“So, what, now you care? I didn’t know I had to check with you every time I make a move.” Sherise spat Marc, refusing to mask her contempt for him and their current living arrangements.
“I am not saying you do. I just thought you said you didn’t have any money when we talked this morning.” Marc instantly regretted the tone that he took and knew that Sherise would capitalize on the opportunity to revisit their previous conversation.
“Well, if you recall, Marc, I also asked you could me and the baby stay with you for a while and your answer was “no”. You didn’t seem concerned about what I was gonna do then, so don’t be now. And anyway, I needed some maternity clothes for MY baby and I wasn’t about to ask you for shit.”
Marc rolled his eyes in the back of his head and kept them closed as he spoke slowly and deliberately to Sherise.
“I thought that we agreed that I would help you find your own place and help with the bills. That way, you can have your privacy and I…”
“And you can be a fucking whore like nothing ever happened, right? Puh-lease, okay? I am not going for the okey-doke. You must think I am one of those simple assed Howard broads, right? My baby deserves a family and the fact that you want to run around like a stankin’ assed ho’ makes me sick.” Sherise punctuated her statements by rolling her eyes and pointing her manicured fingers in Marc’s face.
“Look, I already told you we are not a family. You have this stupid pipe dream and it’s not gonna happen. I am doing the responsible thing and trying to treat you like a lady, but I can see you’re not used to that.”
Sherise’s eyes widened.
“Treat me like a lady? How? By fucking me and then refusing to tell your family and friends you got me knocked up? I’ve been with niggahs that treated me way better than this played shit. And you don’t even…”
Marc’s irritation soared.
“Well why don’t you take your project-prone ass back to the hood? Maybe Pookie or June Bug might be able to help you out. Oh that’s right, they don’t have shit either. I am sick of this simple assed bullshit with you, girl. You acting like I wanted you to get pregnant…You want the truth? I got caught up with your ass and regret like shit that I ever brought you back to my place that night.” Marc shocked himself at how cruel his words were.
“Not half as much I regret dealing with your wanna be white, uppity fucking attitude. You fucking make me sick.”
With equaled venom, Marc returned, “Well, die and prove it.”
Tears welled in Sherise’s eyes.
“I fucking hate you, you son of a bitch. I wish I never met you.”
“Finally, we agree on something.” Marc said as the two waited on opposite sides of the ob/gyn office to meet with the doctor who would let them have their first peek at the baby that lived in Sherise’s body and in Marc’s regrets.
Sherise sobbed quietly as Marc peered into the fish tank wishing that his life was as simple as theirs. He didn’t want to fight with Sherise, but found it impossible to find a middle ground between them. How could she feel so entitled to him? He had no say if the baby would be born, and she fully expected him to be overjoyed at the thought of it. He hated her because she controlled everything in his life at this point. He stared deep into the fish tank wishing he was anywhere but there.
Just as he was about to escape, an overweight nurse badly in need of teeth whitening called Sherise’s name. As prompted, she stood up, straightened her gypsy skirt and turquoise tube top and started walking towards the examination room. She massaged her belly that now resembled a small cantaloupe and looked in Marc’s direction as she walked. She stopped at the door and rolled her eyes.
“You coming?” She said it to him but the question seemed to singe Marc as he reluctantly got up and walked to the examination room.
The two waited in silence for twenty minutes for Dr. Elkins to come in. He had a great bedside manner and addressed them like they were a couple who had been trying to pregnant for years.
“So ladies and gentlemen, would we like to see our beautiful bundle of joy for the first time?” Marc managed a half hearted smile as Sherise grinned from ear to ear. The nurse flicked off the lights and told them to look at the ultrasound machine. Marc noticed Sherise reaching for his hand and chose not to embarrass her around strangers for that particular moment. As they held hands, a muffled but rapid beating sound filled the room. Marc remained motionless while the object of his past dread became a real person as he listened. He was suspended between emotions and found it difficult to form an expression. Sherise, sensing how tense he became while holding her hand, jerked it away in disgust. Marc was noticeably bothered by Sherise’s action, but in the interest of decorum, elected not to make a scene. Clearly, Sherise was not of the same mindset. Sensing the thick tension in the air, Dr. Elkins attempted to diffuse what promised to be an ugly exchange.
“Guess now you can go out and get one of those God awful minivans.” He punctuated his statement with a chuckle and patted Sherise’s leg. Distracted by the doctor’s comment, Sherise offered a manufactured saccharin smile.
“Okay folks, everything looks good for now so I guess I will see you again in a month. And it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr…?”
“Campbell. Please call me Marc.” Marc answered the doctor wishing that he didn’t leave him alone with Sherise.
“Okay then Marc, then I will see you in a month as well?” The doctor asked.
“No.” Sherise replied angrily and peering at Marc.
Marc, desperate to recover from the pending disaster replied, “we’ll see.”
At that, the doctor impatiently made his exit. His surgically enhanced face defied him and allowed his discomfort to show.
Marc was thoroughly embarrassed. He knew that Sherise was primed for battle. This time, he would not back down. As soon as the door closed, Sherise launched her assault.
“Are you fucking serious? We here to see your baby, joe. You didn’t even say nothin’ when you saw the heartbeat. Your cell phone going off and shit. You can hate or love it, but the baby is here. For real, if you gonna act like that, then I don’t want you around me stressing me out and shit.”
Marc bit his bottom lip.
“So, you’re mother Theresa now? Like wearing those tight assed Seven jeans that you wear all the time are good for the baby. Not to mention that you are cussing like a sailor and the baby can hear that. Why don’t we talk about the fact that the baby needs a mother who aint hanging out in the club around all of that cigarette and weed smoke?”
“Marchevis, please! I haven’t been to the club since I found out. I am not about to be sitting here arguing with you. Either we gonna be together and you are gonna act like this aint a joke, or we out and you aint got to worry about what I am doing. And can you answer that fucking phone or are you scared it’s one of your little bitches calling?”
Marc looked down at his phone that had been ringing throughout the doctor’s visit. He didn’t recognize the number, so he sent it straight to voice mail. Sherise’s prompting and his own curiosity got the best of him as pressed “TALK” on the phone.
“Hello?” Marc asked with pronounced bass in his voice.
Sherise rolled her eyes.
“Reggie? What did you say? You did what?! I am on the way.” Marc continued to talk into his cell phone as he left Sherise and the building.

Chapter 21 Reggie

“Reginald Pritchard, you are under arrest.” The Prince Georges county police officer said as he removed his handcuffs from their holster in Reggie’s Silver Spring hi-rise condo.

“What! What the hell for? Man, I haven’t done anything, and I don’t need to be handcuffed like some criminal.”
“Apparently, Mr. Pritchard, you have a thing for under-aged girls. Damn brother, a fifteen year old?” The whitficer that accompanied the black arresting officer shook his head in disgust.
Reggie was immediately enraged by the attack on his character.
“I don’t know what the hell you are talking about. I have never done some ill shit like that. You got the wrong guy, seriously.”
The police officer chuckled at the very popular cliché that Reggie offered.
“Well, if that’s the case, Mr. Pritchard, all of this will be cleared up. You have a lawyer, don’t you?”
“I do. And I know that I am entitled to a phone call. This shit is ridiculous and you have the wrong person.”
“Do we, Mr. Pritchard? It appears that you are quite the Casanova. Maybe we should ask Melanie Evans and her parents about how innocent you are.”
“Who? I don’t know anyone by that name! Man, what the fuck is this – Punked?” Reggie asked hoping it was true.
“Sorry, I aint Ashton Kutcher and this aint MTV. Now, please put your hands behind your back, so that we can transport you downtown.” The officer stated as he grew annoyed by Reggie’s arrogance.
Aware of his pending arrest, Reggie attempted to bargain with the officer.
“Okay, fine. I understand that you have to do your job. Can I please call someone to let them know what is going on?”
“Sure you can.” Reggie smiled with confidence and knowledge that the officer had acquiesced.
“Thanks, brother.”
“You can make all the calls you want at booking. Right now, you want to place your hands behind your back before I am forced to restrain you.” The officer’s tone was serious and deliberately threatening.
Reggie couldn’t believe what was going on. It resembled an outer body experience and he was not clear how to stop it.
“Do you have any weapons or drugs on your person, Mr. Pritchard?”
“Man, hell naw. I know you know I am not a criminal. This shit isn’t even called for.”
“Mr. Pritchard, these are standard operating procedures. I am about to read you your Miranda rights. Officer Dougan and I will be escorting you to the substation for booking, fingerprinting, and your hearing with the commissioner. Do you have any blood-borne or communicable diseases that you are aware of?”
“What! Now you are saying I got AIDS? Man, fuck you! Just take me down to the station so that I can make my phone call to my lawyer. Some heads are gonna roll for this bullshit.”
“Mr. Reginald Pritchard, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

Chapter 22 Marc

Marc rushed into the 5th Precinct of Prince Georges County, where Reggie said he was held. The stench of stale urine and cheap cologne merged into a nauseating experience as Marc attempted to ascertain Reggie’s whereabouts and bail.

“I am sorry, but bail hasn’t been set yet. Mr. Pritchard hasn’t seen the commissioner yet to determine what charges will be brought against him.” The clerk answered Marc as he attempted to form a game plan to help Reggie out of the situation. He knew that somehow it involved a female.

“Can you tell me what the charges are? What was he arrested for?”
“I am sorry sir, but I can’t release that information to you.”
“Maam, I understand, but I am just trying to help out my friend. You can understand, right?”
The clerk gave him a half-hearted smile.
“Look, I wish I could help, but I could loose my job if I told you that he was arrested for something like statutory rape and contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”
“Thank you”, Marc mouthed as he stretched his eyes in amazement.
“What the hell has this fool done?” Marc asked an invisible respondent.
The clerk noticed the bewildered look in Marc’s eyes and attempted to put him at ease.
“It’s probably sounds worst than it is. These hot assed girls and their parents get mad when smooth talkin’ brothers walk away with more than a kiss. They fly down here and press charges before their neighbors get to talkin’ about her expanding stomach…”
The middle aged clerk paused as she opened a file on her desk and perused it.
“Ooh, it looks like your boy screwed over the wrong girl. The girl named in the charges is the daughter of Earl Evans. He’s nobody to play with. Long, old money. He’s probably going to see the judge in about 4 hours or so.” The clerk was delivering information that Marc knew was otherwise confidential.
He extended his hand in gratitude and exchanged a handshake and a fifty dollar bill. The clerk smiled a wide smile that revealed a sizeable gap.
“You know, I might be able to push his case up a little earlier on the docket. Lemme’ see what I can do.” Marc smiled again.
“I would really appreciate that, I don’t want him in here any longer than he has to be.” The clerk gave Marc a peculiar smirk and then turned her back to make a call. She quietly wondered if the men were among the many “DL” brothers that she and her friends chatted about. She was on the phone for a few minutes chatting with someone who appeared to have information about Reggie’s case. She returned to Marc, this time with a reluctant smile.
“Well, it appears Mr. Pritchard’s case was expedited by special request of the state’s attorney. He has been charged and bail is set.”
“Charged, with what?” Marc asked, in a decibel louder than he
CHAPTER 19
originally intended.
“Let’s just say, he pissed the wrong person off. It looks like
it’s gonna be aggravated sexual assault and that’s a felony that
usually carries mandatory jail time, depending on the age of the
victim. And unfortunately, that’s the good news.”
“Good news? What the hell could be worst than that?” “Well…the other thing is that his bail has been set at
$1,000,000. That judge really had a hard on for him.” “This is bullshit! Reggie is not a rapist. He would never do
something like that. This has to be a damned set up.”
“Well, you might want to get him a good lawyer, because he’s
definitely gonna need it.”
“So, that means the amount to get him out is
what…$100,000?”
“Yep. That’s what it will cost for him to taste freedom again.” “Who do I need to see to pay the bail?” Marc asked the
shocked clerk.
“The cashier, I guess. But you wont find a bail bondsman who
will put that much money up for a felony charge like this one…” A grimace formed across Marc’s face as he considered the
implication of the clerk’s comment. He chose not to address her
miscalculation.
“They do accept wire transfers, don’t they?”
“Yeah, they do. But, do you really want to put $100,000 of
your dough on the line for a brother like this?” The clerk asked,
puzzled by Marc’s resolve.
“I am my brother’s keeper. Bullshit or not.” Marc returned
with deadly seriousness.
“I hear you. You’re a good friend. You married?” The clerk
asked sheepishly.
“I’m sane.” Marc asked with measured jest.
“Well, if you in the market for a wife, I have a cousin your
age. She’s got her own place and she does hair, so she got her own
money too.” The clerk offered.
“Really?” Marc asked as he walked out of the door and smiled
at the possibility that the clerk could likely be related to the woman
that turned his life upside down.

Chapter 23 Reggie

“Man can you believe this bullshit?” Reggie asked as he manhugged Marc in the lobby of the holding area where he was released twelve hours after his arrest.

“Hell naw. What I want to know is what the fuck you were thinking fucking with an underage girl?” Marc asked with serious intention masked by humor.

“Man, you know better. For real, brah, good lookin’ for gettin’ me out of this piec…that bail was crucial. I thought I was gonna’ be sittin’ for a minute. I owe you my life, man.” Reggie said as he fought the tears filled and stung his eyes.
“Don’t mention it…ever.”
Reggie felt a rush of warmth and appreciation for the friend that he called brother and realized that Marc was the only person he could count on with his life. He couldn’t wait to tell his boy how this whole mess came about. Reggie looked around suspiciously.

“Eh brah, lets get some grub and we can rap where there ‘aint so many walls with ears.”
Marc noted how just a few hours in jail had produced paranoia in Reggie’s otherwise light and carefree demeanor.
“Yeah, I am a little hungry. You down for some Ben’s Chili Bowl?”
“Man, am I? Yo, I got to stop home and take a shower first. You mind spotting me for a cab?”
“Sure. I’ll ride with you cause’ I got some shit to tell you too, dawg’.”
The men took about twenty minutes to waive down a cab while standing in front of the police precinct and pre-paid for their ride to Reggie’s Silver Spring condo.

Chapter 24 Natalie

As the plane landed at Baltimore-Washington International Airport, Natalie cringed at the thought of her mother waiting for her and Eric at the baggage claim. She held her breath and smirked at Eric who had decided to arrive as close to drunk as the flight attendants would allow. He returned her smile with a throaty laugh.

“What you lookin’ at over there? Shit, I might as well be in a good mood now because only God knows when I will be able to smile again once I see that witch.”

“You shouldn’t talk about your mother like that. It might not even be that bad.”
“Damn that. This is Rosemary Logan we’re talkin’ about. In fact, you need to go ahead and slide me some of those pills you been popping like tic tacs.”
“Those are medically prescribed.”
“Not twenty at a time Anna Nicole.”
“Whatever. Just pull yourself together so we don’t get stopped at security.”
“I hear you. Just don’t get mad at me if I aint’ fakin’ like I am some butch jock so that she can brag to her broke assed pastor who stay beggin’ for money. How come they had a building fund for twenty five years and no building? I’ll tell you why. Pastor Robin U. Fools.”
“You think he’s going to be there?”
“What? Not only will he be there, but momma will make sure that that fool eats before everyone else. It’s like she think he’s God or something. No disrespect J.C.” Eric said laughingly as he raised one hand to in the air.
Natalie could only shake her head at her brother’s antics.
“For real Eric, let’s just get through this for this weekend and we don’t have to worry about getting those guilt trip letters every month from momma about how she misses when we were young and used to spend all of the holidays together.”
“Well, it’s a miracle that she even notices that we are gone with the litter of kids running around there. Has your sister ever heard of birth control? Hell, we might as well get her a website and start marketing if she is gonna keep breeding like this. I mean, seriously, five kids? I know I joke about a lot, but I am really annoyed that all she does is go to the damned club after she comes home from working at the hot assed dry cleaners all day. I don’t even think daddy is making her pay rent.”
Natalie facial muscles attempted an optimistic smile. She knew for a fact that her father had wanted Angie to pay rent but her mother quickly dismissed the idea, forcing her father to take on a part-time job to make up for the excess bills created by an eight person household.

“I know you’re right, but it’s not even her fault. Momma lets her do it, so why not?” Natalie rose to retrieve her carry-on bag from the overhead compartment.

Eric remained sulking in his seat as he loathed the idea of seeing his famously dysfunctionamily again, even if it only happened once a year.
CHAPTER 23
“Come on Eric, won’t do you any good to delay this. The sooner it’s over, the sooner we are back on a plane and out of here.”

Eric rose slowly and brushed the newly formed creases out of his Banana Republic oxford shirt and quickly placed his khaki fitted hat on his head. As he retrieved his carry-on bag, he noticed that people were hissing. He decided against perpetuating the over employed homosexual male diva attitude expected of him and gently apologized to those behind him.

“Shit, if you were on your way to hell, you would take your time too.” He thought to himself as he walked gingerly behind his sister who he was sure shared his sense of impending doom.

“Hey daddy!” Natalie squealed as she saw her father waiting patiently with his hands in his pockets at the baggage claim. Earl Logan embraced his daughter tightly and warmly as he had for the twenty four years that she lived on the east coast.

“You look good. You must be making some money out in Texas. Got you looking good. That’s my girl.” Natalie blushed, a rare occurrence only her father could provoke.

“I’m doing alright daddy.” Eric watched smiling as the two chatted when Earl looked up and saw him standing off to the side.
“Eh boy, come and give your ole’ man some love.” Earl reached out to Eric as he spoke.
Eric fought his natural defense to shy away from the open display of affection in public and embraced his father. He could not help that it felt foreign at first and then warming and comforting as it endured. It reminded him of the bond he had with his father years before he even thought about questioning his sexual identity.
“I’m glad to see you, man.” Earl whispered in Eric’s ear as they embraced.
The moment moved Eric as he felt a tear form in his eye, but quickly willed it not to fall. The three went to get the luggage and started heading towards the exit.
“So where’s momma?” Natalie asked half heartedly.
“Oh, you know she’s at home getting the house ready. You guys hungry?”
“Starving. They only give out honey roasted peanuts and soda now. No more meals. Did momma cook?” Eric answered for himself and Natalie.
“Probably. But I was thinkin’ we could head over to Florida Avenue Grill in northwest and grab a half smoke like we used to.”
Eric and Natalie’s face brightened as they both recalled the family tradition that accompanied Saturday morning football games at Howard University. Rosemary was usually in some type of prayer meeting or missionary outing.
“Hell yeah!” Natalie exclaimed and looked back at her brother who she was sure shared her thought that this trip may not be so bad after all.

Chapter 25 Ilene

Charles sat sipping his Blue Mountain coffee at the marble island of his kitchen. As he peered intently at the brown and black swirls of rock that were brilliantly polished, he toyed with the idea of informing Ilene that he had hired a private investigator and visited a divorce attorney since their return from St. Lucia. Slowly he began stashing away a few hundred dollars at a time in his own private account. A trick he learned from Ilene, undoubtedly.

After learning of her most recent act of infidelity, Charles found it increasingly difficult to remain tight-lipped, despite his attorney’s pleas for him to do so. He was not coming directly home as he had for over twenty years and Ilene hadn’t even noticed. She was so tied up with her upcoming gala that she seemed oblivious to the fact that he had not once asked her to make love since they returned. Charles knew the truth. She had indeed been sleeping with someone else. But not just anyone else…his fraternity brother, Paul.

Until now, he managed to keep his contempt at bay, hoping the affair would ultimately die out. He found it impossible to pretend that his marriage was not over. He decthat today he would tell Ilene that he was leaving. It was time for him to stop putting on a good show for everyone, just like Ilene would have it. His stomach began to churn with embarrassment and disgust as he wondered how many of his friends knew that his wife was a whore he tried to dress up in expensive clothes.

As he rose from the island, he heard rustling upstairs. It was already noon on a Friday morning and Ilene had just gotten up. He couldn’t help the urge to roll his eyes as he heard her faint yawn. He walked to the front of the house to retrieve the morning paper that was laying near their door since 6 am. He walked slowly as if his footsteps were claiming every square foot of the house as his own. As he opened the door, the alarm beeped two short beeps, signaling that a door was open in the now newly fortified home. Ilene thought it was a necessary precaution considering the “changing demographic in the neighborhood.”

He ignored Ilene’s repeated calls to him as he picked up the paper and returned to the center island where his coffee sat waiting. He opened it up and on the front page was the face of Paul Cummings. His eyes scanned the bi-line and forced his mouth open. “DISGRACED ATLANTA COUNCILMAN ACCUSED OF SEXUAL MISCONDUCT WITH A MINOR AT LOCAL HOTEL.” Paul’s picture accompanied the full page article.

Charles read the article with swift determination, anxious to find out why Ilene’s lover and his fraternity brother was being accused of something so appalling. The article stated that confirmed sources provided pictures and proof of the act and that Mr. Cummings refused to comment. He had released a single statement relinquishing his post as councilman and asking that the public respect the privacy of his family as they dealt with this “troubling personal matter.” Charles shook his head in disbelief as he saw pictures of a young man claiming to be one of Paul’s former lovers, who mysteriously came out of the woodwork when the story broke.

Feeling both anger at the pain and embarrassment that Paul caused his family, and an ethereal sense of revenge for his unscrupulous decision to sleep with Ilene, Charles removed his glasses to rub his eyes that were now burning with tears. Though they were fraternity brothers, he had never taken the time to meet his wife or kids. Now, he would probably see their faces plastered all over the papers in disgrace. He heard Ilene’s Daniel Green slippers slapping against the marble foyer and quickly dried his eyes before she entered.

“Chuck, didn’t you hear me calling you? You scared me half to death. I was about to call the police.”
Charles’ emotions quickly turned ice cold at the sound of Ilene’s voice.
“Were you?” His response was without emotion or concern, but matter of fact and formal.
Ilene instinctively sensed his disconnect.
“Is everything okay? You barely said two words last night at dinner and this morning you slept on the couch in the family room.”
“Oh, you noticed.” Again, Charles commented with no emotion.
“I’m sorry, am I missing something here?” Charles felt his anger begin to erupt as Ilene retreated to her ignorant role.
Charles’ anger erupted.
“Are you fucking serious Ilene? How long did you think you could get away with your shit before I would find out? Despite what you think, I am not your bitch boy and right now I can’t stand the fucking sight of you.”
Ilene’s eyes instantly filled with fear as Charles screamed in her face. She knew better than to ask him what he was talking about.
“But Chuck, can’t we just talk about…”
“Fuck that. I’ve been talking to your whoring ass for years. You made me look like a fool in front of my colleagues and friends, and I am done with your ass! Now you can find another jackass to take care of you.”
Tears raced from Ilene’s eyes as she managed to process why Charles was so enraged. Her moment of fear had finally arrived, despite her careful efforts to keep her affairs inconspicuous. She struggled to keep herself from begging Charles to stay.
“Please Charles!” Ilene’s voice cracked involuntarily.
“What are you gonna say now Ilene? Are you going to deny that you’ve been fucking this fag for years? Don’t you even care about the fact that he has a family or did that slip your mind while you had his dick in your mouth…”
SLAP. Overcome by impulse, Ilene struck Charles across the face for his last comment.
“How dare you speak to me that way…”
Before Ilene had the opportunity to complete her statement, Charles grabbed her by the neck and forcefully jerked it so that she was only millimeters from his face.
“Listen to me carefully, you little cunt. You fucking disgust me and if you ever touch me again, I WILL hurt you.”
The velocity with which he spoke frightened Ilene beyond words. The words sounded foreign coming from Charles’ lips and Ilene found herself shaking her head from side to side as she were trying to awake from a nightmare.
As Charles released his muscular hand from Ilene’s wildly pulsing neck, he exerted enough force to send Ilene hurling to the hardwood floor. She peered up at him, grasping her neck and tears flooding her eyes, she summoned the strength to speak.
“Are you going to leave me Charles?” Charles stood angry with nostrils flaring and suddenly looked down forlornly at Ilene.
“No, I am not leaving Ilene.” Charles responded calmly.
With that, Ilene exhaled and crawled on her hands and knees to where Charles stood.
“Oh God, Charles thank you. I promise I will make this up to you. I am so sorry for hurting you. It was so stupid. I swear to God I will make this up to you.”
Charles exhaled loudly and covered his face with his hands as Ilene cowered at his feet, still weeping. He reached down and grabbed Ilene’s wet hands and pulled Ilene so that she was standing on her feet. She looked reluctantly into Charles’ eyes and burst into tears. She was relieved that Charles had not left her, though she for years found the marriage worthless. Charles pondered the irony of the moment as he listened to her sobs. He organized his feelings so that he could articulate them. He watched Ilene’s chest rise and fall she anxiously waited for him to speak.
“Ilene, I meant what I just said…”
“I know, and I give you my word that I will never be that stupid again or hurt you like this. Our marriage means the world to me…”
“I am not leaving this house.” Charles asserted.
Ilene closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his waist, astounded by how open Charles was about saving their marriage in spite of her philandering. Just as she buried her head into his chest, Charles pulled away from Ilene and peered directly into her eyes.
“I don’t think you understand.” Ilene looked at him with a confused expression as she awaited the rest of his words. He did not make her wait long.
“I said that I wasn’t leaving this house and I meant that. But YOU are. Have your shit packed and out of here by the time I get back. Our marriage is over and I don’t want to spend another minute around you.”
Charles backed away from Ilene’s embrace and grabbed his keys off of the counter. He fought the tears that threatened to form in his eyes as he headed towards the door.
Ilene, now beside herself with grief screamed in protest. “Nooooo! God Chuck, please don’t do this to me! I don’t have anywhere to go... how could you just walk out on me like you don’t care?” Ilene pleaded with Charles as he moved towards the front entry.
She grabbed his arm and accidentally ripped his shirt as she attempted to prevent him from leaving. His angry glare forced her to release him.
“It’s not that hard at all Ilene. You haven’t been happy for years, and frankly, I don’t think I can stomach the thought of lying next to a woman as morally corrupt as you. You can leave the key on the countr. Let’s not play anymore games. You have plenty of money, go stay at a hotel. I don’t care where you go. Just don’t be here when I get back.” With that Charles opened the massive cherry wood and glass door and exited.
Ilene released yet another scream as she watched the back of his head disappear. Incensed, she hurled the coffee mug that Charles drank from towards the beautifully beveled diamond cut inlay of the front door. She watched it shatter into a web of a thousand pieces, still held together in the door frame. Their fractured pieces far more radiant than the original design, causing rainbow colored specks of light to enter the foyer. The intricate design, like Ilene, now flawed for all to see, was held together only by the door’s frame. Ilene stared at the door that painted a picture of happiness and prestige in her home, now made ugly with imperfection.
She laughed at its irony through her tears. She quietly resolved that her life was rooted in their home and that no one, not even Charles, could make her leave it. Still sore from her husband’s violent grasp, she poured herself a cup of the Blue Mountain coffee that Charles was brewing and laced it with rum that she picked up in St. Lucia. She chided herself for the humiliating breakdown she just displayed at Charles’ effortless dismissal of her and vowed to fight him tooth and nail for being so callous and dismissive of her feelings.
“Okay Chuck, I’ll play your game for now. But you’ll play mine later.” Ilene said to the empty room and then rushed upstairs and jumped into the shower.
Refreshed with newly applied make up and new St. John’s suit, she threw a few outfits into an overnight bag and headed out of the house. She ignored Charles’ request for her to leave the key on the counter and instead left a note. Satisfied with its message, she folded it neatly and left the place she knew as home.

Chapter 26 Marc

“Man, you did what?” Reggie asked Marc incredulously as he explained to him that he purchased a condo for the mother of his child.

Reggie, who now stared blankly in disbelief, had quickly showered and threw on a chocolate colored pullover and a pair of True Religion jeans. He stood in the mirror applying a thin layer of cocoa butter to his coffee colored skin, slowly processing what his best friend was telling him.

“Dawg, are you crazy? You don’t even know if it’s your kid. You can’t just hit some club rat and then try to wife her. Please don’t tell me you gonna try to be with this broad.”

Marc sensed his rising contempt of Reggie’s crushing judgment. Had he not just dropped a hundred grand to keep him out of jail on sexual assault charges on a minor? Marc struggled to suppress his growing disgust.

“Nah, I aint trying to marry her, I just don’t want the kid to grow up in the projects like his mother.”
“So what, now you captain save-a-ho? Man, she’s probably trying to set you up for the okey-doke. You’re a nice lookin’ brother, you got some ends, and she on the come up.”
“Man I hear you, but if this is my kid, I aint tryin’ to have my seed out there struggling while I am livin’ it up. If it’s my kid, I am gonna be around. My dad was around for me.”
As the last comment was released from Marc’s mouth, he instantly regretted it. The silence between he and his friend quietly reminded him that him that Reggie had never laid eyes on his father. Though he tried to mask his pain about it for years, Marc had picked up on Reggie’s resistance to participate in their frat’s big brother program and his overwhelming avoidance of holiday functions that often brought family members together. Reggie would always schedule a trip out of the country during the holidays, insisting that the rates were cheaper for international travel. His comments about his mother were often laced with bitterness and resentment when he recounted his childhood. Marc longed to broach the topic with his best friend, butexercised restraint for fear of alienating him. Reggie’s voice interrupted Marc’s thoughts.
“I hear you on that piece, for real. But how do you know if the kid is even yours? Man, you know how scandalous these chicks can be. What school did she go to? Does she have a job? Man, do you even know if she’s pregnant for real?”
“Trust me, she’s pregnant, and I am going to have a DNA test done as soon as the baby is born.”
“Damned right you gonna get a DNA test. And where does she work at?” Marc paused before he told Reggie that Sherise worked in a hair salon in southeast DC.
“Okay, let me get this straight. She lives in the projects and does hair in the hood and this aint a set up?”
“Nah, man it’s not like that. Things just got out of control that night, and I fucked up.” Marc struggled to convince himself and his friend as he spoke.
Exasperated by now, Reggie threw his hands in the air in
A PRICE TO PAY FOR EVERYTHING
resignation. He then reached his palm out to Marc to “grip him up” as they often did in their fraternity when offering friendship to each other.

“You know what man, fuck the bullshit. I got your back. Whatever you need me to do, just let me know. You aint the only brah that got caught slippin’ before.” Reggie added, referring to his own legal issues.

“True. What the hell is goin’ on with YOU man? You sounded shook on the phone. You haven’t said two words about the shit since we got in the cab, dawg. You really fucked up my head when you called me.”

“I know man. I’m still jacked up myself. Can you believe the shit they’re tryin’ to pin on me? Man, you know I am not going out like that. I called my attorney and he’s gonna get at me first thing in the morning.”

“Who is this female and how did you end up messing with a fifteen year old?” Reggie looked at Marc incredulously.
“Man, you think I knew she was that young? That bitch told me she was twenty four and had some good assed ID to prove that shit. Eh man, she was no fuckin’ angel in the hotel room that night.” Reggie became nervous as he watched Marc’s eyes stretch in disbelief. He wasn’t about to be viewed as a deprived child molester. He attempted to clarify his statement.
“All I am trying to say is that she was experienced and I had no way of knowing that she was as young as they are saying.”
Marc struggled to believe what Reggie was saying, but found himself doubting his candor.
Detecting Marc’s apprehension, Reggie decided to defuse the tense atmosphere between the two men.
“Well, at any rate, I am gonna need Johnnie Cochran to come back and defend me, because this is looking like some Michael Vick type shit right here.”
“Man, Michael Vick pleaded guilty, and even the damned dogs testified against him.”
“Hey, all I know is a black man with money is like a goddamned moving target. Why the fuck you think these fools in the NBA and NFL stay lawyered up?”
“Whatever man. I just hope your freak ass learned from this shit. You could do some serious damage to your career and reputation if this shit gets out.”
“You think I don’t know that man?” Marc noted Reggie’s annoyance and maneuvered the conversation to a safer harbor.
“I just don’t want to see your ass get caught up on some R. Kelly type shit.”
Reggie extended his hand to his Marc after detecting the concern in his voice.
“I hear your brah. For real, thanks for having my back, real talk. Straight up, no homo.”
“I got you man. Now for real for real, let’s get the hell out of here. I am hungrier than a hostage and you know it’s a gang of people at Ben’s for the lunch rush.” Reggie smiled at Marc’s urgency about eating at a greasy overcrowded diner when he was probably accustomed to civilized lunch at Morton’s.
“Oops, my bad man. I forgot you’re eating for two now.” Reggie stretched his mouth wide s he burst into laughter.
“That’s some cat shit to say, for real.” Marc was more annoyed than his chuckle suggested.
“Man, be easy. Come on, let’s go pretty boy.”
The two left Reggie’s condo and headed to the U Street Corridor where they would share their life’s problems and struggle to find something that would help them to deal with it all.

Chapter 27 Natalie

“Hey girrrrrl!” Rosemary Logan screamed with exaggerated vigor as her youngest daughter walked through the door. Quickly approaching, she reached to embrace her youngest child while stepping over two of her grandchildren lying on the floor of her sunken den.

Natalie readied herself as she entered her childhood home with her brother and father following close behind.
“Hey momma.” Natalie responded as she forced herself to smile.
She inhaled the scent of her mother’s Celine Dion perfume. Natalie reasoned that it was likely her most recent purchase from QVC.
“You lost weight. Have you been eating regularly? Girl you know you have to take better care of yourself.”
Natalie smiled graciously and wished her mother did not have to be so negative on such a consistent basis.
“I know.” Natalie managed.
“She looks good to me.” Earl Logan said in an attempt to diffuse the growing tension. He was careful to avoid Rosemary’s eyes and her disapproving stare.
“Oh, whatever Earl! You always act like the sun rises and sets on that girl. Where’s my boy?” She looked past Natalie just in time to spy Eric sizing up the wear and tear on the walls of his childhood home.
“Well, what? You’re the inspector general or something? Get your behind over here and give me a hug.”
“Hello mother.” Eric responded with a formality that he had long adopted when dealing with “mother.”
Rosemary hugged Eric heartily as she rubbed his back. It reminded Eric of happier times when he was actually able to relate to the woman that gave birth to him.
“Ooh, you smell good child. What are you wearing, English Leather? I sure love that Stetson cologne. It smells so good. You know I bought your dad some. He don’t wear it though.” Rosemary punctuated her statement by rolling her eyes in the direction of Earl.
Eric swallowed his desire to laugh at his mother’s lack of sophistication. Instead, he allowed himself to be shown love the Rosemary Logan way.
“Actually mother, this cologne is called Bulgari…”
“Oh, I’ve seen that one at Macy’s when I was going to get my drapes for the living room. It was expensive as I don’t know what. No sir, I’ll wait until they have it on QVC.”
Blushing, Eric decided to swallow his sarcasm like the four shots of tequila he enjoyed on the plane.
Earl sensed his only son’s discomfort and decided to sacrifice himself. He regularly allowed himself to be the martyr and victim of Rosemary’s judgment and wrath to spare his children.
“You cook? You know these kids aint gonna eat cause they momma don’t cook unless you out of town on one of them excursions to Atlantic City. Where she at anyway? I told her I was picking up her sister and brother from the airport today.”
Rosemary’s menacing look let Earl know that she didn’t approve of how he was referring to Tanya, her eldest daughter, and only child loyal enough to not move over 500 miles away from her.
“I sent her to the store. She’s the only one around here helping me to get ready for tomorrow. Earl, I know I asked you to clean that yard cause’ people are gonna to be out there after the service tomorrow.”
“Mary, I told you I have something to do later and you need to ask Eddie to do it. Shit, it’s for his kid anyway.”
Eric and Natalie looked at each other, knowing what would happen next. Rosemary would fly into one of her rants about Tanya doing the best she can and Eddie trying hard to find a job. She would reason that it was hard because people looked downon him because he had a felony charge that wasn’t even his fault. Earl would then suggest that they keep their four grandkids and send Tanya and Eddie packing. Predictably, Rosemary would win the argument because Earl would loose heart every time she told him to tell Tanya she had to leave.
“Earl, Lavonte is your grandson. This is the least you could do, since you aint coming to the church for the christening.”
“Come for what? So I can see that ole’ jack leg preacher take some more money from yall fools and call himself a Christian? What’s he driving now, a Bema, a Jag?” Earl chuckled as he walked away from Rosemary who was now enraged.
“Pastor Jackson is a good man Earl. The church takes care of his expenses even though he told us he didn’t want money for doing God’s work. We bought him a Mercedes for his pastoral anniversary. We want our pastor to look good representing our church. You could learn a lot from him…”
Earl froze in his tracks as he opened a can of beer.
“Like what Mary? How to sleep with half the congregation and still call myself a man of the cloth? Please. That church is full of a bunch of hypocrites and I don’t want to have nothing to do with it. All of yall goin’ to hell if you ask me.”
Rosemary walked briskly towards her husband.
“So now you are saying that I am a hypocrite because I don’t run out here and hang out with those stupid fools at that dumb assed lodge? Bunch of Masonic devil worship, if you ask me…See there Earl, you gonna make me forget I’m a Christian with this foolishness that you’re talking. Lawd knows I don’t have time for this. If you don’t want to clean the yard, fine. I will just ask Mr. Edwards next door if he will help me out.”
With the final statement made, Rosemary ceremoniously left the room and grabbed the cordless phone as she speed dialed her best friend and church sister.
“Marguerite, girl the devil is busy in here today! Let me tell you what this fool just said to me…”
Earl, resigned to the fact that his wife would now spend at least three hours recounting their conversation to her girlfriend, shook his head in familiar disgust.
Natalie and Eric did as they have done for years and pretended that their latest family riff had not just occurred. Eric decided to break the tension.
“Dad, you know how she gets when she got people coming over. Let’s just start on the yard later, after we get settled.”
“Naw son, damn that. Your momma need to understand that the world don’t revolve around her. I have a lodge meeting and she knows that. Been having the same damned meeting for twelve years every other Saturday. I gotta get out of here before I strangle her cantankerous ass. Women like that just give good women a bad name. Mean woman…Just mean! I’ll see yall later.” After gulping the last ounce of liquid from his beer can, Earl grabbed his Members Only Jacket and headed for the door.
Natalie was frightened by the prospect of having to deal with her mother without her father being there to intercede when Rosemary reached new plateaus of ridiculousness. She looked at her brother with a grin.
“Looks like we got the yard work then.”
“Guess so. But I know one damned thing. All these crumb snatchers around here are gonna help. Shit, they need to learn how to earn they keep since they trifling ass momma is clueless.” Eric looked down at his two nephews and set of twin nieces laying on the floor watching ‘That’s so Raven’ on the Disney Channel.
“Hey kids, wanna help your uncle get ready for the party tomorrow?” Eric’s voice dripped with syrup as he attempted to entice the children.
They all turned in response to his proposition. Natalie decided to help to rally the kids.
“If yall help, there’s a big treat in it for you.”
The youngest of three, D’vontae answered in a voice that sounded too deep and weathered to belong to a child.
“What we gonna get? Chuck E. Cheese? Granma’s yard is big. We too little to clean that up.”
One of the twins named after a luxury car, Mercedes, chimed in.
“My momma said that we can’t get dirty because she didn’t get paid this week and don’t have no mo’ money left to buy me and A’Lexus more stuff to wear for this weekend.”
“What about your daddy?” Eric heard himself ask his cute niece while eyeing her denim Baby Phat jump suit and coordinating Nike sneakers. Her little chocolate face and wide eyes reminded him of Natalie when she was little.
Placing her hand on her hip, Mercedes looked her uncle up and down and replied, “My momma said we can’t answer no questions about our business to people who aint family.” Eric was perturbed and exaggerated his shock by gasping and touching his chest.
“Little girl, I am family. I am your uncle, and why are you so damned grown?”
Natalie decided to intercede before the exchange between the two divas escalated.
“Uhm, Mercedes. Don’t you remember us? We came to your graduation from kindergarten last year and took you out to dinner after it. Your mom was there and so were grand momma and grand daddy. Your dad was…”
“I remember. My dad was locked up, but he’s out now.” Eric’s eyes widened at Mercedes’ poignant and mature attitude about her father’s most recent incarceration.
“So then you remember me. I am your uncle. I’m family, right?” Eric asked sweetly.
Now Mercedes placed both hands on her hips.
“Wrong, my momma said y’all aint really family. She said that she the only one who takes care of grand momma and y’all just come back out of guilt every year.”
Natalie witnessed Eric’s eyes begin to twitch like it did when he was about to go off. She feared what he would say next and opened her mouth to interject. Too late.
“Okay, hold up little girl. I don’t know what your momma been teaching your little grown ass, but I think you better get your little self together when you are talking to an adult. I am your uncle and I can and will whup your little ass.”
Just as Mercedes was in the midst of rolling her eyes, Natalie saw her nephew D’vontae stand up and punch his sister in the arm.
“Girl, you know grand momma don’t play that. Now you gonna get us all in trouble.” Rubbing her arm from her brother’s hit, Mercedes mumbled an apology to Eric and Natalie as they stared at each other in disbelief. Ever the daring child, Mercedes looked directly at Eric.
“Can I ask you something Mr., I mean uncle Eric?”
Exasperated, he allowed her to speak by nodding his head. His lips remained pursed as Natalie held her breath for what the child would say next.
“Are you gate?” She asked with the sincerity only a child could deliver. Eric and Natalie looked at each other, completely confused by the question being posed by this six year old that looked strikingly like a mixture of them both.
“Excuse me?” Eric asked curiously.
“You know, gate. Like, God hates you or something.”
Eric’s mouth dropped open. Natalie covered hers. Eric attempted to collect himself.
“Where did you get that from?”
“Grand momma. She said you are gate and you are going to hell because God hates you. She said cause’ you like boys and God really hates that sin. It’s a bomnation’.”
Eric bit his bottom lip to prevent hysterics. He stormed out of the room as Natalie tried to explain to her crestfallen niece that sometimes grand momma says things that might not be true and that only God can say who will go to hell or heaven. In the background Natalie could hear Eric and Rosemary going at it. She cringed at what Rosemary might have told them about her.
The kids all went back to watching television when they heard Eric and Rosemary’s screaming match sprinkled liberally with rebuking in the name of Jesus and decrees of crazy assed heifers. Natalie could only shake her head at the normalcy of the scene for herself and the kidse decided that she couldn’t endure it anymore, and decided to go and get Eric before Rosemary called the police, as she did the last time he visited and experienced one of their renowned battles.
That time the fight erupted over Rosemary making the comment that she was a good mother and her children chose not to live their lives right to spite her. That is, everyone except Tanya, who was the only one of her kids that actually cared for her. Eric may have acquiesced if the conversation was not witnessed by Pastor Jackson, who Rosemary frequently invited for dinner, despite Earl’s protests. The pastor then cast a reproachful look on Eric and Natalie as he quoted the infamous bible quote, “honor thy mother and thy father and all the days of…” The rest was documented in a file at the Prince Georges County police department.
As Natalie walked towards the bedroom where the two combatants wielded their best insults and death stares, she heard the door in the living room slam shut.
Tanya walked purposefully toward where the commotion was and almost knocked Natalie over. Natalie followed behind her trying her best to make it known that she wasn’t going to be pushed around like she did when they were children.
“What is going on in here Eric, and why are you talking to MY momma like that?”
“YOUR momma?” Natalie heard herself yell.
Eric did not miss the opportunity to address his younger sister.
“Hold up Tanya. You don’t have no damned exclusive rights up in here. You don’t even know what happened up in here and you rolling up in here to come and get me like you’re the sheriff and its high noon or some shit.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, you little faggot. I don’t even know why momma asked your ass to come back here. You already got everybody in the neighborhood talking about how you tried to bring your little boyfriend to the family reunion last year.”
“And you got room to talk? Where the hell is your convict of a baby daddy? Let me guess, the man is out to get him. You need to take you and your litter up out of here…”
“You aint taking care of them, so why you feel you got something to say? I don’t see you sending momma and them money to help with nothing around here.”
“Be-atch, that’s ‘cause I don’t live here. Get the fucking hint. They wouldn’t need extra help if the whole damned Partridge family wasn’t up in here! Hello?”
Natalie was starting to feel herself loose control. She was advised to avoid stressful situations and to take her medication as prescribed. Nervously, she took more than was advisable. She knew she had to do something to calm the situation and prevent another episode for her mother to view and criticize.
“Everybody just stop. Let’s just calm down. We don’t need to be in here acting like this, the kids can hear this.” Tanya stared at Natalie like she said something vile and insulting.
“Oh hell naw, Bitch. Don’t come up in here acting like you so high and mighty. Momma told me bout’ how you be hanging up the phone on her and how she had to beg you to come here. If it was up to me, your behind could have stayed where you were. You are so fake. Your fake assed hair, fake assed accent, hell your nails are even fake! Please!” Tanya put her hand up to Natalie’s face and turned her back to her to address the melee between Eric and Rosemary.
Natalie stared insolently at her sister’s hand and batted it down.
“We aint little girls no more Tanya. You will not disrespect me anymore. Keep your damned hands out of my face.”
Tanya chuckled and rolled her eyes as if Natalie’s words were insignificant and empty.
“Or what, you gonna’ go crazy? Weak assed crazy bitch, that’s exactly what you will do.”
Natalie lunged at Tanya but was held back by Eric.
Rosemary, after witnessing the deterioration of her family, finally decided to speak.
“Listen here. Eric, I am your mother and you had no right to come in here and speak to me like that in MY house. I aint never allowed nobody to say the things you said to me, and I won’t start today, so help me Jesus. If you have a problem with me saying you’re going to hell, you talk to the Lord, cause he said it in his word.”
Eric instinctively rolled his eyes into the back of his head in dismissal of Rosemary’s hell and brimstone speech.
“So what else then momma? Tanya aint going to hell for having twenty kids out of wedlock? And what else, you aint going to hell for gossiping with Ms. Marguerite, or gambling in Atlantic City? Oh that’s right, you got a special reprieve from God cause you sleeping with your married pastor?”
SLAP.
Eric’s face reddened from his mother’s unexpected blow.
“Get the hell out of my house. You have an ugly and evil spirit and I will not have you here.”
“Just like old times, right momma. I am more than happy to leave this hell hole, ‘cause we both know who lives in hell, don’t we?”
“Get out! You heard momma!” Eric was stirred by Tanya’s aggression.
“And what you gonna do Tanya, call your convict baby daddy to whup me? You just as sorry as her. No wonder you never amounted to anything.” Eric said as he pushed past her and made his way to the living room to retrieve his suitcase.
“Whatever! I guess your punk ass is living it up right? What the fuck ever! You make me sick every time you show up here, swearing you better than everybody else.”
Tears poured out of Natalie’s eyes involuntarily. She felt so powerless.
Rosemary saw her tears and shook her head. She had always felt that Natalie was emotionally weak and resented her for it.
“I’m gonna go with him. He doesn’t need to be alone.” Natalie managed to speak through her tears.
Rosemary and Tanya stared at her as if she had just committed the biggest act of treason known to man. Tanya spoke first.
“How could you do that Natalie? She is our mother. He was dead wrong and you know that. You don’t even respect momma in her own house. Respect is due, even to a dog, right momma? Isn’t that what you always say?”
Rosemary just shook her head incredulously as she stared, wide eyed, at Natalie.
Rosemary’s words were slow and deliberate.
“Nat’lie I am not perfect. But I won’t allow no child of mine to speak to me like some loose woman in the gutter. If you go with your brother, that’s fine. But you better be sure that you are willing to burn this bridge. You only get one mother, sweetheart. You can have all the money in the world, but you can’t buy another one.”
The sting of Rosemary’s ultimatum forced more of Natalie’s tears. She looked at the two women she has known all of her life. She realized that she never felt included in their club. She was always the outsider. Now, she was presented with the opportunity to join, an opportunity she waited most of her life for, what she has secretly wanted…and then Vera emerged. She commanded Natalie to “tell those ghetto bitches where to go and how to get there.” Natalie tried to drown out her voice, but it grew louder. Natalie instinctively covered both of her ears and felt herself falling to the floor.
Tanya looked down on Natalie with pity. “All that money, and she still crazy.”
Rosemary responded. “She aint crazy. She just spoiled and wants everything her way. Always has been, thanks to Earl. I aint going through this with her again.” She turned to Natalie and yelled at her.
“Get up girl, aint a damned thing wrong with you. You might as well get up cause aint nobody got time to take you to the emergency room.”
Natalie felt her anger rising as Rosemary spoke to her like she was a child in the midst of a tantrum.
Eric heard the commotion as he was calling a taxi and made his way back to the room. Tears formed in his eyes when he saw his beloved sister cowering on the floor.
“Did you take your meds since we got here?” He whispered in her ears/> When she shook her head no, he lifted her to her feet while Rosemary and Tanya watched, overcome with disgust.
“We’re out of here.” Eric didn’t look back to gauge his mother and his sister’s reaction.
“And just where are yall going?” Rosemary asked Eric as he walked back to the family room with Natalie.
Eric attempted to ignore her, but she persisted and stepped in their path as Natalie, frightened by her sense of panic, shuddered.
Natalie wanted to avoid another altercation between the two.
“Momma, we are gonna check in at one of the hotels in the district. I will call you later.”
“The hell you will. Natalie Patrice Logan, you will stay your behind here and let him go on about his business. Or else…”
Natalie felt her blood begin to pulse wildly through her veins. She and her voices spoke in unison. Vera spoke at once.
“Or else what momma? You gonna disown me? I already heard that one. You gonna not speak to me? Oh that’s right, you have to speak to me because I am still paying off your little debt to the church. Don’t worry. I still won’t tell daddy how you stole money from the church treasury to go to Atlantic City and lose it all. I will still be a good daughter to you even though you think Tanya is the only one you have.”
At that, Rosemary burst into tears and ran into her bedroom.
Tanya lunged in Natalie’s path as she struggled to get her bags and head for the door.
“I hope you don’t think you’re coming to the christening tomorrow. You just broke momma’s heart and all you care about is your little money. Momma sacrificed her life for us, and this is how you repay her?”
Eric looked her up and down and summarily dismissed her statement before he dragged his luggage onto the porch.
Natalie, careful not to allow any of the voices in her head to speak, looked directly into her sister’s eyes.
“Tanya, I don’t expect you to understand, so I don’t blame you for hating me or Eric. But the truth of the matter is that I pay for momma’s actions every day of my life.”
“Oh, okay, so now you gonna blame momma for everything going wrong in your life right? You are a trip. If it weren’t for momma sending you to that white school, your snaughty ass wouldn’t have that job or your little jet set life that you are so proud of.”
Tanya was obviously unaware of Natalie’s four year academic scholarship to Yale. Rosemary said she didn’t want to tell people in the church because it would make them look like they were bragging. The household members knew that she secretly took credit for paying for Natalie’s costly Ivy League education, but chose not to expose her amongst her church sisters.
Natalie longed for a closeness between she and her sister that Rosemary destroyed by independently coloring their perceptions of each other. It was her way of maintaining control.
“Like I said Tanya, I know you don’t understand. So, for that, I won’t blame you. But I don’t have to stay here and deal with this. Maybe you do. Maybe to you, this is normal. It’s not to me. It hasn’t been normal in years. If you need me, I will be getting a room at the Washington Court Hotel.” Natalie turned and headed for the door.
Predictably, Tanya had the last word.
“Don’t worry honey, we don’t need you. Never have, never will.” She slammed the door shut.
Eric, now standing on the porch profusely smoking a cigarette, looked pensively at his sister who now stood outside looking down at her Louis Vutton luggage.
“Why do you even try to talk to them? It ends up this way every time we come back to this monstrosity of a house.” Eric said as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.
Natalie, now damp with the perspiration of anger and humidity, looked into her brother’s gray eyes.
“Cause family is all we got.”
Eric took a long drag of his cigarette as the taxi cab pulled up and started to load to the luggage into the trunk. He looked onetime at the house, and then at his sister and replied, “don’t look like we have much of anything, does it?”
“I guess it depends on whose looking, huh?” Natalie said and entered the waiting taxi.
Eric followed and told the driver to take them to the Washington Court Hotel. He smiled and asked them how long they would be visiting. They both looked at each and smiled. They responded in unison, “too damned long.”

Chapter 28 Ilene

“Could you be a dear and have this pressed for me and sent back up in an hour?” Ilene asked the room attendant at the Ritz Carlton where she had been staying for the week.

She had come to enjoy living an exorbitant life while she and Charles were taking “a breather” as she described to her socialite friends. She had managed to accumulate a five figure bill in a little over two weeks and had been more than generous to the staff that catered to her every need.

The card she charged everything to was owned by Charles, without his knowledge, of course. She applied for and received the black American Express card while he was in a funk about his aunt dying in Little Rock, Arkansas over a year ago, for emergencies like this.

She refused to go to the funeral, citing that the southern air was full of pollen that would send her allergies haywire. Charles protested, but inevitably it was Ilene who had the last word.

“Now this is how I should be living.” Ilene mumbled to herself as she snuggled in the down comforter in the king sized bed of her hotel suite. The presidential suite itself was $1700 a night, but the room charges added up pretty quickly with every minute Ilene remained in her sanctuary.

She treated herself to a shopping spree at Phipps Plaza and dined only on meals that she had the hotel chef prepare for her a la carte. The hotel staff was instructed to make every possible effort to insure her comfort.

Ironically, it was the very hotel where she would host her birthday gala in a week and she was more than happy to handle the tiniest of details for the affair. After hearing about the lavish party, Ilene quickly became the rave among her socialite friend-foes, who all asked her to plan theirs. She decided that at the party she would launch her own event planning firm, Verve by Ilene. She would use the infinite limit on Charles’ handy Black Amex to get the company started. After the party, he would see that she had a viable contribution to make to their marriage, and ultimately dismiss his silly idea of divorcing her. She would have her own business and her husband back in the palm of her hand, where he belonged.

Ilene looked at the message light blinking and called the voice mail to see if it was Charles returning one of the four messages she left for him letting him know where she was and how he could reach her. She was dismayed when she heard that it was the concierge calling to inform her that she had a delivery that could be picked up at the front desk. Deciding not to let Charles’ stubborn disposition ruin her mood, Ilene headed for the tub where she would soak for an hour and then start her day. She sipped on a glass of champagne and munched on strawberries as she lounged in the oversized Jacuzzi tub until she doze off.

When she awoke two hours later, the once hot water was now tepid and uncomfortable. Agitated that she lost track of time, Ilene hopped out of the tub and reached for one of the seven terry cloth robes that she requested from the hotel. She walked to the bedroom of her suite to find her freshly pressed crushed linen Zack Posen summer dress lying across the bed. Ilene’s mood lightened as she applied her make up in the French provincial powder room. “Time for a little botox.” Ilene said as she skillfully hid the lines that were forming around her mouth with her Chanel powder foundation. She refused to call them frown lines, because after all, what did she have to frown about?

While she pulled back her mane of black ringlets into aight bun, she planned her day of meetings with the florist, lighting technician, and the newly hired jazz band that she flew in from New Orleans. It was her way of giving back to Hurricane Katrina victims. After reviewing herself several times in the floor length mirror, Ilene attempted to map her route. Maybe she could squeeze in a Swedish massage if time allowed. “Thank God for this little black baby.” Ilene said as she tucked the card into the side pocket of her Fendi Spy Bag.

“Hell, I might even stop by and let Charles drool over what he’s missing. Yep, right after I stop by Elsa’s to pick up my gown for my bash.” Ilene said to herself as she rose to her feet and surveyed her body in her newly purchased La Perla undergarments that set Charles’ card back a mere $400.

“You still got it going on girl.” She grinned at herself as she dressed in her expensive clothes and shoes, ready to conquer the world.

Ilene stepped out onto the circular driveway of the plush Ritz Carlton in Buckhead just as the attendant pulled around her new Mercedes S 500. The lingering aroma of her Yves Saint Laurent fragrance teased the waiting valet as he inhaled her. She slipped a ten dollar bill in his hand and hopped into the waiting cabin of her newest luxury item. The peanut butter colored brushed Corinthian leather and wood grain interior was custom created in Germany and one of only twenty-four in production in the United States. It’s $84,000 price tag afforded many amenities, including voice command ignition and body contoured ergonomic bucket seating through out.

Ilene regularly lied to her socialite friend-foes and told them that it was an early birthday present from Charles. They would have laughed her out of town if they knew it was a lease. Ilene found ways to convince herself that Charles would have approved of a few “creature comforts” in lieu of their dismal marital arrangement. She reasoned that when things worked themselves out, she would simply pay off the debt with the money that she would undoubtedly earn from Verve by Ilene.

Ilene zoomed down Peachtree street being serenaded by Miles’ Davis’ eclectic sound. The songs on Davis’ Kind of Blue cd reminded Ilene of the first day she met Charles in Trinidad at a jazz festival. They met and had lunch at an open air restaurant that kept playing the cd, trying to boost its sales. The promoter had offered the owner of the restaurant money for every cd sold. Ilene secretly bought one and listened to it every time she wanted to remember their meeting.

The nostalgia moved Ilene and compelled her fingers to dial the phone number to the place that used to be her home. The phone rang continuously as Ilene recalled that Charles was likely still a little miffed about their “disagreement”. She hang up and dialed his cell phone. Annoyed that the call went straight to voice mail, Ilene decided she would not leave a message. Instead, she would stop by to see the look on his face when he saw her and remembered what he was missing. Determined that she would not allow Charles’ little tantrum alter her plan of action, she phoned the florist and told him that she was on the way.
“Yes I want the orchids. End of story.” Ilene was absolute. The flamboyant florist was concerned that Ilene did not

understand that the price for orchards to be shipped overnight from Okinawa, Japan would be stifling. He would attempt fruitlessly to clarify for her.

“Certainly, zey are beautiful, darling. But zey are not necessary for our motif. The calla lilies we have are breathtaking and with the lighting you have arranged, everything will be elegant. Besides we can save the money from shipping the orchards and use it on something more fabulous. It will be… how you say in America? It will be bling, bling! ” He clamped his hands together in celebration of his mastery of American pop culture and it’s jargon.

“Peter, perhaps you didn’t hear me. I don’t care how much it costs. I want my damned orchads. What is it that you do not understand? Money is no object!”

Peter stood aghast as he witnessed the persona of class and breeding melt away and reveal a ‘new money’ regalia that he had only eyed while working with an over-the-top, homo-curious professional football player who commanded a full body replica of himself created out of multi-colored roses. He couldn’t bear to think of losing his ten thousand dollar commission over a few orchards and lack of finesse and decided to acquiesce for the sake of his demanding and wasteful client.

“Very well, mon cherie, I will contact zhe wholesaler in Japan immediately. Hopefully, zhey can get us a rush order of six dozen orchards in two days.”

Ilene’s face lit up as she savored the power that money wielded. A few weeks ago, this very same florist who stood before her wearing a couture Armani shirt and Ungaro knit slacks would have tossed her out of his Buckhead floral boutique. Now he was at her beck and call. It was becoming intoxicating to Ilene, who now more than ever, knew that this was the lifestyle she should become accustomed to.

“Oh and Peter, there is one more small thing I need you to handle, dear.”
Peter cringed at what he was sure would be another gaudy display of tastelessness. He covered his disgust with an exaggerated gasp and a decidedly femme French accent that he utilized gainfully since opening his European menagerie.
“Oui, madame! Qu’elle est-ce que ?”
Ilene pretended that she understood what he said and proceeded with her request.
“Okay, I need you to send a dozen yellow roses to this address…”
Peter, anxious to get rid of her before she asked for something else, addressed her.
“Very well, I shall have it delivered first thing in zhe morning. Magnifique!” Ilene quickly interjected.
“NO! I need it delivered today. It must be there today.”
Peter rolled his eyes as Ilene awaited confirmation that her demand would be met.
“Of course, madame. Right away. I shall work on it right now.”
“Good. I guess I will be seeing you in a couple of days.”
“Certainment. Au revoir, madame.”
Ilene felt she was being rushed out of the quaint Parisian inspired boutique, but delighted in the underlying rudeness of her Parisian florist. It spoke to everything about her that she would complain to her friend-foes of how difficult her European florist was to work with.
“Those low class hussies have no idea how fabulous this will be.” Ilene thought as she walked out of the boutique and into her waiting car. The valet had it warmed and ready for her. “Now, time to make Charles eat dirt.” Ilene pointed her car in the direction of Alpharetta and attempted to call her former home again. No answer. Ilene grimaced, more determined than ever to win Charles’ resistance over. She adjusted her new bra enough to reveal a generous amount of cleavage and spritzed on a light layer of her perfume. She was convinced that Charles would see just how much he needed to have her as his wife, rather he wanted to or not.

Ilene drove her new Mercedes up the driveway of their family home as she had done countless times in the years she had been married. She reached for the visor to click the garage door open only to realize it was not there. She forgot to remove it from her old car when she traded it in. She made a mental note to call the dealer to make sure that he retrieved it for her. Then she looked down on the steering wheel and realized that there was a button for the garage door and she forgot to have it programmed to her vehicle. Maybe she would have Charles do it for her once they made love and she got him back on her team, Ilene reasoned.

As she parked, she eyed a few of her neighbors outside watering their lawns. Undoubtedly, they were watching in envy as she stepped out of her new luxury vehicle. Ilene never bothered with chores as mundane as watering the lawn. When Charles asked her to do it a few times, she happ agreed. The moment he left for work, she called the landscapers and quickly signed a contract to have them water it daily. Charles was so pleased with her upkeep of the lawn, he had bragged to the neighbors about Ilene’s green thumb. One particularly cunning resident informed him that True Green Chem Lawn was leaving a mess every morning they came to maintain his lawn and wondered if he could speak to them about the noise and the mess they brought with them. For that minor deception, Charles didn’t speak to Ilene for a week. Ilene was accustomed to Charles ignoring her when she made missteps, but she couldn’t afford to have this little riff between them destroy her event, and more importantly, her plans for the future.

She shimmied up the driveway, smoothing her couture dress that seemed to ride up each time she moved. Ilene refused to admit that it was too small for her. As she lifted her wrist to ring the doorbell, she remembered her audience of watchful neighbors and chuckled as she retrieved her house key. She was praying that Charles wasn’t particularly vengeful this time and changed the locks. He wasn’t.

She quickly entered the foyer of their home that now seemed humdrum compared to the lavish appointments of her hotel suite. She disarmed the alarm system and started for the bedroom. “Charles, it’s me dear. I was hoping we could talk…” Ilene’s calls were unanswered. When she got to the bedroom, she found the bed unmade. “Ah, he’s miserable without me. He doesn’t even bother to make the bed.” Ilene thought. As she explored the room further, she found that Charles had his toiletries scattered on the vanity in the bathroom, something she would have severely scolded him for, had she been there.

She then ran to the garage to see if his car was there. When it wasn’t, Ilene grew puzzled. She then recalled that it was the day for him to teach at the university and dismissed her concern. She walked into the kitchen to survey what take out boxes would litter the once immaculate kitchen. Charles had feasted on everything from pizza from the Mellow Mushroom to smothered chicken from Gladys Knight and Ron’s Chicken and Waffles.

Tickled by Charles’ apparent misery in her absence, Ilene thought it would be cute to leave him a note. First she would call the maid service and have them clean up this mess. As Ilene reached for the cordless phone to dial the numbers, she saw the message light blinking. Knowing that she had already left four messages for Charles on that very line, she was instantly bothered that he didn’t even invest time in listening to them. She pressed play as her annoyance grew by the second. “Six new messages” the machine announced.

Ilene was puzzled by Charles’ disregard. He was normally particularly meticulous when it came to checking the voice mail, and even scolded her a few times for her nonchalance about it. As the messages played, she immediately recognized her own voice and the emerging desperation in each call. She deleted them immediately. The next message was from a travel agent, calling to confirm his flight to St. Martin. Ilene reeled as she realized that Charles was gone for at least a week without even mentioning it to her.

Vexed that Charles was capable of such sizable deception, Ilene pressed delete and waited for the next message. An undeniably feminine voice that was vaguely familiar to Ilene spoke. It was his ex-wife. Ilene’s mouth dropped open.

“Hey Charles, it me Jeanine. Got your message. Sorry to hear about you and Ilene divorcing, but hey, I told you that witch was up to no good. Anyway, I will be in Atlanta tomorrow at seven. I am staying at the Marriott in downtown. Call me on my cell. Maybe we can grab a bite to eat. Talk to you soon. Bye.” BEEP. NO MORE MESSAGES.

“Hell no, this bastard didn’t!” Ilene screamed to no one as she paced the floor of the kitchen. Her body grew hot with anger as she ripped her jacket off, sending her delicate mother of pearl buttons flying. /p>
“Divorce, is he fucking nuts? And when the hell did he start talking to this bitch again? Fuck you Chuck!” Ilene ranted as she shook with anger.

She moved over to the sink to steady herself and attempt to calm down. As she braced herself on the counter and looked at the soiled dishes in the sink, she flew into hysterics again. This time, she eyed two wine glasses with what looked like the residue of champagne in them. One had lipstick imprinted on its rim. She didn’t resist the urge to grab them and slam them onto the floor. As she watched them shatter into a thousand little crystals, Ilene chuckled at the irony of the situation.

“Really Charles, your ass just couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Making me feel like I was the biggest whore in the world and here you are with these bitches in MY house…” Ilene was halted by a thought that emerged.

She quickly sprinted up the stairs and back into their bedroom. She closely surveyed the sheets and found long brown hairs on the pillow where she once rested her head. The hair was not hers. She leaned in closer to smell the pillow and was repulsed by the amalgamation of sweat and “Happy” by Clinique that lingered. The smear of the stranger’s rid lipstick on the pillow seemed to incite calm in Ilene as she continued to take in the scene. She walked over to the trash can in the master bath and saw used condoms and their hastily torn wrappers.

“Yeah right motherfucker, like you need Magnums.” Ilene thought to herself.
The tears that rolled down her perfectly made face defied Ilene’s rage. After a few deep breathing exercises she learned in yoga, she managed to bring herself back to her center. She decided that she would deal with Charles after Saturday. No need to ruin her event on theatrics.
She calmly dialed her dermatologist and told her she was on the way. She just had to make one stop. After re-applying her make up, Ilene emerged from the home she once knew. Her plan of action was in effect. She had already contacted her divorce attorney and told him that she had some more information for him. While in the house, Ilene retrieved all of her jewelry that she had locked in their safe…she would need it as collateral for the deal that she was about to make.

Chapter 29 Marc

When Marc and Reggie arrived at Ben’s Chili Bowl on the historic U Street Corridor in D.C., they partook in their normal ritual. It involved standing in a line while short order cooks shouted out orders of half smokes with chili and cheese over the glare of a local go-go band’s latest hit.

Today, it was an ode to Chuck Brown, the godfather of DC’s unique go-go sound. The two men bopped their heads as they moved closer to the front of the line.

Reggie would predictably order a half smoke with chili, onions and cheese and a side of cheese fries. His 6’4, 260 pound frame was mostly bulk muscle and he would spend hours at the gym working off his chili jones.

Marc was now scanning the specials on the black and white menu curiously.
“Man, you notice aint nothing healthy on this menu?” Marc asked Reggie incredulously. Reggie answered Marc’s question with decidedly exaggerated fervor.
“Dude. This is a damn diner, not B.Smith’s. Just order the damned chili fries and cry over the shit later.”
“True. But you would think with all of the heart disease in our community, they could at least have a low cal menu or something like that. Why do all of OUR restaurants have to be greasy spoons that clog up our arteries and crap? Jewish people don’t let shit like that go down in their restaurants.”
Reggie’s eyes stretched wide as he struggled to take in Marc’s comments.
“Man, look around. Its black cats in here, white folks in here, hell even Asian folks up in here. And what they doin’? They all chompin’ down on a damned half smoke drippin’ with grease and processed cheese. I don’t know about you, but when they ask a brother what he wa I aint getting no damned chopped salad.”
Marc shook his head at Reggie’s dismissal of his social commentary. Now that the baby was coming, he decided that he would change some of his unhealthier habit’s for fear of passing it on to a child already doomed to have Sherise as it’s mother. It was his way of doing his part. He went on to question himself about how long his friendship with Reggie would last before they parted ways. He loved his boy, but knew that the maturity that a baby required was one that Reggie had been eluding for years.
$1250. That’s the amount of money Reggie told him, while chuckling, that he had doled out to random females to have ill timed pregnancies aborted. He actually kept a record of it and thought that it somehow made him less of a jerk if he knew how much the procedure costs and at what term.
By the time the two were seated, Reggie had managed to wolf down half of his chili cheese fries and started on his half smoke.
Marc reluctantly ordered the same, but lost interest in eating when he considered that he would have to spend at least an extra forty five minutes at the gym to work the meal off. Reggie noticed his hesitation.
“Man, you gonna eat or what?” Reggie asked while pointing at Marc’s uneaten fries. The question was loaded, as Marc knew how the conversation would proceed.
“Reg, man you know a brother is tryin to keep his shit tight. I aint even hungry now. You can have that shit if you want it.”
“Damn right I want it. Look here brah, you know there are two things I don’t turn down. Pussy and food. Dawg, they are life sustaining.” Reggie commented with a grin on his face that made him appear juvenile.
“And you can eat both, right?” Marc asked with an even larger grin. The two burst into a wide mouth laugh that they sealed with dap over their food. Reggie, still giggling from Marc’s comment, spoke.
“Speaking of pussy, man you ready for all that cat that is gonna get thrown at you tomorrow?” He was referring to their fraternity’s bachelor auction that Marc participated in every year. Reggie was always amazed at how women would pledge five thousand dollars easily for a night with Marc. He routinely reaped the benefits of being hooked up their friends.
“I’ve been thinking about that. Frat, I don’t know if I can do that shit this year. You know, with the shit I got going on with Sherise…”
Reggie interrupted hastily.
“I know you not gonna let this scheming assed, ghetto broad get in the way of some premium ass. I’m talking doctors and lawyers and shit, dawg. Man, aint nothing better than pussy with a pension. What the hell she got to do with your shit anyway? How she gonna even know about it?”
“I think she knows already. She thinks she’s so damned slick…” Marc started and became annoyed as he shook his head from side to side, too angry to complete his statement.
Reggie leaned in and asked him what he meant.
“I think she been checking my messages at the house when she is over there. Every time I leave her ass in a room by herself, she starts going through my shit. I have to sit there and literally babysit her simple ass to make sure she aint in my business.”
“You serious dawg? Man, why you have her up in there anyway? She thinking she the first lady and shit. Man these broads get knocked up and start feeling entitled to be in your shit. That’s why I aint havin’ it man. I protect my nut. I use my own condoms and make sure those muthafuckers get flushed down the toilet with my nut. I don’t even bust off in these broads mouth when they give me head. Fuck that! These bitches are cut throat.” Reggie said as he stuffed a chili cheese fry in his mouth.
Marc wondered if Reggie was always that meticulous, considering his occasional slip ups and trips to the clinic. He spoke as Reggie chewed.
“Dawg, I have to keep one eye on her. If I don’t, she will try to send a niggah down to Child Support Enforcement, and I amrying to be one of those brothers paying a chick the dough I worked for. She’s smart. She already knows how much she will get. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she knows how much loot I got stashed in the bank. So for now, I just play the role. I knock her down every now and then, make her believe that I am actually into her. As soon as this kid is born, I am haulin’ her dumb ass down to court, getting a custody agreement, and sending her gold digging ass on her way. I keep receipts for everything. She keeps threatening to leave town. I know her. She’s not taking her trifling ass anywhere when she thinks she has a gold mine right here.”
Reggie paused in disbelief.
“Man, I can’t believe we sittin here talking about child support and shit. I say get the damned paternity test first. You don’t, and your ass will be sittin on Maury Povich looking crazy as hell takin’ a DNA test after she blew your money.”
Marc couldn’t help but think of the Kanye West lyrics, “she was supposed to buy Tyco with your money, went out and got lipo with your money…” He grew agitated by the thought and a scowl enveloped his face. Reggie noticed.
“Marc, man, don’t sweat this shit. You’re gonna handle your business regardless. Tomorrow night is the auction. Dawg, you will have your pick of the finest women in DC. They got careers, not jobs man. They got their own cribs and whips. They got their own money. Dawg. Come on. They all look like Beyonce.” Marc glanced curiously at Reggie.
“They gonna look like Beyonce, dawg?”
“Better. Beyonce body with Oprah money.” Marc peered into the atmosphere as he considered the line up of dates and booty calls that resulted from last year’s auction.
“Hell yeah. I need some starters on my team. Sherise thought she had me jammed up, but fuck that.” Marc asserted.
“Hell yeah. That’s what I’m talking ‘bout. You gotta get out there man. Let these broads know what’s up. We are some of the few brothers in chocolate city who got our shit together. Good credit, our own shit, good careers, fine as shit...We’re the American dream baby. What is the ratio, like eight to one or some shit?”
Marc’s face warmed as he thought about his odds of landing what he called “premium pussy”. These were women he could take from the board room to the bedroom without missing a beat. He found himself fantasizing about taking home a Tracy Edmonds look-a-like only to be pleasantly surprised to find that she was loaded. He was jolted back to reality when he felt his Blackberry buzzing against his waist and heard a light ringing in his ear.
He looked down on the LCD display only to see Sherise’s number. He refused to program her name into his phone, as he only reserved that privilege to those he wanted to remember. She was still a random phone number in his phone and until a few weeks ago, a random encounter that he had forgotten. He reached for the phone and began to answer it as he witnessed Reggie shaking his head incredulously. His mumbled hello was usurped by Sherise’s loud and blaring tone. Marc was convinced that she did this to alert any potential female competition that she was on the scene. He quickly adjusted the volume of his Blue Tooth ear piece. After requesting that he meet her in an hour, Marc summarily ended the conversation.
Reggie, noting Marc’s conversation sat in wait of Marc’s next move. Predictably, Marc said he had to run and left a fifty dollar bill to pay for the meal and tip. The two men exchanged their secretive fraternal handshake and parted ways.
As Marc was walking out of the door, Reggie quickly wrote down the number he memorized when he saw it appear on Marc’s display unit when he removed it from his waist and placed it on the table. He knew that he had to look out for his boy and he knew how he had to do it. He picked up his phone and placed a call. “Hey baby girl, long time no hear. Listen, I need you to check up on something for me…Oh, yeah, you know I got you. You ready? Here’s the number, 240 535-8765, and I think her name is Sherise…”

Chapter 30 Sherise

Sherise moved quickly around Marc’s townhouse trying to conceal her presence. She replaced the spare key that he attempted to hide from her in his office drawer, a lock she jimmied the first time she spent the night. She had a duplicate key made and helped herself to “their” home whenever she was sure that Marc would be gone for a few hours.

She dutifully erased phone messages left by women suitors anxious to reconnect with Marc and regularly checked the mail before he saw it. She took the liberty of retrieving a few documents with his full name, date of birth, and social security number in the event that things became hairy between them, and she needed an insurance policy. She gasped when she first learned that he had over $350,000 in his savings and investment accounts.

She was on a more serious mission today. She knew she needed an ally and searched frantically for Marc’s phone records so that she could implement her plan. She figured that his mother would be delighted at the thought of having her first grandchild and could influence Marc to marry her and seal the deal. If she was anything like Marc, Sherise was sure that she wouldn’t want the spectacle of her son fathering children and being a philanderer. “Jackpot!” Sherise thought as she located his most recent cell phone bill.

She scanned through the phone bill looking for numbers in the Atlanta area. She kissed the folded sheets when she identified a 678 area code. She made a mental note to call the numbers that Marc called regularly to see how many were women that she would have to get rid of once she became Mrs. Marc Campbell.

Delighted, Sherise quickly restored the place to the way she found it. She even reactivated the security system. Marc predictably used his social security number as the entry code. Sherise smirked at how Marc perceived her as a ghetto dilettante on the come up. She played her role well. But she knew far more than he ever would.

As she closed and locked the door to the brownstone, she surveyed outside for nosy neighbors. She quickly double-checked her newly purchased authentic Dior shoulder bag to ensure she had what she needed. When that was affirmed, she hopped into a cab waiting for her at the curb.

As the cab drove her up four blocks to the Starbucks that she asked Marc to meet her at, she thought of something her mother often said when she was teaching her how to defraud the government for food stamps and cash assistance: “Whatever you do, just stay low and keep moving. Nobody notices when a little is missing. But don’t get greedy. Over time, a little can become a lot if you play your cards right.” Sherise smiled as she thought of her mother’s words. Not only would she play her cards right, but she was willing to bet it all that she had the winning hand.

Chapter 31 Natalie

“So now what? I know OJ did not just come out and say he might be the daddy!” Eric asked Natalie as they sat in their hotel suite at the Washington Court Hotel staring at the Anna Nicole Smith paternity coverage on Court TV. They both hated to admit that they were drawn to the story that read like a typical day in the life of a Jerry Springer panelist.

Natalie, stunned by the trailer she read at the bottom of the screen let out a sigh of exhaustion.
“Can you believe this shit? Black men are over in Iraq loosing their lives everyday and the NAACP wants to get involved in this crap? These fools are crazy.”
“Speaking of crazy, did you talk to your mother? I see she’s been blowing up your phone like the world is gonna end tonight.” Eric asked his sister as he lounged on the chaise in the suite.
“To tell you the truth, I am not even ready to talk to her yet. I already know that she is going to act like she is so wounded that we are not close and try to get me to make you call her. I am not ood for the drama.”
“I know that’s right, and since Tanya uninvited me to the exorcism of her tenth child, I plan on enjoying chocolate city before I leave.” Natalie laughed at her brother’s exaggeration, but could tell deep down he was wounded by their sister’s actions.
“Don’t even worry about it. I am not going either.”
“No, Nat, you go. I don’t want them to think that I am trying to turn you against them. They already think I am the anti-christ. You need to go to be there for daddy. I can only imagine how drunk he is by now.” Eric said as he quietly mourned for his father’s misery.
“I talked to daddy when you were taking a shower. You know he’s not going anywhere near momma’s church or her crooked pastor. He is gonna go over to Smitty’s house to watch the game and play cards since we won’t be there. He said momma is acting like a plum fool. She’s been dabbing her prayer oil on stuff and making the kids watch the gospel hour with her and memorize scripture to impress her church friends who will be at the house after the ceremony.”
The two burst out in shared laughter at their mother’s fanaticism. They glanced at the television in time to see a slim Anna Nicole Smith slurring her words as she attempted to present an award at one of the award shows.
“I can’t keep watching this shit. I think it’s making me think I’m the kid’s daddy. Either that or I want to be a buxom blonde and marry an old geyser right before he croaks.” Natalie hated to reward Eric’s cynicism with laughter, but she too had her full of the coverage of this beautiful woman’s tragic life.
“Let’s get out of here. It’s Friday night, and we are free from massah! I say let’s head to Adams Morgan and do the damn thing!” Eric said as he sprang from the one of the king sized beds and headed to his suitcase of party clothes.
Natalie perked up and then remembered that she could not drink anything alcoholic while on her medication, which took half the fun out of club hopping in Adams Morgan. Eric, innately in tune with his sister’s thoughts, offered a caveat.
“I do the drinking and cursing, you do the flirting.” Natalie smiled internally and externally at the connection she shared with her brother and wished that her mother and sister could see him for the wonderful and loving man that he was.
Natalie headed for the bathroom to get dressed. As she gathered her things and entered the bathroom, she couldn’t help the urge to tease her brother.
“Try not to wear anything that will get us arrested this time.” Eric plastered a saccharin smile on his face as he responded to his sister’s biting sarcasm.
“Can I help it if I have abs of steel? Shit, they can pay for a membership at the gym. These clowns just better look and not touch this time.”
Natalie shook her head in resignation.
“That might be true, but you might be looking for trouble if you wear that body shirt and those slacks.”
“It’s a MUSCLE shirt and that’s exactly what it’s for. You just worry about you and try your best not to look like Moms Mabley when you come out of that bathroom. I always do me.”
Natalie disappeared into the bathroom as Eric dressed and groomed himself. His ritual included trimming and buffing his nails trimming any underarm and nose hairs, shaping up the nape line of his naturally curly hair and applying a small amount of Kiehl’s skin buffer to exfoliate his flawless café au lait skin. He finished his look by spraying a small amount of Very Sexy for men into his clothing. He avoided having the cologne making direct contact with his skin. He read in Men’s Health that a man’s pH changes when he drinks alcohol and sweats and can actually counteract the scent of the cologne. There was nothing he hated more than funk overpowered by cologne. “Let’s do this.” Eric thought as he inspected himself in the full length mirror.
Minutes later, Natalie emerged. The two smiled at Natalie’s cce of an all black pantsuit by Bebe. Eric approved.

Natalie used the elevator ride to the lobby to check her messages while Eric scanned the Washington Paper to see what bands were playing. She smiled ceaselessly as she listened to Heath’s voice telling her that he missed her already and couldn’t wait to see her again. Impressed by his follow up, she decided that they would have sex when she returned.

The doors of the elevator opened and revealed a lobby sprinkled with political big wigs, entertainers, and the occasional high priced “escorts” that attempted to blend in with the diverse crowd. Eric and Natalie maneuvered their way through the patches of people in the lobby trying to make it to the front door. Just as they were crossing the high traffic area near the banquet hall, a bell hop with chairs stacked nearly eight feet high almost trampled them.

“Hey, watch out damn it!” Eric yelled as they quickly jumped out the path. Hearing his comment, a tall muscular man with a bald head looked around the chairs.

“Ah, my bad, my man.” He and Eric met eyes and Natalie was sure that they “played on the same team”, as Eric would say. Eric noticed this as well. He used the opportunity to flirt.

“Maybe you need to watch out better next time, or somebody could get hurt.”
Natalie felt completely invisible as she witnessed two attractive men flirting with each other. She eyed her brother’s newest conquest and wondered why gay men seemed to be so well preserved. She drank in the defined curvature of the stranger’s toned arms and the biceps that threatened to burst through the meticulously pressed oxford uniform shirt. The thought of him in a wife beater tee made her moist as she fought her attraction to a man who would never view her in the same way.
She wandered away from the conversation, afraid that she might recognize some of the jargon and mannerisms the two exchanged in the men she dated and regularly bedded. Five minutes later Eric rejoined his sister as they exited the hotel. She looked at him fully expecting a run down of his encounter and his immediate plans for his new friend. Eric sensed this and toyed with his sister.
“What are you looking at me like that for?” Eric dismissed her. Natalie stretched her eyes in anticipation.
“Okay already. Damn, Barbara Walters. His name is Allen and he works here. I told him I am in town for the weekend and he gets off tonight at 12. Since we won’t be back by then, I will catch up with him tomorrow. By the way, he’s gonna get us into some celebrity auction or something they are having tomorrow night in the banquet room. He said they’re prepping for it tonight because this weekend they have some kind of political summit in town and all of their guests will probably be arriving in the morning.
“Auction? For real Eric, how desperate do you have to be? To pay for a man to get a date?” Eric reviewed her laughingly and covered his mouth.
“You tell me. I was hoping to get you a date.” Natalie’s mouth dropped open.
“For your information, I have a man. So you can stop trying to be all up in my business.” Natalie quickly returned.
“For your information, Natalie, batteries and your little glow in the dark toy that you hide in the back of your panty drawer does not a man make.” Natalie gasped in embarrassment and then shared a laugh with her brother as they headed to Adams Morgan to try to forget the reason that they made the trip to Maryland in the first place.

Chapter 32 Ilene

Ilene was prepared for battle. As she sat in a rented car parked outside of what she assumed was Charles and his mistresses’ love den, she hardened herself for what she was sure would be a knock down drag out fight. There was no make up or jewelry. She was a woman coming undone, prepared to launch a full assault to protect her last semblance of normalcy and esteem.

Charles and his stupidity would not rob her of the reputation that it tookr years to establish. His car was nowhere in sight, and Ilene had to move quickly. With only a few days until her event, she wanted to make sure that she did not appear on the local news for some stupid domestic squabble, or even worse, a tawdry love triangle. She did, however, want to send the clearest message possible to the woman that slept with her husband that she wasn’t the one to be underestimated.

After leaving their family home in tears two days ago, Ilene collected and quickly pawned $25,000 in jewelry and phoned an old friend with connections. This transaction required cash. No pesky little paper trail would be left to incriminate the parties involved. For a small ransom, she got an address and phone number for the woman that Charles was seen having lunch with. She was even able to have a little side work done. She hated herself for the drastic measures she took, but found a way to convince herself that it was for the advantage of herself, Charles, and her family. In that order.

The wooden doors of the home in Marietta opened and Ilene focused her eyes on the woman she would somehow destroy. When the woman emerged from the shadows of her doorway, Ilene squinted to make out the form of her face, but was unsuccessful. Her mouth instantly grew dry and stale and she quickly slipped her dark sun glasses onto her now reddened face. Despite her planning and well-rehearsed speech, Ilene could not compel herself to open the car door and attack. She was overcome with anger and gripped the steering wheel so tight that she didn’t even remember that she still had the ignition on. The car idled loudly as her foot slowly burrowed down on the gas pedal.

The woman, unaware of the small rented Dodge Neon across the street, briskly walked to the edge of her lawn, collected the mail and returned to her home. Ilene almost thought the woman had identified her, as she glanced up from her mail and quickly returned to the entrance where she immediately slammed the front door.

Determined that she would somehow avenge this woman’s trespass on her marriage, Ilene threw the car in reverse. She then turned the car in the direction of the woman’s house, shifted gears and pressed the gas. The small compact car was able to completely dislodge the mail box from it’s post and send it flying four feet and then to the ground. After backing over the newly planted begonias in the front yard, Ilene rolled the window down and spat on the woman’s delicate tulips and sped off. Ilene trained herself long ago to act only when there were no witnesses to validate the crime. She was sure that the woman who ONCE slept with her husband would never again revisit the idea.

Ilene sped off and after about ten miles, she was able to stop screaming obscenities and cursing her plight. She finally stopped at a gas station to survey the damage to the vehicle. Surprisingly, there were only minor scratches to the front end of the car. She was relieved that the rental insurance would likely cover it.

While she stood continued to review the car, she brushed past the side mirror and saw blue lights coming towards the parking lot. Terror ripped through her body as she stiffened from fear of what she knew would make her the target of the ridicule of her friend-foes in the small Alpharetta enclave. Ilene held her breath as police cruisers approached the gas station and drove right past it en route to another crime scene.

As she exhaled, she felt the color return to her face. She quickly opened the car door and sat down. She closed her eyes and tried to process what was going on in her life.
“What the hell am I doing?” Ilene asked herself as she watched her own reflection in the car’s driver side vanity.
Without make up, Ilene looked worn and tired and tried her best not to accept the mirror’s truth. She closed her eyes and quietly recounted the last few weeks of her life. Everything from Paul’s disregard of her threats to Charles’ affair weighed heavily on her as she considered buying a oe way ticket to somewhere else and starting over. “Karma is one vindictive bitch.” Ilene said to no one as she buckled her seatbelt and started out of the gas station.

The loud buzz that resonated against the cup holder reminded Ilene that she had turned down the volume of her cell phone to prevent her tone from being identified when she was in the midst of her mischief. She retrieved the phone only to see her former home phone number flash against the screen. Charles was definitely there. But was he calling because his lover alerted him of her little stunt? The thought irritated her melancholy mood as she snatched the flip phone open.

“Yes?” Ilene asked with pronounced contempt for the caller she once loved as her faithful husband.
“Ilene, what the hell is your problem?” Charles asked with anger Ilene had only seen him display in their most recent exchanges.
“I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ilene was not about to incriminate herself over the phone like so many embittered and scorned lovers bent on revenge had done on Court TV, her newest obsession.
Charles’ anger escalated. “Don’t give me that dumb shit. You know exactly what I am talking about. Who, but you, has the security code and a key? I come home and find things tossed around and broken in my house…”
Though she was relieved that he hadn’t connected her with the unfortunate incident in Marietta, Ilene’s malevolence spiked.
“YOUR house? Let me tell you something Charles. Despite what you told your broke down ass ex-wife, we are still married. That’s as much my house as it is yours. You had the nerve to have a bitch in our bed and you’re talking about me? What about you, Mr. Self Righteous? Couldn’t wait to get me out of there so you could bring your little tramps in there. You’re full of shit and you’re a fake.”
Charles’ chuckle was laced with cynicism as he listened and responded to Ilene’s last comment.
“Ilene, just what the hell gives you the right to say anything about what I do? Hell, you’ve been stepping out on me for years. I finally got wise. We are separated. Our marriage is over. We are getting a divorce, rather you like it or not.” Charles’ statement shocked and pained Ilene to her core. Its finality forced her into silence. Charles seized the opportunity to finish his tirade.
“You are crazy if you think you have any rights to anything after the shit you pulled with Paul. I guess you thought you could use that ass of yours to get back in here. Sorry Ilene. That won’t do it anymore.” Charles’ venom pierced Ilene as struggled to fight back tears. She used her most trusty tool, vengeance.
“Charles, if I were you, I would enjoy the house while I can. Because you can best believe that I will meet my death before I allow you to traipse your little tramp around it like she belongs there. I tried to work things out with you, but since you want to act like a jackass…fine. We can settle this in court, but you’re not going to like the side of me you will see.”
“Ilene, as usual, you’re too caught up in your own shit to see what’s staring you in the face. I have been seeing that side of you for the last twenty five years. Divorcing you will be a cakewalk compared to our marriage.”
“I guess I’ll see you in court, then.” It was all Ilene could manage to get out. Charles was prepared for her.
“I’ll be looking forward to the day.”
Without any further words, he hung up and Ilene was greeted by a quick busy tone. She lamented quietly as her tears fell. Each time she replayed the conversation in her mind, Charles’ words seemed more ominous. She regretted that her bluff was transparent and seemed to encourage Charles to seriously pursue the divorce she had tried to delay.
As she pulled into the parking lot to return the rental car she held her breath and said a small prayer that the plan that she had implemented with her partner in crime would work. It was r last hope to save her reputation, finances, and family. “In that order, please.” Ilene added as she quickly ended her prayer and began to apply her makeup before someone recognized her looking as wrecked as her life was.

Chapter 33 Marc

Marc sat sipping a caramel macchiato at the Starbucks in Dupont Circle that Sherise asked him to meet her at. His conversation with Reggie gave him a new resolve to reclaim his freedom and the life that Sherise’s decision threatened to take from him. After waiting for about ten minutes and enjoying the soothing and clean British sound of Carinne Bailey Rae, Marc eyed Sherise walking through the door. Her face defied the urgency that her voice delivered when she asked Marc to meet her. In fact, she appeared amiable and receptive, which strangely made Marc nervous.

“What’s up Marc?” Sherise said as she slid into the booth where he sat. Marc decided to go with the flow.
“Nothing. I got over here as soon as I could. I thought something was wrong.” Marc searched her face for a sign of what she might be up to.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything you were doing. I guess with my hormones so haywire because of our baby, I can’t tell when I am going through one of my moments.” Sherise said as she rubbed her very round belly. Marc was noting not only the change in her demeanor, but also the absence of her ghetto dialect. Could it be that she really was growing?
“Naw, I wasn’t busy. I was just hanging out with Reggie. Kinda catching up on what I have been missing.” Sherise was annoyed by Marc’s last statement but decided not to address it. She would use the opportunity to gently nudge Marc on his knee with hers.
“So, am I gonna ever meet any of your friends?” Sherise was careful to ask in her sweetest voice. The request caught Marc off guard and he responded without thinking.
“Why would I do that?” Marc knew that his comment would likely send Sherise off the deep end and readied himself for the battle. Sherise’s reaction was one that not even she was prepared for.
“You’re right. I understand. I just wanted to know the people who love you as much as I do.” She was cautious not to ever use that word, as she understood that it would destroy any plan she ever had of manipulating Marc into marrying her. He needed to believe that he controlled the pulse of their situation.
“Sherise, I am not trying to hear this shit today, really. Why don t you get something to eat and I will put you in a cab.”
“See, that’s what I mean. We’re living in two different places and our baby is growing inside of me. I just don’t see why we can’t just stay together. I mean, you’re missing all the stuff the baby is doing. I think I can feel her kick now. Do you really want to miss all that?”
Sherise was hoping that her strategy was effective in wearing Marc down. She knew that it was a long shot.
“Look, I am not trying to hurt your feelings, you know that. But we aren’t going to live together just because you are having the baby. We’re not together, and I don’t think it will make a difference if you and I aren’t in the same house.”
Sherise was growing weary of Marc’s resistance.
“Come on Marc, you said yourself that your parents were married for like twenty something years. You know that made a difference in your life…”
Marc froze as he listened to Sherise casually introduce marriage to their complicated situation.
“Sherise, we are not my parents. You are acting like this baby was planned or something and we were together. I mean, I know I didn’t plan it.”
Marc’s last comment sent Sherise’s temper soaring, but she refused to let him see a crack in her cool demeanor when she was so close to her goal. She decided to take her plan up another notch. The fact that she could shed tears at will would serve her well. It was one of many reasons she was thankful for the pregnancy. She began to speak, only stopping briefly to allow her tears to punctuate her statements.
“Look Marc, you know I don’t want to fight you anymore. I love it when we get along. The other day, we made love and it just felt right. I know you felt something too. I think we should just try to make it work for our baby. If it doesn’t work out, then I’ll walk away. But I just really need you right now.”
Marc struggled to disguise his resentment that he allowed Sherise to talk him into sleeping with her in the first place, and had only done so to keep her from going to Child Support Enforcement like she threatened. He knew that for the next few months, he would have to go along with Sherise’s manipulative whims until he could secure the paternity test and custody order. She was using every trick in the book to get into his townhouse.
“Sherise, you know that I will support you in any way that I can. But us living together is just not a good idea.”
Sherise released her façade of calm and rolled her eyes to signal her disgust.
“And just why not Marc? Is it because I would get in the way of the women that you are still sleeping with? Or are you just too ashamed that you got me pregnant and I’m not some lightskinned long haired chick from Georgetown?”
Marc realized that his good fortune with Sherise was about to run out.
“Okay Sherise, this is what I wanted to avoid. I’m not about to act ghetto and have this dumb conversation again. It’s a waste of time. I already told you that if I wanted to sleep with one woman or ten women, it’s my right. Stop trying to act like the baby is going to magically make me want to be with you. You know that if it weren’t for this pregnancy, we wouldn’t even be talking to each other.”
Sherise quickly adjusted her game plan.
“First of all, you’re acting like my life hasn’t changed. I was not trying to get pregnant. You’re the one who didn’t put on the condom. I got jammed up, too. You know I had plans to go to school and get my degree. Now …”
“Sherise, please. I just told you that I am not going to argue with you in public. It’s ghetto, and I aint trying to do this with you.”
Sherise instantly resented that he regularly used the term “ghetto” whenever they had an argument.
“No Marc, GHETTO is getting a woman pregnant and trying to act like nothing ever happened. GHETTO is knowing that a part of you is growing and you can’t even tell your family because you are too scared of what they would say. GHETTO is acting like you’re so much better than me, but when you get horny, you don’t mind screwing me.”
As Sherise spoke, Marc was putting on his coat and preparing to make his departure. He waited for her to finish speaking before he spoke.
“I never called you ghetto. I said that I am not arguing with you in public because no one here needs to be in my business.”
“And you feel that way because you don’t want anyone to know that you got me pregnant.”
Marc eyed Sherise with evident contempt.
“Whatever Sherise. I ‘m leaving.”
“Of course you are. You always leave when I don’t do what you want me to do. I guess you are gonna do the same thing when the baby gets here, just like all of these other trifling niggahs.”
Sherise’s comment incensed Marc.
“Are you serious? Since day one, I have been dealing with your shit because I didn’t want you to feel like I would leave you hangin. I’ve been dealing with your dumb ass mood swings and nasty attitude because I’m a good brother. But now I understand why there are so many brothers not dealing with their kids. It’s not the brothers, it’s the sheisty females like you that use the kid to try to get what you want. Just because you are having this kid doesn’t mean I have to deal with this shit. I’m out.”
Marc grabbed the closing documents that he planned on giving her for the condo he bought for her and the baby to live in. He threw the papers and a set of keys across the table wth so much force, they struck Sherise’s chest and made her wince. Sherise, afraid that she had said too much and alienated Marc for good, looked down at the items.
“What is this?” She asked with caution as Marc stood to leave.
He was in no mood for cordial sentiment.
“You can read, right? You got what you wanted. You came up. You just got your own place in less than five months. Now you can go and brag to your trick assed friends that your dumb assed plan worked. Maybe they can go out and fuck someone they meet at the club, trap him, and wait for the checks to start rolling in.”
“Marc, I never asked you to buy this place. I never ever saw it…”
“But I’m willing to bet dollars to doughnuts that you are going have your ass up in it. Sherise, we don’t have anything else to say to each other until the baby comes. If you need to communicate with me, send me a damned text.”
Marc turned to leave.
Sherise, desperate to save her dream of becoming Mrs. Marc Campbell, grabbed his arm.
“Marc, I don’t want any of this, for real. I just want us to be okay for the baby.” Sherise lied. Marc openly laughed at her comment’s transparency.
“Sherise, as far as I am concerned, we are okay. I just don’t want to deal with you. You don’t have to worry. I’ll keep paying for your doctor bills and the mortgage for the condo. Talk to you later.”
Marc retrieved his arm from her grip. He felt empowered as he walked away from Sherise and her manipulation. He ignored her calling his name and was able to hail a cab back to his place. By the time he arrived home six minutes later, he had twenty two missed calls from Sherise.
He decided to take a shower and contemplated heading right back out. He was going to Tyson’s Corner to his favorite haberdashery. He needed to pick out something that would announce his eligibility at tomorrow night’s auction. As he showered, he thought about calling Sherise to apologize but thought better of it. She needed to get used to him not being available at her beck and call. He had his life back and was thankful that it only cost him an investment property to get it. As he scrubbed his face with the soap soaked loofah sponge, Marc scrubbed away the layers of grief that Sherise’s behavior had ushered. He thought of his favorite comedian Dave Chappelle and couldn’t fight the urge to yell one of his favorite lines from one of the humorous skits. “I’m back bitch!!” Marc chuckled as he closed his eyes and prepared himself for the new horizon of opportunity that the setting sun offered. Going to bed and catching up on some much needed rest seemed more appealing to him.

Saturday morning proved promising and full of potential. Marc selected a charcoal micro pin-striped Ozwald Boateng suit that set him back about $2000, but he felt sure that it was worth every dime. He loved the way the European designer made Jamie Foxx look suave and sophisticated at the 2005 Oscars. His suits appealed to Marc as their urban flair stood out among the racks of British designers in the small haberdashery. The attendant selected a celadon green open necked shirt with French cuffs to complete the look, and Marc left feeling like he could conquer the world. He picked up a set of cufflinks from Tiffany that set him back $1500. After grabbing a quick bite to eat at Panera, he was on his way to L Street in downtown DC to the Men’s Grooming Lounge where he would have a diamond cream facial, silk manicure and precision shave. Though he would never admit it to his fraternity brothers, he allowed his eyebrows to be plucked a time or two. The stylist there usually shampooed his short curly hair and let it air dry with a polisher on it that made Marc look like he was Dominican. Such lavish pampering was a habit Marc inherited from his mother who regularly dragged him down to the Atlanta area spas for her regiment of exfoliating and waxing.

Over the course of the morning, Sherise had called sixteen times and left five irate ages on his voice mail. Marc erased them all before listening to her verbose rants. As he sat in the salon chair, waiting for his stylist to finish his look, again he felt his cell phone vibrate. He was almost sure that it was Sherise but decided to double check the caller ID to be sure. It was his father. Marc answered the phone quickly, as he had been waiting to hear back from his dad.

“Pop, what’s going on with you?” Marc asked as reclined in the stylist’s chair.
Charles and Marc had shared several intimate phone conversations over the last two weeks, including his decision to file for a divorce. The announcement spliced Marc’s loyalty, but he remained as diplomatic as the situation would allow. He knew his father withheld many of the details of his mother’s antics to preserve his respect for her.
“Young man, how goes it?” Charles responded, attempting to sound upbeat.
Marc used the opportunity to bring his father up to speed on the auction, Reggie, and Sherise.
“Sounds like you got a lot on your plate. Are you sure you’re gonna be able to come down in a few days for your mother’s party?”
“You know me pop. I got it under control.” Marc said as he smiled at his own reflection in the salon mirror.
“Well, alright Joe Cool. Try not to break too many hearts tonight. My man.” Charles let out a wide mouthed laugh as he spoke to his son.
“I’ll do my best.” Marc responded with equaled enthusiasm.
“Make sure you call your old man in the morning to let me know how it goes, hear?”
“No doubt, pop…so you’re gonna be there too, right?” The sudden silence between the two men left Charles uncomfortable as he struggled to avoid the topic of Ilene’s party. He didn’t want to address the issue head on.
“To tell you the truth, man, I’m not sure if I can deal with your mother putting on airs for her wanna be bourgeoisie friends. Any other time, she talks about them like it’s going out of style. Plus, you know with things in our marriage the way they are, she acts like she would rather see me dead than at this stupid party. Did you know that she cursed out the hotel manager for refusing to let her bring in cigar rollers from Cuba? She is ridiculous with it.”
“I feel you pop, but you know how important this is to her. She would go all out if it were for you or me, too.”
“I hear you. I just don’t know son.”
“Man, just stop through for a minute. If it gets ugly, you can bail and I’ll cover for you.” Charles’ camaraderie with his son warmed his heart.
“Alright then, but you know I’m not going to the play the role. I am gonna stop and grab a drink, maybe talk to couple of colleagues and I ‘m out, as yall say.”
“Then you’re out, pop. Fair enough.”
Marc’s stylist motioned to let him know she was done and removed the cape from his neck.
“Okay dad, looks like I gotta run. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Alright black man. Talk to you then. Love you man.”
“Love you too, pop.”
As Marc ended the call, he smiled at the stylist who managed to make him look like a sleek cross between John Legend and Enrique Eglesias. He left her a twenty dollar tip and headed outside where he was able to wave a cab in less than four minutes.
On the cab ride home, he read one of Sherise’s six text messages. Predictably, she went to the condo he bought and fell in love with it. Suddenly, her text messages were filled with “thank yous” and “I really appreciate this”. Marc knew better than to test his good fortune and chose not to respond to her for fear of opening a door to the angst that he had easily avoided all day.
When arrived home, he showered and brewed some green tea. He jotted down the brief biography that he would give to the mc to read as he was being introduced. Marc was sure to include his business affiliations, volunteer efforts, gym regiment, and of course, his description of an ideal romantic date, come with a candle lit dinner, a little Anthony Hamilton playing in the background. Champagne and strawberries for dessert and a full body massage to relax the lucky lady would culminate the date. The massage was usually the thing that made the women go crazy when his bidding started. Satisfied with the picture he painted of himself, Marc phoned Reggie, whom he knew would be dripping with excitement for the event.
“Yo!!!!!!!!!!!! Are you ready or what dawg?” Reggie answered the phone excitedly while the punchy lyrics of DMX blasted in the background.
Marc knew that Reggie regularly listened to the New York rapper when he needed to get hype in the gym. He remembered that Reggie was usually one of the escorts that met the potential bidders and it gave him first dibs on the women.
“Am I ready? The better question is...are these chicks ready for me?” Marc responded with the confidence his day of preparation ushered in.
“True. I just gotta throw my jacket on and call up a few honies to make sure they will be there to boost the bids.” Reggie said as he inspected his Ralph Lauren Purple Label ensemble.
“So I guess I’ll meet you at the spot then.”
“Yep, we’re in suite 524. You can pick up the key at the desk.” Reggie replied referring to the hotel where the event was being held. They always booked suites for the night in the event they had overnight guests.
“Sounds like a plan.” Marc responded and ended his conversation with Reggie.
He then took a shower, dressed himself, and sprayed his Issey Miyake cologne in the air and walked into it’s mist. He was ready for whatever the night had to offer. Sherise was happy and out of his hair. He made sure he tucked a few condoms in his overnight bag, and turned out the lights as he plunged into the brisk night waiting for him.

Chapter 34 Sherise

“Girl, it’s nice, aint it?” Sherise asked her friend LaChan as she gave her a tour around the tour story condo that Marc purchased for her and the baby.

LaChan walked behind her, reviewing what Sherise was able to get yet another man with deep pockets to finance. She recalled the Cadillac Escalade and jewelry that Sherise once owned, the regular shopping sprees, and the occasional weekend getaways that she was invited to, as an alibi, of course. This time, Sherise looked like she made a major come up. She had played the role of the quiet mistress to athletes, club owners, and the random entertainer for years beautifully, until now. Sherise coyly suggested at their brunch at Jaspers in that marriage was on the horizon for her and that her little bundle of joy was her ticket to easy street.

LaChan wondered why she had chosen such a man so low on the totem pole, since she herself, was married to one of the linemen from the Baltimore Ravens. Sherise had helped her run scheme after scheme to finally capture Baltimore’s most eligible and highest paid bachelor. Her pay off was a six carat keepsake that others called a wedding ring to keep her quiet about his little indiscretions with another player’s wife. Sherise’s voice reminded her of their reality.

“I think I’m gonna put some leather furniture in here. Scratch that. I’m gonna go down to Feodore’s and get one of those European designed sofas that Marc has. Those things are like 6 grand a piece. I can’t have OUR baby living like her daddy is poor.” Sherise remarked as she rubbed her rotund belly.

“I can’t believe that fool actually came out of his pockets and bought you a condo. It’s amazing what men will do when they wanna feel like they in control.”

“Well right now, he can think whatever he wants. I aint trying to mess this up.”
“I hear you, but what are you gonna do when the baby comes?” LaChan’s seriousness caught her friend off guard as she began to nervously play with the rings on her fingers.
“Nothing…technically, it is his baby. And anyway, I know he is starting to feel guilty about not being arried to the mother of his child, so it’s just a matter of time before he pops the question. Marc aint like those other knuckleheads. He got class. I just have to play my position. You know how we do, give him a little space. Make him think that I’ve backed off.” Sherise’s devious smile was mirrored by LaChan’s.
“I guess you’re right. I’m still trippin that this fool told you to quit your job at the salon because of the baby. Now you got him paying your bills and buying you a condo and shit.”
Sherise chose not to respond to the slight stretch of the truth that she offered her friend. Marc actually demanded that she continue to work and only agreed to support her financially after she continuously cried and whined about how much her back hurt and how the fumes from the chemicals could affect the baby.
“Speaking of bills, girl let's go. We got a little shopping to do.” Sherise sprang from the plush carpet and grabbed her coat. LaChan followed.
“Cool, you know I’m down for a little retail therapy. But what do we need to get?” Sherise’s devious smile returned.
“Something classy and sophisticated, maybe even formal. We got somewhere to go tonight.”
“Oh, okay, let’s do the damned thing then. I just need to know one thing. Are there going to be men there who can sponsor a sister?”
“No doubt. In fact, I hear they’re the best that the chocolate city has to offer.” Sherise smiled again as she locked the door to the condo that Marc purchased to keep them apart.

Chapter 35 Natalie

Natalie paced the floor in her hotel suite peering at her black Jimmy Choo stilettos, wondering if the cocktail dress she selected from the boutique in the lobby of the hotel made her look too provocative. While Eric was dressing in his tux, she phoned her best friend Elise and tried to get a second opinion.

“Girl, how can something be too sexy? If it’s short and black, it’s perfect.” Elise laughingly responded to her friend’s description of the long-sleeved lace and sequined Rheem Accra mini slip dress.

Sherise eyed her reflection in the mirror caustically. “The lady at the boutique said it was a mini dress. My coochy is about to show. Only Beyonce can get away with wearing shit like this.”
“Girl please! If I were you I would pull a Britney Spears on their asses. And since when has Miss I-got-it-going-on-and-fuckyou-if-you-don’t-know been afraid of a little attention?”
“Elise, this is a classy event. Politicians and important people will be there. I don’t want to walk in the room and they are like ‘what the hell does she have on’?”
Elise exhaled loudly.
“I bet they will be saying ‘what the hell does she have on’, but they’re gonna follow it up with ‘how can I take it off of her.’” The women laughed at Elise’s attempt to calm her friend.
“And anyway Nat, it wouldn’t hurt if you had a little indiscretion while you’re out there. I mean, girlfriend, it might be time for you to get politically incorrect in the nation’s capital.”
“With who? These old farts are old enough to be my damned daddy. I already know the bachelors are either gonna be gay, which is why Eric is so excited, married, or have some drama that involves some crazy female trying to keep them faithful. Keep it real girl, I am going for the food.” Natalie laughed at her own comment.
“I hear what you’re saying. I just think it would be a shame to let a perfectly good opportunity to have a meaningless one-nightonly affair go to waste.”
“That’s because you’re a slut.”
“Wrong, bitch. Sluts don’t cum and actually care if people think they’re a ho. Shit, those little skinny white broads on Sex and the City opened up a whole new way of looking at it for me. I am sexually liberated, damn it.”
“Are you really gonna use the Carrie Bradshaw alibi?”
“Listen, say what you want. My skin is clear and I am ALWAYS white girl happ. If I were you, I would handle my business. You know my saying, a-dab-of-dick-will-do-ya! If I weren’t showing a house to this ball player and his agent, my ass would be on the first thing smoking to go with you.” Natalie burst out into laughter as Eric emerged in a Kenneth Cole black tuxedo with an iridescent London Morning tie.
“Girl, Eric looks like he is ready, and I am getting hungry. So, I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, baby girl, have a good time. Gimme twenty dollars…”
“I aint got it, I aint got it.”
“Broke ass.”
The two hung up the phone simultaneously. Eric smiled at his sister’s ensemble.
“Somebody’s giving them the business in that dress.”
“You like it? I think it’s a little too provocative.”
“It’s exactly what you need. Hopefully you can land a man and get out of my face for the night.”
“Why the hell is everyone so bent on me finding a man? What the hell is the big deal?”
Eric eyed his sister and shook his head.
“The fact that you don’t have a clue what the big deal is…is why you need a man.” Natalie rolled her eyes at her brother’s pun and they left the hotel suite.
The ballroom was decorated in a tasteful pallet of amethyst and antique gold. The event designer walked a cautious line of gaudy and grandiose that Natalie approved of. Eric had quickly coupled with his new friend that worked at the hotel and they chatted endlessly about the room’s design and who could have put such a lavish ensemble together.
Natalie struggled to convince herself that she was not the third wheel as the two began to talk enthusiastically about a church in the DC area where there was a large gay population that was actually welcomed to participate in the ministries of the church. Natalie didn’t know how she felt about the topic, so she remained silent. She knew that if her mother heard about the place she would be the first suicide bomber to attack a black church in America. Eric’s friend, Allen, sensed Natalie’s disconnection and spoke to her.
“Girl, you doin’ your thang in that dress. You definitely hurtin’ me.” Natalie smiled curiously at her brother’s date, unsure now of what team he played on. He noticed her confusion.
“Don’t worry sugah. I still get down on the other side. Just because I prefer tulips, don’t mean I can’t tell when a rose is beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Natalie gushed as Eric eyed his date with suspicion behind his back.
“Excuse me, I ‘m gonna go mingle.” Natalie said as she left their table.
She spotted several political figures that she wanted to question about their stance on educational cutbacks in Houston’s fifth ward, but decided not to ruin the mood. Instead, she positioned herself near the hors d’oeuvres table and munched on smoked salmon canapés while eavesdropping on the conversations of those around her.
She soon grew bored of the boastful monologues of the professional athletes who congregated near the beautifully sculpted ice bar and moved towards the lobby to see the crowds coming in. She felt her cell phone vibrating in her small black purse and reached in to grab it as she walked out of the door. Unable to put her hands on it, she looked down into the small bag to retrieve it. Just as she was able to look up, she walked directly into one of the guests and nearly lost her balance. Embarrassed, she apologized profusely for being so clumsy. She couldn’t help but inhale his scent as he grabbed her arms to steady her. She indulged in how soft his hands were.
“No problem. That’s a nice dress.” He said as he flashed a dazzling smile and stepped to the side to continue his path. Natalie hated to let the opportunity pass her by, but allowed him to disappear into the crowd.
“Good job Natalie.” She said to herself as she looked to her infamous cell phone. She had just missed Heath’s phone call. She promised him that they would connect. She had been trying to reach him threvious night, but got his voicemail. Her hormones had been screaming for her to bed him, or anyone for that matter, before she had a melt down. She failed to pack her trusty love tool and was not sure that she could make it through the next few nights in the chocolate city.
After eying a few women decked to the nines, looking like they were in the place to catch their husband, Natalie tired of the scene. She wanted a drink so bad she could taste it, but was afraid of what the outcome would be. She heard the mc ask for the crowd’s attention and perked up. Natalie grabbed her bidding paddle and watched the lips of the bald brother with a goatee that looked so exact it could have been painted on.
By the time she had reached her seat where Eric now sat frowning with his date, the rules of the auction were being explained. Natalie leaned over and whispered in Eric’s ear.
“What’s wrong with you?” Eric’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as his date frantically typed on his Blackberry that was now in full view.
“Can you say married? This fool told me that if his wife shows up to say I am his homeboy from college! I guess he’s not exactly out of the closet, more like peeking out of the window. I wanted to haul ass out of here, but the damned drinks are free, so I said fuck it! This clown had the nerve to tell me he got us a suite for tonight.”
Natalie wanted so desperately to laugh in her brother’s face for being such an incessant flirt with every person he met, but resisted and quietly looked around to see if there were any irate women headed for their table.
“Looks like we’re cool. We just gotta keep a low profile, you know, be on the down-low.” Natalie chuckled as Eric shoved her in the ribs for her well-timed pun.
The soft jazz playing suddenly came to a halt when the bald headed brother finished thanking the corporate sponsors for their support. Suddenly Angie Stone’s anthem to black men, ‘Brother’ started playing.
“Alright ladies, you know what that means. It’s time to put your money where your mouth is. You say there are no good brothers in DC, and I say we got twelve reasons in here tonight to say that you’re wrong. Get your cameras ready, because you’re gonna need ‘em. We have chocolate city’s finest for you tonight. This first brother is a patent attorney and partner in a downtown area law firm, has no kids, no baby momma drama, and plenty of time to give to the lady that wants him bad enough tonight. He is offering a candlelit dinner aboard the Odyssey Cruise Line, private salsa dance lessons, and a full body massage after the dance to help you work out the kinks. He says his favorite book is the bible and enjoys long walks on the beach. Ladies, please meet Mr. Roberto Alvarez…”
Natalie and Eric quickly turned their attention to the stage where the Puerto Rican and Black bachelor emerged drenched in baby oil, and wearing silk boxers and the matching robe. His fraternity's brand was prominently displayed on his chest. Natalie thought he was attractive, but a little too short to invest her money in.
Eric discreetly raised his paddle a few times, to the dismay of his date. Eric and Natalie exchanged wide eyed glances as the women easily placed bids of fourteen hundred, then fifteen hundred, and finally a winning bid of eighteen hundred for the Afro-Latino lover. Though the amounts pledged were completely tax deductible, Natalie refused to bid over five hundred dollars on any of the bachelors. She felt anything higher made the women look desperate, and she was not going to go out like that.
As the night progressed, attractive men from fire fighters to oncologists appeared on the stage and had women fighting tooth and nail for a chance to win a night with them. After loosing out on a tall well toned restaurateur at $675, Natalie had given up hope and chose to retire her paddle for the night. She sauntered over to the abandoned bar and ordered a glass of white wine. Before remembering the sobering reasons s shouldn’t be drinking, she had finished the glass. The alcohol had a calming affect on her and she quickly motioned for another glass. After her third glass, she hurried back to her seat to see the final three bachelors, hoping that they were saving the best for last. Now feeling invigorated, she reclaimed her paddle and shot Eric a look of assurance that suggested that she would leave tonight with a man on her arm. Her hormones were now raging out of control as she ignored the moisture accumulating between her legs when the next bachelor appeared on the stage.
He was so beautiful that she was speechless. The announcer went on to give his biography and what he offered for a memorable date. She heard nothing and could only see herself in his bed with her legs wrapped around his waist. Eric noticed and jokingly waived his hands in front of his sister’s face, which now seemed locked in an erotic trance. The moment the bidding started, Natalie snapped into action. She was obviously not the only woman in the room that he entranced, because the bidding easily slipped past the two thousand dollar mark. Some of the wealthier women stayed in only to make it interesting, but dropped off once there was a bid off between Natalie and another woman at $3500.
The woman, who was radiant in an empire waist gown that showed off her diamond choker, shot Natalie nasty looks as she raised the bid to $3800, challenging Natalie to counter. The man on the stage appeared disturbed by this and Natalie assumed that he clearly wanted the wealthy looking woman to win. Choosing to save herself the rejection and reluctance that her winning bid might offer, Natalie did not counter. The auctioneer was about to strike his gavel and award the woman her date with the bachelor when Eric thrust his paddle into the air and pledged $4000.
Natalie looked on shockingly as Eric told her that she deserved this and he was gonna make sure she got herself a man tonight. Both the bachelor and the woman seemed shocked by this and looked on as Eric spoke to his opponent.
“Sorry bitch, you can’t have this one tonight. Go ahead and get you one of those little escort boys. This one right here is taken.”
The woman responded with anger and equaled disdain.
“I’ll be damned if I let you get him.”
The crowd riveted and offered oohs and aahs as the bid soared up to $6500. Natalie tugged on Eric’s coat tail to tell him to let it go, but he refused. After the bid rose to $7000, the woman finally relented and hissed a comment in Eric’s direction.
“Some people need a date more than others, what can I say?” She angrily folded her arms when she could no longer bid and passed, allowing Eric to win.
The crowd burst into applause and quickly erupted into quieted chuckles as they noticed the discomfort on the bachelor’s face. Eric used the opportunity to address the crowd.
“Oh lets be for real, it’s not for me. Do I look like I need to buy a date? This is for my beautiful sister right here…Natalie stand up.”
Both the crowd and bachelor applauded when Natalie rose to her feet. She basked in their adoration for a moment before heading to the stage to be escorted by her new date. The woman that lost the bid to Eric now looked incensed and stormed out of the banquet hall with her friend in tow. Eric and Natalie looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders, miffed by her dramatic exit. By the time Natalie reached the stage, she was feeling flirtatious.
“So what can a girl get in this town for $7000?” Natalie asked while batting her eyes seductively.
The bachelor, clearly impressed by her long legs and very short dress took her by the hand and kissed it.
“Whatever she wants.” He remarked with equaled seduction. Natalie giggled with pleasure as the two walked over to take their pictures for the event’s commemorative booklet. As Natalie nuzzled against his broad chest for the picture, she allowed herself to inhale his clean scent. After the flashes went off, Natalie, now in ecstasy induced by alcohol and carnal attraction, looked up suggestively at her date.
“I know this is gonna sound silly considering that I just paid a small fortune for you. But I forgot your name.”
Her date’s smile broadened. He wondered when she would ask.
“My name is Marc. Marchevis Campbell and it’s a pleasure to meet you.
Natalie, with eyes full of lust responded.
“Funny, I think the pleasure will be all mine.” The two headed for the lobby where they would make their plans for the night and possibly for the morning as well.

Chapter 36 Sherise

“Girl can you believe this shit?” Sherise screamed to LaChan as they stormed into the lobby of the Washington Court Hotel.
LaChan was at a loss of words as she mentally recollected the events that had just transpired. She watched her friend escalate to hysterics.
“Oh my God, this muthafucka better not be on the down-low. Did you see how he looked when he saw the dude bidding on him? It’s like he was mad at me for trying to stop him.” Sherise conveniently chose to ignore that Marc’s anger was born out her infringement on his privacy and adamant plea for her not to come to the event.
LaChan finally spoke.
“How about the broad that he was bidding for? She was cute, but she aint all that.”
“Please! All of those broads in there were some high suddity bitches with money who couldn’t buy a date. You know I had to let Marc know that the shit wasn’t gonna go down like that.”
“Girl, you better handle your business, cause that chick looked like she was ready to give him some ass right then and there.”
“She saw me looking at her. She knew the deal when I walked out. I will hurt Marc if he even thinks he’s gonna tap that.”
Just as the two women finished their conversation, Marc emerged hand and hand with his new date. LaChan eyed Sherise to see how she would react. Marc instantly noticed Sherise, made dismissive and malignant eye contact, and quickly returned his attention to his date. His date smirked at his slight of her and leaned her head on his shoulder as they continued to walk further into the hotel.
“Girl, I know you not gonna go out like that. You better go get your man.”
Now seething and overcome with anger, Sherise battled herself to remain composed. She also knew that LaChan was watching her for a crack in her armor. Then, as if she remembered a sacred secret, she slyly smiled at LaChan.
“Nope, I’m gonna let him have her tonight. She’s just some tramp who he hit off at a hotel one night. I know he’s not gonna get her pregnant. Hell, he probably won’t even bother to remember her name. Me, on the other hand, I’m here to stay.” She punctuated her statement while rubbing her well-concealed pregnancy bump.
LaChan, still apprehensive, chose not to express her discomfort. “Alright girl, make it do what it do! This shit was wack anyway. Lets go, maybe we can still catch a few ballers buying out the bar at Fur.” Sherise smiled as the two agreed to return to their normal regiment of collecting and exploiting men willing to trade their fortunes for good sex and a pretty face.

Chapter 37 Ilene

Ilene drove slowly as she made her way to the hospital. The fateful call she been waiting for happened only hours after Charles had summarily dismissed any idea of saving their marriage.

She had successfully managed to sound concerned and shocked as Charles called her from Northside Hospital after being car jacked and pistol whipped. She literally held back her laughter as Charles, now humbled and meek, tearfully recounted the incident. She made a mental note to commend her “business associate” for being so prompt in his delivery.

Charles called her after regaining consciousness in the hospital and told her that he barely even saw the man that shoved the gun in his face and demanded that he give up the Cadillac. Ilene was relieved by this relation. She wondered if the sense of security that Charles once commanded was shaken. She had hoped that his brush with death would give him a renewed sense of commitment to his family and their importance in his life.

As she slowed her pace and moved into the lane for slow moving traffic, she contemplated stopping for something like a cup of coffee just to further emaciate Charles’ now frantic state. It would be a small reward for how he spoke to her earlier today.

After pulling into the Krispy Kreme, she decided to change her approach and pulled back onto the freeway. She chuckled when she imagined the look on Charles’ face as he gave up his precious Cadillac. In the midst of the Atlanta area traffic, Ilene noticed the beauty of the mountains just north of the metropolis. They appeared serene and calm compared to the masses of people rushing to get nowhere quickly. She allowed herself to be serenaded by Miles Davis as she drifted closer and closer to the mountain range.

By the time Ilene pulled into the visitor parking garage of the hospital, it was an hour and a half from the time she received Charles’ frantic call. She pulled her hair down from its tight bun and ran her fingers through it wildly to deliver the impression that she was beside herself with grief. It only took her four minutes to locate Charles and compel a few tears at the sight of his swollen lip and black eye. She halted when she eyed his ex-wife standing over his bed talking to him. She bit her bottom lip and swallowed her rage that now ripped through her body. She knew that if she went off on her, she would destroy what she had worked so hard to build. Instead, she delivered a saccharine smile.

“Brenda! I had no idea you would be here. Thank you for coming, but everything is under control. I know you’re busy with those kids of yours, so don’t worry about MY HUSBAND. Yours must be worried sick with all that traffic out there.” Ilene leaned in and gave her husband a peck on the cheek and then continued her speech.

“Chuck will be fine. I’ll take care of him.” Ilene’s attempt at gratitude was ill received and transparent. Brenda did not neglect to reveal her true sentiment with an icy stare.

“No, no, no Ilene. It’s not a problem at all. He called and told me what happened, and I insisted that I get down here to see how I could help. So I switched my flight and was able to get here in no time. I wouldn’t have come so quickly, but he said that he called you and hadn’t heard back. He really needed someone here, you know…family. I’m glad you finally made it. Looks like you been through hell too. You sure you don’t want to get some rest? You look a mess.” Brenda’s words were mixed with sugar and venom as she rubbed Charles’ back.

He remained stoic and silent, undoubtedly uncomfortable with the union of his former wife and the mistress he left her for and married. Ilene, far from conceding defeat, remained firm in her plan to reclaim her marriage.

“Yeah, I stopped and got a few things from the drug store that his doctor said he might need to have around OUR house.” Ilene ran her fingers through Charles’ mini afro for added affect. “I’m gonna play nurse for a little while until my man is all better. You know, a little TLC.” Ilene’s smile told Brenda that her presence was quickly becoming obsolete.

Brenda, noting Charles’ discomfort, opted to diffuse the tense scene.
“Well alrighty then. Chuck, I’m gonna get out of here. But you call me if you need me.” Brenda collected her purse and jacket and headed for the door. Charles looked up through the eye that wasn’t severely swollen and replied.
“Hey Bren, thanks for everything. Really.” Brenda gave a knowing smile and walked out of the door.
Ilene felt sickened by the bond that the two shared, even after her twenty five year marriage to Charles. She never could emulate the intimacy that the two of them shared. She struggled to restrain her desire to slap Charles in the back of his head for blatantly showing his adoration for his former wife in her presence. Sensing her burgeoning anger, Charles grabbed Ilene’s hand. It was his attempt to connect with her and she didn’t resist.
“Ilene. Look, I know I acted like a jackass with you earlier today. Hell, I didn’t even think you would come after how I spoke to you…What I am trying to say is that I am sorry and I really appreciate the fact that you’re here.”
Ilene said a quick prayer of thanks as Charles spoke and decided to take the devoted wife role a little further.
“Of course I’m here. I’m your wife. That’s what I am supposed to do.” She fluffed the pillow behind his head for added effect. Charles felt compelled to respond.
“Ilene, about the divorce…”
“Nope. I don’t even want to talk about it now. Plenty of time to discuss things once we get you better. Meanwhile, I am going to go hunt down your doctor to see when we can take you home.” Charles’ face morphed into a half smile. He tugged Ilene back as she turned to get his physician.
“Ilene, look, I really need to tell you something. Last week, I…”
“Shhh. Whatever you did Chuck, I don’t care. It’s over now. I almost lost you and all I want to do is enjoy the time we have to together. Okay? Let’s just try and get past this. We can work out all of the details later.” Ilene said quietly to Charles, surprised by her ability to be so convincingly sincere. He smiled gratefully and kissed her hand lightly.
“Now let me find this doctor so I can get you home.”
“You are something else Ilene. You’re just something else.” Charles said as he gazed at her in awe.
“I try to be.” Ilene responded and headed to the hallway to find his doctor.
Ilene had hoped that two days of nursing Charles would make him reconsider his silly notion of divorce. She had moved back into the family home and wasted no time discarding the sheets stained with evidence of Charles’ infidelity. Though they were not intimate since he had severe bruising on his rib cage where he was kicked, Ilene attempted tender moments with him, nonetheless.
“I made your eggs sunny side up, the way you like them, Chuck.” Ilene said as she served him in their breakfast room.
Charles glanced up from his newspaper and smiled as Ilene placed the plates down and sat facing him. Ilene had a mission today. It was two-fold. First, she had to get Charles to completely dismiss his suit for divorce and second, she had to make sure that he attended her birthday bash as a happy and proud husband. Though she was a little disappointed that much of the swelling hadn’t gone down, she reasoned that it might earn her a few more points with the friend-foes if she appeared standing loyally with her recovering husband, battling back from a severe attack by random hoods. Charles interrupted her thoughts.
“Marc called. He’ll be in tomorrow night. He said that he missed his flight and had to grab the next one.” Ilene wondered why her son hadn’t called her directly. She wondered how news of their divorce would impact their relationship, since he was always so much closer to his father.
“Did you mention your attack?”
“Naw, didn’t want to upset the boy. He’s got a lot on his plate.” Ilene raised an eyebrow.
“Really? Like what? He never said anything to me. He always acts like everything is just fine when we talk.”
Charles regretted his statement and tried to redirect the conversation.
“Nothing serious, really. You know…bachelor stuff. A guy his age with so much going for him. I think he just needs to see us to reconnect. Too proud to say he’s home sick. He’s gonna be fine.”
Ilene didn’t believe a word Charles said. She decided to wait and see what happened when he got there.
“Speaking of reconnect Chuck, have you told him about our marriage issues?”
“I will get into it when all three of us are together. The boy is not te. People get divorced all the time.” His statement struck Ilene like a dagger. His mind was certainly made up, despite her very expensive scheme to get him back on her team. She would try anyway.
“So, I guess you haven’t softened your stance then. I mean, people have problems in their marriage all the time. They go to counseling, they get over it.”
“Get over it Ilene? I slept with a woman in our house and since my attack you’ve been acting like nothing ever happened. You’ve been sleeping with other men for most of our marriage, and you think a counselor can make it work. This isn’t a marriage for you, it’s an arrangement. I am not about to pretend that just because you spent a few days over here to help me out that everything is okay.” Ilene felt anger pulsing through her veins.
“So what am I supposed to do Chuck? Throw away a twenty five year marriage because of some insignificant people that we could care less about? We are a family, and families make it work. Okay, so I made some bad decisions, but does that mean that you don’t want me as your wife anymore? You haven’t exactly been perfect yourself.” Ilene peered into her husband’s expressionless swollen face.
“So I guess that makes us even, huh, Ilene? Look, I am not going to do this with you. Not today. This morning, you were all hyped up on your big party tomorrow. Let’s just focus on that. When it’s over, we’ll see. I’m gonna go lie down. I feel a little tired and I think it’s time for me to take my medication. You coming upstairs?” Ilene sat looking at Charles wondering if she should have invested a little more money to have her business associate finish off the job.
“No, you go ahead. I have a few vendor calls to make to see if everything is set.”
“You know you’re really good at this. You should think about working for one of those big event planning companies like Ridgewells or something. They have those shows all the time on TV.”
Ilene grimaced as she considered how much her husband consistently underestimated her.
“Yeah, I’ll think about that.” Ilene said as Charles headed up stairs and she rolled her eyes. She retrieved her phone from her purse and searched the contact log for the number for the lighting technicians. Just as she was about to press talk, she received an incoming call. The phone number didn’t look familiar, but it was a DC area code, so she assumed it was Marc calling from somewhere.
“Hello?” Ilene asked as she waited for her son’s voice.
“Mrs. Campbell?” A feminine voice answered her that cracked just a little when she said Ilene’s last name. Concerned that something had happened to Marc, Ilene quickly responded.
“Yes, this is she. Who is this?”
“Hi maam, you don’t know me, but I am calling because I don’t know what else to do, and I think that you might be able to help me. My name is Sherise Jenkins…”

Chapter 38 Marc

“You never told me your full name.” Marc said to his new date that bought his time and attention for $7000.
“Names are so formal, don’t you think?” She responded with mischief in her voice as she seductively eyed Marc. Taken aback by her boldness and clandestine sexual innuendo, Marc decided to tread lightly as he sat across from her on the sofa in the lobby of the hotel. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of Sherise’s nightmare.
“I just thought that it would be nice to know the name of such a giving woman. You really did a good thing in there. That money will go far for the kids that we mentor.”
His date, now growing impatient decided to up the anty.
“You haven’t begun to see the giving and good things that I can do.” Marc’s face glowed with embarrassment as she made her intentions unquestionably clear. This scared Marc just enough to back down from his previous intention of sleeping with the beautiful stranger.
“Wow. Is that right? Well, I am sure that some lucky man will have th pleasure to find that out. You probably have a thousand other things to do tonight, so here’s my business card so that we can schedule a night to have that outing.”
Natalie, now irritated by the apparent dismissal, responded.
“Outing? $7000 and all I get is a goddamned outing? What’s up with the S-E-X? You don’t need to waste time with the pleasantries. I already know what you really want. And it’s not for me to take your card. You can keep that shit, really.”
Marc was not sure how to respond to her brashness. Did she just assume that they would have sex? He certainly held the same assumption, until she became belligerent.
“Look lady, this isn’t some kind of call service. If you are that hard up for some dick, go right out on New York Avenue and have at it. You got my card. Good night and I wish I could say it was a pleasure meeting you, but that would be a lie.” Marc rose and buttoned his jacket.
The beautiful stranger sat looking at her expensive shoes, refusing to make eye contact. He turned to leave, agitated that he did not have a back up date to share his hotel suite with.
“Natalie.” The stranger spoke.
Marc hesitated as he turned around to face her. She spoke again. Her voice softened.
“My name is Natalie, and I am really sorry if I offended you. I have been drinking, and I shouldn’t have been because when I drink, these things happen and…”
Marc, now facing Natalie, witnessed tears streaming down her face as she lifted her head to speak to him. She appeared vulnerable and breathtakingly beautiful. Though she was wildly attractive to him, his desire to sleep with her dwindled as she parted her fragile lips. He had an overwhelming urge to hold her and protect her from the pain that hid behind her eyes. She was the type of woman that he envisioned when he daydreamed about meeting his wife.
“You don’t have to apologize Natalie. It’s cool, really. If I had a dime for every time I said something crazy out of my mouth because of alcohol, I would own this damned hotel.” The two shared a chuckle as he attempted to ease her into a comfortable conversation.

“Who did you come with? I hope that you’re not gonna drive yourself home in your condition. Do you need me to grab you a cab?” Marc’s outpouring of concern made Natalie’s eyes water. She willed back the tears as he smiled amiably at her. She attempted to reciprocate the smile.

“Thank you Marc, but I’m okay. I’m staying here so I won’t be jeopardizing anything but my ankles in these high assed heels.” Marc followed her long dark legs to her ultra sexy stilettos. He wanted to kiss the very ankle that she questioned.

“Nice shoes, Jimmy Choo?” Marc asked. Natalie, amazed by Marc’s knowledge of fashion was dismayed.
“Yeah, they are Jimmy Choo. I would ask how you know that but somehow I don’t think I want to know the answer.” Marc’s eyes widened.
“What? A brother can’t like shoes?” Marc asked.
Natalie responded enthusiastically.
“Yes, a brother can like shoes. But it takes a ‘special’ type of brother to be able to recognize these shoes. Regular men don’t care about details like that.” Natalie wore a curious smirk. Marc, now aware of Natalie’s assumption, grinned from ear to ear.
“Well, I guess you got me figured out then. What can I say?” Natalie sulked in the chair, deflated by Marc’s comment. Marc enjoyed watching her. Her smile disappeared.
“Are there any straight men in the damned universe? Am I in the matrix or some shit?”
Marc sat peering at the Persian rug of the high end hotel and struggled not to burst into laughter at Natalie’s comment. He refused to look up, as it would have allowed her to see the look of pure fascination on his face. He drank her every word. He savored the way that she articulated the letter ‘s’. He could even tell that she had a slight overbite that caused her “m” to sound a little lazy. He studied her. He was ae to collect himself after her five minute tirade that ended with the announcement that she was going to only deal with white men. He was puzzled.
“Now why would you want to do that? There are plenty of brothers who would love to be with you. You’re beautiful and you sound pretty smart.”
“Oh, don’t get it twisted. I’m very smart. The fact of the matter is that the guys that aren’t gay are married or want you to do damned back flips to be with them. I mean, I am a professional black woman with my own career and money. I should be turning brothers away. Instead, they pass me over because I am too “aggressive” and they go for a white girl. Or even worse, I have to act like dumb Dora to make them feel like they’re intelligent. And don’t even get me started on the color struck brothers who think dark-skinned is a curse word…”
Marc couldn’t help but smile at her monologue. She sounded just like one of the articles that he read in Essence while riding the train to work. Though he thought the writer was one of very few black women complaining about the scarcity of black men, he truly could feel Natalie’s dismay. He attempted to intercede on behalf of some of the black men that were so elusive.
“All men are not like that. Shame on them if they don’t recognize an intelligent sister with her shit together. They are probably just intimidated. No offense, but you do look like you could break a brother down. I don’t know about those other brothers, but I would date you.”
Natalie looked at Marc with skepticism.
“Oh yeah, I bet you would ‘date’ me. You would ‘date’ me really well. This shit is so Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Too bad you don’t ‘date’ women, right?”
Marc offered a devilish smirk.
“Who said I didn’t?” He waited for Natalie’s response.
Natalie leapt to her feet.
“See, that’s what I mean. Now here you are playing both sides. The sisters can’t catch a damn break. So what, you’re telling me that you’re bi? And what the hell is that about anyway? Either you like pussy or dick. This aint Burger King, muthafucka’. I can’t even believe that you would come at me like that after all that I just told you about brothers coming at me wrong.”
This time Marc stood and towered over Natalie. He could feel the sexual tension between them trickling down his skin.
“I never, not ever, told you that I like dudes. You decided that I did. I was going to tell that you were wrong, but you appear to know everything. You got it all figured out. Right, Na-ta-lee?”
Natalie folded her arms and peered angrily at Marc.
“You’re full of shit. I guess you think that you’re really funny, huh? You know this is some tired shit. You are wasting my time and have completely ruined my buzz. Thanks.”
Natalie turned around to leave. Marc grabbed her by both forearms and pulled her close to him.
“We both know you don’t really want to go. Do you?”
Marc’s face was so close to Natalie’s that she could feel the heat from his breath at the top of her temple. Her panties bore the evidence of the sexual attraction she felt to Marc. She fought her urge to surrender and hoped that he could not detect the accumulation of moisture that now threatened to stain her dress.
“Oh, and I guess you think I should just fall into your arms cause you’re so damned fine. Please! Is that the best you can do?”
Marc was growing agitated by Natalie’s resistance and released her.
“I see now why you don’t have a man. You’re bitter. No, scratch that, you’re straight evil. I don’t know who screwed you up, but I aint that brother.”
“No, you didn’t. Why can’t a sister just demand to be treated with respect without being called bitter or angry? The real problem is that you can’t handle a real woman with thoughts and a mind. You want the little stupid broads bouncing their asses on the videos or the hungry looking crack head models who are gonna treat you like you are the best thing walking the earth. Sorry, brah, but I am a little too intelligent for that.”
“There you go. Beyonce got yall thinking that yall the only ones who got your shit together. So what you got a house? Great. You gonna need one, because you gonna definitely be living alone. You got a degree? Outstanding. But women don’t understand that has nothing to do with if a man will want you or not. Women are crazy individuals. You all are nuts. One minute, you want a man to take care of you and pay your bills, keep your little nails and feet done. The next minute, you are kickin’ him to the curb because you don’t need him. Then yall write these dumb assed books and bash the men that yall call dogs, who yall never leave. Forget what Oprah said, if you want a man, check your damned attitude. The shit is unattractive, really.”
Natalie stood with both hands on her hips and prepared to launch a verbal assault on Marc’s monologue. He quickly placed one finger over her lips to silence her.
“See there. You looking as beautiful as I don’t know what and you want to come out of your mouth with ugliness. Just keep looking pretty, don’t say a word. I’m gonna go before you stab me. You have my card. Get at me when you’re not so angry.”
Marc gave her a warm kiss on the cheek and headed for the elevator. He wished that she wasn’t so damaged. He wished the same thing for himself. The bell for the elevator rang as the doors opened. He glanced back at his beauty looking so angry in the middle of the well appointed lobby. He smiled as he quietly killed what could have been between them in his mind.

Chapter 39 Natalie

Natalie stood in the center of the lobby, unsure of what to think of her exchange with Marc. Was he staying in the hotel? She wanted to run after him and beg him to spend the night with her, but she was far too proud to concede defeat and validate the type of behavior that she just dismissed as silly. She reasoned that he probably would call one of the many admirers watching him at the auction and invite her to his suite. She would come to him, without incident and have sex with him that made her feel like a woman. Natalie quietly wished that she were that woman.

She looked down at the business card in her hand. “Marchevis.” She fell in love with his name and scanned the card for a cell phone number. She convinced herself not to call the number as she balled the card up and shoved it into her clutch. As she watched him disappear in the elevator, she retrieved her phone from her purse. Two new messages. Three missed calls. The calls were from Eric, Heath, and number she didn’t recognize in the Houston area. She listened as Eric explained that he would indeed be staying with his new friend for the night and not to wait up for him. Heath sounded disappointed by the fact that he was leaving yet another voicemail message for her. She didn’t want him to think that she was discarding him and decided to call him.

She dialed his number and waited for him to answer. After the fourth ring, his recorded voice instructed her to leave her very important message. She disobeyed and ended her call. “Hell, I might as well call it a night.” Natalie said as she headed towards the elevator.

“Marchevis…Marchevis…Marchevis. Damn even the sound of his name turns me on.” She thought to herself as she pressed the button to call the elevator. She boarded the elevator thinking of her exchange with him. She chided herself for being so rude and ruining her chances of waking up in his arms. She searched her mind for a way to make it up to him. Most importantly, she wanted him to see the side of her that wasn’t a bad mixture of psychotropic drugs and alcohol.

Natalie opened the door to her suite only to find an infomercial for the ab roller waiting for her. After kicking off her strappy stilettos, she marched over to the king sized bed and dove under the covers, fully dressed. She flicked through what seeme like hundreds of infomercials only to settle on an old rerun of The Jeffersons. She smiled at the nostalgia that the show ushered with it. She recalled how she and Eric would rush home after school to watch it and Good Times before their mother got home and insisted that they watch the Bobby Jones Gospel Hour with her. Natalie was even more thrilled when she learned that it was a marathon until tomorrow morning. She decided that the night might not be so bad after all. She grabbed the leather bound room service menu and decided to spoil herself.

After deciding that she would feast on lobster, beef Wellington, a spinach salad, and a couple of bottles of Fiji water, Natalie felt content. For dessert, she would have a decadent slice of triple chocolate truffle cake. She decided against alcohol, considering how its affects had helped to sabotage her night. She picked up the phone to place her order when an idea struck her. She dialed ‘0’ for the operator and waited for an answer. When a very cheerful attendant named Cindy answered, Natalie warmed.

“Hi Cindy, this is Natalie Logan in suite 816 and I was wondering if you could help me with a few things…”
By the end of the call Natalie glowed with excitement. She slipped her stilettos back on and headed for the bathroom. She quickly splashed water on her face and removed what was left of her make up. She brushed her teeth and sprayed on a fruity fragrance by Bath and Body Works. The infamous dress remained on. She then relaxed and waited for the fateful knock on her door. She chuckled lightly as George Jefferson slammed his.

Chapter 40 Marc

Marc reclined on the bed watching a documentary about the prohibition of alcohol on the History Channel. His uneasy scowl revealed his disgust. He was thoroughly frustrated that his night turned out to be a flop and he was sitting alone in his suite while he heard Reggie next door doing his thing. He decided against calling one of the women with stars by their names programmed in his phone. They would require coaxing and would likely want to spend the weekend with him. He was not in the mood for their drama.

Natalie’s face kept flashing in his head, replaying itself as if it were secretly programmed to do so. He wanted to believe that she was crazy and bitter and not worthy of a second thought. He could still smell her. It annoyed him and defied his caliber that he wanted to kiss her so badly it made him ache when they were next to each other. He struggled to get comfortable, but his now erect manhood refused to allow such a luxury. He didn’t get a card from her to call her and doubted that she would ever call him. He blew it. The thought of seeing her once more excited and depressed him as he knew it was a lofty goal.

Periodically, he checked his phone to see if she had called, only to find missed calls from Sherise. He struggled not to allow himself to think of their exchange. Anger pulsated through every cell in his body when he saw her sitting in the audience at the auction. He wanted to go off, but decided it would only make him look like a monster to berate this obviously pregnant woman in public.

His thoughts returned to Natalie. He closed his eyes and saw her chocolate skin draped over his. He wanted to touch her and was driving himself mad. Before he was aware of what he was doing, he realized that he was stroking himself as he replayed her seductive voice over and over in his head. He was about to climax when he was startled by a knock at the door. He quickly adjusted himself and wiped his hands on one of the towels in the bathroom.

“Who is it?” He asked, sure it was Reggie coming to ask if he had any extra condoms and to invite him to the festivities.
“Room service, sir.” The male voice answered from the other side of the door.
Marc swung the door open to find a cart filled with food and wine.
“Oh, you must have the wrong room. I didn’t order this stuff.”
The room attendant gave a knowing smid motioned for Marc to move aside so he could wheel the cart into the room.
“Of course, sir. This meal was sent compliments of a guest staying with us. Enjoy.” The attendant exited the room without waiting for a gratuity.
“Gaddamn!” Marc said to himself as he stood in front of the cart and unveiled covered dishes of porterhouse steak, lobster, asparagus, and whipped potatoes. He thought maybe he shouldn’t dine on the delicious food since he didn’t know who sent it. He opened the bottle of Merlot chilling in the bucket and poured a glass as he grabbed one of the strawberries on the plate next to it. He secretly hoped that Natalie had sent the food and a way to contact her to thank her for the gesture. He wanted to thank her…a lot.
Smiling gratuitously, he wheeled the cart to the bed. He loosened his tie as he said his grace to protect him from any harm that was intended for him through the food. He reached for the cloth napkin only to find a delicate handwritten note on the hotel’s stationery folded inside. He beamed as he read the very feminine handwriting:

Marc,
I am sorry if I offended you. Here is my peace offering. Would love to apologize in person. If you don’t want to see me, I understand. If not, I’m in room 816 West
-Natalie

Marc’s skin radiated as he savored the opportunity to see Natalie again. He hoped that she was still wearing that damned dress. He stopped past the mirror and checked out his look. Careful not to appear too anxious, he returned to the bed and attempted to eat the meal that was sent to him. Three minutes later, he abandoned his meal and headed straight for the door. He hesitated momentarily as he pondered if she would still be the angry woman he left in the lobby. He decided that he needed to see her once more just to get her face out of his head. He needed to see a flaw in her chocolate skin to remove the allure that captivated him. He vowed to himself that he would not sleep with her, since the act would undoubtedly come with drama. He would thank her, maybe kiss her, and maybe even let her give him some head. Those things would not require deep analysis in the morning. They could be easily dismissed as a drunken act.

It took him six minutes and fourteen seconds to arrive at her door after leaving his suite. He exhaled as he knocked on the door of her suite. He heard her rise from the bed and walk toward the door. She opened the door as if she were expecting him for quite some time. Marc resented that he was so predictable. Her shy smile made Marc forget that she was the woman who had just told him off an hour ago.

“Come in.” Natalie said as she invited him into her room and her life.
Marc followed her legs and dress into the vanilla fragranced suite.
“Thank you for the food. It wasn’t necessary, though. That stuff must have set you back a little something.” He said as he thought of other ways that she could have apologized without spending a dime.
“Worth every dime.” Natalie thought as she spied his muscular arms and chest through the stylish shirt and now loosened neck tie. “It was nothing.” Natalie said instead.
Marc eyed the massive bed and instantly envisioned a scene of her sweating profusely as he held her by the waist and forced her round ass onto him. She would look back seductively through her tussled long hair and invite him to make her come all over his hard tool. He blinked his eyes to remove the scene from his mind. Natalie noticed the disconnect in his eyes.
“Well, it was the least I could do considering I went a little crazy on you in the lobby. Really, that’s not who I am. I should have never drunk anything, but it is what it is. You don’t have to worry. I am sobering up and have drunk like eight cups of coffee. I didn’t ask you over here to assault you again.”
Marc relaxed a little. He was grateful that she hadn’t peeled off her mini dress yet. He was apprehensive about staying longer than he intended and decided to stick to his original plan, though his body protested.
“I accept your apology. No hard feelings.”
Marc reached over and hugged Natalie. She melted in his arms. He held her close to his body so he could feel her warmth. He hated to admit to himself how good it felt to hold her. Natalie was resigned to the fact that every inch of her body desired him. Marc’s manhood defied him and warmly greeted her body. Irritated by his loss of control, he attempted to pull away from her, but she held him tighter. Aware of the intensity of the moment, Marc reached down and held Natalie’s petite face in his hands. Her eyes spoke of anticipation and desire.
His lips touched hers lightly as he pecked her soft lips. The moment of truth had arrived. Every voice of reason in his head that told him to walk away, but they were defeated. The moment overcame him as he felt his tongue hungrily explore her waiting warm mouth. Their kiss was electric and carnal. It united their hungers for each other. She allowed him to overpower her. He greedily sucked her lips and tongue like they were delicacies that he longed to taste.
Unable to continue to fight his desire to make love to her, Marc gently lifted Natalie off of the ground as she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. They continued their lustful kiss as he carried her to the bed and he gingerly laid her in the center. Her now opened legs revealed that she was nude as her closely shaved mound peaked beneath the mini dress that was now around her waist. Marc licked his lips and salivated as he eyed the moisture that had collected between her legs.
After commanding Natalie to touch herself between her legs, he grabbed her moistened fingers and hungrily sucked the dewy sweetness off of them. Moving with stealth, he quickly removed his shirt and tie, and knelt at the edge of the bed. He caressed her legs and removed the stilettos that made his manhood harden even more. He massaged her feet and then slipped her toes into his mouth. She squealed in ecstasy as he sucked on each toe. After hearing several breathless pleas for him to stop, Marc’s lips traveled up her legs, careful to give attention to each curve that he found.
He looked up intently at Natalie as he reached her chocolate mound. Her eyes were closed tightly as she indulged in the pleasure he offered.
“Open your eyes. I want you to look at me while I taste you.” His words made her moisten even more as he plunged his entire face between her legs. He grabbed her hands and placed them on the back of his head as he devoured her and groaned with pleasure. Marc mumbled erotic commands and she obliged as she opened her legs wider and struggled not to explode from his magical tongue. He licked and sucked every crevice until she had completely soaked the sheets with her own cum. As he moved his head up and down, frantically working her clitoris, she shuddered and begged him to stop. He refused and held her legs down with his hands until she came explosively.
Her shrieks excited Marc as he licked harder and faster, taking in the sweetness that her body was offering. He loved her taste and tried to capture every drop that came from her body. Natalie’s body tightened as she struggled to contain the waves of impulses that ripped through her after Marc’s erotic acts. She came undone.
Marc smiled as she bit her bottom lip when he unzipped his pants and revealed his swollen manhood. It was bursting out of the boxer briefs that attempted to house it. He wanted so badly to be inside of Natalie. He wanted to feel the warmth of her delicious gift. As he reached into the pocket to retrieve the condom, Natalie sprang up and batted his hand down. Before he had time to respond, she quickly took him in her mouth in one motion. The heat from her mouth on his tool and the taste of her mound still on his lips made his knees buckle. Loud slurping and communal moans filled the room as Natalie consumed every inch of Marc’s thickness. Marc felt himself about to explode into her mouth and ed to push her away. She smiled as she exacted her own revenge and locked her mouth around him. She sucked harder and moaned as he spilled his fluid down her throat. Marc moaned loudly as he removed himself from her mouth and collapsed on the bed, pulling her down onto him.
They both exchanged seductive looks and kissed each other gently. Natalie’s half clothed body stretched across Marc’s now damp and naked body. They were silent as he held her tightly until they fell asleep, happily dreaming of each other.

The morning met Natalie and Marc locked in an embrace. Throughout the course of the night, shrouded by darkness, they made love several times. Each time their congress grew in intensity and satisfaction for them. Marc was particularly relieved that he used a condom each time.

The sun’s rays peeked thru the closed blinds as Marc watched Natalie sleep. He softly caressed her smooth skin and wished that his life had room for her in it. Through out their night of love making, he saw a vulnerability and tenderness in her that he was immensely attracted to. She easily switched to the aggressor when the moment required it. Marc’s thoughts were seized by Natalie as he quietly took in every inch of her body with his eyes. He noticed what appeared to be bruises healing on her arms and was instantly angered. The thought of a man abusing her incited him to anger. He held her tighter and wished that he could have protected her from the weak coward that did that to her. His adjustment woke her as she opened her eyes slowly and greeted him with a warm smile.
“Hey.” She said through her smile.
Marc’s response was a slow kiss that informed her that he was indeed happy to wake up next to the beautiful stranger that he was so intrigued by.

“What time is it?” Natalie asked as she rose to look for the alarm clock next to the bed.
“Am I keeping you from your man?” Marc asked jokingly.
“I guess it would be a little too late for that, now wouldn’t it?” Natalie said as she glanced at their naked bodies beneath the covers.
“I was actually asking because I think they stop serving breakfast at 10, and it’s already 11:30.”
Marc smirked arrogantly as he raked his fingers through her long hair. He wasn’t surprised that she would be hungry considering that they made love five times and did not finally drift off to sleep until 5 am.
“We could order room service.” Marc offered as he contemplated making love to Natalie as they showered and prepared to resume their lives, separately. The words “room service” lingered in the air as they shared esoteric laughter.
“I think we should leave this room before we dehydrate each other any more than we already have.”
Marc smiled as he recalled how many orgasms they gifted each other during the night.
“You’re probably right. How about Georgia Brown’s?” Marc asked as he stroked Natalie back, trying to lure her back into the bed.
“Who?” Marc laughed openly as he remembered that Natalie was from Prince Georges County in Maryland and not the trendy streets of DC.
“It’s a black owned spot. Really sophisticated, but they serve soul food. Everyone in DC goes there for Sunday brunch.”
“Oh, well that’s cool. I kinda want to freshen up a little.” Natalie said as she glanced between her legs that bore the evidence of last night’s activities.
“Yeah, I need to do the same. So you wanna meet me in the lobby in about an hour?”
“Of course.”
Natalie smiled as Marc pecked her on the cheek and rose from the bed. Natalie did the same and headed for the bathroom. He fought the urge to follow her into the bathroom to re-ignite their flame from last night. Marc thought it peculiar that she would close the door behind her, despite their open and very vocal sexual escapades.
“Women.” Marc said to himself as he quickly dressed and prepared to return to his suite. He wanted to kiss Natalie goodbye and tapped on the bathroom door. Se had started the shower already and quickly stuck her head out of the door. Marc gave her a warm kiss and told her he would see her in a little while.
After surveying the bedroom for any condom wrappers on the floor or bed, Marc headed out of the door. He walked right into a guy preparing to open the door with his key. His very feminine male face looked familiar to Marc.
“Oh, my bad man.” Marc said as he bumped into the man entering Natalie’s room. Marc felt a pang of jealousy as he considered that Natalie might have in fact had a boyfriend and was in a hurry to get him out of the room to avoid this very awkward moment. The gentleman sensed Marc’s apprehension.
“You look different when you’re not on stage.” Eric said as he reviewed Marc’s disheveled clothing. Marc was thrown off.
“I’m sorry?” “I bid on you last night for my sister— Natalie?”
Marc’s memory returned to him.
“That’s right. I got you. Sorry, I was a little confused.”
“Yeah, well I know how it is. Must have been a long night.” Eric smirked and pressed Marc for a response.
Marc chose not to divulge what he was sure Natalie would detail to him later. He returned Eric’s inquisition with a bashful smirk.
“Your sister is a really wonderful woman…Nice talking to you, man. Take care.” Marc quickly headed for the elevator.
On the way back to his suite, Marc smiled wildly about the prospect of seeing Natalie again. He slipped the card into the slot and entered the room that was now filled with the scent of cooked seafood and steak left in a humid room overnight. He quickly grabbed the cart and wheeled it just outside of his door. He immediately turned to enter the bathroom to start the shower for a much needed respite. Just as he emptied a capful of Borghese bath salts onto the shower floor, he heard a knock at the door. He opened it to find Reggie standing with a smile that overpowered his entire face.
“Yo, what happened to you last night? I had this crazy fine sister and her friend looking for another partner. I blew your shit up all night. I was gonna come over here, but I figured you came up on some cut last night with that honey from the auction.”
Marc just listened as he matched his Polo seersucker jacket and khaki slacks. He had a crisp white linen shirt still in its plastic from the dry cleaners to compliment the preppy look that he had witnessed P. Diddy pull off at one of his parties in the Hamptons.
Reggie noticed that Marc was not paying much attention to his details of his sexually adventurous night.
“Eh, you bout’ to head out? Man, something smells good as shit. What the hell?” Reggie asked as he walked around the suite, trying to piece together Marc’s plans.
Marc looked at his friend with a mischievous grin on his face. He was never one to detail his sexual escapades as graphically as Reggie, but made every effort to let his boy know that a woman was involved in his plans.
“I think I’m gonna head over to Georgia Brown’s and grab something to eat. Maybe hit Haynes Point.”
“True. Oh, no doubt. The honies are gonna be packed in there today. Nothin like a church going chick. They the freakiest. Let me go get so fresh and so clean, and I’ll roll with you.”
Marc walked over to Reggie and put his hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, I kinda got some company already…you know a little friend I want to get to know better.”
Reggie’s eyes stretched wide as he processed what Marc said. His overpowering white teeth again reclaimed his face as he grinned.
“I hear you man. Do the damned thing. I’m gonna chill here and catch some shut eye, cause’ a niggah didn’t sleep at all last night and my dick is sore than a muthafucka.”
“I feel you man. I’m gonna go ahead and pull my shit together so I can meet her. I’ll catch up with you a little later.”
“For sure. Holla when you get back.”
Reggie left the suite and Marc jumped in the shower. Hehadn’t looked at his phone since he got in the room and decided he would check his messages after he got dressed. He still could smell Natalie’s hair. He could still see the look on her face as they shared each other. He wanted to dismiss their exchange as a random one night stand, but something about her wouldn’t let him shake it.
The hot shower made Marc’s room feel light and airy as he walked around it allowing his nude body to air dry. After spraying his favorite scent, Lacoste, into his clothing and onto his underwear, Marc lotioned his body and quickly got dressed. He checked his wallet to make sure that he had his credit cards for leisure with him. Grabbing his phone, he dashed out of the suite and headed towards the lobby.
He was not surprised that Sherise had called consistently through out the night, screaming on each message. Marc was growing increasingly irritated as she made her threats more and more ominous as she realized that he did not sleep at home.
His mother had called early this morning and instructed him to stay away “those gold digging hood rats” and to call her immediately. Marc did not want a conversation with his mother to ruin his mood. He had hoped his father didn’t tell his secret. He turned the phone off and entered the elevator. Natalie was the only person he wanted to have access to him. The rest of the world would have to wait.

Chapter 41 Natalie

Natalie had no idea what she was doing. Her mind told her to end her little tryst with Marc before she got hurt, but she couldn’t fight the attraction she felt towards him. As she stood in the mirror applying Palmer’s cocoa butter to her skin, she allowed her mind to drift away.

She was hoping that their one night encounter would spark a beautiful, long term affair like the ones she envied on the DeBeers diamond commercials. In the recesses of her mind, she already envisioned their wedding day. Marc was all that she had wanted in a man and had so many qualities that made her want to spend her moments with him. She prayed that he would want to see her again after she left DC.

Natalie noticed the bruising in her arms and immediately became alarmed. Had he figured things out? She toyed with the idea of telling him about her history of mental illness, but feared he would leave her before he got the opportunity to see if their relationship would survive. Instantly, she felt tears began to form in her eyes. “Slow down girl. It was just sex.” Natalie said aloud to remind her not to invest too much value in the act she had just engaged in with a virtual stranger. Natalie suddenly stirred at the thought of Marc standing her up and being made to look like a fool in the middle of the lobby.

Natalie interrupted her preparation abruptly and sat on the now strewn sheets of the bed where everything started. Deeply, she inhaled the sheets that still smelled like their sweat and fragrances intertwined. She wanted so much to see him again. To her dismay, her voices emerged and told her that she was not good enough for such a man to want her anywhere outside of the bedroom. He had, after all, gotten what he wanted from her. Natalie felt a sense of panic as she heard Eric open the door to the suite. She couldn’t face his judgment or her own. She didn’t want to explain why she just slept with a man whose last name she could barely recall. The shame of her childhood demons returned all at once. She hurried to the bathroom where she immediately swallowed two pills that would quiet the voices in her head. She willed herself to continue to prepare for their date and grabbed her toothbrush. She turned on the shower and adjusted its temperature. Barely managing a smile, she locked the bathroom door and heard her brother heading yelling her name and giggling.

Once in the shower, Natalie allowed the water to reign over her body. She held her breath as the water cascaded from her head to her feet. She pretended that it was cleansing her of all of the pain that led ts moment. She told herself that the hot water would make her feel the way she hadn’t felt since she was seven years old…beautiful.

Chapter 42 Ilene

The big day had finally arrived. Ilene busied herself securing last minute details at the Ritz Carlton as she anticipated the rave reviews of her envious friend-foes. She had managed to make peace with Charles and she was feeling victorious.

Charles reluctantly agreed to attend the event with her and had even managed to sound excited about the night’s festivities as she rattled them off in bed. He decided that in the morning following her party he would serve Ilene with divorce papers. Though he despised her for years of infidelity and outright deception, she was still the woman that he was in love with, once upon a time. She was a woman who could command the attention of a man when she walked into a room, so it was only a matter of time before she found a way to exploit that.

He hadn’t himself been innocent, and did not care to have his dirty laundry aired in divorce proceedings. So, after ignoring the protest of his attorney, he decided that he would let her have the house. All he wanted was out of the marriage. He reasoned that he was a college educated man with connections and could easily start over. All Ilene had was, well, her body. And even that was beginning to fail her. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought of how victorious she would feel at the thought of taking their family home from him. He put on his tuxedo jacket and headed out of the door of a place he would no longer call home.

Ilene glanced down at her Piaget watch and was dismayed to find that it was already 12 o’clock. She needed to get to the salon by 12:30 and was waiting for the lighting technicians to arrive. She scoffed at the thought of leaving such intricate details to the wills of the hourly banquet staff who regarded her as a tyrant. But she had no choice. She searched the banquet room for an attendant that did not look like he was on work release. She settled for a middle aged man with “Omar” on his name tag. She wished he didn’t have to appear so ethnic as she eyed his shoulder length dread locks. After motioning for him to come to her, Omar walked assuredly to where Ilene stood overseeing that every name card was on the guest table.
“How can I help you, my sister?”
Ilene paused in annoyance as he sized her up. She wished that the black attendants didn’t always assume an air of familiarity when they dealt with other black patrons. Ilene’s discomfort consumed her as she struggled to give instructions to Omar. She made sure that she introduced herself as “Mrs. Campbell”. Not Ilene. Not Miz C. Not sister. Omar attempted to inject formality in the remainder of their conversation. Ilene was unimpressed. After she informed Omar of the many details that needed to be addressed immediately, Ilene made her exit. She felt nauseous as she walked away from him. Omar proudly reassured her that he had been a banquet attendant for six years and would take care of everything. His lofty sense of achievement made her sad and then angry with him and every other black man like him that existed comfortably in mediocrity. “He’ll have to do. I just hope he doesn’t steal any of my caviar and take it to his boys in the hood.” Ilene mumbled to herself as she left the banquet hall.

On the way to her exclusive midtown salon, she checked her messages. Most were from a few friend-foes that sent their regrets for not being able to attend. She was relieved that the most talkative of the bunch would attend and virtually do all of the marketing for her. She saw that Marc had called and was probably waiting at the house for her. She instantly dialed his number to give him a piece of her mind. He answered after four rings.

“Hey ma.” Ilene was sure that he was at the house ogling with Charles as they often did.
“Hey ma? Son, why haven’t you returned my calls? I told you that I needed to talk to about this…this, Sherise person.” Ilene grimaced as Marc sighed into the phone.
“It’s nothing to talk about, ma. I have everything under control. I already told her not to call you anymore.”
“Under control? Are you serious Marchevis? This woman is claiming to be pregnant with your child. Is it true or not?”
Marc paused causing Ilene to grow impatient.
“Well is it true or not? If it is, I hope you plan on marrying her. I mean, how would that look?”
“Mom, no one’s getting married. Don’t worry about that. Today is your big day, and I know that you are excited. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about it after tonight.”
“NO, we are going to talk about it now. You mean to tell me that you are going to have this woman running around with your child inside of her and you aren’t going to marry her? I was certain that I raised you better than that. Who knows what people are saying by now?” Ilene’s native patois emerged as if often did when she was angry.
Marc’s resistance was slowly turning into annoyance.
“Look ma. I don’t know what she told you, but there is a lot you probably don’t know. I am taking care of my responsibility and you don’t have to worry, her family is not from here. No one knows her.”
Ilene could tell that Marc was becoming angry. She decided to back off a little, though she wanted to know more about the woman proclaiming love for her son and carrying her grandchild.
“Well, how is her family taking the news? Have they called you to the house to talk to them?” Ilene asked hoping that the woman was at the very least from a well bred family.
Marc’s sarcastic grunt and chuckle alarmed Ilene.
“Naw, I don’t think anyone will be calling me. They aren’t really ‘your’ kind of people.”
The thought of Marc fathering a child with a stripper turned video vixen flashed in Ilene’s mind and incited a sharp pain in her head.
“Marchevis, she at least has a college education, right? Howard? Spelman?” Ilene pleaded.
“Like I said ma, right now is not a good time to talk about this. Just know that everything is being handled. I got a lawyer and when the baby comes, we will have a paternity test and settle things.”
Ilene’s mouth dropped open.
“Paternity test! Are you kidding me? You go out and screw the nastiest hood rat you could find and now you don’t even know if the kid is yours? How could you be so stupid?” Marc took the phone from his ears as his mother continued her rant.
“There is no way that any grandchild of mine will have some chicken head as a mother. You better take care of this situation immediately. In fact, I’m gonna call that whore myself.”
“Mom, don’t get involved with this. This is none of your business.”
“Well if you were handling your damned business this wouldn’t have happened, would it? Really Marchevis! I am so ashamed of you. Of all of your stupid stunts…All the work I put into making sure that you were refined and discriminating and you go and do this to me? All those damned tennis lessons and horse riding and summers in the Hamptons. I’m gonna be the laughing stock.”
Marc rolled his eyes at his mother’s preoccupation with making everything about her. He couldn’t bring himself to disrespect her, despite her elitist attitudes. He listened quietly with measured contempt as his mother continued.
“I hope that she doesn’t think that we’re giving her a dime. She sounded like the gold-digger type. You just wait until I call that little hussie back. She sounded so sincere. That little bitch. As for you, Marchevis, I will deal with you when I see you.”
“Sure ma.” Ilene ended the call before she heard him respond.

She pulled up to the valet parking station and hopped out while the car was still running. She told the valet that was casually approaching her that she needed it to be parked in a safe place. He rolled his eyes as he entered her luxury vehicle.Ilene bypassed the receptionist and headed for the rear of the salon where she stood as her stylist Miguel finished styling another patron’s hair.

“Hear she comes with her drama.” Ilene heard one of the other women under the dryers say as she marched toward Miguel’s station.
“How long Miguel?” Ilene asked in an annoyed tone?” “I’m finishing her up. I’ll be done in five minutes.”
“Well hurry up. You know today is the big day. You’re going to be there right?”
Miguel looked up from the precision cut that he had just finished teasing.
“Oh, you know I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Miss Thang. Word on the street is that you got some celebrities coming to this thang.” Miguel smiled as he removed the cape from his beautiful client.
Ilene had not sent any invitations to anyone outside of her Alpharetta enclave and a few well known socialites who she once rubbed shoulders with at one of Charles’ charity events. Ilene doubted that they would show or much less talk casually about her event. She certainly wasn’t about to admit that to her drama starved stylist in front of a room full of onlookers.
“Well, I’ve been told by some publicists of some very important people to keep their attendance on the hush. So you certainly didn’t hear anything from me darling.”
Ilene turned and winked at Miguel as he ran his fingers through her curly long hair.
“So, we’re gonna do an up do, right?” Miguel asked as he turned her chair facing the mirror and began to sweep her hair up into a ponytail.
One of the women sitting in another stylist’s chair watched her and remarked loudly to her stylist.
“I like that weave. It looks so real. Yall got that texture here? How much you charge per track?”
Ilene overhead the woman and shot her a nasty look. The woman smiled as Ilene rolled her eyes into the back of her head.
Another patron witnessing the exchange giggled loudly and slapped the woman a high five. Ilene decided to overlook the woman’s attempt to lure her into a ghetto exchange. She was reminded of her need to call the woman who claimed to be pregnant with her grandchild. She winced as she visualized having the woman attend luncheons at her home decked out in gaudy knock off Louis Vutton headscarves and loud colored Armani-like prints.
After deciding that she needed to shut the world off for a second, Ilene reached into her handbag for the Fortune magazine she purchased in the hotel’s convenience shop. She found an article about a black businessman named Howard Devonshire who was quickly conquering the commercial real estate world in Atlanta. The article didn’t mention any kids or a wife. Ilene smiled as she folded the pages of the article so that she could reference it easily later. Maybe she could arrange a “chance encounter” sometime in the very near future. Her prospect of saving her marriage to Charles was fading fast and she desperately needed a sound back up plan.
Thirty minutes after she first sat in his chair, Ilene’s sleek chignon was immaculate and tasteful. She slid Miguel a one hundred dollar bill and left the salon being watched by envious women who wished that she would trip and fall on the way out. Ilene reveled in the negative attention and exaggerated her swagger to further irritate the women.
The valet brought her car around and she slid into the vehicle and handed the attendant a five dollar bill. He quickly shoved the money in his pocket without thanking her or wishing her a good day. Ilene’s annoyance surged as she slammed her door and sped off.
She cruised through Atlanta’s posh Buckhead area only stopping to pick up her custom tailored gown and pearl and platinum necklace from her personal jeweler. She had only a few hours before her bash and had to rush back home to meet the make up artist she had hired for this day. She had hoped that Charles and Marc had the good sense to be dressed since the photographer from Society magazine would be arriving any minute to photograph her preparing for the event.
Ilene sent the magazine’s editor several invitations before one of the junior reporters called her and informed her that they would be covering her event. As she had rehearsed countless times before, Ilene acted surprised and honored that they would pick her “little ole party” to be in their prestigious magazine.
As she drove up the driveway of her home, Ilene eyed a Bentley parked prominently in front of her home. She glowed as she savored the thought of her neighbors witnessing this impressive display of class and wealth. When she approached her foyer and grand entry, she found a very flamboyant and plump middle aged white man sitting impatiently with his white fluff of a dog with pink highlights and malnourished looking assistant standing with an appointment book. The size 0 assistant walked over to Ilene as she approached and began to speak in hushed tones.
“Ms. Campbell? Yes, hi. I’m Shaun, Mr. Alesandro’s assistant. Listen, darling, I know you must have a lot to do dear, but Mr. Alesandro decided to push your appointment up an hour so that he could have enough time between clients. He’s doing a shoot for J-Lo after you and you know how that heifer can get when she doesn’t have her air brushed bronzer. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”
Ilene glanced at the snobbish make up artist who was charging her $3,000 an hour and hoped he could deliver all that the celebrity magazines had raved about him.
“Certainly. It’s not a problem at all.” The timid assistant clapped his hands excitedly and exchanged air kisses with Ilene.
“Very good then. We’ll just set up and he will start at once. Tell me, where is your staging room? Mr. Alesandro likes to survey the room before he starts working. He believes in having a balanced environment where he works.” Shaun looked around expectantly.
Ilene grew nervous as she unlocked the door and ushered the men into her expansive two-story granite and glass foyer.
“Actually, he can work in my sitting room. It has plenty of natural light and is very roomy. Is that okay?” Ilene asked as she glanced over at the sour faced expression on Javier Alesandro’s face. Shaun didn’t bother to turn around.
“I imagine we can make do. But I do need to beg a favor, dear. ” Ilene held her breath as she waited for the command.
“Sure, anything you need.” Ilene said.
“Could you please get us a glass of water? Preferably Fiji, at room temperature.”
Ilene was relieved that she had some bottles of the pricey water left over from entertaining her friend-foes last month.
“Of course. I’ll have it sent right up.”
The two very particular men walked up the double stairs in the entry hall and headed towards the room that Ilene had described to them, appearing hesitant to touch anything. When they were safely out of sight, Ilene rushed to the kitchen pantry and grabbed two bottles. She meticulously cleaned two crystal goblets and placed the items on a silver serving tray. She secretly reveled in the fact that the man who was doing her make up regularly worked with people like J-Lo and Vanessa Williams. She shared the same skin complexion as these women and hoped that she would look even better than they did by the end of her session.
“Chuck! Marc!” Ilene called out to the men but was unanswered. She figured that they were off somewhere talking about Marc’s drama. The thought of it made her feel nauseous as she shook off the thought of her grandchild having some ridiculously ethnic name like Mercedes or Alize or even worse, Kameisha. Ilene then jogged up the stairs and proudly presented Mr. Alesandro with the water.
“I’m sorry that I had to serve, my housekeeper seemed to have up and disappeared. It’s so difficult to get reliable help in this area.” Ilene exaggerated.
Mr. Alesandro appeared unmoved. He uttered a cursory thank you and returned to instructing Shaun on how to set up his make up pallet. Ilene’s heart dropped as he dutifully poured the water into the brilliantly sparkling crystal goblet and placed it on the floor for his Maltese lap dog Vivi to drink from. Ilene pretended to be unaffected by this as Shaun gauged her response. He quickly spoke in an effort to distract Ilene.
“So, you have cleansed and exfoliated your skin, right?’
“Oh yes, of course.” Ilene lied.
“Then come over here and sit. I can begin. Shaun, arrange my brushes...” Mr. Alesandro motioned for Ilene to come and sit down. Ilene quickly took her seat and attempted small talk with the celebrated make up artist.
“So, if you have time later, maybe you can stop by this soiree that I am having at the Ritz Carlton tonight.”
Mr. Alesandro did not reveal any emotion.
“I don’t think so. Please stop talking. You are making it more difficult to conceal the lines that form in the crease of your forehead.”
Ilene was offended but knew better than to say anything to offend the temperamental make up artist. She sat remarkably still and mute for the next hour as her face was done. The room became eerily quiet as he worked, with only the sound of Vivi sipping a five dollar bottle of water out of a two hundred dollar goblet.
Ilene was elated to see her beautifully made face after Mr. Alesandro stepped away from her like he had just completed a magnificent work of art. He looked at Ilene and nodded at Shaun. After being queued, Shaun turned to Ilene.
“Okay Ms. Ilene, you look fabulous. Mr. Alesandro suggests that you use these skin care products in his line to get rid of a few wrinkles he noticed. It includes an anti-aging serum, detoxifier, and weekly exfoliation masks. The entire treatment is only twelve hundred dollars. This spritz is a finisher. It locks your make up in place. You might want to freshen up every four hours or so. Here is our card if you have another event. Oh, but please be very cautious about who you refer. Mr. Alesandro is very selective about his clientele.”
Ilene smiled after giving authorizing the men to charge $5,000 from “her” Black Amex and showed the gentlemen to the door. As they walked out, Charles and Marc pulled up in a monstrosity of a truck. Ilene was mortified by what the two would say to the very gay men leaving the house. She quickly hurried into the house before they could see her. The two men came into the house minutes later giggling about what they had just witnessed. Ilene confronted them head on.
“Charles, what the hell is that?”
Charles maintained his confident smile.
“It’s the new Cadillac Escalade. Marc talked me into getting another ride since that fool stole my car. Plus, I don’t think that I would want it back anyway. That’s a car for an old man.”
Ilene couldn’t believe her ears. The last thing that she needed to deal with was Charles going through a mid life crisis while she was trying to host this event. Marc walked towards her with open arms.
“Mom, you look beautiful. You ready for your big night?” Ilene looked at Marc in a way that informed him that they would have a serious talk later.
“Chuck, that truck must have cost you a fortune. Are you sure that you want to take on something so expensive right now?” Charles continued to grin.
“Hey, you only live once. Might as well enjoy life. After what happened to me, I started really thinking about how short life is. I was telling Marc that the incident changed my whole perspective. So we called the dealership and they sent a car to come and pick us up. Now I own that beautiful automobile outside.”
Ilene feigned happiness.
“Well then, I’m happy for you. But now you guys have to rush to get ready. I hope you all are gonna be ready in thirty minutes. The photographer will be here any minute.”
Marc and Charles eyed each other suspiciously.
“Photographer?” Both Marc and Charles responded at the same time.
Ilene looked at them incredulously.
“Yes, that’s exactly wha I said. Do you all ever listen to a word I say? Let’s get to it.” Ilene said as she gently guided the men upstairs. Ilene exhaled loudly as she hurried upstairs to get dressed for the event. She could hardly wait to slip on the handmade platinum silk and organza evening gown. More importantly, she couldn’t wait to arrive fashionably late and make her grand entrance. Ilene closed herself off in her powder room and began to prepare for her long awaited evening. She ignored the blinking message light on her cell phone and decided that she would have no interruptions as she prepared to make her professional and social debut into the life she was quickly growing accustomed to.
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang and Marc answered the door. The neatly dressed photographer briefly stood in awe of the entry way and then asked if they were ready. After ten minutes of solitary and family poses, the photographer settled on a family portrait that would be the cover shot for the write up. The men quickly left the scene to go talk outside and ogle over Charles’s newest purchase. Ilene was left to chat with the photographer. When she asked what the by-line would read, the photographer proudly answered. “Prominent Atlanta family Hosts Gala of the Season”. Ilene gave a satisfactory smile and showed him to the door. She savored what her night would bring. She could hardly wait to see the faces of those who thought she would never arrive. Not only had she arrived, but she was making a grand entrance.
“These bitches aren’t ready for me.” Ilene said to herself as she prepared to leave her home and second-rate life behind.

Chapter 43 Marc

“Have you lost your damned mind?” Marc yelled into the phone after Sherise told him that she flew to Atlanta to meet his parents at his mother’s bash. Apparently, Ilene blabbed to her about the event before she found out that Sherise wasn’t from an affluent family like she claimed.

“Why not Marc? It’s about time they met me. You can’t just act like our baby didn’t happen.” Sherise asked.
Marc’s tolerance for Sherise’s antics had reached it’s peak the day before, when she told him that she had retrieved Natalie’s name and address from the patron list for the auction and threatened to call her and tell her that they were expecting a child if he didn’t stop seeing her.
“Sherise, I already told you my mother thinks you’re a gold digging slut, so I don’t know why you want to come here. In fact, I am telling you if I see you there, I will call the police and tell them you’re trespassing.”
“Give up the shit, Marc. Get off of that stupid high horse. Your mother never said that to me. Rather you like it or not, we are going to have a baby together…so I am family. And if you didn’t tell them, they are going to find out tonight.”
Marc punched the wall of the men’s bathroom at the Ritz Carlton as he attempted to calm himself. It didn’t work.
“You have got to be out of your fucking mind. Listen to what I am saying to you. I do not want to be with you. I never will. I regret that you are having this kid and wish like hell we never met. Do not show up here or anywhere near my family or you will regret it.”
“Hold the fuck up. I just know you’re not threatening me. I think you better think about the shit you’re saying, because if something happens to me, you are really gonna feel it. Don’t get me fucked up with that air head Natalie bitch that you been fucking. I don’t give a damn how you feel about me, you are gonna take care of this baby. Fuck you and your fake assed snaughty family. I go where the hell I want to go.”
“Sherise, you’re just an ignorant bitch, you know that? You wonder why I don’t want to be with you…”
“Marc, go to hell. I wasn’t stupid when we were fucking. You’re too busy chasing that black bitch around to care about your own child. You aint shit and if it takes my last breath, everyone will know it.” Marc sighed heavily. “Why don’t you do that then Sherise? And while you’re at it, get the fuck out of my house.”
“What? I am not leaving. I live there. You want me and the baby out, you put us out bastard.”
“Sherise, you got until tomorrow to get your shit the fuck out of my place. Since I’m so trifling, then go and find somewhere else to live. That’s fucking it. If I see you, I swear to God, I will hurt you.”
Marc angrily slammed his phone shut and shoved it into his pocket. He looked at the mirror and saw his flustered reflection staring back at him. He hated that Sherise was ruining the mood for his mother’s birthday party and tried to shake off the anger that her call had just brought on.
He splashed water onto his face from the gold gilded faucet and dried it with one of the plush hand towels provided by the hotel. He wished that he could erase her. He hated to admit that he toyed with the idea of having someone handle his less than stellar situation, but thought everyone would suspect him since Sherise was notorious for starting arguments in public settings. He rubbed a little of the hotel’s hand lotion onto his face and decided to head back to the banquet hall. A quick decision to turn his ringer off gave him a sense of control over the seemingly uncontrollable situation with Sherise. He rolled his eyes as he felt his phone vibrating in his pant pockets before he had the opportunity to turn it off. He suspected that Sherise was calling back with some ridiculous comment that would send him into a rage. This woman actually drove Marc to contemplate changing his number. When he looked at the display unit and saw Natalie’s phone number, his attitude instantly changed. A smile morphed in the corner of his lips as he thought about the four hour conversation that they had two days ago that forced him to miss his plane to Atlanta.
He wanted to tell her about Sherise but decided not to divulge such information so early in their meeting. He decided that it would probably die out in a few weeks when he was too busy to call everyday or return long e-mails. He had been down this road before. Nevertheless he pressed the button that would allow him to hear her voice.
“Hey you.” He heard Natalie’s voice and instantly forgot about all that Sherise had done to enrage him.
“Hey yourself, girl. What’s good?” Marc answered cheerfully.
Natalie chuckled as she responded to his question.
“I think we both know the answer to that.” The two shared laughter and mentally revisited their marathon phone sex from the previous night and sexual interlude from the night before that. Marc was taken by her.
After a few minutes of talking, Natalie became quiet and pensive. Marc noticed.
“Is something wrong, Nat?” Natalie smiled and was moved by his show of concern.
“Naw, it’s just stress, I guess. Trying to get back in the swing of things at work, and my mom just called, and then you…”
“Hey, hey, hey. Relax. Work will be there. As far as your mom, yall will work things out. Just give it some time. And as far as me, you know you can’t get rid of me.”
Marc giggled when he finished the last statement to lighten the mood.
Natalie didn’t return the laughter.
“You say that now. There’s a lot of stuff about me that you don’t know. Just because we slept together doesn’t mean that you are going to like me in a couple of weeks or months or years…”
Marc was growing concerned about Natalie’s tone.
“Natalie, where is the coming from? I know we need to get to know each other. We got plenty of time for that. Let’s just take it one day at a time. If you’re afraid that this was a one night stand, let that shit go. I can get ass whenever I want it. I like talking to you. We had a good time when we were together and that’s all you need to think about. I’m not going to hurt you or use you. I’m not that kind of man.”
Natalie’s eyes stung from the tears she foughtck.
“I know you’re a good man. I don’t want this to just go away. I have things in my past that you need to know about and…”
“And you have plenty of time to tell me everything. I got a past, too. Natalie, I’m not going anywhere. Nothing you can say will change my mind about you. There is a lot I need to tell you too. So, don’t feel like you have to worry about me judging you.”
Natalie began to smile.
“Okay. I feel you. I’m sorry for getting all mushy on you. It’s just that I have never been so happy around anyone.” “Well hopefully Ms. Logan, you will give me the chance to make you VERY happy.”
“Really? You mean you’re gonna make me WHITE GIRL HAPPY?”
“Yes, WHITE GIRL HAPPY.”
The two shared laughter that put them both at ease. Marc spoke first.
“So when will I see you again beautiful?” Natalie savored his words.
“That, I don’t know. I’ve gotten behind on my work and I have like a thousand meetings scheduled. I don’t know when I will be able to get away for a flight.” Marc was slightly discouraged. “Then don’t sweat it. I’ll come to you. That is, if your man is cool with that.” Natalie sighed loudly.
“I think I can talk him into it. You’re okay with a little ménage trois, right?” Marc released a bellowing laughter. “You’re a trip girl. I’m gonna make you pay for that when I see you.”
“I was counting on it.” Natalie returned. Marc blushed. “Look, I better get off this phone before you get it started up in here. I’ll try to come out next weekend.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Natalie Patrice Logan, I can’t wait to see you again.” “Me too, sexy.”
“Talk to you later.”
“Goodbye Marchevis Dunbar Campbell.”
Marc ended the call and wished that he could leave tonight to see Natalie. Sherise had called several times during their conversation. He hadn’t even noticed. He winced as he contemplated how Natalie would take the news about his debacle with Sherise. He decided he would tell her when they saw each other again. Hopefully what she had to tell him wouldn’t be worst than his secret. He called his travel agent and told her to book him a flight. He had her to book a hotel room too, just in case whatever Natalie had to tell him was too much for him to deal with. Before he returned to the banquet hall, Marc remembered that he had one more call to make.
“Hello, this is Marc Campbell. I own condo unit 690. I wanted to see about having someone change the locks immediately. I lost my key and I am out of town. Can you have it done in twenty four hours? Good, I will stop by to pick up the key. And please, do not release my key to anyone. Thanks, and you have a good day too.” Marc smiled as he walked into the posh banquet hall for his mother’s celebration of life. He decided to celebrate his own as well.

Chapter 44 Sherise.

Sherise paced the floor of her room at The Red Roof Inn near Atlanta’s Hartsfield Airport. After checking Marc’s voice mail, she was able to decipher that his mother’s bash was being held today in some area called Buckhead. She dialed every hotel in the area until she found out where the event was being held. As if it were her last chance to live, she was counting on the fact that she could slide the doorman a couple of bills to get her in the door. She had attempted patience and waited for Marc to invite her. When he didn’t, she exacted her own revenge and urinated on his toothbrush while he was at work. The thought of him brushing his perfectly aligned white teeth with her piss made her smile, satisfied that justice had been served.

Listening to his voice mails had its privileges. Not only did she ascertain his social schedule, she was also privy to the tawdry details of his newest fling, Natalie. She had grown to hate her and quickly erased any messages that Marc hadn’t yet heard. Sherise was growing desperate. She only had a little while longer to lock Marc n and this Natalie bitch was ruining her plan. She would have to make sure that Natalie was no longer a threat to her happiness, regardless of who was hurt in the process.

The discouraging phone call to Marc floored Sherise. She was a woman overcome with anger.
“Who the fuck does he think he is? I am gonna nail his ass to the wall by the time that I am done with his bama ass.” Sherise screamed out in her dank room. No one responded. As she surveyed her meager accommodations, she was infuriated by her recollection of the menu Marc’s mother rattled off on his voice mail. Sherise had a few words for Ms. High and Mighty when she saw her. After pretending to connect with her, she had the nerve to call her a gold digging hood rat. Not only was she going to show up, but she was gonna turn the place out. Marc had already told her to get out of HER condo and she had nothing to loose.
“Wait a minute girl. He’s already pissed. If I show up there, I’ll be playing into that bitch’s hand….But if I don’t show up, he will think he can run all over me. And that shit is just not going to happen.” Sherise said to herself.
“I’ll just slip in unnoticed, let him know I came and leave before he tries to get ignorant. That way he will see that I am not a joke and take me seriously.” Sherise reasoned aloud, wishing that she had LaChan there to help her make this decision. Ever since the night at the auction, Sherise’s club-hopping, gold-digging associate had given excuse after excuse for not hanging out with her. Sherise decided it was envy and chocked it up to the game.
After a quick nap and lunch at Krystal’s, Sherise blocked her number and dialed Natalie’s number again. Again, she hung up on the woman who threatened to steal her happiness. She had made it an hourly ritual and warning signal to Natalie to stay away from Marc. It wasn’t working. She decided that little Ms. Perfect needed a more blatant sign. Today, she would announce who she was to Natalie and even send her the ultrasound as proof. To her dismay, she would find that Marc wasn’t really the man of her
A PRICE TO PAY FOR EVERYTHING
dreams as she gushed on his voice mail, and she would quietly go back to her own world.
When Sherise dialed the code to block her number and the long distance number that would connect her to Natalie, she found that the call went straight to voice mail. Sherise knew better than to leave an incriminating voice mail and delayed her plan until tomorrow. She now had to focus on the event at hand. The Campbell Bash.

Choosing to exercise her resourcefulness, she was able to ask around and found out that one of the housekeeper’s brothers worked at the Ritz and could get her in, even a restricted event, for fifty dollars. The investment appeared to be a sound one as Sherise rode in a cab to the event. She wanted to arrive in a chauffeured limousine, but feared she would call too much attention to herself. Even her attire of a black empire waist gown with just a touch of ornamentation seemed too subdued for her.

She stepped out of the cab and felt like she was transported to another world that was in stark contrast to her dark and musky hotel room. Bulbs flashed as others exited their cars and limos dripping with diamonds and furs. Sherise looked around feverishly for her hook up named Brandon and was exuberant when she found him. Walking quickly behind him, Sherise avoided the grand entrance and reception line of the front entry to the large banquet room. Instead, she entered through the server’s quarters and quickly found a seat at a crowded table. She scanned the room for Marc and spotted him near the entrance greeting a few female guests a little too amorously for her taste. Perhaps she would accidentally spill punch on their expensive gowns later.

The people at the table did not even acknowledge her as they chattered endlessly about their estates and yachting on the Mayan Riviera. The thought of sitting among so much money and opulence validated Sherise’s need to be there, even if she had to sneak in through the back door. “Hell”, she thought, “That’s the story of my life.”

She motioned for one of the waiters who quickly brought her an offering of hors d’ouevres. Just as she swallowed the last morsel of stuffed mushroom, one of the society ladies sitting at the table addressed her. Sherise corrected her posture as the lady reached over to shake her hand.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, dear heart. I am Gladys McFaddin. My husband is Earl McFaddin, the chairman of the Board of Trade here. And you are?” The woman’s question resonated in Sherise’s mind as if she had heard for the first time. Indeed, who was she? She hated to admit that she didn’t know the answer to the question. She decided to go with what was most comfortable for her.
“Gladys, it’s a pleasure. I am Sherise….Sherise Campbell.”
Chapter 45 Natalie

Natalie had not had time to unpack her bags before she was summoned back to work by an urgent message from the company’s president. He insisted that only she could handle the campaign for one of their largest clients that specialized in building luxury new homes in the south. She understood that despite her degrees and accomplishments, her primary underlying qualification was that she was a black female. A double minority. Her presence alone would lend credibility to the builders as they battled to secure their reputation.

Koll Brothers Homes had just been hit with a class action lawsuit that accused them of denying qualified Black and Latino applicants into their exclusive golf communities. Natalie remembered hearing a rumor that they actually had unspoken quotas and trained the new homes specialists strategies to identify, by sight, if certain minority applicants had good credit or not. Natalie was concerned with how much impact she would have since local civil rights and Latino organizations had gotten wind of the incident and were now preparing to launch a boycott. Plans were underway to petition the court to grant a moratorium to prevent the builder from continuing to build in Houston. This would cost the builders millions and they eagerly granted Natalie’s firm carte blanche when asked what their budget was for the campaign.

The opposition was well organized and forced Natalie to doubt her ability, for the first time in her professional career. They had powerful allies interested in garnering a few minority votes so close to election time. Natalie needed a clear mind. She wanted badly to be with Marc again, but knew that it would be a distraction and she couldn’t afford mistakes. Her take from this campaign was well over $250,000 if she could manage to create a spin and help to manipulate public opinion.

She had abandoned the idea of returning annoying calls from her mother, and the occasional hang up on her voice mail. She had a pet peeve for people who waited for the entire message to play before hanging up. She decided not to let it unnerve her until she noticed that she was getting at least one call a day from the same blocked number. She made a mental note to call the service provider and have the number blocked from calling her.

Her other issues weren’t taking a backseat. She received a couple of emails from Heath, but they were rudimentary “welcome back to work” e-mails or the customary “let’s do lunch” emails that professionals in the industry regularly exchanged. Since her interlude with Marc, she had given little attention to the tension growing between she and Heath. He had invited her on a trip to South Carolina, which she flatly declined, citing an over-the-top workload. Since then, his calls became less frequent and Natalie was relieved that she was not forced to engage in an awkward Iam-not-into-you speech. She decided to quietly wait for the calls to stop all together. He was, after all, just a man.

She meticulously entered deadlines and appointment reminders into her hanevice as she listened intently to the multitude of messages left for her. Marc had called and played a song by John Legend on her voice mail that they made love to before she left. She closed her eyes and lingered in the moment wishing that her life was a simple as the song’s title of Ordinary People suggested. She entered a date into her device that would remind her to send him flowers for his upcoming birthday.

The next four messages were from clients wanting to dispute the hours billed to their campaigns. Natalie had tactfully sent emails explaining that billing was handled by the accounting department and that she personally had little to do with its details. Nevertheless, she became the target of their collective anger as they received five and six figure billing statements for their campaigns. The last two hang ups prompted Natalie to have her secretary contact the cell provider to see about getting a record of incoming calls that were blocked. She wondered who would invest so much time in annoying her and quickly ruled out the embittered wives of her ex-lovers. She smirked at the thought of the men mentioning her name and being thrown out on their asses.

Heath’s voice jolted her to reality as she listened to him telling her voice mail how beautiful Charleston was and how she would have loved the kindness of the people there. He hardly seemed bothered that none of his calls were being returned. Sensing that it was a good segway into a pleasant conversation, Natalie decided to call and possibly set up a lunch date. Her desire to explore his body was weaning, now that she had been involved with the very satisfying Marc. She picked up the phone to call him hoping that she would not have to leave a rudimentary voice mail. She hoped that he would be more responsive than she was. After the second ring, Heath answered sounding winded.
“Hey Natalie… I was starting to wonder if you forgot my number.” So much for him dismissing her failure to return calls.
“Yeah, I’m real sorry about that. Work has had me swamped, and I had to travel for a family event, and well…I just haven’t had a lot of time to myself.”

“Okay, I guess I can forgive you, but only if you meet me for lunch.” Natalie wanted to offer opposition, but opted to go along with the plan. Maybe she could break the news to him that she was not trying to see him as seriously as he wanted. Lunch would soften the blow. He was too much of a professional to make a scene in public.

“Okay, lunch it is. I would hate to keep a man from eating.”
“What I want to eat isn’t on the menu.” Heath thought slyly to himself. He decided to offer Natalie a more tactful response.
“I just gotta finish up my workout and then I’ll meet you at Ruth’s Chris in about an hour and a half.” Natalie loved the food at the steak house and quickly agreed. Minutes later, she ended the phone call. She quickly worked through her paperwork and decided to head home to change clothes before her mid afternoon lunch date.
When she arrived home, she found a dozen red roses resting against her front door. As she searched for a card, she picked up the large vase. She noticed a small card with handwriting that she did not recognize. She was baffled by its singular message: “to whom much is given, much is required”. Natalie racked her brain for the reason someone would send such a beautiful bouquet with such an ambiguous message. She fluctuated between Heath and Marc and decided not to mention the gesture to either, for fear of arousing unneeded attention to herself. As she unlocked the door to her home, Natalie released an exasperated sigh.
“Just what I need, more drama in my life.”
After changing into a white pant suit and spraying Chanel No. 5 on her pulse points, she rushed out of the door. She shot a dismissive look at the blinking indicator light on her answering machine. Her mother was becoming more persistent with age. She made a mental note to check her messages when she returned rom her lunch rendezvous.

The parking attendant opened the door to Natalie’s car as she noticed Heath standing outside talking to the manager. She thought it a bit peculiar, but remembered that he complained about constantly getting hit up for free legal advice. She walked assuredly over to him after checking her make up one last time. He smiled as he witnessed her approach.

“You look delicious.” Heath said as he embraced her and inhaled her light floral scent. Natalie, now blushing, could not help but to feel the bulge through Heath’s linen slacks. She was certain he had a stylist, since his entire wardrobe appeared well orchestrated and responsibly tailored. She dismissed it as his brand of attorney narcissism and greeted him with a peck on the cheek.

“I hope you’re hungry. God knows I’m famished.” Heath said as he led her into the restaurant by the small of her back. In that small gesture Natalie remembered how different it was to date a man who was not black.

While walking through the dimly lit steakhouse behind Heath she felt regal and important. She longed to feel that way when she walked alone. The hostess seated them at a large table that was able to accommodate a party of ten. Natalie was confused.
“Are you expecting some other people?”
“No, it’s just you and I. I know you don’t like large crowds, so I called ahead and reserved this table. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind. Why the hell would I mind that you just dropped at least a grand for me? Congratulations. You ARE getting some ass tonight.” Natalie thought to herself as she offered Heath a meek smile. She decided to forego the formalities and address their situation head on.

“Heath, you have been nothing but nice to me, and I know I haven’t been…well….receptive.” Natalie waited as she noticed Heath’s lower jaw tighten.

“It’s not a big deal. I know you have been busy with your own obligations. I am not a needy guy, trust me. I am glad that you managed to steal away a few moments for me.” Heath delivered his words with effortless ease as he kissed her hand.

Natalie was certain he had rehearsed.
“Yeah, I know because you are a gentleman you are saying that, but really, I think we should talk about the way things are going…or not going for that matter.” The latter part of Natalie’s comment seized Heath’s attention as his entire face now tightened.
He parted his lips, but hesitated as he spoke to Natalie.
“Look, I know you have reservations because of the blackwhite thing. It’s no big deal. I can deal with it if you can.”
Natalie was flabbergasted as she mentally investigated why Heath automatically assumed that her lack of attraction to him would be simplified with the race issue. Either he was too conceited to believe that there was a chance that she might not be attracted to him, or he just assumed that she was too shallow to see beyond color. Either way she was pissed and struggled to mask his disgust.
“Race has nothing to do with it, Heath. It’s like I said, I have been busy…and frankly, I don’t see why you are so interested in dealing with me. Lets be real here, you are a well known attorney. Hell, you have professional ball players as clients and friends. You have coochy thrown at you from every angle, model coochy at that. Am I your latest conquest or something?”
Heath shook his head in disappointment.
“What can I say? You’re absolutely right. All of it’s true. Women do proposition me a lot. But it’s the nature of the beast. If I wanted a different body in my bed every night, it could happen. No questions asked. But after that’s over, then what? Some mindless groupie trying to set me up so that I can take care of her for the rest of her life? No thanks.”
Natalie was ashamed of how quickly she typecast him, but refused to let him view a crack in her armor.
“Well, fine. But the truth of the matter is that we have hardly anything in common. Hell, yu don’t even know my favorite color.”
Heath smiled and replied.
“Black. Black is your favorite color. You used to want to be a dancer on the show Solid Gold when you were growing up. You hate squash, but you love string beans. When you want to feel powerful, you work out listening to Jay-Z. You would go to church more if you could convince yourself that everyone there wasn’t such a hypocrite. What else do you want to know?”
Natalie was impressed by how much he had actually listened to during their conversation at the bistro. She rewarded him with a smile.
Heath grabbed both of her hands and leaned in to speak.
Natalie in turn mimicked the gesture.
“There is nothing that you or anyone could tell me about you that would make me want you an ounce less.”
Natalie grimaced wishing that statement were indeed true. She was slowly developing a small semblance of respect for Heath that she only reserved for men like her father or brother. She had to press for the final test of his supposed allegiance to her. She was certain that this would undoubtedly draw a line in the sand and force him to reveal his true intentions.
“Okay, well here is something you probably didn’t know. During my little ‘break’ from Smith-Line, I was in a psychiatric hospital because lets just say…I’m not always quite well. I am constantly struggling to convince myself that I am pretty and smart, despite what my mother thinks of me. Oh, and here’s the kicker … I have tried, on more than one occasion, to off myself. Now, it was a pleasure knowing you. Honestly, I tried to spare you of this, but you kinda forced my hand with your persistence. Thanks for the invite, but I can’t say that I am very hungry now.”
Natalie attempted to snatch her hands away so that she could exit, but Heath’s face remained stoic and his grip tightened. She wasn’t sure how to process his actions. Her counselor failed to prep her for how to deal with people after she revealed her psychosis to them.
Heath sat staring at her, solid and unwavering, still holding her hands tightly.
Natalie’s eyes stretched with anticipation of his response to her revelations. His response was a number.
“16.” Heath said.
Natalie was bewildered.
“Okay, so what Heath, you are trying to play some kinda of sick psycho-analytical mind game to test if I am really crazy? Are you serious? What a joke! Please let my hands go so that I can leave.”
“You were hospitalized for 16 days at the psychiatric treatment center. You were diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and your physician suspected late presenting bi-polar disorder and emerging signs of schizophrenia as a result of what that bastard did to you when you were a little girl.”
Tears welled in Natalie’s eyes. She wasn’t sure if she should have been embarrassed or angry.
“How did you find out?”
“I am a lawyer, Natalie. I can find anything out. SmithLine does extensive background checks on people working for them to avoid potential conflicts of interest.”
Natalie felt her anger began to emerge as tears flowed mechanically down her face.
“So all of this time, you knew this and you’ve been acting like you don’t know anything about me. I can’t believe you.” Natalie snatched her hands away and pushed her chair back to leave.
Heath stood to stop her.
“What difference does it make? I am attracted to you for who you are, not what your medical records say. After what you’ve been through, it’s amazing that you are as successful as you are…”
“So that explains it. That’s why you’ve been so patient and accommodating when I don’t make our lunch dates or return your phone calls. You were afraid that if you said something, it would send me back to the nuthouse. Well guess what counselor? I don’t want or need your pity. Leave me alone and loose my number.”
Heath’s face reddened.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I wanted us to get to kow each other better. I was trying to be patient.”
“Well Heath, you already know all there is to know about me. So let’s skip the dating part and just act like we didn’t ever meet. I do that sometimes, but you know that because it’s in my medical records. How bout’ we just call it dementia and end this now?”
Natalie turned and walked briskly out of the restaurant. She paused to allow a waiter carrying a large tray of food to a nearby table. She shot Heath a nasty look over her shoulders and continued to the valet station.
As soon as she was in a safe distance from the restaurant, she cried for reasons she herself couldn’t identify. Her clock reminded her that it was four in the afternoon and time for her to take her meds. She opened the bottle and popped two large pills in her mouth. Looking at the bottle, she noted it’s directives from the pharmacist: Failure to complete medication in its entirety may impair judgment, balance, and cognition. “The fucking story of my life.” Natalie said aloud and to the people that encompassed her mind space with her.

Chapter 46 Ilene

Ilene twirled around in her designer gown admiring herself in the full-length mirror at the Ritz in her rented suite. The floor length, strapless gown accentuated her delicate curves and made her feel unstoppable. Satisfied that no one would look better than her at her event, she retreated to the suite to allow more guests to arrive, and more importantly, to ensure that she could make a choreographed entrance before hundreds of on-lookers. Charles gave her a menacing look as she excused herself in the middle of a conversation with the executive director of an educational nonprofit that he regularly supported. He knew instinctively that she would make herself scarce until she was sure that her presence would be applauded and recognized.

Ilene eyed the bottle of champagne that she had room service send up and decided to indulge in a glass before heading back down to the ballroom. After finishing her first flute of champagne, she decided to have strawberries sent up as she munched on the caviar that she originally ordered with the champagne. She sprang to her feet as she heard a knock on the door and quickly opened it for what she thought would be room service.

She was alarmed to find Regina Cummings standing on the other side of her suite door. The very Regina who attacked her at Lord and Taylor. Paul’s wife. Ilene did not hesitate to greet her with the disdain she felt for her since their altercation at Lord and Taylor.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Regina, standing at least three inches taller than Ilene threw her head back and released a chuckle.
“Aw, come on Ilene. We’re practically friends. I mean, you fucked my husband. We at least have a common bond.”
Regina’s cynicism was laced with a seriousness that made Ilene uncomfortable as she positioned herself to close the door immediately if the need arose.
“Look, I don’t know what you are trying to prove, but I suggest you get out of here now before I call security.”
Again, Regina laughed as she smoothed out the wrinkle forming on her black backless gown.
“You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t want a fight. I came here to give you a gift for your birthday, a peace offering, sort of.”
Ilene eyed her suspiciously as she noted the gift box that she held in her hand.
“And why in the hell would you want to give me a gift? Do I look stupid to you?”
“Truly, you don’t really want me to answer that question.” Ilene’s irritation surged as she attempted to slam the door in Regina’s face. Regina had quickly maneuvered her foot in the door and forced her way into the room. Ilene quickly sprinted for the phone to dial security as noticed the shiny black object that Regina retrieved from the box and aimed at her.
“Hang up the damned phone or it will be over before they even realize what happened.”
Ilene followed he instructions as tears instantly began to stream down her perfectly made face. Ilene began to plead.
“What do you want from me? You got your stupid husband. I don’t even deal with him anymore. Can’t you just leave me alone?”
Regina locked the door as she listened to Ilene’s plea and calmly sat in one of the guest chairs in the lavish suite.
“Sit down Ilene. I don’t want to hear you pathetic assed appeals now. Tell me this. Do you ever think of the wives and children’s lives that you fuck up when you go after your men?”
Ilene dropped her head and looked to the floor as she sat at the edge of the bed.
“I never meant to hurt any of them, I just needed…”
“More. Right Ilene? You just needed more. My husband was paying you over $5,000 a month and you just had to have more. Well, I put a stop to the payments myself. The sad thing is, Ilene, a Mercedes wasn’t enough for you. Your little country club membership and mansion wasn’t enough either. Now that I think of it, a loving husband wasn’t even enough for you. And now here you are praying that I don’t blow your brains out all over this suite because it would be in bad form in front of your little plastic friends. What a joke! Poor Charles.”
Ilene’s head jolted in Regina’s direction when she heard her husband’s name. She didn’t want to infuriate Regina but hated that she knew anything about her home life and feared she would harm her family. Regina moved to the bed and pointed the gun directly at Ilene’s head.
“Oh yes, I know Charles and all about your little family. He and I became quite close after you exposed my husband. You might even say that we were…intimate.”
Ilene’s eyes widened as tears flooded them.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re surprised. I left my lipstick all over his pillows. I had hoped that you found the earring I left for you as well. I just know you saw me when your psycho ass ran over the mail box. Luckily, the house is registered in my sister’s name. And Charles, well, I guess he finally had enough of your shit. I loved what you did with the silk duvet and antique furniture. You know I gotta tell you. He was one great screw. So passionate…and a great teacher to boot.”
Ilene’s lips trembled as she responded.
“You have gotten what you wanted. You humiliated me and fucked my husband. Why are you here now?”
Regina pressed the gun against Ilene’s temple and moved closer to her face. She now spoke slowly and quietly to Ilene.
“Oh that’s real simple Ilene. I want to destroy you. Just like you destroyed my marriage and my family.”
Ilene’s world shattered, still she tried to plead her case.
“But I can’t do anything else to you now. The truth is out. Paul stopped paying me and my marriage with Charles is over.”
Regina smiled in amusement.
“You know, you’re right. Your shit is pretty fucked. But there’s just one thing I need for you to do….In fact, I think tonight would be the perfect time.”
Ilene’s mind wandered wildly as she awaited Regina’s next command.
“Tonight is a big night for you. So many of your friends will be there. I think I saw a couple of reporters from the society section of the Atlanta Journal. What a perfect time for you to turn over a new leaf and admit all of your indiscretions publicly. Kinda like a baptism.”
Ilene stared at Regina as if she had said something in a foreign language to her.
“What are you saying?” Ilene asked doubtfully. Regina exaggerated a pout.
“Now, lets not be stupid Ilene. You know exactly what I am saying. Tonight you will announce to everyone that you have slept with several notable men and blackmailed them, stolen from your husband by committing identity theft and securing a credit card that you have charged over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars on, arranged to have your husband attacked, and abandoned two children who you have not acknowledged in Trinidad for over thirty yearsYou have been a busy girl.”
Ilene felt faint.
“I can’t do that. My life will be over.” Regina smiled.
“See, I knew you would understand.”
Ilene finally faced Regina and stared at her incredulously.
“And what if I don’t do this?”
Regina’s smile remained plastered on her face.
“Then I will. But I will leak it to every news agency on the east coast and supply names, numbers, and pictures. Either way, you are screwed. But I guarantee if you piss me off, I can make it so your life will never return to normal. What? Did you think you could get away with treating people like shit and nobody would ever get to you? I guess you can call me the piper, bitch, ‘cause it’s time to pay. Everything has a price Ilene, but you knew that already.”
Ilene was not about to concede, not even with a gun pointed to her head.
“What if I go to the police first and tell them you’re trying to blackmail me?”
“Truly, you have underestimated me. I have already set up a media blitz to be released as soon as my contacts spot you anywhere near the police. Forget trying to do it over the phone, they can’t take statements anywhere except the police station. Like I said, you can try to piss me off, but I promise that it won’t be pretty for you or your family. Who the hell is gonna believe you anyway? Everyone knows that you leaked the information about Paul to the press. And where you’re going, they don’t take kindly to snitches.”
Ilene dropped her head again.
Regina perked up and poured herself a flute of champagne.
“Okay, times a wastin'. You need to go clean up your make up. You look like hell. You got five minutes to get your shit together and then we’re heading down stairs.
“I can’t do it.” Ilene screamed through muffled tears.
The statement angered Regina as she slammed her flute down on the mahogany bar causing some of the champagne to spill.
“The hell you’re not. You didn’t think twice when you fucked over those men and their families. You don’t have a fucking choice. Either you get it together and take your ass downstairs or you wont celebrate this birthday or anymore for after it.”
Ilene could tell that Regina was serious as she attempted to gather her gown and salvage what was left of her makeup. Her hands trembled with every stroke and defied the master piece that she had earlier paid three thousand dollars to achieve.
After praying desperately, Ilene walked to the door, closely followed by Regina, who had now concealed the gun in the beautifully adorned gift box. As they closed the door to the suite, Regina looked assuredly at a crestfallen Ilene.
The contrast of Regina’s exuberance and Ilene’s dismay appeared cartoonish. She threw her arm around her and walked close to Ilene like they were girlfriends engaged in a private conversation. After warning Ilene not to try anything stupid, they approached the beautifully decorated ballroom.
When they reached the entrance, the crowd erupted in applause. Regina allowed some distance between herself and Ilene as media people snapped pictures. Just as Ilene prepared to enter the ballroom, she whispered in Ilene’s ears.
“Buck up bitch, it’s show time.”
She then disappeared into the crowd and awaited the festivities.
Ilene offered the only smile she could manage as she mentally prepared herself for what she equated as suicide. The shiny gun that was pointed at her prompted her to move with purpose as countless well wishers approached her. She knew that she only had a little while before Regina’s deadline and was not going to do anything to endanger her family. It was her lone act of unselfishness.
She closed her eyes as she approached the head table and requested that she be given the microphone to greet all of her guests. The room hushed as the spotlight shined on her and she parted her lips. Finally, she was in the spotlight that she had craved for years, just not the way she wanted it.

Chapter 47 Marc
Marc stood peering at a woman who looked vaguely like Sherise.
“She wouldn’t do that shit.” Marc said to himself as he dismissed the shadowy woman engrossed in conversation. “Man, I’m trippin.”

He continued to survey the room of extravagantly dressed mannequins who attempted small talk. He couldn’t help but compare the women to Natalie and wanted to call her again just to hear her smooth voice.

His father seemed rather content despite the fact that the glitzy pomp of the affair was not his style. It appeared that he caught the ear of a few philanthropic white haired men interested in giving a hefty donation to some youth organizations. It was, after all, election season. Marc decided that his father did not need rescuing and headed for the bar.

As he ordered a shot of Patron with a twist of lime, he found himself doubting his decision to drink. Alcohol helped to usher his nightmare with Sherise in and God knows he didn’t want to ever have a repeat of that fiasco. Just as he was about to put the shot glass to his lips, he noticed a blinking light indicating that he had a new voicemail. He quickly swallowed the shot in one gulp as he prepared himself to listen to another outlandish threat left by a now desperate Sherise.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that it was Reggie’s voice. His tone defied his normal sprite demeanor.
“Dawg. Man I got some shit to tell you about that broad Sherise. Get at me ASAP.” Beep. End of new messages. Marc’s heart raced as he speed dialed Reggie’s number. Surprisingly, he answered on the first ring.
“Man, what took you so long to get at me?”
“I had my phone off for a minute because that chick is out of control.”
“Dawg, you aint gonna believe this shit. I told you this broad had game….” Just as Reggie began to inform Marc of his findings, Ilene appeared in spotlight requesting everyone’s attention. Marc wasn’t sure, but he thought that she appeared disheveled and upset…like she had been crying. His attention returned to Reggie.
“Dawg, I gotta hit you back in like five minutes. Somethins’ goin’ on with my mom.” With that, he ended the call and headed in the direction of the stage where his mom stood looking like she was worn and tired. He listened as the crowd hushed wondering exactly what his mother had to say on what she called one of the biggest nights of her life.

Chapter 48 Natalie.

It had been raining for four days since Natalie stormed out of the restaurant. Heath had attempted, in vain, to reconnect with her. She listened to his heartfelt messages about being taken with who she was as a woman, but refused to let herself believe it. He was, indeed, too good to be true. No man could still be attracted to a woman that he knew was certified crazy. Right? How dare he make her feel vulnerable and exposed and then promise to care for her, no matter what her past suggested.

“You could at least call him back.” Elise sang into the phone as she attempted to coddle Natalie into happiness.
“For what Elise? For him to say it’s cool now, and then a few days or months down the road decide that he can’t deal with my mood swings or crying fits. Thanks but no thanks.”
“So, what? You’re saying you are just gonna have meaningless flings with dudes who could care less about you?”
“Why not? Pussy is all they really want anyway. It’s all a game. Who’s gonna get what they want first.”
“I can’t believe you are trying to sell me this bullshit like you actually believe it. Bitch, you been planning your wedding since you were ten. And I know your crazy ass already bought the dress, cause I saw it when I borrowed-kept your black Kenneth Cole slings for my showing the other day.”
“Heifer, I didn’t even notice they were missing, so I imagine they will be back by this week.”
Natalie said in a half serious tone, half chuckle.
“And I bouht that dress a long time ago, when I still believed in happily ever after. Now I know, it’s about the sex. Nothing less, nothing more.”
Natalie heard Elise take a drag from her forbidden cancer stick.
“Hey, you know I am always down for an occasional fling with a nameless brother, but we both know that’s not what we really want.”
“Speak for yourself. I am not waiting for him to reject me. Hell no. I am gonna get out before the shit gets too complicated.”
“What if he really likes you, Nat?”
“Then I guess it will work itself out.”
Another drag.
“You are so cave bitch.”
“Thanks.”
After a pause in the conversation, Elise garnered the nerve to ask what had been on her mind from the beginning of their conversation.
“You’re not dissing Heath because he’s not black, are you?” Natalie’s eyes stretched about two centimeters.
“What the hell? Why is everyone acting like him not being black disqualifies him? I mean, we are in the fucking twenty second century.” Elise sighed in exasperation.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And some of my best friends are white. Spare me the speech, Condoleezza. You said yourself that you hated the way the brothers looked at you when you were with Heath.”
“No, I said it made me uncomfortable at first, but that’s their problem.”
“Well, why aren’t you just kicking this Marc dude to the curb? Isn’t he a man just like Heath?”
“Yes, but this is different.” Elise sucked her teeth in protest.
“You are so full of shit. The only difference is that Marc is black, and Heath is Jewish.”
“Heath is not Jewish, he is Greek.”
“Sorry, you say potato. I say pah-tat-o. It doesn’t make a difference. You are a racist, plain and simple.” “
“I am not a racist, jack ass. Marc and I connected on another level.”
“Yes, I know. Yall connected on the bed, yall connected on the floor, yall connected on the dresser…”
“It’s not like that. I mean, the brother can eat some chocolate like nobody’s business and God and the people three floors under know that he is hung like a horse, but I think I would like him even if we didn’t have sex.”
“And my name is Oprah.”
“Really, it’s different with him. It’s…comfortable.”
“Was it comfortable enough for him to know about your medical history?”
It was Natalie’s turn to pause. After a moment, she responded softly.
“No, I haven’t mentioned it yet. But he’s coming out here soon and I am going to put everything on the table.”
“Humph.”
This was all Elise could muster. She had to ask the burning question.
“So what if he turns out to be a jerk and decides that he can’t deal with you and your past?”
Natalie swallowed hard before she answered. “Then I don’t want to be with him.”
Natalie said the words, but could not make herself believe them. Marc was a mature man. He understood that everyone has a past and she would do the same if it were him. It was him who made it a point to call her every night just to hear her voice. It was him who called every morning to wish her a good day and promise that he would make love to her to make up for every second he couldn’t see her face. She never questioned his intent, though she knew he could have any woman that he wanted. She needed to believe that it was more than sex. It had to be.
“So, how is your case going, anyway?”
Elise was a genius at switching the momentum of the conversation. Natalie was still distracted by her thoughts of Marc.
“It’s going good…Hey Lise, let me give you a call back later.”
“Why? What are you about to do? It’s pouring outside.”
Natalie smiled.
“I have to see a man about a horse.”
“Trick!”
Natalie blushed.
“Gimme twenty dollars!”
“I aint got, I aint got it.”
“Broke assed ho!”
Both women hung up the phone. Natalie fell back into the comfort of her plush bed and pretended Marc was there with her. She relived each moment of their first encounter, stroke by stroke. Just as she was about to explode, the phone rang. She hesitated but decided to answer it and forego her pleasure. Just as she pressed talk, she realized that the number did not appear on the display unit of her cell phone.
“Hello?”
Natalie was hoping to finally discover who her mystery caller was.
A feminine voice provided an answer to her lingering question.
“BITCH.”
The caller summarily hung up the phone. Natalie couldn’t decide if she was annoyed more by the disruption of her pleasure or the rudeness of the female caller. She decided that whoever SHE was, if she ever called back, she would get an earful. She looked out of the window at the pouring rain, and decided to try it again. This time, she turned her ringer off.
“Back to you Marc.” She thought as she made their night happen again and again in the privacy of her own home.

When Natalie woke, the rain had stopped. The sun was an interesting blend of orange and reds as it threatened to retire for the night. She decided to treat herself to a trip to Starbucks to celebrate the press conference she coordinated the day before to announce her new and very wealthy client’s minority home ownership program.

Before talking to Elise, she had received the call from the office congratulating her on her stroke of genius.
“Now let’s see what those stiffs over at La Casa have to say. Hell, they can protest all they want now. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if a few of ‘em don’t try to get on a crew to help build those suckers.”
Natalie managed to offer a compensatory chuckle to her managing partner’s blatantly racist comment. Oh, how she hated corporate America.
She managed to slip her sweats on and readied herself for the caffeine rush a trip to Starbucks promised when her house phone rang. It had to be a member of her family, as they were the only ones with the number.
“Hello mother.” Natalie managed. Her attempt to veil her apprehension was fruitless. Her mother did not let it go unchallenged.
“I don’t know why you got an attitude. I’m the one that should be mad. You aint returned none of my calls, and I said it was important when I left a message on that voice mail.” Natalie rolled her eyes. It became commonplace when she spoke with her mother.
“Sorry mother. I have been real busy.” Rosemary didn’t respond. The line was quiet for what Natalie thought was an eternity.
“Momma, you there?” Natalie asked, noting that she addressed her mother with a genuine concern that she had not expressed in years. It was then that she heard Rosemary’s sniffles. “Momma, are you crying?”
“Natalie, I’m sorry and I didn’t mean to call you like this, but chile, I don’t know what else to do.”
Natalie felt a ball forming in the pit of her stomach. Was it another write up at work for her rudeness to customers? Had her father left again?
“Well, what is it, momma? What’s wrong?” She heard Rosemary burst out into tears as the phone dropped to the floor. She immediately started to say a prayer that her father was okay. She was relieved when she heard his voice. “Hey baby girl.” Earl said trying to calm the explosive moment.
“Daddy, what’s wrong with momma?” She heard him sigh. “Well, it’s hard to say. She been crying since she came home a couple days ago. Sayin’ somethin’ about chickens comin’ home to roost. I don’t know what done got into her. She seemed fine when we went to Jake’s wake and repast, and then all of a sudden…”
Natalie hadn’t allowed herself to think revisit the name of her father’s friend and all of the abuse he inflicted on her when she was a little girl. Though she never confided in her mother, she sometimes suspected that Rosemary was aware of what he had done to her, but quietly chose to keep the two separated at family therings to keep her demons at bay and more importantly, to ensure the comfortable life a two income household afforded. She was sure her father never had a clue about what happened. Sadly, Natalie acknowledged that a part of her was happy that the man that was pure evil actually died. Her father’s booming voice returned her thoughts to her current reality.
“I been thinking bout taking her to one of these grief therapists they got set up at the church, but she declare she don’t want them in her business. Hell, we all get the blues sometimes, especially at times like this. Jake was my best damned buddy for over thirty five years. Did I ever tell you about the time that he took yall kids down to Myrtle Beach so me and Rose could have a real honeymoon? I tell you, they just don’t make folk like that anymore.”
“Thank God.” Natalie thought as she recalled the nights of repeated abuse.
“Daddy, maybe you should call Aunt Ethel and see if she can stop by and see about momma.”
“Tried that. Ethel refused to come here because of some argument she and Rose had at Bingo. Said Rose stole her winning card cause she always play the same card every week. I told you your aunt is a damned dingbat.”
“And where’s Tanya?” Natalie asked.
“Somewhere chasin’ that fool around probably. Ever since you and your brother left, she been actin like she don’t want to be around here. Kids be damned.”
Natalie heard her mother in the background asking her father to put her back on the phone. Despite his reluctance, she heard him relent and give her the phone.
“Natalie baby, I’m sorry for what that bastard did to you. I swear I’m glad he’s dead. And I wish I was dead to.” The tears started again. This time, Rosemary’s words could not be deciphered through her sobs and wails. Natalie could hear her father pleading for Rosemary to go with him to the therapist. He grabbed the phone and rescued Natalie’s hearing from her mother’s blood curdling screams into the receiver. “Baby, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to get off of this phone. I don’t know what’s going on with your mother, but we gotta get her some help. ‘Mary, don’t do that. Stop pulling out your hair!’ I think she done went and had herself a nervous break down. I’m gonna take her to PG County and see if I can get her seen immediately.”
Natalie felt her life spinning like she was in the midst of a huge centrifuge. She felt powerless to stop it. It was a familiar feeling. The woman that she battled for most of her life for affection was falling apart under the weight of her guilt, leaving her battered father to pick up the pieces.
“Alright daddy. I’m gonna see if Eric can come out there, since he’s the closest. I will get out there as soon as I can.” “Okay baby girl, I’ll call you once we get her checked in and talk to the doctor. I love you baby girl.”
“I love you too, daddy.” Natalie heard her mother’s screams grow louder as she ended the call.
She felt her head tightening and reached for her own medication to ward off the voices that commanded her to confront her mother. She had to call Eric. She had to reach out to Tanya. Despite their own issues with her, she needed them. Natalie had to be the one to make the call. She swallowed her apprehension along with her pills and grabbed the cell phone as she headed out of the door. She decided that she would need something stronger than Starbucks to get her through what promised to be a long night.

Chapter 49 Ilene

“I filed for divorce. My attorney will call you about making living arrangements and we can talk about splitting the assets later, not that money has ever been a problem for you.” Charles delivered his speech to Ilene while speaking into a phone receiver through a plate glass window.

Dressed in an orange county issued inmate jumpsuit, Ilene struggled to process what had transpired in the last 4 days of her life. Through parched lips and skinat was badly in need of moisturizing, Ilene’s smile illuminated a hopefulness that defied her reality.

From the moment that she began her speech at the hotel, her life began to unravel. Minutes after she tearfully recounted her misdeeds, she was approached by Fulton county police who informed her that the man she paid to assault Charles had turned himself in and agreed to testify against her in exchange for his own immunity. It was while she was being held at the correctional facility for her attempted murder charge that she found out that the district attorney would also pursue charges of identity theft, racqueteering (since Paul Cummings was an elected official), and forgery. Surprisingly, Regina Cummings was able to produce a tape of store surveillance that captured Ilene stealing several big ticket items worth over $10,000. Certainly, a grand theft charge would follow. But Ilene continued to smile. Charles’ annoyance grew.

“I hope that you aren’t going to try to contest the divorce, because that will only tie things up more.”
“Chuck, I can’t tell you how really sorry I am for everything. I never meant for things to turn out this way…”
“Oh that’s right. You’re sorry for trying to have me killed. Or was it forgery? Stop it, alright Ilene. I don’t care anymore. You’re not my problem. You screwed over so many people, you don’t even know where to start with the fucking halfhearted apologies.”
The security guard looked in as he heard Charles’ voice rise and then turned his attention back to the King magazine that he was engrossed in.
“Chuck, you think I don’t know I screwed up? I think about it every morning I wake up and look at those bars.”
“If you are looking for my sympathy, forget it. If I know you, you are already cooking up some way to con some fool into to paying the $650,000 bond to get you out of here.”
He was right. Her mind started racing for people who owed her favors the minute she was fingerprinted. So far, she had managed to locate a crooked lawyer friend that she helped out in a few domestic issues that resulted in a huge divorce settlement in favor of her friend. Indeed, a picture is worth a thousand words. Ilene’s XXX scene with the lawyer’s husband helped to ensure the end to a bitter divorce war, and her friend was indebted. If only she could get him to answer her calls now.
Ilene hated to admit that she was still apprehensive about her outlook and opportunity for freedom, as she needed someone on the outside to help her retrieve the bail money that she had locked securely in an offshore account. For now, she sat and waited for the opportunity to present itself.
“Chuck, the last thing that I would do is try to stop the divorce. Besides, after what I put you through, you deserve to be happy.”
Charles saw through her comment.
“You will never learn Ilene. Not ever.”
Ilene was not in the mood for another one of his self righteous speeches.
“Did you come all the way down here to tell me that you are filing for divorce, Chuck?”
Charles was taken aback by her forwardness. The prior confidence now eluded him as he currently appeared nervous and uncomfortable.
“Actually, no. I came down here to tell you that I am selling the house and I am moving in with Regina as soon as the divorce is final. She and Paul split and we both thought this would be a good idea, considering…”
Ilene’s eyes bore a hole in Charles’ head.
“Considering what, Chuck?” Her words were slow and deliberate. Charles averted her eyes as he prepared to speak.
“Considering that we are going to be starting a family. Regina is pregnant.”
Tears flooded Ilene’s eyes as she spat curses and threats to Charles and the life of his unborn child.
“I hate you!! You’re fucking dead to me, you bastard!”
Ilene screamed and racked on the plate glass windows with so much force that it was loosened. The guards rushed in and ended the visit. e was promptly escorted back to her cell.
Charles sat in the visitation booth unable to feel his legs. He felt that Ilene would feel the sense of betrayal that she regularly doled out was justice. But he couldn’t help but be pained by the anguish in Ilene’s eyes. He did love her at one time.
“A long time ago.” Charles said to himself as he walked out of the dingy visitation booth and to the plush Mercedes that once belonged to Ilene where the mother of his unborn child waited patiently.
Ilene returned to her cell unable to control her sobs. She was angrier that upset. She wondered where Charles had the balls to pull off such a brazen move. Certainly he was being pushed into by a vindictive Regina.
Ilene bit the bottom of her chapped lips as she recalled her visit from Regina the day after she was booked. It was then that she learned that Regina had orchestrated everything from the suspicious mailing of her bank statement for her account in Trinidad to Charles’ office address to the confrontation at Lord and Taylor and her proudest moment, the untimely disruption of Ilene’s bash. She even participated in some of the charitable projects that Charles partook in to garner a relationship of friendship and support. Now, she explained to an incensed Ilene, she would enjoy the life that Ilene robbed her of by publicly humiliating her husband.
Ilene now stared at the bars of her cell and what could be her home for the next eight years resolved to the fact that no one would come to her rescue.
While Marc made sure that she had at least two hundred dollars on her commissary account, he could not bring himself to face his disgraced mother. She had enjoyed a particular pride that he was like her in so many ways, now she wished that he had the compassion of his father.
She was alone. Her only company was the bars that mocked her freedom and the cries of women who wished for another existence. Ilene readied herself for the pain as she had done for years. She closed her eyes as she reclined on her uncomfortable bunk and pretended she was back at the Ritz. She told herself it was only a matter of time before she figured a way out of her situation. She just needed a little time. Thanks to her sworn enemy, time was the only thing she had left.

Chapter 50 Marc

“So you’re saying you don’t want to see me anymore?” Marc asked Natalie, perplexed by the news that she had just delivered to him. He struggled to process her words through her screams and crying.

She was able to convey the message that someone named Sherise had called and explained that not only was she pregnant by him, but she was also staying in their condo together. She was, of course, only calling to warn Natalie.

After his phone call from Reggie, Marc’s world had been turned upside down. He was now dealing with his mother’s incarceration. The thought of seeing Natalie was the only thing that kept him from loosing it.

Marc could hear her lips trembling as she spoke. He would continue to plead with her for the next thirty minutes.
“I never meant to keep this from you. It’s just that this situation is complicated, and I didn’t know how you would respond.”
Natalie tasted the irony of his secret. Through her sniffles, she spoke.
“How am I supposed to be okay with the fact that the man that I thought was perfect for me is a liar? You never mentioned any of this. And yet, here you are promising me the world...”
“And I meant every word of it. I just have to handle this situation first.”
Natalie gasped.
“A situation, Marc? Is that what you call your child, a fucking situation? I can’t believe that I was so wrong about you!”
Marc released a long sigh.
“Look, I swear to you, all of this will make sense if you just let me explain…”
“Explain what?! I know where babies come from. Open leg, insert dick. We did it all night, remember? Oh, let me just guess. That was a situation tooatalie punctuated her statement with a cynical laugh. Marc attempted to interject calmness.
“You know what, I understand your anger. But you are not being reasonable right now. Just like you sisters, always flying off the handle when a man...”
“Don’t you dare try to turn this shit around on me. You were the one acting like a fake assed Denzel on some ole sweepme-off-my-feet shit. You were the one caught in a huge lie. Women are the way we are because of little boys like you.”
Marc felt a pang of anger and insult.
“First of all, I am a man. So don’t ever make the mistake of calling me a boy again. Second, you’re acting as if you don’t have skeletons in your own closet. You think I didn’t notice all of those bruises on your arms?”
Natalie’s shock forced her into silence. Marc capitalized on the opportunity to regain control of the conversation and to address the assault on his character.
“The woman who called you is…, well, I’ll just say she isn’t exactly wife material. I made a mistake and now she is trying to make me pay for not wanting to be with her.”
The faint sound of Natalie sucking her teeth in protest did not go unnoticed by Marc as he continued.
“I am not the kind of guy that would neglect his responsibility. Natalie, you know that.”
“All I know is that you slept with her, made a baby, and now you are acting like she doesn’t exist. If you did it to her, then you could have done the same thing to me, and I don’t care how fine you are, or how much money you have, in my eyes, you’re another trifling assed niggah. Don’t ever call this number again, or I will pursue harassment charges. Goodbye.”
Natalie’s judgment and blatant cruelty stung Marc as he heard the phone click.
Tears rolled involuntarily from his eyes as he saw the end of what he and Natalie could have been. He looked contemptuously at the airline ticket that mocked their reunion and now folded to the anger that pulsated through his hands. Only his anger was not reserved for Natalie.

Marc carefully pushed open the door of the condo left ajar purposefully by an embittered woman. The newly installed locks lie disassembled on the floor to trivialize his attempt to keep Sherise out. True to form, she had destroyed the place that he once acquired for him and their unborn child. Only after learning the truth from Reggie did he confront her and demand that she leave him alone or face fraud charges. It was a threat she knew all too well.

Meticulously, Marc exposed her true identity and how she had made quick work of wealthy men by spiking their drinks with illegal drugs and faking a pregnancy. A morning after pill usually handled the messy ramifications of unprotected sex. The unassuming and ultimately fearful victims would plow her with gifts of jewelry and cars for her silence. She would dispose herself of them when she had recruited a new prospect and flee the area claiming to need time to recuperate from a well timed miscarriage. She and his mother had a lot in common.

Only now, she was becoming more desperate, as the forward from the San Antonio Spurs for whom she was truly pregnant and in love with, had a change of heart when he learned of her past. He threatened to turn her into the police if she ever pursued him for paternity or made contact with his wife. Foiled, she was stuck with a child and no plan. That is, until she happened upon Marc at an opening of a new restaurant called Taste in DC.

Rumor was that he was a silent owner. It wasn’t a rumor, she found after hours of social research in the who’s who crowds of affluence in DC’s former gold coast. After a couple weeks of stalking and a quickly expanding waist line, she enacted her master plan. Like a well oiled machine, her system was working flawlessly until now. Marc’s revelation sabotaged her bid for a life of excess and leisure and now hastened her motivation to leave DC.

As he surveyed the emptied condo, he marveled at how she did nt leave a trace of her presence. Like she never existed. Marc would once again contact the property manager to have the locks replaced. Sherise, now distant and certain never to resurface again, helped him to process the damage she had caused thus far in his life. Her anger compelled her to shatter the bay windows of the home. Marc stood peering at her symbolic indignance and bent down to pick up the pieces. The irony of the act cut him as deeply as the chards of newly and violently broken glass. The drops of blood that stained the hardwoods oddly made him think of Natalie.

Perhaps he could explain everything once she had time to calm down. The prospect of sending flowers appeared generic and humdrum. He needed to make a statement. Rather she accepted his apology or not was an afterthought. She needed to know, that despite her prior account of his character, he was indeed a good guy. It was then that he realized that he needed to convince himself more than anyone else.

Chapter 51 Natalie.

The short walk through the airport’s corridor afforded Natalie very little time to compose herself when the personal aircraft landed at the small airport for private jets and specialty aircrafts just outside of Maryland’s beltway.

Her call to Heath proved a viable alternative to the bar that she was traveling to where she intended to mix and lethal concoction of psychotropic drugs and alcohol to head off the pain in her heart and emerging voices in her head. A very worried Heath demanded that she park her car immediately or he would contact the local police to report an inebriated and incapacitated motorist. Within minutes, he arrived at her parked car and effortlessly wiped her tear stained face in his expensive Yves Saint Laurent shirt. After securing her car in a nearby parking garage, he took her to his palatial home.

He gifted her with a plush robe and slippers, as her clothes had been soaked by the recurring rain storm that she refused to escape, in an ill planned attempt to wash the blood that she was convinced now flowed from her skin. While watching the embers glow in his massive fireplace, Heath listened eagerly as Natalie recounted the details of the conversation that threatened to destroy the remaining pieces of her family. He assured her that no one would blame her as he prepared dinner and hot tea for her. Her hopelessness pained him as he brushed her limp hair.

Natalie gratefully accepted his offer to use his private jet to travel to Maryland. After insisting that he travel with her, Natalie called her brother and informed him of the newest developments. He too, agreed to join the family at Rosemary’s hospital bed.

When they emerged from the airport, a black town car awaited them. Had Natalie not been overwhelmed by her own psychological turmoil, she would have commended Heath for being so well prepared and generous. He held her hand as they traveled to Sibley Memorial Hospital in a suburb of Maryland. Her exhausted eyes looked into his in an expression of gratitude that allowed the two a communication void of words.

After she was well, she would explain and apologize for not calling and being so dismissive of his efforts. She would thank him for not thinking twice about their ugly exchange when she needed him most. She would let him in. His eyes told her that he could wait until then. He was her knight in shining armor.

The entrance to Rosemary’s room was crowded with church congregants and co-workers all with looks of dismay etched deeply in their faces. Natalie grasped Heath’s hand tighter as to protect him from the stares that would undoubtedly dissect him and challenge his presence. He informed her that he would wait in the waiting room and looked around expectantly hoping others would follow the same suggestion of decorum and respect for the family. No takers.

Once she entered her room, Natalie realized her greatest fear. The woman who she regarded as a larger than life and opposing titan now appeared shriveled with her mouth twisted into
A PRICE TO PAY FOR EVERYTHING
an unnatural smile. There, next to her bed, stood an embattled husband and father, who himself had taken refuge at the bottom of a liquor bottle to assuage the crushing guilt that was now his to bear. His eyes watered when he saw Natalie. His attempt at a smile was futile.

“Baby girl. I am so glad you’re here.” He embraced her in a primal way that only a parent can embrace a child who has been exposed to unspeakable harm. His embrace was hard and unyielding. Natalie returned his embrace as she eyed her mother who lay on the bed with the same unknowing smile that defied the worry and aggravation that she personified for years. After releasing her, Earl looked to his wife and spoke fretfully to his youngest daughter.

“Doctor said that she suffered a psychological something or other. I think he don’t want to tell me that she had a nervous break down. After that, she suffered a stroke and couldn’t speak. Doubt if she will ever make full sentences again.”

Tears and emotion flooded his throat as he continued to speak.
“So, we gonna get her a speech therapist and physical therapist to get her back to where she used to be.”
Tears now flowed uncontrollably from Natalie’s eyes. She wasn’t sure if she was crying for her father’s pain or her mother’s resentment. She turned to look at her mother whose Oil of Olay trained skin now appeared gray and lifeless.
“She can understand what we saying, but she can’t talk as yet. She’s been making sounds, though.”
Earl commented as he prepared to leave the room to allow mother and daughter time together. His exit was a relief for his worn soul as well. As he closed the door, Natalie noticed her mother’s eyes fill with tears. The crooked smile now labored movement in an attempt to speak.
“Momma, don’t talk. Just rest. We got plenty of time to talk later. Just get better, please.”
Rosemary stubbornly moved her head from side to side suggesting that what she had to say superseded her physical and mental condition.
Natalie leaned in closer. Rosemary’s words were merely a whisper and an amalgamation of unrelated sounds. The frustration of Rosemary’s condition overpowered Natalie as she began to speak to her mother.
“Momma, the doctor said that you will be able to talk after a while. Just wait. Whatever it is, you can just wait until then.”
Again, Rosemary adamantly shook her head no. This time more ferociously. She squeezed Natalie’s hand as she leaned in closer. This time her muffled sounds combined to make a word that jolted Natalie and released ripples of pain and reconciliation through her body all at once. With eyes trained on her daughter, Rosemary Logan, at the weakest point in her life, mouthed “Sorry.”
It was the strongest point in Natalie’s life and she had her mother’s weakness to thank for it.

Chapter 52 Ilene

After a year and three months in the Prince Georges correctional facility, Ilene had conceded defeat. She had been served with the final decree of divorce from Charles and the house was sold. Her half of the proceeds settled her financial debt to the attorneys who fought to have her sentence commuted to two years, as opposed to the original eight, due to her exceptional service to the community. Thank God for those ridiculous charities Charles made her join. No one posted bail on her behalf, forcing her to foster friendships and alliances with those who shared her plight.

Charles, now happily married to Regina, never corresponded and returned the letters unopened that she penned in moments of repentance and atonement. Marc had since moved to the west coast to pursue a new career in consulting for newly formed non-profits.

Ilene was indeed on her own. She found that she was quite resourceful and learned how to con lonely old men with money to correspond with her on-line. A few of them even came for visits and pledged to marry her once her time was done. One suitor stood out considerably among the marks, a term she acquired in the facility, who provided much promise.

Howard Devonshire, III was not only wealthy, but a dastardly middle aged man that had been long divorced and abandoned by his family. After meeting him on a dating site for mature daters, Ilene quickly offered her friendship and loyalty. She remembered him from a write up in Fortune Magazine, but pretended that she was as ignorant of his past as he was of hers. They shared stories of the past. She, claiming to be incarcerated because the man she devoted her life to embezzled money and placed it in her account, making her an unwitting co-conspirator. He, suggesting that his only true love was his money and that he needed a woman who recognized that financial fortitude is more useful erotic emotion. He sent her pictures of himself and his estate. She sent pictures of other women she found on the internet for six months, until finally he demanded that they met in person. She ignored his balding and robust framed and he overlooked the age that settled in her face as a result of harder living. The two would be married and she would become the first lady of a prominent financial empire built on wise investments and shrewd business dealings.

Life was going to be okay for Ilene. Her stint in jail sharpened her skills and prepared her for the re-emergence of exorbitant living to which she was accustomed. The two years of her existence spent paying for the sins of her former life seemed fair and harkened the beginning of a new and certainly, to her relief, a more fitting one.

Chapter 53 Marc

“Thank you for calling Campbell Associates. This is Marc, how can I help you?” Marc’s voice boomed through the line as he addressed potential clients. His former career that he abandoned a year ago was lucrative, but left him questioning his life’s worth.

On a trip to the west coast with Reggie, who rededicated his life to Christ after being cleared of sexual battery charges, he found a struggling architecture and general contracting firm owned by an aging man ready to exit the business. After selling Sherise’s former condo in DC’s white hot real estate market, he invested $250,000 to settle the firm’s outstanding accounts and to take over the existing clientele, this time offering his expertise as a project manager.

The proceeds, after a generous draw to the firm’s original owner for the next three years, were largely reinvested in Compton’s revitalization projects, not far from his trendy Hempstead Heights home in the land of tans, power lunches, work out sessions and plastically enhanced bodies. His schedule afforded him time to volunteer at the Boys Club and sponsor a few kids for the annual basketball camp held by the Lakers.

His attempts to reach Natalie were unanswered. He sent a few clippings of the new businesses that he opened and houses he built in low income areas. No response. After realizing that her approval did not affect his desire to help those in the community, he doubled his effort and even ran for a local office.

Though close, he was defeated by a well known councilman that had a long standing reputation in the community. It was during one of his political debates that he met a spit fire reporter/activist/bohemian queen/poet named Andrea Samuels who challenged every stance that he promoted on his platform. A fierce defender of the “indigenous community of the under privileged” as she would call them, she proved his toughest critic and ultimately his most endearing lover.

Together, and in spiritual congress, another Andrea-ism, they created a life. Marc’s new little sister, Nia, was only a few months older than the child that he and his new wife named Zola.

Marc’s father and his new wife, Regina, had visited a few times and appeared enamored with each other. Charles noted the happiness to be one of shared passions and love, something otherwabsent in his father’s former marriage to his mother.

Marc found himself often wondering whatever happened to Sherise, but never allowed it much thought. He thought he saw her on the arm of one of the first round NFL draft picks, but couldn’t be sure. Then he thought he saw her dancing on a hip hop video of one of the newer rappers.

As for Natalie, he thanked the Creator that he was ever allowed to meet her. It taught him that passion unbridled was powerful and fleeting, but true love sustained everything, at all costs. An investment of $7000 taught lessons that would last a lifetime.

Chapter 54 Natalie

Rosemary’s labored word a year ago had changed the face of Natalie’s life. After witnessing her father struggle to care for her ailing mother, she moved them both to her home in Houston, despite Eric’s animated warnings. Even Latonya, who was now employed as a correctional officer, offered protest.

Her relationship with Rosemary evolved into one of codependence, the elder needing it to sustain life, the younger needing it to validate a death.

Despite Earl’s valiant attempts, he was never able to face his beloved daughter to address the pain that his lifelong friend had caused her. He died of a heart attack eight months after Rosemary was released from the hospital, without ever expressing the sentiment that laced his saddened eyes and remarked of his guilt.

The two women in the house mourned him for different reasons and managed a relationship that was strained at times and celebratory at others.

Heath regularly took them on shopping trips and tried to convince them to move into his massive estate. Rosemary, now able to speak modestly, implied that he should marry her daughter if he wanted that luxury. She would wait patiently as he struggled around his own insecurity of Natalie’s response and ultimately turn into an interesting shade of burnt red. It provided a constant source of amusement to her.

Natalie resumed her visits with Dr. Reade, after much pleading and apology. The voices seemed to emerge with lesser occurrence. This encouraged Natalie to return to work with full vigor.

After learning that she was terminated due to her “inconsistent performance and excessive absenteeism”, Natalie simply did what was natural to her. She had spent years selling a corporate persona that the public would buy. Refreshed and recharged, Natalie sold herself. She began consulting with the very companies that she once worked with at her former employer. She adhered to a strict code of ethics and worked hours that were sensible. Only, she was a lot less expensive to hire and took home a lot less at the end of the day. The most important perk to her new found career was that she was able to choose her clients. No more blatantly racist companies trying to appear diplomatic and just. No more sexual harassment cases paid off and orchestrated to silence another victimized woman or man. This simple expression of independence gave Natalie what she had been longing for, that which she later found that money could not buy… a happy ending.

Coming soon from Kameisha Jenkins,

“C h e a p e r   t o   K e e p   H e r”
Ilene Devonshire    Chapter 1     The Comeback

Ilene glared over the large conference table of attorneys at her newest enemy. Mariska Devonshire vowed that she would do everything in her power to prevent her father’s will from enriching a woman that she knew was involved in his untimely death.

Howard Devonshire married Ilene months after she was released from prison and quickly made her the only heir to his massive million dollar estate and holdings. His estranged children were mysteriously left out the will, and in most recent months, forbidden to contact their father by his very controlling and surgically enhanced new wife, Ilene.

The two women locked in stares that would melt iron. Mariska launched her attack/> “Look, Ilene. We all know about your tawdry little past in Atlanta. I have informed my father’s estate advisors that he was
CHEAPTER TO KEEP HER
coerced into changing his will. There is no way my father would hand over his entire estate to you, and I certainly don’t mean any disregard to you…But frankly, you’re an uneducated convicted felon. The board will never allow it.”

Ilene’s cosmetically refreshed face allowed a smirk. “Mariska. I do believe you are misunderstanding the reason that we are here. My husband loved me. I was at his side constantly when he became ill. He confided EVERYTHING in me. I am offering you a generous settlement. His will is iron clad and valid. You and I both know why there was no one else is listed. I am not here to entertain your hysterics. I lost the man that I love and my best friend. I expected that you would show a little more decorum.” Mariska rolled her eyes in disbelief.
“Decorum, Ilene? Where the hell was your decorum when you moved your ghetto assed crack head lover into my father’s home? Why didn’t you call one of us when you found out that he had cancer? Or did decorum slip your mind while you were blowing his money in Paris while he was dying alone with his nurse? You’re a bitch, Ilene. I swear on my life that you won’t touch a dime of my father’s money. Not over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged.” Ilene thought to herself as she rose to excuse herself from another unproductive and hate filled mediation. The past year had enough drama in it to last a lifetime. Her current crisis would be no different.