Lies and Alibis

by Warren, Tiffany L.

“Dionne, I know you go online every day, even though I tell you not to do it.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about Rod. But if I had been online, like you suggest, what would I have missed?”

  I ease down onto the carpet in front of Rod, and cross my long legs in front of me. I had to get my behind out of his reach, because if he slaps it again, I’m going to go ballistic and scratch his eyes out. And that would be the opposite of what I’m trying to accomplish tonight – an all night long love-making session that leads to me being successfully impregnated with Rod’s first child.

  “Okay, I’ll play along,” Rod chuckles. “If you didn’t see anything online, then neither did I.”

  “What’s her name, Rod? Bambi, Synful, Lexi or Pepper?”

  No missing my tone that time. It’s all out poison, now. Cyanide laced hatred cake covered with arsenic frosting.

  “Her name is Peach.”

  I let out a loud, maniacal laugh. “Peach? Don’t you mean Peaches? What type of illiterate hooker calls herself Peach?”

  “Apparently, it has something to do with a tattoo that she got when she was a teenager. It was supposed to say Peaches, but the tattoo artist left the ‘es’ off by accident.”

  “So, you got the chick’s whole life story? I didn’t know there was much time for conversation when you’re up in the spot, making it rain.”

  “Typically, there isn’t any conversation, but since Peach is going to be the newest female emcee for Knight Records, I think I need to get her history.”

  I’m glad that I’m already sitting down, because the room starts to spin. Rod just signed a stripper to be his new artist. A stripper that likes to give him lap dances and get photographed by blog paparazzi while doing it.

  A stripper that probably wants to take my spot.

  “What part of offering someone a record deal requires the chick to sit in your lap, spend the night in your hotel room and walk out hand in hand with you?”

  “Baby, I don’t know why you’re always getting twisted,” Rod says. “All of that was for the paparazzi. Everybody knows her name now. I only have one wife, and that’s you.”

  “One wife, but how many concubines?”

  Rod throws one hand up in the dismissive motion he always makes when he wants me to shut up. But I’m feeling kind of chatty right now. Need to talk some things out.

  “Seriously, Rod,” I continue. “What am I supposed to think, when you disrespect me with these random women?”

  Rod says, “You’re supposed to hold your head up like the queen that you are. No stripper or protégée can take your place.”

  He is so full of crap.

  “I never did like sharing, Rod. “

  Rod laughs. “Well you aren’t sharing anything but these paychecks baby, believe that.”

  See that’s the thing. I don’t believe him. I don’t believe anything that comes out of his filthy, lying mouth. And the fact that he can sit here and lie straight to my face, lets me know that I need to handle my business and do what I have to do.

  I stand to my feet and place one hand on my hip. “Baby…how about you make it rain at home?”

  Rod claps his hands and turns off the TV. “That’s what I’m talking about. Show me what you’re working with.”

  I suck it up and put on the best game face I can muster. This is about to be the biggest performance of my life.

  ~4~

  Camille

  I’m here first. I’m always here first. Sitting by myself at Paschal’s trying not to look like a lonely girl who’s been stood up by her boyfriend. Why would Dionne and Sydney tell me to show up at two if they weren’t going to be here until three? I’ve got to drive all the way to Stone Mountain for my afternoon bingo session at four, and then be back in Lithonia for choir rehearsal at seven. Mildly annoyed doesn’t even begin to describe my mood.

  I wish I could skip choir rehearsal, but, unfortunately my husband is a hot commodity to all those young skanks in the youth choir. They think that if they move those silicone pumped behinds in his face that he’ll hook them up with my brother-in-law. But Rod has enough stripper-turned-video vixens on his payroll. He’s not interested in church girls who want to be hoes.

  I mean really, does anyone come to church for Jesus anymore?

  Finally, Sydney rushes into the restaurant. She looks worn out. Her hair is up in that dreadful ponytail she always wears, and her skin looks dull. She’s lost weight too – that she didn’t need to lose. I wish I could drop pounds like that. It seems like since I turned thirty-four, I can’t get below a size 12 to save my life.

  I stand up and give my baby sister a hug. “Hey Syd.”

  “Hey Cam. Dionne’s not coming. She just sent me a text.”

  “Why not? She picked this cholesterol haven.”

  Sydney shakes her head in her baby sister scold. “The food here is great! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Well you’re as skinny as a rail. You can eat whatever you want. “

  She rolls her eyes at me and flips through the menu. “What are you eating Camille?”

  “Whatever won’t give me a heart attack.”

  Sydney ignores my comment. “What’s going on with you and Bryan?”

  “We are blessed and highly favored.”

  That’s not exactly the truth. We are blessed, highly favored…and broke, but it’s only temporary. We just had revival at church and the prophetess told me that we were right around the corner from a financial breakthrough. It could be today at bingo. There’s a twenty-five thousand dollar jackpot.

  “That’s good. At least one of us is doing well.”

  “What’s up with you? Are we celebrating your birthday or not?”

  Sydney shrugs. “I don’t know. I think I’ll just pull a shift at the hospital.”

  “This is a big birthday for you. We should go to New Orleans!”

  “New Orleans?” Sydney gives me a confused look. “Cami church-a-lot wants to go to New Orleans? You don’t drink or gamble so how much fun would you be?”

  “There’s nothing in my Bible that says you can’t gamble. Shoot, the Roman officers cast lots over Jesus’ clothing. If God wanted to tell us not to gamble, He could’ve done it right then.”

  Sydney gives me that one eyebrow lift thing that she does that makes her look just like our Creole mother and grandmother. Dionne and I take after our father’s side of the family with our dark complexions, strong African features and long thick hair, but Sydney is a mama clone.

  “Wow, Cami. Grandma Banks would beat the snot out of you if she heard you say that.”

  I laugh out loud. “I am grown. Grandma is not going to lay a hand on me.”

  “When has being grown ever deterred Grandma? Just remind me not to stand too close to you. When God smites you, I don’t want any parts of that.”

  “Smite me?” I ask. “You haven’t been to church since last Easter. If anyone’s getting smitten it’s you.”

  “I watch on the internet,” Sydney replies.

  “That is not the same thing and you know it.”

  The waitress comes to our table with a smile on her face. “What will you ladies be having?”

  “I’ll have grilled chicken salad with Ranch dressing,” I say.

  Sydney licks her lips and says, “I would like the chicken and waffles with a side of macaroni and cheese.”

  My iPad signals that I’ve gotten a new email. Normally, I wouldn’t dream of opening it at the table, but I’m having lunch with a doctor. She’s currently scrolling through her text messages.

  I send an email for our pastor authorizing an expenditure for the usher’s new gloves. I don't understand why they need three hundred dollars for gloves. Why do they need gloves at all? It's not like they're handling food! Pastor Davis is too accommodating to the auxiliary heads. They always want to spend money, but when it's time for the fundraising, they don't even show up at the meetings.

  All of this makes my job all t
he more difficult. I started off as the church secretary, but now I handle the accounting too, since the bookkeeper left and started his own business. He'd taught me everything anyway, so it was a logical transition and nice raise.

  Since Sydney is now texting like crazy, I go to the internet and check the results on the Georgia FIVE lottery midday drawing. It could be time for my blessing!

  My hands tremble with anticipation as I pull of up the Georgia lottery webpage. My heart rate increases as the page takes its time loading. Beads of sweat pop out on my forehead. I'm thinking of the electric bill I can pay, and if I win big, maybe I can take a weekend trip to Biloxi.

  Darn. I only have the first three in a row. A measly twenty bucks. That's okay though, because at least it covers what I spent on the tickets.

  As long as I offset my playing with winnings, I'm sure Bryan won't mind my lottery, bingo and casino trips. He'll really appreciate it once God gives us a huge jackpot of financial blessings.

  Lots of church folk think that gambling is a sin, but I disagree. If I am faithful with my tithe and offering, then I don't think the Lord cares about what I do with the rest of the money. And I do believe he's going to bless me and Bryan for our faithfulness.

  Who says it can't be through a lottery windfall?

  And hey...you can't win if you don't play, right?

  Finally, Sydney locks her phone and sets it down on the table. “Lunch is on me today.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” But I’m so glad she is. See, the Lord is already blessing me.

  Plus, I’m not sure if my credit card has enough to cover this meal. I used it at bingo on Monday night when my friend Liz won a thousand dollars on scratch off tickets. She got so excited that it got all over me too. I spent two hundred dollars on some tickets of my own. I didn't win a penny that time, but I kept all the losing tickets in a bag. Bryan and I can use them when it's time to claim losses on our taxes.

  Sydney leans across the table with her hands folded. Her expression is all Dr. Phil-about-to-do-an-intervention.

  “Is everything okay with y'all? Dionne mentioned that y’all might be behind on a few bills. You know I have a little extra...”

  I throw one hand in the air so she can halt this madness - immediately. “No ma'am. Don't even go there. We're okay. The Lord is faithful. He's got us.”

  Sydney shows me both her palms in a sign of defeat. “Sorry! I didn't mean anything by it.”

  “Where is Dionne anyway? That's who we need to worry about. What did she say in her text?”

  Sydney takes out her phone and reads, “Syd, tell Cam I can't make it. I've got some business to attend to. Love you. TTYL.”

  “What business? She doesn't do anything but shop and go to the plastic surgeon.”

  “You are dead wrong for that,” Sydney scolds. But it's hard for me to take her reprimand seriously when she's giggling.

  “No, I'm right about that. Her man whore has been out slumming again.”

  Sydney's face crumples into a frown. “A stripper this time. A stripper! Can you believe that? And apparently, she's going to be one of his artists.”

  “If I was Dionne I would not allow it. He's going to knock one of those girls up, or catch a disease or something.”

  “At least she has a husband. What does Mama always say? A piece of a man is better than no man at all.”

  I roll my eyes again. “I disagree with Mama on that. A piece of a man might as well be nothing.”

  Our mother has had more than her fair share of men. After our daddy died when I was ten, Sydney was six and Dionne was eight, our mother decided that she would only take a short, customary mourning period before getting back in the dating mix. We were carted off to our grandmothers in Athens, Georgia and Baton Rouge, Louisiana for weeks at a time in the summers, just so she could carry on courtships.

  She remarried twice. Divorced twice.

  She would know about having a piece of a man, because she had plenty of them. She had enough that if she put them all together, they might've made a whole man.

  “So Lucas asked me to go with him to his mother's birthday party,” Sydney says.

  I look at her with wide-eyed shock. “Lucas from Emory?”

  “Mmm-hmmm. He just broke up with his girlfriend, so I guess I'm his emergency backup.”

  I take a sip of my water and mull over the possibility of Sydney back with Lucas. “Did you say yes?”

  She bursts into laughter. “No! Why would I say yes to that creep?”

  “Because he's fine as all get out? Because he's the only man you've ever loved? Or how about the fact that it was eight years ago when he made that mistake? Lucas is a good guy. He always gives money to the community initiatives at our church.”

  Sydney's face turns red with fury. “Lucas's grandmother is one of the founders. That's the only reason he gives. It doesn't say anything about his character. And I'm not going to even dignify the rest of what you asked with a response.”

  I shrug. “Well, at least it's a date, Sydney. You do know what that is right? A man comes to your place, picks you up, buys you dinner, yada, yada, yada.”

  “At least it's a date?” Sydney asks. “Now who sounds like mama?”

  I shake my head at this silly girl. Lucas is a real man. A whole man. I know he played Sydney when they were in college, but that was college! What guy was monogamous in college? But if she prefers to be alone, working in the emergency room on her thirtieth birthday, I'm just going to pray for her. Pray that she gets some common sense and let go of that bitterness in her heart.

  Sydney’s phone buzzes. Another text. “Crap. Sorry to cut this short, but I need to get back to the hospital.”

  She takes a hundred dollar bill out of her purse and places it on the table. That’s way more than I’ll need for the bill, and she knows that.

  “Call me later, so we can figure out some birthday plans for you,” I say. “I can probably get a good deal on a New Orleans getaway.”

  “Okay. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I feel a little bit sad for my lonely baby sister as I watch her half jog out of the restaurant. Where is she in a hurry to, but to a broken bone or communicable disease? I am glad we finished early, though. I've got time to get all the way to the bingo hall in Stone Mountain. I'll even be there early enough to get a good seat near the serious players, and to hear the first number called.

  Hey! My palm itches! Grandmere Batiste always said that an itchy hand meant that money was coming.

  I think God is trying to tell me something! I high tail it out of this restaurant like it's on fire. When God gives me a revelation, he sure doesn't have to tell me twice.

  ~5~

  Dionne

  I am supposed to be at lunch with my sisters, but instead, I’m dressed in all black, with my best friend Hailey, staking out the strip club where my husband’s new mistress, I mean artist, works. We’re across the street, in a rental car, watching with a pair of military grade binoculars.

  We drove all the way to Birmingham to stalk this home wrecker. There are two things in life I don't share - my man and my money. And since, at the present my money is connected to my man, this chick doesn't stand a chance of escaping my wrath.

  “Who works at a place called Booty Meat? It just sounds more degrading than what they’re actually doing,” Hailey fusses. Her long blonde lace front wig is pulled up into a high ponytail, making her look like sumo wrestler Barbie.

  “What could be more degrading than shaking your behind in a g-string for a wad of balled up dollar bills?” I ask, as I scope out a Lexus truck with personalized plates that say Peach.

  Hailey laughs. “Shaking your behind in a g-string and not getting paid.”

  I wish I could share Hailey’s humor, but I’m mission minded. I need to see what I'm up against in this new potential home wrecker.

  “Why did we need to rent a car?” Hailey asks.

  I shake my head. “You know why! We always use
rental cars when we do drive-bys.”

  “Right. On our husbands. But this chick doesn't know what either one of our cars look like. Why do I have to be in this cramped Nissan, when we could be in my Range Rover?”

  “Don't the paparazzi know what your car looks like?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but why would they be here?”

  I want to pop Hailey in her head sometimes, she's so dense. “This rump shaker just signed onto Knight Time Records. She's a paparazzi magnet. Plus, since she's new to the game, she'll give them all the footage they want. So...we stay incognegro.”

  “But I'm white.”

  I laugh out loud. “Only on the outside, honey.”

  Hailey beams proudly, like I just gave her the best compliment anyone could've ever given her. “Oh, wait! Is that her?”

  I hold the binoculars up to my eyes. “I think so. I’m not sure what her face looks like, but that silicone injected booty looks just like it did on the World Wide Web.”

  Peach struts to her Lexus SUV in a pair of coochie-cutting leggings and a tiny baby tee-shirt - standard exotic dancer apparel. She's also wearing some dangerous stilettos with red bottoms. Oh, no this heffa is not wearing Louboutins up at this tacky spot. And driving a Lexus? Who knew stripping was this profitable?

  “Do you see her shoes?” Hailey asks.

  “Yeah. They're probably knock offs.”

  A little voice in the back of my mind is telling me that maybe my husband purchased those shoes. But I tend to ignore that little voice when it's talking crap!

  I suck my teeth when Peach drops her keys and then bends over to pick them up. Her behind spreads from here to infinity. That booty doesn't even look like it belongs on a human. That's an alien booty. An alien stripper booty.

  Ugh!

  “So what are we gonna do?” Hailey asks as Peach pulls out of the parking lot.

  I throw the car into drive. “Follow her. What do you think?”

  Peach takes 65 South for a few miles and then hops off the freeway. We can barely keep up with all the twists and turns she does through the country roads. Plus, she’s driving at breakneck speed like she’s late for a rendezvous.

  See, that’s what happens when my mind starts playing tricks on me. This chick could just have a lead foot, and I’ve got her on the way to a date – with my husband. Trueblackgossip.com has got my imagination running wild.