“Can’t you call one of your friends for that? I don’t know anything about State Road, Vangie. Aren’t there five or six prisons up there? I don’t know which one you’re in and I’m not in the mood for driving around in circles, traipsing in and out of prisons, trying to locate my daughter. It’s disgraceful and embarrassing. I can’t do it.”
“Mom, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I can’t do it. Call whatshisname…you know, that man with all the fancy cars.”
“Alphonso,” Vangie murmured, feeling disgust that she couldn’t rely on her special friend. Calling him would have been a waste of a phone call since he only responded to her calls when he wanted to get together for his perverted fetish.
“Yeah, let Alphonso handle things from here. My nerves are on edge, and I can’t deal with any more prison bureaucracy. All that waiting around and being spoken to any ol’ kind of way by those rude clerks down at the courthouse is too much for a woman of my age.”
“You’re only fifty-one, Mom. You’re making it seem like you’re a feeble senior citizen. Geez!”
“Well, I’m at the end of my threshold for this kind of foolishness. I’m going to go back downtown tomorrow morning and pay the bail, but I’m not driving all the way up to the Northeast, trying to find State Road. I refuse to willingly subject myself to more mistreatment by prison personnel. I need a break from all that nonsense. You done put me in a position where people are treating me like I’m a damn criminal.”
“How do you think they’re treating me?”
“I can’t even imagine, but you brought it on yourself. Ain’t nobody tell you to go and get yourself locked up!”
“All right, Mom. I have to go. I guess I’ll have to take the bus home after they let me out of here,” she said, trying to illicit sympathy from her mother.
“Either that or call one of your friends.”
“Okay,” Vangie said, dropping her head in defeat after she hung up the phone. With no shower or even a wash-up for the past few days, she looked a hot mess and probably smelled like rotting fish. She wasn’t about to get on a bus, but she’d rather catch a cab home than call Nivea or Alphonso and have them find out that she’d been imprisoned. Alphonso would pass the information on to Drake and he’d tell Harlow. And Nivea would spread the juicy gossip directly to Harlow, quicker than she could blink.
NIVEA
Mackenzie was a little fashion plate in her navy and white, Armani Junior tennis dress. Nivea was seriously high-fashion in a $15,000 Jason Wu dress. She’d gone overboard on the price of the dress, but she hadn’t seen her family in ages, and it was important that she and her baby looked like money.
From the glimmer in her mother’s eyes, she could tell she’d accomplished her goal.
“Nivea! Darling, you look amazing! Give me my grandbaby,” Denise said, taking Mackenzie from Nivea’s arms. She shot her husband a look that Nivea interpreted as: Why didn’t you tell me our grandchild was half-white?
Nivea’s father stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged in response to the unspoken question.
“She’s a beauty!” Denise went on. “And I’m going to spoil her rotten.”
Courtney and Knox arrived shortly after Nivea. “Hi, Niv,” Courtney said, giving Nivea an air kiss.
Knox nodded his head curtly as if a verbal greeting would be interpreted as overly flirtatious.
“Take a look at your gorgeous niece,” Denise said to Courtney.
Courtney gave the baby a quick glance. “She’s cute,” she mumbled, frowning as if it pained her to look too closely at Mackenzie.
Courtney appeared to have picked up a little weight, Nivea noted. About fifteen pounds. Stubbornly squeezed into a size eight when she clearly needed a ten, her ill-fitting, too-tight clothes gave her a slightly unkempt appearance. Knox was as corny as ever in his preppy attire—blue seersucker pants, white shirt, blazer, and brown loafers.
The family convened in the dining room and when Nivea attempted to retrieve her daughter, Denise said, “Oh, no. You can’t have her back. Have a seat, dear. I’ve missed out on the first four months of this baby’s life and I’m making up for lost time.”
Paul Westcott hovered over his wife, smiling down at the baby. Denise squinted at her husband in annoyance. “A little birdie told me you’ve already spent time with Mackenzie, so you can have a seat, too.”
Accustomed to being chastised by his wife, Paul smiled sheepishly and immediately did as he was told, but he pulled his chair close to his wife’s, refusing to sit too far away from his granddaughter.
Nivea was amused that Courtney sat between her and Knox, distancing the former illicit lovers and ensuring there’d be no hanky-panky at the dinner table.
Denise kissed the baby and inhaled her fragrance. “You smell so good, Mackenzie, like you were bathed in sunshine and flowers.” She looked at Nivea. “I would have never thought it, but motherhood becomes you, dear. Your daughter is clearly well cared for and loved, and she’s going to get a lot more love from all of us.” She made a sweeping gesture, intending for the broadness of her hand wave to include everyone at the table, but Courtney ducked her head down, excluding herself from the circle of love.
“Thank you, Mother.” Nivea wasn’t accustomed to getting compliments from her mother, and she felt a surge of pride. Denise was clearly in love with Mackenzie and Nivea felt as if her status had been elevated from prodigal daughter to family hero.
Unhappy with the tiny newcomer getting so much attention, Courtney sucked her teeth, as if personally insulted. Nivea had expected as much, and could only shake her head over the fact that her sister was envious of an innocent baby. Turning the spotlight on Courtney, Nivea asked, “What’s been going on with you, Courtney? Still doing temp jobs or have you found something permanent?”
“I’m a stay-at-home wife,” Courtney replied, emphasizing the word, wife.
“Oh, that’s nice. Are you planning to start a family anytime soon?”
Courtney flinched as if reacting to a physical assault. She jumped up and threw her cloth napkin onto her dinner plate filled with food that had barely been touched. “I’m so sick of everyone harassing me about getting pregnant. Can I please get a break from the topic?” she exploded and then fled the dining room in tears.
“What did I say?” Nivea inquired, perplexed.
“Oh, she’s in one of her moods,” Denise explained.
Prepared to go after Courtney, Knox stood up abruptly.
“Give her some space, Knox,” Denise suggested, gesturing for Knox to sit down. “She’ll be okay in a few minutes. Her father and I always allowed Courtney to work through her anger when she threw tantrums as a child.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Knox sat down and poured himself a glass of wine. With Courtney removing herself as a human barrier, Nivea could see Knox from her peripheral vision. She could also feel the heat of his gaze. Cutting an eye at him, she noticed his leering expression.
Her parents’ attention was focused on Mackenzie, giving Knox an opportunity to get Nivea’s attention. First, he ventured a smile and closely gauged her reaction. She returned the gesture, which prompted him to take it up a notch. A shameless flirt, he winked at her, and next, he licked his lips, crudely allowing his tongue to slither outside his mouth as he simulated giving oral sex.
Nivea blotted her mouth with her napkin, leaving a bright red lipstick stain. Stealthily, she dropped the napkin, and when Knox bent down to pick it up, she whispered, “Meet me in the den. I want you to pretend like you’re fucking my lips while you get that dick hard for me. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Knox nodded with satisfaction, pleased to know that Nivea was still as deceitful and horny as he. He stuffed the napkin into his pants pocket and rose to his feet. “Excuse me, Mom and Dad,” he said politely to the Westcotts. “I have to check on Courtney; she hasn’t been feeling well today and I don’t think she should be left alone.”
“Go ahead, son, check on yo
ur wife,” Paul permitted, scooting his chair closer to Denise and his new granddaughter. Talking baby talk to Mackenzie, he made funny faces, trying to get her to smile.
Under the pretense of being concerned about his wife, Knox left the dining room.
Five minutes later, Courtney returned. “Where’s Knox?” she asked, looking around.
“He went to check on you,” Paul said.
“Well, he didn’t. No one checked on me,” Courtney said in an accusing tone.
“He’s probably in Daddy’s den, you know…hitting the liquor,” Nivea said with a little laugh.
“Why would he shut himself off in the den to have a drink?” Courtney rolled her eyes at Nivea for making such a foolish statement and then marched away, in search of her missing husband.
Moments later, a loud shriek announced that Courtney had found Knox.
Denise shook her head. “What could be wrong with Courtney, now? Could you go check on them, Paul?”
“No, let them deal with their personal issues, privately.”
“I’m beginning to think that marriage was a huge mistake.” Denise frowned, shaking her head.
“They’ve only been married a short while. After they work through the kinks, they’ll be just fine,” Paul offered as he shook a rattle in front of Mackenzie, drawing a happy gurgle from the child.
Courtney could be heard shouting something unintelligible. Then her voice carried to the dining room—her words emerging loud and clear. “That is not my napkin. I don’t wear that shade of lipstick!”
Nivea smiled to herself. Courtney had caught her husband masturbating while staring at a napkin stained with the image of Nivea’s kiss. Feigning innocence, she gazed at her parents and shrugged as if totally baffled by the couple’s inability to get along. “Maybe they should get marriage counseling or something.”
Back at home, Nivea placed Mackenzie in her crib and surprisingly, she didn’t fuss. Nivea had Odette to thank for that miracle. She had no idea what the nanny had done to change the baby’s feelings about sleeping in her crib, but whatever her method was, it worked.
Nivea smiled, thinking about how her parents had doted on Mackenzie. She was glad she’d made peace with them. Her daughter deserved a loving, extended family. She deserved to be treated like a little princess.
And it was high time that Courtney was dethroned.
VANGIE
She didn’t know whether to blame her mother for slow-poking around with the bail money or the prison system for detaining her longer than necessary simply for the thrill of exercising its authority. Instead of being released in the morning as she had expected, Vangie didn’t get sprung until after eight o’clock at night. With fifty dollars in cash and two credit cards, she could have called a cab to take her to the parking lot in Center City, but she stood outside the prison and waited for the bus as a form of penance.
Losing her temper had cost her a lot and only God knew what else was in store for her. She was only out on bail; a court appearance loomed, making it difficult to enjoy the sweet smell of freedom as she stood waiting for the bus and inhaling the mild evening breeze.
If things didn’t work out for her in court, it was possible she’d be returned to State Road, maybe sent upstate. Oh, God; she couldn’t go through that again. The idea of being handcuffed and incarcerated again sent a shiver up her spine.
If she could turn back the hands of time, she would have listened to Shawn and dropped the entire matter. But now it was too late. There was no getting around it; she was going to have to spend a lot of money on yet another attorney. There wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to leave her fate up to that slovenly and incompetent public defender that had represented her at the bail hearing.
Maybe it was time to play nice with Shawn. Have a friendly chat with him and try to convince him to get Jojina to drop the charges. She wondered if a so-called victim could go to court and retract her statement.
Surely Shawn would be reasonable and realize that a child Yuri’s age needed his mother to be home. He’d be teased cruelly by other kids if word got out that his mother was in jail. Shawn wouldn’t want Yuri to suffer for their mistakes, would he?
She heaved a sigh as she thought about all the debt she was going to be in after spending all her earnings on attorney fees. Her meager paycheck barely covered her monthly expenses. She might have to get a part-time job, which meant paying for additional child care. Damn, she simply couldn’t get ahead.
Shawn should have been ashamed of himself for bringing so much trouble to her life. She was the mother of his child, and he should have been trying to ensure her peace of mind instead of keeping her stressed out.
We used to love each other, Shawn…how did things get this bad between us? She bit the inside of her lip in an effort to keep from crying.
In the distance, she saw the headlights of the bus. If my friends could see me now. She envisioned Harlow in her lavish apartment, eating caviar without a care in the world. And Nivea, deliriously happy with her new baby and the prospect of eighteen years of financial security.
Vangie felt like such a loser. Her life had turned to crap and was growing more sordid with each passing day. The way she saw it, her swift decline had begun at the day spa when she had sleazy lesbian sex with the masseuse, followed by a paid BDSM session with Alphonso, and finally a courthouse brawl that had led to her arrest and with a prison sentence hanging over her head. Things couldn’t get any worse.
Unable to mask her pain, she boarded the bus with tears cascading down her cheeks. Deep in her feelings, she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. She cried openly. Uninhibited, as if she was alone in the privacy of her bedroom with the door closed.
“Good thing you showed up. We were about to have your car towed,” said a rude parking attendant with dark brown skin and an African accent. If Vangie had been her regular, feisty self, she would have retaliated with a biting retort, but she was too beaten down to fight back. The fee for leaving her car for three days was astonishingly high, and she was glad she hadn’t wasted money on a cab.
She steered with one hand and pressed Shawn’s phone number with the other. Vangie was aching to kiss Yuri’s face. Wrap her arms around him and hug him tight. She couldn’t wait until tomorrow; Shawn needed to bring her child home tonight!
Shawn answered in the typical grumpy voice he reserved for Vangie.
“Hey,” she said, her voice pleasant and non-combative.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“I was wondering if you’d mind bringing Yuri home tonight. But if you’re, you know, working or if you’re not up to it, I could come and get him, but I need your new address.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No.”
“You’re not getting Yuri back. After you got arrested, my lawyer filed an emergency custody order. He’s living with me and Jojina now. He’s enrolled in school here in Thornbury.”
A jolt went through Vangie that was so severe, she had to grip the steering wheel to keep from losing control of the car. “Yuri belongs with me—his mother. Don’t do this Shawn, I’m serious. I really need to see my son!”
“I’m not stopping you from trying to get visitation. Like you told me in court, don’t talk to me; have your attorney get in touch with mine.” Shawn hung up.
Vangie called him right back. “Shawn. Please don’t do this to me,” she pleaded.
“This is harassment, Vangie. Read the restraining order!”
“What restraining order?”
“We filed a restraining order against you and you’re not supposed to call us or come anywhere near us.”
“Are you serious?”
“Tell that bitch she’s gonna get tossed back in jail if she rings your phone one more goddamn time,” Jojina shouted in the background.
“Contact your lawyer, Vangie. That’s all I can tell you,” Shawn said before hanging up again.
I’ve lost custody of my son. This can’t be happening. Van
gie started shaking so badly, she had to pull over in the parking lane before she caused an accident. She sat behind the wheel with the engine idling, and her whole body trembling as if she’d been suddenly stricken with an advanced case of Parkinson’s disease. She took deep breaths, trying to pull herself together—trying to get to a calm place, but the breathing technique wasn’t working.
She envisioned Jojina pretending to be Yuri’s mother and a fire rose inside her. Her now steadied hand began searching through her wallet looking for Clyde Wortham’s card. Helping her regain custody of Yuri was something her attorney should be able to handle. But when she thought about his lackluster performance in court the other day, she tossed the useless card inside her purse.
Wortham couldn’t be trusted with a matter of such extreme importance. He was too detached; he didn’t seem to care what happened, one way or the other. She needed a strong female attorney. Someone with kids. Someone who could empathize with the heartbreak and anguish of a mother whose child has been…stolen. Ripped from her arms by a pair of thieves.
Vangie finally got herself together and pulled back into traffic. She proceeded toward home, journeying slowly; there was no reason to rush now that Yuri wouldn’t be coming home.
In the foyer of her apartment building, the door to her mailbox was bulging from the amount of mail that had accumulated in the past few days. She turned the key in the lock and various-sized envelopes spilled out, but a fat large envelope with a return address that contained the official-looking words, Magistrate and City of Philadelphia was tucked securely inside the mailbox. She pulled it out the mailbox, ripped open the envelope, and perused the document that bore the heading, “Temporary Restraining Order.”
With great agitation, she read the lies that Shawn and Jojina had woven together. They claimed that she had not only brutally attacked Jojina, but assaulted Shawn as well. Of course, there was no mention of the fact that she’d been defending herself against a glob of disgusting saliva.
With This Ring Page 14