However, the way Zenith had put it on her had kicked her sex drive into high gear. Zenith was good in bed—an awesome lover—yet she seemed to be somewhat emotionally distant. The heartless way she rotated her lovers was scary. She had women standing in line, and Vangie didn’t want to have to take a number in order to spend time with her. It was probably wise for Vangie to leave Zenith alone and seek her sexual pleasure elsewhere.
They’d exchanged numbers last night, but Vangie decided it was best to delete Zenith from her contact list. Besides, Vangie wasn’t even a real lesbian. She was only exploring her sexuality. Merely experimenting.
Vangie walked to the parking garage and felt a pang of sorrow. The thought of going home to an empty apartment was depressing. She wanted to hug her child. Kiss him. She wanted to at least be able to hear his voice. But Yuri was in school and wouldn’t be available for their daily phone chat until after three, and sometimes much later, depending upon whether Jojina had plans for the kids after school.
Shawn was allowing Jojina to call all the shots. That bitch, Jojina was the one who determined when Vangie could and couldn’t speak to her son. Two nights ago, Vangie had checked Jojina’s Instagram page and there was a picture of Yuri posing with Jojina’s two boys. The picture was captioned: My Three Sons.
After seeing that photo, the back of Vangie’s throat had started to burn—a precursor to a long crying jag. Never in her life had she felt so helpless. A weaker person would have to be on medication to get through this kind of insanity. Vangie was trying to stay strong and keep it together for Yuri. But there was only so much emotional abuse a human being could take. If Mr. Ross didn’t hurry up and get Yuri away from that evil bitch, there was no telling what Vangie was apt to do. She’d been having some twisted thoughts lately. Picturing herself sneaking into Jojina’s house late at night and snatching Yuri, and then shooting the rest of the members of the household while they were asleep in their beds.
It was a shame that Vangie’s mother didn’t have any helpful advice to offer. Every time she tried to talk to her about her dire situation, Barbara would get angry at Vangie and start criticizing and blaming the entire fiasco on her. Judging from the things her mother said, Vangie got the distinct impression that she was on Shawn and Jojina’s side. And that hurt deeply.
Needing to confide in someone, she thought about calling Nivea to see if she was open to an impromptu visit. Or perhaps she’d be willing to hook up for lunch. She dug inside her handbag, searching for her phone. The moment she wrapped her hand around the device, like magic, it began to vibrate inside her palm.
Peering at the screen, her eyes widened in surprise. Zenith was calling! She’d forgotten to delete her number and honestly hadn’t expected to hear from her anytime soon. She was both thrilled and perplexed by the fact that the womanizing chick was even bothering to call. She struck Vangie as the type who would get what she wanted and never look back.
The phone buzzed in her hand twice more, and she brought it to her ear and answered the call.
“Hey, sweetness. I was dead to the world when you ran out of here. Just checking to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure are.”
Vangie laughed.
“What’s on your agenda today?”
“I took the day off work to handle some personal business. I finished a lot sooner than I’d expected. I have the rest of the day to do whatever I want.” Vangie grimaced. She’d said too much. Zenith was probably yawning and mentally scrolling through her contacts, eager to call the next person on the list.
“Wanna hang out?” Zenith asked.
“Sure. Is there anything in particular you’d like to do?” she asked coolly, though she was completely taken off-guard and a little freaked out.
Would seeing Zenith for a second time make her officially gay? Vangie glanced in the rearview mirror, studying her reflection, wondering if she looked like a lesbian. No, her face looked the same, but she felt emotionally lighter. More hopeful. Happier than she’d been in a long time.
“Why don’t you drop by my place and let me take some pictures of you?”
“What kind of pictures? I know you’re not asking me to pose for porn.”
“My work isn’t porn. It’s art.”
“No thanks. I don’t want my naked ass ending up on the Internet.”
Zenith laughed. “I promise your ass will be as anonymous as all the other asses I’ve photographed. Now, come on over and pose for me. It’ll be fun,” she cajoled.
“Okay, I’ll do it.” Her attorney had told her she should take her mind off her troubles and live a little. And to be honest, simply hearing Zenith’s voice again had her pussy purring. One last roll in the hay couldn’t hurt, could it?
HARLOW
She wondered why they called it “morning sickness.” Nausea hit Harlow at all times of the day and night. Although she didn’t feel the need to rush to the bathroom to vomit, there was this overall feeling of dizziness combined with a queasy stomach. She kept saltine crackers on hand to calm her stomach, but the crackers didn’t help at all. Oddly, the only thing that made her feel better was eating hot dogs with the works. And the works included sauerkraut, chili, cheese, ketchup, mustard, and onions. Sometimes she added salsa to the list of toppings.
Only in her first trimester, the baby couldn’t have been much larger than a bean, but that tiny little fetus sure had Harlow doing crazy things. Like taking a cab to Nathan’s Famous Frankfurters in Times Square and buying six hot dogs to go.
Back from a Nathan’s run, Harlow was surprised to find Drake and Alphonso talking in Drake’s study. Alphonso rarely came to their apartment, but she was glad to see him.
The moment she approached the room to say hello, she heard Drake mention Lucio’s name.
“Hi, honey,” she said, poking her head in the study. “Hi, Alphonso.”
Even though Alphonso was no longer Drake’s bodyguard, Harlow always felt Drake was a little safer whenever Alphonso was around. She was relieved that Drake had shared his Lucio problem with Alphonso.
“I heard the good news,” Alphonso said with a cheerful smile directed at Harlow. “Congratulations. What are you hoping for Harlow, a boy or a girl?”
Though her heart was set on a girl, she gave the standard response. “Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s healthy.”
Drake concurred with a head nod. “I see my baby is having cravings again,” Drake said, eyeing the big container of hot dogs.
“If this doesn’t let up soon, I’m going to weigh a ton,” Harlow complained.
“It’s all good. I want you to fatten up my son,” Drake said. “I mean, my daughter or whatever we’re having.”
“Don’t try to clean it up now, man. You want a little Drake, so admit it,” Alphonso said teasingly.
“I knew he wanted a boy all along,” Harlow added. “The way this baby has me eating, it has to be a big-headed, greedy boy.” Laughing, Harlow left Drake and Alphonso to discuss business.
In the kitchen, she perched on a stool, closed her eyes and bit into a messy hot dog. Blissfully unconcerned about the conglomeration of chili and cheese that ran down her fingers.
The distant sound of Drake’s and Alphonso’s deep voices had a comforting effect. This was the way a pregnancy should be. Every child deserved to be welcomed into the world by happy and loving parents.
She wondered how Alphonso and Vangie were doing. Had Vangie broken it off with him or was she still dealing with the horrendous sex? She wished Vangie had never told her about her bedroom dilemma; it was hard looking at Alphonso without thinking about his chubby, sawed-off dick and his terrible performance problems.
In bed that night, Drake kissed Harlow’s lips, moved down to her swelling breasts and then placed a kissed on her tummy. “Hello, son,” he murmured.
Harlow giggled. “Now, I feel pressured to give you a son.”
“I’m gonna love whatever we have, but in my heart, I know
it’s a boy.”
“Is that right? Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I can tell it’s a girl.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t. But since we’re being truthful, I thought I’d admit that I kind of want a girl.” Harlow ran her palm over the waves in Drake’s hair. “How are Alphonso and Vangie doing? Does he ever talk about their relationship?”
“No, never. I got the impression they were only casually dating.”
“It was a little more than casual. He takes her shopping all the time, but Vangie wants more. She was hoping he would pop the question soon.”
Drake shook his head. “Alphonso’s a confirmed bachelor. Tell Vangie she’s going to have to look elsewhere for a man who’s marriage material.”
“I guess she’s going to have to find out on her own. Vangie and I are sort of not speaking.”
“What happened?”
“We had an argument while you were in England.” Harlow gave Drake the side eye. “I guess you were in England…”
“Let’s not go there. I was definitely in England.”
“I know. I’m sorry; I don’t know why I said that.”
“You still don’t fully trust me, babe?”
“I trust you, Drake. Forget that I said that and let’s blame it on hormones. By the way, how’s Lucio doing?” She wondered if Alphonso had assisted Drake in dropping off the money to the kidnappers. She certainly hoped so. Whatever gripes Vangie had with Alphonso didn’t change the way Harlow felt about him. He had always been Drake’s most loyal and trusted friend.
“There’s been a little improvement. Not much. He wants to talk, though. I can tell that he’s desperate to get his jaw unwired.”
“When is that going to happen?”
“Hard to say.”
Harlow nodded, grateful for her current circumstances. A loving and healthy husband and a bouncing baby boy on the way. Baby boy? Now, where’d that come from?
“In general, you should gain two to four pounds in your first one to three months of pregnancy and one pound a week for the rest of the pregnancy,” Dr. Talbert said. “You’ve gained seven pounds since your last visit. What’s going on?”
Harlow wore a guilty expression. “I can’t deal with the nausea. It’s the most horrible feeling in the world. Someone suggested saltine crackers, but they don’t help, so I’ve been eating a lot of hot dogs to combat morning, afternoon, and evening sickness.”
“Hot dogs?”
“Specifically, Nathan’s hot dogs with the works.”
“And how often do you indulge in hot dog binges?” the doctor asked with slight smile.
“Several days a week.”
“How many is several?”
“Like four or five days a week.”
“And how many of these hot dogs with the works are you consuming?”
Harlow sighed. “A lot. A half dozen or so.”
“Hot dogs are not very nutritious. And that’s a lot of sodium. I want you to substitute the hot dogs with carrots and celery sticks dipped in a low-fat, low-sodium salad dressing.”
Harlow made a face. “That sounds so boring, and I don’t think my baby is gonna like that. Can’t you come up with a heartier substitute?”
“Cravings are psychological.”
“But I’m not craving anything. The hot dogs help the queasiness.”
“Humor me and try the carrots and celery. Let’s see if they improve your nausea. In the meantime, I’d like to do an ultrasound to find out if there’s anything else going on.”
Harlow’s eyes lit up. “Really, will we be able to find out whether it’s a boy or a girl?”
“I can get a more accurate reading during the second trimester. So let’s not concern ourselves about the baby’s gender just yet.”
“Are you worried that something’s wrong with my baby?” Harlow’s voice was filled with alarm.
“Not at all. Curious to see how big the baby has grown…that’s all.”
“That’s a relief,” Harlow said.
NIVEA
“This is the most unusual contract I’ve ever seen,” said the attorney Nivea had hired.
“Can you cut to the chase? Doesn’t that contract clearly state that I’m supposed to get five-thousand a month for life? As long as my daughter is a minor?”
The attorney shook his head. “You didn’t have an attorney look this over before you signed, did you?”
“No. It looked like everything was in my favor.”
“You didn’t read the small print.”
“What small print?”
“In this case, it’s a figure of speech. At any rate, you didn’t read between the lines.”
Nivea didn’t like the direction of the meeting with the attorney she had selected and was already considering cancelling the check she’d written for him. “I haven’t mastered that skill.”
“Well, the way I’m reading this contract, you were only entitled to the money as long as you kept good faith.”
“What does that mean?”
“You agreed that Mr. Sandburg was not the child’s parent when you signed the document. But according to the DNA test, he is the father and that’s a deal-breaker for Mrs. Sandburg.”
“But he’s the father and he has to pay.”
“That’s true. But you’re going to have to go after his money, not hers. Apparently, Sandburg signed a prenuptial agreement and he’s not entitled to any of his wife’s money. You’re going to have to go after his. Exactly how much he has…I guess we’ll have to find out.”
“I don’t think he has that much,” Nivea said with a scowl.
“Well, we’ll haul him into court and find out.”
“I’m sure he’s hiding his assets as we speak.” I’m so fucked.
“You can’t say that for sure; we’ll have to find out.”
“Oh, my God. How many times are you going to say that? It’s so annoying.” Nivea stood up and adjusted the strap of her Louis Vuitton bag. “Thanks for nothing.” Punching numbers on her cell phone, she walked out of the lawyer’s office. She called her bank and cancelled the check she’d written. He could sue her if he wanted to, but he was going to have to fight to get paid good money for the piss-poor job of lawyering he’d done.
In a short time span, Nivea had run through over a hundred grand. Ashamed that she didn’t have anything of real value, she began looking at houses. She found a lovely little colonial-style home in Lower Merion, Pennsylvania and thought it would be the perfect starter house for Mackenzie and her. The 3,400-square-foot home had four bedrooms, two full baths, and two half-baths. Plenty of room for Odette to move in. And the chef’s kitchen was magnificent. For a good cook like Odette, the kitchen would be her joyful domain. The half-acre of land surrounding the house would provide Mackenzie with lots of room to run and play when she got older.
Nivea was ready to make a more than reasonable down payment, when she was told she didn’t qualify due to her poor credit score.
It was as if she’d never rid herself of the stench of having once been engaged to a fucking loser. Eric was the worst mistake of her life. The engagement ring that she’d allowed him to put on her credit card had never been paid off, and the cancelled wedding had also contributed to her credit rating. Had she been of sound mind at the time, she would have handled things differently. She would have made arrangements with all the wedding vendors she owed money, but instead, she ignored their bills.
She couldn’t get her dream house unless she made a down payment of $90,000. And she no longer had that kind of money. She was suddenly sickened by the way she’d squandered Mackenzie’s money on so many frivolous things.
Mackenzie’s room was filled with an expensive doll collection that she wouldn’t be interested in for years to come, and she was outgrowing her elegant clothes faster than she could wear them. Nivea wondered how much she could make if she sold the dolls and Mackenzie’s clothes to consignment shops.
She sighed. Running aroun
d like a chicken with her head cut off, trying to sell her daughter’s clothes and toys to the highest bidder was out of the question. She had too much dignity for that.
With a heavy heart, she resigned herself to buying a much cheaper condo in the same neighborhood as the house she’d coveted. Trying to feel better, she convinced herself that she didn’t want to be bothered with keeping up the grounds of that stupid house, anyway.
Times like this, when she was filled with self-loathing, she could do one of two things. Get together with Malcolm and let him fuck her brains out until she felt better or she could shop some more.
Nivea chose to spend time with Malcolm.
But after driving to his place and bringing him Chinese food, Malcolm seemed more interested in Monday Night Football than in Nivea.
“Want another beer?” she asked, noticing his bottle was almost empty.
“Sure,” he said absently, his eyes glued to the TV.
Nivea didn’t like being ignored and was considering going home. Pouting and sighing, she went to the kitchen and gazed in the fridge. She didn’t hear Malcolm creep up behind her.
He reached over her shoulder and grabbed a container of whipped cream, opened his mouth and pushed the nozzle, filling his mouth with the creamy dessert topping.
“Ew.” Nivea frowned. “How can you eat it like that?”
“It’s my favorite dessert, and I was just struck with a great idea.” Grinning, he lifted his brows twice.
“What are you talking about?” she asked innocently, although she had a pretty good idea of his intentions.
“Take those clothes off and I’ll show you.”
After she tore her clothes off, Malcolm lifted her up and stretched her out on the kitchen island. Lying naked in the center of Malcolm’s kitchen was so weirdly sexy, Nivea’s skin began to tingle.
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