by N’Tyse
“I love you too.”
As he walked off, Ménage turned to hurry back up the stairs. Once back in the apartment, she called X-Rated to let one of the girls know that she would be out for the rest of the week. Family emergency, she had told her.
“Okay,” the girl on the other end of the line said. “I’ll pass it on to Marvin.”
“Thanks, Bree.” Ménage knew she would be getting a call from Marvin, the night manager, later. He hated when she called in as she was the main clocker in that place. After the call, Ménage dialed Tiffany.
“What’s up, mamacita?”
“Girl, I need you. Bad!”
“Oooh diva, what’s wrong?”
“I need you to come over here and help me pack.”
“Pack? Bitch, you didn’t tell me that you were moving this soon!”
“I’m not. I have to put my shit in storage today. Long story, but we’ll talk when you get over here.”
“All right. Me and Ms. Prada on our way.”
Ménage hung up the phone and began pulling out the few empty boxes she did have. She would have to make a quick run to get more. She went into the closet and began pulling down her clothes until she heard Tiffany and Ms. Prada knocking at her door. When she went to open it, Ms. Prada, Tiffany’s white Shitzu, greeted her as always.
“Diva, you sounded so stressed on the phone,” Tiffany said the second she laid eyes on Ménage. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve had a crazy-ass night and an even crazier day.”
Tiffany set Ms. Prada down and followed Ménage to the bedroom. “Do tell!” Tiffany said as she overlooked the room.
Ménage handed Tiffany a box. “Let’s just say, my convict ex-boyfriend, has risen from the dead. And now he knows where I live.”
Tiffany placed a hand over his chest. “Did you just say convict?” he shuddered. Ménage nodded her head. “Ewww-weee! That sounds like major trouble, boo.”
“Believe me. It is!”
“So what are you going to do? I mean, you can’t let that get in the way of your plans with Jeff. Nuh-uh, honey, you are on the stairway to riches and we can’t allow such a setback.” Tiffany upturned his lips.
“I don’t plan to neither. Trust me. I have a plan. Ménage always has a plan,” she stated confidently. “For now, I need us to pack as much as we can so that I can put all of it in storage tonight.”
“All right, Ms. Thang. Hand me that box.” Tiffany pointed. “I better be getting something out of this, why you got me over here working like a slave on my day off. I’m supposed to be resting up for my sugar daddy tonight.”
Ménage only laughed.
“Hee-hee nothing. I want a purse, some shoes, and some MAC makeup out of this.”
Ménage walked over to the radio system half-listening and half-ignoring Tiffany. She popped in a rap CD and turned the volume up a notch. She knew just the thing to eliminate Tiffany’s ranting.
Bitches ain’t shit and they ain’t saying nothing…
Tiffany began waving his hand in the air and tooting his ass to the lyrics of his rap idol while Ménage took more clothes and placed them on the bed. It was going to be a long week, but now was just as good a time as any to position herself for the real move to Hollywood.
19
There was no place Naomi would have rather been right now. This was heaven on earth and she felt like Michelle Obama as she walked hand in hand with Greg throughout the two-story mansion. The house had everything she could have imagined. Even more. It was perfect and like a dream that had finally come true.
“The cleaners will be here first thing tomorrow,” Dave said, leading the way. “But I’d say this place is in phenomenal shape as is.”
“I agree,” Greg said. “They did a wonderful job getting it ready for us.”
Naomi was still in awe. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt so surreal.
“Thanks for moving this along so quickly,” Greg said. “I’m sure my fiancée here can’t wait to get settled in so that she can start decorating the place,” he said, lifting Naomi’s left hand to kiss her ring finger where the engagement ring lay.
Naomi returned a soft smile.
With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his brown slacks, “Anything for you, sir,” Dave said, a broad smile lifting his otherwise sagging cheeks. The balding white man appeared to be in his early to mid-fifties, and from the way the conversation was spinning, Naomi could tell that the two had known each other for quite some time. Much of the conversation on the drive over to do the walk-thru of the property, had been about tax hikes on the wealthy, solar energy investments, and then golf. She simply sat there in silence and let the men engage while she soaked up the beautiful California scenery all the way from the airport.
Greg turned to Naomi. “So what do you think?”
Naomi was breathless. Everything was happening so fast. First the proposal, the stock transfers, and now this. She surveyed the area of the house they were in and then turned to Greg. This man really did love her. And he was doing everything he could to prove it.
“I love it. It’s… perfect.” She hoped that the pain etched in her face went undetected. That the indecisiveness in her voice, overlooked. She didn’t want to hurt the only man that she had ever loved and cared so much about. She told herself that if she put an end to this now, maybe, just maybe, she could save him from the pain that would ensue from this twisted premeditated plot Maribel had devised against him. If Greg could find it in his heart to forgive her for this deceptive guise she used to seduce him into loving her, there was still hope that they could salvage their relationship and follow through with marriage. If it all worked out that way, none of this would have to be in vain.
“That’s music to my ears, baby,” Greg said before turning back to Dave. “Did you bring the paperwork?”
Dave tapped his briefcase, smiling. “I never leave home without it. If you’ll follow me to the kitchen, we can finish everything in there.” They walked down the right side of the double stairwell that dropped them off back in front of the house. They walked through the foyer and down in the direction of the kitchen.
“If the two of you could please excuse me for a moment. I’m going to go to the ladies room,” Naomi said.
Greg must have noticed the nauseous look on her face that she’d failed to hide. “You all right, honey?” he asked concerned.
Forcing a smile, Naomi nodded. She let her hand slip out of Greg’s and walked quickly toward the left wing of the house where she’d recalled seeing one of the five bathrooms. When she finally found it, she shut the door, and began panicking.
“I can’t do this…I can’t do it…” she panted. She looked in the mirror and staring back at her was a woman she had only known for six months. A woman’s whose life and identity she had stolen, for her own self gain.
She dug inside of her purse and pulled out her cell phone to call Maribel. She couldn’t do this and she wouldn’t do this. It just wasn’t right. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to keep leading Greg on the way that she had. She had to make this right before it was too late.
“Where are you?” Maribel answered on the first ring. “I’ve been calling all morning.”
“We’re in Los Angeles?” Naomi answered, speaking as quietly as possible.
“Why are you in Los Angeles? What the hell is he up to now?”
“Maribel, I can’t do this anymore. It’s not right.”
“Listen to me,” Maribel said in a calming tone. “It’s almost over.”
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“You can and you will!” Maribel snapped. The evil tone in Maribel’s voice caused Naomi to pause. Tears raced down her cheeks and she fell apart right before her very own eyes.
“He will pay for everything he’s done to me, and you’re going to help me see to it that he does!”
Naomi fell silent once again.
“What exactly did he do to you to deserve this?” Naomi asked for
the first time ever. She had assumed the woman was an obsessive jealous ex-girlfriend out to get even, but the longer this went on, the more Naomi wanted to know if that were the case at all. Who would go to the extreme that she’d gone through and spend the kind of money that she had spent, concocting this type of plan for revenge?
Maribel had told her all about Denise, his former lover. She’d even told her about his wife, Vivian. She had given Naomi much detail about the two women, claiming that Greg had used them both, and that she would make him pay for his philandering, even if it killed her. But she never, ever, told Naomi how she had been involved with him, and why watching him suffer, meant so much to her.
“The less you know, the better off you are,” Maribel stated. “So just do the job that I hired you for.”
Naomi took a deep long breath as a terrible pang stabbed her right in the center of her chest. “What if I don’t want the money anymore?”
Maribel fell into laughter. “Sure you do. I’m all you have. Without me, you would be back on the streets or in that hell hole I rescued you from! I’m giving you a way out and you’re not acting very grateful.”
Naomi’s throat was clogged with tears. She was swept with so much emotion that she couldn’t think clearly.
“And one more thing, just in case you might have forgotten. He doesn’t love you. He loves her. So when he looks at you and tells you you’re the only woman in the world for him, it’s Denise he’s talking to. You’re merely a clone, but you’ll never be able to compete with a dead woman!” Maribel added with much disdain.
Naomi opened her tear-filled eyes completely.
“So now that we’ve settled our differences, I suggest you continue to play by my rules if you plan on getting compensated for your troubles, at all.”
Naomi thought about her life before all of this. If she pulled out now, she would end up back with nothing. She would be back to square one. Maribel had been right about many things, but Naomi wondered if she was right about Greg not loving her. She might have looked like Denise Jackson on the outside, but underneath all that cosmetic surgery and the extra weight she had gained for this obscure role Maribel had her playing, was Naomi Brooks. Part of her wanted to believe that nothing would change between them if she came right out and told Greg the truth about her. About everything. But in the back of her mind, she knew that line of thinking was impractical.
“Are we on the same page?” Maribel asked.
She had to force herself to answer. “Yes,” Naomi said. “But I have to go now. He’s calling my name.” She clicked the call off before Maribel could get another word in. She opened the door just as Greg appeared out of nowhere. She jumped when she saw him. “You scared me, baby.” She chuckled.
“I thought you might have gotten lost.”
Naomi cleared her throat. “No. I was freshening up a little.” She rubbed the back of her neck and turned her head to the side, barely able to look him in the eye now.
“Well, Dave and I have some paperwork for you to sign.”
Naomi’s brows converged as her eyes shot back to him. “Papers for me to sign?” she repeated. It was obvious that she didn’t have the slightest clue to what he was talking about.
“Yes. It’s the sales agreement for the house.”
“So why do I need to sign?” she asked, unclear as to what was going on.
“Honey, I’m putting our house in your name.”
Naomi stood there stunned. “My name? But why?”
“It’s the only way I can do this without my wife finding out. Trust me on this.”
Naomi sighed, her stomach still in knots. “Okay.” She followed Greg to the kitchen. Dave had the papers and ink pen aligned on the counter, awaiting her signature.
“All yours, Madam,” he said, handing her the blue ink pen. The same wide cheesy grin was still planted on his face.
Naomi looked at Greg and then down at the agreement. Her full name had been listed in several places. Feeling as if she were preparing to sign her life away, she began signing each designated spot.
Dave looked all the paperwork over carefully. “Perfect! Here are your copies, sir,” he said, giving Greg the second set.
Naomi’s breathing was labored. Her head spinning.
“I need you to sign one last thing before we pop this cork to celebrate,” Dave said. He pulled out three certified checks. Each of them was dated for today’s date. The payee line read: Naomi Cathryn Brooks. The memo line—GIFT.
Naomi gasped when she read the dollar amounts. She looked back over at her future husband. His expression said it all.
“If you will,” Dave said, flipping the checks over and indicating exactly where he needed her signature.
Naomi signed her name and Dave signed underneath her. He then reached back into his briefcase, pulled out an endorsement stamp, and stamped each check.
“I’ll wash these through my Swiss accounts and then wire the money to the title company,” Dave said confidently. “You don’t have to worry about your wife trying to trace these babies.”
Greg leaned in to kiss Naomi. “I did this for us. You know that, right?” Greg said.
Naomi nodded and laid her forehead against his. “Yes. I know,” she said, believing every word of it.
“Here are the keys to your new house,” Dave said in his happy-go-lucky voice as he handed each of them a set.
Naomi held the keys in her palm. She realized at that very moment that this was actually happening. It wasn’t a dream. She owned this million-dollar mansion, free and clear.
“Now this calls for celebration!” Dave exclaimed. He walked over to the champagne that had been chilling on ice, apparently reserved for the new homeowners. He poured three glasses and passed one to Greg and then Naomi. Naomi refused hers politely.
“My ‘fiancée’…,” Greg smiled at Naomi, “doesn’t drink.” Greg took a healthy sip from his glass. He then walked behind her and put his arm around her waist, pulling her into his groin. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear, planting a kiss on her jaw line.
Hearing that brought a reassured smile to her face. That’s what she needed to hear, and that’s what would give her the valor to do what she knew undoubtedly had to be done.
20
“Did you file a police report?” Jeff asked as he shuffled papers on his desk, searching for a file he had misplaced.
“Yes,” Ménage said painfully.
Jeff could hear her sniffling through the phone and he could only imagine how upset she really was after coming home to find her door kicked in, her apartment ransacked, and the majority of her belongings stolen. She had been robbed in broad daylight and from his understanding, nobody saw a damn thing. Jeff expected that kind of thing in the hood, but not in the modest suburban community she lived in. The other thing that puzzled him was how they managed to clean her out all in one swoop, especially since she lived on the second floor.
“Well, what did the police have to say?” Jeff queried further, finally locating the missing folder. He removed his glasses, then rubbed his itchy eyes. Allergies were kicking his ass something serious today.
“They gave me a number to call, but you know they’re not going to do shit! They don’t care about nobody but their own,” Ménage retorted. “They may never recover my things and I wouldn’t be surprised if my shit was sitting up in the pawn shop by now.”
“Well, try to calm down. I know you’re mad, but everything’s going to be okay. Besides, all that was materialistic shit. Thank God you weren’t home when they broke in,” Jeff said, hoping to make her feel a little better about the situation.
“But that was everything I had,” Ménage said, crying once again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now,” she murmured.
“Listen—”
“Ughm! I’m interested in buying a car,” a voice called out to Jeff.
Jeff quickly turned around and his face lit up in utter disbelief, causing him to pause instantaneously. “Baby, I’m goi
ng to have to call you right back.” He stood up from the chair. “But don’t worry. I’ll be there to pick you up. Go ahead and pack what you need for the next few days until we can figure something out.”
“Okay, baby,” Ménage said, sounding as if she were scared for her dear life. “I’ll be at Tiffany’s.”
“All right. Talk to you soon.” Jeff slipped his cell phone in his pocket and rushed over to the young man he hadn’t seen in over a year. “Canvas Green. What’s been up with you, man?” he said, embracing in a half-shoulder hug and slap of the hands.
“Nothing much. Out here grinding. Trying to get it, ya know.”
Jeff shot him a disapproving look.
“Naw, not like that.” Canvas chuckled loosely. “I’m a barber now. I cut hair in Oak Cliff at Precisionz Cuts.”
Jeff drew his neck back and gave Canvas a onceover. That’s when he noticed Canvas was no longer rocking the long braids. His hair was cut in a bald fade. “Precisionz Cuts, huh?”
“Yep. Matter fact, I got something for you.” Canvas reached in his knapsack and handed Jeff a flyer and a CD. One side of the flyer promoted Canvas as a barber, but when Jeff flipped it over, it was a picture of Canvas with a mic in his hand. He was promoting his single, Better Days.
“Singer, barber…man, tell me something you don’t do.” Jeff chuckled.
“I do it all. Like I told you before, I’m a hustler and entrepreneur by blood. This shit is engrained in me.” He laughed, poking his chest out. “Can’t help that I was the chosen one,” he said cockily.
Jeff laughed as well, all while thinking he hadn’t changed a bit. Still the same cocky son-of-a-gun he’d hired a year ago. “Man, that’s good. I’m really proud of you.”
“Thanks,” Canvas said.
He shifted his attention to the young lady standing beside Canvas. She looked no older than Deandra. He stuck his hand out to shake hers. “And what’s your name?”
“Anaya,” the little girl answered.
“Nice meeting you, Anaya.”