Twisted Vows of Seduction

by N’Tyse

  As she got up to finish packing what little belongings she would take with her, she started to cry. She didn’t know where she was going, but she was going. She couldn’t do this anymore.

  She stopped when she heard the doorbell. It was him, she thought. The last thing she wanted was to see him right now. It would make this that much harder. She had wanted their last moment together to be her last memory of him. She had wanted to hold on to that.

  She hurried to the door to answer it and as soon as she did, Maribel barged inside.

  “Maribel!” Naomi said surprised. She tried to hide the tears misted in her eyes as Maribel walked right past her without uttering a word. The woman reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. Naomi had known she wouldn’t give up the bottle. She knew it the day she’d dropped out of the rehab program they had been in together. It was where they had first met. Where they voluntarily shared their battles and addiction with alcohol. Where they traded stories about how it had ruined their lives and the lives of their families. Naomi remembered thinking the first time she saw her, What’s a pretty white woman like that doing in a place like this? She’d found out very soon that like drugs, alcohol didn’t discriminate. The counselor had told them all as they sat there waiting for the secret cure, that the first step was admitting that there was a problem. Maribel had been in denial, Naomi remembered. She was addicted to alcohol and prescription pills. And looking at her now, nothing hadn’t changed.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” Naomi said, watching Maribel’s eyes scope the place.

  Maribel finally turned to her and it was only then that she noticed the woman’s mascara-streaked face. “Are you okay, Maribel?”

  If looks could kill, Naomi would have taken her last breath right then, right there.

  “You know, Naomi, it breaks my heart that you haven’t been completely honest with me. After all I’ve done to try to help you.” Maribel allowed her words to register fully. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  Naomi was completely caught off-guard. “I don’t believe I know what this is about.”

  “Sure you don’t.” Maribel walked over to where Naomi stood and flipped over her left hand. “That, is what the hell this is about!” She clearly pointed to the diamond ring.

  Naomi took a deep breath and tried to quickly gather her thoughts. “I can explain—”

  “Too late! I have all I need. That’s why I’ve come to tell you I don’t need your help anymore. My husband and I have decided to reconcile. We’re going to work on our marriage,” she said without a break in her voice.

  A distressed look caused every part of Naomi’s face to crumple. “What do you mean, your husband?”

  “You seem like a pretty bright woman, Naomi. Figure it out.”

  At that moment, Naomi realized that she had been deceived by Greg’s own wife.

  “How could you do this to him?” Naomi managed as she glared at Vivian incredulously.

  Ignoring Naomi, Vivian snatched her purse wide open and whipped out a mustard-colored envelope. “Your plane ticket is in here.”

  “Plane ticket? Whaa—” Naomi gasped.

  “Yes. To Canada.”

  Naomi was speechless. Everything felt like a whirlwind. Her eyes were fixed on the woman who had led her to believe that her name had been, Maribel, when all along she was Greg’s wife. She had even gone by the alias in rehab. Maribel Strutters.

  “Call me when you arrive,” Vivian added.

  Naomi had completely become undone. She could hardly think straight.

  “Are you listening?”

  “I don’t know about this!” Her tone changed unexpectedly. “This is all so sudden.” She tried to catch her breath. It felt like she was drowning.

  “Here!” Vivian practically shoved the envelope into Naomi’s hand as if there were no other options to consider. “Your plane leaves out Friday morning.”

  Naomi kept her words at bay all while contemplating how she had unknowingly made a deal with the devil himself. Vivian had used her and she was too blind to see through all the lies. She had been plotting on her since day one. Everything Naomi had told her, everything she had confessed, Vivian used to her advantage. Her thoughts were scrambled and her heart ached for Greg. He needed to know the truth. He needed to know what this woman was capable of.

  “And give me the phone. You won’t be needing it any longer.”

  Naomi reluctantly walked over to the table and handed Vivian the phone she had loaned her.

  “Leave the keys under the mat. I’ll pick them up Friday,” Vivian said matter-of-factly. She headed for the door then stopped in her tracks once again. “It’ll hurt much less if you make yourself forget that it ever happened,” Vivian suggested. “So…I’ll warn you now. Stay the fuck away from my husband,” she threatened, her soft voice wrapped in pure malice. “Or you’re going to wish like hell you never met me.” With that she walked off.

  “Where’s the rest of the money you promised me?” Naomi called out to her.

  “You’re wearing it,” Vivian said smugly as she slammed the door behind her.

  The sound of that door closing was like Naomi’s own life ending. She let her tears roll down her face as she stood there. How could he do this to her? How could he go back to her after everything she’d done to him? Didn’t he know she was trying to drive him crazy? That she wanted evidence to use against him? That she was an impetuous alcoholic who didn’t know a damn thing about loving him.

  Naomi needed to talk to him. At least once. She needed to tell him the truth and express her role in all of it. She was willing to take responsibility for her part, but he needed to know that his wife was the real monster. That she had set this whole thing up. As tears rushed from her eyes, she felt herself growing weaker. She questioned if she should fight it or if it was easier to let it all go and forget she and Greg ever happened, as Vivian had insisted she do.

  28

  “Ewww-wee, girl, all these bourgeois bitches up in here,” Tiffany piped as they walked through the Bank of America lobby. All eyes were on him and he dared to not notice it.

  Ménage walked ahead feeling as if she were the bank’s president as all eyes switched to their direction. She was dressed in the finest of fashions, and her hair was combed back in a long straight ponytail that hung to the lower part of her back.

  They stood in line and when the two available tellers called them up, they each went to separate windows.

  “How may I help you?” the cheerful young, dark-skinned girl asked. She had the biggest ears Ménage had ever seen in her entire life, but she had beautiful dimples.

  “Hi. I came to cash my settlement check,” she began, handing the woman a personal check written in the amount of $50,000.

  The teller looked over the check carefully, maintaining her friendly customer service smile. “Ms. Greer, may I have your right thumbprint here.”

  Ménage placed her thumb in the inkpad and then stuck her print on the check.

  “And may I see two forms of identification.”

  Ménage handed the teller her driver’s license and credit card. She studied them closely. “And here’s my social security card, too,” she said, laying it on the counter as well.

  “Thank you.”

  The teller began pecking away at her computer, and as she did so, Ménage looked over at Tiffany to see how things were going on his end. She could hear the teller asking him for the same identification Rhonda had just asked her.

  “Ms. Greer, how would you like your cash back?” Rhonda asked.

  Ménage tried to hold her excitement in. “Whatever’s easiest for you, Rhonda,” she said politely.

  “Okay, Ms. Greer. I’ll have to step to the back to get your cash, but I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time,” Ménage said. “I’m in no hurry, honey.”

  “Please help yourself to some coffee and cookies while you wait. We’re also running a great promotion. If you open a checking account with us today, you’ll
receive a Black & Decker toaster.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Ménage said as she made her way to the lobby. Shortly after, Tiffany followed.

  “Bitch, we about to be paid!” he said the second he sat down.

  “Sshhh! They may hear your loudmouth ass.”

  Tiffany quickly placed a hand over his mouth. He wrapped his turquoise and fuchsia scarf around his neck and began messing with his eyelashes. “Ewww, chile, I think my lash is trying to fall off. I can’t have that. Let me go to the bathroom and fix this hot ass mess.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  Tiffany looked at Ménage as if he had been offended. “Ugh…no!”

  “Hurry your ass up,” Ménage whispered through clenched teeth.

  Tiffany picked up his purse and dashed off to save his artificial eyelash while Ménage sat there patiently waiting for her money. She calculated how much she would have in total. She hated to have to give Tiffany $10,000 of it for coming with her, but she figured there was plenty more where that came from so she didn’t sweat it.

  Minutes later Tiffany reappeared from around the corner twisting harder than a two-dollar hoe. He reclaimed his spot and picked up a magazine off the table. After fifteen minutes had passed, Ménage finally said something. “What the hell is taking them so long?” she wondered.

  “Hell if I know. Go see.”

  Ménage tossed her napkin and coffee cup in the trash. She strutted back over to the teller window. Rhonda was nowhere in sight. She asked the other teller how much longer the wait would be.

  “Let me go check for you, ma’am.”

  “Thank you,” Ménage said, disguising her frustration.

  The teller returned rather quickly. “They said they’re counting out the money now.” She smiled.

  Ménage nodded her head. “Oh okay.” Satisfied, she walked back over to where Tiffany was. “They’re counting the money,” she told him.

  “Damn, it takes that long. Don’t they have one of those machines that count the money for you? Wheww…this is ridiculous!”

  Ménage looked at him as if he were crazy. He was acting as if this money was really his and he was a real customer.

  Another ten minutes passed. Ménage only knew as she kept sending Slug’s calls straight to voicemail. Didn’t he get the memo that she wasn’t going back to him or Detroit? She was not about to ruin her Hollywood reputation before it even got off the ground. She decided that she was going to go straight to Sprint after all this and have her number changed.

  “Ms. Greer,” Rhonda called out.

  “Mr. Hernandez,” the other teller who had helped Tiffany said.

  “About damn time,” Tiffany huffed under his breath.

  They waltzed over to the window and when they got there, there was no money in sight.

  “Ms. Greer, I’m sorry to inform you that we are unable to cash your check today.”

  Ménage drew her neck back. “What! Why?”

  “Because these checks were stolen.”

  “Oh hell no!” Tiffany exclaimed. “I didn’t steal a damn thing.” Ménage shot him a look and he ignored it.

  “So for that reason we’re going to have to retain the checks as evidence.”

  “Evidence!” Ménage and Tiffany said in unison.

  When they heard the lobby door chirp, they both turned around to find two Dallas police officers walking inside.

  “Fuck,” Ménage hissed under her breath.

  Tiffany shrieked. “Bitch, I cannot go to jail today! You better tell them something.”

  Ménage looked back at Rhonda as the officers approached her and Tiffany. “There has to be a mistake. I had no idea,” she pleaded.

  “Ma’am, place your hands behind your back,” the first officer said.

  “Officer, there’s been some kind of mix-up,” Ménage tried explaining. “If you give me a minute to make a phone call, I promise I can straighten all this out.”

  “Lord, please don’t let them take me to jail,” Tiffany began praying as he was placed in handcuffs as well. “I’ll do anything. I’ll stop smoking, I’ll stop drinking. I’ll even go to church every Sunday,” he whined.

  The officers walked each of them over to the lobby. “Take a seat,” the lead officer instructed. He whipped out his writing pad and then walked over to the tellers to get their statements.

  “Tiffany, stop panicking!” Ménage grimaced.

  “Bitch, I got anxiety and a bad heart.” He winced. “I can’t go to jail. Do you know what they do to pretty girls like me?”

  Ménage rolled her eyes. If she had never been embarrassed by him before, she sure as hell was now.

  “They make us their bitch,” Tiffany retorted. “And I be damned if I’m going to be somebody’s bitch and not get paid. Ooooo, Lord help me father.”

  Ménage instantly regretted bringing Tiffany’s over-the-top ass. She tried to think of a way to get them out of this, but this time when the lobby door chirped, she realized all too soon that they were both going to jail today.

  Jeff had the nastiest scowl on his face as he bypassed Ménage and walked straight over to the teller area where the two officers were standing.

  “We’re so screwed!” Tiffany chimed.

  Jeff, the tellers, and the police officers headed in their direction. Ménage tried to show a sense of remorse, although she wasn’t feeling it. She did what any other bitch would have done if they had access to that kind of money.

  “Sir, do you know these two individuals?” the officer asked.

  Ménage could see the fire burning in Jeff’s eyes as he darted them from her to Tiffany. His brows furrowed and his nose flared as it always did when he was upset. But Ménage swore she saw fumes coming out his head. He looked at her as if he wanted to choke the life out of her.

  “Yes, officer. I know them both.”

  “It’s up to you if you want to press charges, sir. We can take them down and get them processed for check fraud so that you don’t have to worry about this happening again.”

  Jeff continued to look at Ménage with unbelieving eyes. She worked up just enough tears to start a nice drum roll. She heard Tiffany sniffling; only she knew his tears were real. Jeff didn’t look the least bit moved by her performance.

  “Those tears don’t work today.”

  She finally averted her eyes, wishing they would get it over with instead of making her and Tiffany the laughingstock of the bank. Everybody that walked in looked right at them. She could hear their snickers a mile away.

  “I would have given you my last dime,” Jeff said. “I trusted you! My daughter trusted you!”

  Ménage couldn’t stand to look at him, but she could see Tiffany’s face quietly begging him to not press charges.

  “I don’t want to ever see either of you again,” Jeff said. He turned to the officer. “I won’t press charges this time.”

  Tiffany exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Jeff!” he said.

  Ménage, on the other hand, didn’t utter a peep.

  “Thanks for calling me, Rhonda.”

  “No problem, Mr. Jackson. I’ll make notations and freeze all the accounts until we can get them closed out and new ones opened.”

  “Thank you. Call me if you need anything.” He shook both of the officers’ hands and walked out of the building.

  The officers turned to Ménage and Tiffany. “The two of you better consider yourselves awfully lucky. But before we let you go, we’re going to take down some more information in case you get the itch to try this again.”

  About ten minutes later, Ménage and Tiffany walked out of the bank free as birds.

  “Gurl, I thought I was a goner!” Tiffany said as he nervously shuffled through his purse for his keys. As they walked through the parking lot, a BMW rolled up. The driver rolled down the window and Ménage and Tiffany both saw that it was Jeff.

  “You wanted my money? Here you go!” he said, throwing out a handful of pennies in their direction.

  “Fuc
k you!” Ménage yelled, grabbing the attention of some of the people in the parking lot.

  “We tried that, remember?” Jeff hollered. “Dirty bitch!”

  Ménage and Tiffany walked as fast as they could toward the car and got in. She was beyond humiliated, but even more upset that she didn’t get the money. They watched Jeff drive off before finally pulling out.

  “You think he gon’ follow us?” Tiffany asked.

  Ménage burst out laughing. “Naw. He just mad ’cause he got his little feelings hurt,” she said. “He’ll be all right.”

  “You are one coldhearted bitch,” Tiffany said, firing up a cigarette. He offered Ménage one, but she declined.

  “I need a blunt after all this,” Ménage said before placing her shades over her eyes.

  Tiffany looked over at her. “Diva, what you gon’ do now?”

  “I’ma keep doing what I do best. Get money!”

  29

  “Daddy, where’s Ebony?” Deandra asked the instant she walked through the door. She hadn’t seen Ménage’s car and Jeff knew she would be looking for her. Especially considering how well Deandra seemed to take to her.

  “She’s not here,” Jeff said as he took his keys and cell phone out of his pockets and laid them on the table. “And she won’t be back.” Just that quick he’d saved himself from having to answer a million questions.

  “But…I thought the two of you were getting married.”

  Jeff’s face seemed to swell. “Married!” He’d banned that word from his vocabulary months ago. So as his cheekbones pushed his eyes into a squint, he looked at her wondering where in the hell that ludicrous idea had come from.

  “Deandra, why would you think Ebony and I were getting married?”

  “Because she told me you were.”

  Jeff snatched off his tie. The anger rising inside of him had his blood boiling. He clenched his jaws.

  “Ebony told you we were getting married?” He wanted to make sure he’d heard her right the first time.

  Deandra nodded profusely. Not an ounce of doubt in her face. “She told me I would be the flower girl and that Nadine…”