Another Woman's Man

by Shelly Ellis

  “Calm the hell down,” Dawn muttered. “You can’t possibly be this pissed about Keds. What is this really about?”

  “I’ll tell you what this is about!” Cynthia shouted, finally unable to hold in her rising frustration at all her sisters anymore. “This is about the fact that I’ve been busting my ass trying to make this wedding perfect for Mama, agonizing over every little detail and organizing everything even though Mama and Reggie wouldn’t make one damn decision! And now this psycho stalker is trying to break them up! Now I have that to worry about too!”

  Her sisters stared in amazement at her outburst.

  “And none of you—not one of you has been of any help! You’ve been too busy playing house with your new baby and millionaire hubby,” Cynthia shouted, staring angrily at Lauren. “Or you’re too busy being pregnant!” She turned to Stephanie. “Or falling in love!” she scoffed at Dawn. “Meanwhile, this whole fucking wedding has been hanging on by a thread and I’m the only one holding it together!”

  “What on earth is all the shouting about?” Yolanda Gibbons asked irritably as she swung open an adjoining door. She stood in her robe and bedroom slippers with her hand on her hip. “The makeup artist and hairdresser could hear you all carrying on like when you were bickering little girls! The guests might hear you too!”

  “Sorry, Mama,” they all murmured in unison.

  “Now, one of you come in here and help me get into my gown. No one in here can figure out the clasps.” Yolanda fixed them with a stern gaze. “I’m already running late.”

  “All right. I’ll do it,” Cynthia said tiredly, walking toward the opened French door.

  “No, I’ll do it,” Lauren insisted, grabbing her sister’s arm. “You stay here and take a breather,” she whispered before scurrying toward their mother.

  Cynthia watched as Lauren shut the door behind her. Cynthia slowly walked to a velvet medallion couch and sat down before dropping her head into her hands.

  “Cindy, I’m sorry you’ve been carrying the burden of this by yourself,” Dawn said softly seconds later.

  “I needed you guys and you’ve all been MIA,” Cynthia mumbled behind her hands.

  “I know. That’s why I’m apologizing. We didn’t mean to—”

  “I hate to interrupt, but can someone give me a back rub?” Stephanie whimpered.

  Dawn sighed. “Scoot forward,” she ordered Stephanie before sitting on the wingback chair’s armrest. Stephanie obeyed her command and Dawn began to massage her sister’s lower back. She turned back toward Cynthia. “Look, I know it’s been trying, but don’t let it overwhelm you. What wedding doesn’t come with its share of drama? What else in our lives doesn’t?”

  “I just can’t take any more of this,” Cynthia muttered. “This is too much drama! I mean, why can’t it just be a simple wedding? Who the hell has to get a security team for their nuptials to make sure no one walks in with a butcher knife to take out the bride?”

  “So I guess this stalker thing has gotten out of hand, then,” Dawn said.

  “Way out of hand! It’s gotten so crazy that even I couldn’t hide it from Mama anymore.”

  “Really? But Mama doesn’t seem upset by it,” Dawn said. “She’s acting as if everything is fine.”

  “Of course she is! She’s this close to her jackpot! She isn’t going to let this Beatrice chick intimidate her. And you know me. I don’t intimidate easily either. But I swear to you, this woman is crazy, with a capital ‘C!’ She made a death threat!”

  “A death threat?” Dawn murmured.

  “Yeah, I know! And Mama won’t even report it to the police!”

  “Well, we’ll all keep an eye out for crazy today,” Dawn said. “Hopefully, after the wedding, Mama can get a restraining order. Until then, we’ll just have to stay on our toes.”

  Cynthia sighed again.

  An hour later and eighteen minutes behind schedule, the Gibbons girls lined up near the doors to one of Glenn Dale’s sitting rooms where the ceremony was about to take place. At the sound of violins playing the first notes of Pachelbel’s Canon in D major, Lauren stepped through the doorway, smiling. Stephanie waddled in after her, followed by Dawn. Cynthia brought up the rear, being the eldest sister and the maid of honor.

  As she walked inside, she surveyed the room. The flowers were as she ordered after haranguing the florist for several days to make sure the proper freesias were brought in from Ecuador. The decorator had kept the decorations minimalist and tasteful. The reverend and Reginald stood on the raised stage that she had brought in especially for the wedding.

  About sixty or so people sat in the gilded Chiavari chairs on each side of the red-carpeted aisle. Cynthia spotted several familiar faces in the crowd. Most were friends of her mothers and a few were business associates of Reginald.

  A minute later, the music the string duo was playing changed and her mother stood in the doorway, looking splendid in her off-white empire-waist gown, sparkling lace bolero jacket, and hat-style short tulle veil. Her bouquet was a more luxurious version of her daughters’ bouquets. Everyone rose to their feet.

  Yolanda slowly walked up the aisle alone, smiling at Reginald. He gazed proudly at his bride. His rotund chest puffed out another inch.

  When Yolanda reached the front, she took Reginald’s hand. The music ceased and the room fell silent.

  “You may all take your seats,” the reverend rumbled.

  Cynthia breathed a sigh of relief, happy that everything seemed to be going so smoothly.

  “Dearly beloved,” the reverend began, “we are gathered here today, in the sight of God and this company, to witness and celebrate one of life’s greatest blessings. We are here to recognize and bless the union of”—he stared down at the sheet of paper hidden inside his Bible—“. . . of Yolanda Gibbons Hirschfield Banks Esposito Thomas Parsons.” He looked up in awe after saying all her last names. “And, uh, Reginald Whitfield III.”

  The tenseness in Cynthia’s muscles finally began to ease and she settled into the ceremony.

  “Reggie!” a voice boomed from the entryway minutes later.

  A hush fell over the room. Even the reverend—who had been droning on during introductions about the sacredness of marriage and a wife’s sanctified duty to obey her husband, drawing droll eye rolls from many of the women in attendance—suddenly fell silent.

  Cynthia went stark still when she heard the shout, knowing instantly who had caused the disturbance.

  Oh, God, Cynthia thought with desperation. How the hell did she get in here?

  Cynthia had at least three guards posted at the door who had cost Reginald a pretty penny. She had ordered them to do a full surveillance of the room and the first floor. How had this nutcase managed to make it through the front door, let alone to the ceremony?

  Reginald better ask for his goddamn money back, Cynthia thought indignantly.

  “Reggie, you know you hear me!” Beatrice shouted, stomping up the center aisle with arms swinging, sounding like a rhino making its way to a watering hole.

  Yolanda’s mouth fell open as she watched Beatrice approach while Reggie went bug-eyed with terror.

  Cynthia turned to find Beatrice wearing a brown uniform that one of the groundskeepers would wear, except Beatrice’s large frame was barely contained in the tight cotton fabric. Her large bosoms burst over the top of the zippered front.

  So that’s how the bitch got in, Cynthia realized. She wondered if there was some poor gardener knocked unconscious somewhere on Glenn Dale’s grounds, wearing only his T-shirt and boxers.

  Cynthia watched as Beatrice came to a halt only a few feet away from the bride, groom, and the rest of the bridal party. Beatrice yanked off the brown baseball cap that was partially hiding her face.

  “Reggie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Beatrice bellowed with her hands on her hips.

  “Now, Bea,” Reginald said, holding up his hands, “don’t cause a scene!”

  “Don’t cause a scene?
Don’t cause a scene?” she screeched. Her head looked like it was about to explode. “You told me last night while we were in bed together that you loved me.”

  Cynthia’s eyes widened with shock. So did her mother’s. In bed together?

  “And yet here you are, about to marry this . . . this two-bit heffa! You said we would be together until the day we died, Reggie!”

  “Hey!” Dawn shouted. “Don’t call my mama a two-bit heffa!”

  “Yeah!” Stephanie yelled, holding her aching back while glaring at Beatrice.

  “Enough of this bullshit,” Cynthia muttered and stepped forward. “Security! Where the hell is security?”

  Two burly men in suits suddenly galloped into the room, looking confused.

  Cynthia slowly shook her head in exasperation, then snapped her fingers at the guards and pointed at Beatrice. “Do your damn jobs and remove this crazy bitch from the premises—now! Or I’ll have to take care of her myself!”

  As the men stepped forward, Beatrice shoved her hand into the collar of her T-shirt and began to rifle around in her bra.

  What the hell is she doing now?

  Seconds later, Beatrice removed her hand from her bosom, revealing a petite .38 revolver. A few people gasped. Several shouted in alarm.

  Cynthia felt as if she was going to pee her pants. She was at a loss for what to do next. Her worst nightmare had manifested in full living color.

  “Stand back!” Beatrice turned and barked at the guards. “Stand right there!”

  The men came to an abrupt stop. Panicked wedding guests, making their way toward the doors, halted.

  Beatrice turned back around toward the front of the room. Tears ran down her plump cheeks, giving her raccoon eyes and smudging her foundation.

  “How could you do this?” she sobbed. “How could you do this to me, Reggie? You know how much I love you!”

  “Baby,” he said softly. “Put the gun down. We can talk about this if you put the gun down.”

  Cynthia noticed out of the corner of her eye Stephanie’s man, Keith, lean toward her brother-in-law, Crisanto, and whisper something into his ear. They both stood in the audience only a few feet away from Beatrice, who was still ranting. Cris nodded and a second later, Keith started to ease toward the aisle. Cris followed him.

  Cynthia frowned. What the hell are they doing?

  “Beatrice . . . baby . . . I swear to you, if you—”

  “Don’t you swear a damn thing to me, you lying, cheating S-O-B! I’m telling you now, if you expect me to play second fiddle to this heffa, you’ve got another thing comin’!”

  With a trembling hand, Beatrice raised her arm and pointed the gun at Yolanda.

  “It’s not happening, Reggie. I’ll kill her and kill you rather than let that happen,” she said flatly.

  “Oh, my God!” Yolanda gasped, taking a step back and dropping her lush bouquet to the stage.

  “Damn it, do something!” Cynthia shouted to the guards, who seemed to be virtually frozen in ice near the doors. “Don’t just stand there! Do something!” she squealed.

  But the guards didn’t do a damn thing. Cynthia could feel panic make the bile rise in her throat as Beatrice stopped trembling.

  “Say good-bye to your heffa, Reggie,” Beatrice ordered.

  Cynthia closed her eyes, preparing herself for the boom of gunfire, but instead she heard Beatrice scream and then a loud thump, followed by more shouting. Cynthia slowly opened one eye, then the other to find that Cris had tackled Beatrice. The fat woman now whimpered and writhed underneath the former NFL player. Meanwhile, Keith had one hand firmly pressed against the back of Beatrice’s head, shoving her face into the red wedding carpet, while the other hand wrenched the revolver away from her.

  “Got it!” Keith shouted. He opened the revolver’s chamber and dumped the bullets onto the floor. “Everything’s OK, everybody. It’s under control.”

  Cynthia dropped her hand to her chest and let out a long breath of relief.

  So men can be useful after all.

  “No, everything is not OK!” Lauren suddenly shouted.

  Oh, Lord, what next? Cynthia turned to her sister. “What? What the hell happened now?”

  Her eyes settled on Lauren, who was clutching Stephanie’s hand. Meanwhile Stephanie was holding up the hem of her gown, revealing the dreaded Keds. She also was standing in a puddle of water.

  “Steph’s water broke,” Lauren said. Her doe eyes were wide with alarm.

  With that statement, all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 29

  “I know that I’m supposed to sound utterly sophisticated and blasé about this, but can I just say that I am so excited?” Madison McGuire gushed. “I feel like I could do cartwheels!” She paused. “Well, I would, if it wouldn’t throw out my back.”

  Dawn laughed as they strolled across the hardwood floors.

  Gallery staff and contractors darted around the two women in a frantic effort to prepare for tomorrow night’s premiere exhibit. The sound of drilling and hammering filled the massive room as workers hung the last few paintings and Lucite plaques on the walls. Tables were being set up along the front where the platters of hors d’oeuvres and wine would be served.

  The gallery had been renovated slightly since Maddie had purchased it from Martin Sawyer months ago. She had removed some of the more extreme and off-putting industrial touches, but the space still had a huge presence that Dawn admired. Any lingering doubts Dawn might have had about leaving Templeton Gallery disappeared while she walked through this new space.

  “You should be excited,” Dawn said. “Tomorrow is the first official showing at your gallery. It’ll be a big night.”

  “My gallery! My gallery!” Maddie shouted, clasping her hands together as she gazed around the exhibition hall in awe. “Oh, it’s just surreal! A small-town girl like me having her own gallery? Who would have thought . . .” Her voice trailed off. She turned to Dawn, still grinning. When she saw Dawn’s intensely focused expression, she frowned. “But you don’t look excited. Is something wrong?”

  Dawn looked up from her iPad, where she had typed her to-do list for the day. She had just added another item to the list. “No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just . . . Well, my job is to make sure that everything runs smoothly so that the gallery’s first showing goes off without a hitch. Unfortunately, that means dealing with a lot of last-minute details that can include a lot of hassles. I don’t usually get excited until the actual exhibit night.”

  “Oh,” Maddie said, looking deflated.

  And frankly, Dawn wanted to add, but couldn’t, I haven’t been able to work up much enthusiasm for anything lately.

  Emotionally she was still exhausted by the events of the last few days.

  First, it was her father’s death. Then she heard news that her stepmother wanted to cut her out of the will. Then she had made the heartbreaking decision to sever all ties with Xavier. Dawn thought she couldn’t possibly handle any more upheaval in her life—until that whole fiasco at her mother’s wedding. Being held at gunpoint by one of the groom’s crazy lovers hadn’t been fun. But thanks to Keith and Cris’s quick thinking, no one had gotten hurt—well, no one except Beatrice, that is. Being tackled by a former NFL player wasn’t pretty. When Beatrice was finally dragged away by police, she had several bruises and a bad case of rug burn on her face to show for it.

  Of course, as Beatrice was being shoved into the back of a sheriff’s office patrol car, Stephanie was being driven away at high speed to the local hospital. She delivered her baby girl later that night after much pushing and screaming and lots of cursing at poor, beleaguered Keith. Zoe Hendricks entered the world at 8:58 p.m. weighing seven pounds, eight ounces. Stephanie said Zoe seemed to take more after her father in temperament since so far her little angel seemed tranquil and content, though Dawn bet only time would tell if Zoe would grow up to be a spitfire like her mother. No one who had Gibbons DNA had ever been described as “tranquil.” Dawn suspected
that Zoe would bring her own mix of drama to the Gibbons clan when her time came.

  You can bet on it, Dawn now thought with a smirk as she and Maddie approached her office door.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t realize you were so busy, Dawn! And look at me blathering on and on to you,” Maddie said, looking flustered.

  “You weren’t ‘blathering’! Besides, I can always make time in my schedule for you. You own this gallery, Maddie. Remember that! This is your baby, and if you want to talk to your gallery director or ask questions, you have every right to.”

  “You’re right. But even a gallery director needs some peace and quiet to get things done.” She patted Dawn on the shoulder and turned. “I’ll let you get back to work. See you at the exhibit tomorrow night!”

  Dawn waved. “See you!”

  She watched Maddie head back down the hall. Dawn sighed and stepped into her office, going over her to-do list again. It would all get done. She knew it would. She just wished she didn’t feel so down. Her dark mood made each day seem longer and each task seem harder.

  “Gotta get out of this funk, girl,” she mumbled to herself before pulling out her office chair and sitting down behind her glass-top desk.

  But she didn’t know how. She was still mourning the loss of her father and the end of her short-lived romance with Xavier.

  She glanced at the photograph of Herb that she now kept on her desk. It was a quick digital shot she had taken of him with her camera phone during one of their “dates.” He had been smiling and waving at the camera as he raised a cup of coffee to his lips.

  Dawn ran her finger over the picture frame and gave a forlorn smile. She missed her father. She missed him dearly. She wished she could talk to him now and share her doubts and misgivings. She wished she could ask him if she’d made the right decision when it came to Xavier.

  But I don’t have him here now, she thought, pulling her hand away from the picture frame.

  She had to trust her own instinct on this one, and her instinct said to put as much distance between Xavier and herself as possible.

  With that, she returned her attention to the stack of contracts on her desk, pushing her sadness and heartache aside for now.