by J. D. Mason
He softly kissed her lips. “Just close them. Trust me and close them.”
He was Phillip Durham, the man who had come for her whenever she needed him to. He was always there for her, and Phillip had never lied to Lonnie.
“I won’t hurt you, Lonnie. I never would and you know this.”
The warmth of his breath washing over the side of her face was soothing. Phillip’s heart beat slow and deep against her back. It was comforting and made her feel secure and safe. He pulled her so close to him that their two bodies nearly felt like one. Lonnie wanted to fall back to sleep. With one hand, Phillip lightly began to stroke her belly with his thumb. The rhythmic pattern of his breathing began to lull her into a calm and peaceful place, the kind of place Lonnie couldn’t get to without taking an Ambien. His touch was relaxed and careful.
“You are so beautiful to me,” he whispered. “Do you understand that? Do you understand how lovely you are to me?”
Lonnie felt herself smiling. Phillip raised his hand from her stomach and brushed his fingers against the side of her neck. He nuzzled his nose against her, inhaled, and released a low, lustful moan. “Lovely,” he whispered again.
Lonnie didn’t realize that his hips were grinding against her, or that her body had begun to open up to accept his advances. She gradually thrust her pelvis against his. Phillip’s thumb grazed against one of her nipples that had aroused to become erect. She gasped at how sensitive it was. Lonnie almost opened her eyes.
“It’s alright,” he said, breathlessly, over and over again, like a chant.
He had slipped his fingers between her panties and her skin. Lonnie’s body reacted instinctively at first, but the kisses he planted on her neck relaxed her even more. With one long, slender finger, Phillip tenderly began to stroke the lips of her pussy. Soon, he began to part them, and dip his finger slightly between them, grazing it gently across her clit.
Lonnie gasped and began to spread her thighs even more to accommodate him. She felt the wetness in her build at the excitement of being touched. She wanted this so much. Lonnie wanted to savor every second of his stroke, she thrust her hips against his palm, hungry for him to push deeper inside her. She hadn’t felt like this in so long—sexy, desirable, feminine.
No one knew how to make her cum the way Jordan did. No one’s dick felt as good inside her as his. Lonnie’s knees were drawn toward her chest, her thighs wide open, as she held him by the back of his neck, watching every delicious stroke of him as he drove deep inside her, and pulled himself out to the tip, until the head of his beautiful cock kissed the moist opening of her pussy.
He had her. Lonnie’s eyes locked on to Jordan’s and she knew that despite her best efforts to resist him, and to make him believe that she could take him or leave him—he had her.
Lonnie abruptly grabbed hold of Phillip’s hand, pulled it from inside her underwear, crawled out of bed, and disappeared inside the bathroom, where she slammed the door shut behind her.
“I—I’m sorry, Lonnie…” Phillip’s voice trailed off. “I thought you were enjoying it,” he finished dismally.
She was enjoying it, but for all the wrong reasons. Lonnie suddenly had tears in her eyes. “It’s not you, Phillip,” she said through the door. It’s me.” She stifled a sob. “I’m just one fucked-up bitch. That’s all.”
* * *
Phillip was scrambling eggs the next morning. He poured Lonnie a cup of coffee when she sat down at the kitchen island. She could scratch her own eyes out for how she’d acted with him the night before, but Phillip was a master at letting things ride. He kissed her cheek, put eggs on her plate, and asked her where the salt and pepper were as he scoured through the cabinets. If she’d have apologized to him for what happened, it would’ve offended him. And he didn’t seem to need an apology.
“So, this Edgar character killed his wife,” he casually mentioned over what he considered breakfast.
White people could make breakfast of coffee and eggs. Lonnie was sorely missing some bacon, sausage, toast, grits.
She nodded. “He didn’t come out and say it, but I implied it, and he didn’t really deny it.”
“Do you have proof?”
She shook her head. “In cases like this, proof is overrated. Beckman’s own conscience convicted him right in front of my eyes, and he never had to admit a thing, even though I had nothing and he maybe knew that I had nothing, but I had enough, and that’s all I needed, because he caved,” she said in one continuous breath.
“You’re good at that.” He smirked.
“Bullshitting people?”
“Yes.”
“I know, right. But that’s because I can usually read people, and I read old Edgar like the Bible. It was almost as if he couldn’t wait for someone to find out. Like he was relieved that he didn’t have to know what he did and have to keep it to himself.”
“So now what?”
“Well,” she said as she scooped more eggs into her mouth. “He gave me a name of Julian Gatewood’s old secretary. Harriett Grainger. Apparently, Harriett was real protective and loyal to Julian before he died.” Lonnie took a sip of coffee. “Beckman said he couldn’t guarantee anything, but that it was rumored that Harriett left Gatewood Industries after Julian died, and took a bunch of things with her. He said that she especially didn’t trust Beckman, so he suspected that she kept a close watch over everything he did.”
“Why?”
“Because she was like a mother hen to Julian. Watched over him like a hawk, to the point of being obsessive. And she was nosy.”
“Is she still alive?”
“She died fifteen years ago. But she had a daughter, living in the house she inherited from Harriett. Gloria Dawson. I don’t know. I just think that there’s got to be some kind of proof that Desi is Gatewood’s biological child.”
“And what if there isn’t?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know,” Lonnie said dismally.
“And what if there is?” he asked, sounding hopeful.
“Then we have the final answer to our last question of how do you bring down a king.”
He smiled. “And the answer is?”
“You dethrone him.”
“Well, I have to give you a high five.” He held up his palm. “You’ve masterfully turned his subjects against him.”
Lonnie slapped his palm. “Only Edgar. There’s still Claire.”
“His wife.”
“She’d drink his dirty bath water if it meant keeping him.”
He frowned. “What?”
“It’s an American analogy,” she explained. “It means that she’ll do anything for Jordan, and she’ll turn a blind eye to every bad thing he does.”
“Sounds like she’s going to be harder to break than Beckman.”
“Claire’s a delicate woman,” Lonnie explained introspectively. “She fights tooth and nail to stay balanced but she’s really standing on the edge of a cliff. She just needs one big push to send her over.”
The Bullets in Our Firefight
“Lonnie?” Desi couldn’t believe that it was really her. She stretched out her arms. “Oh, God! Lonnie!”
Talking to Lonnie over the phone didn’t make her real. Not as real as she was now as Desi embraced her. Lonnie was heavier; her hair much, much longer. Lonnie was rigid and cold. She was wounded.
Desi pulled back from hugging her, carefully pushed her hair aside, and stared at the scar crossing her eye and disappearing into her hair line. All this time, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something terrible had happened to her friend, but even when she did finally get that call she’d been hoping for all those months, Desi could tell that there was something different about Lonnie, just from the sound in her voice.
The two of them stood in Desi’s living room. “What happened?” Desi asked shakily. Lonnie had never said over the phone why she’d disappeared all of a sudden. She’d never told Desi what had happened to her, but now she couldn’t deny it. “Tell m
e what happened, Lonnie.” Desi had tears in her eyes.
Lonnie stood at attention like some defiant soldier. “Guess, Desi. And I’ll bet you get it right the first time.”
Desi brought her hands to her face and shook her head. “I knew it. I knew it.”
Jordan.
“Why? What— He found out that we were friends,” she said. “He found out that you knew me?”
That’s exactly what happened. She knew it even if Lonnie never did admit it herself. The way Lonnie stood there, so guarded and defensive, staring down her nose at Desi like she blamed her for what he’d done to her. And maybe she should’ve. Maybe what happened to her, whatever that meant, had been because of Desi.
“I’m so sorry, girl,” Desi said tearfully. She reached for Lonnie again, but Lonnie withdrew, and Desi understood why. “I’m sorry.”
Lonnie walked past Desi, and sat down on the chair farthest across the room. Desi hesitated, but decided to sit on the sofa. The tension between them was unnatural and powerful. This woman had been as close to Desi as a sister, maybe even closer, and now it felt like they were more distant than strangers. It was almost as if they were enemies.
“Congratulations,” Lonnie said, breaking the awkward extended silence between them. “On the success of the book. I read it, Des. It was a powerful story,” she said earnestly. “I mean that.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Lonnie, without your help.”
Lonnie showed no emotion. “I think you redeemed yourself to a lot of people. And I think that it was good for you to finally tell your side of the story.”
Desi didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure how to take Lonnie. Her words said one thing, but her actions, her body language, and the expression on her face said something else entirely.
“And kudos again for your new fashion line.” Lonnie forced a smile. “I checked it out online. Nice. I ordered some shoes.”
Desi smiled. “You could’ve asked. I’d have given you some shoes.”
“Again, I think you’ve got a winner on your hands with Konvictions. And you deserve it. Success. You deserve all of your success.”
“How are you, Lonnie?” Desi asked, to change the subject. She felt uncomfortable as hell listening to Lonnie go on and on with accolades over Desi’s accomplishments when it was painfully obvious that she really didn’t mean any of it. “Are you still working?”
“No,” she said curtly. “Not as a photographer. I do some freelance writing, but that’s about it.”
“Well, what brings you back to Dallas?” Desi asked guardedly. She suspected that she knew what the answer might be, but Desi hoped she was wrong.
Lonnie looked at Desi almost as if she knew that she didn’t need to answer that question.
Desi looked away.
“I knew that night that he was above the law, Des. Jordan can do just about any damn thing he pleases and some high-powered team of lawyers will come to his rescue, just like they came to Olivia’s when she shot Julian, and it would’ve been my beaten and bloody ass they’d have arrested for trespassing against his fist.”
She was right. Those people had too much money and influence to be held accountable to the law like everybody else. “It’s a shame,” Desi muttered. “But it’s the truth.”
“I thought about waving a copy of that birth certificate in front of the audience on the nightly news, but even that wouldn’t do any good. It’s a piece of paper. Ultimately, Jordan would make a joke out of it, and a fool out of me,” Lonnie said matter-of-factly.
She was right about that too. The Gatewoods were used to weathering scandal. They did it better than most people did, and they always managed to come out the other side of it better than when they went into it.
“I need your help, Desi,” Lonnie finally stated.
“Of course, Lonnie,” Desi said wholeheartedly. “You know that all you have to do is ask. Whatever you need, girl. I’m here.”
Lonnie reached into her purse, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to Desi. “She lives in Tyler, and I’d like for you to pay her a visit, Desi. She has something for you. Something she won’t give to anybody else but you.”
“What’s this about? Who is this?” she asked, studying the note Lonnie gave her.
“It’s about you finally getting what’s yours, and me finally seeing Jordan get his.”
“What is she supposed to give me?” Desi asked.
“Proof, Desi. Proof that Julian was your real father.”
Desi leaned back on the sofa and sighed. Not this again. For years, speculation that she was Julian’s daughter filled Desi’s fantasies, but there had never been any proof that he was, and even if he was, what difference did it make now?
“If Jordan knew, he’d lose his fuckin’ mind,” Lonnie said menacingly, a glint of life flashing in her eyes for the first time since the woman walked into Desi’s house. “It would be the nail in the coffin for him, Desi. He’s not Julian’s son, and he knows that now, but to find out that you are Julian’s blood relative … Do you know what that could mean?”
Desi didn’t bother to answer. Jordan wasn’t an issue anymore and she’d been living her life just fine not hearing his name, but lately it seemed that everybody was trying to push him back to the forefront of Desi’s life. Desi was his Achilles heel, still, and apparently the worst way to get to him, even after all this time, was by using Desi. Lonnie knew it, and so did his sister, June.
“You could lay claim to everything Gatewood, Desi, from the corporation to the name. Hell, you could change your name to Gatewood if you wanted to. What do you think that would do to him? What do you think it would do to him if you filed a petition for your rightful percentage of that business? And you could, Desi. There are lawyers out there, good ones, who would sell their own mommas to take on a case like this. Even the publicity alone would be enough to—”
Desi tossed the piece of paper on the coffee table, stood up, and paced across the room.
“What’s wrong?” Lonnie asked, confused.
“Do you hear yourself, Lonnie?” Desi asked, exasperated. “Do you hear what you’re saying?”
Lonnie looked offended. “I know exactly what I’m saying. The question is, do you hear what I’m saying? Do you see the possibilities here, Desi?”
“Oh, I see them. But you know what else I see? I see you trying to drive a butcher knife in Jordan’s chest and then keeping him alive long enough for him to see that there’s a butcher knife sticking out of his chest.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Desi felt so sorry for Lonnie. It had been two years since the two of them were last together in this house, plotting and planning ways to get back at the Gatewoods and everybody else who’d done Desi wrong, and in those two years, Lonnie was still stuck in this space in time, held there like she was the one locked up.
“I don’t know what he did to you, but I’m sure that if I use my imagination, I could figure it out,” Desi finally said, feeling so overwrought for Lonnie. “But damn, Lonnie! How long do you plan on running around in this maze?”
“Maze?” Lonnie stood up, looking pissed.
“You’re like a rat in a maze chasing the trail to Gatewood cheese,” Desi argued. “Why can’t you leave it alone?”
Now she was just livid. “How fuckin’ dare you say that to me!” Lonnie stalked toward Desi like she was going to hit her, and Desi couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t spent twenty-five years locked up without learning how to fight. Instinct kicked in and she balled her fingers into fists.
Lonnie stopped short and pulled her hair back. “Look again at what he did to me, Desi!” This time, the tears did come. “He raped me! Over and over and over!” she said, pounding one fist into her palm. “Jordan beat me to within an inch of my life! He left me, thinking that I was dead, Desi! He intended for me to be dead! And you think that I should just let that shit go? Did I let it go when you got out and his people had stolen twenty-five years of you
r life? Are my two years any less important?”
Desi felt small and broken. “I-I didn’t mean it like that, Lonnie.”
“I helped you, Desi. I helped you to get your money and your name.” Her voice cracked. “And you owe me. The least you can do is to help me make his ass regret he ever put his filthy hands on me!”
Desi felt tears begin to well up in her own eyes. “Yes, I owe you,” she said tearfully. “I owe you my life, Lonnie, and if you ask me for it right here and now I’ll hand it over to you without a second thought.”
Lonnie grimaced. “I don’t want your damn life,” she said bitterly. “I want you to do what I told you to do. Call that woman, Desi. Go see what it is she’s holding, and bring it back to me. Get the proof that you need to finally show this man who you really are, and more than that, who he isn’t!”
Desi felt so sorry for Lonnie and angry with her at the same time. “I don’t need to show him anything. I know who I am, Lonnie! And I don’t have shit to prove to Jordan … or to you!”
“But I need this,” she argued. “I give a whole hell of a damn what he thinks, Des!” She shook her head in dismay. “He still scares the shit out of you,” she said, disgusted. “My God, Desi, you strut around the world selling shoes and talking with your head up like you’re somebody special, like you’ve overcome and risen to the mountaintop, but”—she looked Desi up and down and frowned—“You’re really just that pitiful little martyr fresh out of prison and scared to take a piss without asking for permission.”
Desi stared back at Lonnie like she’d lost her damn mind. But Desi recognized this tactic for what it was, because she’d seen it too many times when she was locked up. Desperate women saying desperate things to get other desperate women worked up and fighting. The difference was that Desi wasn’t desperate.
“I’m so sorry for what he did to you,” Desi said, as sincerely as she could. “And I’m sorry for my part in what happened, Lonnie.”
Lonnie huffed and rolled her eyes.
“But Jordan’s not my problem anymore.”
“No, Desi!” Lonnie shot back. “He’s my problem! And if you cared so much about me that would be enough to make him yours! Hell! I did it for you!”