Drop Dead, Gorgeous

by J. D. Mason

  “I saw her lying there on the floor!” Claire said, turning her nose up in disgust. It was as if she could smell the funk of what had happened in that room all over again. “Bloody and beaten and almost dead!” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Claire’s hands shook, her whole body shook as she wrestled against completely falling apart long enough to get away from him and to get out of that house.

  The look on his face was classic.

  “I got Lonnie out of that house and I took her to the hospital and I begged her not to call the police.” She sobbed and struggled to catch her breath. “I’m the reason she’s alive, and I’m the reason that you didn’t go to jail, Jordan! Don’t call the police! Don’t call the police! I begged her!”

  He looked at Claire like he didn’t recognize her. But Jordan had no choice but to believe her. She’d given him every ounce of her, every inch of her body and soul and still, he wanted that bitch! He could have her!

  Jordan shook his head vehemently. “No, Claire! No, sweetheart!”

  “No? Yes, Jordan! Yes, I’ve been here this whole time, knowing in the back of my mind what you’re capable of, and still loving you! Still wanting to be with you and to have your baby! Yes, I have! But you? You want her? You choose her over me?”

  “No!”

  “I saw you with her with my own eyes! I saw you kiss her!”

  “She kissed me!”

  “And you let her!” Jordan was garbage. He was like any other man, led around like a dog on a leash by his dick. Claire had wasted herself on him, loving him, and needing him. “I am so sick of you,” she said, gritting her teeth. “I’ve bought into the hype, Jordan—that you’re so much more than you really are.” She said this with disgust.

  “You need to calm down, Claire,” he warned. “I know you’re angry, but what you saw out there wasn’t the truth! I’m with you! I love you! I want to be with you!”

  “I don’t want you!” Those words coming from her mouth sounded like they’d come from someone else, because from the moment she’d met him, Claire could never fathom saying something like that to the man she loved so deeply.

  Claire pushed past him, grabbed her suitcase off the bed and her keys off the nightstand, and hurried downstairs.

  * * *

  Jordan stumbled over to the side of the bed and sat down before his knees gave way out from underneath him. It was Claire? That’s how Lonnie made it out of that house that night? But he’d left Claire in …

  “The hospital,” he muttered dismally. She’d known all this time. “Fuck!”

  And Lonnie had known. This whole time, she’d been biding her time, waiting anxiously to make this last move, and he’d played right into her hands.

  He had no idea how long he’d sat there. Jordan tortured himself going through a play-by-play of everything that had happened since Lonnie came back into his life. She had systematically, and maybe even unwittingly, unraveled every chord until all that was left of him was a raw and open wound. Jordan found himself in unfamiliar territory, outsmarted, and off balance. All of a sudden, he was the underdog, the victim, and fodder.

  He didn’t even remember picking up the phone or dialing the number. Jordan had no kind of plan in mind when he called, but he knew that it was the place to start.

  Frank Ross answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Call Lonnie,” Jordan instructed him. “Tell her you’re back in town just for a night, but that you want to see her.”

  Frank was quiet for a few moments. “Where?”

  “That motel you were staying at, outside of town.” Jordan’s mind moved like methodical components of a machine. “She knows that I paid your bail, so don’t act like you still believe that it was her.”

  “She’s going to ask me what I want.”

  “Make it up, Frank. Make it good. And make sure she believes you.”

  Frank sighed. “What time?”

  Jordan glanced at his watch. “An hour. I’ll call you back in a few minutes with the room number. Tell her to meet you there.”

  Jordan hung up.

  Sugar Wishes Don’t Change What Is Real

  “You bought Anton stock?” Lonnie squealed over the phone to Desi. “Is that true?”

  Desi paused. “Yeah, Lonnie. I bought it.”

  “When? Why didn’t you tell me? How much?”

  “A few days ago, and I didn’t tell you because … I don’t know. And I bought a lot.”

  Lonnie was beginning to get the feeling that Desi buying that stock had nothing to do with her. “Why’d you buy it, Desi?” she asked cautiously. “I thought you wanted to be done with Gatewood.”

  “It came highly recommended, Lonnie. And after speaking to my accountant, I thought it was a sound business move.”

  A sound business move? That didn’t sound like the Desi she knew. “Who recommended it?” When Desi didn’t answer, that really raised Lonnie’s suspicions. “Desi? Did you see Gloria Dawson?” Desi could at least tell her that since Lonnie was the one who’d provided her with the lead in the first place.

  “Not yet.”

  It figured. All of a sudden Desi had her own agenda that she was working toward, which somehow included buying up stock in an oil company, making money off Jordan.

  “We need to get together and talk, Des,” Lonnie said sternly. She didn’t like the vibe she was getting from the woman all of a sudden. “When can I come over?”

  “Lonnie, I’m about to get on a plane. We’ll talk again when I land. Okay?”

  Desi hung up before Lonnie could even say good-bye.

  * * *

  Frank’s dumb ass was taking a huge risk leaving Cotton while he was out on bail for murder. He’d called her, all shaken up over finding out that Jordan had footed the bill for his bail and lawyer.

  “What the hell does it mean, Lonnie?” he’d asked desperately over the phone. “Why would he bail me out? What’s he want? What’s he up to?”

  He’d begged her to meet him at that motel he’d stayed in before when he was in town. Lonnie agreed but only if he drove his ass back to Cotton first thing in the morning. Jordan had told her that he owned Frank. Even she didn’t know what he’d meant by that, but she owed Frank some solace, even if it was just a shoulder to cry on. She’d think of something to try and ease his concern, though. The fact was, Gatewood money could afford some of the best lawyering in the country, and if Jordan had bought Frank a lawyer, then chances were good that Frank would walk, guilty or not.

  Lonnie pulled into the parking lot but didn’t see Frank’s car parked anywhere out front. Technically, the man had jumped bail, so of course, if he had a brain cell in his head, he’d have either gotten rid of his car or parked it somewhere else. Maybe he’d been really smart and caught a bus into town. The fact that he’d even come back here in the first place was odd, but Frank was operating on adrenaline and instinct and, no doubt, fear. All those things together could drive people to make dumb decisions.

  Lonnie walked up the stairs and all the way down the corridor to the last room, number 224, and knocked. The door swung open—it was Jordan’s face she saw on the other side of it. It happened so fast that Lonnie didn’t have a chance to react. One minute she was standing in an open doorway, and the next, her body was flung onto the bed, the door slammed behind her, and Jordan’s hand was pressed down on her neck, holding her in place on that bed.

  Not again! she thought, pounding his arms and face with her fists. Lonnie tried to kick at him, and raised her knees between their bodies to get him off of her. She tried to scream, but Jordan put too much pressure on her throat.

  “Stop it!” he commanded, slapping her hands away.

  Lonnie felt his other hand sliding up her thigh. Jordan fumbled with the buckle of her belt, jerking it from around her waist once he got it loose. Her purse! Where was her purse! Lonnie had a gun. She stretched out her arm and felt for it across the bed. All of a sudden, Jordan flipped her over and, still holding her by the neck, managed to force her jeans d
own past her hips.

  She grabbed the other side of the bed and tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened, and Lonnie couldn’t breathe. He grabbed her panties and ripped them off of her.

  Hell no! No! She couldn’t let him do this! Not this time!

  Jordan forced her again onto her back. “Look at me!” he growled, pulling her to the edge of the bed. “You look me in the face, Lonnie! You see me! It’s me!”

  Jordan was inside her. Lonnie opened her mouth to scream, but he’d cut the sound off with his hand. Angry, hot tears flushed from her eyes and burned trails down the sides of her face. Not again!

  He lowered himself on top of her and as he did, his hold on her began to lessen. Jordan bore holes into her as he stared back at her. He opened his mouth and pressed it to hers. Jordan didn’t blink. He didn’t close his eyes. And in between his kisses, he whispered.

  “Look at me, Lonnie.” He stroked her pussy with a slow, even rhythm. Jordan let go of her neck and as he drove deeper and deeper inside her, Lonnie let her legs relax, allowing them to part and open wide to accommodate him.

  Jordan’s kisses were intoxicating. She couldn’t believe … Lonnie couldn’t believe how good he felt inside her. The bedding began to get soaked with her juices, flowing hot from between her legs.

  “Remember how good we are,” he whispered, not taking his eyes off of her. “Remember this, baby?” Jordan’s eyes clouded over with tears. “Remember us?”

  She did remember. Lonnie dug her nails into his back and thrust her hips up to meet his. What the hell was wrong with her? What was it about him? No other man had ever hurt her the way he had, and no other man could make her cum the way he could. The room filled with sounds of her moans. She needed this! She had needed him inside her like this, and she hated herself for it.

  Lonnie’s tongue mated with his. The familiar flavor of Jordan made her drunk with him, and before long, she quivered, shook, and cried out as she came all over him. “Jordan!” she gasped. Clarity came back to her almost immediately. He had no right being inside her!

  “Get off!” she cried out, slapping against him, and pushing him away. “Get your hands off me!”

  He pressed his weight down on top of her, thrusting and stroking, unaffected by her attack on him, holding her in place until finally, he came too. Lonnie was repulsed all of a sudden. She hated him. That hadn’t changed and it never would.

  “If you’re going to kill me you’d better get that shit right this time!” she threatened. “Make sure I’m dead, Jordan!” she said, breathless. “Make sure you don’t miss!”

  Jordan caught his own breath, stood up, and adjusted his pants. Lonnie kicked at him, but he moved before she could make contact.

  He laughed. “That’s my girl,” he said. “A regular Smokin’ Joe Frazier.”

  She scoped the room and saw her purse lying on the floor near the door. He saw it too. Jordan walked over and picked it up, searched through it and found the gun. He looked back at her, the smile gone from his face and put it in the pocket of his sportscoat. He watched as Lonnie stood up and pulled up her jeans. Jesus! I don’t want to cry! Stop it, Lonnie! she commanded herself, but she broke down. Jordan waited until she was finished and finally able to compose herself.

  “Like it or not, Lonnie,” he finally said, “you’re in my soul, girl. And I am so very, very inside yours.”

  She looked at him. “Fuck you, Jordan! You disgust me! You make me sick to my stomach!”

  He shook his head. “I will not apologize for this, baby.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. “Because it’s the most satisfied I’ve been in years.” Jordan stood up, buttoned his shirt, slipped into his sport coat, and headed for the door. He stopped and turned to her. “Don’t let what I did define you or ruin you, Lonnie,” he said remorsefully. “Be better than that. You are better than that.” Jordan turned and left her sitting in the room alone.

  There weren’t enough sorrys in the world for him to make amends for what he’d done to her. But even she had to admit that he was right. Lonnie had been holding on too long to that ugly part of her past and it was time to finally let it go.

  As she was making her way down the stairs, Lonnie spotted Jordan getting ready to get into his car. He’d just unlocked the door when Claire suddenly appeared in the parking lot with a gun.

  “Go home, Claire,” he told her, glaring nervously over his shoulder at Lonnie.

  “To what, Jordan?” Claire asked.

  Jordan took a step toward his wife, but Claire pointed the gun at him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Claire. Lonnie’s leaving, baby, and we’ll never see each other again!”

  Claire’s face flushed red. “I can smell her on you from here!”

  “It’s you I want, Claire! It’s you I need, and we can fix this! Claire, put the gun down, baby. I want to fix this! I want to make it right again between us!” He took a step toward her.

  For a moment, it looked as if Claire believed him. Claire wanted to believe him and she started to lower her gun.

  For the first time, she noticed Lonnie, and a look of resolve crossed Claire’s face. “You love her the way I love you,” she said pitifully to Jordan. “Too much.”

  “I love you, Claire,” he told her.

  Claire pointed that gun to where she knew it would do the most damage; a place where death would be inevitable.

  The gun went off. Jordan looked back at Lonnie. Lonnie would never forget the look in her eyes.

  Never be bullied into silence.

  Never allow yourself to be made a victim.

  Accept no one’s definition of your life; define yourself.

  —Harvey Fierstein

  YOLANDA “LONNIE” ADEBAYO

  September 20, 1964–May 28, 2012

  What If God Shuffled By?

  “Momma left me this house when she died, but I only moved back into it after my husband passed.”

  Gloria Dawson was in her sixties. When Desi called and told her who she was, it was as if she’d been waiting on her.

  Gloria lived in a small bungalow in the middle of town. Desi followed her through the kitchen and into a back room, filled with boxes from floor to ceiling.

  “She loved Mr. Gatewood,” Gloria gushed about her mother. “She met him before he built his company and used to come by the library all the time to do his research. Momma worked there at the time.”

  Gloria found the box she was looking for, and pulled it down on top of the small table in the room. “When he started his company, he asked her if she wouldn’t mind being his secretary because he trusted her,” she said, smiling. “Being that she was a librarian by trade, Momma had a way about filing everything that most people were clueless about. She said that if he didn’t trust those people he worked with, then she couldn’t trust them either.”

  “Let me get that for you,” Desi volunteered, reaching for the box.

  The two women went back into the kitchen, where Gloria opened the box and began thumbing through file folders until she came to one in particular.

  “She made me promise never to give this to anybody else but you or your mother.” Gloria held it out for Desi. “Mr. Gatewood made her promise to keep it safe, keep it hidden, no matter what happened.”

  Desi lay the file flat on the table and carefully opened it. The first thing she saw was a lock of hair tied with a purple ribbon.

  “I believe it was your mother’s,” Gloria said. “But that’s just a guess.”

  Desi saw an old black-and-white photograph of Ida sitting in a hospital bed, smiling, and holding a baby.

  “That’s you,” Gloria said with a smile.

  Desi leafed through the deed to the house, some kind of land deed, and a copy of Julian’s will.

  “He had two.” Gloria held up two fingers. “One was filed with the probate courts, but was pulled back, and another one was filed in its place. I don’t remember which one that is.”
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  Desi stopped when she saw a picture of Ida in that hospital room holding Desi, with Mr. J standing beside the two of them. Gloria had nothing to say about that one.

  The last document in the folder was Desi’s birth certificate, listing Ida as her mother and Julian Gatewood as her father.

  “You won’t find that on file with the county. There’s another one out there, I believe. But Momma said that was the real one.”

  Desi looked at her. “I can keep these things?”

  “Of course, dear. After all, they belong to you.”

  Also by J. D. Mason

  And on the Eighth Day She Rested

  One Day I Saw a Black King

  Don’t Want No Sugar

  This Fire Down in My Soul

  You Gotta Sin to Get Saved

  That Devil’s No Friend of Mine

  Take Your Pleasure Where You Find It

  Somebody Pick Up My Pieces

  Beautiful, Dirty, Rich

  About the Author

  J. D. MASON is the author of Beautiful, Dirty, Rich; Somebody Pick Up My Pieces; Take Your Pleasure Where You Find It; That Devil’s No Friend of Mine; You Gotta Sin to Get Saved; This Fire Down in My Soul; Don’t Want No Sugar; And on the Eighth Day She Rested; and One Day I Saw a Black King. She lives in Denver, Colorado, with her two children. You can find her on Facebook.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  DROP DEAD, GORGEOUS. Copyright © 2013 by J. D. Mason. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

  Cover design by Erwin Serrano

  Cover photo by Richie Fahey

  ISBN 978-0-312-61728-8 (hardcover)

  ISBN 9781250023360 (e-book)