Role Play

by Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker

  Dominic said, “Officer Jordan, this is Governor Montgomery Fields and his wife, First Lady Ellaina Fields.”

  Before Elle could say anything, her knees gave way, and she stumbled back into Monty’s arms.

  “Ellaina!” he said, alarmed and holding her up. “Are you okay? Over here, sit down.” He gently guided her into the chair next to his desk.

  Elle forced herself to smile as she fanned her face and slyly soaked in Sheila, from the same ponytail she’d just yanked, to her heels.

  Elle looked over to Monty. “I haven’t eaten or had very much to drink since yesterday afternoon. I think I may be a little dehydrated.”

  “I’ll have someone bring you something now,” Monty insisted.

  “No—No, honey. It’s okay. I can get it.” Elle stood up.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to sit awhile longer?” Dominic asked.

  “If you want, I’ll go and grab it for you, so you don’t have to get up,” Sheila volunteered. “You look flushed.”

  “No,” Elle snapped, then softened her tone. “No, thank you. No need to fuss. I’m okay. Once I eat a little something, I’ll be back in full force. Plus, I think I need some fresh air.” Elle did her best to ignore the weakness in her legs. She leaned into Monty and gave him a soft wink, then a peck on the lips. “I’m fine. Believe me.”

  “I hope so,” Monty said.

  Elle nodded at Dominic and Sheila before hurriedly clicking her heels out of Monty’s office, leaving an awkward silence behind her.

  Chapter 15

  Elle

  She stood alone on the West Wing balcony, overlooking the Sacramento skyline. She held two glasses of merlot. Downed one. Pressed the rim of the other to her lips and prepared to toss it back.

  Tonight’s high had quickly faded, and she was desperate to get it back. She’d gone from feeling like this was one of the best nights of her life, to desperately retracing her steps and sorting through how she’d arrived at this moment.

  She felt betrayed.

  Ousted.

  Lied to.

  Elle couldn’t believe that Sheila had the balls to step out of her fantasy and into her reality. But now that Sheila had done so, she had to go.

  “I know you’re pissed.” Sheila’s voice drifted over Elle’s shoulder, interrupting her thoughts.

  Elle didn’t flinch. Instead she downed her drink and scanned the city’s dancing lights. “How did you know I was out here?”

  “I asked and one of the wait staff pointed this way.” Sheila placed a hand on Elle’s shoulder.

  Elle pushed it away.

  “Ellaina, I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  “A great place to start would have been the moment before I said, ‘Congratulations on your promotion!’ That was a great fucking segue. The perfect time to say, ‘Oh yeah, your husband, he’s my new boss,’ ” Elle said, never taking her eyes from the skyline.

  “I’m a cop. It’s not like he wasn’t my boss, indirectly.”

  “You could’ve told me.”

  “I should’ve told you.” She placed her hand on Elle’s shoulder again.

  “Stop touching me.”

  Sheila paused, then continued, “Ellaina, I need you to understand that this was the opportunity of a lifetime. I was recommended by my captain to the governor’s detail. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, but we’ve been through worse than this.”

  Elle whipped around to face Sheila. “This is not my homophobic father dragging you out of my damn room and tossing you out the door! This is my husband, my children’s father, and I can’t chance him finding out about you and me!” Elle shook her head. “Fuck that! You’re not worth the risk.”

  An involuntary whimper escaped Sheila’s lips. “Oh, I get it. I don’t matter. I’m just here on your dyke days, when you want some pussy.”

  “Exactly,” Elle said evenly. “You got it. But evidently, that wasn’t enough for you. You had to snake your way onto my husband’s security team, so you can stalk me. That is fucking sick!”

  “Snake? Stalk? Sick?” Sheila said, taken aback.

  “And twisted.”

  Sheila tightened her jaw. “Are you crazy? You really think everything I do rises and sets on your ass!”

  “Looks that way to me.” Elle turned back and faced the skyline.

  “First of all, like I said, I was recommended. Secretary Sparks came looking for me—”

  “Oh, please, and why in hell would Dominic do that? You, of all people? How would you even be on his radar? You’re not a state cop. You’re a local, who, last I checked, was directing the goddamn traffic!”

  “Traffic? That’s a lie and you know it! How dare you! I’m one of the best cops in this state. When I guarded the mayor of Los Angeles, I saved his life and single-handedly took out the assailant. And let us not forget that when you were in college and off playing straight for your parents, I was a highly decorated officer in the marines. A trained sharpshooter. I’ve earned my stripes, and I deserve to be on the governor’s security team. Furthermore, I don’t have to explain my career choices to you!”

  “You have lost your damn mind.” Elle tossed one of the wineglasses back and found only a drop was left. She took it from her lips and threw it off the balcony, sailing the other behind it. She was convinced Sheila had gone too far. Her position in Elle’s life was only to appear when times were too tough, or too rough, or when she just needed a break from her real world as a wife, a mother, her husband’s unofficial and underappreciated employee. When her marriage felt more like an arrangement than a romance. When she needed fresh fuckin’ air to breathe, a world where there was no Monty. No kids. No politics. No nagging. No complaining. No reading of Monty’s eyes to see if he was back to telling lies. A world where none of that existed. An exotic and erotic island. And now Sheila had fucked that up.

  Or maybe . . . it was Monty.

  Perhaps, somehow, he’d uncovered the Sheila secret. Hell, he was cruddy enough to know about Sheila and pull some shit like this. He loved to play wounded, and if her parents found out, this would make him their don-in-distress. The victimized motherfucker they could pull into their biblical bosom and pray over.

  Fuck that.

  Whether it was Monty’s, Sheila’s, or maybe even both of their ideas, Elle refused to give either of them the satisfaction of humiliating her.

  If these bitches could play games, she could too.

  She turned back to Sheila, swallowed the edge in her voice as best she could, and said, “No worries, darling. It was sweet as sugar while it lasted. But from here on out, I don’t know you. Now stay the fuck away from me.” She turned toward the balcony door, leaving Sheila standing there.

  Showtime.

  Chapter 16

  Monty

  He sipped a tumbler of scotch as he watched Elle saunter across the ballroom’s floor. The swoop train of her black and strapless evening gown rustled with the click of her pencil heels.

  Click. Flash.

  Elle stepped onto the stage and smiled as cameras and cell phones snapped away. The crowd of politicians, campaign donors, A-list celebrities, CEOs, lobbyists, councilmen and women, and reporters applauded as she leaned forward and spoke into the mic.

  “Good evening, everyone. I am First Lady Ellaina Lockhart-Fields!”

  The crowd cheered.

  She continued, “The man whom I’ve been charged with introducing on this great evening is unequivocally the best father of two wonderful boys, as well as the sweetest and most handsome man I know, and that, of course, is not a biased opinion.”

  Lighthearted chuckles traveled throughout the room.

  Elle continued, “He is also a kind, caring, humble man of God with integrity. Dedicated. Charitable. Strong . . .”

  Monty beamed with pride as his eyes drifted from Elle to the center of the room. He drank in the crowd, most of them focused on Elle. To the ones looking his way, he gave small waves.

  A few people walked into the thick o
f the crowd. Monty shifted his gaze.

  Damn. He sipped his drink as his eyes rose over the rim of the glass and he quietly bathed in the beauty standing a few feet away from him. From the soft freckles sprinkled across her full cheeks, the natural sandy-brown hair that framed her round face and complemented her honey-colored skin, the fitted black pencil skirt painted on her thick hips, to her perfectly round ass.

  His dick ticked.

  He looked into the beauty’s face and locked into her gaze. She smiled. He smiled back.

  Stop.

  He turned back to Elle, who continued to speak. “My husband will make this state a better place to live for all people. He will tackle property taxes, improve the public school system, create jobs, and he will . . .”

  Monty took in the beauty again.

  Damn.

  Goddamn.

  “Monty, what you doin’, boy?” His late father’s voice haunted his thoughts, causing him to blink the woman away. “You may as well accept it, you gon’ keep fuckin’ up. It’s in your blood.”

  Monty tensed. He could feel his father’s hot and musty breath blow into his ear.

  “Governor.”

  Monty jumped.

  “Governor.”

  Monty turned slightly to the right.

  Dominic. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Monty hesitated. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Why? What’s up?”

  “You just seemed tense all of a sudden. Just checking on you. I know it’s been a long evening.”

  “It has been, but I’m cool.” He looked over to Elle. “Everything’s sweet . . .”

  Monty smiled. There was no doubt in his mind that not only did he love his wife, he never wanted to hurt her again. He’d learned his lesson about being unfaithful, and now he took his vows seriously.

  But shit . . .

  Monty’s dick hardened; he slid one hand into his pocket and shifted it. Took the other hand and downed the rest of his drink. He pressed his shoulder against Dominic’s and whispered, “Dominic . . .”

  Dominic spoke through a tight smile while continuing to look straight ahead at Elle. “What’s up?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Who’s who?”

  “Four o’clock.”

  Dominic looked to his left. “The woman in the red gown? That’s City Councilwoman Margaret Banks. Wonder what she’s pissed about now?”

  “Not her. I know who she is, she stays pissed. I said four o’clock. The one with freckles. Tight black skirt. Ass.”

  Dominic stroked his mustache. “Honestly, I believe she’s one of the wait staff, but I’m not exactly sure who she is.”

  “Do me a favor.”

  “Anything.”

  “Find out.”

  “You got it.” Dominic nodded.

  * * *

  Monty exchanged his empty glass for a fresh tumbler of scotch as he watched Dominic approach his target. “How are you this evening?” Dominic asked.

  Twenty-six-year-old Brooklyn looked up, and the color washed from her face. Here she stood in the middle of the floor, lost and looking for the kitchen. She knew for sure, after Dominic’s pleasantries, he was prepared to fire her. After all, this was a temp job, and she was shitty at it.

  “I’m okay, I guess.” She shrugged, hoping she didn’t sound as insecure as she felt. At the top of the evening, she was set to make a hundred and fifty dollars for the night. Now she wasn’t so sure, though she needed the money. She was a single mother of three-year-old Alani; took care of her younger sister, Demetria, and struggled to put herself through school. On top of all that, her rent was due, and her food stamps had run out. “Look, I know I haven’t done all that great tonight,” she volunteered. “But I’m trying, okay? And yeah, I dropped those two champagne trays, but hell, they were heavy. I mopped the spill up right away, and I didn’t mean for the mop to run over that woman’s shoes.”

  “What woman?”

  “The one in red. I think she’s a councilwoman or something. And I’m sure that’s why you’re here. But let me finish out the night, please. I need the money.”

  Dominic looked Brooklyn over and chuckled. “Never mind her. Today she’s upset with you, tomorrow it’ll be me. And that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Oh . . . it’s not?” Brooklyn pulled in her bottom lip, and the bitter taste of clear gloss filled her mouth. She pushed her lip out. “So why are you here?”

  “Allow me to get straight to the point.” He leaned into her ear. “Are you busy later tonight?” He took a step back.

  Brooklyn’s eyes soaked him in, and her mother’s voice eased into her thoughts. “The difference between a broke nigga and a nigga with some education and cash is the broke one will just flat-out ask for some pussy and the other one says shit like, ‘Are you busy later tonight?’ ”

  Tell him you’re busy.

  No!

  Hell no!

  Brooklyn lifted her chin and perfected her posture. She stepped into Dominic. “As long as you know later tonight ain’t free.”

  “It’s not for me,” he said.

  She blinked. “Who’s it for?”

  Dominic nodded toward Monty, and just as Monty gave Brooklyn a half grin and a soft wink, Elle shouted from the podium, “Everyone, please put your hands together and receive my husband, your newly elected governor of this great state of California, Montgomery Alexander Fields the Third!”

  Chapter 17

  Brooklyn

  Was this how Bev got started?

  Scared.

  Unsure.

  Pissed off.

  With two mouths to feed. Like Brooklyn had . . . One, her three-year-old daughter, Alani, who she’d given birth to because she found out about the pregnancy two weeks too late—knowing she didn’t know shit about being somebody’s mama. And the last thing she wanted was to have a baby and give them the same type of disappearing-act daddy she had—but she was left with little choice. Late-term abortions were too risky.

  The other mouth, her younger sister, Meechie, she’d inherited.

  Was this how Bev felt?

  Cursed.

  Frantic.

  Desperate for something other than struggle.

  And heartbreak.

  And heartache.

  Conviction.

  Guilt.

  Failure.

  Was this the exact moment—well, one like it—when Bev said, “Fuck it. Whatchu you want? Head? Fifty dollars. Or full body? A hundred dollars. Or a combo? A hundred twenty-five for both. ”

  Then what? What did Bev do when the money was gone and the mouths were hungry again? She had to go back out on the streets and say, “Fuck it! Whatchu want?”

  Or did she go and find somebody to love?

  Hell no. Bev ain’t never loved nobody.

  She went on a scavenger hunt to soothe the ache of having to lie down with a stranger for a meal, or was it more for a moment to pretend that something else was real besides constant. . . fucking . . . struggle.

  Brooklyn shook her thoughts away.

  “Umm, listen,” Brooklyn said, standing in the living room of Monty’s stylish, modern three-bedroom home, neatly tucked away in the hills. “I know I agreed to come here . . . and be with you . . . and I know what you expect. But . . . ummm . . . I know you got money and everything like that. But . . . I just can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” Monty placed his scotch-filled tumbler on the glass end table.

  Brooklyn pressed her lips together, shoving her purse’s falling strap back up her arm. “Now you gon’ play stupid? You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  She sucked her teeth. “I changed my mind. I can’t fuck you. I’m not going to be like Bev.”

  “Who is Bev?”

  She continued without answering his question. “Times are tough, but they’ve always been like this, and somehow I have found a way.” She rambled. “I got my daughter and my sister Meechie. And selling pussy is just not
something I wanna do.”

  “Selling pussy?” he asked, taken aback. “Is that what you do?”

  She continued, “Selling pussy today in your living room. Tomorrow I’m on the street and hooked on dope.”

  “On the street? Dope?” Monty was shocked. “Whoa, wait a minute. You live on the street? And you’re also on dope? Drugs?”

  Brooklyn’s mouth fell open. “How dare you ask me something like that! Hell no, I’m not on the street, and I will never be on drugs! I may not be rich like you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not about shit! Know what, I gotta go.”

  “Whoa.” Monty hopped up from the sofa, rushed over to Brooklyn, and blocked her path. “Help me out here. I’m confused.”

  “Let me be clear. I’m not going to fuck you. Period. Now, move!”

  He didn’t. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  “The only misunderstanding is going to be in the papers tomorrow when they try to figure out how the governor got fucked up. Now, move out of my way and let me go!”

  Monty lifted his hands in a surprise surrender and moved out of Brooklyn’s way.

  “I spotted you at the inauguration. You are pretty, and I wanted to get to know you,” he said, now standing behind her. “That’s the only reason why I had Dominic invite you here for dinner. It’s not as if I can dine with you in a public restaurant. The only place was my hideaway. I come here when I need a moment to think. And I thought this was maybe the perfect place for us to get to know each other. That’s it. And if anything did happen, it would be because we’re two consenting adults.”

  She turned around and faced him.

  She searched his eyes for a lie. He was telling the truth.

  Her purse strap slipped off her arm again. “I just—”

  “Misunderstood.” He smiled. His perfect white teeth gleamed. He took a step toward her. “May I?” He reached for her hands.

  She nodded.

  He took her hands in his.

  “I don’t bite. And I promise you, the last thing I would do is bring you here to take advantage of you. You’re beautiful, and there was no way I could let you be in my orbit and not chase you a little bit.”

  Brooklyn bit her bottom lip, doing her all to swallow her smile. She succeeded.