“I’ll take that to mean you have no idea about a damn thing your wife’s been up to. You lied to me, Monty. I asked you about being under investigation. You said there was no investigation. But this morning, there’s this People for People shit.”
“It will go nowhere.”
“I suggest you make sure it doesn’t go anywhere. When you came to me for help, I warned you. I said don’t get in over your head. Don’t live beyond your means. Keep your nose clean, the dirty work is covered. And most importantly, don’t try any slick shit on me—now this. You know what happens if you fuck me over?”
“I’m not.”
“What you’re saying and what you’re doing appear to be two different things. You told me you had everything under control. But your wife is running wild. A man’s wife should be his sanctuary. And something tells me she’s hell. Is she the leak?”
“Lay off my wife. She wouldn’t do that to me.”
“This moment is evidence that you don’t know what she would do. A woman scorned, Monty. Think. She’s not innocent, believe me.”
“She’s my wife.”
“Who wants to be your ex-wife. She’s a distraction, one you don’t need. It gets in the way of business, and I don’t do well with perfidious bitches and their fits for attention. We need to take care of this.”
“Elle has nothing to do with our business.”
“She has everything to do with it. Divorces are messy. Information starts flying, lawyers get involved, the next thing you know, here come the Feds. And the ex-wife is testifying. Cut your losses. Now, the way I see it, you have two choices. You can either put your marriage back together, ensure your wife is kept in line and none of this happens again. Or. We can take care of our Elle problem right now. You choose.”
Chapter 42
Elle
Elle’s tires screeched as she pulled to the center of the circle driveway and hopped out. She spotted Monty standing in their second-story Juliet balcony holding a corner of the drapes back. Their eyes locked; he let the drapes go.
She hurried inside, ran past the house manager, up the left side of the double staircase, taking two at a time.
She flung open the door to their now orderly and cleaned master suite, locking it behind her. She walked over to her husband, and before he could say anything, she reared her hand back and slapped him so hard he stumbled.
Catching his balance, Monty pushed a hand into her forehead, causing her neck to jerk back. “I just saved your fucking life, and this is the thanks I get?”
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON, MONTY!” she screamed, hot tears flying.
No answer.
Elle continued. “All this goddamn time, it’s been one lie, after another, after another!” She shoved him. “And, okay, sure, I knew you skimmed off the campaign money here and there! And, yeah, we banked some of the donations. But I had no idea you were in this deep with ICC. When all of this first began, I said, ‘Monty, what does ICC want in exchange for this level of support?’ And your bitch-ass said, ‘He only wants unlimited port access with no unnecessary security hassle, so he can bring in construction supplies quickly.’” She pounded her fist into his shoulders and chest. “It’s more than that! He didn’t toss me in the back of his truck so he could receive some goddamn ladders, paint, and construction supplies overnight!”
She paced. “All along, the rumors, the speculations, and the reports have been true!” She shoved him again. “All this time, all this fuckin’ time! You should’ve fuckin’ told me!” she screamed into his face. “I could’ve been killed because of this! How much money is Stephen paying you? Huh? Answer me! Is he paying you enough for my goddamn life?” Elle hesitated. A light bulb exploded in her thoughts. She gasped. “Carson?”
“What about Carson?”
“He told me the truth! The second set of books with ICC, the washed money, the debt, the shady campaign promises all of these fuckin’ . . . contracts . . .” She said, exhausted. “Infrastructure, hospitals, condos, luxury housing, cable. The state government purposely poisoning the water supply—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about—!”
Elle continued, “So you and your goddamn friends could come in and make a ton of fucking money by cleaning it up! Poor people be damned!”
“Save the self-righteous act—”
“My foundation! My God, Monty! My whole life, my whole fucking life is a front! Carson knew. And he told me, and I told you . . . and he disappeared. Dear God, what did I do?” She wheezed. Coughed. Then slapped her hands against her temples and squeezed her forehead. “Where is he, Monty! Where is Carson? Did Stephen kidnap him? Is he in a trunk some fuckin’ where! Is he dead?”
Monty gripped her by the throat and shoved her into the wall.
Elle squirmed beneath his grip.
He spat. “You don’t fuckin’ question me! Don’t ever question me! Here I’ve been taking care of your ass, buying you anything you wanted, cars, jewels, shoes, traveling all over the world, money in the bank. Where the fuck did you think it all came from? You knew exactly what was going on. You just wanted to turn a blind eye! Now you want to act like a maniac and risk everything, because I fucked some no-good bitch?” He released his grip and she fell against the wall, cupping her neck.
Her high heels wobbled beneath her as she leaned against the wall and struggled to push herself up. She made it. Looked Monty in the eye and shoved him. “Fuck you! Do you know what I just went through? And you have the audacity to think this is simply about some broke-down scallywag riding your two-minute dick!
“This is about you being some sloppy-ass emotional whore, falling for this bitch, when you knew what you had going on. You knew the details of your business with Stephen and what was at stake. Not to mention you’re the goddamn governor, yet you’re running around chasing this trick like you’re the goddamn help. Okay, you’re not a faithful man—but it’s a whole other thing to be a weak one. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? So yeah, I filed for divorce, I took the money out of those accounts, and moved shit around because I will not be the wife of some little boy, falling in love with some bottom-feeder street whore because she reminds him of his mama! You want love that bad, and what I’ve given you is not enough, then sign the goddamn divorce papers and let me go!
“But what you not gon’ do is give that ho another moment that you have stolen from me. Therefore, I’ma take the money and you and that whore figure things out from here.” She turned to walk away, and he snatched her back.
He gave her a sinister smile. “You think you got this all figured out, huh? You think you’re the perfect wife, Elle? Well, you’re a shitty-ass wife and a terrible mother.”
An invisible elbow hooked around her neck. She gasped. “How fucking dare, you.”
He continued. “You never really loved me. You expected me to save you. But loved me? Hell no. You think I couldn’t see how you never looked me in the eyes whenever we made love? How you cringed beneath my touch. Why do you think we never did another threesome? Because I saw how you melted when she caressed you, your body reacted the way I needed it to, for me. That’s when I knew”—he leaned into her ear and whispered—“you like pussy just as much as I do. What happened, Elle? You knew the good reverend and Sister Violet wouldn’t approve and would beat the gay out of you—?”
WHAP! Her hand sizzled across his face. He grabbed her, forcefully turned her around, pushed half of her face into the wall, and pinned one arm behind her back.
“Now I know it’s true. You never loved me. You wanted to be fixed, but you can’t be fixed because you’re just a broken bitch! Now what you better do is get your broken ass in line and do what I tell you to do.” He yanked her hair, forcing her neck to jerk back. “By tomorrow morning, I swear to God, you had better put that money back in those accounts—all of it! Withdraw that goddamn divorce, and get your attitude together, because no matter what you really think of me, after your little ride today, if there was
a way out, you single-handedly fucked it up for both of us. And thanks to you, we’re now two miserable motherfuckers in this shit until death do us part!”
He flung her away from him, and she stumbled into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “You have an hour to get dressed and have the driver take you to the Parker Convention Center. I will meet you there. Tonight’s my first campaign rally for reelection, and I don’t need your dramatic antics fucking it up. And if you pull some stunt like you did with that news conference and not show up, you think that li’l ride you went on today was hell, well, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. So, don’t test me.” He snatched open their bedroom door and stormed out.
Elle sat on the edge of the bed, and it occurred to her that there was still time for this scene to end differently. She could run out of their bedroom and make Monty stuff the shit he’d said about her back into his mouth—she didn’t.
She sat.
Reached for her gold cigarette case on the nightstand and popped one out. Lit it and tilted her head toward the skylights in the ceiling.
She took a pull and did her best to block out the voices screaming in her head. They were all too goddamn heavy and depressing to sort through or to focus on just one. Instead, she sucked in the tip of her burning Newport and watched the moon darken the sun.
Chapter 43
Brooklyn
It was Lorenz’s cologne—the essence of patchouli, cool mint, and a hint of sweet orange—that seduced her into his embrace. Then came the ever-so-gentle forehead kiss and he whispered against her skin, “It feels so good to see you.” She wanted to stay wrapped in his arms.
She had a million things on her mind. But now—right now—all other thoughts were suspended and the only groove that she cared to get into was his.
They were in the parking lot of the African Diaspora Museum and Café. He boldly gave her a kiss on the lips, and she kissed him back.
He squeezed her and said, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
She gently wiped her gloss off his lips, then took a step back and drank him in. He was dressed perfectly in a crisp white shirt, cuffs folded to his elbows, a small black tourmaline bracelet on his left wrist. Dark, faded, and distressed jeans. And white Gucci sneakers.
She smiled at how they were practically dressed the same. “It feels good to see you too.” Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and a soft chuckle escaped her.
“You look beautiful,” Lorenz said, taking her in.
She blushed. “Thank you, you do too.”
He gave her a soft wink. “Have you been here before?” he asked as he pointed to the large brick building.
“No,” she said, excited. “I actually just told my sister, Meechie, and my friend Joy, that I wanted to get here. I’ve heard great things about this place. So, I was really happy when you suggested it.”
“Judging from the artwork in your home, I thought you’d be into this spot.”
Entering the museum was like walking into West Africa. The floor tiles were made of hardened red clay, there were palm trees everywhere, the glass ceiling showcased the evening sky. There were traditional African huts on display. Simulations of ancient royal courts. African statues and paintings hung on every wall. There were double steel doors marked ‘Door of No Return.’ where pieces of slave ships, shackles, and neck chains framed the doors’ molding. Next to the display was a glass-encased map of the museum.
To the left of the entranceway was a long hallway with several doors, each leading to a different exhibit of the countries where African prisoners of war were taken and forced to be slaves.
Each room had a different theme, based on the country. From the United States to Haiti, from Trinidad to the United Kingdom. Each room was as moving as the others. At the far end of the museum was a West African café that served authentic African cuisine. There was also a small dance floor where people danced to traditional African music.
“This place is breathtaking,” Lorenz said.
“And heartbreaking,” Brooklyn added.
He nodded in agreement. “I can see that.”
Brooklyn continued, “We have such a rich culture and to think of the violation, the Holocaust that our people endured for generations, breaks my heart. That’s why I try and give my daughter and my students everything I can, teach them about all of who we are, so they will understand that no matter what society says, we are worthy.”
Lorenz paused and smiled at Brooklyn. “Definitely worthy.”
“Welcome to the African Diaspora Café,” the hostess said as they walked in. “Table for two?”
“Yes,” Lorenz said as the hostess led them to a small black leather booth, with a window view of the ocean.
They took their seats, across from each other. The waitress handed them menus. “Our specials are jollof rice with stewed goat, pumpkin soup with double fried beef, and egusi with fufu. Take all the time you need.” She handed them their menus. “Your server will return shortly to take your order.”
“Food sounds delicious,” Brooklyn said.
“It does,” Lorenz agreed.
A few minutes later their waitress walked over to the booth and greeted them. “Bawoni,” she said, asking them how they were in Yoruba. She wore a Kente cloth skirt, orange tee, and a matching headwrap. “I’m Chizoba, and I’ll be assisting you this evening, may I take your order or would you like more time?”
Lorenz looked at Brooklyn. “Ladies first.”
She smiled. “I’ll have the egusi and fufu, with a glass of white wine.”
Lorenz said, “I’ll have the double fried beef and joloff rice, with a Queen Lager beer.”
“I’ll return with your order shortly,” Chizoba said as she walked away.
“So tell me, beautiful,” Lorenz said to Brooklyn. “Have you always been into history? Was it something you were interested in as a kid?”
“Not at all,” Brooklyn said. “Definitely not as a kid. I didn’t grow up in what one would call a traditional household. I got into history as a teen. It was an escape for me. Allowed me to see another time and another world.”
Lorenz asked, “What do you mean you didn’t grow up in a traditional household?”
“Means my mother was a junkie—”she said, spitting the words out way too fast. She cleared her throat. “I shouldn’t have said that. I should’ve said she made some questionable decisions and moves. She could’ve taken better care of us.”
“I hear you. When I was growing up, my father was a musician. Brilliant man. But a shitload of demons. Dope was his vice. He would beat on my mother, spend all of the rent money: you name it, he did it.”
“Really? How did you handle that?”
“My mother shielded my brother and me from a lot. But we always knew what was going on.”
“Are your parents still together?”
“Nah, my mother left him. One day he went to work and she said to me and my brother we were moving across the county.”
Brooklyn’s eyes grew in surprise. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “Yeah. He came home from work and we were gone. Took him a while but he got himself together. He’s a drug and alcohol counselor in New York City now.”
“Wow.”
“Surprised?”
“A little. Sometimes you get so caught up in what you’ve been through as a child, that you forget you’re not the only one.”
“True. Your turn. How’s your mom now?”
She’s dead, was the first thing that filled Brooklyn’s mouth as a response. Then she swallowed it and said, “She’s in prison.” She paused, giving herself a moment to discern his reaction.
He seemed cool. Eyes free of judgment.
She continued, “She’s been there since I was thirteen.” Brooklyn shifted in her seat.
Lorenz got up from his seat and sat next to her. He kissed her on the forehead. “I felt like that was tough for you to say. You know it’s okay though, right? Parents do shit we don’t always understand.
Sometimes they’re haunted by a childhood they never healed from.”
She stared into his eyes. She’d never considered that before and didn’t exactly want to consider it now. Besides, this was supposed to be a date, not a therapy session.
“Here we are.” The waitress placed their food on the table.
“Looks delicious,” Lorenz said. He picked up his beer for a toast and said to Brooklyn, “Thank you for the most incredible evening I’ve had in a long time.”
She clinked her glass with his. “You’re welcome.”
He gave her a crooked smile and a few seconds later they cracked up. “Look at you, all cocky with it,” he said jokingly. “You know you’re fly huh?”
“Just agreeing with you,” she said. “Besides, you’re kind of fly yourself.”
“Word? We in this flyness together?”
“Yup.” She looked over at his food and said, “That beef looks good.”
“Umm hmm, you want some, don’t you?”
“Well, since you’re offering.”
He picked up a forkful of his food and placed a bite in her mouth. “Here you go, fly girl.”
Brooklyn chewed and swallowed her food. “That was delicious!” She seductively licked her lips.
“See, there you go, playing.”
“What did I do?” She took her own fork and stole away some of his food. She licked her lips again.
“You better quit,” he said. “Trying to make me feel all the feels and shit. You know I got a freaky side and it’s dark in this corner too.”
“Feel all the feels?” She chuckled. “And what you gon’ do?”
“You already know.”
She laughed, then leaned into his shoulder. He held his head down and gave her a soft peck.
For the rest of their meal, they laughed, told stories, teased one another, stared in the others’ eyes, and kissed in between.
Once they were done with their meals and were in the parking lot at Brooklyn’s truck, Lorenz leaned against it. He pulled Brooklyn into his chest and said, “I had a great time.”
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