The Lies We Tell for Love (The Love, Lies & Lust Series)

by Mz. Robinson

  “Thank you,” he said. He stood facing me. “I’ll have it completed by this afternoon.” Dusting his hands off on his jeans, he scanned the area with his eyes. “I wanted to create a place of harmony and serenity,” he said, “a place where you can come and be at peace—just you and your thoughts.”

  “I like it,” I said.

  “Good, because I had you in mind while I was creating it,” he said, staring at me. “Your smile, your eyes, everything about you.”

  Kelly’s voice was low and seductive, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable in my place of peace. “I think we should talk,” I said quickly. I sat down on the bench, then waited as Kelly took a seat beside me. “I need to make sure the two of us are all right with what happened,” I said, looking at him.

  “You mean the kiss?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you’re asking me if I’m going to tell Damon,” he said, laughing lightly, “you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “That wasn’t what I was asking,” I said. “I’m going to tell him myself.”

  Kelly looked surprised. “Why would you want to tell him something that will just make him angry or suspicious?”

  “Because Damon and I don’t keep secrets between us,” I said confidently, “and I’m not going to be the one to start.”

  Kelly’s eyes grew wide. “No secrets?” he asked with raised eyebrows. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive,” I said.

  “As long as you’re sure,” he said. “I hope nothing ever falls in your lap that contradicts your theory.”

  “I’m sure it won’t,” I told him. “I know my husband, and when it comes to honesty and loyalty, he is nothing less than the truth.”

  ***

  Damon promised that I could choose any week I wanted for us to take our trip. I decided that since I had time on my hands for once, I would start making preparations. One of the things I wanted to make sure I had was a global phone. I knew I was probably going to be too busy making love to my husband in Paris to call anyone, but considering that we are parents, I wanted to make sure I could call home and check on Jasmine with no problems. I sat in our home office on the phone with Verizon Wireless, discussing my upgrade options. After ten minutes of the customer service representative giving me more information than I knew what to do with (half of it being things I did not understand), I opted to go online and look at the available devices and plans myself. I knew the rep had a time limit on her call, and I’ve personally never liked being rushed to make a decision. I logged into mine and Damon’s account and started browsing through their available Smartphones. I found one that caught my eye, a global Blackberry, and I jotted down the name and model number. I’m a hands-on kind of woman, and I usually never make a purchase without trying an item out first, but at least when I went into the store, I would know what I was looking for and the features I intended to use. I was preparing to log off of our account when something—most likely my overactive curiosity—led me to look over our phone bill. My husband has always been a talker and not a texter, so it somewhat surprised me when I saw that he had message usage. Another woman might just assume her man was texting a client and leave it at that, but I’m not that woman. I pulled up the details and waited for the page to load, showing me the number, date, and time. The messages were received a few weeks prior, when Damon was in Los Angeles, all from a number I didn’t recognize. I would like to say I left well enough alone, but of course I didn’t. Instead, *67-1-760-555-5555 was recited over and over in my head until I dialed the number.

  The phone rang several times before voicemail picked up. “You’ve reached Lena. I’m sorry I missed your call…”

  I placed the cordless phone back in its cradle and couldn’t help but wonder why the name “Lena” was suddenly popping up every damn time I turned around. The day I’d heard it at the salon, I couldn’t remember why it sounded familiar, but now Lena Jasper was all coming back to me. I hadn’t heard it before; I had seen it because Lena Jasper was the name written on the check I found in my husband’s jacket. I was willing to bet both of my businesses that the Lena on the voicemail was Ms. Jasper. Her voice made her sound like a walking slut-bucket just waiting for a drop! Damon had been noticeably nonchalant about her, as if she was nothing more than a tenant, and when I’d asked him about the products from Déjà Vu, he’d acted like he’d never heard of the shit before. If she’s nothing but a tenant, why would she feel so relaxed sending her landlord’s wife a present? How many landlords have tenants who send expensive gifts to their wives? Not a damn one I can think of! I decided it was high time for me to find out a little more about Ms. Lena Jasper and exactly what her connection was to my husband.

  I Googled Déjà Vu Salon in Los Angeles. My search popped up over ten articles about the salon and Lena herself. After ten minutes of reading and researching, I found a piece of information that almost knocked me out of my chair. When the salon opened a year earlier, it had been financially backed by an independent investor. Even though the investor’s name wasn’t listed, he wasn’t anonymous to me. When I read that he or she was linked to Gold Mortgage, I knew the investor had to be my husband.

  “Déjà Vu. How may I assist you?”

  “I’d like to make an appointment,” I said, tapping my fingers on the desk.

  “With whom?” The receptionist sounded entirely too happy for my blood at the moment.

  “Lena Jasper,” I answered.

  “Are you a new client?”

  “Yes.”

  “One moment. Let me check Ms. Jasper’s availability.”

  I sat with the phone pressed to my ear and my temper churning slowly. Kelly’s words echoed in my ear: “No secrets? Are you sure about that?” I wasn’t so sure of anything anymore.

  Chapter 27

  Octavia

  I called Damon and advised him that Amel and I were going to Memphis to look for wedding dresses. Of course it was a lie, but most alibis are. I trusted Contessa with Jasmine, but in the event that something happened, I felt that Mama and Daddy would be better suited to watch their grandbaby while I took an overnight trip. I planned to be in L.A. no longer than forty-eight hours, just long enough to meet that Lena chick, catch a nap, then fly back home. I sat in the waiting room of Déjà Vu Salon, anxiously awaiting my name to be called—actually for the pseudonym I had given them. I had a ton of scenarios running through my head as to how my meeting with Lena would play out. Although several of them included me beating her down to the floor with a can of oil sheen and a flat-iron, I was optimistic that the two of us were going to survive my visit without any blood or hair being shed.

  I glanced around the room, admiring the details. The salon had wall after wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors and hot pink and black tiles checkered on the floor. In fact, hot pink appeared to be preferred color scheme in the establishment—the employees’ polo shirts, the stylists’ smocks, and the styling chairs were all the same shade of electric pink.

  “Victoria!” I heard Joni call.

  I rose, acknowledging that I’d heard her call “my” name.

  “This way,” she guided, smiling happily.

  I followed her through the waiting room and down the hall to what she explained was the VIP room. When I’d made my appointment, I’d specifically requested the VIP section. I wanted to have plenty of privacy with Lena in the event that she might say something to me that I didn’t want to hear and I’d have to go pop-to-the-crazy.com on her ass.

  “Ms. Jasper will be right with you,” Joni advised me before exiting the room.

  The VIP room had one styling station and one shampoo bowl. According to the information Joni had provided me over the phone, it was reserved for clients who preferred complete privacy. When Joni advised me that the room was $100 an hour to rent, in addition to whatever services were rendered, I knew it was intended for clients whose money was long. I stood by the styling chair, waiting for Lena and trying to decide what I was going to say to her and
how I was going to say it.

  “You must be Victoria.”

  I turned on my heels and finally saw the woman behind the name. She was tall, with deep, dark skin and a nice body. She wore a dark designer suit with a short jacket and wide-leg pants that showed off just the right amount of her leopard-print wedge shoes. I had to silently give the woman credit for her sense of high fashion. Her hand was extended to me, but when she saw who I was, she immediately dropped it back to her side. “Octavia?” she said. She spoke my name like I was a ghost who had walked out of her dream and landed smack dab in the middle of her reality.

  I returned the favor and looked at her like she was the Ghost of Whores from the Past and had just come back to haunt me. “Alicia!” I said in disbelief.

  ***

  Alicia, who I now realized also went by “Lena,” suggested that the two of us go somewhere to talk over a cup of coffee. I told her that was fine, as long as the coffee shop had a bar where they served wine! My nerves were completely shaken, and I needed something a whole lot stronger than Juan Valdez. We ended up at a little bistro restaurant a couple blocks down from her salon. It was a sunny October day, so we opted to sit out on the patio.

  I stared across the table at her, taking her new look in. It was as if she’d gone through a complete makeover. I’m not just talking about hair, makeup, and clothes, but also a complete reconstruction—a reprogramming. Lena was sophisticated and articulate, as well as pretty—a far cry from the ratcheted Alicia I’d first met years ago in a rundown motel room. I dropped my eyes down to her breasts for a second then back up again. I wonder how much she paid for those? I thought to myself. Or did Damon invest in those too? Suddenly my anger trumped my curiosity, but I managed to hold my tongue for a while longer.

  We sat in silence until the waiter returned with a bottle of Moscato and two frosty wine glasses.

  “I think the two of us are way past the point of friendly greetings,” I said, the first to speak, “so why don’t you just tell me what in the hell is going on with you and my husband!”

  Lena took a casual sip from her glass and looked at me. “There is nothing going on, Octavia,” she said. “Damon and I are just friends.”

  “Just friends?” I questioned. “When did the two of you become friends?” I demanded, throwing quotation marks around the word in the air as I spoke it.

  “Octavia, I really think these are questions you should ask Damon,” she said.

  “Oh, I plan to,” I said, “but right now I’m asking you, woman to woman, exactly when did you and my husband become friends?” I was also wearing a designer suit and heels, but I’d have no problem getting dirty or knocking blood from Lena’s mouth!

  Lena took a deep breath then exhaled. “Damon and I have known each other since we were teens,” she confessed, “but we lost contact with each other until just before Kenny’s death.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Octavia, you asked for the truth,” she said, “woman to woman, and the truth is exactly what I’m about to give you.”

  I relaxed in my chair and crossed my legs. “I’m listening,” I prompted.

  “Damon and I met in Atlanta, during my freshman year in high school,” she explained. “We dated for a little while, until my family relocated to Huntsville.”

  I closed my mouth and opened my ears as Lena went on, telling me her side of the story.

  She advised me that Damon had put a private investigator on her tail after I told him how much drama she was causing in Shontay’s marriage. Apparently, that was when Damon discovered who she was and remembered her from school. “He approached me with a business proposition,” she said. “If I agreed to leave town, he said he would help me start a new life here.” She confirmed that Damon fronted her the money for her business and also placed her and her daughter in their current home. I had to respect the fact that her decision to change her name was fueled by her desire to keep what happened that night at The Ambiance 2 from effecting her career. She advised me she left her daughter Kiya’s first name the same, but everyone called her by her middle name, Janai, and her surname was now also Jasper.

  “Did Damon proposition you before or after you agreed to help Shontay?” I questioned.

  Lena looked surprised that I had remembered that little detail. When Shontay was on the mission to rid herself of Kenny, she had gone to Alicia and asked her for her help in setting Kenny up. I playfully called the entire scheme “Operation Shakedown,” but the truth was that I knew from the very beginning that pulling Alicia into the plan was a bad ideal. “Their offers were almost simultaneously,” she said. “What does that matter?” she asked. She seemed offended that I had asked, but I couldn’t have cared less.

  “It matters because my best friend broke you off a little change,” I reminded her, “and because you accepted my husband’s offer. It matters because it seems you are just in too deep with the people I love. And in addition to that, you’re sending me gifts?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “Gifts? What are you talking about? What gifts?”

  “The little basket of goodies from your salon,” I advised her.

  “I didn’t send you anything,” she said. “I would never betray Damon’s trust like that.”

  Her loyalty to my husband bothered me, and I planned to make sure she understood she was once again riding for the wrong man—a man who would never be hers. I kept these thoughts to myself for the time being, but I did share my curiosity with her about who would have sent a basket of her products to me.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m willing to bet whomever it was wanted me to find out about your friendship with my husband, and I can’t be pissed with them,” I said, looking her square in the eyes. “There are some things a woman deserves to know. Are you sleeping with my husband?” I stared Lena directly in her eyes, anxious for her reply.

  “No,” she said.

  “And why should I believe you?” I questioned. “If I remember correctly, you had no problem sleeping with a married man not so long ago.”

  Lena looked slightly offended by me bringing up the past, but like I said, I couldn’t have cared less. It was the truth, and the truth doesn’t change, even if people do. “You should believe me,” she said, sucking on her teeth. “You know your husband, and we both know he would rather die than betray you.”

  I searched her eyes with mine, looking for a drop of deception; I found none, though I did see something that resembled jealousy flickering there. “Now that you have your new start,” I said, leaning forward, “I feel it’s time for the ties you had with my husband to be broken.”

  Lena looked at me with raised eyebrows. “I told you we are just—”

  “Just friends,” I recited. “I know. However, much like your previous life, there are some things better suited for the past.” I reached into my purse and dropped a 100-dollar bill on the table for our waiter. “Anyway, I have a flight to catch,” I continued. “I’ll make sure any loose ends you and Damon might have are wrapped up immediately.”

  “Octavia, don’t you think the decision to end our friendship should be left up to Damon?”

  “Of course,” I informed her. “I’m just preparing you in advance for what’s coming next.”

  “And exactly how do you know that’s how it will turn out?” she asked, though her confidence looked slightly shaken.

  “Because, as you said earlier,” I said sarcastically, “I know my husband.”

  Chapter 28

  Damon

  Lawrence had a car waiting for me, a Chevy Malibu, at my office when I arrived in Atlanta. I’d been parked on the curb outside the townhouse of Nadia’s friend for only an hour, but it felt like days. Finally, Gia pulled up, just the woman I had come to see. She climbed out of a black Chevy Tahoe, dressed in dark jeans and stilettos with a white t-shirt with “Who’s Your Daddy?” in big red letters on the front—a dramatic
change from the uniform I had first seen her in that day at her job. I watched as she removed her handbag and several shopping bags from the trunk then strolled up to the door.

  Once she was inside, I made my approach. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt down over my head. The attire I had chosen for the mission, oversized sweats and steel-toed boots, was completely out of character for me, but these weren’t normal circumstances. I rang the doorbell and waited impatiently for her.

  When she finally answered, she swung the door open with a big smile plastered on her face, until her eyes locked with mine. “Is there…something…I can help you with?” she stuttered.

  “Let me in,” I ordered softly.

  “Do I know you?”

  I didn’t have time to play games, so I lifted my shirt up to show her the .45 I had tucked in the waistband of my pants. Her pale face seemed to turn whiter. “Let me in,” I demanded again.

  Backing away from the door slowly, she did as I ordered.

  I quickly stepped inside the foyer and locked the door behind me.

  “Listen,” she said nervously, “my boyfriend will be home any minute, so—”

  “You and I both know you live alone,” I said, staring at her. “And even if you didn’t, do you really think I would care at this point?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “All right, so why don’t we cut the bullshit? Tell me everything I want to know,” I said calmly.