“Has it been that long since we’ve spoken? Wow, Tanya had a baby for William, a beautiful little girl, so she moved back in with him.”
Fancy’s head moved from side to side. “I guess she wasn’t strong enough to make it on her own. Having his child isn’t going to change his controlling, abusive ways.”
“I disagree. Being a father is changing the way William treats Tanya. They do come to church together. Regularly.”
Church didn’t change anybody, Fancy thought. Unless William wanted to change, Tanya would still be subjected to his nonsense.
“How’s your mom, Fancy?” SaVoy asked, chewing her last piece of French toast.
“Caroline is Caroline. She’s still too big but she has lost weight. Down from a size twenty-eight to an eighteen. Supposedly engaged to some rich guy she met one night while she was working the bar who’s never going to marry her. I don’t talk to Caroline much because, as usual, her man is her life.”
“But you’ve got to be happy for her. Don’t be jealous. She’s your mom. I’ma call and congratulate her later.”
“Whatever.” Fancy tossed her napkin over her plate, laid twelve dollars on the table, and then stood. “I’ve gotta go catch my spin class with CoCo. I’ll call you about the seminar. Oh, yeah. SaVoy, tell your mother I said hello whenever you speak with her again. You should call her. She is your mom.”
The sparkle in SaVoy’s eyes had vanished earlier after SaVoy had begun defending Tyronne. Fancy’s heart was satisfied watching the tears swell in her best friend’s eyes as Fancy turned and walked away. SaVoy was no better than Mandy and neither of them was better than Fancy Taylor. Maybe SaVoy would think first before using her subtle Christian conniving ways to condemn and judge Fancy or anyone else. If it weren’t for the real estate seminar and being the maid of honor in SaVoy’s wedding, Fancy wouldn’t call SaVoy again.
Strutting out the same way she’d came in, Fancy hopped in her car, bypassed Caroline’s house, drove several blocks to Fourteenth Street, and parked in City Center’s garage. Spin class was full as usual. Fancy pedaled extra fast to work off her frustrations. She wanted so badly to see what Darius had to offer but he’d become standoffish. She needed some dick in her life.
Fancy pumped faster than the other cyclers. Now that she had her salesperson’s license, she had to meet this broker who’d quickly teach her the business. Since Mr. Riddle recommended Howard Kees, Fancy would stop by Howard’s office after her workout. She started to skip CoCo’s floor exercise and killer abdominal workout but Fancy hadn’t earned her six-pack by taking shortcuts so she stayed.
After class Fancy announced, “I’m a licensed realtor so anyone who needs to refinance or purchase a home, you can see me anytime.” Fancy flashed a millionaire’s smile then headed toward the locker room. The eucalyptus steam relaxed her body. Fancy showered then eased on her wrinkle-free miniskirt, single-button blazer, and matching thigh-high boots. On her way out of Club One, Fancy glanced to the left, considered going to Jamba Juice, and then thought about the homeless woman. If she was there, maybe the homeless woman could answer a few more questions for Fancy. While she was contemplating this, a tall thin woman tapped Fancy on the shoulder.
“May I have one of your cards? I’m going through a divorce. My husband wants to buy me out. I was avoiding looking for my own home, I guess because I didn’t want him to leave us, but when you announced you’re a realtor that was my sign to move on.”
Did Fancy ask for the woman’s life history? Was Fancy going to become a therapist like Mandy? Holding her business card, Fancy followed Mr. Riddle’s advice, pulled out her Palm Pilot, and said, “Give me a number where I can contact you.” After Kelly gave Fancy her information, Fancy gave Kelly a card. “I’ll call you later to set up a time to meet tomorrow.” Mr. Riddle had advised Fancy not to allow more than twenty-four hours to elapse with an interested buyer, saying, “If they go with someone else so does your commission.” Opting to avoid any possible contact with the wig woman today, Fancy turned right and headed to the City Center garage to get her Benz and drive to Howard’s office.
When Fancy walked into Kees Realty on MacArthur Boulevard, a voluptuous, dark-complected woman said, “Hi, I’m Denise. May I help you?”
Smiling, Fancy said, “Yes, I’m here to see Howard Kees.”
“Do you have an appointment?” Denise asked, peering at Fancy.
“Uh-huh. Mr. Riddle sent me.”
“You must be new,” Denise said, scanning Fancy’s clothes. “Nice outfit. But it’s going to take more than a pretty face and a great body to work here. Have a seat.”
Fancy gave Denise a “Whatever, you’re only a receptionist, honey” look.
Denise picked up the phone, and a moment later a handsome, dark-complected, fiftyish gentleman with salt and pepper hair, wearing eyeglasses, a casual no-name brand button-up shirt, and loose-fitting khaki pants like Mr. Riddle’s, entered from a back office.
“So, Riddle sent you, huh?”
“Yes,” Fancy said, standing and shaking his hand firm like Mr. Riddle had instructed her in his self-defense class. That way Howard would sense her self-confidence and strength, like Darius had when Fancy gripped his wrist. Mr. Riddle had said if a man contested her strong grip to beware, because he may be interested in more than business.
Howard said, “Come into my office.”
Mischievously, Fancy turned toward the receptionist then politely answered Howard. “Thanks.”
Denise said, “Oh, by the way, Fancy, I’m Denise Kees.” Then she smiled at Howard and said, “Daddy, I’m going out for lunch. I’ll deposit the escrow funds while I’m out and I’ll be back in thirty minutes.” Sliding on her designer sunglasses, Denise picked up her Prada purse and softly tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ear.
Fancy rolled her eyes at Denise then noticed the bachelor’s degree awarded to Denise Kees hanging on the wall above her desk. Cornell University. Whatever. Maybe Mr. Riddle was wrong about this arrangement. Fancy wasn’t working for some spoiled daddy’s girl. Denise had better be thankful that the old Fancy hadn’t entered Howard’s office, because by the time Denise returned from lunch, her daddy would’ve been lunch and Fancy would’ve been his top agent and business partner.
CHAPTER 11
Jada gave Wellington a traditional good morning closed-mouth kiss before he eased out of bed at five-thirty. She admired the way her husband’s bald head matched his hairless face, all except his thick eyebrows, which Jada was certain he’d shave, too, if he wouldn’t look like a freak, to rid himself of gray hairs. The pubic hairs surrounding Wellington’s big dick were clipper-shaved every week, so close he barely maintained a shadow. Her husband’s body was tighter on the inside. His skin, with time, had lost some of its elasticity but Wellington was still fine as ever. He was her Samuel L. Jackson in action. Confident. Handsome. Charming. The best lover. And a damn good dresser. Aging had actually complemented Wellington in many ways. Good looks coupled with almost being a billionaire fed his ego and drove him to acquire wealthier clients at every opportunity. Like, as he’d professed, the client he was scheduled to meet in Oakland today.
Normally Jada would lay out her husband’s clothes while he showered, then she’d go downstairs to the kitchen and prepare a light breakfast. They would read the business sections of the New York Times, Los Angeles Times, and USA Today then discuss their plans for the day. How many times had Wellington lied to her? When Jada heard the water running in the bathroom, she raced downstairs to Wellington’s office, and did something she hadn’t done before with any man, searched his private property, his Palm Pilot.
Powering up today’s calendar, Jada read: Dept Flt #333 @ 8:00am from LAX. Arr SFO 9:10am. Meet Carey Car @ baggage claim. PU 3 dozen roses. Go2 Victoria’s Secret. Lunch in SF @ noon The Cheese Factory. No other appointments. Return Flt #334 @ 6:00pm next day. Arr LAX @ 7:10pm. PU 1 dozen roses 4 Ba.
Jada tried to remember when Wellington had stopped sending
her roses. After they’d met, Wellington sent the same arrangement of one red and eleven yellow roses every week; even after she’d married Lawrence, Wellington sent the flowers to her office. After Jada married Wellington, he’d stopped sending anything. But why? Did he still love her like she loved him?
Powering off Wellington’s Palm, Jada wondered what to do. She could cancel his travel arrangements. Confront him. Or do nothing at all. She hurried upstairs to the bedroom. Wellington’s smooth body glistened with beads of water.
He asked in an expecting tone, “Breakfast ready?”
“Yes,” Jada lustfully answered, her hazel eyes lingering on his dick. “You are breakfast.” Her tongue captured the liquid drops covering his neck from his shoulder to his ear.
Gently pushing her away, Wellington said, “You keep that up and I’m going to have to reschedule my client’s appointment. Where are my clothes?”
Ignoring his plea, Jada kissed Wellington’s erect nipple then whispered, “You’ll be on time. But first you need to take care of mama. She’s sizzling.” Jada placed Wellington’s hand between her thighs. Her pussy pulsated in his palm. When he opened his mouth to speak, Jada eased her tongue inside, then, pressing her firm breasts against his chest, she massaged his dick to a firmer erection.
Saturating her wet body with chocolate cocoa butter lite oil twice a day after taking a cool shower kept her skin firm. Wellington enjoyed hot steamy showers which were more relaxing than hers, but Jada knew cold water and a good moisturizer would preserve her skin’s tightness.
Stooping to his waist, Jada sucked Wellington’s bulging head and massaged his balls while gliding her taste buds in the crevice underneath his head. She licked. With grave passion, Jada sucked her husband’s dick like a caramel pop.
“What’s gotten into you? Damn, that feels good, ba. Can I get this every morning?”
“Morning,” Jada said, stroking his pre-cum into her mouth. “Noon.” Jada licked each of his nuts. “And night.”
Wellington’s body quivered. A palatable tartness oozed through the skin of his shaft. Jada was pleasantly familiar with that taste that came right before Wellington was about to explode in her mouth. She stopped, shoved him backward onto the bed, and straddled him.
Rotating her hips front and up, then down and back, then front again, repeating her rhythm, Jada’s vaginal walls caved in around her husband’s elongated shaft. Nice and slow Jada continued her groove. Wellington reached between her legs and began teasing her clit with his middle finger. Small circular motions, lubricated by the external flow of vaginal fluids secreted from Jada’s clitoris, heightened her sexual energy, causing her hips to move faster.
Squeezing her nipples, Jada moaned, “Oh, baby, my juices are flowing all around the big juicy dick. You make me feel so good, I love you. Fuck me a little deeper, daddy.”
Each time Jada lowered herself onto his dick, she forced her hips lower, taking more and more of her husband inside her until it felt like Wellington’s dick pressed against her navel.
The white of Wellington’s eyes was all Jada saw when he grunted, “Ba, your pussy drives me insane. After all these years, how do you keep her so ti—”
Exhaling, Jada moaned, “Aw, yes. This is my dick. Whose dick is it?”
Wellington’s eyes opened wide.
Questioning him again, Jada stared into her husband’s eyes and asked, “Whose dick is this?”
His eyes shifted to the left before answering, “Yours, ba. Only yours. Always yours. I love you so much.”
Jada whispered, “Then give me this cum. All of it,” hoping he’d have none left to give to any other woman.
Jada knew Wellington well enough to tell he was lying when he’d said, “Only yours. Always yours,” because underneath his almost convincing tone, his voice trembled nervously.
“Yeeesss,” her husband hissed, cumming so hard his dick continued throbbing long after his orgasm was over.
Jada continued sitting on top of Wellington and in that moment she admired the man she’d fallen in love with twenty-three years ago and married three years ago. Maybe she should trust him because whether or not Wellington was having an affair, Jada was not divorcing her husband.
Glancing at the digital clock on their nightstand, Wellington’s eyes widened. “Damn! I’m late. Ba, I gotta go.” Hurriedly her husband re-showered, dressed, and dashed out the door in less than ten minutes. Since Wellington still owned his home in Half Moon Bay, carry-on luggage wasn’t necessary.
Sitting naked on Wellington’s side of the bed, Jada sadly picked up the cordless phone, staring at the numbers so long that her vision merged them into one black spot. A teardrop fell between openings of the number zero. Drying it off the receiver, Jada dialed her secretary and said, “Cancel my appointments for today. I’ll be in tomorrow.”
Jada’s heart ached like never before. With the exception that she hadn’t convinced Wellington to give Darius back the money or his business, everything in her marriage seemed so right. In the short time Wellington had taken over Somebody’s Gotta Be On Top, Darius’s business had become a cash cow, bringing in new film productions, the most recent in the higher eight figures.
“But Mrs. Tanner, you have a client who took the red-eye in from New York to meet with you today.”
“Dang-gon-it. That’s right. Tell Zen to meet with him. Tell her to negotiate contingent upon my approval. I’ll be back by six. Schedule a seven o’clock dinner with my client at a five-star restaurant near LAX and we’ll finalize everything before his return trip to New York tonight. ’Bye.” Terminating the call, Jada speed-dialed her travel agent. “Have my driver pick me up in an hour. Book me a flight to SFO for ten o’clock this morning returning at four o’clock this evening.”
Jada showered, inhaling the scent of Wellington’s masculine shower gel which lingered inside the enclosed doors. Trying to convince herself everything was all right, Jada questioned if she should stay in Los Angeles and negotiate the fifteen-million-dollar contract herself or risk losing the deal if her client refused to meet with Zen. Brushing her long hair, which Wellington begged her not to cut for years, into a ponytail, Jada eased into a black pantsuit. She concluded her marriage was worth more than any contract amount. But would following Wellington save her marriage if she’d already lost him to another woman?
All the way to San Francisco, Jada contemplated taking the next flight back to Los Angeles but something inside guided her toward the Carey Car driver holding up a sign that read, “Jada Diamond Tanner.” Merging onto Highway 101, the driver exited the last San Francisco exit before crossing the bridge into Oakland. Twenty-five minutes later, at eleven forty-five, Jada was passing time at Macy’s shop-looking in the women’s lingerie department when she heard a familiar voice.
“Could you have this gift-wrapped for me, please? I’ll be back around two to pick it up.”
Melanie Marie Thompson. There she stood, the same perfect size ten. Melanie’s plastic face filled with botox made her eyes bulge at the cashier. Melanie must have lived many miserable years single with no husband of her own, but obviously she was trying to hold on to her youthfulness. Jada shivered. Melanie’s face looked frozen. Dead.
Quickly Jada turned and went upstairs to the furniture department one floor below The Cheesecake Factory. She sat in a reclining chair that was comfortable but not comforting to her, but at least her suspicions were over. Waiting until twelve-thirty, Jada rode the escalator from the furniture department that led directly into the restaurant, sat in a corner of the bar area facing the hostess counter, and watched her husband, seated on the outdoor patio, feed calamari, avocado egg rolls, salad, and strawberry cheesecake to a woman who’d wrecked their engagement twenty-plus years ago.
Unbeknownst to Jada back then, Wellington had fucked Melanie several times before he’d suggested the ménage à trois that Jada had eagerly agreed to. But how did Darius know about that? And how much did her son know? Did Darius know that Melanie had eaten her pu
ssy and sucked Wellington’s dick during their ménage à trois? Did Darius know that Melanie claimed a pregnancy that convinced Wellington to marry her instead of his mother? Once Melanie miscarried the triplets and confessed the children weren’t Wellington’s, Jada thought that was enough to keep Wellington away from Melanie’s conniving ass forever.
Tired of watching her husband cater to Melanie, Jada paid her bill, walked outside to the patio, and stood in front of her husband. “You care to explain this?”
Quizzically, Wellington looked up at her and asked, “Ba, what are you doing here?”
“Me?” Two fifty-plus-year-old women and an older man fighting on the rooftop would’ve been ridiculous but Jada swore if Melanie opened her mouth, Jada would put her fist in it.
Wellington stood. “Melanie, excuse us. Ba, let’s go downstairs to the furniture section and discuss this.”
“Wellington Jones, don’t you touch me!” Jada jerked her arm away then stared up at her husband. Thrusting words between clenched teeth, Jada said, “All I want from you is an explanation. Why would you throw away our marriage on this . . . ?” Jada wanted to call Melanie a tramp but knew the person she had to address was the man looking down on her.
Melanie remained silent, staring up at the cloudless sky while squeezing her tongue into the fork’s grooves, savoring the cheesecake.
Wellington angrily articulated, “Twenty fucking years I have lived with your lies, but I suppose that’s different. It’s always different for you, Jada. As long as you’re the one lying and cheating it’s okay. You don’t think I know about your so-called business dinners with Darryl.”
“Wellington, we were only talking about getting Darius into college and the NBA. That’s all. I wasn’t feeding him strawberries and whipped cream and whatever else you sat here feeding her.”
“You may as well have, you never told me about your dinners.”
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