No, he did not hang up on her. Wellington had become bolder since their encounter at The Cheesecake Factory, inviting Melanie to his office against Jada’s demands. Melanie worked in Oakland but Wellington claimed since she was practically her own boss she accepted every detailed assignment she could in Hollywood, and as long as she was in Hollywood, he’d gladly accept her assistance and use her contacts. Jada doubted Melanie had a job at all.
Prepared for battle, Jada had worn her flat heels, black pantsuit, stud black diamond earrings, and secured her hair into a neat bun before she’d left home.
Darius was right again when he said Wellington would never deprive his biological son. Little Wellington, although he’d soon graduate from kindergarten, never went without. Wellington spoiled his child and Simone, Wellington II’s mom. Once Simone had gotten over Wellington, she took advantage of every opportunity to send little Wellington to their house while she and her husband traveled at Jada and Wellington’s expense. Jada tried telling Wellington that Simone was padding her budget but all he’d say was, “Let me handle my son and Simone.”
How could Jada have been so trusting, believing that her husband would never cheat on her? Maybe because Jada had never been unfaithful to Wellington. At least not since their marriage. Or perhaps since Jada made it her full-time job—with the exception of joining a swingers club—to satisfy Wellington sexually. Or so she’d thought. Jada had too many clients and potential clients to risk being labeled a swinger.
Leaning over her huge cherry wood desk at Black Diamonds, Jada stared into its customized glass top. Between the desk and the glass, Jada had inserted an array of color photos of the most important people of her life: her mother, Ruby, and her dad, Henry; Darius; Wellington; and herself. Unexpectedly, Jada’s head fell closer to the desk. Stretching her neck upward, Jada smoothed her bun behind her head.
Why couldn’t she instill in her child the same morals her parents fostered in her? Love. Respect. Honesty. Well, maybe like most people, Jada selectively chose when to utilize her values and with whom. Self-esteem was something Jada developed with time and no matter how much her parents believed in her, Jada’s life didn’t change until she started believing in herself. Jada’s dark complexion gave her a complex for many years. But after her father sent her to a dermatologist, had their dentist correct her crooked teeth, and sent her to the M.A.C. cosmetic store for a complimentary makeover, Jada realized the color of her skin was never the problem. Collectively, the small inadequacies adversely impacted the way she felt about herself. Years later, low self-esteem was the least of Jada’s concerns.
Every picture of Lawrence, including the pose of Lawrence proudly hugging Ashlee on her first day of kindergarten, had been removed from the collage after Jada divorced him. Jada tapped on the quarter-inch-thick transparent glass. Lovingly, Jada smiled at her favorite photo. A once wrinkled and torn image of Jada with Darius and Wellington had been restored and centered amongst the group. That was one of many photos that Darius had spitefully damaged then mailed back to her when she didn’t attend any of his basketball games at Georgetown. Values? Did Darius have any? Did Wellington? How could Jada repair her marriage? Or would she simply replace her snapshots of Wellington with someone else? Swiftly, her eyes looked toward the glass-top. Jada shook her head again.
Gazing into Wellington’s photogenic alluring brown eyes, Jada wearily hummed as the puffy bags underneath her hazel eyes became alarmingly visible. Tugging at her cheekbones, Jada said, “My goodness. When did all this happen? I’ve got to get some rest.”
Glaring at herself, Jada nodded, contemplating divorce. Acting civilized toward Wellington throughout the day, any day, at home or at work, was suddenly agitating. To minimize their arguments—make that her arguing, his ignoring—Wellington had retreated nightly to one of the guest bedrooms while Jada slept—three hours at best per night, twenty minutes on, forty minutes off, and so forth—alone in their bedroom.
Most days Jada gladly left earlier than Wellington in the morning, worked later well into the night, and although she considered living at the Ritz Carlton for a few weeks to emotionally regroup, she’d have too many personal items to pack and take along. Irrespective of the quality of any hotel, sleeping in a bed God only knew how many others had slept in, had sex in, had died in, wasn’t something Jada would volunteer to do for an extended period of time without insisting on using her own linens. Propping her elbow on the desk, Jada braced her forehead in the palm of her hand and closed her eyes.
Years ago, Jada and Wellington had agreed it was a fantastic idea for them to lease additional office space in San Francisco’s financial district. Wellington Jones and Associates, Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top, and Black Diamonds still occupied the same understaffed office area downtown on Montgomery Street near Market Street. But fortunately and unfortunately, Jada’s Los Angeles office was down the hall from Wellington’s newly combined headquarters of Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top.
Jada’s face slipped off of her hand, stopping inches from the glass top as her horrid dream of Wellington and Melanie blissfully dating crashed. “And we were happy, or so I foolishly thought. Okay, Jada. Get up and get out of the office.” Ten A.M. Four hours of sleep over the last forty-eight and ten more to go before quitting time. Slowly entering her private rest room, Jada splashed cold water on her face, removed then reapplied her moisturizer and makeup.
Feeling refreshed, Jada bypassed her receptionist and said, “Forward my calls to Zen. I’ll be back at noon.”
Turning right toward the elevators, Jada stopped, made a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn, bypassed her office, and entered Wellington’s. “Is Mr. Jones in?”
Wellington’s receptionist answered, “He’s in with a client but if you want to come back, he should be available shortly, Mrs. Tanner,” as if Jada were also a client.
“No, thanks. I’ll wait,” Jada said, proceeding to the visitor’s area located opposite Wellington’s office. Settling into the black leather vibrating chair, Jada’s head rested snug into the neck massager. She turned off the television.
Tick. Tick. Tick. The pendulum inside the grandfather clock swayed, hypnotizing Jada as her eyelids eventually submitted to her restless body and closed.
Reminiscing about her first date with Wellington in Carmel, Jada tried to recall the last time she’d turned Wellington into a human sundae, dousing him with whipped cream, strawberries, chocolate, and cherries. Or the last time she’d given him a shower massage. Or the last time he’d taken her on an excursion. Or rubbed her feet. Or brushed her hair. Or simply held her hand in public.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Jada’s eyeballs rolled upward under her lids. They’d become so consumed with work and so familiar with one another that Jada thought she was investing quality time with her husband when, now that she thought about it, all she was really doing was squeezing him into her free time. But everything between them seemed so perfect. Was Melanie doing the things Jada used to do? Was Wellington sharing his time, money, heart, or all three with Melanie?
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Blinking slowly several times, Jada opened her eyes and glanced around the dark room. The vibrating chair was still. The office was quiet. Looking at the lighted clock, Jada whispered, “Six-thirty? Can’t be.” Jada checked her wristwatch. Sure enough, she’d been in the same position for eight and half hours. Jada patrolled Wellington’s office. Everyone was gone.
“So did he just leave me here sleeping or did his secretary forget to mention I was waiting?” Wellington easily could’ve missed her slumped in that huge chair. Well, as long as she was here, Jada’s nails clicked on Wellington’s door. Jada held the doorknob, turning it slowly. The last time she’d searched Wellington’s belongings, she wasn’t pleased. What difference did it make? If she found nothing, she’d love him more. Maybe invite him into the bedroom with her tonight.
Quietly entering Wellington’s office, Jada closed the door the same way. “Let’s see. Where do I begin?” Jada ima
gined fucking Wellington in his office. That would be a first if only the session wasn’t in her mind.
Jada sat behind Wellington’s desk and opened every drawer. The last drawer on the bottom right-hand side was filled with condoms and lubricants. Jada removed everything from the drawer, placed the contents on Wellington’s desk, and then put everything back. What was her point? The next drawer up was empty. The top drawer was filled with airline itineraries. Shuffling through the stack, each trip had two reservations. One for Wellington. The other for Melanie. Jamaica. Canada. France.
“My God. How could he?” Jada mumbled, closing all the drawers. She’d seen enough. The dancing box on Wellington’s monitor lured Jada’s hand to the mouse.
Searching for more divorce ammunition, Jada’s wrist wiggled along the Lakers mouse pad. Wellington’s computer was on-line twenty-four-seven. Clicking on the drop box, her husband’s cookie history had numerous triple-X Web sites: girls on girls; guys on girls; guys on guys? When Jada clicked on Wellington’s mailbox icon, an endless list of daily messages from DeliciousMelanie were displayed. Should’ve been MaliciousMelanie. Jada couldn’t convince herself to double-click on any of Melanie’s messages. Scanning the topics, one subject read, “Contract for Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top.”
Jada instantly double-clicked on the e-mail from Melanie to Wellington.
“Thanks for making me a partner in every way. I’ll continue managing the San Francisco office until you’ve convinced Jada to convince Darius to sign his thirty-three-and-a-third interest over to you. I mean us. Then we can combine our percentages, force Jada out, and start selling stock shares to our partners. BTW, our daughter needs a new nanny. You want us to stay in San Francisco or move to L.A.? Since I’m spending three days a week in L.A., if we relocate we can save money by closing the San Francisco office and you could see Morgan more often. Think about it. We love you.”
Jada printed the message then forwarded it to her inbox. Closing the e-mail, Jada had no idea what to do next so she sat motionless, wondering how much Darius knew about Wellington’s wrongdoings.
“Ha, ha, ha. You are so silly.” A female voice resonated in the air right outside Wellington’s door. Quickly Jada scurried to Wellington’s adjoining conference room, leaving a hairline crack in the door.
“You won’t be laughing when I put this big dick inside you.”
What? Was that her husband? Talking nasty?
“Well, we’ll have to see,” Melanie said, entering Wellington’s office while unbuttoning her blouse.
Slam!
Wellington forced Melanie’s back against the wall, lifted her skirt, and inserted his finger into her vagina. “You’re already ready. Damn,” Wellington said, licking his finger.
“Don’t think finger fucking is going to get you off the hook again,” Melanie moaned. “You promised me a big dick and that’s what I want, goddammit.”
Jada waited. For what? She wasn’t sure but she couldn’t move. Jada expected Wellington to open one of his condoms after unzipping his pants, but he didn’t. Wellington massaged his dick over and over to no erection. “Suck him for me,” Wellington said, sitting on the edge of his desk, double-clicking on the girls on girls Web site.
“And? What’s in it for me this time? Huh?” Melanie asked, bobbing her lips toward Wellington’s crotch. “I want half of the company. Mmm, if you didn’t taste so good, I would’ve left you alone a long time ago. And there’s no way in hell I’d be your mistress.” Melanie slurped and sucked hard, letting saliva escape her mouth as she massaged Wellington’s erection.
Jada watched her husband lean his head back in ecstasy. “You always did suck my dick the best, you know that. Damn, I’m ready to blast off in your mouth, baby.”
Wellington’s dick was more soft than hard. He couldn’t fuck with that erection, Jada thought, flushing one eye closer to the crack in the door.
Melanie sucked harder. Her hand stroked faster until Wellington yelled, “Aawww! Yes! Yes! Back your pussy up on this dick, bitch, and let me fuck you. And make your pussy suck the Ruler.”
Strangling Wellington’s semi-hard foot-long erection in her hand, Melanie guided Wellington inside and began to ride him like a pony on a carousel. “Rub my pussy, you sexy caramel bald-headed muthafucka.”
Pushing Melanie forward, Wellington stood, squatted, and then stroked his hand between Melanie’s legs while humping her from behind like a damn dog.
“That’s it. Now tell mama. What’s your fantasy, daddy? Mama will do whatever you like.”
“Um-hum,” Wellington moaned.
“You want me to wrap my juicy lips around your head and suck your dick some more,” Melanie moaned.
Wellington nodded, then said, “Oh yeah,” thrusting his dick deeper like he was trying to keep from slipping out.
“Well, I’m sucking your dick right now while Jada is licking dem big-ass nuts, daddy. That’s right. She’s doing you, too. Remember how I licked Jada’s pussy? That’s the same way your secretary is licking your nipples. Put your tongue in her mouth. That’s right. You have all of us at the same time.”
“Aw, shit,” Wellington groaned, closing his eyes.
“I’m sucking this chocolate dick real good, daddy. But I’ma let Jada have a lick. You want her to taste your dick, daddy?”
“Oh, hell yes,” Wellington groaned humping inside Melanie slower and deeper.
“Hold this pussy in your hand. Don’t let go. If you let go, I’ma spank you. Stroke this tiger before she bites you. Keep stroking her. I’ma lick your asshole while Jada deep-throats your dick, daddy. Um-hum. Fuck me harder. Because I’m getting ready to fuck you. You want me to put my finger in your ass?”
“Aww, yeah. Kiss between my asshole and nuts first, baby.”
“I got you, daddy. I know your spot. I got you. My finger is slowly slipping inside you. Squeeze my finger while I press against dem colossal nuts from the inside. Jada, suck my man’s dick. Suck it, bitch. Suck—”
“Who you calling a bitch?!” Jada yelled, slamming the door against the stopper.
“Aaahhhhhhh!” Melanie screamed.
Wellington yelled at the same time, drizzling cum down the side of his dick. “What the fuck?”
Wellington scrambled, pulling up his pants. Melanie pulled down her skirt.
“Oh, no. Don’t stop. You two lovebirds carry on. I’m too pissed to even go off,” Jada said, sternly eyeing Wellington. “Don’t come home tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next. And you,” Jada said, looking at Melanie, “he’s all yours. But my son’s business is not for sale. In fact, effectively immediately, I’m taking over Darius’s company until he decides what he wants do with his business.” Jada turned to leave Wellington’s office, stopped, faced Wellington, and said, “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. Give Morgan a kiss and a hug for me.” Wellington had gone too far. This time there was reconciling to do.
CHAPTER 22
“What’s up, Big D? You ready for the exhibition game tonight?” Lance asked, lying on his back, palming the basketball with one hand above his head.
Lance was six-foot-five, two inches shorter than Darius, weighing two hundred twenty pounds. Starting at the point for three consecutive years, Lance desperately wanted to play professionally. NBA. Overseas. He didn’t care where as long as he continued playing basketball. With the new NCAA rule, Lance and every other player including Darius could play on scholarship for five years instead of four. So if Lance didn’t go pro after his senior year, he’d decided to stay the additional year to play ball and work on his Master’s. Thanks to Darryl Senior, Darius wouldn’t need more than one year before making his move into the pros.
Lying in his bed across the room from Lance, Darius said, “Man, I’m about to give them the business. I need to touch the ball every play. Don’t forget. Don’t let me starve on the court, man. You feed me and I’ll make sure my dad takes care of you, too.”
“You know I’m a team player and I’m quick with my passes, so if you wan
t me to give it up, you gotta work to keep your ass open, man.”
Somehow the last part of Lance’s statement didn’t sound quite right. “When you alley-oop, I’ma already be in the air. When you bounce, I’m there, baby. And when you fast break, I’m faster. I’ll be waiting for you to get to the other end.”
Tossing the ball in the air, Lance said, “You got a lotta shit on your mind, D. I can tell. Whatever it is, whoever she is, leave that bitch on the bench. I want to win a championship this year. And for the first time since I’ve been here, we have a damn good chance to go all the way.”
Darius kept staring at the ceiling. “I’m cool, L. My dad is on his way over to help me straighten out this shit. Besides, this is just an exhibition.”
Hurling the ball at the ceiling, Lance yelled, “Don’t say that shit, man! All you fuckin’ rich kids are just alike. Don’t have to work for shit! Think everything comes easy!” Haphazardly, the ball ricocheted around the room, slowing to a low bounce next to Lance’s bed.
“Chill out, man. I don’t apologize for having money.” Actually, Darius had spent eight of the ten grand his mother had given him and was hoping she’d be at his game today to see how hard he was working.
“That’s your fuckin’ problem, D. You don’t apologize for shit. Not for the way you misuse these women. You don’t have to fuck them just because they show up at your door, our door. And the way you brag to me about your dad getting you into the pros. And you never say you’re sorry for the times you show up late at practice and everybody has to run suicides for your selfish ass. You think you’re better than us but you’re not!”
Darius stood, walked toward the door, and said, “The honeys are perks. Like fringe benefits. Don’t hate on me because you don’t use yours. And it’s not that I think I’m better than you. You know I’m better than you and that bothers you. Stop shrinking, man. Show up for your shit and claim it! ’Cause if you think I’ma give anybody slack on or off that court, you trippin’.” Darius opened the door. “Oh, hi, Dad. Come in.” Turning to Lance, Darius said, “By the way, for a white boy you got some mean ball handling skills. You must’ve grown up playing with the brothas.”
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