Bad Girls Finish First

by Shelia Dansby Harvey

  Erika reluctantly stepped aside for Raven, who walked in like she was the homeowner and Erika, the downstairs maid.

  “Why haven’t you returned my calls?” Raven asked. She threw her handbag on the sofa.

  “That’s how we do things, isn’t it? One of us,” Erika pointed at herself, “usually me, makes a call, and the other one, normally you, doesn’t return it. We’ve reversed roles, that’s all.”

  Raven walked over to Erika’s shattered French doors. “Looks like you had a break-in. That’s too bad.”

  Erika didn’t move from the entrance. She wasn’t in the mood to play Raven’s game; finding out who took those pictures was far more important. She decided to allow Raven enough time to do some moderately degrading groveling.

  “Since you’re here, I guess you’ve changed your mind. It took you long enough.” Erika took off her housecleaning gloves and tucked them in the back pocket of her jeans.

  “Changed my mind about what?” Raven’s intention was to tear Erika limb from limb, and on that point, her mind was made up.

  “About making sure my organization gets its money’s worth out of Michael. You almost waited too long, but I’ll make some calls tomorrow, get his endorsements back on track.”

  “STRAPPED? Erika, screw STRAPPED. I’m here about you and David.”

  Erika, who was not shy, felt her neck turn scarlet. “David who?”

  “Let me refresh your recollection.” Raven grabbed her handbag off the sofa. She whipped out one of the photos, and held it in one hand while she stabbed at it with her index finger. “This David. Reverend David Capps. Who do you think you are, sleeping with David?” Raven shouted.

  The photographer had captured David in a stance that was particularly flattering. Erika was in the photo too, breasts swinging, stomach bulging, as she reached for the Sam Houston statuette she’d thrown through her French doors. If Erika looked like that in real life, David (or any self-respecting man) would’ve chased the photographer down and confiscated his camera rather than let anyone know he’d slept with her.

  “Why do you care about me and David?” Erika shouted back.

  “Because he’s mine!” Raven blurted. That shut the both of them up.

  Then Erika started to laugh. “Yours. Are you kidding? The man’s a whore, or haven’t you heard?”

  Raven felt anger rise in her throat. She forced herself to calm down. She leaned the photo of David and Erika in front of a framed picture of Erika and a horse. “You can scream, shout, break everything in this house for all I care,” Raven said as she straightened the propped-up photo, stepped back, stepped forward, and readjusted it. While Raven displayed the picture of David and Erika to her liking, she talked to Erika in a shaky voice. “But the one thing you cannot do is laugh at me. It makes me angry.”

  Erika thought about the stories she’d heard about Raven. Those stories are so bizarre, they can’t be true, she told herself. And if they were, well, Erika wasn’t just a STRAPPED member, she was its top-rated female marksman.

  Erika backed down, but only so much. “I don’t care about David one way or another, but obviously you do, so I’ll give you a choice—Michael or David.”

  “Explain.” Raven’s voice was steady now. Her glassy stare of moments before was gone.

  Erika relaxed. “You think you deserve to have everything you want, but you don’t. So here’s the deal. I let bygones be bygones as far as the STRAPPED money is concerned, which means I’ll stop messing with Michael. In exchange, I keep David, exclusively. Or, I’ll give you David, but Michael loses the election.”

  Raven stared at Erika for a few beats, then said, “Okay, how about this? I keep David, you call your dogs off Michael so that he can win this election, and in return I don’t expose the fact that you sleep black,” Raven shot back.

  Erika called Raven’s bluff. “People don’t care who I sleep with, but when they find out that you’re involved with David, Michael would be lucky to be elected president of a rock-collecting club.” The alarm on Raven’s face told Erika she’d hit the mark. She continued, “I’ll keep David around for as long as I want to, then when I’m done, you can have him.”

  Erika reminded herself of who she was: Erika Chaseworth Whittier, a woman who cut the nuts off bulls and chopped the heads off snakes. She couldn’t let a pest like Raven disrespect her in her own house and get away unhurt. “I’ve got no problem giving you my leftovers, especially since they suit you so well. When I got tired of Michael, he ran right to you, so I’m sure David will do the same.”

  Raven wanted to hit Erika. But she’d learned a few things on the campaign trail; things like patience and how to wait for the right time to stick in the dagger.

  “Fuck you, Erika, I’ll get what I deserve, and so will you.” Raven grabbed her handbag and left.

  Raven sped through Erika’s quiet neighborhood, her entire being concentrated on one thing: hurting Erika. A small child chasing a ball or an old lady crossing the street would’ve been road kill, because Raven didn’t stop for shit, not indecisive squirrels, not stop signs.

  Her cell phone rang.

  “What!”

  “Raven, it’s Jerry Minshew. Please don’t hang up. Listen, I can’t get you off my mind. I have to see you. I’ll do anything you want—write another column, give you money—whatever, I don’t care.” Minshew stopped begging, not because he’d run out of things to say, but because he was shocked that Raven hadn’t hung up in his face.

  Raven didn’t hang up because she needed a target for her rage, and Minshew, with his unlucky self, was it.

  “You’re the most disgusting man I’ve ever let touch me, why would I put myself through that again? Why would any woman want you—have you checked a mirror lately?” Another call came in. “Hold on,” Raven said.

  And the fool did.

  Dudley was on the other line. He was having second thoughts about having shown Raven the pictures so soon. He wanted to plan their strategy for approaching Erika first before Raven did something stupid.

  “Hey, sweetie.” Dudley tried to sound compassionate.

  “I’m on the other line with Jerry Minshew. What’s up?”

  Why is she talking to Jerry Minshew? Dudley thought. “Just wanted to check on you, see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m fine.” Raven had reached the freeway and she hit the entrance ramp going eighty. “I just left Erika’s house. Can you believe she tried to make a deal with me? She’ll let Michael win the election if I give up David.”

  “You did what! Raven, why didn’t you wait and let me talk to her? Now all you’ve done is make Erika angrier!”

  Raven talked right over Dudley. “And she implied that she used to be involved with Michael. That’s just one more reason for me to smash her into the ground. I don’t care if it was before I met Michael. When I finish with her, she’ll have to move out of the state of Texas. I told her that I’m going to make sure she gets what she deserves.” Raven moved across three lanes without looking into her mirrors. She was going ninety and picking up speed.

  “What did she say to that?” Dudley asked. He was upset with Raven but also with himself for rushing to her with the photos. There was nothing he could do now except to gather information and do damage control.

  “I’ve got to give it to the tramp, she’s ready for a fight, and so am I. It’s been a long time since I’ve had somebody stand up to me the way she tried to.”

  Dudley and Raven talked for another couple of minutes, then she clicked back to Minshew.

  “Jerry?”

  “Yes.”

  “One more thing. You’re a lousy fuck.” Raven hung up in his face.

  23

  “Good afternoon. Reverend David Capps’ res—”

  “Put that son-of-a-bitch on the phone!”

  “I beg your—”

  “Bitch, don’t beg, just put his ass on the phone right now!” Raven screamed at Vera Jean, David’s housekeeper. Vera Jean was known to use a few choi
ce cuss words herself, and she definitely took issue with being called a bitch for no reason, but she was getting dressed for Saturday night service and she wasn’t about to let Rev’s problems steal her joy. She took him the phone.

  David was also accustomed to a fair amount of profanity—but not since Stanky Sue had caught him in the garage with the girl next door had he been on the receiving end of such a vile, low-down tongue lashing like the one Raven put on him.

  “Tell me another lie, David, and I’ll catch a plane to Dallas right now and be there before evening service lets out. I’ll show these pictures of you and your white piece of—”

  Pictures! There went David’s hope that it was all a bad dream.

  “Okay, okay. Just calm down. It’s me, but it’s not what you think.”

  “What! It’s not what I think! You must think I’m a fool. See you at church, lover.”

  “Raven, wait!” But he was talking to the dial tone.

  David called for Vera Jean. “I feel sick. Call the church and tell Reverend Greene I won’t be back tonight,” he told her. It wasn’t a lie. David had to drag himself to New Word earlier that day—an irrational conviction told him that everyone he came into contact with had copies of the pictures of him with Erika. Raven’s tirade sealed the deal; he wasn’t going anywhere near New Word. David would have canceled Saturday night and Sunday services, but that wasn’t possible.

  He didn’t doubt that Raven was on her way to Dallas. She’d flown in once before and taken a taxi directly to the church. That day, they spent many unholy hours in almost every area of the church except for the sanctuary and the chapel. No matter what Raven offered, David had never let her so much as peek into those areas. That was where he drew the line.

  How did Raven get hold of those pictures? he wondered as he raced to the airport. He’d worry about that later. He didn’t consider that Raven might be the one behind his troubles. Although he knew Raven had done some scandalous things in her time, David didn’t believe she’d do anything to hurt him. Raven loved him.

  As soon as Raven exited the terminal, David came up behind her, grabbed her arm, and squeezed. “You’re coming with me.”

  Raven gave him a cool look. “Or I could scream and cause a scene right here. Get your hand off me.”

  David didn’t let go, but he loosened his grip. “Raven, I’m asking you not to ruin my life. Please don’t go to my church.”

  Raven was accustomed to seeing lust or pride in David’s eyes, but all she saw was fear and desperation. Her feelings, already all over the place, jangled some more.

  “Where’s your car?” she asked.

  They went to David’s home. David locked the door leading from the garage to the kitchen and turned to find Raven’s open hand fast approaching his face. He grabbed her wrist.

  “I’m not Michael,” he said. “Raise your hand to me again, and I’ll hurt you.”

  “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried,” Raven said, and looking into his eyes she knew she was right.

  The couple fought without touching, flinging bitter words at each other. Raven accused David of being a dressed-up field nigger sniffing after massa’s woman. He told her he’d rather be with a beautiful, rich, white, sane woman than with a married sociopath. Raven broke dishes. David put his fist through a wall.

  Then Raven smirked at David and said, “So this is what a false prophet looks like.”

  David’s face crumpled under the weight of Raven’s accusation. She gave a voice to David’s deepest fear—that he had become a fake, a man who lived by his passions rather than by The Word. How could he lead others to God when he’d lost the way himself? David abruptly turned from Raven, tears stinging his eyes.

  Seeing how hurt he was, Raven stopped. “I didn’t mean it. None of it.” She removed her coat and threw it across a kitchen chair. “David, look at me.” She wore a red wool dress that zipped up the front. She took off her dress and stood there in her heels, hose, and bra.

  When he turned to face her, Raven said, “I don’t understand you, David. How could you want Erika when you’ve got all this?”

  David gently put his hands on either side of Raven’s face, bent and kissed her. Within seconds everything they dragged around with them—their problems, their pride, their pretensions—was stripped away. They sank to David’s kitchen floor, but for all the lovers knew, they could have been anywhere in the world.

  After she caught her breath, Raven repeated, “How could you be with her, David? After what just happened between us?”

  They were seated side by side on the floor, their backs resting against the kitchen cabinets. David looked at her and said, “You know how, Raven. I started seeing Erika before you and I got together. She chased me from day one. You and I are alike. If somebody gives us something, we take it. I’ll bet you’ve never given yourself to only one man at a time.”

  “I do now.”

  David was surprised. “You do? What about Michael? What about all the freaky stuff you like to make him do?”

  “Gave it up for you,” she said quietly.

  David still couldn’t believe all he’d taken away from Michael. “He told me once that I needed to find myself a woman like you. Who would have imagined . . .” His voice trailed off. He brushed his hand over Raven’s hair. “And there hasn’t been anyone else but me?”

  “No.” Raven told the truth. Her transaction with Minshew took place before David. Since David, Raven didn’t think she could abide the touch of another man.

  “Damn.” David slung his arm around Raven’s shoulder.

  “Yeah,” she agreed.

  “Let’s do this,” David spun around and with his legs akimbo, faced Raven. He took her hands in his. “I promise you, from this day forward, I will not give myself to anyone but you. Do you promise the same thing?”

  “I do.”

  Michael leaned over and pawed Raven. She slapped his hand away.

  “Get off me!” she whispered in her sleep and scooted to the far side of their king-sized bed.

  Michael did as he was told. Lately Raven rejected his advances more and more. They hadn’t made love in over a month. Michael was on his most servile behavior, but it wasn’t enough to get Raven in the mood. When they did make love, she went through the motions, but clearly didn’t enjoy herself. Lately she’d given up the pretense of being interested in Michael. Except, that is, when it came to his gubernatorial race.

  Michael suspected that the cause of his sexual problems with Raven was their constant bickering over how to stop the flow of blood from his campaign. She wanted to use strong-arm tactics, but after what happened with Smotes, he wouldn’t allow her to talk to anyone of importance. Michael knew that Raven wasn’t accustomed to being told no, especially not by him. She didn’t know when she married him that Michael had a dual nature—bedroom slave, boardroom king.

  He looked at her, curled in a fetal position, her hair clasped in a thick, beautiful ponytail, and wished he could change his nature, or hers. But it wasn’t happening. Michael was his own master when it came to politics, and even if Raven never let him near her again, he wasn’t giving up control of his professional dream. Raven, Michael knew, would never change. No way, no how.

  He got out of bed and went down to get the Sunday Austin American-Statesman. The news for Michael these days was usually no news, or bad news—in the form of another endorsement lost. Even though he was conditioned to expect the worst, Michael’s heart skipped a few beats and his mouth went dry when he read the opinion page. IS IMPOTENT GOVERNOR TEXAS’ DESTINY?

  “Texas is a great state,” the article began. “A strong, virile (if I may use the word) state. Whatever Texas does, she does in a big way. Can we, given our size, our strength, and our dreams, afford to have as governor a man who is professionally impotent?”

  The editorial continued, “I speak, regretfully, of Michael Joseph. Although it was only a short time ago that I used this page to endorse him as the best candidate for governor, even
ts that have taken place since then cause me to question my own judgment. Senator Joseph began on a high note, but his campaign of late has been mediocre, his message unfocused, and his ability to hold onto key endorsements, pitiful. Senator Joseph even managed to lose the endorsement of the Rice Association. It’s rice, for crying out loud!”

  The opinion piece went on to recount every lost endorsement and lost vote that plagued Michael’s campaign since the day Erika decided that he shouldn’t be governor. The article was mean spirited and unbalanced. It was also factually accurate and stunningly effective. The best thing that Jerry Minshew had ever written.

  Grace put on her favorite Boney James CD, prepared a bubble bath, lit her candles, and poured herself a glass of wine. She let her robe drop to the floor and stepped into the fragrant, steamy water. She didn’t want to think about anything, but Michael was on her mind and she decided to soak, drink her wine, and deal with it.

  They’d started out with so much promise, two good people who were deeply in love. Tears slid down Grace’s cheeks as she recalled a young Michael, his naked body pressed to hers, whispering in her ear, “I’ve had sex plenty of times, but this was my first time making love.” She could feel his tears on her shoulder. She pictured the fear on his face during her rough labor with Evan, the way he’d wiped her brow and muttered nervous words of encouragement. Grace and Michael had shared so much: vacations alone when they’d left the boys with the Reeses, family reunions, professional successes and setbacks, secret dreams and fears. Michael and Grace Joseph had been true intimate friends.

  But over time, their relationship changed. Michael demoted Grace from best friend to live-in acquaintance. From lover to infrequent semen receptacle. From one hundred to zero in what seemed to Grace like the blink of an eye.

  Now Michael wanted her to be his friend again. “Good enough to be his friend, but not good enough to be his wife,” Grace muttered as she took a sip of wine. She lay there, getting a buzz from the wine, letting the tears and memories flow. Please, God, she prayed, let me cry until I cry Michael out of my system. I know you can heal a broken heart—you said it in your word. Please, Father, let this be my last time crying over that man.