by Kiki Swinson
Also by Kiki Swinson
Wifey
I’m Still Wifey
Life After Wifey
The Candy Shop
A Sticky Situation
Still Wifey Material
Playing Dirty
Notorious
Sleeping with the Enemy (with Wahida Clark)
Heist (with De’nesha Diamond)
Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless (with Noire)
Also by De’nesha Diamond
Hustlin’ Divas
Street Divas
Heartbreaker (with Eric S. Gray and Nichelle Walker)
Heist (with Kiki Swinson)
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
A GANGSTER AND A GENTLEMAN
KIKI SWINSON DE’NESHA DIAMOND
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
I Need a Gangsta
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
The Day of the Interview
Gentlemen Prefer Bullets
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
Teaser chapter
Teaser chapter
GREAT BOOKS, GREAT SAVINGS!
Copyright Page
I Need a Gangsta
Kiki Swinson
Prologue
The Day of the Interview
The courtroom was pin-drop quiet and packed to capacity. The jury foreman stood up, the rustle of his suit making everyone in the room feel tense. He cleared his throat. The judge asked the foreman if the jury had reached the verdict. The foreman said yes and unfolded a piece of paper. He opened his mouth and the words seemed to come out in slow motion.
“We the jury, in the case of the Commonwealth of Virginia versus Melody Goldman, find the defendant not guilty of the charge of first-degree murder in count one of the indictment.”
A loud round of groans and moans filtered around the room.
“Order!” the judge shouted, banging his gavel.
Silence came once again. The foreman continued apprehensively. He could feel the evil eyes bearing down on him. “We the jury also find the defendant not guilty of the charge of manslaughter in count two of the indictment,” he finished.
The courtroom erupted in pandemonium. There were screams and moans. Reporters were running out of the courtroom so they could be the first to break the news. Melody Goldman grabbed her defense attorney in a long, tight embrace as relief settled on her shoulders like a cloak of comfort. She swiped away the happy tears from her face and mouthed, “Thank you,” to her attorneys. In her mind, justice had been served.
Melody could hear the news reporters and tabloid media personalities screaming, “Melody Goldman may have just gotten away with two murders! The verdict has shocked the nation!”
Melody was ushered out of the courtroom, shrouded by her team of attorneys. They had done it. Melody was a free woman. Once they hit the courthouse doors, throngs of reporters moved in for the kill.
“Ms. Goldman! How did you do it? How did you get away with murder?” reporters screamed as Melody tried to get out of the building. She kept her head low, hiding her face with her arms. She didn’t want anyone to see that she was smiling.
The replay of my courtroom scene almost brought a smile to my face again. I sat in the network studio watching myself on the big screen. The network had chosen to use the scene as an opening for the piece they were doing on my life. Next I heard the correspondent rehearsing her opening statements. It was all fascinating, to say the least.
“Tonight on Date Time, we bring you the story of Melody Goldman. Once a beautiful, wealthy, and widely popular socialite among the elite in the Tidewater area, Goldman narrowly escaped serving time in prison for heinous acts of murder that she says she was wrongly accused of, although Tidewater police and prosecutors have a different view on things. Tonight you will hear Goldman tell the story of how she went from a dazzling socialite who flaunted her position as the wife of criminal defense attorney to the stars Richard Goldman to the most hated woman in the United States. Police say she was aptly dubbed the black widow, who got away with not one but two murders. We will take you through Melody’s life, starting with her humble beginnings in the roughest neighborhood in Virginia Beach, through her whirlwind love affair and marriage to one of the most renowned defense attorneys in the United States, to her current life as a wealthy widow who says she enjoys every day of her life after coming so close to losing her freedom. Stay tuned as we bring you the story of Melody Goldman, a woman who, by her own account, got caught between a gangsta and a gentleman.”
I smirked to myself as I listened to Michelle Moyer, the host of the television special that would be featuring the rise in my celebrity and my even higher rise to grace, as she rehearsed the opening for our interview. The smirk turned into all-out laughter as I thought about the comment that I had gotten away with not one but two murders. It was nervous laughter, I have to admit, but I was thinking, You damn right I got away! I was the real victim. Those motherfuckers did themselves in. It was not me. Period. And now the world would know the truth about my story. I’d walked away from being convicted of horrible crimes, but not before I was put through some shit myself.
I folded my arms across my chest as I thought about the entire ordeal. Folding my arms was something the show’s producers had asked me not to do during the taping. Well, I was feeling defensive—that’s what my psychiatrist often told me whenever I folded my arms and twisted my lips in his presence. I didn’t care that people didn’t believe my side of the story; I knew the truth. I was going to tell it like it really happened. Not like the media had made it out to be when everything first happened. After listening to Michelle Moyer rehearse several times, I didn’t think what she was saying about me was too bad; at least she didn’t call me what everyone else had been calling me in the media—a jealous, scorned, gold-digging murderer who wanted revenge.
Michelle finished her intro and was ready to get down to business with the interview. She smiled at me as she settled into her chair directly across from me, and members of the crew put the finishing touches on her makeup. It was a phony smile, forced through her porcelain veneers. I could feel the envious vibe she was sending my way. It was clear that even Michelle Moyer, one of the top news correspondents in Virginia, was jealous of the still-fabulous Melody Goldman. I guess still fabulous was a bit of an understatement. I was new and improved. I mean, my natural beauty was still apparent even after all of the stress I had endured. I had stepped up my game from my old usual $500 weave to lace front wigs imported directly from India just for me. I kept my nails done with weekly manicures, and my skin was even more radiant than it was before my little run-in with the law. I say run-in because that’s just what it was. I am Melody Goldman—didn’t they know that? I was simply not to be fucked with. I also refused to take full responsibility. I would always maintain my innocence.
“Are you ready?” Michelle asked, still flashing that fake-as-a-three-dollar-bill smile.
I inhaled deeply. “As ready as I’m gonna get,” I answered, exhaling. I hadn’t really ta
lked about all of the intricacies of my story since my trial. In fact, I had definitely pushed some things into the far reaches of my mind, but today, like I promised when the network agreed to pay me $200,000 for my story, I was going to tell everything, raw, uncut, and in their faces.
“O-okay, Ms. Goldman, or do-do you prefer Melody?” Michelle stumbled over her words.
“Melody is fine.”
“Melody, you are one of the most talked about women in America. Many people say you literally got away with murder. Although you say you didn’t do it, this can’t be how you planned your life. You can’t walk down the street without someone recognizing you. You’ve even received death threats. I mean . . . ,” Michelle started, her trailed off statement leading me down her little path.
“No, definitely not. As a little girl, I always knew I would be famous, though. I also knew I’d be just as fabulous as I am today,” I began.
“But did you know you’d be infamous?” Michelle blurted out, cutting in before I could say anything else. Her words struck me like a gut punch. I grabbed the edges of the chair and gripped them tightly. I was more determined than ever to tell the story now. I opened my mouth and thought about how it had all gotten started.
1
One Year Earlier
It was a usual day in the neighborhood for me. Just like any other day, I woke up as the wife of Richard Goldman, a wealthy criminal defense attorney to the stars. I had started out my day like any other—manicure, pedicure, hair appointment, a little shopping, some calls to other attorneys’ and doctors’ wives, and, finally, a check of my phone’s calendar to see if Richard would be traveling or if I would have him for myself, which had become a rare occasion for us. Shit! I had almost choked on my words when I looked at the date. I immediately felt like shit when I read the date and realized it was Richard’s birthday and I had forgotten. He had been traveling and working late hours so much, I often forgot what day it was. I had immediately gotten on my phone and called our personal shopper, Almonté. Luckily, Almonté had a free block in his schedule and agreed to meet me at Neiman Marcus to help me pick out the perfect gift for Richard. I figured I wouldn’t call Richard to say happy birthday right then because he’d probably figure out that I had just remembered his birthday at three o’clock in the afternoon. Instead, I planned on surprising him with the perfect gift and the perfect lingerie so he could have his best gift—some of me. I was hoping that my body would be on his mind and not the fact that I had really forgotten his day.
Almonté and I moved through Neiman like two gazelles being chased by lions. We made quick work of picking out a gift for Richard, who, by the way, was very hard to shop for because he had everything you could possibly think of. But we’d finally found a few things that were exclusive enough for Richard’s taste—a new pair of Salvatore Ferragamo loafers that hadn’t even been put on the floor yet and a pair of David Yurman cuff links with black and canary diamonds in them. Those were both small, but the big gift was the hot La Perla number I found to wear. I was super excited. I loved to buy things for Richard. It just made me feel like I was doing something other than sitting around looking pretty and spending his money.
When I pulled up to my front door, I was brimming inside with anticipation. Richard’s car was there, and I couldn’t wait to see his face when I showed him what I got for his birthday. More importantly, I couldn’t wait to show him what I was going to do to him for his birthday. I shivered just thinking about the dick. Richard’s shit was addictive and one of the many reasons I had sacrificed so much to be with him for the rest of my life. I knew that being with Richard meant a safe, secure, financial future for me. Or so I thought.
Giving up my job as a paralegal and my law school studies seemed to be a small sacrifice when I met and fell in love with Richard and his dick. I loved making love to my husband, and with his clientele growing, and him being gone a lot more, I hardly got any dick lately. I was actually salivating thinking about it, and I made a mental note to remember to tell him that I would be accompanying him on at least one or two of his business trips per month. I was tired of being home alone. “Here I come, honey bunny,” I sang as I parked the smoke-gray Audi R8 he had leased for me to drive for the next two years. That’s another thing. My husband was extremely intelligent and financially savvy. He thought it was a waste to finance a bunch of cars when I always wanted to change cars like underwear.
I hopped out of the driver’s seat and rushed inside our home with the beautifully wrapped gifts in hand. Sweat beads were lined up on my forehead, threatening to ruin the glue on my new hair, that’s how bad I was rushing to get to my man. My heart sank as soon as I stepped inside our grand foyer. I almost tripped over bags on top of bags. I groaned loudly, because that could only mean one fucking thing. But he’d just got back! Where could he be going again?! I thought to myself, exasperated and disappointed all in one. I eyed the bags good. That’s when I noticed that it wasn’t just his usual traveling bags by the door; there was much more this time. I crinkled my eyebrows because Richard had every piece of his Louis Vuitton luggage set by the door and then some. There were at least seven bags and two garment bags. He even had his Gucci duffel that he used for the gym packed to capacity. Shit, it looked like he was packing and never coming back. I dropped the Neiman Marcus bag, my purse, and my keys on the baby-grand bench. I slipped out of my heels and proceeded through the house to find out what the hell was the deal.
“Honey, I’m home!” I sang out, trying to keep my voice steady as an uneasy feeling crept up on me. My voice echoing off the walls and high ceilings made me feel even more dread. You know when you just know something is not right? Well, instinctively, I felt something just wasn’t right.
“Richard?” I called out as I walked slowly toward the spiral staircase. “Richard, honey, where are you?” I called again, growing more frantic. Finally, he appeared at the top of the staircase. I looked up, my eyes as wide as dinner plates. I swallowed hard when I saw the look on his face. To this day, I remember it as something more evil than I’d ever seen, even from my mother, who hated my guts and often wore a scowl whenever she looked at me. The devil himself was dancing in Richard’s eyes.
“Happy birthday, baby,” I said, flashing a fake-ass smile. I was trying real hard to stamp down the sick feeling in my gut. Richard just looked at me steely-eyed and stone-faced. He was holding one of his many watchcases in his hand. Strange to say the least. I know he is not emptying his watchcases! I remember thinking.
“I . . . I . . . got something for your birthday, and I got something special planned for us. You . . . you . . . weren’t going to travel again, were you?” I stammered. His glare just had me feeling uneasy. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I needed to know what the hell was up.
I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, so I waited for him to tell me what was going on. We stared at each other for at least thirty long seconds. “Richard?” I said, breaking the eerie silence. “Why do you look like that? The bags? It’s your birthday . . . What the . . . ,” I said, my voice cracking.
“Look, Melody, I was going to tell you,” he said, lowering his eyes. He started fiddling with the watchcase. “There’s no easy way to say something like this . . . ,” he continued. His voice was even, stern.
I started shaking. What was he talking about? He couldn’t even look me in the eyes, which was a bad fucking sign. I could feel my heart squeezing tight inside of my chest, but I didn’t say a word.
“I’m leaving. I’m having all my things moved out today,” Richard rambled, nearly devoid of any emotion. I couldn’t find one shred of remorse in his words or in his face. I felt like a bell had gone off in my head. There was loud ringing and I felt off balance. What did he just say? Leaving. Moved out today. I screamed inside of my head. My legs started to shake. Caught off guard by his sudden betrayal, I slumped against the staircase wall for a second. I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me too. At first when I opened my mouth to say something, not
hing came out.
“Why?” I finally whispered breathlessly as I caught my balance.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Melody, with all of the dramatics,” Richard said coldly. Another slap-to-the-face statement. He couldn’t be serious. I was thinking this shit was a joke. I laughed a little bit.
“Richard, are you mad because you think I forgot your birthday?” I asked. Tears were right at the rims of my eyes. I couldn’t help it. My heart was hammering so hard I felt nauseous, and I was scared to death. I can’t lose my husband, was all I kept thinking. He had to be playing a cruel joke on me.
“No. I’m leaving. It’s over, Melody. It’s been over,” he replied dryly.
“No! No!” I screamed as I bolted up the staircase toward him.
“I’m not going to do the drama queen thing with you. This is not one of those stupid reality shows you watch,” Richard said, turning his back on me. I was huffing and puffing when I reached the top of the steps. I ran after him as he walked away dismissively. I felt the need to be face-to-face so he could look me in the eye and tell me why he had really packed up his shit. I mean, we hadn’t had the perfect marriage, but damn, it hadn’t been so bad that he’d want to pack up his shit and leave me.
“Richard, don’t you turn your back on me!” I growled, leaping toward him. He whirled around, and I bumped into him. His large barrel chest was heaving up and down like he was the one who had just gotten the bad news. I backed away a few steps. I wanted to look into his face, his eyes.