Hands clamped over his genitals, he grunted. Shook his head. “Why, Dev? You kicked me. You called them. I ain’t do nothing wrong. Let ’em in.”
Mercedes opened my front door. “There he is.”
I told the officer, “We have it under control. He’s leaving now.”
The cop entered without my permission. His partner followed. The first officer questioned, “What’s the problem here?”
Mercedes spoke to him, “Things got out of hand for a moment.” Pointing at Phoenix, she said, “Escort him outta here. We’re good.”
I was pleasantly surprised with her response. That was exactly what I was going to say.
Phoenix complained, “That’s goddamn a lie.”
Shaking my head, I stared at my ex. He removed his hand from between his legs. I warned him, “You don’t want to do this.”
The second officer directed her comment to Phoenix. “Tell us what happened.”
“She started it,” he said, pointing at Mercedes. “First, she slapped me in the face. Twice. That’s how I got this,” he whined, then flipped his bottom lip. “Then her crazy ass kicked me in my private.”
Shifting her eyes from one side of my heaving breasts to the other, the second officer said, “Is that true?”
If I confirmed Phoenix’s story, Mercedes was going to jail. Staring at my sister, this time I noticed her biceps had blue fingerprints. Scanning myself. The marks on my arms were darker than hers. Phoenix’s lip was slightly swollen. Mercedes had hit him pretty hard.
“Did she assault him first?” the female officer questioned.
Nodding, Phoenix said, “Tell the truth, Dev. You know she did.”
I wished he’d let it go so all of us could sleep in our beds tonight. This was not a moment for revenge. I loved my daughter’s father.
“Ms.,” the first officer said, directing his attention toward me. “Is that true? If you don’t say something, everyone is getting arrested.”
My sister sat on the sofa. That was the quietest she’d been since we’d met at the restaurant earlier.
“Tell the truth, baby,” Phoenix insisted standing beside me.
The hardest decision of my life tore me between two people I loved. This wasn’t about telling the truth. In honor of our mother, Blake Crystal, I had to do what I’d done all my life.
Pray.
CHAPTER 8
Blake
Bing Sterling sat beside me at our favorite place in Paris, Café de la Nouvelle Mairie.
An empty bottle of their red natural wine was on our table. Lord, let this be the one I’ve waited for, I prayed smiling at my new man. He was one of our financial institution’s wealthiest clients. I’d known him for years, as a customer. Turned down three offers by him to take me out before saying yes.
Knowing he could have practically any woman he desired, I still couldn’t understand what attracted him to me. My promotion from branch president, in Atlanta, to corporate, in Charlotte, allowed me to go from servicing his accounts to catering to his personal needs.
“I love you, Blake,” he said, placing his hand on my thigh.
The left side of his body was fleshed against my right. Covering his hand with mine, I confessed, “I love you more.”
Sidewalk seats were positioned for intimacy—kissing, touching, feeding didn’t require leaning over an appetizer, cocktail, or a meal. Couples near us looked into each other’s eyes when speaking. Observing them inspired me to be present in the moment with my man.
Fabulous, the world can wait. I need you here with me. My last guy, Spencer Domino, those were his words when requesting my undivided attention. He’d take my cell out of my hand. Sometimes he’d power it off.
A small island divided the quiet street. More travelers graced the rue than cars.
“You felt that?” Bing asked, as a warm summer breeze fluffed our hair, carried a few falling leaves a short distance. I watched the foliage float until each one gently lay on the grass beneath a chestnut tree.
“Where do you think she’s going?” Bing asked, picking up a leaf that had made its way inches from his brown, well-polished Italian shoes.
“To make her presence known to those who take time to appreciate her.”
He nodded.
This man made me notice many things that I’d taken for granted. Strolls through Jardin des Plantes, a tour of Josephine Baker’s estate, or shopping for others brought him joy. He didn’t have kids of his own but I liked that he cared for my girls.
Something simple as breathing fresh air, I no longer took for granted.
The dozen chairs, handful of square wooden tables lining the storefront all faced the same direction toward the curb. Watching people in Paris was one of my favorite things to do. At home I barely sat still long enough to notice my surroundings.
“Take Me to the King,” the text tone for all my daughters, played. Checking the message, I saw it was from my youngest, Sandara. Now that I’ve got bank Black told me last night he’s taking me to court! I know you’re on vacay but Mama can you believe this? I need to talk to you. I need to find my father. Call me.
Not that again. Truth was, I wished her father were dead like Alexis’s. Wouldn’t care if Mercedes’s and Devereaux’s were sitting somewhere in an urn.
For once in my life I deserved not to be on-call for mommy duty. I placed my cell on the square wooden table to my left. Placed my hand on Bing’s thigh. Before dating my man, I’d never experienced Paris. This was our third trip, a monthly getaway I looked forward to.
“Could you live here?” he asked in the deep masculine articulate tone I’d come to crave penetrating my eardrums.
Hell yeah! I thought as moisture saturated my panties. That was the selfish side of me screaming my truth. Honestly, I’d welcome an extended stay anywhere long as I was with him.
His elbow lay on the table to his right. The remainder of his wine, a half-full goblet rested in his large hand. He raised the rim to his thick chocolate lips. The crispness of his lavender shirt opened three buttons down exposed the innermost area of his chest, making me undress him with my imagination.
He kissed me, then said, “I love your vibe.”
Ten years my junior. I’d done well two times in a row. My ex, Spencer, was twenty-three years younger. What did I do to attract this man? Forty looked great on his six-foot eight-inch frame. He slid his fingers over his black, wavy hair.
Speaking with my daughters in mind, I answered, “Paris is a lovely place to visit but it’s too far away from my girls and grandkids. Where would I work? I know many of the natives speak English, but I don’t speak their language. Sounds nice, though.”
Bing pointed directly in front of us. “What do you see?”
Focusing on his manicure first, I trailed an invisible line. Softly, I replied, “Leaves.”
“Darling.” He pressed his mouth to mine. A hint of wine lingered. “A tree grows wherever you plant it. Learn to speak French. Your children reside in America. We can visit them anytime we’d like.”
Nodding, I thought, Focus on the forest, not the—
Another text with the same intro distracted me. This one was from Mercedes. You’re going to have to come off of sabbatical with that man and start babysitting Brandy and Brandon. I need your help. If I knew who my father was . . . call me right now, Mother.
Since she was a child, Mercedes never pleaded for anything. My listening to whatever her problems were wasn’t going to help either of us. I’d learned family couldn’t always be there. My time off wasn’t going to be cut short for them.
Placing my phone in my lap, I said, “True. But where would I work?”
“Everything okay?” he asked, staring into my eyes.
Had never lied to Bing. Wasn’t going to start. “No. But it can wait.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
I shook my head. I really didn’t.
“This is living,” Bing said. “Don’t take our time together for granted. We work for th
ree basic reasons, my darling. Self-gratification. A greater humanitarian purpose. And let’s be honest, for the money. You can have the first two without money. You can have money without the first two. Blake, hear what I’m about to ask you. Are you happy with the way you’re living? Lots of folks put emphasis on material things while neglecting their own health and happiness. No matter how hard we work to acquire possessions, we can’t take it with us, Blake. With that said . . .” He paused, reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, then placed it in my hand. “For you. No strings attached.”
I unfolded a cashier’s check drawn on his United States bank account. Wow. He’d given this thought before we boarded his private jet. Staring in disbelief, I was speechless. The amount was totally negotiable based on my knowledge of his balance. If I cashed it, there had to be a caveat regardless of what he’d said.
Clearing my throat, I closed my eyes, savored the richness of my life. Slowly opening them, I looked into his. “Fifty million dollars.” Staring at the check again, it was made payable to Blake Crystal.
“Free and clear. Blake, I need you to quit your job. And I’m going to make you comfortable doing so.”
Handing him the check, I insisted, “Hold on to it for me.”
He placed the check back where he’d gotten it. A white carriage trimmed in bright lights, drawn by two white horses, commanded my attention. “Look, babe. Isn’t that gorgeous?”
The driver had on all white, slacks, shoes, shirt, jacket, and a top hat. He stopped in front of us.
Bing stood, extended his hand. “Shall we?”
Was he serious?
Scanning my surroundings, my eyes moved in every direction. Why was I resisting this fairy-tale life? I stood, stared at him. He extended his hand, helped me step into the carriage. I sat on the plush white spotless leather seat.
Bing cuddled beside me, then rested his arm on the cushion behind my back. “You like?”
I did not feel worthy of this man. My tears spoke for me.
“Where you sit, what you stand up for, and who you lie with determines how you view yourself,” he told me, then added, “Your decisions also dictate the things you will never experience.”
The fifty million was where it belonged. In his pocket. Maybe what I did with the money was some sort of a pass-or-fail test. Leaning my back against his body, I chose to enjoy the view.
Part of me didn’t feel deserving of his consideration. Never married. Reared four girls by myself. Busted my butt to pay for their college education. Wasn’t my fault Sandara only completed her freshman year. They were all grown. I was accustomed to giving. Not receiving.
Two messages registered back-to-back.
Devereaux sent, Phoenix is in jail. Mercedes is staying at my house. Long story. Can I add you to my reserve list to start helping out with Nya? I need to give Sandara a break.
Alexis, my one child who challenged me on everything, texted, I can’t have this baby. Can you take me to have an abortion? My appointment is in the morning.
Really? They knew I was on vacation. They didn’t know where. I refused to end my getaway early. Sandara was twenty-five. Alexis a year older than Sandara. Mercedes was a year ahead of Alexis. Devereaux was twenty-eight.
“My girls act as though they’re helpless when I’m not home.” Grow the hell up, damn it! It was my turn to get spoiled.
“Blake, do we need to go to Atlanta and check on our girls? I always wanted a daughter. Now I have four and knowing their fathers are not in their lives, I want to fill that void, if you’ll let me. I can text my assistant. We can leave in the morning.”
The problems my girls had, near or far, I nor Bing could solve. By the time we got to Hartsfield, they’d have new issues. I wasn’t going to sit here with my man and start a text marathon with my daughters regarding problems I couldn’t solve.
Brandon, the gay love of my life, could check on the girls. That was if he was in the States. I texted him, Where are you?
He replied right away, Bitch, since I introduce you to the dick I should’ve had I can’t find your ass. Where are you!
Not that I’d missed a call or text from him but I did groom him for taking over my position as president of the bank. He’d demand, and I’d give him, full details when I returned.
I’m in Paris with Bing, I let Brandon know. Cocktails on me when I get back.
Yes, bitch . . . and the CockTales are on me. An emoji with the tongue sticking out was followed by three bananas.
Trying not to feel guilty for not meeting my girls’ expectations of me, I texted my oldest sister, Ruby, Remember what we discussed? I’m going to need you to cover for me.
I powered off my cell, then gazed at my man.
“Let’s enjoy our moment. Everything will be all right.”
CHAPTER 9
Alexis
Filthy men undressed me all the time with their lustful roaming eyes.
The old unsavory guys made me want to lose my lunch in their lap. I knew the more beautiful a woman was, the more lies she’d be told, perverts she’d have to put down, bullshit dicks her pussy had to dodge. I dogged men out, one, ’cause they enjoyed it, two, ’cause they deserved it.
Tonight would be no exception. A text registered from my brother. Spencer made himself my Plan B with, dude! where r u? got a sec?
Going live on my social page, I turned up the audio in my Ferrari, I masterminded my own song. “I went from being that bitch. To being a rich bitch. Beat the lames at their damn game.”
Exiting the freeway, I glanced up at the new football stadium. Pointed. “I own a suite up in that bitch. The wind won’t blow through my hair. Fuck the haters I don’t care. Beatin’ lames at their own damn game.
“Pussy made most things possible. Good pussy made niggas do the impossible. Having seven figures in the bank, I’d increased my opportunity to meet a man like my mom’s, my future billionaire husband was out there . . . somewhere.
“Mariah, Janet, I was on that flow. Ballers y’all beneath me. Drop to your knees when you see me. Eat me! Sike. I like Sykes. Not bitch-ass niggas that are dykes. Yikes! I’m beating lames at their own damn game.”
Sitting at a red light, I bounced in my seat, kept flowin’. “Money can’t boss AC. You full of tricks. Nigga, I’ll snatch all your damn treats. Eat ’em better than you. Treat ’em just like you.” I slayed my hook. “Beatin’ lames at their own, damn, game.”
I stared back at the dude in the car next to me, laughed aloud, tossed my head back, gunned my engine, then left his ass on that automatic shit. “Bitch!”
Parking my whip in the last available of the ten spaces in the front lot, I hit finish on my video. I wasn’t ready to let my door up. I chilled in my car. The second the first tear fell, I refused to let another roll down my breast.
I whispered, “Did anyone love me . . . for me?”
Not for my naturally bodacious booty, voluptuous tits, wicked-tongue bedroom skills, strap-ons, dildos, or the flawless dark chocolate skin I was blessed with. After my inheritance, all of my sisters practically stopped talking to me. Didn’t think I’d miss Mercedes’s insults.
I did.
I’d rather hear Mercedes tell me how I should stop using people or say again how she agreed with my having an abortion. Some communication was better than having my mother and my sisters ignore my calls. My texts.
I’d be okay.
The kick in my stomach reminded me the baby was there. Had been growing for five and a half months and ticking. No more wearing tight clothes. Could probably look like one of those Greek women with a sexy belly for another few weeks.
Keeping it real, Mercedes was jealous of my ability to make my lovers beg me not to dump them, Devereaux too. She did the most for Phoenix and he still cheated on her. Nobody had agreed to go with me during my first trimester. All of my sisters had at least one kid; I think they wanted me to join in their misery.
I had plans for my future and they didn’t include a dependent
. I was determined to get on Devereaux’s reality show. Had to find a way to get in her graces to showcase my raw talent. I wouldn’t have to act in front the camera. I was about to become the ultimate side chick bitch that fans loved and hated at the same time. Sandara, I let her hold keys to my Porsche and she’d put me on mute too. Wow. My family wasn’t shit right now.
I called my on-again, now-off, ex-fiancé, James Wilcox, to meet me for a drink at Tom, Dick & Hank. Really just needed the companionship. Going through pregnancy alone was fucked up.
“How’s my baby doing?” he answered.
He’d know if we were living under the same roof. The tone of his voice indicated there was a smile on his face. My lips curved up. “We’re good. Thanks for asking. You wanna meet me at—”
“Baby, you ready?” resonated through the phone. “We don’t want to be late.”
I didn’t want James back but the chick in the background sounded extremely familiar. “I know that’s not who I think it is.”
“Great. Glad you’re cool. You had me concerned the other night when you kept crying. What’s up?” he asked, going from all cheery and shit to being proper.
“Answer the fucking question, James, before I come over there!”
“Ba-beee.” Her whining ass confirmed my belief.
My ex-girlfriend, Chanel, that passive-aggressive ho who allegedly didn’t like real dicks, knew he was talking to me. She needed to take her ass to Hollywood with James’s other ho and audition for a straight man.
“Fuck her! Fuck you!” I ended the call. Whatever I wanted to say didn’t matter anymore. I should give back the lil Lexus James bought me and his engagement ring so that wannabe-me bitch could get off the stripper pole and come up, then raise up off of my fiancé. That nigga always gonna be mine!
Checking my surroundings twice, I unlocked the armrest compartment, removed my gun, put it in my purse. Fools in the ATL were on some dumb shit nowadays. They’d blast a bullet for a lot less than a two-hundred-thousand-dollar luxury vehicle.
I’d pretend things were copacetic until I knocked my ex-girlfriend back on a vibrator, then I’d screw James’s scheming no-good ass in the ass to remind him of what I knew he was missing.
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