“I bet one of her relatives put her up to this.” Then he glared and pointed at Vernon. “No, that wife of yours did this. She’s getting back at me for that dinner.”
“You were pretty mean to Brandi, but I don’t think she told Mom about Avie on purpose.”
“Hmph! A woman lawyer at that! Doesn’t she have three kids?”
“Yes,” Vernon said, cautiously. “But what’s that have to do with anything?”
“She should have her tail at home raising her children. What kind of mother is she?”
Vernon shrugged, realizing he would have to choose his words carefully. “A modern Black woman, who works and raises a family.”
“That’s what’s wrong with children today. Women gallivanting in places only men should be allowed.”
Vernon took the glass of cognac his father offered. “So, you’re saying women aren’t competent enough to hold their ground in the boardroom? You haven’t been watching the news.”
“I’m saying men are having a harder time aspiring to success, now that women are pushing us out of our spots. Children are being raised by God knows who and are turning out to be God knows what.”
Vernon remained silent for a moment as he watched his father pace. “And working women are the cause of that? I don’t buy it, Dad. Brandi’s good at what she does.”
“Yes, in some ways she’s better at running the business than you are,” his dad said with a sly grin. “How will you ever know your full potential if she’s around? I keep trying to tell you that but you won’t listen. And where are my grandsons?”
“Brandi doesn’t want any more children.”
“She doesn’t want? She doesn’t want!” The man’s voice got louder with every word. “Never have to wonder who’s wearing the pants in your household.”
“We share the responsibility in our house, Dad. That’s how things are done these days.”
“Pretty soon you’ll be wearing an apron and doing dishes,” he said with a bitter chuckle. “Have a few vacuuming tips you’d like to share?”
“Have a few divorce tips you’d like to share?”
That shut him up. Vernon slumped down in the sofa as worry lines furrowed his father’s forehead. “She’s not getting my house.”
“Correction: Mom already has the house, and two of the cars, and a huge settlement. It’s not like you can’t afford it.”
“That’s not the point! It’s the principle of the thing,” he shot back. “Never in a million years would I believe that woman would leave me, then hire a big-boned, bitter bitch of a lawyer to try and take every penny.”
By the time Avie Davidson was done, William and his lawyers were whimpering in defeat as the judge read the divorce decree and settlement. Bribes to the judge didn’t matter. For every string puller Vernon knew, Avie knew another who could tie them together again. Her father was a judge; under no circumstance would he let his little girl go down without a fair fight.
When Vernon’s dad didn’t win on the financial front, he took things to an even uglier place. One day he told Vernon, “Either me or her.”
Stunned, Vernon could only say, “Dad, I’m not choosing between my parents. I love you and I love Mom.”
William, never one to be outdone, slowly found a way to dominate the majority of Vernon’s time, then dangled the prospect of taking over the business in front of his son. Always one who could never seem to do enough to please the old man, Vernon took the bait and soon his relationship with his mother became more and more distant.
Inwardly, though, Vernon was proud of her. “Looks like Mom is a lot smarter than you gave her credit for,” he told his father one day during another of the old man’s rants.
“If she was so smart,” William snapped, “she would’ve stayed married.”
“Three mistresses, Dad? You expected her to hang around after that became public?”
“Don’t fool yourself. She’s known about Marlene Stewart for years. She only found out about the other two recently. And that’s only because Mildred Roman’s daughter met Crystal Chadwick at a sorority dinner and they became friends, and over a period of time the two compared notes. Then they talked with Marlene’s youngest daughter, who knew Brandi. Brandi blabbed her suspicions to Avie, who then talked my wife into suing me for divorce. Damn gossipy women! The bane of every man’s existence.” Vernon took it all in. “Well, it was bound to come out sooner or later.”
“I would have preferred later.”
“I would have preferred you weren’t unfaithful to my mother at all,”
Vernon said, softly. “I still don’t see how you managed to stay in the League after it all came out.”
“Who, in their right mind, would even try to kick a founding member of the League of 1,000 Professional Black Men out of his own club? If you try to get away with it, you won’t be so lucky.”
As Vernon turned on Sixty-Seventh Street toward Jackson Park Highlands, he didn’t see Brandi’s car, but he had the distinct feeling that his father’s words and Officer Holland’s would come back to haunt him.
CHAPTER Five
Brandi scrambled out of the car with a bag of groceries in each arm, sprinting toward the house on Cregier Avenue. She passed several cars parked along the street—all leading to her packed driveway. Music grew louder with each step she took toward the split-level gray, white, and black brick home.
Brandi trotted across the grass like a trespasser, through a small grouping of shrubs, past the magnolia tree, and landed on the “Home Sweet Home” welcome mat. She had made it! And Vernon was nowhere to be seen. She just might pull this off!
As she entered the safety of her home and closed the door behind her, the blasting dance music made her ears throb. The scent of food reminded her she hadn’t eaten all day. She placed the brown paper bags on the foyer’s marble floor and turned toward the living room. The sound of screeching tires made her heart race and propelled her to the window. Peeking out through the sheer curtains, she saw Vernon sprinting across the lawn, black blazer flying out behind him.
She laughed. Evidently, he hadn’t had much success convincing Tanya he would still make perfect husband material. Somehow, lies could always do that to a relationship.
Brandi clicked the lock to buy some time, then ran out of the foyer straight into the throng of waiting guests who had turned toward the front door, wearing a wide range of puzzled expressions. The music played on, even though the dancers had found something more interesting unfolding at the front of the house. Fireworks at Navy Pier would rate second to what would go down in just a few minutes.
Soon the music scratched to a halt. No one moved.
Several scrapes of a key against the metal tumbler signaled Vernon’s struggle for access. The front door burst open. His nostrils flared. The fire in his eyes meant World War III was about to begin. Then again, with every one of their relatives looking on—maybe not.
He cast an angry glance around the room and slowed his pace toward Brandi.
She inched back into the safety of the crowd as Vernon blinked and froze, eyes widening in horror. Friends and family were scattered all over their house. A banner overhead said, “Happy Anniversary.” Their anniversary—unlucky number thirteen. She fumbled in her pocket, trying to find the one thing that proved maybe thirteen wasn’t so unlucky after all—at least for her. Vernon was a different story.
“Surprise…surprise!” everyone chanted, though not as enthusiastically as they had last year. People glanced curiously at each other, then at Vernon and Brandi, waiting for some type of explanation.
“Yes, surprise indeed,” Brandi mumbled under her breath.
Vernon strolled past the glass curio cabinet, the rows of abstract paintings, and the fireplace in a daze. He scanned the living and dining room areas as though he didn’t recognize the home he’d lived in for the past six years—a testament to the efforts they had put in to making The Perfect Fit a success. He stood absently in the middle of the floor, eyes darting a
round, landing on each person, reality dawning with each passing moment.
Brandi strolled over to the stereo, flipped in a tape, and punched “Play.” Soon the sounds of his strong tenor voice filled the room—begging, pleading, and groveling. The micro recorder she had had hidden in her bra at Tanya’s home had recorded much clearer than she thought possible.
Tori, her younger cousin, and Avie, her best friend since high school, reached up to the anniversary banner. Pulling it down, they revealed a “Bon Voyage” banner. Cousin Thomas, wearing a navy sheriff’s uniform, strolled by Vernon, patting the shocked man on the back. Stuffing a jumbo shrimp in his mouth, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a document, which he handed to the stunned husband.
Vernon looked around, then down at the papers in his hand, growling, “What’s this?”
Thomas struggled to speak around his mouthful of food. “It’s called the new rules of the house. This is a contract Brandi wants you to sign, giving her the right to split the business and start her own company.” Thomas grinned. “She thought you’d have a problem with this, but judging from all that begging you were doing, she doesn’t need to worry, eh bud?”
People gaped, still listening to Vernon’s voice on the tape; they stared, murmured, and pointed, trying to grasp the reality of the situation. Soon, the room filled with hearty chuckles. Everyone but their parents found the whole thing funny. Vernon’s father and Brandi’s mother glowered at both of them.
Uh-oh, Brandi was in a bit of trouble, too. She avoided eye contact with the woman who had helped her make every major decision of her life—including marrying Vernon instead of her first love. She hadn’t bothered to ask her about this, knowing what her mother would say.
When the tape finally switched off, Brandi said, “All right, let’s keep the party going,” as though she hadn’t destroyed thirteen years of her life with a flick of the wrist.
“DJ,” she said to her brother Donny, “give me something I can move to.”
Slowly, people hit the dance floor as a stepper’s cut came on. Others gravitated back to the buffet and wine table, all abandoning the need for immediate answers. Good food and good wine can do that—a party is a party.
Brandi’s gaze landed on the silver-haired woman with a wineglass in her hand in the middle of the dance floor. The woman’s wide smile as she lifted the glass and winked gave Brandi a moment of relief. Even my mother-in-law finds it hilarious, she thought.
Bettye Spencer sauntered over; weaving through the dancing bodies, she managed to not spill a single drop. “Now, I don’t appreciate the way you got me to this…divorce party.” She took a sip of Verdi Spumanti. “But I sure appreciate your style.”
For the first and only time that night, Brandi felt a stab of guilt. She stood toe-to-toe with Bettye wishing she had even an ounce of the grace and calm the older woman had shown when she found out about her own husband’s infidelity. “I wanted to be sure Vernon couldn’t lie to you and keep you on his side. Now everyone knows the truth. He can’t spin the story in his favor.”
“Vernon wouldn’t be able to touch our relationship anyway,” Bettye said, grasping Brandi’s hands with golden brown, weathered ones. “We’ll always remain close.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Your wisdom has helped me in a lot of ways, and I love you,” Brandi said, embracing the small, gracefully built woman, whose soft brown eyes and warm spirit had helped her in more ways than she could count.
“I know that, child.” Bettye’s gaze fell to her son. “Vernon hasn’t been inclined to seek me out for any reason. His loyalty’s been to his father since our divorce. Vernon followed the money—”
“When he should’ve followed his heart,” Brandi replied. Knowing that Bettye wasn’t a drinker, she removed the glass from the woman’s delicate hand and took a small sip of the sweet, clear, bubbly liquid. “You knew about Tanya?”
“I’m not surprised. Like father, like son,” she said, reclaiming her glass, then slinging back the last of her drink.
When Tori shimmied past with a tray of wine, Brandi’s mother-in-law exchanged the empty glass for a full one, which Brandi swiped away from her. “Hey, how many of these have you had?”
Bettye grimaced, looking at Vernon’s father and shaking her head. “Not enough to deal with being in the same room with my asshole of an ex-husband and his new woman.”
Brandi had invited William Spencer; he had taken the liberty of bringing Julie, the new toy, twenty-five years his junior, to the anniversary party—probably knowing Bettye would be there. The balls of the Spencer men were big enough to substitute as doughnuts on a broken-down vehicle.
Bettye leaned over and said, “You know, William’s going to direct Vernon on how to shaft you on this one. I’d let Avie get a head start if I were you. Mother’s on the side of truth and justice.”
Brandi lifted the glass saying, “Amen to that! I have no intention of being written off as some embittered, jealous, paranoid woman.”
Avie appeared next to them, wearing a navy power suit, and powder blue blouse, which complemented her creamy, honey-colored skin. She wore her auburn hair pulled up into a love knot, accentuating her almond-shaped eyes and round face. “With your level of proof,” Avie said grimly, “you’ll get everything you want.”
“I only want what I deserve,” Brandi said softly, an uneasy feeling settling into the pit of her stomach as she took in the lawyer’s hard glare.
Avie turned to Brandi. “And that’s everything. And I’m going to make sure you get it.”
Although her specialty was commercial real estate, Avie Davidson looked at marriage as a contract and, just like in corporate America, if someone didn’t live up to their end—they had to pay. It was obvious that Avie was still angry at Vernon for trying to cut her out of doing work for The Perfect Fit. Brandi had fought hard to keep her friend as part of their new business venture, but Vernon had insisted on using a friend of his from college. Avie had checked over the “friend’s” work a few times and caught several fatal flaws. When she checked the billing records and found the man had milked them better than a Wisconsin maid, Vernon had to relent. He was willing to let bygones be bygones, but Avie could hold a grudge so long it could become its own universe. Vernon would need more than a good lawyer to escape her clutches on this one—he’d need two extra pair of asses. Avie knew how to extract a pound of flesh from each cheek.
“Where are the girls?” Bettye asked, watching as all the men, except Donny and Thomas, gathered on the far side of the dining room with Vernon in the center, fielding questions like some rock star.
Brandi grinned over her glass. “They’re sleeping at Avie’s house with her three hellions.”
Avie’s eyebrows drew in. “Who are you calling hellions?”
“It wasn’t my children who flooded the living room with the garden hose,” Brandi shot back.
Her friend’s lips curved into a sheepish grin. “Oh, well, that’s different.”
Brandi chuckled, saying, “I didn’t want them here just in case things got ugly.”
“With Donny here?” her friend said, eyeing the animated male crowd. “I wish Vernon would show his natural Black behind. I remember the last time those two got into it. Your brother locked his butt in the trunk for an hour.”
Bettye looked over her glass of wine at her son. “Vernon will think twice before letting what’s in his pants mess up his home life the next time he gets married.”
Avie turned to the older woman, saying, “If he can afford a next time.”
Brandi looked at Avie, seeing the hard glint in her hazel eyes. Knowing Avie, she had probably already started calculating how much they’d drag out of him in court. Brandi hated to disappoint her friend, but she didn’t want a knock-down, drag-out fight. She just wanted justice—her way. And the truth be told, her spur-of-the-moment idea of moving the mistress here would really ram that lesson home. Too bad she hadn’t been serious earlier. Seeing all the men getting on Vernon
’s case was better than anything she could do on her own.
Donny changed the record, then danced over to the solarium entrance where they stood watching everything. He pulled Brandi away from Bettye and Avie, and onto the dance floor filled with women. She danced freely to the blaring music as champagne flowed like the Nile. Vernon sat in the corner, nursing a drink while his friends stayed crowded around him like concert security, making Brandi’s relatives move to another part of the house.
Brandi sang along with Peabo Bryson, moving smoothly in a side-by-side, stepping rhythm with her brother, singing, “Imagine the bluest ocean. Imagine the stars at night…””
The doorbell rang, barely audible over the music. Brandi checked her watch, and did a quick mental scan of the guest list. Everyone who was supposed to be at the party had already arrived.
Tori answered the door, and seconds later her thick frame came scurrying over to Brandi. “Hey, it’s some chick for you.”
The music kicked into high gear with everyone cheering the beginning of the Cha-Cha Slide.
Dancing her way to the door, Brandi flung it open and then froze.
Tanya stood on the doorstep. Her red lips curved into a soft smile as she leaned in and whispered in a sexy voice, “Honey, I’m home.”
CHAPTER Six
Brandi’s eyes narrowed as their gazes locked. Though she wore a leather jacket, the breeze lifted Tanya’s sheer blouse, then pasted it to her body. She held Vernon’s leather wallet in one hand. Brandi pulled the door closed as she stepped outside onto the concrete porch, folding her arms across her chest. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here.”
“No more nerve than you had showing up at my place,” Tanya said with a haughty toss of her mane.
The woman had a point. But then again, Brandi had every right. She was the wife!
Brandi inhaled the scent of magnolias from the tree directly in front of her home. “So you came here expecting…what?”
Every Woman Needs a Wife Page 4