“And they’re probably sleeping together, too,” Craig said, bellowing with laughter, as Jeremy joined him, falling in step as they reluctantly left their coveted seats near the stage and took the stairs leading to the pool hall and sports bar.
“Boy, I’ll wrap this bottle around your head,” Vernon snapped.
Craig held up his hand in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t get mad at me ’cause you couldn’t keep your women in check, player. Brandi knows how to play the game.”
Jeremy draped an arm over Vernon’s shoulder as they settled around a pool table. “Looks like Brandi made you a pawn in the game ’cause she’s the master of the game.”
Craig chimed in, “Not pawn—peon.”
The two men busted up laughing. Vernon didn’t find a damn thing funny.
In the left corner, a large television carried Fox News, which seemed to have ended the serious stories and started on the fluff. “And now for an interesting divorce case happening right here in Chicago,” the strawberry-blond newscaster read. “In a surprise move, the wife asked for custody of…” He paused, read the sheet in front of him again, then looked up into the camera. “Get this! The mistress. And the judge granted her request!”
His female co-host chuckled. “Is that a true story, Bob?”
“Afraid so, Cheryl.”
“Some unlucky soon-to-be ex-husband is probably out drinking his sorrows away.”
“Boy, I’ll say,” Bob replied with a hearty laugh. “Hope there’s not much more of this—um—wives pairing up with the mistresses or America will be in serious trouble.”
Chuckles erupted from behind the three men.
A few heads turned to Vernon, as a sudden tension filled the air.
They were all laughing. At him!
Vernon slammed his drink down on the table. “Come on, fellas, let’s blow this joint.”
Jeremy gripped Vernon’s arm, holding him in place. “With a thirty-dollar cover charge to get in here? You must be out of your cotton-pickin’, chicken-pluckin’, motherfuckin’ mind.” Then his light brown eyes narrowed. “Unless you can reimburse me for my loss.”
Vernon stared at his angry friend.
Jeremy cocked his head. “No? Then we’re in for the night, my brother.”
Craig took a swig of his Miller. “Be a man, Vernon—you didn’t have a problem enjoying the good parts of all this.”
Jeremy took aim at the center of the racked balls. “It’s colder than Brandi’s plans out there. Suck it up and deal with it.”
Vernon leaned against the wood-paneled wall. “Fuck y’all.”
“If that’s the way you want it,” Craig said, laughing. “Might have to take that request seriously. Looks like that’s the only ass you’ll be getting for a while anyway.”
Craig and Jeremy doubled over with laughter again.
“The judge granted her custody of the mistress. They had a contract and everything! Ain’t that some unbelievable shit? And you fools are laughing.” Vernon took a swig of beer. “Y’all just don’t understand.”
“Sure I do,” Jeremy replied. “You miss your wife. You miss your mistress.”
“I don’t miss Tanya,” Vernon shot back, realizing that sleeping with that woman had started his troubles. Troubles that didn’t look like they would end anytime soon.
Craig had bent over the pool table to make a shot. Instead, he turned to Vernon. “Then what was the point? She’s costing you a thirteen-year marriage and she’s not even worth missing?”
Jeremy pushed Craig out of the way and hit a red-striped ball into the corner pocket. “If I was gonna pull the stunt that you did, I would never let my wife and my mistress meet.”
Vernon took a swig of the cold brew. “You don’t have a mistress.”
“And that’s the point.” Jeremy set up to make another shot. “You get married, you’re off the market. Bottom line.”
“There’s too many single women out there for that,” Vernon shot back with a line his father considered a trademark.
Jeremy froze for a second, and didn’t even try to make an obvious sure shot as he faced Vernon, glaring at him. “Then you’ve got a problem, Negro.”
Vernon stepped back. Something ugly had come into his friend’s voice just then.
“And it’s gonna take more than what Brandi did to wake you up. Those vows mean something.”
“Let me get this straight,” Craig chimed in, standing at the opposite end of the table. “You still feel like you’re entitled to a little piece on the side even though you just swore up and down you missed your wife?” He shook his head. “Something’s wrong with that, man. And you’re too stupid to see it.”
Jeremy stood up straight, holding the pool cue in front of him. “So all that talk of trying to win her back is trophy time? Something that says to the world that you’ve won.” He didn’t take his gaze off the table. “Grow up, man. It’s not about winning,” Jeremy said scornfully, his voice dripping with contempt. “It’s not about right or wrong. It’s about fairness. I don’t know how you could’ve changed so much from when you first married her. You were all into her to the point you stopped doing things with the frat. Do you realize we had to cover for your ass to keep you in?” Jeremy shrugged as a small grin slid on to his lips. “You’re just pissed that Brandi got the upper hand.”
Craig missed a shot and stood looking at the table. “And she’s handling her business better than you ever have. You’ve gotta admire her for that. You didn’t marry no punk bitch.”
“That’s for sure,” Jeremy said, but his lips had lengthened into a long line.
Didn’t his boys understand how the world was run? Vernon wondered. Didn’t they know that men had the right to make the rules?
Jeremy was thoughtful for a moment, then said, “You know, if you were smart, Vernon, you’d quit being the victim and actually try to make things right with your wife. It’s obvious you still love her. Especially since none of the ass onstage caught your attention tonight. I still don’t know why we’re up here playing pool.”
“Making good on your lie.” Vernon looked from Craig to Jeremy, asking, “Now about my wife, got any good ideas?”
Jeremy only winked and grinned.
“And I’m keeping your ex-wife as far away from my wife as the city allows,” Craig said, finishing his shot. “I don’t want her giving my old girl any ideas.”
“She’s not my ex!”
Jeremy ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “Too late,” he said to his friends. “Mine already put in her request for a wife.”
Craig craned his neck in Jeremy’s direction. “You giving in?”
“Hell no! She can have a maid, but none of that other stuff. When that chick’s finished the dishes and the laundry, her ass goes home,” he said, pointing to the exit for effect.
“Mine tried to pull that shit, too,” Craig said, with a wide grin. Jeremy and Vernon looked at him. “I told her that unless the new girl was giving up some ass, I’m not having it.”
“What did Alanna say?” Vernon asked with a laugh.
He shrugged. “Fine, but she wants hers off the top.”
“Really?” Jeremy said. “And what did you say to that?”
“I don’t really remember—,” Craig scratched his head—“but I’ve been sleeping on the couch all week.”
This time Vernon and Jeremy laughed.
CHAPTER Thirty-Five
Vernon sat across from his wife at Banderas, a jazz diner in the heart of Chicago’s Gold Coast. Black leather booths with dark wood tables lined the walls; barstools were made of cowhide; and a huge rotisserie oven roasted several dozen chickens at a time—right out in the open.
The restaurant was usually jammed with locals instead of the tourists who hit the area like swarms of locusts. The window tables had a great view of the Magnificent Mile’s eclectic and upscale stores; but for a more intimate ambience, he requested a booth. When Brandi kept gazing toward the window, he asked, “Do you want to
get a table by the window?”
She simply nodded.
He immediately signaled the hostess and requested a change.
The winter season had kicked in and the white Christmas lights draped along the trees lining the sidewalks were awesome. Six inches of snow bunched up around the concrete embankments that held flowers in the spring and summer. The city crews cleared the streets in the Mag area as soon as the frosty white stuff hit the ground.
Brandi wore a low-cut navy dress that glided over her full breasts and pulled in at her waist, then draped sexily over her wide hips. When she’d arrived, the appreciative glances thrown her way made Vernon cross the room and collect her before someone believed she was available. As far as he was concerned she was not! Michael could talk all day long, but there was no way in hell he would get Brandi. No fucking way.
The silver necklace he had given her for their fifth anniversary glistened on the smooth curve of her neck. This time she wore very little makeup, but the light brown beauty he had loved and married came shining through. He loved her. He just wanted her the right way. His way. Couldn’t she understand that?
Vernon held out a chair for Brandi as she picked up the bouquet on the table. “Nice flowers.”
Vernon shrugged. “Orchids are your favorites.”
“Glad to see you remember some things.”
Reaching for her hands, he brought her fingertips to his lips, saying, “There’s a lot I remember.”
A single arched eyebrow shot up.
“Like the time you tried to make dinner and didn’t realize the pilot light was off. Served me raw chicken for dinner.”
Brandi’s lips broke into a sincere smile. “Oh, you would bring that up. I was nervous and it was my first time cooking for anyone. How was I supposed to know chicken shouldn’t be pink after all that time? I followed your mother’s directions.”
Vernon laughed. “Or we could talk about the time you almost gave birth to Simone in the car because the cab driver wouldn’t go over fifteen miles per hour.”
Now that memory brought another grin. “I almost beat his ass, didn’t I?”
“Let the police report tell it. You did beat his ass,” Vernon said, taking a sip of his beer.
“One tap is not considered assault and battery.”
“Brandi, you gripped the man’s neck and said, and I quote, ‘If you don’t get me closer to the hospital and some drugs in the next five minutes, I’ll stick the steering wheel up your ass and drive you instead.’”
She dipped her head sheepishly, grimacing. “I said all that?”
“Yep,” Vernon replied. “Poor man probably has a complex about Black women to this day.”
The waitress appeared and Vernon asked Brandi to order for both of them. She chose their favorites, something simple and wonderful—slow-roasted chicken so tender that the meat would fall off the bone, steamed vegetables, chive-studded mashed potatoes, and a house salad with garlic bread. An Oreo ice cream sandwich was a great way to finish, but if their record held true, they wouldn’t have room.
“Nothing to drink?”
Her lips twitched as she looked at her glass of ginger ale, then back to him. “I’m pregnant,” she said softly. “With twin boys.”
Vernon choked, almost spraying her with beer. She reached out, trying to help him regain composure, before she added, “Just kidding. But your reaction’s pretty good. I give it an eight.” She looked up at their tall, spiky-haired waitress and said, “I’ll take an Amaretto sour, please.”
Straightening his tie he said, “Oh, that’s cold. And you said that with a straight face and everything. God, you’re so hard to figure out these days.”
All humor died away as she looked across the table at him. “All right, Vernon. What’s this all about?”
His fingers trailed a soft line over her hands. “I want to come home, baby.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t come home.”
He searched her eyes for a moment. “I can’t live there with Tanya in the house.”
“But it was okay when you paid for her to live somewhere,” she said, this time without a trace of sarcasm. As the days wore on, she was becoming more and more numb to the situation. “I don’t see the problem.”
“That was a mistake. A serious mistake.”
She shrugged before taking a sip of her drink. “A mistake I’m trying to rectify in my favor.”
“Brandi, I was wrong and I see that now. I want to get things back to the way they were before Tanya entered the picture.”
“Things weren’t all that great then. You were still trying to fit me into your mother’s mold. Something you still haven’t realized will never happen,” she said, her soft weary tone making his heart pause for a beat or two. “And as far as I’m concerned everything’s still the same—me, you, the kids, and the mistress. Nothing’s changed except location, location, location.” Brandi held up her glass and winked. “And maybe the fact that now I’m enjoying things, too.” She nodded and smiled. “Yeah, that’s changed. As Janet Jackson says, ‘It’s all right with me.’ ”
“I mean before that.”
“You know, I kind of like things the way they are now.” Then she leaned forward, whispering, “You have excellent taste in women, I’ll give you that. Tanya makes the best omelets in town.” Her lips lengthened into a grin. “And she likes to cuddle.”
This time Vernon did spit out his beer.
She winked. “Just kidding, honey.”
Vernon’s heart sank as a sudden realization hit him that maybe, just maybe Brandi wasn’t joking. “You’d actually sleep with her?”
“You know, I’d have every right to get some ass, too. Sharing things goes both ways. What’s the difference in her sleeping with you or making love to me. I could always strap one on.” She smiled as her voice took on a breathy tone. “And the sound of—,” she gasped—“‘yesssss, Mistress Brandi’ has a nice ring to it.”
Vernon choked, unable to recognize the woman he married. “You need help.”
“And thanks to you I have exactly the type of help I need. At least she’s doing her part to make amends. I don’t see you trying. Although dinner is a nice touch, I’d like for you to finally realize that this marriage is about more than your needs. We set out to do things together, but you’ve been so busy trying to live up to your father’s image, you’ve spent more time trying to show everyone that you’re better than him, that you’re good enough to follow in his footsteps that the togetherness got lost. You’ve been stuck on appearances while I’ve done the majority of the work, and you’ve reveled in my accomplishments. Be honest with yourself and maybe this marriage can be saved.”
The jazz trio, which stood directly across from the large plate-glass windows, sprang into a smooth rendition of “Girl from Ipanema.”
“Get her out of my house!”
“Not until her contract is up,” she said, savoring a bite of her meal. “And since you can’t seem to deal with things the way they are, why don’t you contact me when it’s all over? I give you my word—she’s not leaving until she completes her time with our family. Quality time.”
“I want to be home,” he said, realizing Jeremy’s suggestions were good, but wouldn’t crack the hard outer core his wife now had. “I’ll miss out on spending time with the girls.”
“No you won’t. You’ll see more than you did when you were with Tanya—very little.” She shrugged. “At least now you’ve been forced to do more one-on-one stuff with them. And they’re enjoying it, too. So it’s not a loss for them. Even Sierra, who you tried to turn against me on Halloween, has said that she hasn’t seen you so much since whenever.”
Vernon leaned back in the black leather seat.
“No, baby, when you went cat hunting, putting your energies elsewhere, leaving me to pick up the slack, things changed. This one’s not going to be easy to fix. We started the journey with just the two of us and now there’s more players—the children, Tanya, your father, an
d that Professional League. I’m not mad, I’m weary. And I still love you, but we’re not the same. You saw to that.”
Vernon reached for Brandi. “We could fix it if you get rid of Tanya.”
“I’m enjoying having someone to look out for me for a change.”
“So we still have to go to the counselor tomorrow?”
“Ah, so that’s the real reason for the dinner,” she said, slipping a bite of roasted chicken between glossed lips. “It’s part of the court order. I’m going whether you do or not. Did you see his response to you? The judge will definitely watch this case very closely.”
The soft approach hadn’t worked. Vernon pushed away his meal. Damn, what could he do now? If he could ask his father for help, he would. But the man had been adamant about his stance on Brandi and would only rub it in. Vernon couldn’t go to his mother, either; she was still mad because of the way he’d treated her after the divorce. And he was wrong then, too. Especially since she had always been in his corner.
♥♥♥
When he had gone to his mother about his plans to marry, she was elated for the couple. His father, on the other hand, didn’t say a single word. He left all of his bellyaching for a late-night conversation that Vernon wasn’t supposed to hear.
Unfortunately, the vents in the Kenwood house had been cleaned the week before. Equally unfortunate was the fact that Dad’s voice could carry across international waters with just string and a Styrofoam cup.
“If he marries her, I’m cutting him out of my will.”
“You do that and I’m leaving,” Bettye Spencer snapped. “You will not use money to make our son give up on what he wants to do.”
“Worked on you, didn’t it?” William shot back. “So get off it.”
“That was different,” she said in a voice so weary. “I had a family to look out for.”
Vernon had felt sadness in his heart, knowing how hard his mother had it growing up. Her family had been dirt-poor—living in thatched houses with dirt floors throughout; no indoor plumbing, only an outhouse. And his father never let Bettye forget.
Every Woman Needs a Wife Page 24