Darius Jones

by Mary B. Morrison

  Fancy chuckled at DJ. I lifted my brilliant soon to be four-year-old from his booster seat, and said, “My man, marrying two women would send your daddy to jail. You don’t want me to go to prison, do you?”

  “Nope, but Mommy does. Mommy said she’s going to set you up and send you to jail just like she did Jay.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Bambi

  Jada texted me. I’ve decided not to meet Darius and Fancy for dinner at BOA’s. Change the reservation from five to three. See you at the premiere.

  Before working for Jada, I slept with my cell phone so I wouldn’t miss any of Darius’s postings on Facebook or Twitter. Soon as Jada hired me, I searched her files. I stored Darius’s home addresses and his cell phone number in my phone.

  I’d heard the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Truth was, the way to a man’s heart was a journey through his mother’s stomach. I had to become more than Jada’s assistant. I had to make her dependent upon my services.

  I changed the reservation as requested but I was already in motion to BOA’s for Jada to introduce me to Darius. I drove to the corner, whipped a U-turn behind Fancy. I made another U-turn at Doheny Road, then parked my silver convertible rental at the only metered space in front of where Blowfish Sushi to Die For used to be. Contractors were renovating the space for another upscale LA nightclub. I turned off the engine, then watched Darius carry his son to the door of BOA. Darius opened the door, stepped aside, then entered after Fancy.

  A walnut-size lump lodged in my throat. I longed for the day that I’d be the woman in front of him. I tapped on my cell, waited a few seconds, then heard, “Thanks for calling BOA Steakhouse. How may we serve you?”

  I swallowed my envy, then answered, “I’d like to change the reservation for Darius Jones from five to three please.”

  “The party of three is being seated now. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “That’ll be all,” I said, ending the call.

  Working for Jada allowed me to use her name or Darius’s name for my personal reservations too. For the first time in my life, I was an extension of celebrity. I was above Ashlee.

  I had kept every news article on Darius Henry Jones since he’d played high school basketball. Fell in love with him in kindergarten the first day his mother brought him to school. I was the quiet overweight girl at St. Boniface. The boys gave me their food; the LA girls gave me attitude.

  Ashlee’s dad Lawrence and Darius’s mom started dating when we were all six years old. Darius never considered Lawrence his dad. I felt bad for Darius when the media announced he’d changed his name to Williams, then changed it back to Jones. His mother was wrong for lying to him about who his real dad was. Most of what I knew about Darius before working for his mom I’d read in the paper or saw on the news.

  It didn’t take Maury to say, “Wellington Jones, you are not the father.” Darius looked exactly like Darryl Williams and nothing like his so-called dad. I wasn’t hating on Jada for lying but she’d stepped to the left on that one. Right or wrong, sometimes a woman had to make the best decision for her life and not give a damn about what a man thought.

  Removing my sunglasses from my purse, I placed them on my head, then refreshed my lip gloss. My first day working for Jada, I’d memorized Darius’s personal profile on her computer. I knew a lot more about my Darius, like his favorite steak was rib-eye cooked medium. Under intimate apparel his preferred underwear were black boxer briefs.

  One day I’d persuade Darius to divorce Fancy and marry me. Waiting for Fancy to cheat on Darius hadn’t worked thus far. Her ass showed up courtside at every damn game with Darius’s son. I had to find a way to convince Darius that divorcing Fancy was his idea. I stood next to the hostess, scanned the room, then opted to sit at the bar facing the booth where Darius and his family were seated.

  En route to the bar I saw Lamar with that Khloe chick and a few other folk seated at a booth on the patio. Marrying money didn’t upgrade every woman. That shimmering silver long-sleeved mini-dress she’d worn to the Grammys after-party was bangin’ but not on her body. Besides, why was she in line with the ordinaries? Bet her sister Kim wouldn’t have stood in line to get in.

  Scanning the patrons, Adam Zacharius, one of the youngest men in Hollywood to manage a media company, was seated at the opposite end of the bar chopping it up with his fiancée. He’d recently finished the film The Company We Keep, based on the novel written by Mary Monroe.

  “I’ll have a vodka martini stirred,” I told the bartender, then picked up the menu.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I admired Darius for three seconds. I had videos of all his games and of his wedding when he married that bitch Fancy. Look at her ass all happy and shit. Your meter is expired. Time up. Bitch, you have got to go!

  I was at Madison Square Garden when Darius was drafted, went to all of his home games in Atlanta, traveled to all his away games. I’d saved photos from the Internet in my phone of his son, his ex-wife, his new wife, his mother, his step and biological fathers, and Ashlee. That trick was almost crazier than me. Bet she was still trying to figure out how I’d gotten her number.

  “Um, um, um. You are the best,” I told the bartender. Before taking another sip of my martini, I said, “I’ll have a half dozen oysters on the half shell,” to spike my libido.

  Until I married Darius, I had to get my fuck on just like him. I rummaged through my purse, made sure my bottle of five-milligram Cialis was in there. Had to keep track of my pills. Without hesitation I’d slip a penile enhancement pill on a man in a minute. I took fucking seriously and wasn’t taking any chances on a limp dick or premature ejaculator leaving me with an angry wet ass.

  The fucking around Darius had done on Fancy was coming to an end when we got married. Let me catch him with my dick on any parts of another chick, I’d fuck him up worse than Ashlee had done Jay.

  But Ashlee had better not think about coming between Darius and me or she’d turn up face down floating in the Potomac River. The president would find Osama bin Laden before anyone would find her depressed miserable ass.

  Exhaling, I gulped the remainder of my drink, balanced the olive on the tip of my tongue, then swallowed it whole. “Bartender, another, please.” The sight of Fancy angered the hell out of me. If I could pick up this black granite countertop and drop it on her head, I would. I didn’t have an affinity for kids but Darius was too close to both of them for me to try anything violent.

  I had a life-size six-eleven body-length pillow made in the image of Darius. Every home love potion I’d created to make Darius fall in love with me had failed. My last chance was to visit the two-headed lady. I’d found her web site online, e-mailed her my information. For five thousand dollars she’d agreed to cast a surefire love spell on my Darius. He was worth every penny. Next week I had an appointment to take Darius’s loc to the two-headed lady down in New Orleans. I’d picked up the dreadlock that fell from his head when he was sitting on the sidelines at one of his games.

  The two-headed lady told me, “Don’t contact me again. Just come. I will know when you are here. When you arrive, come to the French Quarter.”

  I prayed she wasn’t scamming me. She was my one last chance to cast a spell. If her spell didn’t work, I’d do the unimaginable. I’d kill Fancy.

  I was Darius Jones’s number-one fan. He just didn’t know it…yet.

  CHAPTER 7

  Fancy

  She was eerie. The woman seated at the end of the bar. The sound of acrylic nails slowly scratching along a chalkboard pierced my eardrums when she stared at me.

  I didn’t want to stare back at her. I was temporarily paralyzed. I’d seen those morbid deep-set eyes before but couldn’t recall where. Her pupils seem dilated. Her eyes were darker than her black hair and brows. She was five-feet six or seven without her high heels. Her curly shoulder-length mane was shiny. She was so pale she could pass for black, white, or Latina. Her thick lips were plastered with a vibrant wat
ermelon shine. Could’ve been permanent lipstick layered with a gloss. Her lips were too perfect to tell. She was a B cup, with a flat stomach and narrow straight hips. She was a comfortable size six, maybe a eight.

  I noticed two distinct things about her. Her raspy voice, and the fact that her pointed nose had a flat bridge. The sunglasses that she removed from the top of her head, then sat on the counter wouldn’t fit her face unless she’d worn an adjustable strap or had a nose implant.

  “Baby, please, can you stop texting for a minute?” I needed my husband’s attention.

  “Two more minutes and I’m done,” Darius said, rapidly pressing keys with his thumbs.

  One thing I learned the short time I’d lived in the City of Angels (before relocating to Atlanta with my husband) was most women in Los Angeles were anything but angels. I’d mastered the LA body scan. Took me three seconds to check out a person. First, I’d flash the person’s face, then I’d notice their shoes. Finally, I’d quickly scroll my eyes back up to their face.

  In those three seconds I could vividly recall a person’s eye color, nose, lips, forehead, cheeks, shoes and style, ankles, body size, hips, hands, nails, waist, breasts, and clothes. My karate skills sharpened my memory of people and places.

  Knowing karate had saved my life when my mom’s ex-man tried to kill me. When I was a little girl, I’d lied on Thaddeus. Told the police he’d raped me. Unlike Ashlee’s lying on Jay, I’d done it to save my mother’s life. My mother was afraid to tell the police Thaddeus had beaten her. I was a kid trying to be an adult when I had him arrested but I had no indication he’d get out of prison and come after me.

  Two years ago Thaddeus broke into my apartment, tried to kill me, and Darius killed him. No doubt my husband would die for me. That woman at the bar, her spirit haunted me like she was Thaddeus. I wondered. Could a dead person seek revenge though another person’s soul?

  I’d definitely seen that woman before. Eventually it’d come back to me. I wasn’t insecure or paranoid but whosoever she was she’d given me bad vibes. I’d felt that gut-wrenching feeling before. Most of the times my stomach churned like that at Darius’s games. Sometimes I felt it at the park when playing with DJ. Today, I felt it on our way into the restaurant. It was as if someone was stalking us.

  CHAPTER 8

  Bambi

  Keeping track of Darius, I picked up my spy sunglasses, activated the video record button, sat my black glasses on the edge of the bar facing Darius, Fancy, and DJ, then proceeded to suck an oyster off the shell.

  “Um, um, um.” The natural sea salt flavor of oyster juices trickling down my throat reminded me of the taste that oozed from the pores of Darius’s dick onto my tongue right before he came in my mouth. That was after Ashlee, before Fancy. Jada had no idea how close I was to her son.

  It was no accident that I’d gotten this job working for Jada or that I was attending the movie premiere later tonight for Something on the Side, starring Velvet Waters. It was by accident that I’d found a background check in Jada’s archives for a Lace St. Thomas, also known as Honey Thomas.

  Fancy stared at me. I stared back. Bitch, you don’t scare me. Best keep your eyes on my man while you got him. By the time Fancy realized who I was, I’d be laying on her side of the bed next to Darius.

  The little boy sat in a booster seat between them hugging Darius’s neck. He was cute. Enjoy the ride, kid. Your days are numbered too. I’d find a way to detach DJ from Darius and send DJ to live full-time with Ashlee. Parenting should keep her occupied.

  Anyone attached to Darius Jones, directly or indirectly, was also attached to me. My list, including Jada, Honey, Fancy, Ashlee, Grant, Velvet, Valentino, Rita, Jean, Sapphire, Benito, Summer, Ciara, and Maxine, were all on speed dial. I’d done background checks on all of them. It was ridiculous how Jada’s executives—Ginger, Heather, Zen, and Miranda—had fucked my Darius. I had those cougars’ numbers too.

  I picked up my sunglasses to make sure the recorder was on, placed them back on the bar facing Darius, then sucked up another oyster. Imagining Darius’s tongue was in my mouth instead of in his wife’s, I closed my eyes and let the juices saturate my palate. I opened my eyes. I couldn’t stand watching him drool over Fancy. What made that trick so special?

  Fancy disgusted me. I’d seen enough. Enough! I picked up my glasses, dropped forty on the counter, then stormed out of the restaurant. Two weeks on the job and I was ready to give my two weeks’ notice. Wasn’t sure how long I could tolerate working for Jada. I had to execute my plan quick.

  Sitting in my car, I made a call. “Meet me right now,” I said, giving her my location. I ended the call, walked to the corner, entered City National Bank and made a sizable cash withdrawal.

  I went back to my car, turned on my radio, listened to KJLH. Thirty minutes later she parked her white pickup in the yellow zone in front of my car. I motioned for her to come get in my car.

  She dragged her feet, draped her purse across her shoulder. A resounding, “Hey, Bambi,” escaped her mouth when she climbed in.

  For a small woman, Rita sure was loud. Pointing across the street, I told her, “That’s Darius’s SUV. I need for you to take care of the woman who gets in the car with him.”

  “Take care of her how? In a good or bad way?”

  “In the worst way possible,” I said, staring at their SUV.

  I’d found Rita’s information in the background check on Jada’s computer for Honey. She was from the small town of Flagstaff, Arizona. The first time I spoke on the phone with Rita, I instantly realized she was easily persuaded. The envelope I handed her, containing five thousand dollars, would convince her to get my job done.

  “Oh, this sure is a lot of money,” she said, stuffing the cash in her purse. She gave me the empty envelope. “Thanks, Bambi. How you want me to do it?”

  Clenching my teeth, I told her, “I don’t care how, but make it happen today. If you do a good job, I’ll give you another five grand in the morning.” With Rita doing my dirty work, I’d be out of the picture. Hopefully Fancy would too.

  I waited for Rita to get out, dropped my convertible top, revved my engine, then sped to my hotel room for a quick change of wardrobe. In no time I was off to the premiere of Something on the Side.

  CHAPTER 9

  Fancy

  Glad he’d put his iPhone in his hip case, I asked Darius, “Baby, did that woman seem strange to you?”

  Hunching his shoulders, he asked, “What woman?”

  “The one who just left the bar. She had on white low-rise jeans, a white silk tank, a brown Gucci belt, brown slip-on Gucci heels, a real Gucci handbag, and she put her sunglasses on the counter facing us. She was sitting on the end,” I said, pointing to the stool where a man was now seated.

  He laughed. “Man, you were all over her. This is our day, not hers. Stop tripping. There’s lots of women at the bar,” he said, lightly kissing my lips.

  Struggling to dismiss the feeling, I kissed him back. Perhaps I was tripping, but her bad vibes crept through me. Fearing things with my husband were too good to be true, I exhaled, trying to relax and enjoy my family.

  I smiled, then said, “I want SaVoy to be my matron of honor. My mom is going to be so excited and my little sister is going to be our flower girl. DJ, you are going to be the ring bearer. I’m going to fly in my favorite makeup artist, Kim May, from D.C. And I have to ask G. Garvin to cater the reception.” I bounced in my seat trying to shake off the negative energy. The feelings stuck with the adhesiveness of Krazy Glue.

  Darius nodded as I continued. “I’m inviting all my clients and I want your entire team to be at our wedding. I’m inviting the media too. And hopefully your mom won’t mind handling the publicity so we can be on Wendy Williams, Mo’Nique, Tyra, and hopefully we can do Oprah before she ends her show—”

  “Whoa. Baby, baby. Exhale. Whatever you want, Ladycat. This is your fantasy wedding come true,” Darius said. “But.”

  I gasped, braced my back
against the booth. “No, ‘buts,’ honey.” I hadn’t eaten all day. My stomach churned, then growled to the movement of trapped air. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear any ‘buts.’”

  He licked his lips, then smiled. “You can’t marry me again until I propose again,” he said.

  Darius stood on the chocolate leather seat, tapped a spoon against his half-full water glass. DJ sprung from his booster seat, stood on the seat next to his dad. I was embarrassed and proud at the same time. The two most important men in my life were with me. Finding a husband was easy. Finding a man who loved me for me was a blessing. Darius reached into his pocket, pulled out a white box.

  I held my breath, covered my mouth.

  “I want everyone here to witness this. I love my wife so much, I’m proposing to her again.”

  Stepping from the booth to the floor, Darius knelt before me on one knee. DJ jumped off the booth, placed his hand on his dad’s shoulder. I slid to the edge. Darius stared into my eyes, then said, “Fancy Taylor Jones, will you marry me, again?”

  My body trembled uncontrollably. I felt like Disney’s next black princess. I’d go anywhere with my husband. Do whatever for him. For a moment I questioned if I deserved this much happiness. I’d disrupted Byron’s marriage, ruined my ex-boyfriend Desmond’s belief in women, and…I didn’t want to conjure emotions about Thaddeus or that strange woman but they’d surfaced for a moment until Darius opened the ring box.

  First, I was speechless. The diamonds set in platinum blinded me. I hugged Darius, then screamed.