Scandalicious: A Novel

by Allison Hobbs

  She held her phone for a long moment, secretly hoping to hear the ping of a return message from him. What am I doing? Deon wasn’t the kind of man a woman should get too attached to. His profession prevented that. For all she knew, he could be lying up with someone right now.

  Furthermore, what would she tell family and friends about his occupation? There was no way to explain it. Since it wasn’t possible to take their relationship to the next level, why was she putting in so much time and effort with him?

  While she showered, Solay reasoned that it would be wise to put some space between her and Deon. It was time to start weaning herself off of him. They were supposed to be only fuck buddies, but something had changed along the way, and now she had to lay down some ground rules before one of them got hurt.

  There was no joy in her heart as she went through her daily routine. She usually baked with a passion, but not today. Going through the motions, she whipped and blended ingredients, dreading having to tell Deon that whatever it was that they were doing, was over. Well, not over…but drastically changed. She hadn’t signed up for a boyfriend when she’d called Rent-A-Man, and she only had herself to blame for confusing lust and passion for something that could evolve into a meaningful relationship. She started to call Deon and tell him what was on her mind, but that was an immature way to handle the situation. Acting like a mature woman, she texted Deon, telling him that she needed to see him tonight to discuss an important matter.

  In her small but cozy living room, Deon set his helmet on the bookcase and then bear-hugged Solay. She tried to hug him with the same intensity, but didn’t pull it off.

  “What’s wrong?” Deon asked, after releasing her. His expression went from bafflement to enlightenment. “I know you didn’t ask me to come over here so you could tell me, deuces?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Aye, whassup?” He took a seat on the couch and looked at Solay intently.

  It was extremely uncomfortable for Solay to voice her concerns; she had to force herself to be completely honest. “Deon, I know that we’ve been having a good time and everything. And I’ve caught feelings for you.”

  “Same here,” he admitted.

  “This isn’t easy for me because I dig you. I really do. But I think we need to slow down, and think about what we’re doing.”

  “I thought we were on the same page. What’s wrong? Are you afraid of being happy…is that why you suddenly want to pump the brakes on us?”

  “I did some self-analysis, and came to terms with the fact that being young and female, it’s in my nature to view the men that I get involved with as potential mates—husband material—father of my children.” She laughed nervously.

  “Wow! You took it there?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “I gotta give you credit for keeping it one hundred.”

  “So, that’s the dilemma I’m facing. We’re getting really close. But there’s no future for us.” She paused for a beat. “You know, as a serious couple.”

  He scowled. “Why isn’t there? I can have children; I’m not sterile.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I mean…the man I get serious about should be someone that I can rely on. Someone who is career-oriented and financially stable. The kind of work you do, Deon…that’s not something that I can tell my mother.”

  He moistened his lips and looked down. Solay had struck a nerve.

  “I’m sorry, Deon. I wasn’t trying to be hurtful.”

  “I know you’re not. But what you don’t realize is that I’ve cut back on the amount of clients that I deal with. The work I do with the agency ain’t always about sex, you know.”

  “I know, you told me that you mainly escort career women to important events, but that’s still not the kind of work that I can openly discuss with my family.”

  “Babe…” He let out a sigh. “I do other things. A lot of my money comes from personal training.”

  “How do you find those clients?” She hated putting him on the spot, and getting all up in his business, but it was best to learn all she could about Deon and his clients—now as opposed to later.

  “Uh…to be honest, those clients are mostly the women that I’ve met through the escort service.”

  Solay grew quiet and thoughtful. As much as she dug Deon, this relationship was clearly doomed for failure. She was a planner; she had a five-year-business plan. Deon, on the other hand, was going with the flow of life. He didn’t possess the kind of determination that she required in someone that she was serious about.

  “Oh, yeah…I meant to tell you, I hired a new agent,” Deon told her excitedly. “Yo, I’m about to go hard with my acting career.”

  It sounded like a farfetched dream. Dreams of fame were seldom realized, but not wanting to appear negative, Solay didn’t share that thought. One thing was for certain; she couldn’t tell her friends that were still in the corporate world that she was serious about an unemployed actor.

  “My agent is on the ball. He may have an audition for me—for a commercial. I’ll have to go to New York, but that’s not a problem. Commercials pay good money…lots of residuals.”

  She gave a halfhearted head nod, unable to become enthused over a possible paying job. And even if he got it, he’d be forever staking his future on the next audition. Her future mate would have to have a tangible career. Sad to say, but Deon was nothing more than a gigolo with acting aspirations.

  Deon leaned forward and grasped Solay’s hand. “Baby, I’m not broke. I’ve been stacking the whole time I was dealing with the agency.”

  “My feelings aren’t based entirely on the money you’ve acquired. I have feelings for you, Deon. But it matters to me what my family and friends think of my partner. I’d be so embarrassed if anyone found out about the way we met.”

  Deon laughed. “Do I make you happy?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t deny it; he definitely made her happy.

  “Do I show you how much I care?”

  “Yes, all the time.”

  “Do I treat you with respect?”

  She nodded.

  “Then why are you worried about what other people think?”

  “That’s how I was raised,” she said, her expression pained.

  Deon stood. “Well, I’m not gonna pressure you. I’m not tryna make a good girl go bad.” He chuckled, but it had a sad sound.

  Solay walked Deon to the door. He hugged her and kissed her cheek. She wanted him to kiss her on the lips. Keeping it real, she wanted one last bedroom adventure. But she realized that asking Deon for a farewell fuck would be terribly insensitive.

  Priding herself on being level-headed, she let him walk out of the door. Now that that chapter of her life was closed, she could get focused and take her business to the next level. Her educated and career-oriented soul mate was out there somewhere, waiting to put a ring on her finger. If he wasn’t wearing a suit—he was at least dressed in tailored pants and a dress shirt. Solay knew without a doubt, that her future husband did not wear sagging jeans.

  CHAPTER 27

  A suspicious mind knows no peace.

  Back when Lincoln had first discovered that Chevonne was involved in an extramarital affair, he’d checked her cell phone records for the previous four months. He’d figured out which number belonged to her ex-sex partner, Raheem. Though tempted, he’d never called the number. But through his own detective work, he’d concluded that Chevonne and Raheem were no longer having a fling.

  But after last night, he wasn’t so sure. Sitting at his desk at work, he pored over the most recent Verizon Wireless bill, scrutinizing every number, searching for the ten digits that belonged to Raheem. There wasn’t one call made to or received from Raheem’s number in the past month.

  Maybe Chevonne hadn’t whispered Raheem’s name in breathless passion last night after Lincoln had made love to her. Maybe she was telling the truth. It was all in my mind, Lincoln concluded. Chevonne wanted their marriage to work as badly as he did. For
giveness meant letting go of the past and moving on.

  His rationale mind implored him to move on. But on an emotional level, Lincoln knew that he couldn’t—not until he’d dealt with the slimy mechanic.

  Lincoln’s brother Earl came to mind. Lincoln and Earl were as different as night and day. A womanizer, Earl had irresistible good looks and an aversion toward gainful employment. Lincoln, on the other hand, wasn’t bad-looking. But he was very much, an average-looking guy. He had family values and a strong work ethic.

  Earl still held on to that gang-banger mentality, so he’d be eager to put in some work for a couple of dollars. Trouble was, Earl moved from place to place. His last place of residence was with some chick that lived way out in the northeast. Lincoln scrolled through his cell phone, looking for Earl’s most recent number.

  All of Earl’s relationships culminated in Earl and his few possessions getting tossed to the curb. Damn, I hope my trifling brother didn’t get kicked out yet! Lincoln dialed the number and smiled with relief when Earl picked up.

  “Hey, man, I guess you must be behaving yourself since your number hasn’t changed.”

  Earl chuckled and then went silent. Lincoln knew he was inhaling a big burst of fragrant smoke. They say that marijuana isn’t addictive, but Earl went through blunts like some people tore through a pack of cigarettes.

  “Whassup, man? How’s the family?” Earl finally said.

  “They’re good. Everybody’s good. Yo, man, look, I gotta problem with this dude. A mechanic. He did some work on Chevonne’s BMW.” Lincoln could never admit to his brother or anyone else that his wife had been fucking and sucking another man’s dick. It was emasculating, and since last night, he’d begun wavering between loving and hating his wife.

  “Dude fucked up her whip?” Earl had an instant attitude.

  “No, the car is all right. The mechanic bull did something shady, though. He charged Chevonne up on parts and labor. Taking advantage of her because she’s a female. Man, he had my wife paying triple for what that job should have cost,” Lincoln spat, lying through his teeth, though his indignation was real and from the heart.

  “That’s messed up. A white dude got her?” Earl commented with disgust.

  “No, a brother.”

  “That’s even worse. It’s fucked up when niggas take advantage of their own people.” Earl’s mind was slightly muddled due to years of smoking marijuana; otherwise, he would have realized that a mechanic doesn’t set the price at any car dealership.

  Though Lincoln had never been much of a liar, the story he concocted, sounded convincing.

  “You know how Chevonne is; she wants to go the legal route…handle this shit in small claims court.”

  “Nah, that ain’t how we do it,” Earl said, following his brother’s train of thought. “Give me that muthafucka’s info. I know you ain’t tryna body dude or nothing, so whatchu got in mind?”

  “He needs to be taught a lesson.”

  “Uh-huh. True dat…” Earl waited for Lincoln to continue.

  “A beat down. You know…the kind of ass whooping he won’t forget. No guns. No stabbing. Make it look like a robbery. I don’t want anything to come back to haunt me.”

  “Aye, aye…I got this.” Earl sounded annoyed about being told how to go about his craft. Back in the day, Earl was the muscle for the biggest neighborhood drug boy. He knew all about beating, maiming…and Lincoln suspected that Earl was no stranger to killing.

  “There’s a couple of dollars in it for you,” Lincoln said, and then quoted a reasonable price.

  “That’ll work. When you want this done?”

  “Soon as possible.”

  “Now that might be a problem, unless you let me hold ya wheel. My girl’s whip got booted and towed yesterday. Too many tickets.” Earl sighed in disgust. “Man, the city’s a trip. Putting people’s property on lockdown and shit—over a measly couple of tickets. It’s crazy out here.”

  All the tickets on the car were no doubt the result of Earl’s irresponsibility. Every time his brother hooked up with new girlfriend, Lincoln felt guilty for not warning the poor woman that she was about to be victimized.

  “You can bring the car around tonight, and I’ll drop you back off at your crib.” Earl sounded anxious to get behind a wheel and start racking up more tickets. Lincoln had to think for a moment. Did he want his car anywhere near a crime scene? Hell no! “Can’t you borrow a car from one of your friends?”

  “Nah. But you could use one of your credit cards, and rent me one if you want it done ASAP.”

  Earl’s driver’s license had been revoked years ago. Lincoln didn’t bother to acknowledge his brother’s request. “How’s your girl…uh, what’s her name?”

  “Michelle.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. So, how’s Michelle getting to work? Isn’t her job way out in the suburbs somewhere?”

  “Her car just got towed yesterday. I got in late last night, so uh, I guess she must have hooked up a ride with one of her friends.”

  “You guess.”

  “Yeah, man. I don’t know all the ins and outs of how she’s getting around. I know she’s on the job right now. I was in a coma-type sleep when she left this morning. Shit, as early as she has to clock in at her job, I was probably just turning over good when she dipped out.” Earl laughed, finding it hilarious that his girlfriend went to work while he was lying in bed.

  It was that kind of self-centered laziness that always got Earl thrown out on the streets. But Earl would never change. He knew that there would always be another female that was willing to hand over the keys to her heart, her home, and her car.

  “Watch yourself, man. Michelle’s a good woman. You don’t wanna mess that up.”

  “It’s all good, Linc. So, what about the car rental?”

  “You don’t even have a valid driver’s license, Earl.”

  “So what? That’s between you and me.”

  “I’m not going to rent a car in my name, when I know you’re liable to get pulled over for doing ninety miles an hour while you’re blasting Rick Ross. Nah, man, I can’t do that.”

  “Oh, you a law-abiding citizen whenever it suits you. It’s okay if I break the law whipping that nigga’s ass that you got beef with, but you gon’ chump me over renting a whip? Come on, son. I know we better than that.”

  “Use that reverse psychology bullshit on your women. That shit you kicking doesn’t work with me.”

  “Aye. It’s cool,” Earl said in a surly tone.

  “You don’t have any friends that own a set of wheels?”

  “Yeah, my mans, Crowbar, might be able to help me out.”

  “Crowbar? How’d he get that name?”

  “My mans used to be notorious for using a crowbar for breaking and entering.”

  “Damn,” Lincoln muttered. Crowbar sounded treacherous.

  “If I bring Crowbar into this, you gon’ have to cough up a lot more paper. Times is hard out here. Y’ah mean?”

  “How much more are we talking?”

  The amount made Lincoln grimace and groan out loud.

  Lincoln knew all too well how hard times were, yet he was willing to dip into his family’s savings to buy himself some peace of mind.

  CHAPTER 28

  Deon was abiding by her wishes, and he was definitely leaving Solay alone. For three days, there had been no texts, no phone calls, no flowers…no communication. And the sinking feeling in her stomach was close to feeling like physical pain. She tried to stay occupied at all times to keep her mind off of Deon. But it didn’t seem to be working. She was of a mind to change the easy listening that was piping through the speakers to some old-fashioned blues, to better suit her mood.

  It was absurd for her to feel so down in the dumps when she was the one that had called it off.

  Even so, cutting herself off cold turkey from good dick like Deon’s had her going through something that felt like withdrawal. Her stomach was queasy; her hand shook whenever she tried to
hold a measuring spoon steady. With all three ovens going, the kitchen seemed like it was as hot as hell fire, making her sweat. And Vidal was really getting on her nerves today with his loud-ass voice and silly antics. The world had been a kinder, gentler place when she had Deon.

  She missed him, and not just the sex. She missed Deon the person—the man. And if she hadn’t tried to live up to society’s expectation, she’d be whistling like…like Melanee!

  It suddenly dawned on Solay that Melanee was whistling, and the sound was aggravating. She tried to ignore her, hoping she’d stop, but Melanee just kept on whistling while she worked. The impulse to scream was so strong that Solay turned the electric mixer to high-speed to drown Melanee out. To no avail.

  “Melanee,” Solay said sharply. “What’s going on?”

  Mid-whistle, Melanee stopped. “Nothing’s going on.” She fixed her lips to start again.

  “No, no, no! You can’t whistle in this kitchen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s aggravating. I can’t concentrate. You’re not even whistling a real song. You’re just making noise…giving me a headache. Stop it, please.” Solay didn’t care if she sounded like an unreasonable, psycho bitch.

  Melanee heaved a sigh and shook her head. With her lips drawn tight in annoyance, she turned and scooped batter into cupcake liners.

  Throughout the day, Solay tried her best to stay busy, sifting flour, cracking eggs, pouring milk—all the while, rolling her eyes at nothing in particular. She usually baked with love—not anger; she wondered if her cupcakes held a bitter taste today.