Games Divas Play (A Diva Mystery Novel)

by Angela Burt-Murray

  “Well, I think you’re certainly old enough to know how it happened, or do you need a refresher course since you ain’t had none in a while?” she said, chuckling.

  “Whatever, heffa. Don’t even try to play stupid with me. You know what the hell I mean. And for your information, I may not have had some in a while, but I had a near miss that you’re going to want to hear about later.”

  “Oh, juicy. Do tell, girlfriend.” She squeezed a lemon into her water glass and then began to peruse the menu. “I’m starving. What’s good here?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. You ain’t slick. For real, what’s going on?” I pushed down the menu and leaned in, staring her dead in the eye.

  “OK, OK . . . Look, yes, I’m pregnant,” she said as she grabbed a warm roll from the bread basket in the center of the table. “It happened a few months ago. We were in the shower and one thing led to another and now I’m pregnant. There you go, the whole story. And, no, Marcus doesn’t know.” Vanessa patted her still-flat stomach proudly and continued to scan the restaurant menu.

  “What do you mean Marcus doesn’t know? How have you not told your husband?”

  “I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

  “Hmm . . . I don’t know what your plan is, girl, but you need to stop playing games.” While I knew I should be happy for my friend, the state of her marriage and the fact that there was a dangerous person out there targeting her family didn’t make me think that this was the ideal time for Vanessa to be having another baby.

  The waiter appeared to share the day’s specials and take our orders, which provided a break in the conversation so that I could gather my thoughts. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy for my best friend or sad. Any fool could see that if she was thinking that this pregnancy was going to save her train wreck of a marriage, then sister girl was sadly mistaken. I wanted to tell her that this wasn’t some after-school special. This was real life, and real life doesn’t end like some Lifetime movie where the long-suffering wife fights for her man and gets him in the end.

  “You do realize this is completely insane? You were just attacked in your garage, you still have some crazy stalker out there, and your husband is sleeping with a wannabe reality star. Explain to me how this is the perfect time to have another baby.”

  “Nia, I’m fighting for my marriage and my family right now, and that’s all that matters. The guy that attacked me is dead, and the police told Marcus and Kareem that it was an unfortunate random act of violence. There’s nothing more to it. And as for the stalker, we haven’t had a new note in over two months. Perhaps that psycho has moved on to someone else and that nightmare is over.”

  Her voice sounded like she desperately wanted to believe everything that she said. Because of her condition, I didn’t have the heart to bring up the note that Kareem had in his possession at Dr. Harrison’s office or what Terrence and I learned.

  “So that brings me to my other reason for wanting to get together for lunch today.” Vanessa buttered another roll from the bread basket. I had forgotten how this girl could throw down some food when pregnant.

  “You mean it wasn’t just for my sparkling personality?” I said mockingly. “I’m afraid to ask.” I pushed my own plate away and braced myself for another nuclear bombshell.

  “I want you to break the news about the pregnancy on the DivaDish site. I’m giving you the exclusive.” She looked very pleased with herself as she dug into the grilled salmon the waiter had placed in front of her.

  “Vanessa, are you sure you want to do this? As much as you know I’m all about an exclusive, and I would love to be the first to post this story, for God’s sake, you haven’t even told Marcus—hello, your husband—that you’re pregnant.” Suddenly I had lost my appetite for the rosemary roasted chicken breast and fingerling potatoes that my mouth had been watering for just a few seconds earlier.

  “Nia, I’m positive,” she said between bites of her fish. “This is what I want to do. And if you don’t want the story, I’m sure Ebony or Us Weekly would.” She had that look in her eyes that meant she had made up her mind and there was nothing I could do to change it. She was right: either I could run the story, get the credit for breaking the news, and get the spike in traffic or I could let it go to one of my competitors and get my ass handed to me by DeAnna who would no doubt be busting down my door when she found out we lost this exclusive.

  “V., look, this is crazy. Why don’t you take some time to think about this some more? You don’t have to decide now. What’s the rush?”

  “Not to play the total bitch card or anything, but Nia, we’ve been best friends forever, and not for nothing did I basically get you this job at DivaDish, and if you can’t do this one thing . . .” Vanessa’s voice trailed off. I couldn’t believe she was throwing introducing me to DeAnna back in my face, but if that was how she wanted to play, I’d treat her just like any other celebrity who had come to us with a big juicy exclusive.

  “OK, Vanessa. If this is what you really want, we’ll run it. But if we’re going to do it, let’s do it all the way. I want to crash your story into the magazine as the cover. We’re going to need a photo shoot and an in-depth interview that discusses the pregnancy, the attack, Laila, and the state of your marriage. That’s what people want to know. Are you really willing to go there?”

  “I was hoping you would say that, Nia. I’m totally ready to give you and your team whatever you need.”

  “You do realize this issue will drop on the Friday of All-Star weekend?” I looked at her with an eyebrow raised, letting her know she wasn’t fooling anybody and that she was playing with fire.

  “Yes, of course I know. That’s the perfect time.” Vanessa nodded as she turned and dove back into the rest of her lunch with a self-satisfied smile.

  “You are killing me right now, you know that?” I said, picking at my now-cold roasted chicken.

  “Whatever, girl. You know you love me. Now let’s get back to your almost getting some or whatever you were alluding to earlier. What happened? Did you get a new vibrator or something?”

  “Ha, ha, very funny. No, I didn’t get a new vibrator.”

  “Then what happened? You know you haven’t had any since that jerk-off king Eric back in LA, so I’m sure you had to vacuum that thing out before getting down to the nasty,” she said, chuckling.

  “Last week, Terrence was at my apartment and well, I said some things and then he said some things . . . And next thing I knew we were kissing.” I felt the warm blush creeping up my face as I tried to bury my face in my plate.

  “Shut up, girl. And you ain’t even call me! You know you are so wrong for that. What happened? You know I need all the details. And why’d you say you almost got some? I know you ain’t trying to save nothing. After all, he’s already had it, girl.”

  “Damn, V. Why you gotta be so harsh?” I said, laughing. “We started kissing and he was rubbing all over my body and, girl, you know it was feeling a little too good and then I had to tell him to stop.”

  “Stop? You told that fine-ass man, the love of your life, to stop?”

  “Yes, Vanessa. I told him to stop. Hello, he’s engaged. Remember? And to that supermodel Vivica no less.”

  “Whatever. You know that man isn’t going to marry her. He’s probably still in love with your crazy ass. You should have hit that for real.”

  “Hit that? Are you serious right now? Didn’t I just say that man is engaged? Given what you’ve been going through, I figured you would be on her side. I can’t do that to her. Like I told him, I’ve never been the other woman, and I’m not about to start now.”

  “I hear you and all about being the other woman, but check it, you and Terrence got some unfinished business and something deeper than what he has with Ms. Thing. And while I certainly don’t advocate cheating, I do think when two people are meant to be, there’s nothing that
can stand in the way.”

  “OK, are you talking about me and Terrence right now or you and Marcus?”

  “Might as well be both as far as I’m concerned. You can act like that ship has sailed if you want, but I see how your eyes light up when you talk about him like you think nobody is going to notice. I’ve never, in the twelve years I’ve known you, seen you so deep in love. And certainly not with the computer nerd in LA who used all your expensive-ass Crème de la Mer to polish his knob. Ick . . .”

  “Well, whatever. There’s nothing I can do about it now. He’s engaged, and I’m not letting it go any further. What we had is officially black history. Over and out.”

  “Whatever you say, girl. Whatever you say.”

  When I got back to the DivaDish offices, MJ grabbed me at the door.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” he whispered as we walked down the hall to my office. “DeAnna’s in your office, and girlfriend is on the warpath today.”

  “What’s got her panties twisted today?” I said as I handed MJ my trench coat and handbag.

  “I don’t know, but when I told her you were on your way back from lunch and that I was happy to send you right over when you returned, she just plopped her butt right down in your chair and said she’d wait.”

  “Shit, I’m not in the mood for her drama today.” I smoothed my hair into place and took the MAC Lipglass from MJ’s outstretched hand to quickly dab on my lips before entering my office.

  There was DeAnna seated in my chair, scrolling through messages on her BlackBerry. I was at least glad to see she wasn’t on my computer. I was sure MJ had remotely shut it down to keep it away from her prying eyes. Hopefully she hadn’t snooped around my desk and seen the folder with the extensive research that MJ had compiled on Diablo Negro. I breathed a small sigh of relief when I saw that the folder was still on the side of my computer keyboard where I had left it.

  “Good afternoon, DeAnna,” I said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you come over to my side of the floor?”

  DeAnna looked up from her PDA and tapped her glossy red nails on my desk before she spoke.

  “Well, I wanted to speak to you about an important new partnership that’s sure to triple the traffic on your website. Is that something you could be interested in?” She raised one of her razor-thin eyebrows at me to punctuate her rhetorical question.

  “That sounds exciting, DeAnna. Do tell.” I remained standing because I refused to take a seat at one of the chairs in front of my own desk.

  “Well, it’s just come down from corporate that today we are announcing that PrimeTime Media is acquiring the Glam Network. As you know, their stable of reality TV and very desirable audience of young influentials eighteen to thirty-four years old are highly coveted and will make a great addition to our company. And our CEO wants to make sure that all the divisions of the company are incorporating Glam Network content and talent into our sites and magazines.”

  I swallowed hard and braced myself for the Mack truck now coming for me.

  “And as part of our first initiative, DivaDish is going to be the exclusive event, web, and magazine partner to their hottest property, the new reality show What Laila Wants.”

  “Uh, partner?” How was I going to partner with the tramp that was breaking up my best friend’s marriage?

  “Yes, partner, Nia,” DeAnna said, sighing at what she clearly viewed as my obtuseness.

  “You and I are going to have a meeting with Miki Woods, the VP of reality programming, this afternoon at three o’clock to discuss plans for our sponsorship and coverage of Laila’s premiere party at All-Star weekend in Phoenix next week. Please be prepared to discuss other ideas about how we can integrate Laila and the show into the magazine and on the site.”

  All I could manage was to nod my head affirmatively as my mind reeled with this new turn of events.

  “Look, Nia, this isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” DeAnna asked. “As I’ve discussed with you before, you can’t let your friendships and misplaced loyalties get in the way of business. I hope I can count on you to get this done. If not, let me know, and I’ll find someone who will.”

  With that final statement, DeAnna stood up and strode out of my office. MJ scurried in after she left and closed the door. I sat down in my chair and put my head in my hands.

  “What’s going on?” MJ asked. “What did she want now?”

  As I ran down the details of the acquisition of Glam Network and the orders to integrate their content and talent into our properties, MJ’s eyes became wide.

  “You mean we have to work with that skank-ass tramp, Laila?” he said, shaking his head. “Girl, for once I wish our office was like an episode of Mad Men and I could get you a stiff one from the office drink cart, ’cause you need it.”

  “You ain’t never lied, MJ. How am I going to explain to Vanessa that I now have to not only work with Laila, but I also have to sponsor her premiere party?”

  “Look, she’ll understand. It’s business, right? It’s completely out of your control. What could you possibly be expected to do about it?”

  “I haven’t even told you the other piece. Brace yourself,” I said as I ran down Vanessa’s own breaking news about her pregnancy and her request that we be the ones to break the story.

  “OK, seriously. Damn a drink cart, we need to get to the nearest bar. Do not pass go and do not collect two hundred dollars. It’s like we’re in an episode of One Life to Live up in this piece.”

  “I know, it’s crazy, right? What the hell am I going to do?”

  “I don’t even know, but it does, however, look like we’re going to All-Star. What am I going to wear with all those handsome ball players checking me out?” MJ kicked his legs out in the chair and pointed his toes like a Vegas showgirl.

  “Don’t nobody at the All-Star weekend want your crazy ass,” I said, sucking my teeth.

  “Watch,” MJ said, running his index finger down his skinny little legs. “You just wait and see. When those boys get a look at all of this? Irresistible.”

  “I so can’t even stand you right about now,” I said, shaking my head and turning to my computer while cringing at the thought of my overflowing e-mail in-box. I took the file with the Diablo Negro information and dropped it into my Louis Vuitton tote under my desk so that I wouldn’t forget to take it home tonight to read.

  “You know you love me. OK, back to work. I’m going to go grab Che, so you can tell her to get cracking on her big exclusive interview with Mrs. King, and I’ll alert the photo editor to start coming up with concepts for the accompanying photo shoot,” MJ said as he switched out of my office with thoughts of All-Star dancing in his head.

  CHAPTER 15

  Laila

  The Los Angeles sunshine felt so good and was certainly a welcome change from cold New York in February. I’m glad Miki Woods suggested meeting in West Hollywood at the Ivy for lunch today so that we could sit outside on the patio and I could ditch the heavy layers for a cute strapless Michael Kors safari-style dress, fuchsia snakeskin ankle-wrap Manolo Blahnik sandals, and my new Gucci sunglasses. I knew I always had to be ready when the paparazzi started clicking. I’d have to make sure to stroll down Melrose and dip in and out of a few boutiques so that the photographers could get some full-length shots as well. This dress was too cute to waste on just being shot seated at a table. Plus, that wouldn’t get me any more free clothes from Michael Kors if the PR rep didn’t see their designs photographed on me in magazines and online.

  Another bonus of today’s lunch: a sister could work on her tan and get a little glow back in her brown skin while Miki discussed the launch plans for the show as well as the photo shoot for our joint Black Enterprise cover for a story on the big business of reality TV. This was a big week of nonstop meetings, interviews, and photo shoots leading up to the Whatever Laila Wants world premiere party at the Desert
Palms Club in Phoenix at the end of the week. And even though a lot of the ball players were scheduled to host their own annual event that Friday night, the Glam Network events team said they were already turning people away from the party. Sounds like a good problem to have.

  But a bad problem to have was that it had been two weeks since I heard from my baby, Marcus. And Kareem was suddenly a ghost as well. I understood that Marcus was holed up with that crazy wife of his, but he could at least shoot me a text message or respond to the sexy photo I sent to him from the Suga’ n’ Spice dressing room. I mean, damn.

  Just then my thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of an incoming text. I grabbed my iPhone from the top of the table where I had set it earlier, hoping that it was Marcus finally returning one of my many messages. I looked down at the phone. Damn, it was only Kareem.

  -Just landed in LA . . . What time can U meet?

  I typed back quickly: Meet at L’Ermitage hotel, my room 1042 @ 7:00.

  -Perfect, I’m staying down the street at Four Seasons.

  -Whatever, don’t be late.

  I tossed the phone into my new Marc Jacobs clutch I had scooped up at Neiman Marcus yesterday. Then I saw Miki pull up to the valet stand in front of the restaurant in a sleek white BMW roadster with the top down and Jay Z blasting. I got to admit, I liked her style. This cocoa-brown sister with natural curly hair that framed her face must have been at least five foot ten without heels. Wearing one of her signature Gucci suits and crisp white blouses, Miki was a powerful Hollywood player that I was happy to have on my team. She was also a serious ballbuster who, at just twenty-nine, had bulldozed her way into the reality TV space with a roster of hit after hit must-see shows. She had changed the landscape of reality TV and the Glam Network fortunes, so my agent, Steven, wasn’t happy that I wanted to take today’s meeting solo. He only agreed not to crash the lunch when I promised him that I wouldn’t verbally agree to anything we hadn’t already approved and that I, of course, wouldn’t sign any papers he hadn’t reviewed in advance. I told him it would all be fine and that I’d call to fill him in right after we finished.