“I could plan experiences girl!” I say. “Like bachelorette parties and weddings!”
“I could be your partner,” Hailey says. “And we could land a reality show. We don’t need these men to be stars. We shine bright like diamonds, baby!”
“You leaving your man too?”
Hailey shakes her head. “No, but he’s got two crumb snatchers in Atlanta that he thinks I don’t know about. I may not have a choice.”
“Is everybody’s man cheating? Dang!”
Hailey shrugs. “Pitfalls of being married to ballers. Maybe we should get regular guys.”
I look at my girl and we both burst into laughter. She and I both know, that’s not about to happen anytime soon. What would I look like with a regular man after being married to Rod? Stupid. And I don’t do stupid. I leave that for the chicks who like to flip around on stripper poles.
Chapter Sixteen
Camille
I feel empowered after my session with Dr. King. I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to be doing, but I know that Bryan is about to get a piece of my mind. I’m done apologizing for my mistake. It’s already covered under the blood of Jesus, so he’s just gonna have to get over it.
And I’m keeping my house.
I pull up to our garage and notice there is a car already parked here, next to Bryan’s. It’s the middle of the day, so I didn’t even expect Bryan to be home. Much less to have company.
Wait a minute. I know he hasn’t brought one of those choir groupies to my home. There are some things that I can forgive and others I have to leave at the altar.
I storm into my house through the kitchen entrance in the garage and feel my blood start to boil when I hear a woman’s voice. I wish I had a gun. No, I’m glad I don’t, because I wouldn’t want to have to answer to my Lord and savior for Bryan’s actions.
I follow the voices and I can hear them in my library. My library? Of all the holy and sacred places in this house…
“That’s solid right there. Look how easily it slides in and out,” Bryan says.
The woman laughs. “I just can’t get enough of this…”
My jaw drops and I burst into the library. “Caught! I caught yo’ ass now! How dare you bring this Jezebel into my house?”
Bryan gives me an unblinking stare, and the woman covers her mouth. For a second, I’m confused because everyone is fully clothed. And why is Bryan sliding out one of the shelves on my custom built bookcases? Oh my goodness…
“Camille, I’d like for you to meet Mrs. Melissa Dawson. She’s our real estate agent. I’m preparing to put the house on the market, and I wanted to show her all of the special features and upgrades.”
“Oh,” is all I can muster.
“I think I better leave,” Melissa says. “We can get together…all three of us…later and discuss all of the particulars.”
“Let me show you out,” Bryan says.
She shakes her head, and grabs her briefcase. “No, that’s unnecessary. I’ll see myself out.”
Bryan and I stand staring at each other in silence as Melissa’s heels clack across our hardwood floors. My heart is racing as I hear her car peel out of our driveway like she’s in a high speed police chase.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Bryan asks.
I clear my throat. “What the hell is wrong with you? I didn’t agree to put my house on the market, yet here you are meeting with a real estate agent.”
“Do you know that Melissa is a member of our church? How dare you embarrass me in front of one of our congregation?”
“Me embarrass you? How do you think I felt when everyone in the church knew you were sleeping with a teenager?”
Bryan takes several rapid steps to close the space between us. I shudder with fear.
“I told you, I didn’t sleep with that girl.” Bryan’s breath is hot and tart and I think he purposely let his saliva spray all over my face.
“You did. You did! Everyone knows. You’re lucky she was a slut, because that could’ve been your baby.”
“If I want a child, I guess that’s the only way I’m gonna get one,” Bryan says.
I hear Dr. King’s voice in my head saying this sounds like abuse. I am sick of Bryan treating me this way. I’m better than this! God has called me to higher heights and deeper depths!
“I hate you!” I scream. “You belong to your father the devil!”
WHAP!
The sound echoes through my ears as I fly backwards into the bookshelf. My head strikes a corner as I fall to the floor. I touch the wound and feel blood.
I barely have time to recover before Bryan is on top of me slapping me in my face and hitting my head with his closed fist. My first instinct is to cover my head. Each blow seems to get harder and harder, as if Bryan is truly possessed by a demon.
My second instinct is to fight.
I shake myself free of Bryan’s grasp and grab him in his most vulnerable area. I lock onto his crotch like my hands are a vice grip. He tries to push me off, but is disabled by the pain. I press in hard with my fingertips, feeling grateful that he’s wearing thin workout pants instead of jeans. When my fingers become slick with blood, I let him go!
While he’s yelling and writhing in pain I stumble through the front door and flag down the first car that drives down our street. It is a pizza delivery boy. He parks his car and jumps out.
“What happened ma’am? Were you in an accident?”
I shake my head. “N-no. My husband did this.”
The teenage boy’s eyes widen and he opens his car door for me. “Come on! I will take you to the hospital. Which one do you want to go to?”
“Anywhere except Atlanta General.” My sisters cannot know about this.
As he speeds away from my house, I finally feel safe, and thank God for the boy being a Good Samaritan. Like an angel or something. As my consciousness slips away, I whisper a prayer to heaven, because I need God like I’ve never needed Him before. I know I can never go back to Bryan now. This is the end for us…and the beginning of something else.
Chapter Seventeen
Sydney
I hold Stephanie’s trembling hand as the police question her about Jewel’s death. She’s lucky to be alive herself, and I think she knows that. She hasn’t stopped crying since she got out of surgery. She’s in a lot of pain too. All because she wanted a bigger booty.
I’m late leaving the hospital, and Dionne is going to kill me! I’m supposed to be at her New Year’s Eve/Baby Shower helping her make her final preparations and greet her guests. She’s just going to have to be mad though, because Stephanie needs me here. I have my outfit ready so I can leave as soon as the police officer is done with questioning Stephanie.
“I’m Officer Clancey, and I know you’re trying to recover, but we’d like to catch the people responsible for this happening to you. Do you mind answering a few questions for our investigation?”
Stephanie nods slowly. She squeezes my hand and I squeeze hers back.
You said the woman who gave you the shots is named Keke? Do you know her last name?”
Stephanie shakes her head. “No. She strips with me at the club.”
“Club Hurricane?”
“Yes, sir. She’s the shot girl.”
“How many other women have received these injections?”
“Ummm….I’m not sure,” Stephanie says. “Maybe five or six.”
“And where were the injections administered?”
Stephanie looks at me with concern in her eyes. I give her a nod of assurance. “It’s okay, Stephanie. Just think about Jewel. She didn’t deserve to die.”
Tears flow from Stephanie’s eyes. “She didn’t.”
“The location?” The officer seems impatient, so I squeeze Stephanie’s hand again.
“There’s this downstairs room, at the club. She does the shots in there. There’s like a doctor bed and IVs and stuff.”
“It’s set up like an operating room?” I ask. “Do they use anesthesia?”
“No. She wipes you down with alcohol, and gives the shots. It burns really bad. And you have to stay face down on the table until the glue dries.”
“How many shots?” I ask.
“I had ten in each side. I think Jewel had about twelve in each butt cheek.”
I stand to my feet and grip Stephanie’s hand tightly. They have to catch this woman. She is recklessly injecting poison into unsuspecting girls.
“Did Keke accept money for the shots?” the police officer asks.
“Well, we had to pay five hundred dollars, but I don’t know if Keke was the one getting the money. Nobody before me and Jewel got sick, and the real plastic surgeon charges ten thousand dollars for butt injections.”
Officer Clancey’s eyebrows come together in a frown. “Why do you think Keke wasn’t receiving the funds?”
“I never actually paid her. We paid at the club’s business office. Sometimes if a girl doesn’t have enough money to get the shots, they take it out of her tips.”
“The money in the business office goes to whom? The owners? Do you have their names?”
Stephanie shrugged. “I’m not sure who owns the club exactly. I’ve never met the owners. Only the bouncers, Lou and Phillip and the manager. Her name is Princess Sims.”
Officer Clancey scribbled furiously on his little notepad. “I think I’ve got everything that I need. I’m going to leave my card so that you can call me if you think of anything else you’d like to share.”
“Okay. Um, Officer Clancey, are you going to tell anyone that I gave you information? I don’t want them to know that I’m the one who told. I-I still want to work at the club once I get better.”
“I can’t promise that. If we make an arrest, you may be called upon to testify. We can offer you protection if someone threatens you.”
Stephanie stares at me with panic in her eyes. “Can I take back my statement?” she asks.
“Don’t worry. They’re going to put Keke in prison and anyone who helped her with this,” I say. “Isn’t that right, Office Clancey?”
“We’re going to try and make sure of that,” he says.
Officer Clancey doesn’t sound too confident. Honestly, if I was Stephanie I would be recanting my statement too.
I walk Officer Clancey out of Stephanie’s room. He hands me one of his cards too.
“Call me, if you discover anything else. Or, in the event that Stephanie’s injuries become fatal.”
“Her injuries are not going to become fatal. She’s going to live.”
Officer Clancey nods and shakes my hand. “Thank you for your time.”
I guess it’s time for Dionne’s push party now. I still giggle when I think of her saying that. I frown when I see Lucas walking toward me, still wearing his scrubs instead of the winter white suit I picked out for him.
He kisses me on the cheek. “Turn that frown upside down. It’s New Year’s Eve. You get to kiss me at midnight.”
“Why aren’t you ready for my sister’s bridal shower thing?”
“Oh, that. Well, I was going to tell you…”
“Seriously, Lucas? I never ask you to show up anywhere, and the one time I do, you stand me up?”
“Oh, Fatima is doing a double amputation on a patient infected with a flesh eating bacteria. She asked me to scrub in.”
He’s spending New Year’s Eve with the girl who ruined our relationship the first time. Why do I have to explain what is wrong with this picture?
“You don’t want me to have this amazing surgical experience?” Lucas asks.
I was planning on giving him a different kind of amazing experience. In that room at the Ritz that he promised me.
“Of course I want you to do the surgery,” I say. “We’re here to save lives, right?”
He nods. “I’m glad you understand. Send my best to Dionne.”
“Lucas!” I call as he rushes away. “So no Ritz Carlton?”
He runs back and kisses my other cheek. “Rain check?”
I watch Lucas as he hurries into the on-call room, probably to catch a few winks before he operates. Then, I consider my options. I can miss my sister’s baby shower and probably have her not talk to me for the next year. Or, I can go to the party and leave my man in Fatima’s clutches. Neither option is ideal.
I want to stay at the hospital, but if I do, I’m going to seem like a desperate and insecure woman who doesn’t trust her man. Oh…who am I kidding? I am completely insecure, especially when it comes to Fatima.
Then, I have an idea.
When my favorite intern Jillian walks past me, chewing gum and texting, I grab her arm and yank her into the supply closet. She looks very shocked.
“Um, Sydney, I-I don’t…I don’t like girls.”
I scrunch my face into a frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you know what shenanigans take place in the supply closet?” Jillian asks.
I shake my head. Freaky interns.
“That is not why I pulled you in here. I need you to do me a favor,” I say.
“What kind of favor?”
“I need you to scrub in on a surgery with Dr. Jeffries and Dr. Graham tonight.”
Jillian pouts. “My shift is over in like fifteen minutes! We’re having a New Year’s Eve sleep over.”
“It’s a cool surgery, though. It’s a double amputation. Flesh eating bacteria!”
“I have never participated in anything like that, but Malachi is going to be at the party, and I really, really want to hang out with him.”
“Are you saying that you don’t want me to owe you one?” I ask. “Think long and hard before you turn me down. I’ll ask Candice or Peter to do it, and then I’ll owe one of them instead of owing you.”
I can see the possibilities sink in. There are many ways an intern can benefit from a resident owing him or her a favor.
“Why do you want me to scrub into the surgery anyway?”
“This is the part that’s between you and me. If it gets out, then I’m going to feel like I don’t owe you anymore.”
“No! I promise you can trust me.”
“When we were in college, Fatima tried to steal Lucas from me.”
Jillian’s eyes light up. “I knew it! I could sense the sexual tension when they’re in the room together.”
I lift an eyebrow, and wait for her to elaborate.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it was coming from Dr. Jeffries. The tension was all from her.”
“Mmm-hmm. Well, I don’t want to accuse my man of anything, so I was hoping you could be my eyes and ears in the operating room. I just want you to make sure Dr. Graham isn’t trying to act on any of that tension you see.”
“So, you trust Dr. Jeffries, it’s Dr. Graham that’s the problem. You don’t trust her.”
“Now, you’ve caught on. Can I count on you?”
She nods enthusiastically. “You sure can! Does that mean we’re friends?”
“We’ll see. Keep me posted on any intel you come across.”
Jillian snatches her hair up into a getting-down-to-business ponytail, and speed walks down the hallway like a girl on a mission. It looks like I’ve accomplished mine – insecure girlfriend spying on boyfriend – check! Awesome little sister showing up at her sister’s all-white push party – on my way.
Chapter Eighteen
Dionne
I think Hailey is right on target when she says we ought to start a party planning business, because this party is spectacular. I can’t wait to see all the cell phone pictures that are going to show up on trueblackgossip.com tomorrow. Even though that Makenzie Bryant is the worst type of hater alive, she won’t be able to resist blogging about this A-list shindig.
Half the Atlanta Falcons and their wives/girlfriends/boo-thangs/jump-offs are here along with the Atlanta Hawks. And everyone knows that Atlanta is the black Hollywood! There are more actors and actresses than I can count. Let’s not even get into the music royalty that’s in my ballroom. R
appers, singers, producers and their protégées have flown in from all over the country to celebrate our bundle of joy.
Rod walks up behind me and rubs my back. “You did a good job, Dionne. This party is the business.”
Very inconspicuously, I remove his hand. “It is, isn’t it? Too bad, I don’t really feel like celebrating with you.”
“So you just gonna stay mad?” he asks. “I’m here with you. Isn’t that good enough?”
I shake my head. “No, Rod. It’s not. Where are my sisters?”
I leave Rod standing at the entrance of the ballroom and try to find Sydney and Camille. Sydney texted me and said she would be a little late leaving the hospital, but I haven’t heard from Camille all day. If she doesn’t show up, I swear I’m not speaking to her for a year.
There’s Sydney, at the door, arguing with the security guard. I rush over to them.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, as I pull Sydney indoors.
“She’s not on the guest list,” the big goon says.
“She’s my sister. She doesn’t have to be on the guest list. And by the way, write my other sister’s name down too while you’re at it, Camille James. She’s a hundred times meaner than this one.”
Sydney laughs at me and then hugs me. “You look so good, Dionne. That white is working for you. What did Grandmere say?”
“She said when you’re A-list there is no such thing as a fashion faux-pas. She said I make the rules.”
Sydney rolls her eyes. “As if you needed anything else to blow your gigantic head up further.”
Sydney’s eyes land on the super-sized portrait of our family, and forms her lips into a small ‘o’. “Is that Rod’s daughter?” she asks.
“Yeah, that’s her. She looks just like him, doesn’t she?”
“She really does. Oh my goodness, it’s like that stripper didn’t have anything to do with it.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But she did. Let’s not forget that.”
“Who could?”
“Has anyone said anything? Like everyone sees the picture, right?” Sydney asks.
“The blogs already put it out there, so it is what it is.”
More Lies and Alibis (Using Lies as Alibis #2) Page 8