The Ex Files

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  She remembered all of her dreams—since their divorce had become final—and now she wondered if there was any way they could ever be together again.

  “The projections show that within three years, my dear, The Woman’s Place, with all the new locations, will be netting close to a half million dollars.”

  My dear. She locked away those words, along with all the others—darling, sweetheart, baby—the names of love that he’d graced her with throughout their four years of marriage.

  “Kendall?”

  She cleared her throat and her thoughts before she looked at him. “This sounds good.”

  “Thought you’d like it.” He tilted his head as he sat across from her. “I’m glad we’ve found a way to work together. We haven’t been able to figure this out personally, but professionally, we got it going on.” He grinned.

  She shrugged. “I’ll do anything for this business.”

  “This I know.”

  She peered at him. “That was just your excuse.”

  “Not an excuse, a fact. Look at where you spend your life, Kendall. You always were and always are in this office.”

  She wasn’t about to tell him how the office was now almost her home. “I’m not going to let you put it on me, Anthony. Our marriage didn’t fail because of the hours I worked.” She leaned forward, spoke slowly. “I left because you were in bed with my sister.”

  Her words knocked his smile away.

  “I’ve told you a million times, but I will tell you as often as you need to hear it, I’m sorry about that.”

  “Like an apology is enough.”

  “I don’t know what else to say. But our problems didn’t begin there.”

  “And sleeping with my sister helped our problems.”

  “It wasn’t just an affair, Kendall. You know that. I love Sabrina.”

  His words made her blood boil green. It killed her that Sabrina and Anthony were still together. According to her father, the two claimed to have tried to fight their feelings. But destiny, fate, idiocy had kept them together, and now they’d turned that sordid affair into something fit for the circus.

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  She held up her hands. “No need to say that anymore. It is what it is.”

  “I just want you to know that I will always be here if you need me.”

  “I’m hoping that I won’t need you much longer. You’re still going to let me buy you out of this business, right?”

  He nodded slowly. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I love working with you. But, if me leaving will make you happy…”

  “It will.”

  “Then that’s what I’ll do.”

  She nodded as he stood. Wished that she had more to say. Something that would allow him to spend just a bit more time with her.

  “I guess we’re finished,” he said.

  “We are.”

  He nodded. “I’ll catch you later.” He moved toward the door, then paused. His gaze was intense when he turned back to her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “There’s something you should know.”

  Her eyes repeated her question.

  Anthony shook his head. “Never mind,” and he was gone before she could ask him anything more.

  She stared at the door long after he left. What was he going to say? It was the way he had looked at her—there was something behind his eyes. Was it regret? She wondered if he was sorry now that he’d pressed the EJECT button on their marriage. Maybe he wasn’t so happy with Sabrina. Maybe the divorce papers made him realize what he was giving up. Maybe the dreams she’d been having could somehow come true; maybe she and Anthony could reconcile.

  She shook her head. Too many maybes. And she didn’t want to be with him anyway—did she? Not when she hated him so much—didn’t she?

  Maybe.

  Slowly, her lips curled upward. She lifted the folder, intent on focusing on the financials Anthony had just given her. But before she returned to work, she tucked thoughts of her husband and her new hope deep inside her heart.

  Chapter Twelve

  ASIA

  Asia strutted into Crustaceans and removed the oversized leopard-framed sunglasses that matched her cashmere jacket. Her fingers strummed an impatient beat against the podium.

  “Ms. Ingrum,” said the young hostess when she finally appeared, “Ms. Jones is waiting for you at your regular table.”

  With a curt nod, Asia maneuvered through the tables occupied by LA’s finest: television personalities and movie stars, music moguls and fashion models. Not one of the famous faces fazed her. This was her world.

  Noon, her best friend, was sipping chardonnay when Asia slipped into her chair. “I thought you’d never get here.”

  Asia eyed her wine. “Didn’t stop you from starting.” She raised her hand and their regular waiter was at her side within seconds. “I’ll have an apple mojito and I need that quick.”

  Her friend put down her glass. “Snappy today.”

  Asia flung her hair over her shoulders. “I’m not in a good mood.”

  “Don’t tell me. Bobby.”

  “Who else?”

  “Oh, please.” Noon waved her hand as if she were swatting a fly. “You and Bobby have that make up thing so down, who knows what kind of gift you’ll get this time?”

  “This time…it’s not that kind of party.” She paused as the waiter approached their table. Before he could set down her drink, she grabbed the glass, tossed aside the straw, and took a swallow.

  He asked, “Will you be having the usual?”

  “Definitely,” Noon said.

  “No, I’m having the specialty burger, medium rare.”

  Both the waiter and Noon raised their eyebrows. For the years the friends had made lunch at this upscale eatery their habit, neither ventured from the salads. And Asia always took hers dry, not even allowing high-calorie dressing to pass between her lips.

  When the waiter left them alone, Noon said, “Must have been some fight.”

  Asia twirled the glass in her hand before she swallowed almost half of her drink. “Bobby says he’s going back to his wife; he says we’re over.”

  This time Noon took a long gulp of her wine.

  Asia frowned, said, “Bobby wants to leave me,” waiting for shock, outrage, something other than silence from her friend.

  Still, Noon said nothing.

  Asia glared at her. “Hold up. You knew?” Her teeth were clenched.

  Noon held up her hands. “I didn’t know about this.” She paused. “But I’m not surprised.” Another beat. “I saw Bobby…with his wife…last week.”

  “What?”

  “At the ESPN press party. I was shocked when he was there with her and not you.”

  “He took her to a party here in Los Angeles?”

  Noon nodded. “They were all hugged up.” The look on Asia’s face made her add, “It was disgusting.”

  “I cannot believe you went to that party…with her.”

  “I went there with Marcus.”

  “This was last week and you’re just telling me?”

  “Marcus told me not to breathe a word.”

  “That never stopped you before.”

  “But this time it was like Marcus was holding you up as an example of what would happen to me if I said anything. It’s not like I want Marcus to leave me for his wife.”

  Asia knocked back the rest of her drink and motioned for another. The friends stayed silent until their food was served. When Noon lowered her head to say grace, Asia glowered.

  Noon Jones had been more than a best friend to Asia, or Chiquita as she was known then. She’d been closer than a sister. They met in the seventh grade at George Washington Carver Middle School, where they bonded thicker than blood. Their connection: they were outcasts. Noon, with her dark skin, long neck, and legs the size of tree twigs, was the target of incessant teasing from girls who had
no idea that she would grow up to be top-model gorgeous. But while at school, “Kunta Kinte’s sister” was the chant that followed her from the yard into the hallways.

  Chiquita’s crime—she was the physical antithesis of Noon. Her gray eyes and jet black wavy hair (the genetic gift of her Chippewa ancestors) made gangs of girls want to beat her down because “she thought she was cute.”

  At Compton High, where the bullies’ fancies turned to sex, drugs, and thugs, Chiquita and Noon were able to find more in common than just running home from school together.

  “Come on, girl, you can’t be mad at me,” Noon said, dragging Asia from the past. “You would’ve done the same thing.”

  “That’s not true,” Asia protested. “I would’ve had your back. The way I’ve always had.”

  “I didn’t know what to do,” Noon whined. “I can’t mess up with Marcus.”

  Asia shoved her untouched burger aside. “You would have never met Marcus if it wasn’t for me.”

  Noon pouted, and Asia knew she’d hurt her friend, but she didn’t care. How could she? Noon wouldn’t even be in this game if it hadn’t been for her.

  Noon said, “I’m sorry.” She covered Asia’s hand with hers. “I was doing what I thought best.”

  Asia studied her friend. “Tell me what you know.”

  Now Noon pushed her plate aside. “I don’t really know anything.” She paused; Asia sat steadfast, arms folded. “Promise you won’t say anything. Marcus cannot know I spoke to you.”

  It was her tone that made Asia tremble. She and Noon shared all news, no matter what their men told them. But now, Asia felt a shift—as if Noon knew much more. As if Noon was aware that this world had changed and Asia was no longer part of it.

  “I’m serious, Asia, you’ve got to promise me because if Marcus finds out he might do the same as…”

  Asia’s eyes narrowed. She leaned toward her friend. Gone was her anger; in its place, fear. “Tell me.”

  Noon glanced around the restaurant as if it suddenly occurred to her that someone might be watching, listening. She curled her shoulders forward, dipped her head low, tried to make herself small. She whispered, “Bobby told Marcus that he and his wife are giving their marriage a real try. They…even bought a house in Bel-Air that Marcus said would make you lose your mind.”

  Asia pressed back against the chair. For years, her advantage was that she lived in the city where Bobby played basketball. And his wife did not. It never made any sense to her; if Bobby Johnson were hers for real, she would have not only lived where he lived, but she would have traveled with him to every game. The only time she wouldn’t have been at his side was when he was on the court, and even then, she would have demanded courtside seats because some of those cheerleaders were more scandalous than the groupies.

  But Bobby’s wife had remained in Dallas, their hometown, giving Asia full rein to be the one who, when the Lakers played home games, served Bobby dinner, gave him massages, and loved him through every victory or defeat. Even when Bobby’s wife made the occasional trip to Los Angeles, Asia had never felt threatened. Possession was nine-tenths of the law and she had Bobby ninety percent of the time—in reality, she was the wife.

  But Noon’s declaration revealed that her ten-year plan was being thwarted by a woman who had played off the court.

  “She’s moving to Los Angeles?”

  Noon nodded. “What did you expect? One of two things was going to happen once Bobby retired. Either she was going to move here or he was going to go home.”

  “His home is here.”

  “Obviously, he agrees. But he wants to make his home with her.”

  Asia glared. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

  “Friends tell friends the truth.” She sipped her wine.

  “I don’t understand.” Asia shook her head. “I’m the one who’s been here with Bobby all these years. For God’s sake, I have his child.”

  “And how many other women have the same story? Asia, we’re just two little girls from Compton who are fooling around with men who are players—on and off the court. These guys are professional—on and off the court. They make their choice of wives and then there’s…us. It’s part of the game. All we can hope for is a good time and then, when the game ends, we should take our departure gift and go.”

  Asia shook her head. Noon had talked this nonsense for years, but she wasn’t like all the other girls Noon was referring too. She wasn’t even like Noon. She wasn’t a groupie. Being with an NBA player had been part of her well-thought-out plan. She’d studied hard, could have earned a degree in NBA Playerology. But it was the ring she wanted. And the right to sign her checks Mrs. Bobby Johnson.

  “Listen to me.” Asia placed her arms on the table. “Bobby is going to change his mind and marry me.”

  Noon’s chuckle sounded as if she felt sorry for her friend.

  Asia said, “I’m going to fight for my man.”

  “He’s not your man. He has a wife and you don’t want to mess with her.”

  Asia raised her eyebrows. “You think I’m scared? I’ve had her husband anytime I’ve wanted him for ten years. She doesn’t want to mess with me.”

  Noon shook her head as if Asia didn’t get it. “Well, if you don’t care about her, care about Bobby. He’s a good man.”

  “Good men take care of their responsibilities.”

  “He’s doing that,” Noon said, raising her voice a bit. “He just doesn’t see his responsibility as marrying you.” She sighed. “Take whatever money he’s offering you and go.”

  It was clear their years of friendship did not make Noon an ally now. Asia grabbed her wallet and slipped out her credit card. “Where’s our waiter?”

  “No! I got this.”

  Heat rose beneath Asia’s skin. Obviously more had changed than she’d imagined. She and Noon lunched together often and they traded the bill. One time she’d pay, the next time Noon would. Neither kept score; their funds were almost unlimited.

  But today Noon’s offer sounded as if she was concerned about her friend’s future finances. Sounded as if she still had her hand in Marcus’s wallet, but she wasn’t sure how much longer Asia would have access to Bobby’s money.

  Asia tucked her credit card away. “I’ll get you next time.” She stood, spread her lips into a phony smile. “I’ve got another appointment.”

  Noon nodded, accepting the lie, relieved at not having to be seen any longer with Bobby Johnson’s ex.

  Asia air-kissed Noon’s cheek and then sashayed away as if she had no cares. But as she waited at the valet stand, she couldn’t get Noon’s words out of her mind.

  Take whatever money he’s offering….

  That was Noon’s modus operandi, not hers. In the years she’d been with Bobby, Noon hadn’t had a relationship that lasted more than two years. And her nine-month relationship with Marcus Barr was obviously on shaky ground.

  Take whatever money he’s offering and go.

  Cash, gifts—that was Noon’s idea of the prize. But Asia’s view was long term, permanent. Until four days ago, she had it. And now she was going to get it back.

  Her confidence was strong when she slid into her car. Bobby’s wife was a minor inconvenience; she’d get rid of her. She had plenty of options to handle this kind of issue. She had, after all, risen high from the streets of Compton.

  Chapter Thirteen

  KENDALL

  “Hi, Daddy. What time do you want me to pick you up?” Kendall asked as she did every Tuesday. The weekly dinner with her father was the only ritual outside of work that she kept.

  “Baby girl, I’m not really up for going out tonight. Let’s eat in. I need to talk to you.”

  Kendall frowned. It had been a while since her father had used this tactic. She waited a moment, hoping he’d have a change of mind. “Daddy, you know I can’t.”

  “You can’t or you won’t. Either way, it’s crazy. This is my home, Kendall. You telling me that you can’t come to you
r father’s home?”

  Kendall sighed. A couple of months had passed since her father had one of these rampages. “Daddy, if you’re not feeling well, we’ll just do this next week.”

  “So it’s like that, huh? You’re going to leave me here in this house. Alone. And sick. And tired. And hungry.”

  “You haven’t eaten?”

  “Do you care?”

  “Daddy…”

  “Baby girl,” he said, his voice softening, “your sister won’t be here if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She didn’t believe him.

  “You can trust me,” he added, knowing his daughter’s thoughts. “I had a long talk with Sabrina earlier today. She knows you’re coming over here; she won’t come by.”

  Kendall frowned. Why had her father told Sabrina that she’d be there tonight when they always went out on Tuesdays?

  It still took several minutes for her to agree and within an hour, Kendall exited the freeway and then made a quick right onto the block where she had spent her formative years. She slowed her Jeep, peering at every parked car even though she didn’t know what she was looking for. She hadn’t seen Sabrina in more than a year; she had no idea if her sister still drove the Jeep that they’d purchased on the same day and matched the one she was driving.

  When she turned off the ignition, she could feel the heat of the Chinese food she’d bought, seeping through the bags onto her lap. But still, she stayed, studying the place that she had long ago stopped calling home.

  Few people knew that she’d grown up in Compton. It wasn’t that her years here were unhappy. It was just that she believed in progress. Both she and Sabrina had pulled “The Jeffersons”—they had moved on out and up. A few years ago, they’d tried to do the same for their father, putting a down payment on a condo in Marina del Rey as a surprise for Father’s Day. But he’d balked at the thought of leaving the home he’d purchased with his wife almost forty years before.

  “I can still feel your mother here; I’m not going anywhere,” he’d said. “You’d better get your money back!”

  That’s just what they’d done, settling for taking their father out to dinner instead of gifting him with a new home.