She had no doubt the wife would recognize the mistress.
But with the camera, she might be afraid to open the door.
Almost instantly, Asia heard the click of the lock.
She took a breath.
The door swung open.
She steadied, readied for the confrontation.
A petite Asian woman peered at her over wire-rimmed glasses that were too large for her face.
“May I help you?”
Asia exhaled. Of course, Bobby’s wife wouldn’t answer the door herself. “I’m here to see”—she paused—“Caroline Johnson.” She stepped past the woman before she had an invitation, and it took all that was within her not to gasp. The palatial entryway was almost as large as her living room. Marble pedestals held vases of various sizes, filled with multihued flowers that brought the fragrance of the outdoors inside. But it was the two winding staircases framing the space that made Asia catch her breath.
“Mrs. Fitzgerald-Johnson was not expecting anyone,” the woman said, making Asia face her.
Asia pushed back her shoulders. “Tell Caroline that Asia Ingrum is here. I’m sure she’ll see me.”
The woman motioned for Asia to enter the room to the right and once she was alone, she breathed again. She wandered around the living room, astonished at the pure majesty.
It was clear that this space, painted in a soft golden hue, had been designed for people who were used to elegant living. The furniture was traditional, from the lines of the timeless mahogany-trimmed sofa to the coffee and end tables in the ornate Louis XVI style. There was only one word that came to Asia’s mind—class.
“May I help you?”
Asia swung around; almost lost her balance. Standing under the living room’s archway stood her competition. The magnificence of the home hadn’t made Asia leave, but the woman who was married to the man she wanted almost made her run.
Caroline, dressed in a simple white raw silk sheath that formed to her shapely figure, stood straight, head high. Her hands rested waist high, cupped together. All that was missing was a crown. She stood like a queen.
Caroline’s five-foot-seven frame moved with grace as she glided across the room. Asia braced herself. This was the moment. When the wife would recognize the mistress. And would wither with fear.
But as she came closer, Caroline’s hazel eyes remained clear, friendly. When only inches separated them, her face still carried her smile. She raised her hand.
“I’m Caroline Fitzgerald-Johnson,” she stated with the tiniest Southern drawl. Her voice, cadence, tone reeked of money and good home training.
Asia tried not to frown. She wanted something—a sign of surprise, shock, anything that would let her know that not only did Caroline recognize her, but now she feared the presence of her rival.
But there was nothing.
Asia took Caroline’s hand. She hadn’t recognized the face, but she would know her name. “I’m Asia Ingrum.”
More nothing.
With a smile, Caroline motioned toward the sofa. “Jenny told me you were here, but she didn’t say what this was about.” She sat, crossed her ankles, and rested her hands in her lap.
Asia glanced at the space next to Caroline but stayed standing. There was no need for niceties—she’d come to seek and destroy. “I thought it was time for us to meet.” She paused, her mouth as dry as the Mojave Desert. She inhaled, then exhaled the words, “I know…I know Bobby.”
A small smile. “You know my husband?”
The way she spoke those words made Asia’s heart pound.
Caroline continued, “How do you know my husband?”
Asia was ready for the kill. “Bobby and I…we’ve been seeing each other.”
Caroline sat, unmoved, unaffected. “Really?” she responded, as if someone had just told her it might rain. “Well, I don’t know why this would be news, Ms. Ingrum. My husband is a professional basketball player. He sees a lot of people.”
Could she possibly be this stupid? “Bobby and I more than see each other. We’ve been involved.”
Still Caroline remained stoic, perched as if she were sitting on a throne. “And by involved, you mean…?”
Asia frowned. She’d seen women like Caroline before, in movies like The Wedding and Eve’s Bayou. Caroline Fitzgerald-Johnson was probably from one of those black families who’d gained their wealth generations before. But even though she’d grown up far from Compton, it was clear that Caroline’s money couldn’t buy her a clue. She sat, composed, not understanding that her house was about to come tumbling down.
“Caroline,” Asia began.
“Mrs. Fitzgerald-Johnson.”
Asia gazed at the woman through squinted eyes. “Your husband and I are in love.”
A beat…then Asia’s eyes widened as Caroline threw her head back and laughed. And laughed.
It’s not funny, Asia wanted to stomp and shout. But she said nothing. Just waited.
Bobby’s wife held up her hand. “I was trying…I just wanted to see how far you would go.”
Asia stiffened.
“What would make you think that Bobby loves you, Asia?”
“He does love me,” Asia squeaked. “You don’t know this, but we’ve been together for…”
Caroline held up her hand. “First, get it straight. You and Bobby have not been together. He’s been sleeping with you, laying with you, screwing you…and I can think of a couple of other verbs, but none of them would add up to you and Bobby being together.” Her words slapped Asia, yet Caroline maintained her stance of grace.
Asia wanted to curse out her regal behind. But the shock of Caroline’s words kept her silent.
Caroline stood, moved closer to Asia. “I never thought you would actually come to my home.” Still, her calm remained. “I thought once I moved to Los Angeles, you would slither away as Bobby told you to do.”
Asia’s knees weakened, but she found her strength. “Slither away?” She made her voice strong. “I’m not going anywhere. And this little game you just played shows me that you’re worried. As you should be. Because the man you call your husband has loved me for many years.”
Caroline raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. Her eyes roamed around the living room before she glared at Asia. “Either you’re just young, or you’re just stupid. Coming to a woman’s house. Announcing that you love her husband. But I’ll chalk this up to your ghetto training and give you a free pass”—she paused—“this time.” Rage rose behind her eyes, but still she maintained her decorum.
Asia jutted her chin higher, gave Caroline a wide smile. “You think you know it all? I have proof that Bobby loves me.”
“What? Your daughter?” Caroline chuckled at the shock on Asia’s face. “I know about Angel,” she said. And then her smile was gone. “But even more, I know about you. Don’t think for one minute that I didn’t know about your affair with my husband. And don’t think it went on any longer than I allowed.”
Asia frowned.
Caroline continued, “I’ve known about you from the beginning. And I had no problem—as long as Bobby was discreet.”
“Please,” Asia said. “No sistah wants to share her husband.”
“True,” Caroline nodded. “But you see, when an educated black woman”—she paused, letting Asia take notice of her choice of words—“decides to marry a man like Bobby, she understands the compromises. I knew what I was getting into when I walked down that aisle.”
Asia swallowed.
“Now, once I accepted that, you made it easier for me,” Caroline continued. “With you keeping Bobby…company, he never pressured me to move to Los Angeles.” She sat, crossed her ankles, rested her hands in her lap, and returned to her throne. “I never wanted to live in the same city where Bobby played. I didn’t want to be in the position where I’d have to see all those…sistahs throwing themselves at my husband. So, I chose to stay in Dallas where I had my own life.” She paused. “But now that his playing days are over, Bobby and I have agreed t
hat his playin’ days are over. All the groupies”—she smiled—“all the hos have to go.”
Asia winced. “I’m not a whore.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“And I’m not going anywhere.” Asia’s fingers curled into her palms.
“I don’t have any more use for you and neither does Bobby.”
It wasn’t until Caroline glanced at her leg that Asia realized she was pounding her fist against her thigh.
“I’ve had enough.” Caroline stood, waved her hand, dismissing Asia. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to? You think you can get rid of me just like that? You think I’m going to give up Bobby, just because you said so?”
Caroline sighed. “Obviously, you aren’t making this as simple as Bobby said you would. He said that for a few dollars you would go away.”
Asia’s heart was on fire. “I’m the mother of Bobby’s only child.”
Caroline nodded. “Yes, well, that part…that little girl is unfortunate. I have to admit that when I found out about the baby I was upset. But Bobby assured me that your relationship wasn’t serious and it would end.”
Asia smiled. “But it didn’t end. Angel is five years old and we’re still together. And plan to be for a very long time.”
“Where did you learn to live inside such a fantasy?” Caroline shook her head. “Could it have possibly been when you were growing up in Compton?”
Asia lost her smile. She’d never told Bobby about her beginnings. Who she’d been before didn’t match the package that she’d created when she met him.
Caroline broke into Asia’s thoughts. “Could it have been, when you were living with your grandmother? Tell me, when was it exactly…Chiquita?”
Asia’s eyes widened and Caroline laughed again. But soon her smile was gone and she stepped in front of Asia. “When I told you that I knew everything, I was talking about a lot more than just your silly affair.” She stepped a few feet back. “Don’t mess with me, Asia.”
Asia’s heart pounded at the change in Caroline’s voice.
“I may not look like the kind of woman who can—how would you say it—throw down, but if you don’t get out of my house, you’ll find out there’s a lot more to me than just my graciousness.”
“I’m not scared of you,” Asia said, although her trembling told a different story.
“Then you’re dumber than I thought. Maybe you should have spent a year or two in college.” The two held their glares until Caroline said, “Get over it, Asia. Bobby is my husband. Has been for twelve years and since I plan on keeping my wedding vows, he will be until…until I say it’s over.”
The images passed through Asia’s mind—all of the ways Caroline could die. It wouldn’t have to be by her hand. She had money—Bobby’s money—to pay someone to do this deed.
Caroline said, “Now, I know your days are filled with useless activities, but I have some very important work to do. So if it’s clear to you now…get out of my house.”
Asia wanted to scream, curse, throw up her hands and fight. This was not the way this scene was supposed to play. She was supposed to walk in here, make her declaration of love, and then watch Caroline drop to her knees in despair. Then she was supposed to go home and wait for Bobby’s call announcing that his wife wanted a divorce—so now they were free to be together.
The way the scene had played in her mind, Caroline was the one who was supposed to be left with a bleeding heart. So why did it feel like she’d been stabbed in hers?
Asia picked up her purse and, without a glance toward Caroline, marched toward the door.
“You should know that Bobby and I have discussed the financial arrangements for your daughter.” Caroline’s words floated over Asia’s shoulder.
Asia kept walking.
Caroline continued talking, “I would never seek revenge on an innocent child. She will be taken care of.”
Still Asia didn’t look back.
“But understand, Chiquita, you will never again spread your legs for my husband.”
Asia closed the door on Caroline’s final words. She stood for a moment on the front steps. Once she steadied herself, she rushed to her car. The car’s tires screamed as she twisted around the driveway.
She swerved back onto Salon Drive, then punched the brakes, halting the car. She couldn’t believe this—Bobby’s wife had known about her. Always known. And it didn’t matter. She didn’t matter, not to Bobby and not to his wife.
What kind of woman would accept this? she wondered. And then she answered: the kind of woman who knew how to keep her man.
She could still hear Caroline’s laughter. Asia dropped her head to the steering wheel, but before a tear could fall, her cell phone rang.
“Yes!”
“Chiquita, this is Aunt Beverly. Just making sure you’re on your way.”
Great, she thought. She’d forgotten about her promise to meet her aunt. But she couldn’t do that now. She needed space to mourn, to figure out her next steps.
“Are you on your way?”
She sighed. “I’ll be right there.” She hung up, wiped away tears that had gathered in the corner of her eyes, and then glanced once again at the home that housed her enemies.
“It’s not over, Mrs. Caroline Fitzgerald-Johnson,” she said before she sped away. She glanced into the rearview mirror. Her eyes still held despair, but she knew the best way to rid herself of these feelings. All she needed was a little time. A little plan. A little revenge.
Chapter Eighteen
SHERIDAN
With cheer, Sheridan strolled through the church’s parking lot. Three days had passed since she’d seen Brock, yet her heart still sang. The only thing better than the memory of their weekend was the anticipation of his return. She brushed aside thoughts of her man as she trotted up the steps to the side entrance of Hope Chapel.
“Sheridan,” Pastor Ford greeted her the moment she stepped into the section of the church they called the Learning Center.
“Am I the first one?” Sheridan asked after they hugged.
“As it should be. You’re the leader.” The pastor tilted her head. “You ready for this?”
Her tone made Sheridan frown. “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
Pastor Ford chuckled, but before she could respond, both turned toward the sound of heavy footsteps echoing from the hallway.
“Aunt Beverly!” Asia stomped into the room and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I went to your office and Etta-Marie sent me here.” She spoke as if she were annoyed, and then she stopped, just noticing the woman standing next to her aunt. “I’m sorry.” She nodded a curt hello, then turned back to Pastor Ford. “I’ll wait in your office.”
“No. Stay. This is exactly where you’re supposed to be.” Pastor Ford introduced her niece to Sheridan, and the younger woman cast her a wary glance.
“Aunt Beverly, what’s—”
“And here are the other ladies,” Pastor Ford interrupted.
Kendall and Vanessa strolled in side by side, although neither spoke to the other. More introductions were made before Pastor Ford motioned for the ladies to take a seat in the semicircle of folding chairs she’d arranged.
Pastor Ford perched against a table in the front, and had to stop herself from laughing at the bemused expressions that faced her. She began, “So, you’re all wondering what your pastor is up to.”
Only the pastor and Sheridan wore smiles.
“Well, I’m going to jump right in. Each one of you is going through some kind of transition”—she turned her glance to her niece—“or at least, you’re at a crossroads. Either way, this isn’t an easy time.”
The pastor paused. Behind their eyes, she could almost see the women’s thoughts, how each played out their situations in their minds. “I had this idea to bring you four together, as a support group. Our church has grown so large it can be difficult to connect with other women.”
With a si
deways glance, it only took a moment for Sheridan to see that not one of the women sitting to her right were feeling this. Kendall twisted as if there were ants in her seat. Asia was slumped so low in her chair Sheridan thought she might slip onto the floor. And Vanessa—although she couldn’t quite make sense of Vanessa’s expression, Sheridan knew it wasn’t one of joy. This isn’t going to be easy, she thought, as the pastor continued.
“I’m calling this a prayer group, but I’m hoping it’ll be more. The four of you could really help each other.” The pastor peered at each one. “That’s all I’m going to give you. The rest you’ll work out.” She pushed herself from the desk. “Okay, I’m leaving. I have some calls.”
“Hold up,” Asia said, her scowl deeper now. “Where’re you going, Aunt Beverly?”
Her eyebrows rose at her niece’s tone, but still she kept her smile. “I said, I’m going to make some calls. I’ve asked Sheridan to be the facilitator.”
“Why her?”
Now the pastor lost her smile.
Asia said, “I mean, if this is a prayer group, then why aren’t you leading us in prayer?”
“Because you all know how to pray. And I want you to spend the time getting to know one another. Share your situations. From there, the Lord will lead you.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Aunt Beverly,” Asia paused, letting her glance settle for a second on each woman, “but I don’t even know these people.”
Kendall said, “I have to agree with Asia, Pastor. I mean, we’ve been going to this church, and none of us have met before. That must mean something—we probably don’t have a thing in common.”
“Oh, that’s not true,” Pastor Ford said almost with glee. “What you have in common is”—she paused—“you’re all dealing with your exes. And none of you is doing it particularly well.” Pastor Ford grinned, waved, and seconds later, all that was left of her was the sound of her three-inch pumps resounding in the hall.
Pastor, please come back, Sheridan wanted to scream.
“Oh, no, she didn’t,” Asia said and slumped even lower.
Sheridan cleared her throat and sat up a bit straighter. “Well, I’m glad to be here.”
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