And so Chiquita went to school; the course—How to Become an NBA Player’s Wife. She pushed aside her schoolbooks and friends and read every piece of Lakers information she could find—their schools, rise to fame, statistics. She studied, committed the facts to memory as if she were preparing for final exams.
With that done, she moved into phase two. But for this part, she’d need money. The only people she knew, besides Jamal, who had dollars were her grandmother and Aunt Beverly. She knew which woman would more easily believe her lies.
“Three thousand dollars!” Hattie Mae had exclaimed. “That’s a lot of money, chile.”
“I know, Grandma Mae. But my counselor said this prep course will help me when I go to Santa Monica College. And that’s what I’ll need to transfer to UCLA or even USC.”
When her grandmother’s lips still twisted in doubt, Chiquita added, “The counselor said I’ll get a full scholarship to one of those schools if I take this course.”
Hattie Mae Ingrum didn’t need another word. Her granddaughter? A scholarship? To UCLA or USC? She marched straight to the bank and made an early withdrawal on one of her CDs.
Magazines became Chiquita’s textbooks. But the first glance through Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, and Vanity Fair revealed that three thousand dollars wasn’t nearly enough. Now she had only one place to turn.
Chiquita waited until Saturday night, after a movie, when they went to the Golden Foxx Motel and she had sexed Jamal into a peaceful sleep. As he snored, she planned her words, then shook his shoulder gently.
“Ummm,” he’d moaned, his tone sated with satisfaction.
“I was thinking about the Lakers party next weekend. I need a new dress, so that I can look good”—she paused, leaned closer, purred—“for you.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, the way I whipped it on you tonight, I know you want to look good for Daddy.”
She winced, hating his use of that word. She didn’t know her father, but still, that name was reserved for someone special—not Jamal.
He said, “My wallet’s over there. Take what you need.”
She inhaled. “I want to get a designer dress.”
He raised his head a bit. “I said my wallet’s on the table.”
“Can you give me three thousand dollars?”
This time his entire body rose up. “What!”
It had taken the rest of the night to talk (and do other things) to convince Jamal that only a designer dress would do.
With Jamal’s thousands tucked next to her grandmother’s, Chiquita traveled downtown to the Mart, where she chose three designer outfits that were sure to leave somebody’s son at her mercy.
The night before the party, she’d returned to the upscale magazines. She had to come up with a new name, something befitting the woman she was going to become, because Chiquita would never do….
“Asia, please don’t tell me you’re going to waste the night,” Noon said, bringing her friend’s thoughts back to the present. When Asia said nothing, Noon grabbed her hand. At the bar, she ordered a mojito and then handed it to Asia. “Get on with your life. To new beginnings,” Noon said, clicking her glass against Asia’s.
Yes. Asia sipped. New beginnings would start right after she made Bobby pay.
“Umph, umph, umph. Baby, I wish I could rearrange the alphabet.”
Asia took another sip, and then turned to the voice. A man who looked as old as Billy Dee, but was not nearly as fine, sauntered up to her as if he really were the actor. In a Quiet Storm kind of voice, he said, “’Cause if I could do that, I’d put U and I together.”
Noon sighed, impressed. Asia groaned, unmoved.
Noon whispered, “New beginnings.”
Asia took another sip of her drink; then as 50 Cent flowed about birthdays and clubs, she grabbed the man’s hand and led him to the middle of Chaos.
The memories of better times traveled through her as she watched Bobby sleep.
Who’s your daddy?
It was the corniest line ever, but still, she loved Bobby asking her that as they lay together.
“You are,” she’d respond always. “You’re my daddy.”
She’d expected to call him that forever.
Asia allowed herself another moment before she gently touched Bobby’s arm.
He stretched, then his eyes fluttered open. “What time is it?” His voice was thick with sleep.
“Almost three.” Asia suppressed a yawn. It was long past the time when she’d wanted to come home, but besides making sure Bobby had enough time with Angel, she’d hoped the passing hours made him wonder.
Like earlier, his eyes roved over her, and she fought the urge to smile. She asked, “Everything fine with Angel?”
He nodded. “She’s asleep now, but that little girl tried to read me every book in her room.”
“Thanks for doing this, Bobby.” She led him to the door.
He paused, staring at her for a moment. “Thank you for making this easy,” he said. “I never thought we’d be this way.”
Before she could help it, she said, “What way? Over? I never thought we’d be over either.”
His eyes darkened, but softly he said, “I never meant to hurt you.”
She shrugged. “No regrets, remember.”
He nodded and then suddenly leaned forward. Brushed his lips against her forehead. Stayed there. When she didn’t back away, he wrapped his arms around her.
Asia closed her eyes, wondered if she should take him to bed. Love him, and make him forget all that he’d said.
“Another time, another place.” His voice was husky. “If Caroline—”
Her eyes snapped open and she ripped away from his embrace, tore up her thoughts.
With sad eyes, he stepped into the hallway.
Asia leaned against the closed door, grateful that he’d spoken his wife’s name.
“Stay focused,” she demanded as she made her way up the stairs.
Inside Angel’s room, she turned on the lamp. “Sweetie, wake up.”
Like her father, Angel stretched, then her eyes fluttered open. “Mommy? Is it morning?”
“Not yet. I wanted to make sure that you were okay.”
Angel sat up in the bed, still groggy. “I’m okay.”
Asia shook her head. Lowered her eyes. “Was everything good with Daddy?”
“We had a good time.” She paused. Looked at her mother’s sad face again. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”
Asia pressed her lips together before she said, “When I came home, your father”—she paused, lowered her voice—“was in bed with you. Was Daddy sleeping in the bed with you?”
Angel squinted as if she didn’t understand, didn’t remember. “No,” she began, “Daddy wasn’t in the bed with me.”
“Are you sure? Maybe he waited for you to go to sleep before he got in the bed.” She paused, looked squarely at Angel. “Before he got under the covers.”
“He was in bed with me?”
Asia nodded.
“Like when I’m in bed with you?”
“Yes, but it’s okay for mommies and daughters to be in bed together. But it’s not okay for a daddy to do it.”
“It’s not?”
Asia shook her head. “It’s like those things your teacher talked about.”
“Those bad things?” Angel’s eyes were wide.
Asia nodded—slow and long. “But let’s not talk about it anymore tonight, okay?”
Angel scooted under the covers. But her eyes were focused now, staring straight at her mother.
Asia kissed Angel’s forehead. “Goodnight, sweetie.” She reached toward the lamp, and Angel stopped her.
“Mommy, leave the light on.”
“Do you want me to stay in here until you go to sleep?”
“No, I’m a big girl.”
Asia kissed her daughter again before she left her alone. As she walked toward her bedroom, she forced herself to remember the plan. Remember Caroline. Remember Bobby.
Pounding footsteps on the carpet stopped all her thoughts.
“Mommy!” Angel jumped into her arms. “Can I sleep with you?”
“Of course, precious.” Asia carried Angel into her bedroom.
“It’s okay if I sleep in the bed with you, right, Mommy?”
“It’s definitely okay.” She tucked her daughter under the heavy duvet.
Angel snuggled against the soft sheets. She sighed, closed her eyes. But a moment later, she opened them. “It’s okay for mommies to sleep with girls,” she said. “It’s just not okay for daddies.”
Asia nodded, and turned away.
Chapter Forty-two
ASIA
She was a woman with a plan.
Asia set the cereal bowl on the table. “Do you want a banana?”
Angel shook her head, picked up her spoon, and focused on the cartoon on the back of the cereal box.
Without taking her eyes from her daughter, Asia sat down and reached for the newspaper she’d left on the table. A moment later, she exclaimed, “Oh, no!”
Angel’s glance moved to her mother. “What happened?”
Asia sighed, shook her head. “Nothing.”
Just as quickly, Angel’s eyes returned to the cereal.
Asia said, “I cannot believe this man did this. I’m glad the police took him to jail.”
“What did he do?” Angel asked, without looking up.
“Bad things…to his daughter.”
Angel twisted slowly, faced her mother.
Asia continued, “That man was…touching his daughter.”
Angel’s eyes clouded—a mix of fear, confusion, surprise. “Like what Mrs. Bickle talked about in school?”
Asia nodded. “Doing all of those things that fathers aren’t supposed to do. Like this man, he was kissing his daughter.”
Angel lowered her eyes, dropped her spoon into her bowl.
Asia continued, “He was kissing her on her lips and fathers are only supposed to kiss their daughters on their cheeks. That’s one of the things that this bad daddy was doing.” Asia paused, tilted her head a bit. “Where does Daddy kiss you, Angel?”
Asia watched the thoughts behind her daughter’s eyes. Suddenly, Angel pushed her bowl aside, jumped from the chair, and scurried from the kitchen.
Chapter Forty-three
VANESSA
“You know, there’s something that I’d like to do,” Vanessa said.
The three women turned to her, their faces dressed with smiles.
“I think we should do something as a group, outside of church.”
It was as if she’d popped the air from a balloon.
Asia said, “Hold up. You’re not talking about us going out together, are you?”
“I’m not up for that.” Kendall shook her head as if she couldn’t think of a worse idea. “I’m sure none of you go to any of the places that I want to go.”
“And vice versa,” Asia said, her head and hands moving as if she had an attitude.
Sheridan rolled her eyes. “Vanessa, ignore these women and finish what you were saying.”
“Well, I’m certainly not talking about us going out and partying together.”
Asia’s eyes started at Vanessa’s shoes that were fit for the elderly and ended with the curls that sat atop her head like a cap. “I would hope not.”
Vanessa waved her hand, erasing Asia’s words. She was used to the young one. Knew her heart was much softer than her tongue. “Next week, let’s meet at my house. I’ll make dinner.”
“Why would you want to do that?” Asia asked.
“Well, you all have become quite important to me and I’d like to say thank you.”
“You don’t have to cook for me,” Kendall said. “Just say thanks, I’ll say you’re welcome, and we’ll be done.”
“I’d like to do a little more,” Vanessa pressed. “We can make it a celebration.”
“And what are we celebrating, exactly?” Asia asked.
“Our friendship. And life. You know, this life that God gives us is so precious. Maybe sometimes we should stop long enough to thank Him.”
Vanessa tried not to frown in the silence that followed, but it was difficult not to show the ache her heart felt with the way Kendall and Asia twisted in their seats, and kept their eyes away from her.
Sheridan jumped in, “That’s a really good idea, Vanessa. But would you mind if we waited a few weeks?”
“Yeah, let’s wait,” Kendall and Asia chimed in their agreement.
“Definitely. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was just a little idea.” Then, after a slight pause, “Excuse me.”
Vanessa heard their mumbles as she strolled toward the rest room. She’d really wanted to give this little dinner party, just like the ones she and Reed used to have all the time for their friends. But they’d rejected her. And now she wouldn’t have a way to say good-bye.
In the bathroom, she freshened her makeup, smoothed her curls. Then, with a sigh filled with resignation, she returned to the other ladies.
“Okay, let’s bow our heads,” Sheridan said, reaching for Vanessa’s hands.
As they closed their eyes, Vanessa didn’t. She wanted these last moments to look at the women she now called friends. These three were so different, yet they were so strong. If she had just a bit of their strength, then maybe…
She shook her head. She was fine just the way she was, the way God created her.
“Amen,” Sheridan said, and they all said “Amen” together.
“I’d like to add one more thing before we go,” Vanessa said.
Asia groaned.
“I don’t care what kind of noises you make, little missy. You’re going to stand right there and listen to what I have to say.”
Asia raised her eyebrows; Sheridan and Kendall laughed.
“You go, girl,” Kendall cheered.
Vanessa began, “All I wanted to say is that any time you want me to say an extra little prayer for you, any of you, just tell me.”
“Ah, that’s nice,” Kendall said.
“I mean it,” Vanessa said. “Even if I’m not here or you’re at home or at work, and you want me to say a prayer, just call my name, and I’ll do it.”
“Hold up.” Asia frowned. “How you gonna do that? You got some special powers you haven’t shared?”
Vanessa chuckled. “No, I just know we share a bond now and I’ll be able to hear you…no matter where I am.”
“Whatever.” Asia waved her hand. “I gotta get out of here.”
Minutes later, they were gathered in the parking lot.
“Have a great and blessed week, you guys,” Sheridan said.
They all responded with the same, but no one heard Vanessa add, “And have a blessed life,” before she slipped into her car.
Chapter Forty-four
SHERIDAN
“Another fight?” Kamora tossed her golden weave over her shoulder. “You guys are going for the world record.”
Sheridan rolled her eyes at her best friend. “It’s not that bad,” she said, chomping on a Guadalajara hot dog. “Brock and I have actually gotten closer.”
“And so you fight?”
“When you grow close to someone, you learn more about them.”
“And so you fight?”
“It’s no big deal,” Sheridan waved her plastic fork before she stabbed a French fry. But she knew that wasn’t true—two weeks had passed without a word from Brock. That had never happened before.
“What did you fight about this time?”
“The usual,” Sheridan said, deciding to leave out the new factor—Quentin.
“He wants marriage and you want…” Kamora paused, waiting for Sheridan to finish.
“I want to marry him too.”
Kamora twisted her lips.
“I just don’t know what the rush is,” Sheridan added.
Kamora laughed. “You’ve been dating for three years. No woman keeps a man who wants to get married wa
iting for three years. That just doesn’t happen. No man would wait that long.”
“As if you know every man on the planet,” Sheridan said. “And Brock has waited.”
“Well, he won’t be waiting much longer.” Kamora rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Come on, tell your best friend. Why don’t you want to marry that fine…” She shook her head as if there were no adequate words to describe him.
“I want to marry him, just not right now.”
“Why. Not. Now?”
Sheridan shrugged—the easy response to what had become a difficult question. There was just so much she needed to settle. There was Tori. And then her mother. And then, there was Quentin.
“Tell me it’s not still the age thing.”
Sheridan nodded. “A little. I still don’t believe he’ll be fine with never having children.”
“He told you he was fine with it.”
“That’s what he says now, but what happens when he changes his mind when I’m forty-five or fifty? There won’t be a darn thing I’ll be able to do then.”
“You need to take that man at his word. When a man says he’s not concerned about children, he’s not. Now, when a woman says it, don’t believe her. All women want children.”
“What about you?”
“Okay, maybe not all.” Kamora laughed. “But don’t change the subject. I’m trying to help you keep your man, because if you guys keep fighting, you’re certainly going to lose him.”
“Thanks for your confidence.”
“Just trying to help.”
“It sounds more serious than it is. We’re fine, really,” Sheridan said, as much to herself as Kamora.
Kamora chuckled. “Well, if you want my opinion—”
“I don’t.”
“When has that stopped me?” But then her smile went away. “I think you and Brock have problems. Be careful.”
“Careful? If you love someone, shouldn’t you be free to speak the truth about what you’re feeling?”
“Girl, please. The only man who wants to hear the truth is God and believe me, if He didn’t already know it, He wouldn’t want to hear it either. Men only want to hear what they want to hear.”
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