by Pamela Yaye
Angela threw open the window and took deep gulps of air. The sky was overcast, a dark, menacing shade of gray, and the wind was blowing hot and fast. After cleaning the stove and mopping the floor, Angela ambled over to the kitchen table and plopped down on a chair. Her hair was damp, her short silk robe smelled like charcoal, and sweat drenched her arms and legs.
Fanning a hand to her face, she stared at the gold wine flutes, the gleaming utensils and flickering candles. The plates were empty and would stay that way unless she could find a restaurant that would deliver. It was Friday night, the last day of classes for university students, and no doubt her favorite spots were jam-packed with inebriated graduates.
Angela glanced at the pantry, stocked to the brim with food, and smiled despite her frustration. Last Sunday, Demetri had shown up at her house with bags of groceries and whipped up a to-die-for Italian brunch. Maybe all wasn’t lost, she thought, straightening in her seat. Maybe she could still surprise Demetri with a home-cooked meal. But what? Angela thought for a moment and came up empty. But she knew just whom to call. Simone was a whiz in the kitchen, and she’d know just what to do.
Confident she could salvage her romantic evening, Angela surged to her feet and swiped the cordless phone off the cradle. It was the perfect time to call. Jayden and Jordan were already in bed, and Simone and Marcus were probably relaxing on the couch, watching their favorite TV show. And if Simone came through for her, Angela was going to treat her to lunch. They hadn’t been to the Skyline Grill in weeks, and they were overdue for a relaxing gabfest at their favorite hotspot.
“Hello?”
“Hey, girl,” Angela said when Simone answered the phone. “What’s up?”
“Who’s this?”
“Quit playing. It’s me.”
“Me, who?”
Angela heard the edge in her tone and knew her friend was upset. And Angela knew why. “Sorry for not returning your calls,” she began, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Things have been crazy the last few weeks. Between taping, volunteering at the shelter, doing the live morning show and—”
“Doing Demetri,” she tossed out.
“Don’t be like that, Simone. You know I’d never choose a guy over you.”
“I’ve seen the tabloids. I know what’s up.”
Angela felt her face harden. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You have a man now, so you ditched your girls. Even me, your best friend, and I’m eight months pregnant and swollen like a beach whale!”
“You’re right, Simone. I haven’t been a very good friend lately. Do you forgive me?”
“I will if you babysit the boys next Friday,” she quipped, giggling.
“Sure, no problem. They can spend the whole weekend with me,” Angela said, sighing in relief. “Every time we talk, you’re planning another trip. Where are you and Marcus going now?”
“To a couples spa in Las Vegas.” Her tone brightened with excitement. “Girl, I need some R & R in the worst way. And some cute new maternity clothes, too, because nothing in my closet fits anymore!”
The friends laughed.
“Simone, I need your help.”
“Sure, no problem. What’s up?”
“I burned dinner.”
“What else is new?” Simone joked. “You always burn dinner.”
In the background, Angela heard someone chuckle and knew Simone’s husband, Marcus, was listening in. “Today was Demetri’s last day at the Sports Rehab Clinic,” she explained, drumming her fingertips absently on the counter. “I wanted to surprise him with a home-cooked meal, but the steaks just went up in flames.”
“Do what you always do,” Simone advised. “Order in from an expensive restaurant, put the food on your favorite set of china and pretend you slaved over a hot stove for hours.”
“I can’t do that again. Not tonight,” she argued. Angela’s gaze drifted to the sink, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I want to do something special for Demetri, something he’d never expect.”
“Answer the door buck naked!”
Angela cracked up, but when she heard the doorbell chime, she killed her laughter. “Gotta go. Demetri’s here!”
“Have fun, girlfriend. Rock his world!”
Hustling out of the kitchen, spraying air freshener as she went, Angela rushed down the hall and reached the foyer in ten seconds flat. At the thought of seeing him, a girlish smile exploded across her face. The night wasn’t ruined. She could still do something special for Demetri. She’d treat him to dinner at his favorite restaurant, then spring for the penthouse suite at Trump International Hotel and Tower. Demetri loved it there, and so did she. We can play dirty card games again, she thought. And this time, I’ll let him win!
The doorbell chimed. Again and again.
Angela whipped off her robe, dropped it at her feet and slipped on her leopard-print sandals. Checking herself out in the mirror, Angela decided she’d never looked sexier. Her eyes were bright, her skin was glowing, and her thick hair was a wild, tousled mess.
A smirk pinched her crimson-red lips. That was just the look she was going for—bold, brazen, down for anything. But when Angela opened the front door and saw Nichola standing on her porch, her smile froze. “Hey,” she said, shielding herself with the door. “Um, what’s up?”
“We need to talk.”
Whipping off her oversize sunglasses, she strode past Angela with the air of a runway model. Her perfume was strong, and her white business suit was so tight, it fit like a corset.
“I’m a very busy woman, with no time to waste, so I’m going to make this quick.”
Angela snatched her silk robe off the floor and shrugged it back on. “What’s going on?” she asked, closing the front door. “You’re scaring me. Is Demetri okay?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?” Her eyes roamed over Angela’s body, moving slowly from top to bottom. “Demetri doesn’t date fat girls, so I couldn’t figure out how the hell you sunk your claws into him, but now that I know the truth about your past, it all makes sense. Sex-trade workers are the most manipulative people in the world.”
Confused, Angela belted her robe. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I bet you don’t,” she snapped, swiveling her neck. Her diamond, teardrop earrings tinkled like chimes. “You went to great lengths to hide your past, but I was smart enough to uncover the truth.”
A cold chill snaked down Angela’s back, and goose bumps seared her skin.
“I hired the best private investigator in the country, and he uncovered so much dirt on you, I could do my own three-part series.” Nichola stared at her, her eyes blazing and her lips drawn tight. “And you know what I’d call my salacious exposé? Newscaster for Hire.”
The floor fell out from underneath Angela’s feet. Fear infected her entire body. She remained calm, but inside she was dying a slow, painful death. It felt as if her heart had been pierced with a knife. She was so overtaken by guilt and shame, water filled her eyes.
“I must admit, I was shocked when the P.I. told me the truth. You seem so polished, so sophisticated. I never would have guessed you were once a paid whore.”
Angela winced and swallowed the lump wedged inside her throat. This was a nightmare, the moment she had been dreading for years. Her heart pounded violently. No one knew—not her friends, not her family, not even Simone—that she’d worked as an escort to pay for university, and she had no intention of ever telling them. That was why she didn’t do relationships, why she shied away from love.
“Don’t tell Demetri,” she pleaded. “Not now, not yet. He won’t understand.”
“Few men would. I mean, really, what guy wants to date a former prostitute?”
Angela felt a strong attack of guilt, but she looked straight at Nichola an
d spoke the truth. “I was never a prostitute. I was an escort. There’s a big difference.”
“No, there isn’t. Escort is just a sophisticated word for ho. You screwed men for money, and from what the P.I. told me, you had a lot of fun doing it, too. In fact, you worked for Elite Escorts an entire year. That’s a lot of sex and a lot of men, Angela.”
“I never slept with any of my clients. Ever. Not one.”
“Right, and that’s your natural hair color!”
“It wasn’t like that,” Angela argued, refusing to back down. “My scholarship fell through, and I needed to make fast money. But after I paid my tuition, I quit.”
“Cry me a river,” she spat, twirling a finger in the air. “I heard that became-a-ho-to-pay-my-university-tuition story before.”
“It’s the truth.”
“No, it’s a crock of bull.” Nichola rolled her eyes to the ceiling and swept a hand through her hair. “You became an escort because you’re a whore, plain and simple.”
“Leave,” Angela said, pointing at the front door. Her head was throbbing, her nose was running, and she couldn’t control the tremble in her voice. But Angela didn’t care how she looked. All she cared about was getting rid of the publicist from hell. “Get out of my house and don’t come back.”
Nichola batted her eyelashes, wore an innocent face. “But we’re not finished talking.”
The cold, menacing look on Nichola’s face shook Angela to the bone, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out what she’d done to warrant her wrath. “What have I ever done to you?” she asked, her confusion turning to anger. “Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to ruin my relationship with Demetri?”
“Because you don’t deserve him.”
“But you do?”
“Damn right I do! I’ve been by Demetri’s side for the last twelve years, and thanks to me, he’s one of the most popular athletes in the world.” Nichola lifted her chin and threw her shoulders back. She looked pleased with herself, proud, as if she’d developed a cure for a deadly disease. “Things were going great until you came along. Now I hardly get to see him, and when I do, all he wants to talk about is how intelligent you are, how generous you are, how fun you are to be around. I’m sick of it!”
Her gaze was lethal, as cold as a trained assassin, and when she spoke her tone was shrill and bitter. “I have plans for me and Demetri, big plans, and I’m not going to let a two-bit whore who grew up in the hood steal my place. Got it?”
Angela lowered her eyes to the floor, stared intently at her stiletto-clad feet. She wished she had the power to just vanish into thin air. Listening to Nichola made her feel worthless, insignificant, and the more she insulted her, the smaller she felt. “What do you want from me?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Nichola broke out into a twisted smile. “Break up with Demetri tonight, or I’ll tell him about your whoring past.”
“You can’t,” she croaked, choking back a sob. Her eyes burned, heavy with tears. Angela willed herself to be strong, to keep it together, but when she imagined her life without Demetri in it, tears broke free and coursed furiously down her cheeks. The truth about her past would tear him apart, and the last thing Angela wanted to do was hurt him. Not after all the sweet, thoughtful things he’d done for her over the past three months. “Demetri can never find out about it.”
“Fine, then do what I say and I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“Can’t we work something else out? I’ll give you anything you want—”
“Don’t you get it? All I want is Demetri. That’s it.” Nichola took her car keys out of her Hermès bag and slid her sunglasses back on. “Ta-ta. Gotta run. I’m meeting a producer from the network for drinks, and I can’t afford to be late.”
“Wait! Please! Can’t we discuss this?”
Throwing open the front door, Nichola sashayed down the paved brick walkway wearing the brightest smile.
Seconds later, Nichola sped down the street in her red two-door coupe, her music blaring so loud, the windows in Angela’s house shook. Unable to move, she slumped against the wooden railing, a sick, aching feeling in her heart.
Angela blinked back tears, pressing her eyes shut tight. The thick, warm air blew across her skin, but her body trembled uncontrollably. Her palms were damp, slick with perspiration, and her erratic heartbeat pounded in fear.
Albany Park was filled with the sounds of summer. Children shrieked and laughed as they jumped through sprinklers, cyclists zoomed up the sidewalk, and the ice-cream truck crawled down the street carrying the scent of milk chocolate. Angela didn’t know how long she stood on her front porch, replaying Nichola’s words in her head, but with each passing second, her feelings of despair and isolation grew.
It took supreme effort for Angela to turn around and walk inside the house. And when she saw the glass vase—the one Demetri had surprised her with last night—filled with a dazzling array of colored tulips, she broke down and started to cry again.
Dropping her face in her hands, she slumped against the door and slid down to the cold hardwood floor. Grief consumed her, a sense of loss so profound, her heart throbbed in pain. Angela didn’t have psychic powers, but as deep, racking sobs shook her body, she was certain of one thing: life as she knew it was over.
Chapter 19
Baseball fans in Chicago Royals jerseys and T-shirts were everywhere—on the sidewalk, standing on the hoods of their cars, waving frantically across the busy, traffic-congested street. And when Demetri strode out of Skyline Field, a cheer went up.
Angela had never seen anything like it. The crowd outside of the stadium seemed to be growing by the second, and everywhere she looked people were smiling and cheering. Teenage girls in tank tops and Daisy Dukes were crying, grown men where hollering Demetri’s name, and a group of inebriated college kids were singing a slurred, off-key rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”
“Are you okay?” Demetri squeezed Angela’s hand and sent her a reassuring smile.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”
He hit a button on his car keys, and the lights on his gleaming, white Jaguar flashed. The windows slid down, the sunroof opened, and the car stereo blared.
“Baby, get inside,” he said, opening the passenger-side door. “People are pushing against the barricades, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Angela slid inside the car and watched as Demetri entertained the crowd. He signed posters, magazine covers and posed for dozens of pictures with his adoring fans. Twenty minutes after exiting the stadium, Demetri hopped into the front seat, threw it into Drive and shot down the block like a rocket.
“What’s wrong?” Casting a glance at her, his facial expression filled with concern. He reached out and gently stroked the back of her neck.
“What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“You’re usually upbeat and chatty, but you haven’t said more than a few words all day.”
“I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Want to talk about it?” His eyes twinkled when he smiled. “Go on, baby. I’m all ears.”
His words made her feel a powerful rush of emotion. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. Willing herself not to cry, Angela ordered herself to be strong, to keep it together. It was the first time she’d seen Demetri all week, but instead of being excited about spending the entire day with him, she felt anxious and afraid. Will this be the day Nichola tells Demetri about my past? Will he ever forgive me once he learns the truth?
Angela thought about last Tuesday night, the day her life took a turn for the worst. After Nichola sashayed out of her house, Angela called Demetri and canceled their date. When he pressed her for an explanation, Angela told him she was sick. And she was. She had a queasy stomach and an excruciating head
ache that pulsed behind her right eye. A week later her symptoms remained.
“It’s nothing.” Angela tried to smile, to put his fears to rest, but her lips wouldn’t curve upward. She couldn’t summon the effort it took. Probably because she’d spent the past few days crying and stressing about the vicious threats Nichola had made. “I’m just tired,” she lied, forcing a yawn. “A good night’s rest and I’ll be as good as new.”
A shadow of disappointment fell across Demetri’s face. They drove on in silence for several miles, and when he finally spoke, there was a note of sadness in his voice. “Didn’t you enjoy the tour of the stadium and our picnic lunch?”
“Yes, of course. It was amazing. I loved every minute of it.”
Demetri raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“I said I had a great time. Why don’t you believe me?”
“Because you’ve been quiet and distant all afternoon, and every time I touch you, you tense up.” He lowered his hand from her neck to her thigh, giving it a soft, playful squeeze. “Don’t worry, baby. When we get home, I’ll make everything better. A deep tissue massage will—”
“I can’t stay with you tonight,” Angela said, cutting him off. “I have to be at the station at five a.m., and I don’t want to make that long drive back to my place in the morning.”
“I know. That’s why we’re staying in the city tonight.”
“You got a hotel room?”
“Just wait and see. We’re almost there.”
Angela turned toward the passenger-side window and pretended to admire all the tall, attractive buildings they sped by. Her mind replayed the afternoon. Strolling around the old, historic stadium, chatting with Demetri’s teammates and sharing a romantic picnic lunch out on the field. It had been a memorable day, but it was hard staying upbeat when Nichola was texting her threatening messages. Angela thought about the last text message Nichola had sent, the one that caused her blood to run cold.