Wives, Fiancées, and Side-Chicks of Hotlanta

by Shereé Whitfield

  “This isn’t funny, Terrance,” Sasha said, on the verge of tears. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you and why you’re acting like this, but if you don’t stop, I’m going to—”

  “Nothing, that’s what,” Terrance said. “You gon’ do the same thing all these other basketball wives out here do, which is nothing. Yeah, you might cuss, fuss, and hold out on giving me some for a minute, but you ain’t going nowhere. You gon’ keep shopping and keep looking pretty. I’ve seen it a million times. I know exactly how it goes with you women once you’re wifey. Why you think I didn’t drag this thing out and waste time with that boyfriend and girlfriend shit? Who needs the drama and headache that comes with that phase of the program? I’ve learned from the fellas’ mistakes to just jump straight to the ‘I dos’ and get it over with. I’ve already given you a taste of this lifestyle, baby. You’re hooked.” He walked over to Sasha and put his hand on her stomach. “Hook, line, and sinker. In other words,”—a big grin was plastered across his face—“got her!” He began laughing such a horrible, wicked laugh that Sasha completely blacked out on him.

  “You bastard!” She began flailing her arms at Terrance. While she flung her arms she realized that her being pregnant had been like Terrance hitting the lotto. He hadn’t been overjoyed with impeding fatherhood. Oh, no. Sasha realized he’d been celebrating a whole other type of victory.

  Terrance, still laughing, was able to grab hold of Sasha’s wrists. “What, you mad you wasn’t the only person with a plan?”

  Sasha stood there staring at Terrance with her bottom lip trembling.

  “I knew from the moment I saw you that you were the one,” Terrance said. “You were the woman who was going to have my baby. I planned to sweep you off your feet so fast you’d forget about everything: your apartment, your job. I ain’t know you was gon’ forget about taking the pill.” Terrance chuckled. “But it’s all good. We gon’ make pretty babies.”

  Sasha was sick to her stomach. She was better than this. She was smarter than this. None of this was happening. It wasn’t real. “You’re drunk, Terrance,” Sasha said. “You’re talking crazy.” She refused to believe the words that were coming out of her husband’s mouth.

  “I may be drunk, but I ain’t crazy,” Terrance said.

  “Ughhh!” Sasha yelled out like a madwoman as she broke loose from Terrance’s grip. This time Sasha didn’t swing on Terrance. She knew that big man was no match for her, so she began to destroy everything in sight that she could get her hands on.

  It angered Sasha even more that Terrance stood there laughing as he watched her go on her rampage while cussing him out, calling him every name in the book. Even though Sasha had never acted like this, he didn’t appear surprised or shocked. This was probably nothing new to him, Sasha surmised. He’d probably witnessed many of his team players’ wives resort to the same antics . . . in public, and therefore had imagined what could go down in private. Well, he no longer had to imagine it.

  Once Sasha finally took a breather she was huffing and puffing like she’d just run around a football field twice.

  Terrance stood there looking around at all the damage that had been done. The only things left untouched were his trophy cabinet and a couple vases. “Guess this means you won’t be making me breakfast butt-ass naked, huh?”

  Terrance’s reaction to Sasha’s pain knocked the wind out of her as she clutched her stomach. She hunched over in pain.

  Terrance, unmoved and battling a hangover, shook his head and headed for the door. Maybe once he was in his right mind he’d be somewhat sympathetic to his wife, but for now, his groaning stomach and throbbing headache only had him thinking about himself. “You want me to bring you anything back?” He grabbed the doorknob and turned around to face Sasha. When she just stood there saying nothing, he said, “I take that as a no.” Before walking out of the door, he looked over his shoulder and said to Sasha, “You’re a basketball wife, so you’re gonna have to learn to play the game.” He then closed the door behind him.

  Sasha, for the second time, fell to her knees and cried out. The tears were nonstop, as was the pain. In the midst of her crying, still on her knees, Sasha reached up and grabbed the glass vase from the end table and threw it at the door. Even though Terrance had walked out of the front door a whole five minutes ago, she could only hope he’d left remnants of his soul at the doorway that the glass could cut into a million little pieces.

  Sasha put her head down and began crying again. When she felt arms comfort her, her instincts went back into fight mode.

  “Sasha, it’s me.”

  She hadn’t even heard Casey enter. Sasha’s crying had been louder than the door chime. Hearing Casey’s voice brought Sasha back to reality. But her reality wasn’t anyplace she wanted to be right now. Sasha was in a place of darkness she’d never been before. So much so that even though she’d called Casey over to comfort her, she and Casey ended up getting into it. They each exchanged hurtful words that could damage their friendship forever. But right now, Sasha had to shift her focus back to her and Terrance’s relationship. Sasha’s reality was that she’d married a man who was turning out not to be the man she thought he was. Yeah, she could blame his actions on liquor all she wanted if that was going to make her feel better; if that was going to justify her staying with him. But she’d leave that dumb and naïve role for Casey.

  Casey, Sasha said to herself. All of a sudden she remembered something Terrance had said about Casey. It was something about him wanting someone just like Casey by his side. And then there was the fact that he’d even asked Casey to hook him up with one of her friends, who he probably thought would be someone just like Casey. How could I have been so stupid? Sasha asked herself. Terrance had dropped breadcrumbs along the trail of his deceit after all.

  Sasha stood by the cologne- and oil-covered couch she’d destroyed earlier before sliding down to the floor. As the morning turned to afternoon, the afternoon to evening, and the evening to night, Sasha sat in complete darkness. She struggled with Terrance’s actions. She struggled with some of the things Casey had said to her during their argument.

  “Not every woman is cut out to be a baller’s wife,” Casey had said. “Did you really think your man would be any different than all the others? Especially since you decided to bring a poor, innocent baby into this. Even I had more sense than to make that mistake.”

  Tears flowed down Sasha’s face. As painful as the bottle of jagged pills Casey had fed her were to swallow, Sasha needed to just woman up, find a tall glass of water, and swallow them down without choking.

  But there was also something that both Casey and Terrance had said that stuck out in Sasha’s mind.

  “You’re a basketball wife now, so you better learn to play the game.”

  Once upon a time Sasha had questioned why people seemed to get angry at the truth. Well, truth be told, both Casey and Terrance had told their truths. A lie could be manipulated, but the truth was untouchable. So now Sasha needed to decide if she was willing to live a lie or someone else’s truth.

  Deep inside Sasha definitely still felt hurt, confused, sad, and betrayed, but the emotion that was now dominating them all was anger. She was scarred emotionally, but above all, she was scorned, which now made her the most dangerous bitch Terrance had ever invited into his life.

  In that moment of feeling such outrage, Sasha decided that she would not let Terrance take her for some young, dumb chick. But if playing dumb made Terrance think he’d outsmarted her, then perhaps that’s something she actually would consider doing.

  “He’s not going to break me,” Sasha said with authority. “I won’t let a man, any man, break me!” Her declaration gave her a newfound strength. Terrance may have lied to her, but what she was no longer going to do was lie to herself.

  Sasha got up off the couch and began cleaning up the mess she’d made. After about an hour or so she’d managed to clean up the living room. She then headed upstairs to her room to begin cl
eaning up the shattered television. Just as she made it to her bedroom, her cell phone began to ring.

  Well at least that didn’t break, she thought to herself as she walked over and answered it. “Hello.”

  “Hey, I’m on my way home. You want something to eat?”

  Sasha stood there for a moment, taking in Terrance’s words before she replied. She swallowed. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She swallowed her tears. She swallowed what felt like her pride. “No, that won’t be necessary. I was about to cook dinner for you,” Sasha said through the phone receiver.

  Terrance paused, more than likely stunned by Sasha’s hospitality. “Uh, well, okay. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Okay, see you when you get here,” Sasha said just as nonchalantly while sweeping her hurt and pain under the rug.

  Once again, Terrance paused. “Babe, I just want you to know that I’m sorry about—”

  “No need to apologize,” Sasha said, cutting him off. “It was your wedding night. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I figured that while out on your errand you got caught up in a celebration of your own. You know, you and your boys. I’m sure you didn’t mean for the night to end that way. Let’s just move forward because I don’t want to stay in the past.” This was the beginning of Sasha making excuses for her husband so he wouldn’t have to find one on his own; save them both the time. It could be worse; like Casey, she could have to find women for him. So she was okay with just excuses.

  “Uh, yeah. Me either.”

  “Cool, then hurry home because you might just catch me making dinner in the kitchen . . . butt-naked.”

  Terrance chuckled. “All right then. See you soon.”

  Sasha ended the call with a huge smile on her face. She then exhaled. “You wanna play, Terrance? You want me to start learning to play the game?” Sasha said. “Then let the games begin.”

  This time it was Sasha who let out a mischievous grin as she got herself together to prepare a meal for her new husband. Whether or not it was to be the last supper would remain to be seen. All Sasha knew for sure was that she’d just swallowed a hard pill, her tears, and her pride, but she would never swallow her dreams. She would never allow him to break her. She would get back on the road to her dreams, even if it meant breaking Terrance in the process. And by breaking him that meant one of two things: he was either going to end up being a good husband or a man that nobody wanted. Hopefully, for the sake of their marriage and the sake of their child, it wouldn’t be the latter.

  Don’t miss De’nesha Diamond’s

  Conspiracy

  On sale now from Dafina

  1

  Washington, D.C.

  Winter

  A scared and hungry fourteen-year-old Abrianna Parker stepped out of Union Station and into the dead of night. The exhilaration she’d felt a mere hour ago evaporated the second D.C.’s blistering wind sliced through her thin leather jacket and settled somewhere in her bones’ marrow. A new reality slammed into her with the force of a ton of bricks—and left her reeling.

  “Where is he?” she whispered as she scanned the growing crowd. Abrianna was more than an hour late to meet Shawn, but it couldn’t have been helped. Leaving her home had proved to be much harder than she’d originally realized. After several close calls, she’d managed to escape the house of horrors with a steel determination to never look back. Nothing could ever make her return.

  Now it appeared that she’d missed her chance to link up with her best friend from school, or rather they used to go the same high school, before Shawn’s father discovered that he was gay, beat the hell out of him, and then threw him out of the house. Miraculously, Shawn had said that it was the best thing to have ever happened to him. Over the past year, he’d found other teenagers like him living out on the streets of D.C. His eclectic group of friends was better than any blood family, he’d boasted often during their frequent text messages.

  In fact, Shawn’s emancipation from his parent had planted the seeds in Abrianna’s head that she could do the same thing. Gathering the courage, however, was a different story. The prospect of punishment, if she was caught, had paralyzed her on her first two attempts and had left Shawn waiting for her arrival in vain. Maybe he thought she’d lost her nerve tonight as well. Had she thought to charge her battery before leaving the house, she would be able to text him now to find out where he was.

  Abrianna’s gaze skimmed through the hustle and bustle of the crowd, the taxis and cars. Everyone, it seemed, was in a hurry. Likely, they wanted to meet up with family and friends. It was an hour before midnight. There was a certain kind of excitement that only New Year’s Eve could bring: the tangible hope that, at the stroke of midnight, everyone magically changed into better people and entered into better circumstances than the previous year.

  Tonight, Abrianna was no different.

  With no sight of Shawn, tears splashed over Abrianna’s lashes but froze on her cheeks. Despite a leather coat lined with faux fur, a wool cap, and leather gloves, Abrianna may as well have been butt-ass naked for all the protection it provided. “Goddamn it,” she hissed, creating thick frost clouds in front of her face. “Now what?”

  The question looped in her head a few times, but the voice that had compelled her to climb out her bedroom window had no answer. She was on her own.

  Someone slammed into her from behind—hard.

  “Hey,” she shouted, tumbling forward. After righting herself on frozen legs, she spun around to curse at the rude asshole—but the assailant was gone. She was stuck looking around, mean-mugging people until they looked at her suspect.

  A sudden gust of wind plunged the temperature lower and numbed her face. She pulled her coat collar up, but it didn’t help.

  The crowd ebbed and flowed, but she stood in one spot like she’d grown roots, still not knowing what to do. And after another twenty minutes, she felt stupid—and cold. Mostly cold.

  Go back into the station—thaw out and think. However, when she looked at the large and imposing station, she couldn’t get herself to put one foot in front of the other. She had the overwhelming sense that her returning inside would be a sign of defeat, because, once she was inside, it wouldn’t be too hard to convince herself to get back on the train, go home and let him win . . . again.

  Icy tears skipped down her face. I can’t go back. Forcing her head down, she walked. She passed commuters yelling for cabs, huddled friends laughing—some singing, with no destination in mind. East of the station was bathed in complete darkness. She could barely make out anything in front of her. The only way she could deal with her growing fear was to ignore it. Ignore how its large, skeletal fingers wrapped around her throat. Ignore how it twisted her stomach into knots. Ignore how it scraped her spine raw.

  Just keep walking.

  “Help me,” a feeble voice called out. “Help!”

  Abrianna glanced around, not sure from which direction the voice had come. Am I losing my mind now?

  “Help. I’m not drunk!”

  It came from her right, in the middle of the road, where cars and taxis crept.

  “I’m not drunk!” the voice yelled.

  Finally, she made out a body lying next to a concrete divider—the kind work crews used to block off construction areas.

  “Help. Please!”

  Again, Abrianna looked around the crowds of people streaming past. Didn’t anyone else hear this guy? Even though that side of the building was dark, it was still heavily populated. Why was no one else responding to this guy’s cry for help?

  “Help. I’m not drunk!”

  Timidly, she stepped off the sidewalk and skulked into the street. As vehicles headed toward her, she held up her hand to stop some and weaved in between others. Finally, Abrianna stood above a crumpled old man, in the middle of the road, and was at a loss as to what to do.

  “I’m not drunk. I’m a diabetic. Can you help me up?” the man asked.

  “Uh, sure.” She knelt, despite fear, a
nd asked, What if it’s a trap?

  It could be a trap, Abrianna reasoned even as she wrapped one of the guy’s arms around her neck. Then, using all of her strength, she tried to help him to his feet, but couldn’t. A Good Samaritan materialized out of nowhere to help her out.

  “Whoa, man. Are you okay?” the stranger asked.

  Abrianna caught glimpse of the Good Samaritan’s shoulder-length stringy blond hair as a passing cab’s headlights rolled by. He was ghost white with ugly pockmarks.

  “Yes. Yes,” the fallen guy assured. “It’s my blood sugar. If you could just help me back over to the sidewalk that would be great.”

  “Sure. No problem,” the blond stranger said.

  Together, they helped the old black man back across the street.

  “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

  “No problem,” the white guy said, his teeth briefly illuminated by another passing car as a smoker’s yellow.

  Once back on the sidewalk, he released the old man. “You two have a happy New Year!” As quick as the blond savior had appeared, he disappeared back into the moving crowd.

  The old guy, huffing and puffing thick frost clouds, wrapped his hand around a NO PARKING sign and leaned against it.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Abrianna asked. It seemed wrong to leave him like this.

  He nodded. “I’m a little dizzy, but it will pass. Thank you now.”

  That should be that. She had done what she could for the man. It was best that she was on her way. But she didn’t move—probably because he didn’t look okay.

  As she suspected, he started sliding down the pole, his legs giving out. Abrianna wrapped his arm back around her neck to hold him up. “I got you,” she said. But the question was: for how long?

  “Thank you, child. Thank you.”