“Mrs. Tolliver, you have a call parked for you on line five,” her secretary, Stacey, said over the intercom.
Meagan pushed the button on her phone to respond. “Stacey, take a detailed message and tell them I’ll call them back as soon as possible please. Thank you.”
“I tried to, Mrs. Tolliver, but the gentleman said it was urgent. Life-or-death urgent.”
“Who is it?” Meagan asked nervously.
“He wouldn’t say. I’m sorry.”
“Stacey, can you help me out with something? Because I’m confused.”
“Yes, Mrs. Tolliver?” she responded, knowing her boss was about to say something fucked up to her.
“Is answering phones and taking messages a part of your job description?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is it part of what I’m paying you for?”
“Yes, it is,” she said, tight lipped.
“Remind me at your annual review of the tasks that are in your job description that you don’t do, please. Thanks for nothing. I’ll take it.” Meagan hung up in Stacey’s face and picked up line five. “This is Mrs. Tolliver. How may I help you?”
“Hi. Is this Meagan Tolliver, the modeling agent?” a man’s voice yelled through the phone, music playing loudly in the background.
“Yes, it is. How may I help you?”
“I told you her name was Meagan. Hold on a second.” Before Meagan could question the caller, another person was on the phone.
“Damn, you played the fuck out of me, Ma.”
Meagan knew Devin’s voice, but her stomach started bubbling, and she lost her own voice.
“You played me like a fool,” Devin continued. “You lied about your name, your age, and your job. I thought you said you wasn’t fucking with nobody, but yo’ ass is married to an old-ass millionaire. That’s all the way fucked up. I guess a nigga wasn’t good enough for you, Miss Big-Time Modeling Agent. It’s all good, though. I should have known a travel agent wouldn’t be riding around in a limo and living in one expensive hotel after the next. Anyway, I just wanted to call and tell you thank you for playing my joint at your big-ass party I wasn’t invited to. Johnni D. Manz just signed me. I ain’t a broke-ass Walmart employee anymore. And guess what else?”
“What?” Meagan managed to ask.
“I’m not in love with your disrespectful ass anymore, either.”
“Bye, little boy,” Meagan said before she hung up the phone.
She fell out of her chair laughing at Devin’s attempt to hurt her feelings; she thought it was cute. What they had was over Saturday morning, when she left him at the hotel room, and he was the only one involved that didn’t know it at the time. Devin might have won the battle of the phone call, but she had definitely won the war. He hadn’t realized it yet. He would always be indebted to her, whether he wanted to admit it or not. It was her that he was rapping about on a track that had been played at her birthday party, and that exposure was what had led to him getting signed. She was one up on him without even trying, and she was in the mood to celebrate Devin being the second man she had turned into a success by merely spreading her legs.
Hey, Eric. This is Tammy. You want to meet me at Treasure Island later tonight? she texted the twenty-eight-year-old manager at a large hardware store, one of the three younger men with whom she had been cheating on her husband.
After almost five minutes, he texted her back. Hell no, I’m straight on you. Lose my number.
She was shocked and thought there had to be some kind of confusion, so she called his number. She was met by a recording that said, “At the subscriber’s request, solicitation calls will not be accepted at this time.”
“No, this motherfucker didn’t put me on the ‘rejected calls’ list,” she said aloud.
What the fuck is going on? she thought. Before putting any energy into it, she dialed *67 and her other play toy, Keith’s number. He was a little sexy thing who worked for a package delivery service, and he didn’t mind breaking company rules and fucking her in his delivery truck from time to time. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, boo. It’s me, Tammy. What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing,” the thirty-year-old responded.
“Can we meet at the bat cave at the same bat time?” she laughed.
“I’ve been waiting on you to call,” Keith said, with no energy in his voice. “Give me a second. I’m right here waiting on a customer to sign for their package.”
Meagan held on and rubbed the warmth in between her legs as she waited. No one treated her body as perfectly as Devin did, but Keith was definitely the runner-up. He needed a little work, and she didn’t mind employing him if the other two men were off her list.
“You still there, Tammy?” Keith asked, returning to their call.
“Yes, boo, I’m here.”
“Look, I’ve been thinking, and I can’t keep doing this with you. I know I said it wouldn’t be a problem to play by your rules, because I didn’t think it would, but it is. We meet on your terms. I don’t even have your number if I need to reach you. And as you said up front, we are only fuck friends, which was cool when that was all I wanted, but now I’m looking for more. I’m ready to get off work to a home-cooked meal and some good conversation, not just a pretty face and some pussy. If all I needed was some pussy, I can go fuck one of my baby mamas or one of their friends.”
“So what are you saying, Keith?” Meagan asked, attitude present in her voice.
“I already said it, Tammy. We’ve been fucking around for almost three months, and you still ain’t put your mouth on me—”
She cut him off. “If you wanted some head, all you had to do was say it.”
“I shouldn’t have to. Let’s just keep this short and sweet. It was cool while it lasted, but I’m good. Plus, some nigga named Angelo called me, talking about he’s your husband and dropping death threats. And, shit, you’re not even worth me going back to jail over.”
“He is not my husband,” Meagan yelled into her cell.
“It doesn’t matter if he is or not. If we’re just fuck friends, no one should be calling me about you. That’s a violation of the rules, right?”
Meagan didn’t answer him. She was too pissed to form words.
He went on. “Anyway, I’m on the clock, but my answer is no. No hard feelings?”
Meagan hung up without answering. She had driven herself to work that day to dodge Angelo, because she hadn’t recovered from their conversation, but it was evident it was time for another one. He had crossed the line. And better yet, where did he get Keith’s contact information? Something about Angelo wasn’t adding up, but she’d play his little game until she figured it out.
She walked out of her office at ten minutes to seven, and all she felt like doing was showering and getting in her bed, but not before she drove by her husband’s condo building again. The tax assessor’s office closed at 5:00 p.m., but the investigator in her was open 24/7. She pulled into the parking lot and sat there, debating her next move. A black sports car pulled up, and she jumped out of her vehicle before the owner could open his car door.
As soon as he had one foot on the pavement, she blurted, “Excuse me, sir. I’ve been trying to catch the business office while it’s open for the past two weeks, but I can’t seem to get here before they close. Would you happen to have the company’s contact information by chance?”
The driver looked annoyed, and although Meagan was wearing a business suit, he looked at her as if she were panhandling. However, with a sigh, he dug in his pocket and retrieved his wallet.
“It’s owned by Second Time Around. Here’s their card, but I’ll need it back.”
He handed her the card, and she pulled out her BlackBerry to jot down the information. The card didn’t list a corporate name or number; instead, it had her husband’s name on it, with the title of property manager and leasing agent. There was a cell phone number listed for him, one that she wasn’t familiar with. Onc
e she had written all the information down, she returned the card to its owner and got back in her car.
She sat behind the wheel and didn’t put the key in the ignition. “Property manager. Huh, muthafucka!” she yelled, feeling like she wanted to explode from the anger that was building. She looked down at her cell, locked her eyes on William’s cell phone number in disgust, and initiated the Google Voice application on her phone.
“Second Time Around Realtors in Atlanta, Georgia,” she told her phone.
After a few seconds her search results populated, and the first item shown was a Trulia link. She double-clicked on it, and five listings appeared. One condo, two apartment complexes, and two newly built homes. Scrolling down for more information, she learned that the company had been established five years prior and the name of the owner was listed as unknown. The only contact information she could find was the same name and number she had gotten off the business card.
She hit the BACK button and returned to the Google results screen and hit the images at the top. There were a few pictures of the homes, and then she came upon a picture of her husband looking completely like the male bitch that he was. He was wearing pink, which she knew wasn’t a color he had selected himself. He was a manly man, and even if the color was in fashion at the time, at his age, there was no way in hell he would follow the trends.
“So the bitch dressed you for your photo shoot?” she asked her digital husband, as if expecting the picture to respond. “I give you my entire life, and this is how you repay me?”
Tears dropped onto her phone’s screen, and she didn’t even know she had been crying. If it wasn’t for the horn blowing behind her, she would have had a nervous breakdown. Her eyes shot up to her rearview mirror, and she saw that an old-school royal-blue Chevy Impala sat behind her. She cranked the engine and threw her car in reverse to get out of the way of the owner of the parking spot. But as she exited the lot, so did the Chevy Impala. She turned right, and the Chevy followed her. She made a left without signaling, and so did the Chevy. She drove with the car tailing her all the way to a fire station. She didn’t know who it could be behind the wheel of that car on her tail, but she wasn’t going to try to find out without help nearby.
She parked in front of the SAFE PLACE sign at the fire station, and the Chevy Impala parked perpendicularly behind her, boxing her in. This was one of those times she wished she carried the gun she had gone through the trouble of getting a license for. Her heart raced as the driver’s tinted window rolled down slowly. She still couldn’t make out who was driving, because the sun was setting on that side of town. Instead of prolonging the outcome, she reached out to honk her horn to signal for help, but just then her cell phone rang. The number was unknown, but she answered the call, anyway.
“Leave your car right here and come take a ride with me,” said a male voice.
“You fucking asshole! You scared the shit out of me,” she yelled into the receiver.
All she heard was laughter in return.
After grabbing her purse, keys, and cells, she made her way to the passenger side of the Impala and tried to snatch the door off its hinges. Then she dropped into the seat.
“What’s good with you, Ms. Meagan?” Angelo asked, enjoying the shattered look of fear and anger on her face.
“What is your problem? Why would you follow me and not announce yourself? You saw me trying to lose you in traffic.”
“I’m in a race car, and you’re driving that heavy-ass fake Bentley. You’re crazy if you thought a Chrysler three hundred was going to shake me.”
Once the fear subsided, she remembered why she needed to talk to him, and she grew even angrier.
“Why did you call one of my friends and tell him I was married? And how in the hell did you get his cell phone number?”
“Which one of those diaper under the boxers–wearing niggas told you that I called his cell phone number? Because he lied. I called their jobs. Don’t make it sound like I had to do some major investigation to get to them. How many times have I taken you to their jobs so you could get fucked in my limo? All I was trying to do was to look out for you. You have too much going on right now to be playing hide and go get it with those little boys. Your focus should be on this shit with your husband.”
“Who gave you the right to decide where I put my focus?” she screamed.
“You did when you made me your partner. And stop all that screaming. That shit won’t make me change up my answers. You ain’t my bitch for your tones to move me.”
She rolled her eyes at him, got herself together, and then asked, “So I guess you called Devin too?”
“Nah. He called me to tell me how fucked up you did him. I guess the kid looks at me like his mentor or some shit, because I listened to him speak his dreams and shot some truth his way.”
“Is that right?” she said, doubting anyone would look up to a limo driver. “And how did he get your number?”
“You ask a lot of dumbass questions, I see. You don’t remember giving him my number so I could pick him up? You told him to call me when he was ready for me to scoop him up from his mama’s house and bring him to you. That’s the shit you started.”
It had slipped her mind in her moment of anger, but that contact was something for which she had granted permission.
“Either way, you should have given me the opportunity to cut them off on my own terms. If you want this little arrangement we have to work, don’t cross those lines again.”
“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
Damn right, your ass is sorry, she thought.
“Anyways, I was following you because you need the protection. I found out that you’re in more shit than you know. Buckle up, sexy. Let’s ride.”
Part Three
Disrespectfully His
Chapter Four
Meagan wasn’t eating or sleeping, but every time she thought about Angelo’s words, she managed to empty her bowels like she was on an all-you-can-eat chili diet. William was out to get her, and neither she nor Angelo knew the how, when, or why of it. While she’d ridden around in the limo with Angelo the other day, he had told her that he overheard a distraught William speaking to his lawyer on the phone. He didn’t know how the conversation had started, but it had ended with William saying, “I have to get away from her, Tommy. The love of my life confessed to me that she’s a murderer, and I think I might be next.”
“That doesn’t officially mean that he was talking about me. What if the other woman is the love his life, and he already confessed it to his lawyer? I haven’t said anything to him for him to assume that we had a problem.” she’d told Angelo.
“Yeah, I thought about that, too, so I asked. I was like, ‘Is the side piece giving you the blues again, boss?’ and he was like, ‘Nah, man. The wife is, and please try hard not to listen to my conversations. I wouldn’t want you to potentially get pulled into something you have no business being in.’ I was like, ‘Cool. I ain’t heard shit.’ Then he handed me this.”
Angelo had held up a check that was written from a bank account in William’s name from a bank Meagan didn’t know her husband was a customer of. It was written for ten thousand dollars, and in the memo portion, it read “Bonus.”
“Bonus? Bonus for what? What else did you do for him to deserve a bonus?” she’d questioned.
“I don’t deserve it, and I haven’t done shit besides drive my limo. He said it was a bonus for not hearing his conversation, if I was ever questioned about it.” He looked at her face and could see the skepticism on it and snapped, “Hold the fuck up! Instead of trying to figure out if I’m double-crossing you, don’t you think you should be jotting down the information off it before I deposit it into my bank account?”
“Why would you accept a check for a job you didn’t do?”
“Because that’s what we broke niggas do. We don’t turn down money, and if we do, we cause suspicion. If his bank notifies him that my limo-driving ass that’s paid by the hou
r didn’t cash this check within forty-eight hours, he’s going to think something is up, and if he’s plotting to get you, I’m not trying to be next on the list. I run the chance that I might be on the list as cleanup as it is. I’m not trying to confirm my spot.”
Two days had passed since that tense conversation she’d had as she rode around the city with Angelo, and his words had begun to make more sense. She hadn’t seen or heard from her husband since her birthday night. She had tried calling him to feel him out, but her calls had been forwarded to voicemail each time. Now she was behind her wheel and headed to William’s condo building. She got within three miles of the building and then parked and called a taxi to take her the rest of the way. She wouldn’t sit in the building’s parking lot in her own car to see if William pulled up. That was too much of a risk. Instead, she’d use the cab. Once she was in the cab, she gave the driver direct instructions.
When they reached William’s building, she said, “Drive through the parking lot slowly and don’t stop.”
She didn’t spot any of William’s cars or his limo, so she had the cabdriver take her back to her car. Instead of heading home, lying around the house, and waiting for her husband’s return, she thought she’d be safer if she got low until she heard from him. So that was what she did. As she drove, she decided she would go have a talk with Devin’s agent. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot at Johnni D. Manz’s office and headed inside through the double doors.
“May I help you?” the receptionist asked as Meagan approached her desk.
“Yes, I’m here to see Johnni D. Manz.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No, this is more of a pop-up visit, but if you tell him Meagan Tolliver is here, I’m sure he’d be happy to see me.”
The receptionist rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She was fed up with groupies acting like they were VIP just because they might have been lucky enough to perform fellatio on the producer. In her years of working the front desk, she had witnessed a lot of desperate women coming in, in hopes of being Johnni D. Manz’s fling of the week, but this old bitch took the cake.
Disrespectfully Yours Page 6