Bad Girls Finish First (8 page)

John set a cup of coffee in front of Grace. They were in the little room the school set aside for the literacy program.

“It hurt me so bad, me and Maggie both, when you and Michael broke up. I can't even imagine how much it hurt you.”

Grace let out a low moan. She hadn't talked to anyone about her divorce.

“You've been in the valley, all by yourself, and that's to be expected. You lost something important and you needed to grieve that loss.” John grabbed Grace's hand and forced her to look at him. “But Grace,” he said in an urgent voice, “you've been wandering in the valley for too long. If you don't come out now, you might just stay lost there forever.”

“And what would be so bad about that, John? Michael was my life.” She shook her head as she remembered the last year of her marriage. “I tried. You don't know how much I tried. I prayed. I fought. I tried to cook better meals, to have better sex. But nothing I did was good enough to make him want me.”

“Michael wasn't your life, and you were wrong to ever put him on a pedestal like that. God gave life to you directly, Grace, not through Michael. You can't spit in God's eye by letting your spirit die just because Michael walked out.”

Grace stood and walked over to the window. Her class, the boys who wanted “to do better” were outside playing basketball. “I feel so empty,” Grace said as she watched them. “Those boys thought I didn't care about them, and you know what? They were right. But it's not just them. Since Michael and I broke up, I can honestly say that I haven't cared much about anything, except trying to figure out where I went wrong.” She turned and faced John. “I'm not even as interested in my own sons as I should be, especially Evan.” Grace picked up her handbag. “Find another tutor for the boys, John. I won't be back.”

 

 

The Juneteenth gala, held on the nineteenth of June, turned out to be Michael's coming out party, the prein-augural ball, as black radio stations called it the next day. The guest list was a Who's Who of black America—actors rubbed shoulders with scholars, ministers danced with hip-hop queens, and politicians wheedled money out of millionaires. Everyone else in Texas who mattered was there as well, and in a reversal of roles, it was the whites who had to fit in. Most of them handled it—what was the Cha Cha Slide, after all, but the Cotton-Eyed Joe minus the flair?—but a few fled the scene in confusion.

When Michael and Raven entered the hotel lobby and Raven loosened her wrap and let it fall into the bend of her elbows, Michael was mildly shocked and thoroughly turned on. As usual, his wife walked the thin line between sexily tasteful and slightly slutty. Raven checked her lipstick, turned to her husband, and smiled. “This is my moment, Michael.”

“It's for all of us, honey,” Michael said. He half turned, looking for Christopher and Evan. “Here they are,” Michael said as he watched the limousine carrying Christopher, Genie, and Evan, along with Dudley, his wife, and two other staffers, drive up. Raven hadn't wanted anyone to ride with her and Michael, even though they'd been in the super stretch. Dudley's wife started standing before she'd completely emerged from the limousine and got stuck in the doorway.

“It'll take that fat cow five minutes to get out,” Raven said as she watched Dudley's wife struggle to free herself. “Let's go.”

“Not yet. I want my sons with us.”

Just then Raven caught a glimpse of Evan, who had gotten out of the limousine from the other side. She saw him all the time, but dressed up it struck her.
He looks just like Grace. If he and Christopher walk in with us, it'll remind everybody of her. I'll be an outsider
.

Raven motioned for the attendants to throw open the ornate double doors, and stepped forward, pulling Michael with her.

“Wait on them? For what? When I'm with you, you don't need anyone else,” she said. By now the doors were wide open and the guests were on their feet, loud and bodacious, clamoring for Michael.

“Are you going to stand here like an idiot or are we going in?” Raven whispered.

Michael, who could smile and cut like a knife at the same time, commenced doing both. He got his feet moving and said, “I don't have a choice, do I? After we do the happy couple routine, you need to stay the hell out of my way. I let you get away with murder with me all the time, but you're going to learn, Raven, not to mess with my sons.”

Michael looked back one last time, directly into Evan's eyes. His son's broad smile faded when he realized that his father was going ahead without him.

Michael and Raven knew how to work a room, and even their detractors had to admit that the senator and his wife were a charismatic team. Raven charmed every man whose equipment still worked, and women who'd expected the worst whispered to each other, “She's not so bad.”

Raven and Erika Whittier were within arm's distance a few times—while Erika talked to the head of Hub Oil, Raven was just behind her greeting a congressman from Tyler. During dinner, Raven stopped at Erika's table, but turned away after she greeted Tina Boss, who was seated next to Erika. Tina was the young wife of one of Erika's best friends. He was out of the country, but he had called Erika that morning to ask her to keep an eye on Tina.

Tina turned to Erika and said, “I wanted you to meet Senator Joseph's wife. She's, like, the most fabulous woman ever!”

“There'll be time,” Erika said. She looked toward the podium. “Isn't that the minister David Capps?”

“Absolutely. Don't tell me you've never met him?”

“Never, but I've heard plenty about him.”

“I guess he's going to introduce the senator.” Tina leaned toward Erika's ear and continued, “He wouldn't have been my choice. When a black preacher opens his mouth he's going to, like, whine first and beg second.”

“Shhh! You're going to get us thrown out!” Erika said as she lightly tapped Tina's knee. As she listened to David speak, Erika realized that he was not a preacher by default; David was a natural leader: compelling, intelligent, and decisive.

“No whining yet,” she whispered to Tina.

“Who'd notice if he did? The guy's a hottie, don't you think?”

Erika's table was just to the left of the stage, so from her vantage point she was able to inspect David from the top of his clean-shaven head to the toes of his Cole Haan shoes. Her eyes traced the length of his body. He wore a tailored tuxedo that perfectly draped his well-built frame. Always one for the athletes, she judged him to be a sprinter or a basketball player when he was in college. Given his height, she settled on basketball. Erika imagined long, spindly legs, which didn't do much for her, but the high, tight butt of a baller had always been one of her favorite parts of a man's anatomy.

“A hottie? I don't know, Tina. If you like his type, then I guess so,” Erika whispered back.

“Of course he's not
my
type, but, you know, he's got the look of those black guys in the videos. Kind of like, you know, like a caged animal that'll rip you to shreds if you let it out.” Tina shook her head, certain she was right. “Yeah, that's how he looks. Dangerous and sexy.” She giggled, cupped her hand to her mouth, and whispered, even lower, “He looks like a pimp, like a dangerous pimp looking for some hos.”

Erika looked at young Tina's super-sized breast implants and thought:
And you look like a ho looking for a brain.

When David finished the introduction and Michael rose to speak, Erika examined him too, but not as closely. Although he was much shorter than David, and on the slim side, Michael Joseph held his own when it came to good-looking men. Yet his sexiness didn't impress Erika. She hadn't been attracted to him in years.

 

 

After Raven and Michael made their rounds, he ditched her and kept Christopher and Evan at his side. Raven was getting so much attention from their guests that she didn't mind being on her own; she didn't have to share compliments with Michael or patiently wait while someone showered him with praise. This is my night, she constantly reminded herself, and yes, she was on. Still, although she was glad Michael had left her alone, he had to pay for choosing his sons over her. Raven prowled the room looking for something to get into, something juicy.

She spotted David Capps and thought about the flirting they'd done in the bar in Lufkin. The next day David had avoided being alone with her, but she'd caught him staring at her a few times. She looked over at Michael, who was across the room with one arm slung around each of his sons' necks. What better payback to him than to light a fire in the middle of the room with his friend as kindling?

“Reverend, you sure are wearing that tuxedo.” Raven took David's hand in both of hers.

Raven watched his eyes. At his height, all David had to do was look down, and he'd be instantly lost in two mounds of buttery bliss.

“Thank you.” His voice was warm, but his eyes didn't really focus on Raven or her breasts, which were practically screaming for attention.

Raven looked down at herself, and thought,
Yep, still there and still awesome. Is he blind?
She forged ahead. “Everything's been so hectic, we haven't had a chance to talk, just the two of us, since that night in the hotel lobby. We should get together over lunch.”

“I'd love to,” he said with as much enthusiasm as a man scheduling a root canal. Raven didn't know it but David had scoped out her breasts and every other inch of her as soon as she and Michael walked into the ballroom. She looked so stunning that David didn't dare let himself be drawn into a conversation with her. Not here, anyway. He wasn't sure of what he might say.

He scanned the room, desperately searching for Michael. He needed a powerful antidote to fight his attraction to Raven. A glimpse of her husband just might do it.

David's eyes fell on the ultimate cure. His eyes lit up.

“Spotted someone important?” she asked.

Before he could reply Raven heard a familiar voice.

“Mrs. Joseph, I've been trying to get to you all night. My, that's a beautiful dress. So daring.”

David yanked his hand from Raven's grasp. “Reverend David Capps,” he said, extending his hand. “I don't believe we've met.”

“Erika Whittier, Reverend Capps. I've heard a lot about you.”

“Then you should've heard that my friends call me David.” He didn't eye Erika in a disrespectful way, but he did notice everything about her, and he couldn't hide the fact that he appreciated what he saw.

Raven flung her hair and posted herself closer to David. “Erika, great to see you.” She threaded her arm through David's. “We're just finishing a little business, if you don't mind.”

“Business comes first, that's my motto. Call me,” she said to Raven and walked away.

“Now, about lunch,” Raven said, but David barely heard her. He was too busy watching Erika's teardrop of a derriere saunter away.

9

“J
ust look at the crime rate in black communities. They ought to be the first in line to bear arms,” Erika said.

“So they can do what? Shoot Lil' Man and Pookie from the next block over?” David asked. He smiled when he said it, which added to Erika's confusion.

David sat back with his arms folded. He'd been that way for much of the hour that he and Erika had been together. They were in David's office at New Word. After the Juneteenth gala, she'd approached him and offered to fly to Dallas to meet with him on an issue that she said was “important to the African American community.”

David sat on the sofa and Erika sat in the chair to his left. The coffee table was strewn with documents—think-tank reports, poll results, and statistics. Erika went through each one in detail, but David didn't pay much attention. Before Erika arrived, David had wanted to have a drink to calm his nerves but he talked himself out of it. His resolve weakened when she walked in wearing a white pantsuit with an embroidered pattern that ran down the front of her outfit, from the shoulders of her jacket to the slight flair at the bottom of her pants. When Erika sat down David got a good look at her strappy white sandals, perfect feet, and little gold ankle bracelet. He broke down and headed straight for his private stash. Now they both nursed bourbon and Cokes and Erika matched him, sip for sip.

“Questions?” she said after explaining the final report.

“No.”

“Judging from your body language we're not going to agree.”

David shook his head.
No.

Erika frowned. “In my world you're reputed to be flexible. I was told it was worth a try.”

David wasn't sure what Erika meant, but he felt a little offended. He leaned forward, elbows on thighs, and slowly turned his glass round and round with his fingertips. “I'm flexible under the right circumstances, but there's no way I'm coming out in support of citizens being able to pack any type of gun anywhere, anytime. That goes against everything I believe in.”

Erika looked disappointed. “So . . . I guess we have nothing more to talk about. There's nothing I can do? Come back with a better proposal, maybe?”

David gave her the smile that he used on church sisters when delivering bad news that he wanted them to accept with a good attitude. “Any proposal involving guns you can keep, but that doesn't mean we have nothing to talk about. We're both interested in the welfare of our state. I'm always looking to make friends in influential places, and I'm sure you are too. We should stay in touch.”

Erika, thinking she was getting the brush-off said, “Sure thing, Reverend Capps. We'll have to get together sometime.”

David kept twirling his glass. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking of something more definite. Like dinner.”

Erika stopped gathering her things. She thought,
What's going on here?
One look at David told the whole story. The all-powerful David Capps was gone, replaced by a self-conscious man with the hots. “Tonight?” Erika asked.

“No, no,” David said quickly. He shifted in his seat. “Let's do it in Austin. I'll give you a call.”

On her flight home to Austin, Erika thought about the way David kept staring at her throughout their meeting. Many Southern white women felt uneasy under a black man's gaze, but not Erika. Although she was a lot of things, Erika wasn't a racist despite having been bred in a culture of casual racism. She didn't pretend to be colorblind, but since she was a child, Erika had seen people as individuals, neither bridled nor crowned with racial stereotypes. Erika knew she'd been a showstopper in her day, but she also knew that beauty and sexual attraction spanned the rainbow. She'd had plenty of nonwhite lovers—her Blackberry was a mini United Nations log.

Years back, Erika had had a three-month fling with Michael Joseph because he captured her with his wit and with what she admired most in men—power. David was even sexier than Michael and wielded considerable influence across the state. What bothered Erika about David wasn't that he was black; it was the hungry way he looked at her. She'd seen that look too many times and it meant only one thing: her primary draw for David was her white skin.

She imagined what her girlfriends would say if they had been able to observe her and David together. Among Erika's friends, the word was that single black men of David's age and stature all wanted a white woman. When Erika and her friends got to drinking and talking about men, the talk would sometimes (but not nearly as often as one might think) turn to what they called their “blacklist.” They'd snicker as they ran through the list of black men, from entertainers to coworkers, to guys who sold newspapers on street corners, who lusted after white women. Their list didn't include black men who dated whomever they liked irrespective of race. It was limited to guys who had a
thing
, an addiction, a real problem, when it came to white women. The women's blacklist had many categories and they moved the men back and forth from group to group: too scared to chase, actively chasing, about to get in trouble for chasing, and about to go to jail for chasing. Erika played the game because she thought men who made the list deserved to be mocked.

When she had been seeing Michael, Erika didn't tell her friends because although they talked about black men dating white women, they never admitted to having crossed the color line themselves. It was always someone else, a friend of a friend. Also, back then, the good senator had been looking to take down any woman he could. She could be red, white, and blue all over, for all he cared, as long as she was sexy, willing, and discreet.

As she pulled into her garage, Erika's thoughts again turned to David.
I could be wrong about him,
she reminded herself. Erika had her doubts about David, but she couldn't get the image of his supple fingers twirling the glass round and round out of her mind.

 

 

One of the things that Raven didn't like about being a candidate's wife was that she had to pretend to like everybody, including citizens who were stuck in the old South. Civil War Southerners, Raven called them, folks who would prefer to see her in the kitchen of the governor's mansion rather than the sitting room. So when Raven received an invitation to a high tea and fashion show hosted by the Texas Daughters of the Succession Society, she didn't want to go to the affair, which was and forever would be all white.

“What will I be?” she asked Michael when he told her about the event. “The honorary negress? What if they decide they need to make a human sacrifice?”

Michael chuckled at her appraisal of the invitation. “I wish I didn't have to ask you to do this, but it's a big deal. Historically the wives of the candidates not only attend, they're asked to play an active role. At least I was able to get you out of being on the program.”

“Bet that wasn't too hard to finagle. Sweeney's wife refuses to speak at any public events, so there's no way they were going to let a black woman take charge of the microphone by herself. Who knows what I might say?”

Raven was right. The society extended the invitation to Raven as grudgingly as she accepted it—neither side wanted to start a controversy. The members of the society didn't have anything against Raven personally, or black people in general. In fact, Raven ran into most of the women on a regular basis. She'd even been an invited guest at many of their homes. Exclusivity, as the members preferred to call their segregation policy, wasn't meant to discriminate against anyone. It was merely a tradition that had to be maintained.

“C'mon, honey. Go for me,” Michael pleaded.

Raven was still skeptical until Michael came up with an idea. “You're making history, baby, being an integrationist. Why don't we use this as an opportunity to add a serious splash of color to the society's white cream?”

And so, there Raven found herself, the black host of the only multicultural table in a sea of fifty or so tables filled with designer-clad women. Instead of having Raven sit on the dais, as the candidates' wives usually did, Michael bought Raven the best table on the floor, front and center.

When Raven and her guests walked in, one young member whispered to her mother, “Mom, can you believe this? Here comes the rainbow coalition.”

The mother arched one eyebrow and said to her daughter, “It's long overdue, don't you think?”

Raven's table represented just about every minority that had a substantial presence in Texas—and Michael didn't have to look beyond his own staff to fill the seats. Genie Dupree sat next to Raven. They filled out the table with Chin Le Quan, Dr. Melissa Alvarez, Laurie Fritzman, Maya Abouda, and other top-level women.

As they ate their salads, Genie said to Raven, “This is a good thing you're doing, Mrs. Joseph.” She looked around the room. “I see so many people I know.” She craned her neck for a better view. “There's Jessica Ama-rault! She lived next door to me in the dorms.”

“Why don't you go over and say hello? We need to make contact with as many people as we can while we're here,” Raven suggested. “Who knows, maybe your friend will nominate you for membership.”

“Doubt it,” Genie said as she stood to join the rest of the people who were milling around, exchanging air kisses and hugs. “Somehow I don't think I fit their member profile.”

Raven thought about taking her own advice, getting up and working the room, but decided against it.
I'm going to be governor's wife. Let them come to me,
she thought. She pushed her chair a little away from the table and angled it to get a better view of the room.

“Hey, you,” someone said and tapped Raven on her shoulder. Erika Whittier scooted into Genie's seat. “You're a hard woman to catch up with.”

“Hello, Erika. You're a member of this group, I suppose.”

Erika gave a little shrug, as if to say “Wouldn't you know it?” but her eyes were alight with pride. “Inducted into their hall of fame two years ago.”

“I'm not surprised.”

Erika wore a green Tahari suit, set off by a pair of the finest sling-backs that Raven had wanted to buy but didn't because she couldn't find them in her size. When Erika crossed her legs, Raven thought,
I hope she doesn't think her legs look better than mine.

“How're things going?” Erika asked.

“Rolling along pretty well.”

“Rolling along! I'm sure your days are more hectic than that. You're so busy these days you don't even have time to return phone calls, at least not mine.” Someone called Erika's name and when she turned to say hello, her beautiful hair swung from side to side, like she was starring in a slow-motion shampoo commercial.

Why is she shaking her big bobble head like that? My hair is every bit as silky as hers.
When Erika turned back around, Raven tossed her own mane for good measure. Raven
owned
the hair toss.

While Erika made small talk, Raven dissected her. Her criticisms of Erika came in rapid succession.
How old is she? Way older than me, that's for damn sure. Look at the way her top lip wrinkles when she talks. Hasn't she heard of Botox? I look better than her and I'm smarter than her, too. Rich bitch.

“I've been keeping up with the campaign, and I have to say, I'm a little concerned. Michael hasn't been as noncommittal on gun control as I hoped he'd be,” Erika said.

Raven forced herself to keep smiling. So far her subtle attempts to steer Michael away from gun control had fallen flat. She promised herself to get Michael in line within the week. “Erika, it might be hard to tell from the outside looking in, but I've got it covered.” Raven waved the subject away, “Don't worry about it.”

Erika looked doubtful. “When can we get together?” She leaned toward Raven and whispered, “For half a million dollars, I'm afraid I need to hear something more definite than, ‘I've got it covered.'”

“Umm, I don't know when, but you're right, let's talk soon.” Raven waved at the state comptroller, a stylish woman in her mid-sixties, and motioned for the woman to come over to the table. “Erika, I'm so sorry, but I've been trying to catch up with Carol for a month.” Erika gave Raven an understanding look and turned her back.

Erika's smile never faltered, but her eyes glinted fire.
For her own sake, Raven damn sure better be a woman of her word,
she thought.

 

 

David exited the elevator on the eighth floor and strolled toward the door at the end of the hallway. His casual air covered the fact that he perfectly timed his stride so that by the time he got to the door, which read, “Dr. Cheryl Flanoy, Obstetrics and Gynecology,” the hallway would be empty.

David glanced behind him to make sure he was alone, then ducked into the stairway next to the doctor's office. He bounded up two flights of stairs, looked at his watch, and at exactly 12:35:10 stepped quietly out of the stairwell and across the hall into Dr. Laverne's office. The doctor's reception area was empty; the receptionist, whom David had never met (and never would, if he kept to his schedule), had just left for lunch. She'd be back at her desk at exactly 1:30 just as David, having taken the stairs to the third floor, and ridden the elevator down the rest of the way, emerged onto the street.

David entered Dr. Laverne's office without knocking. The doctor sat behind his desk, waiting for David.

“I keep telling you, David, no one places a stigma on your being here except for you. There's no need to go to the trouble you do, taking an early morning flight here, sneaking in and out of my office so you won't be seen. I know several Dallas therapists I can recommend. Excellent doctors.” The doctor twirled a pen as he spoke. “Including a couple of black men. You might find it—”