Beautiful Liar (13 page)

Then, on the other hand, she knew writing the
book could solve her problem. It was a healthy way to vent that
wouldn’t promote her demise. The only problem with this was she
felt like she was exploiting her relationship with Tywan. She
wasn’t sure if she wanted to share the only man that she had ever
loved with the world.

Misty weighed her options for over an hour
before it became apparent--write a book or die. So with that
hanging over head, she picked up her laptop and picked up where she
left off days prior.

Her fingers seemed to magically glide over
the keypad, releasing her tensions, similar to a massage.

As soon as Missy saw Tyrone enter the
visitation room, she jumped up to her feet, smiling. “Hey, baby
love!”

“Hey,” he responded, after kissing her.

“You look very handsome.”

“Thank you. You’re pretty gorgeous
yourself.”

“It’s all for you.”

They sat down, and Missy handed him a soda.
“I brought a lil’ something for you.” She then surreptitiously
passed him four balloons of marijuana, and Tyrone swallowed them
one by one.

Once that was out of the way, they spent the
next twenty minutes updating each other on their everyday
activities. Tyrone suddenly grabbed her hand and eased it in his
pocket.

Missy gasped when she discovered that he had
cut out the interior for access to his penis. “Boy!”

“God, I miss your touch.”

Missy didn’t respond. She was too busy
stroking him.

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” he
continued. “This prison shit is torture.”

She looked up at him with a stern expression.
“You wouldn’t believe how wet I am right now. I can feel it running
to my butt.”

“Bay! You’re squeezing me too hard.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I…I wish there was some way
that we could do it.”

“There is,” he said, glancing over his
shoulder. “But it’s super risky.”

“How?”

”The bathroom.”

“How are you going to get in there without
them seeing you.”

“Easy. All that you have to do is go up to
the officer and distract him.”

“But, what about the other one?” She asked,
gesturing to the officer who was walking around. “Who’s going to
distract him?”

Tyrone waved him off. “Don’t worry about him,
that’s my partner. He don’t give a fuck.”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

“Listen, first. I want you to keep in mind
it’s still a good chance we could get caught. Especially, coming
out. And if we do, they’re going to take my visits for about six
months. Can you handle that?”

It took her a moment to ponder on that. “Uhh,
I don’t want to not see you for that long, but I swear I want to do
it. It has been too long. Fuck it, let’s do it.”

“Set it off then.”

Missy approached the correctional officers
smiling. “Excuse me. But could you tell me where’s the best place
to get a room around here?”

Once Tyrone saw that the officer was caught
up in Missy’s bedroom eyes, he made eye contact with the
correctional officer that he was cool with, and mouthed,
‘bathroom.’ The officer shrugged and turned his back to him.

Tyrone casually strolled to the bathroom like
it was perfectly legal.

Misty stopped writing when Wendy entered the
room with a stranger.

“How are you feeling?”

Misty sat her laptop aside and studied the
stranger. “I’m doing better. Who is this?”

“This is Dr. Lanski. He’s a psychiatrist.
He’s here to help you cope with Ty’s death.”

“I’m coping on my own.”

“No, you’re not. You need help, Misty. You
tried to kill yourself.”

“She’s right, Ms. Reems. You need help, and I
can give it to you. It’s a scientific fact that depression is
common when someone has lost a spouse or someone close to them.
There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Misty turned sharply to Wendy. “You’ve been
telling my business?”

“I—”

“Get out!” she screamed, getting out of her
bed.

“No, Misty. You need help, and I’m going to
make sure you get it.”

“You know what? Y’all can have this room!”
She then left the room barefoot.

“Wait a minute, Misty!”

Misty heard them pursuing her, and took off
running around the corner. She quickly entered the nearest room and
closed the door to a crack. Once she observed Wendy and the
psychiatrist pass by, she shut the door completely and rested her
head on it.

Cairo stared idly out of his hospital window,
afraid to shut his eyes. For the past week, he dreamed about his
son every time he fell asleep. The dreams were always the same, to
an extent. His son would be turning blue from suffocation inside of
the incubator, and Cairo was always unable to pry it open.

He tried a different method to open the
incubator in every dream. Nothing seemed to work. In one dream, he
had even tried to shoot through it to shatter it, but the bullet
had only ricocheted and hit him, and they both died together.

Cairo was a nervous wreck. He knew that if
the dreams continued, he would be in serious trouble.

He jerked his head to the door when a
barefoot woman entered his room. She was dressed in pink pajamas,
so he knew that she was a patient of some kind. “Excuse me, this is
a private room!”

The voice startled Misty. “Oh, shit! I’m
sorry,” she said, opening the door to leave. She then immediately
closed it back. “Damn!”

Cairo looked back up, agitated. “What
now?”

“I just need to stay here for a few minutes,
if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind. Who are you hiding from, the
police?”

“No,” she said, walking deeper into the room.
“Why is your attitude so stank?”

“Maybe because I don’t feel like being
bothered by your type, or the police that’s chasing you.”

“The police ain’t chasing me. It’s my best
friend and a psychiatrist.”

Cairo’s eyes lit up. “So you’re crazy, huh?
That figures.”

“Is that how you got that black eye—your
mouth?”

“No. Some unfortunate low lives decided they
wanted to test drive a Bentley, and I didn’t feel like walking. Any
more questions, crazy lady?”

“Yeah. Uh…uh…” she said, snapping her fingers
as if she was trying to recall something. Suddenly, her middle
finger extended. “Fuck you!”

She walked out of the door without saying
another word, and Cairo couldn’t help but to smirk.

Six Months Later

Lindsey sat on the
bench contemplating her
life and how she had gotten to this point. She knew there was a
saying that a person wasn’t supposed to live with regrets, but she
regretted ever moving to Atlanta. More than anything, she regretted
having the love affair with Cairo.

She knew, now, it was the biggest mistake
that she had ever made. It wasn’t just the fact she had permanently
ruined her relationship with Shay, it was also the fact she was
facing ten years in prison for shooting Cairo.

Now, as she sat in the courtroom waiting for
her lawyer to come out of the persecutor’s office, tears began to
flow down her face. She never thought in a million years that her
transition to Atlanta would eventually land her in prison.

Her heart sped up a few knots when she saw
her public defender come through the doors holding some papers. His
expression was masked, so she couldn’t tell whether or not he had
some good news. This made her more nervous, because the unexpected
had always turned out to be tragic for her.

“Follow me, Ms. Green.”

Lindsey followed him out into the hallway.
“Please, tell me I don’t have to go to prison.”

“I’m sorry, but I tried the very best I
could. But due to the nature of the crime, and the fact you shot
the son of an influential figure of this city, the D.A. is adamant
about sending you to prison, Ms. Green.”

Lindsey began to jump around in tears. “I
can’t go to prison! I’ll just die!”

“Calm down, Ms. Green. Please.” He looked
around as if she was embarrassing him.

“Can you tell the D.A. that I want to speak
with him?”

“I’m afraid he won’t agree to that. The only
thing he wants to hear is that you understand your plea agreement.
However, I was successful in getting him to reduce your
sentence.”

“For real?” Lindsey asked, suddenly feeling a
little better.

“Yes.”

“To what?”

“If my calculations are correct, I’ll say
around six and a half years.”

“Six and a half years! That’s the same thing
as ten! I can’t do that much time!”

“Listen to me carefully, Ms. Green,” he said,
holding out the papers to her. “If you don’t sign this plea
agreement by one o’clock, the D.A. will withdraw it and start your
trial next week. The evidence that he has on you is very strong;
you will be found guilty and receive the maximum sentence.”

“What’s the maximum sentence?”

“Roughly seventeen years.”

Lindsey’s legs suddenly couldn’t support her
weight. She leaned heavily on the wall.

The lawyer continued. “The good thing about
taking this plea bargain is you’ll still be young when you get
released. There will be plenty of time for you to rebuild your life
and put all of this madness behind you.”

Lindsey didn’t see an easier way out of this
situation. As bad as she didn’t want to plea out to six and a half
years, she definitely couldn’t imagine doing seventeen. That was a
life to her. She grabbed the papers with much hesitation. “Do you
have something to write with?”

The lawyer handed her the pen, smiling
brightly. “You’re doing the right thing, Mrs. Green. God knows I
didn’t want the embarrassment of losing my very first case.”

“Don’t sign that, Lindsey!”

She looked to where the source of the voice
came from, and dropped to her knees. “I’m sorry, Cairo! Please
don’t let them send me to prison!”

“Get up,” he demanded, reaching for her.
“It’s going to be okay.”

“I’m sorry!”

When she did, Cairo embraced her. “I forgave
you. I just need you to forgive me.”

Lindsey couldn’t believe her ears. “Huh?
Forgive you for what?”

“For being a monster and setting this vicious
cycle off.”

“Tell us something about yourself, Brenâe
Reems,” the disc jockey said to Misty, while they were live on the
air.

“Well, I was born in Cordel, Georgia. My mom
moved my brother and me to Atlanta when I was ten, so now I
represent Bankhead.”

“Bankhead!”

She laughed.

“Fellas, if you have never seen Brenâe, then
you need to come to Barnes & Noble at Lenox Mall today, from
two p.m. to five, and treat your eyes. She’s drop-dead gorgeous,
and she can write. Call in and holler at her. We’re taking calls
right now.”

Line one lit up and the disc jockey pressed
the button. “V-103. Who’s calling?”

“This is Karen.”

“Okay, Karen, say what’s up to Brenâe
Reems.”

“Hi, Brenâe. I love your book. It made me cry
three times.”

Misty thought about all the times that she
had cried while writing it. “Thanks.”

“I cried so much that my husband hid the book
from me a few times. He was tired of me carrying on like I had lost
my best friend.”

“Is there anything that you would like to ask
her, Karen? We have a lot of callers holding on.”

“I would like to ask her what inspired her to
write ‘Misty Blue?’”

“Uh, real life experiences,” Misty responded,
honestly.

“Are you actually writing about
yourself?”

She knew by confirming that she was writing
from past experiences, it was possible the police would be knocking
on her door.

Red flags immediately went up in Misty’s
head. “No. I took one of my friend’s experiences and enhanced
it.”

“Oh, I see. Well, you done an excellent job.
I cried three times while reading it, especially the part when
Tyrone died in Missy’s arms. That was so real!”

The woman talked until the deejay went to the
next caller. “V-103. Who’s calling?”

“Just call me The Widow,” a woman said
calmly.

The deejay laughed. “Okay, ‘The Widow’.
Sounds like a rap name. What do you want to say to Brenâe
Reems?”

“I enjoyed your tell-all book, Ms.
Reems.”

“It’s fic—”

“I almost felt like I’ve met a Tyrone,” she
continued, rudely.

Misty couldn’t put her finger on it, but
there was something very uncanny about the woman’s voice. She
attempted to shake off the feeling by laughing. “I’m glad that you
enjoyed my fictitious tale.”

“I enjoyed it probably as much as you enjoyed
writing it.”

Misty didn’t respond to the question. She
desperately wanted the deejay to move on to the next caller.

“Before I go, I would like to ask you
something,” the woman continued.

“Okay.”

“Do you miss him like I miss mine?”

Misty’s heart dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Because if you do, then it’s only a sample
of what’s to come.”

“
I can’t believe
how much has
changed,” Ray said to Terry while they watched Cairo do paperwork
through the glass door.

“I’m proud, and I’m worried, too. I say that
because I know where his work ethics stem from.”

“He hasn’t been with a woman, either. That’s
how I know something’s wrong. I think you need to see where his
head is. Know what I’m talking about?”

“I think you’re right. I never thought I’d
say this, but that boy is doing too much work around here.”

“I’m about to bounce. Call and let me know
how it went.”

“Will do,” he said, entering Cairo’s office.
“Hey, son.”

Cairo glanced up. “What’s up, Pops?”

“I want to talk to you about something.”

“Okay, I’m almost finished here.”

“That can wait. This is important.”

“What’s more important than making sure that
the company runs efficiently?”