Every Woman Needs a Wife (11 page)

Tanya had whipped the place into shape in record time—even for her. No one would be able to tell that just hours ago, the place had been spilling over with people who had more questions when they left than when they arrived. She pulled her bags from the foyer closet and settled them into a closet near the master bedroom. Thoughts of leaving had certainly crossed her mind, but she quickly pushed them away. She had to see how things played out.

She peered out the window and saw the Lexus still parked in the driveway. Earlier when she saw Vernon’s car tearing down the street, she’d doubled back to the house on Wabash Avenue, searched the drawers, cabinets, and closets for any important items she may have missed, then packed the last of her things—including her pictures of the two Cleopatras—and put them outside in the shed where she could retrieve them later.

She thought of her sudden urge to return Vernon’s wallet to Brandi just to see her reaction. And boy did she react!

The woman had directed a full-blown symphony last night, with strings, percussion, brass, and woodwinds. Tanya had never seen things done in such a way that no one could gossip—it was all done right there in the open. The woman even had nerve enough to ask, “Hey, are there any questions?”

Despite what Tanya expected, family and friends followed Brandi’s example and treated her nicely. Vernon, on the other hand, caught the pure hell he deserved.

♥♥♥

Yesterday as she drove through the traffic-filled streets of Stony Island on her way to Brandi’s house, she wondered, where would she go? What would she do? Vernon had been right about one thing—she had nothing and no family. Her father had made sure there was no one in the world who would lift a hand to help her, but that paled in comparison to what he had done to her. It ranked a distant third to what he’d done to the person
she’d loved the most—the person he had killed to keep Tanya from talking.

She had driven through the winding streets, passing the house in the Jackson Park Highlands five times before stopping. As she strolled past the shrubs and up the black concrete pathway, at first thoughts of
what the hell do you think you’re doing
swirled through her mind. Then a smidgen of worry came and went like the flickering light from a candle sitting in a gentle breeze. A simple idea had made life a bit complicated—once again. What was Brandi up to—really?

The slosh of the dishwasher pulled her back to the present as a sudden sense of loss washed over her. She missed Michelle’s family more than she missed her own. Her father had the “Midas touch,” but his real magic making to make sure his oldest daughter kept his dirty secrets. Even darker magic had made his youngest daughter disappear and turn up dead during his trial.

What he actually had was a sly charisma that reeled people in. What he had was the foresight to scope out the young women who were heirs to fortunes that would make even the Kennedy clan raise an eyebrow. What he had was the smarts to take Margaret Van Oy’s virginity in the backseat of an old Chevy.

The pregnancy came after weeks of daily romps out in the fields, in the car—or behind the McCumbers’ barn. When Margaret said she was getting an abortion, Wilbur demanded that she keep the child. When she refused, he told her that if she got rid of his child, he would tell the world how much of a whore she really was. He would describe exactly what he’d made her do to him—sick, perverse things—which would force her family to disown her. Tanya, growing just under her mother’s hardening heart, was well past the “planning” stages and Margaret had no choice but to comply with his wishes. She gave in and they eloped, sealing her fate with him for better or worse.

The family demanded an annulment, but Margaret, fearing the worst from her quick-tempered husband, held fast. To Wilbur’s dismay, the family disowned her anyway, leaving her at the mercy of a cold, calculating man.
One who had no time for the wife or child who were supposed to have been his link to a fortune. So Wilbur figured out another way.

A dropout from Social Circle High School, Wilbur vowed that the Van Oy family would rue the day they shunned him. And he would strike back by taking the thing they loved most—money.

The Van Oys owned all the factories in and around Social Circle. Many Southern towns were established around such businesses, since people moved to be near their jobs. One by one, Wilbur Jaunal shrewdly scouted out and purchased the railroad right-of-ways that connected one Van Oy factory to the next. Then he expanded to those that connected the surrounding towns.

While Margaret’s family members still had their heads up their butts trying to figure out what was happening, Wilbur ended up owning all the ways to bring supplies into and out of Social Circle. Now the Van Oys had to pay premiums in order for their railcars to cross his land.

Then one day during peak production time he shut them down completely by denying access across his land, effectively putting them out of business.

A year later, Jaunal purchased the factories from his in-laws and enemies for pennies on the dollar. He put all of the people who were loyal to the former employers out on their collective asses, and hired Blacks from Social Circle and Monroe to take their place. That move almost caused a race riot that made Watts look like child’s play.

In an even more clever move, Jaunal Industries directed the white population toward the factories it owned in the surrounding counties—meaning the people left in town were Blacks he counted on to be loyal to their employer: Wilbur Jaunal.

As whites moved closer to the other factories to avoid long drives to and from work, the Social Circle voting base became more and more Black. The remaining whites were rich and scattered. Wilbur’s bid to become mayor was a lock. A power structure tied to a crafty but greedy hand that ruled by fear, intimidation and violence, if necessary, began as soon as he took office.

By the time Tanya turned twelve that fear had become part of her everyday
reality. Sometimes going to school took the same effort it would take a mouse to move a mountain. Each day weighed on her like a dark cape covering a white blossom.

She carried a deep, dark secret so shameful she couldn’t tell her mother… her best friend…anyone. Every morning, and sometimes in the middle of the night, she woke drenched in sweat, hurting and afraid, sure that no one could help. At any given moment throughout the day, she would burst into tears. She didn’t know how long she could keep her secret, but telling would only make things worse. Her father—the richest man in town—had sworn that if she said anything, he’d make her sorry.

Even after she had gone to live with Michelle’s family for her own safety, he still made good on that threat.

Tanya’s life had moved in much the same way as the broad strokes she used to clear away the last of the debris from Brandi’s rich blue-tile kitchen floor. Margaret Jaunal had turned her back on her oldest daughter. Tanya didn’t regret the trouble that it caused her father, but she would take it all back if the one person she loved above all others had survived—the innocent one.

S
trolling through the dimly lit hallway of Brandi’s home, Tanya felt a disconnection from reality that she couldn’t explain. She was in Vernon’s house. No—his wife’s house—and the woman had actually invited her to stay to teach the man who had hurt them a lesson. How real was that?

She thought about the past several hours and remembered the terrified look on Vernon’s face and how she enjoyed the way Brandi handled the situation, calmly and with a matter-of-factness that she could never imagine any woman pulling off realistically.

She had a feeling that Brandi was a woman who had weathered a storm or two and now tried to keep the storms in her life to a minimum. Where did that kind of strength come from? Why did Black women seem to sail through life as though none of the things white women couldn’t live without really mattered? And why had she ended up with a man like her father—overbearing, manipulative, lying?

Vernon’s temper and his eerie silences were among the reasons Tanya’s demands from him had been few. After asking the second time, she realized that going back to school wasn’t going to happen, in spite of his promises. A few uninspired sexual romps had brought her jewelry, clothes, and that Lexus, but never what she really wanted—his full attention and for him to keep his promise. Now she understood why. He didn’t want another woman as educated and as assertive as his wife.

Tanya passed the row of photographs displaying the Spencer family in
various stages of happiness. A happiness Tanya never remembered in the mansion where she grew up. During the two years she spent with Michelle’s family, she had healed and begun to smile again. Then fate intervened one more time and Tanya had to flee Social Circle under the cover of darkness. It had been nighttime in her life ever since.

None of the sofas in the Spencer house pulled out into a bed. Tanya refused to sleep in either of the children’s rooms. Despite the size of the house, there was no guest bedroom. So where did that leave her?

Tomorrow would be a new day. She still wasn’t sure what Brandi expected. Maybe she’d go back on her word like Vernon did.

Once again, she couldn’t predict what her life was going to be like. Somehow her fate had constantly been decided by men, first her father, then the frog-princes in between, then Vernon, and now this. Didn’t they realize that all a woman wanted was to be loved, cherished, protected, and respected? Respected more than anything.

As Tanya entered the master bedroom, she hesitated at the door a few moments before getting into Vernon’s side of the bed. She draped the cream damask comforter over her body and closed her eyes. Tears welled up as a mountain of pain pierced her soul. She was so far away from the people who loved her, but she couldn’t return. Contacting them would put their family in jeopardy again. And she couldn’t bear it if one of them were killed. No one in Chicago cared about her. No one would miss Tanya Melaine Kaufman if her life ended. No one would come and claim her body. She might as well struggle forward, hoping that one day she’d have a chance to live on her terms.

What would life be like, being a wife to a woman who wielded more confidence in her little pinky than most women Tanya had ever met? What made Brandi strong enough to face her pain? And she
was
in pain; that was one thing the strong woman couldn’t hide. Vernon had hurt her, but she had rallied, taking charge of the situation as though catching her husband with another woman was an everyday occurrence. Although it probably stuck in her craw that Tanya happened to be white, Brandi had focused more on dynamics than color.

Tanya, for some reason, had always felt, deep in her heart, that her time at the house on Wabash Avenue would be cut short abruptly. It had always felt temporary. She’d kept an overnight bag packed out of pure habit. And that habit had come in handy the moment Brandi Spencer had stepped through the door.

Sure, accepting Brandi’s offer was a bold move, but Tanya really wanted to see how things panned out. And she did need a place to live. If nothing else, Tanya had been good at playing the “wife” role. She was organized, focused, and appreciated beauty. She only had a tenth-grade education and that had kept her from getting good jobs. She needed to regroup and ground herself somewhere. Why not in the same life that Vernon had promised her?

It didn’t matter that Brandi would be pulling the train. Tanya was more than willing to clean the caboose and punch tickets to keep the woman of the house focused on making the money. As long as Tanya’s needs were met, things would work out just fine.

Tanya reached up, wiping away another stray tear, weariness settling into her soul. The only things she had were her sanity and her morals. She had tried to hold onto them, but Vernon had taken even that by pulling her into this painful triangle. She should have known. Vernon was so… distant at times, but oh the man was wonderful in so many other ways.

Now she had no one.

T
he moon loomed in the midnight-blue Chicago sky. A chilly breeze whipped through the trees, shaking them to a loud crescendo before all fell silent again.

Vernon trailed his father and Julie into the library of the massive home in Reichert Lakes. Mahogany shelves lined with books covered most of the walls. A globe-shaped liquor cabinet sat off to the side of a desk with a leather map top. The oversized dark brown chair could easily seat the Jolly Green Giant, it was perfectly suited for his father’s huge frame.

Julie, with Cupid’s bow lips that made a man wonder how good she was at giving head, strolled over to William in a black dress that curved over her frame with gracious triumph. She kissed him on the top of his shiny bald head, then sashayed from the library, leaving a trail of Donna Karan Cashmere perfume behind.

The door to the library hadn’t closed all the way before Vernon’s father was out his chair and bearing down on him. “Son, what the hell were you thinking?”

Vernon shrugged, not even thinking of making eye contact with his father. The man’s bellowing voice, portly frame, and overbearing attitude had always put the fear of God into Vernon. That immeasurable strength and unyielding power had made corporations shake; several Fortune 500 companies respected him. But somehow, the women in his life—and the women in Vernon’s life—couldn’t care less about all that.

Piercing brown eyes leveled on Vernon, making his balls shrink to the
size of raisins. Damn! His confidence seeped out of his pores into the sofa cushions faster than a woman runs through child support.

“Haven’t I taught you anything?” William paced the floor as though walking back and forth across the deep green carpet would bring answers. “You never bring that shit to your front door. Never!” He banged his fist on the desk. Vernon winced as though he’d been struck. “Keep the wife and the mistress as far away from each other as possible.”