Every Woman Needs a Wife (12 page)

“I did,” Vernon said, his throat parched from the effort it took to speak.

His dad pivoted, creating a breeze of Grey Flannel in the library. “The hell you did. Would we be having this conversation if—”

“Tanya lives in the city in Chatham, we live in South Shore, at least six miles apart.”

“I’m not talking about location, you fool!” William said through clenched teeth. “That’s only part of it.”

He gestured sharply toward the phone. “You called her from your home. You charged some of the expenses to the same business you share with your wife—the same wife I told you should be at home raising children, not out running the business like she’s a man. How stupid could you be?”

“Since we just moved the business and remodeled the warehouse into offices, cash was tight.”

The worry lines on the older man’s forehead furrowed. “Then you shouldn’t spring for extra ass until you can afford it.”

“So what am I gonna do? I can’t go home with Tanya living there.”

“Divorce Brandi!”

“Divorce her?” Vernon swallowed. Ending his marriage was a sign of failure. At least in his book. “I don’t want a divorce. I want my wife back.”

“Trade that fat cow in for a younger model,” William said, slipping into his chair, grabbing up the newspaper.

“I don’t want a younger model. And Brandi’s not fat, she’s curvaceous.” And he loved every inch. He also loved the way her breasts jiggled as she walked. Those fleshy hips could make his mouth water just watching her walk away. And good Lord the woman could work that ass on his dick like a blender on high speed. Suddenly he felt the warm pressure of arousal and had to shift on the sofa to keep from getting hard.

“If she’s so perfect, then why did you need a mistress?”

“Same reason you did,” Vernon shot back. “And you had three!”

The old man flipped open the
Wall Street Journal
. “And I maintained all three women without the madness you had with just one,” he said, giving Vernon a forced smile. “If you ask me, she put your nuts in a vise grip and gave them a nice little squeeze. You should leave her while you have the chance. I told you about picking women from the low end of the spectrum. A girl from Jeffrey Manor? Definitely not in our league.”

“You married Mom and she wasn’t rich.”

“I could afford to marry beneath me. And she turned out just fine until your cold-hearted wife stepped in. Needed to leave her ass the day after you married her.”

“I’m not leaving my wife.”

The amused expression on his dad’s face went somber. “If you’re not leaving her, you’d better get that mistress out of your house. I can’t believe she pulled some shit like that. That woman’s got more balls than a brass monkey.” Flipping to another page, his eyes scanned the sheet before folding the corner down to look at Vernon. “You’ll be the laughing stock of this side of Chicago. If the League gets wind of this, you’ll never hear the end of it and you’ll be out on your ass.”

“I’ll try, Dad.”

“Trying is lying,” William snapped, folding the paper to put it away. “She’ll come around,” Vernon said. “Brandi’s just trying to make a statement.”

“Well, everyone tonight heard her loud and clear,” his father said. “She played the opening number and headliner like a professional. Let’s see you top that,
young
Mr. Spencer.”

B
randi turned over in her bed. The comforter slipped down around her waist. The sweet, nutty aroma of hazelnut coffee filled the air. Brandi opened one eye, then the other. She curled up in the king-size bed, relishing the feel of silk sheets reaching under her chin.

Stretching languidly, she noticed the fresh scent of citrus. Citrus? Where did that come from? Her hand landed on a soft, pliable form next to her. She froze as a shiver of uneasiness passed through her.

Brandi jerked upward, peering at the body on the opposite side of her bed.

Memories of last night flooded her mind. What had she done?

Glancing down, she sighed with relief. She still had her clothes on.

Lifting the sheet brought another moment of clarity. Tanya still had her clothes on, too.

The other woman stretched, rolling over to her left side, blonde hair flowing over the pillow like a waterfall.

Brandi’s eyebrow shot up as she locked gazes with her…wife? Then she asked, “We didn’t?”

Tanya’s lips spread into a slow, easy smile. “No.”

“So we haven’t?”

“No,” she answered with humor twinkling in her eyes. “Mmmmm, and that’s one part of your offer I’d like to bow out of.”

“Nooooo problem,” Brandi replied, shifting her weight on the bed. “I’m not ready to settle for backup.”

This time Tanya laughed. “Yeah, um, speaking of backup…you might
want to put that some place other than the bathroom cabinet. The girls might find it.”

“How did you—”

“I cleaned the house last night. Everything’s all squared away.”

The roar of a lawn mower kicked in. Mr. Lewis would probably receive another citation from the police by the end of the week. And he’d also get an earful from Mrs. Washington, who swore up and down that if he interrupted her beauty sleep early Saturday morning one more time, she’d set fire to his lawn. Mr. Lewis politely replied that if she needed beauty sleep after all these years, she should have started sometime before birth.

Personally, Brandi believed that the real problem between those two was from another lawn that needing mowing or grazing. Mr. Lewis wanted Mrs. Washington and she wanted him. If they’d stop the preliminaries and get to the real deal, the whole world could breathe a collective sigh of relief. And maybe the lawn mower wouldn’t wake the whole planet on Saturdays.

“I smell coffee. Is someone still here?”

Tanya shook her head. “I was up a little earlier and set the coffeemaker for a quarter to seven so I’d get up in time to fix breakfast.”

“I never could get that thing to work,” Brandi said, amazed at the woman’s resourcefulness.

Tanya slipped out of bed, glancing slyly over her shoulder. “You passed out before telling me where I’m supposed to sleep. I figured as long as I stayed on
his
side of the bed and didn’t get any bright ideas…”

“Yeah, don’t get any dark ones, either,” Brandi quipped, eliciting a chuckle from Tanya.

“Breakfast will be ready in a little while.”

Brandi felt a sense of impending doom as Tanya left the room. Even her mother had given her an earful before Donny swept the protesting woman out the door.

She had always listened to her elders, especially her mother. But, in this instance, most of them were saying just get over it and let it go. She’d done too much of that in her marriage. Too much of that in her life. This
was the first time Brandi had ever defied her mother since the day the woman arrived at Forty-Seventh Street and Michigan Avenue, too late to snatch her only daughter from the jaws of danger.

♥♥♥

Brandi had just turned thirteen. She woke up that Friday morning, scooped her ice blue portable cassette player off the bed, and shoved it into her book bag before pounding down the stairway. She sprinted across the room toward the door. “Mom, I’ll catch you later,” she yelled, picking up the pace so she wouldn’t be late.

“No!” her mother yelled back in a cold, hard voice that Brandi knew there was no escaping. “You’ll catch me right now.”

Did her mother know? Had she been found out? She hugged her book bag close, hoping her mom wouldn’t ask to see inside. Brandi groaned as she made a quick U-turn toward the kitchen and the trouble zone. Man! She couldn’t be late. Not today.

“Yes, Mama?”

Her mother’s piercing hazel eyes scrutinized Brandi from the top of her head to the bottom of her shoes without so much as a flicker. Brandi was dressed in loose-fitting jeans, a navy turtleneck and Converse sneakers—all definitely in style. The colors complemented her skin and her five-foot-six, size fourteen frame. Her shoulder-length hair had been styled into a bob. Every outfit had to meet with her mother’s approval—which meant covering every square inch of skin.

The makeup case, miniskirt, tight tank top, and high heels stashed beneath Brandi’s science and English books told a different story. She just wanted to have fun. She was two grades ahead, had been a freshman at age twelve with good grades and all, but she still couldn’t
do
anything. Today would be different.
If
she got out of the house.

“Who was that boy calling my house at ten twenty-seven last night?”

She knew the
exact
time? He must have woken her up. “Hollywood.”

“I’m sure his mama didn’t name him that,” she snapped, one eyebrow raised.

Brandi cringed at the caustic tone. “His name’s Derek Coles, but he likes to be called ‘Hollywood.’”

Leaning forward so close that Brandi could smell that first cup of coffee, her mother said, “I don’t care what he likes to be called. He’d better not call here again past nine. Do you hear me?”

“Okay.” Brandi had warned Hollywood about her mother’s rules. He didn’t care much for rules. Or parents for that matter.

“And who is he anyway?” her mother asked, tapping her foot on the paisley carpet.

“A guy that goes to my school.” Not just a guy.
The
guy. Brandi had had a crush on Hollywood since grammar school. At eighteen, his creamy complexion, slanted hazel eyes, and dark, curly hair—along with the muscles rippling down his body like Lake Michigan’s waves—made him every girl’s dream. Now he was
her
dream. He’d finally noticed her. It only took a whole year, but who was counting? Oh, that’s right—she was, every single one of those days!

“I don’t know what you kids…”

Bag weighing heavily on her shoulders, Brandi sighed, tuning out her mother’s words—the same lecture, every other day. Blah, blah, blah. “When I was your age…”

Brandi hated those sermons. Her mother should have passed the plate when finished. Brandi glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall next to the pantry. Her mother didn’t get the hint.

In a bolder move, Brandi twisted her arm and openly stared at her watch for a few seconds. Only a few minutes before Hollywood—

“Girl, are you trying to be smart with me?”

“No. No, Mama…I…I just don’t want to be late for…school.” Brandi swallowed hard. Ooops. Maybe she’d been a little too bold.

Mama’s eyes bored into Brandi like a metal drill through rotten wood. Brandi’s hand snaked out and brushed aside the hair, which suddenly had started to stick to her now-moist face. Not a good sign.

“Go on then,” her mother told her with a dismissing swipe of her hand. “But put your friend in check.”

“I’ll talk to him, Mama.” Brandi turned and raced toward the door.

“And I’d like to meet him.”

Brandi almost dropped her book bag on the floor. She didn’t turn around. Her face crinkled, mirroring the terror she felt. “Sure, Mama. You’ll get to meet him,” she said, thinking,
It’ll never happen
. Hollywood was every girl’s dream, but every mother’s nightmare—bad boy to the core. He smoked, hung out all night, and did whatever he wanted. She never understood how he kept up with his schoolwork or even showed up for class.

Brandi clutched her bag as she broke out the front door. She hoped the letter she gave the attendance office at Chicago Vocational High School would avert a call to the house. If the school called, she’d be back in time to erase the message. But then she remembered the rollers in her mother’s head. She got the feeling her mom wasn’t going to work. Now
that
would be a major problem.

Brandi crossed the street and sped toward the meeting place, using the breathing techniques she’d learned in track. She passed the ranch-style homes and duplexes built on an area that had been for dumping waste and slag for years. The entire area was called Jeffrey Manor, but she actually lived in the northeast section called Merrionette Manor—a small place in the heart of the area built on a suburban street structure. The Manor had started the residential construction boom, as people from Irondale needed housing closer to the Wisconsin Steel Works.

She remembered her father sharing that tidbit as he took her on a late-night tour about a month before he died. Lord, she missed him! And she missed her brother, too, but he had found Champaign, Illinois, and the rest of their relatives more to his liking.

As she waited on the corner of One Hundredth Street and Paxton Avenue for a black Chevy Caprice, she perked up every time she heard an engine. Had she missed him? Hollywood didn’t like his girls to be late. If he said eight in the morning, she’d better be there at seven fifty-eight just to be sure. “Oh, God, I couldn’t have missed him…”

Thundering bass interrupted the warm, peaceful surroundings. One minute she heard birds chirping and the light breeze rustling the long
strands of leaves on the willow trees, the next she heard a raspy, rugged voice coming blasting through speakers, making it impossible to understand the words. Her eyes scanned left. Her heart lifted, almost tearing through her chest. She hugged herself to keep from skipping.

The shiny black car crawled down the street as if it had no particular place to go.

Hollywood had promised her a day out on the town. She had planned for it all month. All week the hours seemed to creep like a snail across wet sand. She thought this day would never come.

The blaring music vibrated through the neighborhood and set off a few car alarms. Brandi’s slender frame could feel the bass roll through her body like a personal massage. The car pulled to the curb only six inches away from Brandi’s trembling body. Nervous wasn’t even the word.

He nodded. “’Sup, chick?”

“Nothing much.”

She waited near the passenger side for him to get out and open the door.

He stared back at her. “We ain’t got all day.”

Her heart felt a little twinge of disappointment, but she ignored it and climbed onto the black leather seat. Her father had always said men were supposed to open the door for their girls. Maybe someone forgot to tell Hollywood. The smell of Cool Water cologne drove her wild. She’d bought it for him three weeks ago for his birthday. He hadn’t said thank you but that was minor, right?