Every Woman Needs a Wife (39 page)

Yes he could play it her way. Yes he could start all over—new wife, more kids, new business—but he loved Brandi and his girls, and old habits die hard. He would do everything in his power to remove Tanya from his life. He would not stray again, no matter what his father said. A man deserved to be happy. And he had been happy with his wife. Now he’d have to do something that gained her respect. Something that showed her that he was the man she wanted all over again.

He reached for the phone. “Dad, I’ll be in your office about eight tomorrow. I’m ready to go to Plan C.”

T
he phone rang, disturbing Brandi from the tedious tasks of trying to come up with enough money to make payroll. She answered on the third ring.

“Brandi, we need to talk. I—”

She politely replaced the receiver on the cradle and kept reading the latest accounts payable reports.

It rang again. She picked up. “Look, heifer—”

Brandi hung up again.

Three minutes later Renee strolled in, golden skin flushed a deep red. “Avie said I should deliver this message word for word, and though I’m a good Christian woman and I don’t curse—here it goes: ‘If you hang up on her again she will come over here and beat your ass bitch-style and then throw in an old-fashioned ass whipping at no extra cost.’ ”

Brandi thought for a moment before saying, “I’ll take the call.”

Renee swallowed hard and backed away toward the door. “I was hoping you would.”

The intercom buzzed twice before she picked it up, letting the handset hover over the cradle for a few seconds before finally putting it to her ear. “Yes.”

“Don’t yes me! What’s wrong with you?”

“This line is reserved for family, friends, and clients. You qualify as none of the above.”

“You know, I’ll let that slide because you’re angry.”

“Damn right I’m still angry,” Brandi said after an uncomfortable pause. “I shouldn’t have to watch the people in my own camp. You might be wondering how I can trust Tanya—Hell, I’m wondering how I can trust you.”

“I didn’t
do
anything!”

“And that’s my point! You didn’t do anything to stop that bastard from going public.”

“How could I? Mason referred to it as a joke. A
joke
, Brandi!”

Brandi leaned back in her chair, twirling the cord around her index finger. “And I’m sure you laughed right along with him.”

Silence from the legal team.

“Hmmmm, like I thought.”

“I didn’t think he’d actually go out and do it. It hurt Vernon’s case, too.”

“But it hurts the girls more.”

“Don’t you think you should’ve taken how it would affect the girls into consideration before all of this?” Avie asked, not bothering to hide her sarcastic tone.

“Only our close family and friends were supposed to know.”

“Well, thanks to your family—blabbermouth Thomas—and his little spare tire, Fabian, the office got hold to it.”

“Yeah, I got on him about that.” Then she lowered her voice. “I didn’t know he was sleeping with Fabian.”

“Please, I’m getting a mental picture here and it’s not pleasant.”

Brandi laughed and for a moment all anger was forgotten. “Do you think he can actually find the hole?”

“Honey, I think it’s an aerobic experience just to wipe his own ass.”

Brandi busted up with laughter. When they both settled down, Avie said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know, girl, it’s just a lot going on right now.”

“So how’s business?”

“Both of them are slow as hell.” Brandi scanned the documents detailing her cash flow—or lack thereof. “The Perfect Match is at a standstill. Tanya came up with a great concept to take it in another direction, and though
we’ve been implementing it, she didn’t count on the fact that getting the women to sign up would be easy, but that men aren’t too willing to have a dossier compiled and shown to the women they’re trying to get with.”

“And you thought men would rather have it all out in the open, rather than feed it to them bit by bit, and squirm their way out of things like normal?”

Brandi grimaced, realizing her friend was close to the truth. “I didn’t count on the fact that women could be pressured into putting off getting information they should have before taking that final step. Or, that women with children wouldn’t try to find out the criminal histories of the guys they’re letting into their homes.” She picked up another file that almost brought her to tears every time she looked at it—the one that said closing The Perfect Match would be the best thing overall. “So far, at least eight out of the twenty applicants turned up felons, three of them child molesters. When we pointed this out, the women made one excuse after another and I’ll bet you any type of money the men are still there.”

“You know you’ll have to report it, right?”

Brandi looked up from the reports and stared ahead. “I do?”

“Yes. The men aren’t supposed to live with children under any circumstances.”

“I’ll get on it after I finish this call.”

“So, what about us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, woman.”

Brandi thought about that a moment. Her best friend had betrayed her, but so had her husband. She had forgiven him in a way, so she could forgive Avie, too. “We’re cool. Just don’t let it happen again.”

“No problem,” she said, letting out a long sigh of relief.

“And you owe me lunch every day for the next month,” Brandi said, realizing she could capitalize on this new development. “Something that costs more than Seven dollars and fifty-eight cents.
No
Corner Bakery.”

“Ouch.”

V
ernon landed at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport in Atlanta, rented a midsize car, and soon was on a happy journey to Social Circle, Georgia. Soon he’d have enough information on Tanya to get her out of his hair.

He whizzed along Cherokee Road going over his father’s plan in his mind. Then he ran into traffic. The overhead banner read, “Cruise In.” Classic cars lined both sides of the road. He couldn’t inch forward if he paid someone. Inhaling a whiff of fresh country air, he choked as an unpleasant smell drifted in from the cows out to pasture in a field off to his right. He rolled up the window. Things were a little too fresh for his taste.

Chicago hadn’t been warm, so he’d worn a heavier suit. He’d had to take off his jacket and unbutton his shirt the moment he touched ground.

Two hours later, he’d only made it as far as the Wiccams General Store. Just his luck that he’d come in during a major event.

He hoped he would get this finished and be back on the plane before the end of the afternoon. No one would know but him, his father, and the Good Lord.

Tanya had only told him two things: She was from Social Circle, Georgia, and her father was mayor. Hopefully, what he knew would be enough to get what he needed.

She’d mentioned her brief marriage, and living in New York, but was vague about everything else. It didn’t matter to him at the time—what really mattered was what she did in bed. The more he racked his brain to
remember other things about her, the more he wondered: Who was the woman he had spent two years of his life with? She had been tight-lipped about her life before Chicago. Suppose she was some type of criminal!

As he strolled the aisles of the Wiccams Store, he passed huge barrels of flour, sugar, grits, and rice. An old man with a long pinkish face, white shirt, suspenders, and plaid pants asked, “Can I help you, son?”

Vernon hesitated for a moment, then realized that the man seemed friendly enough. Almost like a traveling salesman. “Do you know anyone from the Kaufman family?”

“Kaufman?” The man rubbed his chin. “There’s no one ’round these parts by that name.” Then his friendly face broke into a warm smile. “Where you from?”

“Chicago.” Damn, what was Tanya’s maiden name? “You sure?”

“Son, the Wiccams family’s been in Social Circle since John P. Blackmon first bought out his partner for thirteen cents an acre back in 1824.” The man poured wine into a coffee cup, and handed it to Vernon. “ ’Bout how long we’re talkin’ since they’ve been here?”

“Maybe thirteen years or so?”

“Hmmm,” he said, taking off his baseball cap to scratch his head. “Don’t reckon I can put my finger on who you’re talkin’ ’bout.”

“Her father was mayor at one time.”

“No, no mayor by the name of Kaufman.” He studied Vernon closely, eyes glancing over his suit more than once. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

“You think someone else might know around here?”

“Nobody but family’s ever worked here and if I don’t know ’em, they wouldn’t know ’em either. Nothin’ against your kind, mind ya, but only family’s allowed to work in the store. Don’t reckin’ no African-Americans floatin’ in the blood. At least none of ’em spoke up yet.” Then he laughed at his clever joke. “Maybe you might want to talk with somebody on the east side of the tracks.”

“Why there?”

“That’s where the nig—Negroes—I mean; colored—sorry, Blacks—Shoot! African-Americans live,” he stammered. “It’s so hard to keep up these days.”

Was he being funny? Vernon replied, “No, she’s a cracker—um, redneck—I mean she’s as white as they come: blonde hair, blue eyes.”

The man peered at him for a long time, taking in the returned insult. A few kids walking around had scurried out of the store.

“White?” Mr. Wiccams finally asked, obviously realizing that Vernon wasn’t one to be toyed with. “Why didn’t you say so? Well now, that puts a different spin on things.” He leaned over, resting his elbows on the wooden counter. “The mayor we’ve had for the past thirteen years is Nicholas Steward. Before that it was Wilbur Jaunal, but he’s been in the slammer for thirteen years. Just got out. There was some family scandal about him and his daughters. One disappeared and the other turned up dead. Found her body over there on the east side of town. Least folks suspect it was her. Couldn’t really identify that little girl. Teeth were smashed, fingers were sliced off…”

Vernon’s stomach churned.

“Blonde hair and blue eyes? Father was mayor…I reckon you’re talkin’ ’bout Tanya Jaunal. That might be who you’re lookin’ for. Seems about the right age,” He said, letting his gaze pass over Vernon again. “What you want with the Jaunals? That man’s meaner than a junkyard dog.”

“Oh, nothing really,” Vernon said quickly. He was in over his head. “I don’t think she’s the one I’m looking for.”

“You sure you ain’t tryin’ to collect that there hundred thousand dollar reward for knowledge of her whereabouts?” The man pointed to the powder blue sign tacked up on a board showing a teenage Tanya with a gorgeous smile.

“How long has this been here?”

“That wanted poster of her has been up for thirteen years. Seems like a whole lot of people are lookin’ for that lil’ girl. Think Jaunal’s looking for some payback for all that time in prison. Her court case started a federal investigation that didn’t stop until they put his butt in the slammer. Was as rich as the Rockefellers. Now he’s poorer than a church house mouse.”

At that moment, Vernon realized his visit to Social Circle should end—pronto. Even though one hundred thousand could help pay off what he’d
borrowed from members of the League and put The Perfect Fit in the clear a lot sooner than the two years he projected, no way could he serve Tanya up to a man like that.

Tanya came from a rich family? Why did she make it seem like she didn’t have a dime? A sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. The more he learned, the more he knew he should turn tail and catch the first thing smokin’ back to Chicago.

They thought she was dead like her sister and he had shown up to prove them wrong. How could he get out of this?

“Uh, I think you’ve told me everything I need to know about, uh… Tanya Jaunal. But I don’t think she’s my girl.” Vernon slipped the man a hundred-dollar bill.

The man glanced down at the cash and grinned. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. Information’s always free,” he said, sliding the money back across the counter. “Now order up another glass of that plum wine you’re drinkin’ right now, and that’ll cost you plenty.”

Vernon grinned at the man and raised his cup. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

Vernon picked the pace as he left the store. If he had turned back, he would have seen good old Mr. Wiccams pick up the rotary dial phone. If he had stayed close to the entrance, he would’ve heard, “Cousin, I think I’m gonna be the one to get my hands on that money you’re offering. How soon can you round up the boys and get over here?”

♥♥♥

Vernon slammed the car door, started the car, and punched the pedal to the metal, feeling a strange sense that something bad was about to happen. He couldn’t put a safe distance between himself and the beautiful country fast enough. What was he thinking, opening up that can of worms?

He returned the car to the rental husband, took the shuttle to his terminal, hoping to make it to the Delta Airlines counter. He was almost home free!

Then he pulled up short, making tracks as he came to a sudden halt. All sense of safety seeping out of his pores. A group of white men in dress ranging from business suits to overalls stood in front of the entrance. As though guided by some inner voice, all heads turned in his direction. Mr. Wiccams pointed a shaky finger and said, “That’s him right there.”

Vernon did a half turn and hauled ass, went through another set of entrance doors, pounding the pavement better than a Dallas Cowboy running with an open path to the goal line.

His heart slammed into his chest as he staggered through a group of flight attendants. He ducked past a newsstand but they were still hot on his heels. People turned to stare as he sprinted past heading toward the construction area, a Black man with a trail of white men on his tail—ranging from skinny, to overweight, to giant-sized. Damn, where was security? This big ass airport and no one’s helping? For a moment, he felt a connection with his ancestors. Back then it was about lynching. Vernon had a feeling that if this group caught him he would suffer the same fate.