Hittin' It Out the Park (27 page)

“I don't know. I haven't been following the papers.”

Cheryl grimaced. She had actually gone through the two days' worth of newspapers piled in front of their apartment door when she and Randy had returned home, but there was no mention of anything. But the fact was that the apprehension of a hit-and-run driver of a non-descript Black man in Washington Heights might not make the paper, unless it was a slow news day. “But, you being a PR guy and having all kinds of sources in the media, you haven't been able to find out anything?”

“Can't say that I've tried. Why are you so interested, anyway?”

“I'm not really. Simply wondering, that's all.”
Now what do I do?
“Listen, I gotta go. I'll give you a call later.”

Normally, Cheryl was a bubble-bath person, but she was too worried to even think about relaxing. All she could think about as the water from the shower cascaded over her body was whether Dwayne Ligon had been caught, and whether she was going to be arrested. She badly wanted to call him, but the many episodes of
Law & Order
she'd watched over the years cautioned her that to do so might give her away. They always found out who hired the contract killer by pulling his phone logs to find out what calls he received before and after the murder, and then traced the number.

The best thing to do, she decided as she dressed in a stylish blue pants suit, was to call him from a pay phone. And not one in her neighborhood. And to use gloves so that they couldn't pull fingerprints from the telephone or the coins.

Cheryl was heading out the door when she spied the gift-wrapped present that Randy had placed on the coffee table earlier; she'd forgotten all about it. Now her curiosity got the best of her. Besides, she could use a little pick-me-up. She sat down, placing her shoulder bag on the couch next to her, and eagerly tore open the wrapping.

She gasped when she saw it. A pink Prada Saffiano Lux tote! And she'd never seen one with metal studs and stones. She'd never seen one for less than $2,500, and this one had to be even more. Cheryl gently caressed the bag, then brought it to her face and inhaled the soft leather. She had bags, but none this beautiful, or this expensive. She dashed back into the bedroom and quickly changed her clothes, putting on an ivory dress with pink accents that perfectly matched her new acquisition. She topped it off with a wide-brimmed sun hat and a pair of Prada sunglasses and headed out the door; her mood greatly lightened, she was now sure of the success of her mission.

God, I love Randy,
she thought as she drove up Lexington Avenue. And not only because of all his gifts, all his money, and all the luxuries he provided her; and not even because he loved her more than any man she'd ever known. She loved him for him. He had his faults and weaknesses, of course, but he was basically a good man. He was loving, considerate, sincere, a damn good husband—at least until that damn Sexy showed up in their lives.

Spotting a pay phone near a very rare parking space a few feet away, Cheryl pulled over. She adjusted her sunglasses, slipped on her lightweight gloves, and grabbed her new bag and hopped out the car. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward the phone. She was about to insert the necessary coins when she noticed a woman window-shopping sporting the same Prada bag she had on her arm. Same color, and same unusual metal studs and stones. Cheryl smiled to herself. Maybe someone else was lucky enough to have as generous a husband as her. The smile, however, suddenly contorted into a furious scowl when the woman turned and faced her. It was Sexy.

Slamming down the telephone receiver so hard she almost broke it, she stomped toward her. Sexy didn't see her until she was only a few steps away. Instead of backing away or cowering, Sexy looked at her with a wicked smile and said: “Nice bag.”

Cheryl stopped in her tracks, speechless for perhaps the first time in her life. And as bad as she wanted to slap the girl, she was paralyzed. And she was uncertain as to why.

Sexy, for her part, seemed to be enjoying the situation. “Why, Cheryl, fancy seeing you in my new neighborhood. I was planning to give your friend, Stephen, a call to get a contact list for all the players' wives so I could invite them over for my housewarming. Wait until you see the apartment Randy rented for me. And the furniture is simply to die for. Are you available, say, next Sunday?”

Instead of answering, Cheryl smiled and reached into her now hated new tote bag, and pulled out her cell phone. “Hey, Randy, baby. How's it going?”

“Fine, babe, I'm on my way home to you now. Do you need me to pick something up for you?”

“No, sweetie, I'm out myself. In fact, would you believe I ran into Sexy? She wants to know if we're available next Sunday to attend a housewarming for the apartment you rented for her.”

There was a pause, then: “Cheryl, I was going to tell you—”

“No, I didn't tell her. Should I? Oh, okay.” Cheryl grinned and pulled the phone from her ear. “Sexy, Randy said to tell you that he's already called the landlord to find out how much he has to pay to break the lease, and he suggests that you start moving out by this weekend. I suppose there'll be no housewarming next weekend, huh?” Cheryl struggled hard to hide the grin that was battling to make itself known. Sexy's emotions, on the other hand, were evident on her face. She was furious.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Cheryl asked, holding the phone toward the girl.

“No, thanks, I'll be seeing him later this evening,” Sexy said, in a voice that she was obviously trying to keep steady.

“Oh, okay.” Cheryl brought the telephone back to her ear. “Randy, Sexy said she'll talk to you when she sees you this evening. Should I call and cancel the airline reservations we have for our Bahamas getaway?”

“Cheryl, I don't know what you're doing, but okay, handle this any way you want.” He paused, and then added, “But please don't be too mean. She doesn't deserve it.”

“Gotcha. Love you, babe. And don't worry, the bags are all packed so we can head to the airport as soon as you get home.” She slipped the telephone back in her bag. “He asked me to tell you that he filed for a restraining order against you—”

“What!” Sexy's mouth dropped open.

“And that you'll probably be served later this afternoon, or maybe tomorrow.” Cheryl looked at her watch. “Oh, look at the time. I still have to pick up a couple of bathing suits, so I've got to run.” She turned, and slowly sashayed her way back to her car, letting the tote bag lazily sway back and forth on her arm. Right before getting in the car, she turned and looked at Sexy, smiled, and twirled her fingers goodbye, in the same way Sexy had done to her too many times.

But once inside the car, Cheryl was anything but calm and relaxed.
He fucking rented her an apartment? On the Upper East Side, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in New York. And he actually bought both of us the same exact bag? What is that? Some kind of male ego thing, branding his women? I hate him!
She started the car and pulled off, tears in her eyes.
Damn, I wish I didn't love him so much.

Abandoning her plan to call Ligon, Cheryl got on the FDR Drive heading north, not caring where she'd end up. After twenty-five minutes she realized she was almost at the George Washington Bridge. Maybe a ride through New Jersey would help clear her mind. She was debating whether to go over the bridge or not, when her cell phone rang. She looked down at the screen. Ligon!

*  *  *

“So let me get this straight,” Cheryl said, shaking her head in disbelief. “You mean you had nothing to do with his death?”

“Not a damn thing,” Ligon said while nonchalantly chewing a wooden toothpick. “Our contract was for a thorough roughing up—”

“But not too rough,” Cheryl hurriedly broke in.

Ligon smirked at her, before continuing: “Our contract was for a thorough roughing up, but nothing too drastic.”

“Right. And?”

Ligon shrugged. “And so he was gifted a broken leg, a broken wrist, and a broken nose, along with a warning that if he ever contacted you, he'd be in for much worse. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“So you did not run him down with a car?”

A look of annoyance crossed Ligon's face, but his voice remained cool. “No, like I said before, I didn't have a damn thing to do with it. It's a bad coincidence that it happened the same day.”

Cheryl leaned back in her chair and breathed a large sigh of relief. “Oh, God, you don't know how relieved I am, Ligon. You can't even imagine how it was tugging on my conscience and—”

“On your conscience, huh?” Ligon chuckled. “Sure you weren't afraid I was going to get caught and maybe rat you out?”

“Not at—” Cheryl paused and smiled. “Okay, I'm not going to lie. That was my primary concern. But I always kinda knew that even if you were caught, you'd never implicate me.”

“True.” Ligon winked, and gave one of his rare smiles. “I wouldn't have. But I understand you worrying, since there isn't any way for you to know that.”

Cheryl poured herself another cup of Ethiopian Fancy coffee after offering Ligon a cup, which he turned down. “Ligon, we've known each other for a few years now, and I've never had the nerve to ask before, but how did you, well, get started in your, uh, business?”

Ligon shrugged. “I was a Navy SEAL for five years, then a Marine for another four years, and so when I got out, it seemed like a natural fit.” He gave Cheryl a meaningful look and added: “And let's leave it at that.”

Cheryl nodded. “Well, so you know, I really appreciate you.”

“Nice to know.” Ligon stood up. “Okay, I've got to run. Nice seeing you again.”

“I
t took you forever to return my calls,” Sexy said anxiously when Randy finally called. “Are you really kicking me out of the apartment and getting a restraining order on me?”

“What? No!”

“I'm only repeating what Cheryl said.”

“Oh, yeah, about Cheryl . . .” Randy paused for a beat. “Like I told you before, she usually doesn't mind if I have an occasional fling, but she's not happy with what's been going on between the two of us. She wants it to stop.”

“What do you want?”

“I want whatever makes my wife happy. She already had a mental health crisis on account of me cheating with you, and I need to be the good husband that I vowed to be when I married her. She's been breaking her neck, tryna get pregnant, and the least I can do is be faithful.”

It was insulting that Randy had allowed Cheryl to come between them, but Sexy forced herself to stay calm. Choosing her words carefully, she spoke softly and with compassion. “I understand that your marriage is important to you, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it hurts me to the core to lose that special bond we had.”

“I know—I know. Please try to understand, I never meant to hurt you. But I feel like I done dug myself down into a deep hole and I'm scratching like crazy, tryna dig myself out.”

“We're in that hole together. I care about you, Randy, and I know you feel the same.”

“I do. I care a lot about you, but I love my wife, and I have to put her first. Cheryl said it's hard for a woman to get pregnant when she's under a whole lot of mental stress. I'm sorry, Sexy, but we have to break this off before it goes any further.”

She sniffled and whimpered pitifully. “Are you sure Cheryl is trying to get pregnant? It's unusual for a model to deliberately mess up her body like that. Models are so obsessed with their looks, they usually don't start having children until they're in their mid-to-late thirties, and Cheryl's . . . what? In her late twenties?”

“She's twenty-four,” Randy corrected.

Damn, she's got some mileage on her ass to be only twenty-four. That bitch looks like she's kicking thirty in the ass.
“All I'm saying is that it seems odd that she suddenly wants to have a baby.”

“It's not sudden. She stopped taking the pill months ago. She's giving up her modeling career and wants to commit herself to being a full-time wife and mother,” he said defensively.

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured suspiciously.

“You don't know Cheryl. All she's been talking about lately is how bad she wants to be the mother of my child.”

Randy was so naïve. It was a shame the way Cheryl had him duped. She gave a long sigh. “Well, there's nothing else I can say except I wish you both the best.”

“Thanks. Oh, by the way, you don't have to worry about me kicking you out of the apartment. The rent's paid up for six months, but after that, maybe you need to think about getting into that sports medicine school.”

“Yeah, you're right. I suppose it's time for both of us to move on with our lives.”

“That's what I like about you, Sexy,” Randy said, sounding relieved. “You're so sweet and understanding. Now, I don't want you to have to worry about money or anything like that, so later this evening, I'll drop off a credit card for you to use for your daily expenses. It's probably best if I don't come upstairs, so I'm gonna leave the card with the concierge.”

“I understand.” Holding the phone to her ear, Sexy paced from room to room, trying to figure out a way to con Randy into stopping by to see her later on. If only she could get him alone with her, she'd make him forget that his lying-ass, phony wife even existed.

Running out of options, she had no choice but to resort to tears. “I can't believe I'm never going to be with you again,” she blurted, sniffling and sobbing. “I realize it's for the best, but I miss you already.” If Randy had been there in person, she would have flung herself into his arms and clung to him.

“Sexy?” he said in a whispery, gentle tone.

“Yes?” Certain that he'd had a change of heart, a smile spread across her face.