Message from a Mistress (4 page)

“I’m worried about my marriage,” she admitted softly into the silence surrounding their table. She checked her BlackBerry for the umpteenthtime. Her job meant being accessible at all times. A day off—even the weekend—was never really a day off for her, it was just a day out of the office. She never knew when a possible promotional contact was going to return a call or initiate a call for a brilliant marketing idea.

Renee finally pulled her constantly vibrating BlackBerry from its case. “Go ahead, Darren,” she said, absentmindedly fingering her utensils.

“Found the files.”

“Yes! Where were they? No, you know what, it doesn’t even matter. Can you bring them to the Terrace Room on Fairmount Avenue?” she asked, licking her lips as she tapped her fingers against the tabletop.

“On my way,” Darren said without hesitation.

It was above and beyond the call of duty, and Renee appreciated her executive assistant all the more.

As she slid the device back inside the leather case snapped to her crisp Ralph Lauren black linen pants, she looked up and felt pitied at the look in her friends’ eyes. The truth was the truth, and if she couldn’t be honest with her friends, then who?

Renee had long since lost her mother to a massive heart attack. Her father now lived in Beverly Hills with his third wife, and their ties were invisible. She would never lay her marital problems on her children and, well, Jackson was a part of the problem. So who did that leave? Her friends.

“He gave me that ‘we need to talk’ bullshit before he left this morning,” she admitted, filling the silence amongst them.

Aria reached over, and squeezed her hand leaving the faint scent of her Armani Diamonds perfume. “Maybe it’s a talk to improve things. You always think the worst.”

Renee raked her manicured fingers through her curls. “And you always see the glass as half full.”

Jaime flung her weave over her left shoulder as she settled back in her chair to eye them. “We’ve been saying for years that you should encourage Jackson to go to counseling with you to deal with his issues.”

Renee ignored the BlackBerry vibrating against her hip…again. For the first time in a long time, her focus was on her marriage. “I love him,” she said fiercely. “I just don’t understand the whole Ward Cleaver shit he’s caught up on because I’m not June in the least. Well…not anymore.”

As soon as she said the words, her eyes shifted to Jaime. “No offense to you and Jessa, I just love working.”

Jaime just shrugged and waved her hand glibly. The diamonds of her numerous bracelets flashed. “None taken.”

Jaime was a diva and loved it.

“I need to use the restroom, ladies,” Renee said, already rising to her full five-foot-ten height.

She made a striking picture as she weaved her way through the tables to reach the privacy of the restroom. Her crisp white Calvin Klein tee gleamed against the deep cinnamon of her skin and emphasized the soft curve of her breasts. Her long strides were filled with confidence and were a testament to her weekly workout regimen in their state-of-the-art home gym. When exercise became the replacement for sex and happiness, a firm and fit body like hers
had
to develop.

Renee actually sent the call from her assistant to her voice mail as she opened the mahogany wooden door of the ladies’ room. It swung closed behind her and she barely took in the warm plaid and floral French country décor as she leaned her hip against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest.

Fuck it, she needed a moment. Facing the end of a marriage—
her
marriage—wasn’t easy…especially when both of her friends had the picture-perfect life she used to have.

Renee wanted her marriage.

She wanted her husband.

But she also wanted her career, and she couldn’t have both. Period.

She gripped the edge of the counter. Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed sharpened nails.

“I love you, Jackson.”

“We need to talk. We
have
to talk.”

She tilted her head up and looked at herself in the mirror just as one lone tear raced down her cheek. She closed her eyes and released a breath heavy with her frustrations and fears.

Jackson wouldn’t leave her. He’d better not.

She swiped away her tears and straightened her back while she studied her reflection in the mirror. The soft and curly tendrils of her inch-long hair fit her oval-shaped face, wide eyes, and full, pouty mouth. She’d never felt sexier…especially with her signature smoky eye make-up, extended lashes, and glossy lips.

Jackson didn’t speak to her for a week after she first cut her long “good” hair. He used to love to play in it as she laid her head on his chest after steamy sex. But once she went back to work, she caught all kinds of hell trying to manage it before she had to leave home early enough for her thirty-minute commute to New York.

It took one hell of a freaky fuckfest to get him past the haircut drama.

She smiled naughtily at her reflection even as her eyes burned. A blow job and some handcuffs helped him right on down the road to forgiveness.

Would that type of “screw me ’til I’m sore” sex fix their problems now?

Renee walked into one of the wooden bathroom stalls. She made sure to flush the commode and then carefully wrap the seat with tissue before she dropped her pants and took a seat.

Her BlackBerry vibrated and she took it from its case. She frowned at the text message icon.

She was a grown-ass woman with teenagers and several e-mail accounts who didn’t mess around with the text message trend. To hell with trying to keep up with all those abbreviations. LOL. KIT. BFF. How about LMTFAWT—leave me the fuck alone with text.

Renee opened the message with her elbows braced on her strong thighs.

“What the fuck?” Renee gasped. She continued to scroll down and read some more as her heart slammed against her chest.

Renee jumped to her feet and some of her pee ran down her thigh, wetting the waistband of her pants. Her stomach felt like someone had gut punched her. She clutched the BlackBerry with both hands as she read the message again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

“Oh…hell…no!” she shrieked, sounding more like Aria than herself.

She damn near dropped the BlackBerry into the commode as she snatched her pure silk panties and her pants up around her shapely hips. She barely registered that she didn’t wipe.

Jackson was cheating on her?

Couldn’t be.

Shouldn’t be.

“Motherfucker…it
better
not be.” She left the stall even as she dialed Jackson’s cell phone number. She knew it was a waste with the fishing boat deep in the middle of the sea, but she tried anyway.

“The cellular customer you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.”

She took a deep breath as she willed herself not to fall to the floor and cry like a baby. Somehow she found the strength to open the door and make her way back to her girls. Each step landed after the text message seemed to mock her.

Leading your husband straight to my arms
.

Boom.

I love him more than you
.

Boom.

I need him more.

Boom.

He’s my man.

Well, right now she needed her friends more than she needed Jackson. She nearly dropped onto her seat as she roughly pushed her BlackBerry toward them atop the table. It hit against one of their glasses with a
ding
.

“How about some bitch just text me that she’s running away with Jackson?” Renee snapped as she drummed her neatly manicured fingers on top of the wooden table.

We need to talk. We
have
to talk.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Aria said in disbelief as she twirled Renee’s phone to look down at the screen.

Renee looked from Aria to Jaime. The furrow between her waxed brows deepened as both women held up their cell phones with the same exact message displayed. “What?!”

“Oh, that’s not the cherry on top of the sundae yet, baby,” Jaime said with much attitude—definitely not normal for Ms. Suzie Sunshine. “Check your message again to see who it’s from. You’re not going to believe this mess.”

Renee swooped up the BlackBerry and worked her thumb on the trackball to scroll to the top of the message. She gasped as she felt an angry fire begin to boil in her stomach.

Jessa Bell.

T
he three friends could do nothing but look at each other, look at their phones, and look at each other again before looking away…at anything—
everything
but each other’s eyes.

Jaime smoothed her perfectly straight hair as she struggled to maintain her composure. She wished like hell she had been alone when she got the text. She would have had time to compose herself and not squeal out in fright like a mouse caught in a trap. Being caught off guard had caused her to gush to Aria. She had forgotten one of the main rules her mother taught her. Never…
never
let them see you sweat.

Stay in control.

Stay on top.

Stay above criticism.

All the right words and the right look on her face did nothing for the way her nerves were immediately shot to hell as soon as she read that damned text message.

Jessa Bell and Eric?

She
was his answer? His solution to their problems? His punishment? His payback?

Jaime slid her hand under the table as she gripped and released her hand into a fist atop her thigh.

Jessa Bell. Humph, more like Jezebel. Slut. Tramp. Whore. No-good sneaky, conniving, lonely wench. She was
supposed
to be their friend.

Jaime froze. How could she have forgotten? Had the years that drifted by caused her memory to lapse as well?

Originally Jessa Bell had been
Eric’s
friend. Not hers.

Eric had purchased his home in Richmond Hills several years before he married Jaime. His friendship with Jessa’s husband had led to him befriending the beauty. In fact, it was Eric who had first introduced Jaime and Jessa. And for years after that Jaime had sworn that something was going on between them.

Was she finally—and unfortunately—about to find out she was right all this time?

Okay, breathe, Jaime, breathe
. She tried but instead she just stuck the pure white tip of her thumbnail in her mouth as she imagined Eric, naked and sweaty, gliding his hard and dark dick inches in and out of Jessa—in their bed!

Jaime bit down so hard the acrylic on her nail split in two.

Okay, this wasn’t about sex. This was way bigger than an affair. This bitch said that Eric was leaving her. Now
that
made her feel like she was slowly sinking underwater. Panic was setting in.

She began to visualize all the nice things in her life disappearing.

Her car.

Her shopping sprees.

Her work-free life. Uggh!

Her image. Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus. Her image.

In that moment she would have gladly wrapped her smooth hands around Eric’s nuts and done an old-school Fat Joe and “lean back.”

“So who is this about?” Renee asked, reaching up to try to swirl one of her short curls around her fingers.

Jaime knew she wished for her longer hair because Renee always twirled her hair in times of stress. “What?” she asked, her mind on this looming shift in her status. She didn’t want to be the sexy divorcée on the prowl for her next husband…obviously like Jezebel—Jessa Bell. Whatthefuckever.

Renee scooped up all three cell phones. “We
all
got the message—”

“Yes!” Jaime exclaimed excitedly before she could contain herself as she clutched to hope like a crackhead holding on to his last hit.

Renee and Aria looked at her like she was crazy. Quiet as kept, she did feel a little bit of insanity nipping at the edges.
They don’t even understand
.

What would she tell her parents? Her sorors? Oh Lord, Pastor Reynolds. What would she say to them all…
if
it was her?

“Is Jessa messing with our heads or was this trick sleeping with all three?” Aria asked, angrily fanning away the waiter who was about to approach their table.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Renee muttered as she held her BlackBerry tight enough to snap it in half.

“Yes, but she can’t run away with all three.” Jaime loved her girls, but she had to be honest and admit that she wished like hell that her husband wasn’t the one. An affair she could forgive with ease, but leaving her?

That
was out of the question.

Renee’s eyes fell on the elderly couple walking into the Terrace Room together. They held hands like they’d just started dating when Renee didn’t doubt they’d been together for over fifty years.

She turned away from their happiness because her marriage wouldn’t make it to half of that.

“
We need to talk. We
have
to talk
.”

His words haunted and mocked her.

Jackson was leaving her for one of her best friends. She just knew it. Her emotions swung from pain and sadness to anger and frustration…and back again.

“It’s me and you both know it,” Renee admitted into the silence surrounding their table as she ignored her BlackBerry vibrating on top of the table in front of her. For the first time ever she felt like flinging it against the wall.

Jaime reached over and sympathetically squeezed her arm. “The writing
has
been on the wall….”

Aria reached over and slapped Jaime’s hand away. “We all got the message from the mistress, so we
all
are fair game, whether we like it or not.”

Renee’s first instinct had been to slap Jaime herself—right across the mouth. “Listen, I tried calling Jackson. No signal.”

“Same here,” Jaime said.

“Me too,” Aria joined in as she used her stylus to tap on her iPhone.

Renee arched a brow. “Who are you calling?”

“That bitch Jessa.”

Of course. Renee was so rattled by the whole situation, she didn’t know why she didn’t think of it herself.
Humph. Too busy feeling stupid. Betrayed. Broken down, busted, and disgusted
.

Little things came flying back to her in a rush.

Images. Memories. Clues that her ass missed because she was too busy to see the signs. Too busy trusting her husband and her friend.

Jessa and Jackson standing just a bit too close at a party.

Walking in the room just as Jessa was stepping away from Jackson.

Jessa smiling up at Jackson. Touching him innocently.

It was childish, but she hated how good their names sounded together like a mocking rhyme. Jessa and Jackson. Jackson and Jessa.

“It went to voice mail,” Aria said, setting her phone back on the table. “So we have to sit all day until our husbands get back from some damn fishing trip to find out whose husband this bitch stole? Fucking ri-di-cu-lous.”

Yes. Yes it was. Renee signaled for the waiter. “First. Please be on standby to call a taxi to drive me home because I don’t plan to crash my Benz, and then bring me a bottle of Gran Patrón—the brown one.”

“The Gran Patrón Burdeos Añejo,” Jaime offered with ease. The high-end tequila aged in oak with a fruity flavor was right up her alley. To Jaime, the finer things in life had to come with a hefty price tag.

The waiter’s eyes widened. “The entire bottle?” he asked.

Renee nodded. “And three shot glasses, salt, and lime.”

She just wanted the image of tall, shapely, and beautiful Jessa Bell to disappear from her head. All of it. The Beyoncé hair. The Halle face. The J.Lo body. The sexpot Mariah voice.

“That woman was a walking
Fuck Me
sign and we
all
ignored it,” Renee snapped, turning to see where the waiter was with her drink.

“Yes, but Jessa never gave us a hint she was this scandalous,” Jaime offered. “We
all
trusted her. Outside of screwing one
or all
of our husbands undercover, she was always a good friend.”

“No, she was always a good actress.” Aria picked up her phone and her fingers started to fly as she typed. “See, this is the kind of shit that makes a woman get in her car and then slowly and deliberately run back and forth over her husband’s body again and again…and again.”

Renee watched as Jaime opened her purse and reached in for her monogrammed Louis Vuitton cigarette case. She fingered it. Opened and closed it several times. Fingered it some more and then slid it back into her purse. Watching Jaime struggle not to relapse on her new anticigarette policy was very telling. Her nerves were shot to hell too.

“Good morning, ladies.”

Renee looked up at her assistant Darren standing by their table. “Morning, Darren,” she said, accepting the small stack of colorful folders he handed her.

“My, my, my,” Aria said. “Now I see why you work so damn hard, Boo-Boo.”

“O-
kay
,” Jaime added.

Renee looked at her friends and paused at the way they were looking up at Darren. She shook her head. Darren
was
an attractive man—not classically handsome at all, but his deeply chocolate complexion, six-foot-five, muscular build, strong angular features, and immaculate grooming would draw any woman’s eye…especially in the crisp white polo and white pants he wore.

“Thanks, Darren,” Renee said, her tone politely dismissing him.

Darren made eye contact with each woman. “Ladies, enjoy your lunch,” he said, his voice as deep as the color of his skin.

“Thank you,” they all said.

Renee rolled her eyes as Aria openly watched him walk away and then she caught Jaime sneaking a peek as well.

“Ladies, I think we have enough man drama going on. Don’t you?” Renee snapped as their waiter set the bottle and three shot glasses on the table. She snatched the bottle up and couldn’t care less that it was just noon.

Aria tucked her long bangs behind her ear. “Jessa and I had lunch a couple of weeks ago in the city and she was bragging about this new man in her life and how many times he makes her cum and all the beautiful gifts he gives her.”

Renee poured a hefty amount of Patrón in her glass. “Who knew the heifer was talking about
my
husband.”

Aria took the bottle from her and poured two more shots. “Or mine.”

Jaime accepted the glass Aria handed her. “Or mine,” she added softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“When you walk down the aisle and you say the vows and have the house and the kids, you never imagine that your marriage—your life the way that you know it—is going to end this way.” Renee looked down into the center of the liquid as she twirled her glass. “For that bitch to send a
text
message after all the years of friendship and trust we had with her. To play with somebody’s life like that. Who was this woman we called a friend?”

Renee didn’t fight the tear that raced from her eye and fell into the center of her Patrón.

“I knew her longer than both of you and she sent the message to me too.” Aria swallowed the shot in one gulp and then winced like she’d swallowed fire.

Jaime sipped on her drink as she reached in her purse for the cigarette case again. “Maybe she’s joking. Maybe she’s just playing with us. Jessa likes to play games and jokes and pranks.”

And that was true. Jessa loved to be the life of the party and the center of a joke. She liked to have fun and that’s what made people want to be around her. Was this stupid and childish text her idea of a stupid and childish joke?

Aria pushed the cork back inside the neck of the hand-blown glass bottle as she signaled the waiter again, and in moments he was at her elbow. “We’re ready for our car,” she told him, easing the entire bottle of liquor and their shot glasses inside her camel leather Tanner Krolle tote.

Renee looked up at her in surprise. “Where are we going?”

“Phone games are Jessa’s thing. It’s time we switch it up.” Aria rose to her feet and slid on her gold-rimmed aviator shades.

Jaime eased her own bag onto her shoulder and rose from her chair. “Meaning?” she asked.

Aria accepted the leather billfold with their bill and slid enough cash inside to cover it and a hefty tip. “I say we go to the bitch and get it all straight…face-to-face.”

Renee loved, loved, loved when Aria let that “don’t fuck with me” side of her come out. She snatched up her own designer tote and shades. “Let’s ride, ladies.”

The ladies didn’t understand that Aria felt the most betrayed of all. Jessa Bell was her friend long before her marriage to Kingston and the house in Richmond Hills. In fact, they’d bought the house in the subdivision at Jessa’s urging.

If Kingston was the culprit—and Aria had no qualms about thinking him not above the dirty deed—then when did the affair begin? Was that why he agreed to move to Richmond Hills? Was it a kick to him to have his wife and his mistress just houses away for his choosing?

Jessa was way badder than Lola because whatever Jessa wanted, Jessa got. Or better yet, whatever Aria wanted, Jessa got.

That was the gist of their friendship. Competition. One-upmanship. Bitch, I’m better than you and let me prove it. But she never thought Jessa would go that far. There’s a big difference between higher grades and prettier shoes compared to someone’s husband.

Was Kingston just one more item on the list of things Jessa can say she either stole from me or topped me on?

Her eyes shifted from looking outside the rear window of the cab to the back of the head of their driver. Malcolm.

Now that motherfucker was fine. Hella fine. Six feet, broad shoulders. Dreads pulled back with a leather tie. His white T-shirt strained to contain muscles—he could tear it to shreds with one huge breath. He was probably toting a dick big as a log.

Aria took another sip of her Patrón and felt it warm her belly almost as much as her need for revenge was warming up her punnany. An image of her naked and sweating and tugging Malcolm’s dreads back while she rode that motherfucker on a chair flashed hotly in her head.

It would serve Kingston right.

But then he was leaving, so why would he care?

She sighed.

“It’s me, y’all. If this shit ain’t a joke, then I know it’s me,” she said into her shot glass.

She felt Jaime’s sympathetic hand and her eyes darted to her friend. “Well, they
do
hang out a lot….”

It was Renee’s turn to slap Jaime’s desperate hand away.