Authors: Niobia Bryant
Mistress, Inc. (13 page)
“Hi, I’m Dina. I live in Richmond Hills with ... I ... we’re neighbors ... and ... well, I,” the woman stumbled, looking very stylish in the wide-leg slacks she wore with patent-leather flats and a silk fitted tank.
“How can I help you?” Jessa stressed with just a tinge of irritation in her voice. The woman was stumbling like a village idiot.
“Can I come in?” she asked. “I brought you some homemade blueberry crumb muffins.”
Jessa stepped back and waved her in before closing the door and leading the woman to the kitchen. “I’ll be honest with you, I’m not really sure what you could want from me,” she said.
Dina sat the bowl on the island before she reached out and pulled one of the magazines to her. “You’re very pretty,” she said.
“Thank you,” Jessa said, still wary.
Dina looked up at her and there was sadness in her eyes. “I ... uh, know this sounds crazy, but I figured who do I know that would know better than you about this type of thing.”
Jessa said nothing else as she raised her cup and sipped her tea, watching the woman silently over the rim.
“How does a wife know when their husband is ... is ... seeing someone else?” she asked, looking as if she had to push the words out of herself with force.
Oh shit. Well, I’ll be damned.
Jessa’s hands tightened on the cup and she sat it down to keep from snapping the delicate handle.
Jessa’s hands tightened on the cup and she sat it down to keep from snapping the delicate handle.
“I really love my husband and I want to trust him, but things are so different, so forced with us lately. He travels more and stays out later. He hardly talks to me when he’s home, and even then it’s more arguing than anything. He’s so secretive about his phone calls,” she said in a rush. “And if he is cheating, I want to know. I want to move on with my life. I want to kick his doggish ass to the curb.”
Jessa sighed and cut her eyes upward. She remembered thinking if the woman asked she would tell her, and here she was.
“I wanted to know if I offered you a fee, money, could you—”
Jessa’s mouth turned downward and perfectly arched brows met in the middle.
Dina held up her hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just—You’re so pretty and I could tell he thinks so because I caught him looking at one of your magazine articles when he was in the bathroom.”
That fucking perv!
Jessa could just picture what his freaky ass was doing in that bathroom. He was a jerk off who jacked off.
Jessa could just picture what his freaky ass was doing in that bathroom. He was a jerk off who jacked off.
Jessa walked over to her fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine. She set it and a crystal goblet in front of Dina. “Sit down, sweetie,” she said, then paused at how much she sounded like Keegan. Jessa poured a full glass of white wine before coming back around the island to pick up her cell phone.
“Aren’t you pregnant?” Dina asked.
“It’s not for me.”
Dina’s eyes dropped down to the phone before she picked up the wine goblet with both hands and took a deep swig.
Jessa pulled up the video of her husband begging for her “killer pussy” and then handed the woman the phone.
“I really wish you would let me take you out, ” Vincent said.
“And I wish you would understand that I am not interested in you and you’re harassing me,” Jessa replied.
“I can’t stop thinking about fucking you. ”
Dina gasped deeply in shock, using shaking hands to push her auburn hair behind her ears as her eyes widened.
“And if you don’t leave me the hell alone, you pervert, I will take out a restraining order and then everyone—including your wife—will know that you dream of fucking me, you perverted ass.”
“Who would believe you?”
A tear rolled down the woman’s cheek and onto the screen of Jessa’s cell phone. Jessa closed her eyes; unlike the early-morning shenanigans she exposed, she took no pleasure in the pain she saw on the woman’s face.
Dina took another deep sip of the wine. “So my husband was the one you were talking about during that interview ?” she asked.
Jessa nodded, “Yes.”
“I didn’t even consider him,” she admitted with a sappy grin.
“Do you feel better knowing?” Jessa asked.
“Yup,” Dina said with a nod.
“Are you okay?”
“Nope.”
Jessa didn’t know what to do. Hug her? Pour her more wine? Walk her to the door? She didn’t know this woman but knew the thing felt hella awkward. She watched the woman as she stood looking off into the distance and sipping on the wine.
Jessa dropped down onto one of the high chairs surrounding the island. Her cell phone rang and Jessa lifted up in the chair to reach for it.
Myra.
Jessa let the call go to voice mail and set the phone back down.
“Can you send me that video?” Dina asked, lifting the bottle to pour more wine into the goblet.
“Um, sure,” Jessa said, picking up the phone again.
Suddenly an image of Eric’s face contorted in crazy rage flashed before her.
Jessa side-eyed the woman. “I’m going to be honest with you, I believe your husband is crazy on the low. Maybe I should have stayed out of this. I really don’t need another psycho trying to kill me for ruining his marriage.”
Dina shook her head. “Vincent isn’t violent,” she assured her.
Jessa arched a brow. “Neither was Eric ... until the night he almost choked me to death.”
“Vincent isn’t like that,” Dina insisted.
“No one but a lunatic would say he wanted to try some of that pussy that was good enough to make a nigger want to kill me,” Jessa stressed.
Dina frowned. “He said that.”
Jessa nodded.
“Having that video doesn’t change the fact that I saw it,” Dina admitted, looking weak and sad and tired as she picked up her phone. “I’m going home to my baby and to pack my husband’s shit.”
Jessa followed her to the door.
“Thanks, Jessa,” Dina said, before walking away.
Jessa stood there for a minute and watched the woman make her way down the street and eventually around the corner.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Jessa said to Keegan as they walked down the lit hall of the subdivision’s glass clubhouse.
“And I can’t believe you wore red to a black and white ball,” Keegan drawled, giving Jessa’s strapless red silk dress the side-eye. The pregnancy had increased the size of her breasts and the strapless gown was barely doing its job. “If you cough hard you are going to have a Janet Jackson moment.”
Jessa shrugged, pulling her side-swept hair over one shoulder. “Just giving them what they expect from me,” she said.
“I’m glad I haven’t pissed you off,” Keegan joked, adjusting her own strapless dress of brilliant white over her breasts.
“Hello, Jessa Bell. I didn’t think you were coming,” Gladys Hornsby said, reaching over to politely air kiss Jessa’s cheeks.
“Really, the RSVP didn’t clue you in or my thousand dollar check that the committee deposited,” Jessa quipped with a tinge of sarcasm she didn’t try to hide.
“Enjoy,” Gladys said stiffly.
Jessa walked into the clubhouse and paused at the doorway as she looked around. She spotted Jaime in a short black sequined dress by the bar. Aria and Kingston were both dressed in white and seated at a table near the dance floor. Renee looked really pretty and striking in a black-and-white-striped strapless dress with a wide belt and long flowing skirt that circled around her legs as she danced with one of their neighbors.
Jessa wondered momentarily if Renee had slipped off the wagon.
She eyed the Graysons and the Regans on opposite sides of the room.
That’s for the best,
she thought, turning away from the drama she revealed.
That’s for the best,
she thought, turning away from the drama she revealed.
But she turned right into the faces of Dina and Vincent looking perfectly happy together in black. Vincent’s eyes were angry and Dina avoided looking at Jessa altogether.
They were sticking it out.
Jessa stepped out of the couple’s path and waved them in.
“Isn’t that the man from the video you showed me?” Keegan whispered to her.
Jessa turned and looked again at all of the people whose lives she affected. It was a graveyard of lives shattered by Jessa Bell.
“I can’t do this,” Jessa said. “I thought I could get a good chuckle looking at how uncomfortable I made these people, but it is just a reminder of things I want to forget.”
Keegan stopped a waiter and took two glasses of champagne. She downed both of them. “Then we are outta here, darling,” she said with a wink.
With one last look over her shoulder and finding several sets of eyes on her, Jessa turned and left the party.
Jaime Pine-Hall
I
can’t believe the gall of that bitch.
can’t believe the gall of that bitch.
As I sipped on my glass of Veuve Clicquot, I eyed that bitch’s back as she left the party with Keegan Connor, the current go-to interior designer. I had plans in the works to put my own bachelor’s degree in interior design to good use and change that.
But my focus wasn’t on breaking out of the mold of being Eric’s perfect Stepford wife. Not when I wanted to break Jessa’s neck.
Finish the job Eric couldn’t man up to get done.
First, she sleeps with my husband behind my back. Taunts me and the girls about it in a text message. Tells Eric about my secret bank account, after I made the choice to leave, which the bastard closed, leaving me penniless. Then she bum-rushes the funeral. Goes on the Slut American TV tour. Announces she’s pregnant by my sadistic husband. Sues me to contest the will.
My grip on the stem of the flute nearly snapped it in half.
Thankfully her press hadn’t increased my profile. And anytime someone did try to approach me for a comment or rebuttal, I sicced my attorney on their ass. Soon all the calls stopped and the limelight was left for Jessa’s pathetic ass.
I caught Aria and Kingston’s eyes on me. I fixed my face with a smile and raised my glass in a toast to them before I moved into the crowd.
For so long my life had been about control—or the lack of it. My mother controlled me with her opinions. My father controlled me with his money. My husband controlled me with his title. Pleasure controlled me with his dick.
To be honest, before Jessa sent that text, I didn’t know if I was coming or going. I had no clue who the fuck I really was. Everything was about the perfect image and the perfect life. Humph, the perfect lie.
The whole time my husband punished me for my affair with cruel sex and cold treatment behind closed doors, I smiled and pretended that our shit didn’t stink and everyone else in the world should want to be us.
I had already made the choice not to be anyone’s puppet anymore, and Eric’s death and subsequent will made sure that I wouldn’t have to buckle to anyone’s will for survival anymore. I was already in talks with a small coalition of his former employees who wanted to pool their funds and purchase his architectural firm. The man I once loved and respected I had grown to hate. His money hadn’t changed that fact.
I just thank God his obsession with Jessa Bell had made the usually meticulous man take his eyes off the prize—his will. First when he caught me cheating and then when I served him divorce papers, I assumed he would’ve made sure my name was stricken off of everything. The only reasoning I could make of it was his need to always present the façade of a happy marriage. Divorce was the last thing the he or his Catholic religion dictated and maybe that played a role as well in his decision not to change his will. I could only guess. The only thing that I knew for sure was that he, his parents, and the church got their wish. Only death did us part.
Good riddance, motherfucker.
Several swats with a riding crop and a man—
your husband
—calling you his whore as he forced you to gag on his dick had a way of hardening a woman’s heart.
your husband
—calling you his whore as he forced you to gag on his dick had a way of hardening a woman’s heart.
I wandered outside on the patio and watched my neighbors dancing on the Plexiglas-covered pool with lighting that made them all look as if they floated on water. I played in the new shorter lengths of my wavy weave-free hair as I watched the many couples sharing touches and looks that seemed to be the setup for a night of hot sex once they got home.
It just reminded me that I hadn’t enjoyed the comforts of a hard dick since my last day at the townhouse I rented when I left my husband. That was my last go ’round with the infamous—and far too popular—Pleasure. It had felt good to fuck him, nut, and then leave his dick wet and hard and wanting more.
Fuck him.
That male trick picked an older woman to fuck over me one night because she had cash. Oh, I missed the dick and the mind games, but that Negro was a no-go. Knowing he screwed or ate or did whatever to Jessa’s community pussy just sealed the deal that Pleasure would NEVER see, touch, sniff, lick, or fuck my pussy again.
Still, he created a need in me that was making me run through batteries for my vibrator. And sometimes the rabbit just couldn’t get the job done. Not when you wanted the heat of a body on yours, the strength of a man’s arms around you, the pulse of dick inside you, the thrill of his tongue on your nipples as he stroked away.
A vibrator made me cum, but a man made me feel alive.
Still, a hired dick could still be useful—especially when a grieving widow didn’t want to piss off the parents of her deceased husband by flaunting a new man around town when their son’s grave was still fresh.
I gulped down the last of my champagne and walked out to my brand-new silver convertible Bentley to retrieve my cell phone. I hit “6” on my speed dial and a picture of Pleasure’s dick filled the screen. The “6” was for sex.
It rang four times and went to voice mail.
I cleared my throat and waited. Moments later, my phone rang in my hand and the picture of his dick filled the screen again. “Busy?” I asked, watching many of my neighbors just arriving to the event. I could have walked to the clubhouse, but I wanted my flashy new car on display.
“Not really. Whassup?”
Even though the sound of his voice was pure sex to me, I said, “I wonder if you would do me a favor.”
He chuckled. “What’s that?”
“I wondered if you could pass on the contact info for one your coworkers who delivers like you or better than you or almost as good as you. ”
The line remained silent.
“Pleasure? You there?” I asked, taking my own pleasure that I completely caught that cocky, big-dick motherfucker off guard.
“You calling me to set you up with one of my boys?” he asked, his voice hard.
“Yes. Who do you think is worth the money more ... that light-skin dude King or the dark-skinned dude named Ecstasy?” I asked with innocence. “Do they sell dick on the side too?”
“Oh, so you really don’t want this dick no more?” he asked.
“No, definitely not. ”
“Fuck you, Jaime, find your own dick.”
Click
.
.
I laughed as I dropped my phone back on the driver’s seat and closed the driver’s door.
“Jaime?”
I turned in surprise to see Eric’s parents walking up to me. “I didn’t know you were coming to the ball,” I said, kissing both of their cheeks.
“It was a charity Eric supported every year and we wanted to donate ten thousand dollars in his memory,” Eric Sr. said. “It was supposed to be a surprise ... but now that you’re aware of our gift, I’m sure you’ll want to double the amount. ”
My back stiffened, but I smiled. His parents knew Eric and me had separated and were headed for divorce. Like my parents, they participated in a divorce intervention at the Terrace Room, hoping to see us reconcile.
The scandal surrounding Eric’s death and Jessa’s attempted murder by him had been embarrassing and shocking for people who—like most parents—saw their son as perfect. Like my parents, they were too refined and polite to speak of anything improper. It was all about the front.
“Of course, ” I agreed as we all walked into the clubhouse.
I fought the urge to tell them about Jessa’s pregnancy and the chance of a lawsuit, but I held back. It was all over the news locally and nationally, but they hadn’t asked me about it and I wanted proof the bitch was even pregnant before I raised their hopes of a grandchild by their deceased son.
“Nice car, ” his mother said.
“Eric ordered it before he passed,” I lied with ease. “I’m not sure I’m going to keep it.”
They said nothing more about it.
I just thanked God they didn’t follow the news or didn’t feel it warranted conversation. Either way, Jessa’s pregnancy—or any further talks on the car—was a discussion I didn’t want to have.
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