Authors: Niobia Bryant

Mistress No More (9 page)

BOOK: Mistress No More

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“Shit,” she swore, inhaling deeply and seeking an inner calm that was completely lost to her these days.

Jackson wanted her forgiveness and love.

Renee was empty of both.

“Ma, your phone is ringing.”

Renee turned as her son stood behind her and pushed her BlackBerry into her hand. “Thanks,” she said, frowning as she looked down at the flashing text message icon. Renee hated texts. She found them juvenile.

As a matter of fact the last text message she’d gotten was from . . .

“Jessa?” Renee said in a soft voice filled with her confusion and surprise as she read the text again . . . and again . . . and again.

“Why is she sending
me
this?” she asked aloud, her face troubled.

“Something wrong, Ma?” Aaron asked from behind her.

“No, nothing,” she lied, lifting her eyes to look at Jessa Bell’s empty home at the end of the cul-de-sac.

Was there a chance that Jackson had cheated with Jessa
and
fathered a child with another woman?

Renee felt her nerves react to just the idea of it. She felt as if her bowels were loose. This was more than she could handle.

Enough was fucking enough.

Renee turned and breezed past her tall and slender son. “Darren, I have to go run an errand real quick. Will you be okay here ’til I get back?” she asked, grabbing her keys and her purse from the end table even as her heart pounded loudly enough to sound like the pounding hoofs of a dozen horses.

Darren rose to his Gucci-covered feet. “No problem. Is everything okay?”

Renee nodded as she turned and sailed out of the house.

Racing to the car, getting in and cranking it, even the drive to Jackson’s town house was all a blur.

Jackson and Jessa? Was there a chance he was fucking Jessa, too? Was Jackson a sex addict or some weird shit? Just where all did that motherfucker have his dick?

“Like the fucking baby ain’t enough shit on me,” Renee snapped, slamming on the brakes so hard her tires squealed against the streets outside Jackson’s house. She threw the Benz into PARK wishing her thoughts would stop racing.

Another woman is pregnant with
my
husband’s child. My husband fucked my friend. Another woman is pregnant with
my
husband’s child. My husband is a manwhore. Another woman is pregnant with
my
husband’s child. My husband ain’t shit. Anotherwomanispregnantwithmyhusbandschild. Jessa and Jackson? That crusty dick bastard.

Renee fought the urge to scream as she hopped out of the car and charged up the concrete walkway to the black front door. She made a fist and knocked on it like she was the police.

It was time to get all her questions out. The answers would hurt like hell, but the uncertainty was hurting worse. Way worse.

As the door swung open, Renee felt her mouth water for a drink. She fought it off, but it kept nudging her, poking at her, calling her name. Renee licked the beads of sweat from her upper lip as she looked up at Jackson’s square handsome face shaped with surprise . . . and some other emotion she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Hey, Renee,” he said, stepping down to pull the door behind him.

Renee studied the eyes of the man she had lived with for well over twenty years. Although she’d completely missed his affair, she knew him well. The look in the dark depths of his eyes was guilt.

Renee reached past his broad frame and opened the front door, pushing it open wide. He moved to shut the door and step in front of her. Using one of her son’s tackling moves, Renee crossed her arms and pushed Jackson square in his gut. He fell back against the door, pushing it open wide and sending him crashing to the floor with an “umph.”

Renee stepped right over his dazed and amazed ass, but it was her turn to be shocked as she locked her eyes on the white woman sitting on the leather sofa of her husband’s living room. Her eyes missed nothing. Not one detail. The straight blond hair she flipped over her shoulder, the coldness of her blue eyes, or the pale whiteness of her hand as she stroked her belly.

“Renee,” Jackson said from behind her, touching her arm.

Renee slapped his hand away. Hard. “Are you the bitch pregnant from my husband?” she asked in a low voice.

“My name is Inga . . . not bitch,” the blonde said with a slight accent.

Renee laughed bitterly as she raced across the room quick as shit. “No, bitch, your name is mud,” she said, reaching out to connect her palm with the other woman’s face.

WHAP-BAP-DAP.

She landed three good slaps before she felt Jackson’s strong arm around her waist. As the woman gasped and pressed her own hand to her reddened cheeks, Renee turned in Jackson’s embrace and began delivering blow after blow to his head and shoulders.

“You no-good bastard.

“You slick son of a bitch.

“You sellout.

“You fucking coon.

“Get off me!

“Let me go.”

“Jackson, she is acting like an animal!” Inga screeched.

Renee saw all shades of red. All of them. She bit down on Jackson’s shoulder.

“Ow! Damn, Renee,” he hollered.

Renee jumped down to her feet and raced at the blonde bitch. The woman’s blue eyes got big before she turned and ran. Renee reached out for a handful of blond hair and tugged hard with her fist, feeling a clump of the strands break free of her scalp.

“Help me. Please help me,” Inga screamed.

“Shut up,” Renee snapped, tugging some more on her hair.

Jackson recovered and grabbed Renee’s wrists. “Let me go, Jackson,” she warned.

“She’s pregnant, Renee,” he stressed, tightening his grip on her wrists.

She looked up at him with eyes filled with the anger and—in that moment—hatred that burned deep inside her chest. “Who gives a fuck?” she said coldly, her chest heaving like she’d just run a marathon.

“Oh my God, she pulled out my hair,” Inga wailed from behind them.

“So you’re begging for me to forgive you and you’re still fucking this trash?” Renee jerked her head toward the other woman.

“Trash!” Inga snapped with indignation.

“Be quiet, Inga!” Jackson snapped. He focused his eyes back on Renee. “I didn’t ask her over here, Renee. It’s over—it’s been over—between us.”

Renee hated the tears and sadness that threatened to overwhelm her. “This is your drama. Your mess. Your life. I’m done. I. AM. DONE.”

“I messed up, but I love—”

Renee shook her head. “Save your lies for someone else. Barbie can have you. Now
release
me.”

Jackson hesitated. “Renee, don’t—”

“Now!”

He unwrapped his hands from around her wrists.

Renee turned and jumped at Inga. She smiled coldly when the woman jumped back. Taking little joy in that, she turned and walked to the door. Hand on knob, she looked over her shoulder at him. “An affair I could have forgiven because our twenty years is so much more than some sexual slip-up . . . some worthless fuck . . . some worthless woman,” she told him, looking at the man and hating that she felt like she didn’t know him at all. Like the last twenty years—their marriage, their life—had all been some dream.

Renee pointed to Inga. “That I can forgive.”

Renee pointed to Inga’s belly. “That
bastard
I cannot.”

She left the house, closing the door behind her and thanking God that he let her be. Every step away from his door felt like one heavy weight after another was placed on her shoulders. She felt like breaking down, crying, having a fit, but she refused to let him or his bitch see her fall.

Renee barely made it inside her vehicle before her body trembled and the tears fell.

Should it matter that her husband’s mistress was a white woman? Did it matter?

Renee reached into her purse for her flask and took a deep swallow of the gin and cranberry juice inside. She felt hopeless. Images of her husband’s beautiful brown ass clutching and releasing as he stroked between Inga’s pale thighs taunted her. She took another sip, licking her lips at the familiar warmth of the liquor as she swallowed it down.

She picked up her cell phone atop her purse. The text message from Jessa was still open.

Importance: High
To: 19735558932
From: 19735550666
Subject: Let’s talk . . . ASAP

I’m woman enough to admit I was
wrong. Your man is not the man for me.
Not at all. Want the truth? Meet me at
the Terrace Room at noon.

Renee honestly didn’t know if she could take much more truth.

She texted Jessa back quickly.

FUCK A MEETING. JUST TELL ME
NOW.

She hit
SEND
and then dialed Jackson’s phone number.

“Tell her to get the hell out,” she told him as soon as he picked up. “That’s your house and your mess, Jackson, but you’re still
my
husband and I’m not leaving here with another bitch in your house. Now either she comes out or I’m coming the fuck back in.”

Renee ended the call and carelessly tossed the BlackBerry onto the butter-soft leather of the backseat. Her show of bravado ended.

The door opened and Inga walked out, being sure to rub her belly as she passed Renee’s vehicle to climb into some nondescript royal blue four door. Renee watched her in the rearview mirror until she pulled off and drove away. She had to fight the urge to ram her car into the rear of her.

She jumped, turning to the passenger window to see Jackson leaning down to peer in. Renee pushed the flask down in between the door and the car seat. She lowered the window an inch as she eyed her husband through the clear glass. “A white woman? How fucking cliché, Jackson,” she drawled. “If I were you,
mandingo
, I would give me fifty feet. Seriously.”

She pulled off, not giving a damn if she ran over his feet as she sped away. But she made it no farther than the corner before she pulled over and let her tears rise and her head fall to the steering wheel.

Chapter 5

A
s soon as Aria finished up her interview, she hopped into her Range Rover and headed to the Terrace Room. The joy and excitement she’d had about her exclusive interview with a pop icon was squelched by the Jessa Bell bullshit. She’d gotten all the questions out. She’d even thought of a few more as they talked in the living room of her penthouse suite at The Plaza. But the whole time her mind was on Jessa Bell.

Was this another game?

Would she even show?

Did Renee and Jaime get the message, too?

Was she going to find out that her husband was having an affair?

Aria had made it from New York to New Jersey in record time. As soon as she pulled up to the valet station of the Terrace Room, a château-styled home of the 1930s that had been converted into a restaurant, Aria grabbed her cell phone and purse before she hopped out.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Livewell,” Andre, the valet, said politely before climbing into the seat of her Range Rover.

Aria gave him a polite smile, nothing like her usual chatty and friendly demeanor. Coming from Newark and having plenty of family work in the service industry, Aria never looked down her nose at those most of her Richmond Hills neighbors considered “help.”

She didn’t give a damn how many celebrities she interviewed, how many million-dollar homes she lived in, there was no sign of bougie in her.

Aria started to call Kingston, but she decided against it.
No, I’ll let this shit play out first,
she thought, pulling her bronze leather Fendi tote up on her shoulder.

What if Jessa is laying up with Kingston and playing me for the fool sitting at the restaurant?

As she walked across the drive to the brick steps of the restaurant, Aria pulled up the text and dialed the number Jessa used to send it. She had tried it twice before and it was never answered.

“Hello, Aria.”

Her steps froze at the sound of Jessa’s husky voice.

“Where are you?” Aria asked coldly.

“Nice dress. White always looked great on you. Come on in.”

Click.

Aria’s heart hammered as her cinnamon eyes shifted over the windows of the restaurant, looking for a sign of her. Clutching her cell phone, Aria slid her shades down from the top of her head to cover her eyes. Jessa didn’t need to know shit about what she was feeling or thinking.

“Welcome back to the Terrace Room, Mrs. Livewell,” Kilpatrick, the maître d’, greeted her with a slight bow of his balding head.

“Thank you, Mr. Kilpatrick,” she said absentmindedly as she looked past his shoulder into the restaurant.
Where is that bitch?

“Right this way, ma’am. Ms. Bell is awaiting you.”

Aria stiffened her spine as she followed him through the elegant restaurant with its French country decor. She eyed the very same table Renee, Jaime, and she had sat at when they’d first received Jessa’s text. Aria came to a stop next to the empty table. “Mr. Kilpatrick,” she called out softly.

He turned. “I’ll be sitting here. Please ask Ms. Bell and the rest of her party to join me here,” she said.
Might as well end this bullshit in the same spot where it all began for Renee, Jaime, and me.

Kilpatrick moved his tall and slender figure to pull out one of the parson chairs for her. “I’ll be right back with Ms. Bell,” he said, after she was seated.

Aria didn’t like that her back was to a portion of the restaurant so she shifted over to the next seat, putting her back to the beautiful wood paned windows directly overlooking the gardens surrounding the restaurant.

And when Kilpatrick emerged from the rear of the restaurant and Aria laid eyes on Jessa Bell walking behind him, it took everything Aria had to remain seated. From behind her shades, she missed not one detail about the scandalous bitch. The full waves of her shoulder-length ebony hair. The bright redness of her matte lipstick against the creamy mocha complexion of her skin. The tailored black dress she wore like a second skin on her curves. The arrogant tilt of her head and the sultry nature of her walk.

Aria had never wanted to slap the taste out of someone’s mouth so badly. Taking a deep breath, she licked her glossy lips and pushed her chair back a bit to cross her legs.

As Kilpatrick held Jessa’s chair, Aria promised herself that there was no way on God’s green earth that she was letting Jessa Bell leave without getting some answers.

Enough was enough.

“That will be all,” Jessa ordered him, setting her clutch on the table beside her silverware.

“Thank you,
Mister
Kilpatrick,” Aria said with emphasis, taking her eyes away from Jessa Bell long enough to smile up at him.

“How have you been, Aria?” Jessa asked, removing her own shades to expose her eyes.

“Don’t play any more games with me, Jessa. We go a long way back and you know I ain’t never in the mood for bullshit,” Aria told her in a low voice that was brimming with anger. She sat up on the edge of her chair, removing her shades to lock her eyes with Jessa’s. “Are you fucking my husband?”

Jessa’s eyes shifted to the left and to the right like she was concerned someone had overhead Aria. “I thought doing this in a public place would erase the opportunity to be vulgar and loud, Aria.”

Aria jumped to her feet.

Jessa held up her hands. “Sit down, Aria,” she said calmly. “Kingston is not—was not—my lover.”

Aria absolutely hated the waves of relief she felt cascade over her body as she sat back down in her chair. “So who is it, then, Jessa?”

Jessa shifted her eyes to the entrance of the restaurant. “I really wanted all of you here, but Renee didn’t want to meet and Jaime never answered me,” she said, sounding disappointed.

“And I wish Mark could be here,” Aria spit out. “I’m sure he’d be so proud of his wife for fucking one of his friends.”

Pain flashed in Jessa’s eyes. “Mark would understand that I fell in love, plain and simple.”

Aria’s brows furrowed as she pierced Jessa with her eyes. “In love? In lust, must be. If you’re so in love then why didn’t your shit work out? Renee and Jaime are not with Jackson and Eric. So if he
loved
you, if he
chose
you, if he
couldn’t get enough
of you . . . then why the hell ain’t he
with you
.”

The look of surprise on Jessa’s face was hard to miss.

“Oh, you didn’t know that. Recognize when you’re nothing but a sideline ho, a bust-it baby, a hit-it-and-quit-it bitch, a nut buster.”

Jessa’s face shaped with anger.

“I had no idea that you were . . . so childish, sneaky, manipulative, and cruel,” Aria continued. “Did you have any idea the effect that stupid motherfuckin’ message of yours had on all of our lives or didn’t you give a shit?”

Jessa eyed Aria with defiance. “You all deserved it.”

“What?” Aria snapped.

Jessa smirked. “My friends. None of you trusted me anyway. Once Mark died the ladies in the neighborhood all began to clutch their husband’s arms a little tighter when I walked by or would innocently stroll up while I was simply having a conversation with their man. Everyone began to treat me like a whore on the prowl for a new pimp. Including the three of you.”

Aria waved her hand dismissively. “Bullshit.”

“Puh-leeze. I noticed little things you all did . . . just like every other scared and insecure housewife. Little comments, little side-eyes. Obvious questions that double-checked the who, what, when, where, and why of me being in one of the men’s company.” Jessa’s short laughter was filled with bitterness. “I never expected that bullshit from the three of you.”

Aria balled up her fist and brought it down on the table so hard that the silverware clanged. “So you prove that you’re to be trusted by sleeping with one of our husbands and then planning to run the fuck away from him?” Aria asked her bluntly. “Bitch, you are crazy out your ass.”

Jessa’s eyes flashed. “Crazy is lying to your husband about being able to have children, or almost having an affair with your gay assistant, or stealing money from the husband who busted his ass to give you everything—after you’re caught cheating.”

Aria thought of the hell she’d put Kingston through, accusing him, arguing with him, searching through his dirty clothes and his cell phone while he slept, following him or at least double-checking to make sure he was where he said he was. As if the guilt of keeping her infertility from him wasn’t enough, she damn near ruined her marriage because of this delusional bitch.

“I cannot believe you tryna be a big and bad bold bitch. I ought to slap the shit out your
cra-zy
ass.
Bitch
.”

Jessa smirked as she reached into her clutch and pulled out her cell phone. “I’m moving back to my home in Richmond Hills and I’d advise you all to get ready.”

Aria frowned as she watched Jessa typing away on the keypad of the black and silver BlackBerry as she spoke. “Are you serious?”

Jessa set the cell phone down on top of her clutch. “Very.”

“Still playing games, huh, Jessa?”

“Excuse me?”

“Which husband?” Aria asked, amazed that she could sit here so calmly.

“I already told you: not yours. Don’t worry, you still have Kingston’s nose wide open. I guess all those tricks you learned in your teens paid off.”

Aria bit back her words as the waiter sat two goblets of iced water on the table. Jessa waved her hand dismissively, sending him on his way.

Aria shifted her eyes to the BlackBerry. She reached across the table to snatch it up so quickly that she knocked over the glasses of water.

Jessa reached across the table and Aria roughly slapped her hand away. “Touch me or this phone again and I will lay your ass out . . . and you know I will,” she warned.

Aria scrolled through the recent calls. Her eyes widened at the sight of the cell phone number. She recognized it and it was in Jessa’s phone. Again and again and again.

She opened a text and her mouth fell open at the picture of a man’s dick. It was way more of her friend’s husband than she needed to see. Aria stood up and threw the BlackBerry like a fastball pitch. It struck Jessa square in the center of her forehead, sending her head flying back from the impact.

“Ow!” Jessa cried out, all sophisticated composure gone as she fell backward in the chair.

A collective gasp of shock came from everyone in the restaurant.

Aria stepped forward, but Kilpatrick quietly and calmly appeared to step in her path.

“Mrs. Livewell and Ms. Bell, our manager has asked me to escort both of you from the premises. You are more than welcome to return at another time . . .
separately
.”

Aria looked around and saw all eyes were on them. Kingston was well known in the community and a scene like this would embarrass him.
Especially if I drag that bitch around the restaurant.

She shifted her eyes back to Jessa as the woman clutched at the chair and struggled to climb up to her knees. Aria squatted down and leveled her eyes with Jessa’s. “You know, I really thought I would beat your ass wherever I caught you, but now I know you ain’t even worth it. You’re a miserable, lonely bitch who couldn’t stand to see her friends happy because your husband passed away.”

Aria rose up and reached to grab her pocketbook. “I apologize for the commotion, Mr. Kilpatrick,” she said, before turning to strut out of the restaurant with her head held high—like she didn’t just chunk Jessa in the head with a BlackBerry à la Naomi Campbell.

As soon as she stepped out of the door, she called Kingston’s cell phone. She wanted to—had to—apologize for the craziness she’d put him through. Her marriage was in therapy and her husband had threatened divorce because she’d believed Jessa over him.

His phone went straight to voice mail. She didn’t leave a message.

Besides groveling, she wanted his advice on breaking the news to a friend that her husband was the culprit. Taking to his voice mail wasn’t going to offer any suggestions.

Aria pressed a ten-dollar tip into the valet’s hand and climbed into her Rover. She was just pulling out when she saw Jessa step out of the restaurant clutching the arm of a busboy and looking around like she was worried Aria would jump out of the bushes and teardatassup.

“Punk bitch,” Aria muttered with anger.

She pulled out of the driveway and came to a red light. She had no time for Jessa . . . for now. She cleared her throat as she dialed her cell. It rang three times and went to voice mail.

“Hey, it’s Aria. Listen, um, give me a call back. I really need to talk to you about something.”

Aria released a heavy breath as she tossed the BlackBerry onto the seat and drove away.