The Rich Girls' Club (14 page)

I
t was the end of March and the week they’d all been waiting for had finally arrived. January was two and a half months behind them. Today marked another milestone in Morgan’s big plan and the start of their eight-month journey to Election Day in November.

Waiting in her car in front of Brooks’s home, Morgan thought about how men could fuck the same woman, talk about it like that idiot politician who didn’t realize his microphone was on, laugh at a female behind her back, sexually assault and degrade the woman to her face, and never let their encounters interfere with their careers. Business first. Bitches came last, if they were lucky enough to come at all, in the boardroom and in the bedroom. But some female dogs came all the time, namely the one getting into her car.

Brooks cheerfully said, “Good morning,” as she climbed into the passenger seat.

Morgan drove off.

She’d never tarnish Brooks’s image but she hated Brooks for lying to her. To Morgan, not telling the truth was the same as lying. This election was no longer about Brooks. Morgan had to prove to herself her plan would work and find a way to recoup the twenty million. Once the money was paid out, and the election was over, she would decide what to do next.

“You okay?” Brooks asked, staring at the iPad in her lap.

Sarcastically, Morgan replied, “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I asked because you’ve been unusually quiet since you picked me up.”

“Well, my unusual is becoming the norm. Get used to it.”

Storm’s name registered on Morgan’s car’s display and Morgan smiled, happy for the distraction. She perked up hoping that Storm wouldn’t sense the tension in her voice. She didn’t want her girl to worry.

“Hey, honey! We’re almost there. Are you there yet?”

“I’m in transit but I just had to pull over.” Storm’s voice trembled.

“What? You got pulled over?” Morgan said, focusing more on the road than on the conversation.

“No, she had to pull over,” Brooks said.

Was that Brooks’s way of trying to break their silence? It wasn’t happening.

Storm cried, “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for me to be there today.”

“I need for you to stop crying and tell me what’s happened. I’m behind the wheel. This is not the time for me to be emotional.” Morgan had enough non-political issues clouding her thoughts.

“It’s Randall. He called and threatened to kill me. If he sees me with Brooks he’ll figure out that we set him up and he might kill all of us.” Her sobs turned to sniffles.

“Honey, please. Is that all?” Morgan said with a laugh. “Have you ever heard of a politician killing anyone for blackmail? Now, if he was an athlete, I’d worry.”

Storm laughed.

“Good, girl,” Morgan said. “We’ll meet you there in a few. Bye.”

Morgan didn’t take Randall Wallace’s threat to kill Storm lightly but she didn’t want Storm to fear what would probably never happen. She’d have a private security person follow Randall. If Randy made a single attempt to harm Storm, he’d suffer a few more hiccups and he might end up missing.

Parking the car, Morgan walked side by side with Brooks. They represented the ethnicities of the majority of the female voting population in California. Comforting as that was, each step beside her so-called confidant was painful.

Being hurt and being afraid were two different things. Morgan didn’t fear anything, not losing her husband or her best friend. But both of them had wounded her like she’d never been injured before.

The sensation of having someone stab her in the back with a knife, leave the blade there, and watch her slowly bleed to death was how she felt as she stood at the podium beside Brooks with camera crews from each major station zooming in on them.

Two powerful, attractive women, one black, one white, stood side-by-side for a common cause. Makeup flawless, dark power suits impeccable. Morgan in pants. Brooks in a skirt. Morgan took two steps back. It was Brooks’s time to shine but her time would come soon.

Morgan had schooled Brooks to never publicly say anything secretive even when she thought the microphones were off. That was how Jesse Jackson had politically slit his own throat.

Smile when appropriate but not too much. She didn’t want Brooks to appear phony to others. Compliment often but not so much that she’d appear an ass kisser. Use real people and businesses for examples when etching a point into the minds of voters.

Brooks would now have to tour California and Morgan, like today, would be right by her side. Everything was temporary and eventually her heart would stop aching. She hoped. If not, after Brooks won—and she would win—their friendship would transition into a business relationship. Despite the downturn in their personal affairs, Morgan was confident that a woman could run the state better than any man that had preceded Brooks.

“Today, I am announcing that I, Brooks Kennedy, am entering the race for governor of the state of California. I know many of you are wondering what qualifies me to represent this gorgeous state. Don’t judge me prematurely. I encourage you to not only listen carefully to my campaign commercials but please watch my debates against my opponents. Thank you.”

Job well done. Saying less was more when it came to politics. Brooks’s announcement was short and direct, the way Hope had written it. Morgan smiled on the inside as she stood behind Brooks and looked out into the audience at Hope and Storm. Brooks not showing her hand too soon was key to the girls not having to expose all of the other candidates.

“Ms. Kennedy,” one reporter began, “how do you plan to eradicate the huge deficit in the state of California’s budget and keep cities from going bankrupt?”

“Wendy Campbell, your question is one every citizen of this great state is awaiting a response to. Not only do I have the answers but I also have viable solutions. Be in the audience for my debates…next.”

Brooks pointed to the slim white gentleman in the back with his hand raised high. “Yes. Thomas Wiley, what’s your question?”

Damn, Brooks really had been studying. Morgan’s heart stopped bleeding for a moment. Brooks had taken the time to learn not only the first but also the last names of all the news reporters. Thomas was new and the station he worked for, a Public Broadcasting Station, was struggling to stay on-air.

“Ms. Kennedy, the lottery was supposed to help fund education in the state of California. Why are our public schools severely underfunded. Students are not receiving the textbooks that are being stored in warehouses, the student-to-teacher ratio is forty-to-one. Why aren’t we hiring more teachers? Why are the schools cutting sports programs? What will you do to make sure the children of California have a competitive chance in the global economy?”

Thomas was new. No reporter asked four questions at one time.

“Great questions. I do believe the children are our future.”

Oh, no. Morgan prayed Brooks wouldn’t break out into a song the way Chris Tucker had done in
Rush Hour
when he’d recited the lyrics to Barry White’s
My First My Last My Everything
.

“There is a solution to this ongoing problem and when I’m elected education will be one of my top priorities…next.” Brooks pointed at the Asian reporter up front.

Each answer was the same. Firm yet indirect.

“I thank each of you for your support. Please tune into my debates. Remember: no matter how difficult the journey, Californians navigate with faith.”

Brooks had done an excellent job. If Morgan weren’t married to Magnum and pissed off with them both, she’d have her best friend back.

The ride to Brooks’s took forty minutes because of all the traffic. Morgan parked in the driveway.

“You want to come in for a celebration toast?” Brooks asked.

“Congratulations. Your announcement was excellent but it’s best I go home. Magnum and I are having a few marital concerns.” Staring into Brooks’s eyes, Morgan continued, “I think he’s cheating on me.”

Brooks went silent. Her gaze shifted toward the passenger door before returning to Morgan’s. “Well, if you confront him, ask. The worst thing a person can do is accuse someone of something they have no proof of. Besides, your relationship with your husband is strong. Don’t let anyone come between that.”

Did that include her? Why wouldn’t Brooks admit the truth?

“Thanks. And you know what they say, ‘What’s done in the dark will always come to light.’ I love Magnum but if I find out he’s having an affair, I’ll kill both of them.”

“If you go looking for something, you’re sure to find it. Let it go. Channel your energy elsewhere. Why don’t you focus on getting us that investment report for the next meeting?” Brooks asked, closing the car door.

Morgan wanted to run Brooks’s lying ass over, but prison was not where she wanted to spend the next twenty years of her life.

M
ilestones were accomplished once the announcement of her entering the race had been made. Her friendship with Morgan wasn’t going as well. Her heart pleaded with her head to tell her friend she’d been sexing her husband regularly but the timing was off. She’d done the best thing by ending their conversation and getting out of Morgan’s car.

How much longer am I going to have to look her in those beautiful jade eyes and lie?

Brooks removed her clothes then sprawled across the bed. Now that Magnum and Goodman both knew she was in the running, Brooks had to get used to masturbating again. She got out of bed, opened her vibrating rabbit. For the first time in years she’d have to fuck herself. Vibrators felt better when Morgan or Magnum used them on her.

Crawling back into bed, she powered on her television for background noise. Bailey Goodman was ahead in the most recent polls. None of the opponents, including Brooks, ranked close to his percentages. But in less than a day analysts projected she’d rank ahead of Laura in the next poll.

Great. We’re the only two women running and we’re competing for last place.

Commentary aired from an anchorman. “Does Brooks Kennedy have what it takes to decrease unemployment and pull California out of the recession, or is she just hopeful that her last name will beat Goodman’s? Will she keep billion-dollar contracts for building bridges from going to companies in China? Is California ready for a female governor? Soon the voters will have to decide. …”

“What in the world? I just entered the race, people!” Brooks powered on her cordless companion.

She decreased the volume; the comments weren’t worth her divided attention. Storm had reassured her, “Just like with my award-winning thoroughbreds, when your momentum kicks in, the others will eat your dust, honey, and the Rich Girls will control this state.”

Lubrication wasn’t necessary. As soon as the head pulsated against her clit, Brooks’s secretions saturated the vibrator enough to slide an inch inside of her. Motioning in and out, she kept maneuvering until it was all the way in.

Thanks to Morgan’s courageous effort, Storm was back to being her usual self. Morgan had hired an anonymous person to accost Randall Wallace. The guy was six feet eleven inches and weighed three hundred-thirty pounds. His only job was to tell Randy, “If you or anyone affiliated with you contacts Storm Dangerfield by phone, mail, text, e-mail, or in person,—show up at her house, follow her, harm or threaten her—you’ll have to deal with me. The choice is yours.”

The rotating pearls massaged her G-spot while the rabbit ears stimulated her inner lips, shaft, and clitoris.

“Oh, my, god,” she said, replaying the moments when Bailey had played with her pussy while she was in the tub. “Yes,” Brooks moaned, thinking about the last time she’d felt Magnum’s dick inside her. “Ahh,” she called out to an empty home, wondering how long she’d have to rely upon past memories to aid in her orgasms.

As she came hard her upper body rose from the bed, tensed, then collapsed onto the mattress.
I’ve got to find a man to do this for me even if fucking me is all he does.

But who would discretely replace her lovers now that she’d become a public figure? The orgasm didn’t linger beyond the five minutes it took her to get out of bed. She showered, put on a robe.

Brooks sat in her office reading a few more documents. Her potential placement was a testament to the male-dominated politics surrounding the governor’s seat. The only experienced woman that had run against Goodman in the last election had invested millions of her own dollars but she’d lost before she ever even announced her candidacy. Not many people had liked her or her politics, and truth be told she was a horrible liar and that made her even more unattractive. Her hair stylist had tried to pretty her up by smearing on lipstick and highlighting her hair but there was nothing they could do about her bald-faced lies. When her skeletons had been revealed, she looked hard, mean, like she was lying before she parted her polished lips. Someone should’ve told her to invest, instead of waste, her millions elsewhere and stay out of the race. Brooks prayed that she wouldn’t suffer the same fate.

There were months to go and a lot more work to be done before the pendulum would swing in Brooks’s direction. Even with the videotapes in her favor, she had so many skeletons of her own that there was no room for comfort.

Unable to concentrate, Brooks closed her office door, went to the bathroom, and filled the spa tub with hot water. Since the incident on the deck with Magnum, Brooks hadn’t felt safe being in the Jacuzzi outdoors.

The water was so hot she saw steam hovering, creating a white blanket. Turning on the wall-mounted flat-screen television, she powered on the jets before settling into the tub. Flipping through channels, she saw her announcement for candidacy was still airing on every major station.

Muting the sound, Brooks opted out of reliving the moment. She wanted to call Morgan but thought it was best to wait and see her friend at the next meeting. Confessing was no longer necessary, but ending her affair with Magnum was.

For the past eight years, at the end of the day Brooks had been sexing somebody’s husband, wife, or sleeping alone in her bed. There was no man to claim as her own. Being governor meant she had to seriously consider getting married again and never having another affair.

Maybe she could find a new lover that was single and keep their relationship a secret. Although men labeled women conniving, men were more naïve than women. By now Goodman knew that.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Ring! Ring! Ring! Bam! Bam!

“What the hell?” Brooks stepped out of the tub, grabbed a towel and covered her body before trailing water to the front door.

Ring! Ring! Ring!
“Open the door, Brooks! I heard you walk up.”

The voice was a familiar one. She’d known he’d show up at her front door but she didn’t think he’d drop everything, leave Sacramento and come to confront her tonight. Wasn’t he concerned now that she was in the race, that the media and paparazzi were keeping watch over her every move?

Brooks cracked her door open enough to see his angry face. The rage in his eyes indicated she’d be foolish to let him in.

Both of his hands slammed against her door, knocking her to the floor.

Slamming the door, he yelled, “I should stomp your lying ass into the floor like the conniving bitch you are! What in the fuck are you doing?” His hand rose high above his head.

Brooks slid her back against the foyer’s wall. “It wasn’t my idea,” she pleaded, praying he wouldn’t strike her. The entrance table, with its three-foot floral vase filled with real gardenias and water, was closer to Goodman.

His eyes trailed hers to the vase then shifted back to her. “But it was your decision! You bitch! You screw me then stab me in the back. I trusted you. I should kill you right now!” His eyes went from white to blood red in seconds.

Right now was immediate. If he’d meant it, she would already be flat on the floor fighting for her life, not sitting up staring at him.
Your balls are bigger than his,
she reminded herself. That was why he was in her house. Why was he outraged with her for indiscretions? She was surprised yet pleased that he hadn’t struck her. Did he honestly hate her? Had she underestimated him? She should’ve changed her gate code before making the announcement.

Brooks stood. “Get the fuck out of my house before I call the police.” She entered her living room, picked up the cordless phone she seldom used, pretended to dial 9-1-1. Then she went to her bedroom, opened her nightstand drawer, got her gun, and returned to the foyer.

Bailey was standing in the same place.

Shouting into the speaker, Brooks said, “Don’t make me shoot you…Yes, please send the police immediately…Yes, I do know the name of the person threatening me.”

Goodman stared at her, nodded. His look acknowledged she’d won this round but their fight wasn’t over.

Brooks aimed her pistol barely above his head then pulled the trigger. The bullet blazed through the open door. “Don’t ever bring your arrogant ass back to my house again!” She was prepared to shoot him if she had to, but that would instantly ruin both their careers.

Bailey Goodman darted out the door, got in his car, and drove off.

Brooks regretted losing him as a lover more so than as a friend. She had female friends, of course. But next to Magnum, Bailey was the best bed partner she’d ever had. She locked the door before returning the phone to its usual place. She then stored her gun in the safe inside her closet.

Brooks knew she needed to let Magnum go, too, but now wasn’t a good time. Who would protect her if Goodman was foolish enough to return?