Every Woman Needs a Wife Page 8

  “Watch your mouth, baby,” Brandi’s mother said, wrapping an arm around her daughter’s waist. “But tell the truth and shame the devil. Ain’t nothing wrong with a little jiggle in the middle.”

  “What’s gotten into you?” The heavyset man’s bald head reflected nearly everything in the room. Not a pretty sight, given the canvas.

  Brandi replied, “All these years, nothing I’ve done to make you like me has made a damn bit of difference. So I’m done trying.” Then she lowered her gaze to a potbelly the size of an English kettle. “And you’ve got a lot of nerve talking about somebody needing to lose weight. That isn’t a kangaroo pouch, is it? Or are you giving birth to twins?”

  The man sputtered, trying to come up with a retort. Brandi’s mother didn’t give him a chance. “And the back side looks like two grocery bags fighting for space on a car seat.”

  “A woman should always maintain a decent size,” he snapped. “That’s what keeps a man’s interest.”

  Vernon’s mother came and stood next to Brandi, glaring up at her ex-husband. “And a man can spread out to the size of a football field and that’s okay?”

  “I’m not that big,” he grumbled, instantly humbled by the woman’s mere presence.

  “Well, your stomach turns corners before the rest of you. I’d say it’s getting close to the goal line.” She jabbed him in the side. “Let the jewelry and cash stop, you’ll see exactly how much the latest toy enjoys your love handles. Or are they just there so she can heave you out of the window, kill you, and then collect the cash?”

  He glowered angrily at her, pulling up to his full height. “You’re just jealous because I’ve found someone younger and more useful.”

  Bettye grinned. “I could never be jealous of someone whose only real qualities end and begin in the bedroom. Shows how useful she really is and how desperate you really are.”

  His eyes, dark and menacing, narrowed to slits. “I wouldn’t need anyone else if you’d given me more children.”

  The twinkle in the woman’s dark brown eyes signaled trouble as Bettye gave him her sweetest smile. “Well, if you stayed hard longer than three seconds that might’ve helped things out.”

  Murmurs went up from the nearby crowd, followed by laughter as the music lowered and a few inched their way closer.

  Julie, the girlfriend of the week, finally broke away from the wine table and gripped William’s arm. “Come on, honey, you don’t have to take that.”

  “Yes, dear, go on and put Papa to bed,” Bettye said, laughing and shooing them away. “Make sure you tuck him in real good, you hear?” Then she called out to her ex over the crowd. “Oh by the way, did Mary, Ella, or Cleopha give you children, too? No? Says something about the power down below.” Then she lifted her arm, curling her hand into a fist—saying screw you and stay hard in one gesture.

  William’s flat lips curled into a sneer before he spat, “Good night, mother of one.”

  “Good night, father of…” She shrugged, lifting her hands in a helpless gesture. Then her gaze flickered to Vernon and back to William before giving William a suspicious wink.

  Oh shit! No she didn’t! Tanya braced herself for the fallout.

  William pulled up short, almost tossing Julie to the ground, eyes flashing with anger. “What the hell?” he said looking over at his son as though seeing him for the very first time. “Vernon?”

  Bettye held up her glass. “Cheers.”

  Tanya shook her head, eyes widening with wonder as she asked, “Is it always like this?”

  “Aww honey, this is mild.” Brandi gave the woman’s hand a gentle pat, obviously enjoying the new developments. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  CHAPTER Eleven

  As Julie steered Vernon’s angry father toward the door, Brandi—with a glass of his special stash sloshing in a brandy snifter—breezed past Vernon. He followed, hot on her tail, maneuvered around her, and cut her off. “That woman is not staying here.”

  “Why not? It’ll save money,” she said, squeezing by him. She sped up, trying to get to her lawyer and her brother who were chatting with Tanya as they stood near the solarium entrance. “You brought her into our marriage, now she’s a central part of it. Deal with it.”

  Again, Vernon blocked her path. This time she gave in and dropped down onto a wingback chair, crossing one leg over the other. “You felt that somehow I wasn’t doing my job as a wife, taking care of the family, plus taking care of the house, I agree, I can’t do it all. We both need a wife. Good looking out.”

  Avie and Donny appeared next to Brandi as Vernon began to speak. He stopped short, noticing the lawyer’s angry glare and Donny’s matching scowl. Where were Craig and Jeremy when he needed them? And why hadn’t Avie’s husband come tonight—he could’ve helped keep that pit bull in check.

  Then he saw his friends trying to have discreet conversations with their wives, and realized he couldn’t go back to them, either. They had all snapped at him about how this mess affected them, too. The women had powwowed and it seemed now that Vernon was in the doghouse, he had a bit of company, making it a full dog pound—complete with tags and leashes. And they blamed him. Losing his wife, his home, a mistress, and his friends? Not bad for one night’s work. And the night wasn’t even over.

  Vernon pivoted, turning away from the fearsome threesome. His gaze landed on the palest woman in the room, her hair fanning out around her face, legs crossed under her in a sexy way that would normally bring a rise to his big fry. In high school and college, when the women were giving up pussy out of both panty legs, he was on either side making sure to stay on the receiving end. That all ended when he fell in love with Brandi.

  Right now, the little stallion was resting at the gate, realizing, just like his buddies, that where pussy was concerned, he would find more famine than feast over the next few weeks.

  Vernon strolled over to Tanya, who had perched on the paisley love seat as though she were a family heirloom instead of a stranger who should have never graced their doorstep. And she certainly should never have given his wife a stupid idea like this. “After all I did for you, making sure you didn’t want for anything, how can you betray me like this?”

  “Betray you?” she yelled, her skin flushing an angry pink. “Betray you! You’re the one who lied about being married. You’re the one who said your wife died giving birth to Sierra.” Then she folded her arms across her breasts. “Or is there another wife hidden in the trenches who happens to be the mother of the two girls you brought to my house last week?”

  Tanya? Angry? Talking back to him in public? What was wrong with his women today?

  “If you stay with Brandi, I want all my shit back—everything,” he said. “You walk away with what you came with—one suitcase and—”

  “Au contraire, mon cheri,” Brandi purred in a fake French accent as she inched up to the not-so-happy duo. She placed a condescending arm around Vernon’s shoulders. “She has every right to keep the jewelry, clothes, the figurines, and the artwork. They were gifts. If this was Texas, she could sue you for breach of promise to marry. I think there’s a woman who wrote a novel about that…”

  “It’s called Divorcing Your Husband,” Tanya supplied quickly, taking a tiny sip of Scotch while keeping a keen eye on Vernon. “I think it’s by P. M. Carroll or somebody like that.”

  Brandi nodded as she continued, “I suggest you pull it together, scoop your ego off the floor, and come to terms with the new order of the house. I now have something to show for your efforts.” Brandi leaned in, whispering, “And I’m going to enjoy every minute.”

  Vernon reached out, pushing Brandi back toward the bedroom and yanking Tanya off the love seat so they could have it out in private.

  Donny scrambled from behind the turntable, making a beeline for his brother-in-law.

  Tanya whirled out of Vernon’s grasp.

  Craig and Jeremy reached Vernon before Donny did, and yanked their friend backward, dragging him to the front
door. Vernon shrugged them off, shaking an angry fist in the air. “There wouldn’t be a business, this house, or any of this if it wasn’t for me. For me! Where do you get off making stupid rules like this?”

  “Like I said before, the money was minor,” Brandi said in a calm tone. “But I kept it going and growing…” Her lips spread into a near-evil smile as she winked. “Unlike some things these days.”

  Howls of laughter erupted all around them.

  Vernon froze, glowering at the women now congregated on Brandi’s side of the room. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “Fine,” Brandi said, shrugging. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Vernon nodded toward Tanya. “And she’d better be gone.”

  The newest member of the family turned to Brandi, saying loudly enough for everyone to hear, “What time shall I serve breakfast?”

  Brandi grinned without taking her eyes off her husband. “Seven-thirty’s good for me.”

  Vernon took a tentative step toward Tanya. Jeremy and Craig reined him in, lifting him off the floor and, carried him—ranting, kicking, and yelling—toward the door.

  As the three men reached the foyer, Brandi called out, “DJ, turn the music up. The party’s just beginning, folks.”

  Vernon’s gaze connected with his wife as she swiveled her shoulders to the rhythm of You can’t hit and run, I’ve got to be number one… with a smirk on her generous lips.

  Vernon’s mind raced like a V-8 engine with the throttle wide open. Brandi and Tanya might think they had the upper hand, but they wouldn’t be so happy when he returned tomorrow.

  There would be no family or friends around to save them then.

  CHAPTER Twelve

  The grandfather clock in the foyer struck three. The house on Cregier was finally empty. Brandi Spencer had all but slipped into a coma. Tanya put the last of the plates in the dishwasher and turned it on. Sighing wearily, she rested her hips against the sink, wondering what the hell she had gotten herself into.

  Walking the length of both levels of the house, she relished the quiet calm as she took in Brandi’s eclectic taste. Evidently the woman was a minimalist, as only the necessary furniture held ground over the bedrooms, living room, solarium, dining room, den, library, and two offices—his and hers. Not one thing extra, making it somewhere between sparse and elegant. Paintings of Egypt and the honey-brown luster of the Egyptian Cleopatra and Nefertiti shared space with blue, lavender, and silver abstracts.

  Strangely enough, Tanya had a likeness of a Macedonian Greek Cleopatra alongside the same brown-skinned Egyptian rendition Brandi had. Most people didn’t realize that there were seven Cleopatras, and that by the time the Greeks had invaded the area, the last in their line was nowhere near the same hue as the others, though her life was no less challenging.

  At one point, to protect herself from her family, the last Cleopatra had to be rolled up in a carpet and whisked to safety. Almost like Tanya, who had to be under police security in the hospital, then whisked away to live with the Pitchfords.

  And also just like Cleopatra’s sister, Tanya’s sister Mindy had been killed because of something Tanya had done. As Tanya stared up at the creamy brown skin and the regal bearing of the Cleopatra on Brandi’s wall, she wondered how Vernon’s wife would equate to the queen.

  Tanya had whipped the place into shape in record time—even for her. No one would be able to tell that just hours ago, the place had been spilling over with people who had more questions when they left than when they arrived. She pulled her bags from the foyer closet and settled them into a closet near the master bedroom. Thoughts of leaving had certainly crossed her mind, but she quickly pushed them away. She had to see how things played out.

  She peered out the window and saw the Lexus still parked in the driveway. Earlier when she saw Vernon’s car tearing down the street, she’d doubled back to the house on Wabash Avenue, searched the drawers, cabinets, and closets for any important items she may have missed, then packed the last of her things—including her pictures of the two Cleopatras—and put them outside in the shed where she could retrieve them later.

  She thought of her sudden urge to return Vernon’s wallet to Brandi just to see her reaction. And boy did she react!

  The woman had directed a full-blown symphony last night, with strings, percussion, brass, and woodwinds. Tanya had never seen things done in such a way that no one could gossip—it was all done right there in the open. The woman even had nerve enough to ask, “Hey, are there any questions?”

  Despite what Tanya expected, family and friends followed Brandi’s example and treated her nicely. Vernon, on the other hand, caught the pure hell he deserved.

  ♥♥♥

  Yesterday as she drove through the traffic-filled streets of Stony Island on her way to Brandi’s house, she wondered, where would she go? What would she do? Vernon had been right about one thing—she had nothing and no family. Her father had made sure there was no one in the world who would lift a hand to help her, but that paled in comparison to what he had done to her. It ranked a distant third to what he’d done to the person she’d loved the most—the person he had killed to keep Tanya from talking.

  She had driven through the winding streets, passing the house in the Jackson Park Highlands five times before stopping. As she strolled past the shrubs and up the black concrete pathway, at first thoughts of what the hell do you think you’re doing swirled through her mind. Then a smidgen of worry came and went like the flickering light from a candle sitting in a gentle breeze. A simple idea had made life a bit complicated—once again. What was Brandi up to—really?

  The slosh of the dishwasher pulled her back to the present as a sudden sense of loss washed over her. She missed Michelle’s family more than she missed her own. Her father had the “Midas touch,” but his real magic making to make sure his oldest daughter kept his dirty secrets. Even darker magic had made his youngest daughter disappear and turn up dead during his trial.

  What he actually had was a sly charisma that reeled people in. What he had was the foresight to scope out the young women who were heirs to fortunes that would make even the Kennedy clan raise an eyebrow. What he had was the smarts to take Margaret Van Oy’s virginity in the backseat of an old Chevy.

  The pregnancy came after weeks of daily romps out in the fields, in the car—or behind the McCumbers’ barn. When Margaret said she was getting an abortion, Wilbur demanded that she keep the child. When she refused, he told her that if she got rid of his child, he would tell the world how much of a whore she really was. He would describe exactly what he’d made her do to him—sick, perverse things—which would force her family to disown her. Tanya, growing just under her mother’s hardening heart, was well past the “planning” stages and Margaret had no choice but to comply with his wishes. She gave in and they eloped, sealing her fate with him for better or worse.

  The family demanded an annulment, but Margaret, fearing the worst from her quick-tempered husband, held fast. To Wilbur’s dismay, the family disowned her anyway, leaving her at the mercy of a cold, calculating man. One who had no time for the wife or child who were supposed to have been his link to a fortune. So Wilbur figured out another way.

  A dropout from Social Circle High School, Wilbur vowed that the Van Oy family would rue the day they shunned him. And he would strike back by taking the thing they loved most—money.

  The Van Oys owned all the factories in and around Social Circle. Many Southern towns were established around such businesses, since people moved to be near their jobs. One by one, Wilbur Jaunal shrewdly scouted out and purchased the railroad right-of-ways that connected one Van Oy factory to the next. Then he expanded to those that connected the surrounding towns.

  While Margaret’s family members still had their heads up their butts trying to figure out what was happening, Wilbur ended up owning all the ways to bring supplies into and out of Social Circle. Now the Van Oys had to pay premiums in order for their railcars to cross his lan
d.

  Then one day during peak production time he shut them down completely by denying access across his land, effectively putting them out of business.

  A year later, Jaunal purchased the factories from his in-laws and enemies for pennies on the dollar. He put all of the people who were loyal to the former employers out on their collective asses, and hired Blacks from Social Circle and Monroe to take their place. That move almost caused a race riot that made Watts look like child’s play.

  In an even more clever move, Jaunal Industries directed the white population toward the factories it owned in the surrounding counties—meaning the people left in town were Blacks he counted on to be loyal to their employer: Wilbur Jaunal.

  As whites moved closer to the other factories to avoid long drives to and from work, the Social Circle voting base became more and more Black. The remaining whites were rich and scattered. Wilbur’s bid to become mayor was a lock. A power structure tied to a crafty but greedy hand that ruled by fear, intimidation and violence, if necessary, began as soon as he took office.

  By the time Tanya turned twelve that fear had become part of her everyday reality. Sometimes going to school took the same effort it would take a mouse to move a mountain. Each day weighed on her like a dark cape covering a white blossom.

  She carried a deep, dark secret so shameful she couldn’t tell her mother… her best friend…anyone. Every morning, and sometimes in the middle of the night, she woke drenched in sweat, hurting and afraid, sure that no one could help. At any given moment throughout the day, she would burst into tears. She didn’t know how long she could keep her secret, but telling would only make things worse. Her father—the richest man in town—had sworn that if she said anything, he’d make her sorry.

  Even after she had gone to live with Michelle’s family for her own safety, he still made good on that threat.