Every Woman Needs a Wife Page 9

  Tanya’s life had moved in much the same way as the broad strokes she used to clear away the last of the debris from Brandi’s rich blue-tile kitchen floor. Margaret Jaunal had turned her back on her oldest daughter. Tanya didn’t regret the trouble that it caused her father, but she would take it all back if the one person she loved above all others had survived—the innocent one.

  CHAPTER Thirteen

  Strolling through the dimly lit hallway of Brandi’s home, Tanya felt a disconnection from reality that she couldn’t explain. She was in Vernon’s house. No—his wife’s house—and the woman had actually invited her to stay to teach the man who had hurt them a lesson. How real was that?

  She thought about the past several hours and remembered the terrified look on Vernon’s face and how she enjoyed the way Brandi handled the situation, calmly and with a matter-of-factness that she could never imagine any woman pulling off realistically.

  She had a feeling that Brandi was a woman who had weathered a storm or two and now tried to keep the storms in her life to a minimum. Where did that kind of strength come from? Why did Black women seem to sail through life as though none of the things white women couldn’t live without really mattered? And why had she ended up with a man like her father—overbearing, manipulative, lying?

  Vernon’s temper and his eerie silences were among the reasons Tanya’s demands from him had been few. After asking the second time, she realized that going back to school wasn’t going to happen, in spite of his promises. A few uninspired sexual romps had brought her jewelry, clothes, and that Lexus, but never what she really wanted—his full attention and for him to keep his promise. Now she understood why. He didn’t want another woman as educated and as assertive as his wife.

  Tanya passed the row of photographs displaying the Spencer family in various stages of happiness. A happiness Tanya never remembered in the mansion where she grew up. During the two years she spent with Michelle’s family, she had healed and begun to smile again. Then fate intervened one more time and Tanya had to flee Social Circle under the cover of darkness. It had been nighttime in her life ever since.

  None of the sofas in the Spencer house pulled out into a bed. Tanya refused to sleep in either of the children’s rooms. Despite the size of the house, there was no guest bedroom. So where did that leave her?

  Tomorrow would be a new day. She still wasn’t sure what Brandi expected. Maybe she’d go back on her word like Vernon did.

  Once again, she couldn’t predict what her life was going to be like. Somehow her fate had constantly been decided by men, first her father, then the frog-princes in between, then Vernon, and now this. Didn’t they realize that all a woman wanted was to be loved, cherished, protected, and respected? Respected more than anything.

  As Tanya entered the master bedroom, she hesitated at the door a few moments before getting into Vernon’s side of the bed. She draped the cream damask comforter over her body and closed her eyes. Tears welled up as a mountain of pain pierced her soul. She was so far away from the people who loved her, but she couldn’t return. Contacting them would put their family in jeopardy again. And she couldn’t bear it if one of them were killed. No one in Chicago cared about her. No one would miss Tanya Melaine Kaufman if her life ended. No one would come and claim her body. She might as well struggle forward, hoping that one day she’d have a chance to live on her terms.

  What would life be like, being a wife to a woman who wielded more confidence in her little pinky than most women Tanya had ever met? What made Brandi strong enough to face her pain? And she was in pain; that was one thing the strong woman couldn’t hide. Vernon had hurt her, but she had rallied, taking charge of the situation as though catching her husband with another woman was an everyday occurrence. Although it probably stuck in her craw that Tanya happened to be white, Brandi had focused more on dynamics than color.

  Tanya, for some reason, had always felt, deep in her heart, that her time at the house on Wabash Avenue would be cut short abruptly. It had always felt temporary. She’d kept an overnight bag packed out of pure habit. And that habit had come in handy the moment Brandi Spencer had stepped through the door.

  Sure, accepting Brandi’s offer was a bold move, but Tanya really wanted to see how things panned out. And she did need a place to live. If nothing else, Tanya had been good at playing the “wife” role. She was organized, focused, and appreciated beauty. She only had a tenth-grade education and that had kept her from getting good jobs. She needed to regroup and ground herself somewhere. Why not in the same life that Vernon had promised her?

  It didn’t matter that Brandi would be pulling the train. Tanya was more than willing to clean the caboose and punch tickets to keep the woman of the house focused on making the money. As long as Tanya’s needs were met, things would work out just fine.

  Tanya reached up, wiping away another stray tear, weariness settling into her soul. The only things she had were her sanity and her morals. She had tried to hold onto them, but Vernon had taken even that by pulling her into this painful triangle. She should have known. Vernon was so… distant at times, but oh the man was wonderful in so many other ways.

  Now she had no one.

  CHAPTER Fourteen

  The moon loomed in the midnight-blue Chicago sky. A chilly breeze whipped through the trees, shaking them to a loud crescendo before all fell silent again.

  Vernon trailed his father and Julie into the library of the massive home in Reichert Lakes. Mahogany shelves lined with books covered most of the walls. A globe-shaped liquor cabinet sat off to the side of a desk with a leather map top. The oversized dark brown chair could easily seat the Jolly Green Giant, it was perfectly suited for his father’s huge frame.

  Julie, with Cupid’s bow lips that made a man wonder how good she was at giving head, strolled over to William in a black dress that curved over her frame with gracious triumph. She kissed him on the top of his shiny bald head, then sashayed from the library, leaving a trail of Donna Karan Cashmere perfume behind.

  The door to the library hadn’t closed all the way before Vernon’s father was out his chair and bearing down on him. “Son, what the hell were you thinking?”

  Vernon shrugged, not even thinking of making eye contact with his father. The man’s bellowing voice, portly frame, and overbearing attitude had always put the fear of God into Vernon. That immeasurable strength and unyielding power had made corporations shake; several Fortune 500 companies respected him. But somehow, the women in his life—and the women in Vernon’s life—couldn’t care less about all that.

  Piercing brown eyes leveled on Vernon, making his balls shrink to the size of raisins. Damn! His confidence seeped out of his pores into the sofa cushions faster than a woman runs through child support.

  “Haven’t I taught you anything?” William paced the floor as though walking back and forth across the deep green carpet would bring answers. “You never bring that shit to your front door. Never!” He banged his fist on the desk. Vernon winced as though he’d been struck. “Keep the wife and the mistress as far away from each other as possible.”

  “I did,” Vernon said, his throat parched from the effort it took to speak.

  His dad pivoted, creating a breeze of Grey Flannel in the library. “The hell you did. Would we be having this conversation if—”

  “Tanya lives in the city in Chatham, we live in South Shore, at least six miles apart.”

  “I’m not talking about location, you fool!” William said through clenched teeth. “That’s only part of it.”

  He gestured sharply toward the phone. “You called her from your home. You charged some of the expenses to the same business you share with your wife—the same wife I told you should be at home raising children, not out running the business like she’s a man. How stupid could you be?”

  “Since we just moved the business and remodeled the warehouse into offices, cash was tight.”

  The worry lines on the older man’s forehead furrowed. “Then you s
houldn’t spring for extra ass until you can afford it.”

  “So what am I gonna do? I can’t go home with Tanya living there.”

  “Divorce Brandi!”

  “Divorce her?” Vernon swallowed. Ending his marriage was a sign of failure. At least in his book. “I don’t want a divorce. I want my wife back.”

  “Trade that fat cow in for a younger model,” William said, slipping into his chair, grabbing up the newspaper.

  “I don’t want a younger model. And Brandi’s not fat, she’s curvaceous.” And he loved every inch. He also loved the way her breasts jiggled as she walked. Those fleshy hips could make his mouth water just watching her walk away. And good Lord the woman could work that ass on his dick like a blender on high speed. Suddenly he felt the warm pressure of arousal and had to shift on the sofa to keep from getting hard.

  “If she’s so perfect, then why did you need a mistress?”

  “Same reason you did,” Vernon shot back. “And you had three!”

  The old man flipped open the Wall Street Journal. “And I maintained all three women without the madness you had with just one,” he said, giving Vernon a forced smile. “If you ask me, she put your nuts in a vise grip and gave them a nice little squeeze. You should leave her while you have the chance. I told you about picking women from the low end of the spectrum. A girl from Jeffrey Manor? Definitely not in our league.”

  “You married Mom and she wasn’t rich.”

  “I could afford to marry beneath me. And she turned out just fine until your cold-hearted wife stepped in. Needed to leave her ass the day after you married her.”

  “I’m not leaving my wife.”

  The amused expression on his dad’s face went somber. “If you’re not leaving her, you’d better get that mistress out of your house. I can’t believe she pulled some shit like that. That woman’s got more balls than a brass monkey.” Flipping to another page, his eyes scanned the sheet before folding the corner down to look at Vernon. “You’ll be the laughing stock of this side of Chicago. If the League gets wind of this, you’ll never hear the end of it and you’ll be out on your ass.”

  “I’ll try, Dad.”

  “Trying is lying,” William snapped, folding the paper to put it away. “She’ll come around,” Vernon said. “Brandi’s just trying to make a statement.”

  “Well, everyone tonight heard her loud and clear,” his father said. “She played the opening number and headliner like a professional. Let’s see you top that, young Mr. Spencer.”

  CHAPTER Fifteen

  Brandi turned over in her bed. The comforter slipped down around her waist. The sweet, nutty aroma of hazelnut coffee filled the air. Brandi opened one eye, then the other. She curled up in the king-size bed, relishing the feel of silk sheets reaching under her chin.

  Stretching languidly, she noticed the fresh scent of citrus. Citrus? Where did that come from? Her hand landed on a soft, pliable form next to her. She froze as a shiver of uneasiness passed through her.

  Brandi jerked upward, peering at the body on the opposite side of her bed.

  Memories of last night flooded her mind. What had she done?

  Glancing down, she sighed with relief. She still had her clothes on.

  Lifting the sheet brought another moment of clarity. Tanya still had her clothes on, too.

  The other woman stretched, rolling over to her left side, blonde hair flowing over the pillow like a waterfall.

  Brandi’s eyebrow shot up as she locked gazes with her…wife? Then she asked, “We didn’t?”

  Tanya’s lips spread into a slow, easy smile. “No.”

  “So we haven’t?”

  “No,” she answered with humor twinkling in her eyes. “Mmmmm, and that’s one part of your offer I’d like to bow out of.”

  “Nooooo problem,” Brandi replied, shifting her weight on the bed. “I’m not ready to settle for backup.”

  This time Tanya laughed. “Yeah, um, speaking of backup…you might want to put that some place other than the bathroom cabinet. The girls might find it.”

  “How did you—”

  “I cleaned the house last night. Everything’s all squared away.”

  The roar of a lawn mower kicked in. Mr. Lewis would probably receive another citation from the police by the end of the week. And he’d also get an earful from Mrs. Washington, who swore up and down that if he interrupted her beauty sleep early Saturday morning one more time, she’d set fire to his lawn. Mr. Lewis politely replied that if she needed beauty sleep after all these years, she should have started sometime before birth.

  Personally, Brandi believed that the real problem between those two was from another lawn that needing mowing or grazing. Mr. Lewis wanted Mrs. Washington and she wanted him. If they’d stop the preliminaries and get to the real deal, the whole world could breathe a collective sigh of relief. And maybe the lawn mower wouldn’t wake the whole planet on Saturdays.

  “I smell coffee. Is someone still here?”

  Tanya shook her head. “I was up a little earlier and set the coffeemaker for a quarter to seven so I’d get up in time to fix breakfast.”

  “I never could get that thing to work,” Brandi said, amazed at the woman’s resourcefulness.

  Tanya slipped out of bed, glancing slyly over her shoulder. “You passed out before telling me where I’m supposed to sleep. I figured as long as I stayed on his side of the bed and didn’t get any bright ideas…”

  “Yeah, don’t get any dark ones, either,” Brandi quipped, eliciting a chuckle from Tanya.

  “Breakfast will be ready in a little while.”

  Brandi felt a sense of impending doom as Tanya left the room. Even her mother had given her an earful before Donny swept the protesting woman out the door.

  She had always listened to her elders, especially her mother. But, in this instance, most of them were saying just get over it and let it go. She’d done too much of that in her marriage. Too much of that in her life. This was the first time Brandi had ever defied her mother since the day the woman arrived at Forty-Seventh Street and Michigan Avenue, too late to snatch her only daughter from the jaws of danger.

  ♥♥♥

  Brandi had just turned thirteen. She woke up that Friday morning, scooped her ice blue portable cassette player off the bed, and shoved it into her book bag before pounding down the stairway. She sprinted across the room toward the door. “Mom, I’ll catch you later,” she yelled, picking up the pace so she wouldn’t be late.

  “No!” her mother yelled back in a cold, hard voice that Brandi knew there was no escaping. “You’ll catch me right now.”

  Did her mother know? Had she been found out? She hugged her book bag close, hoping her mom wouldn’t ask to see inside. Brandi groaned as she made a quick U-turn toward the kitchen and the trouble zone. Man! She couldn’t be late. Not today.

  “Yes, Mama?”

  Her mother’s piercing hazel eyes scrutinized Brandi from the top of her head to the bottom of her shoes without so much as a flicker. Brandi was dressed in loose-fitting jeans, a navy turtleneck and Converse sneakers—all definitely in style. The colors complemented her skin and her five-foot-six, size fourteen frame. Her shoulder-length hair had been styled into a bob. Every outfit had to meet with her mother’s approval—which meant covering every square inch of skin.

  The makeup case, miniskirt, tight tank top, and high heels stashed beneath Brandi’s science and English books told a different story. She just wanted to have fun. She was two grades ahead, had been a freshman at age twelve with good grades and all, but she still couldn’t do anything. Today would be different. If she got out of the house.

  “Who was that boy calling my house at ten twenty-seven last night?”

  She knew the exact time? He must have woken her up. “Hollywood.”

  “I’m sure his mama didn’t name him that,” she snapped, one eyebrow raised.

  Brandi cringed at the caustic tone. “His name’s Derek Coles, but he likes to be called �
��Hollywood.’”

  Leaning forward so close that Brandi could smell that first cup of coffee, her mother said, “I don’t care what he likes to be called. He’d better not call here again past nine. Do you hear me?”

  “Okay.” Brandi had warned Hollywood about her mother’s rules. He didn’t care much for rules. Or parents for that matter.

  “And who is he anyway?” her mother asked, tapping her foot on the paisley carpet.

  “A guy that goes to my school.” Not just a guy. The guy. Brandi had had a crush on Hollywood since grammar school. At eighteen, his creamy complexion, slanted hazel eyes, and dark, curly hair—along with the muscles rippling down his body like Lake Michigan’s waves—made him every girl’s dream. Now he was her dream. He’d finally noticed her. It only took a whole year, but who was counting? Oh, that’s right—she was, every single one of those days!

  “I don’t know what you kids…”

  Bag weighing heavily on her shoulders, Brandi sighed, tuning out her mother’s words—the same lecture, every other day. Blah, blah, blah. “When I was your age…”

  Brandi hated those sermons. Her mother should have passed the plate when finished. Brandi glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall next to the pantry. Her mother didn’t get the hint.

  In a bolder move, Brandi twisted her arm and openly stared at her watch for a few seconds. Only a few minutes before Hollywood—

  “Girl, are you trying to be smart with me?”

  “No. No, Mama…I…I just don’t want to be late for…school.” Brandi swallowed hard. Ooops. Maybe she’d been a little too bold.

  Mama’s eyes bored into Brandi like a metal drill through rotten wood. Brandi’s hand snaked out and brushed aside the hair, which suddenly had started to stick to her now-moist face. Not a good sign.

  “Go on then,” her mother told her with a dismissing swipe of her hand. “But put your friend in check.”