Can't Get Enough

by Connie Briscoe

  A car horn blared and Jolene glanced up to see Ellen Johnson waving as she drove by in a sleek silver Jaguar XJ. Ellen didn’t usually bother speaking to Jolene anymore but she was showing off her shiny new car. Jolene smiled thinly and waved. “Bitch,” she murmured under her breath. Another one of those rich hussies like Barbara Bentley who scrounged off their successful husbands.

  Ellen was probably dashing off to the mall to shop for the party or to the country club to shed a few pounds so she could fit her fat ass into her new ball gown. It seemed that everyone was going to the party Saturday night, even Patrick and Pearl. Everyone but her . Sometimes she didn’t understand why the hell she stayed in Silver Lake. Living around all these wealthy suburban housewives was too damn depressing.

  She walked back in the house, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat at the kitchen table to finish the article about the murder for hire. Declaring bankruptcy and having the bank foreclose on your house must be awful. Patrick had often worried that something like that would happen to them if she didn’t curb her spending habits. They struggled to pay their bills at times Jolene knew, but they were nowhere near as desperate as the cop and ex-stripper had seemed. Still, how could anyone be stupid enough to think that such a drastic step would solve their problems? That greedy cop’s wife was in more trouble than ever now.

  She remembered her Maryland Lotto ticket from the previous day and dug out the Metro section of the paper. Then she stood and walked up the stairs, taking along her coffee mug. She had been too depressed after Patrick left last night to watch the drawing on television. No doubt the ticket would be a losing ticket just like all the others and just like her sorry life.

  She entered the bedroom, set her coffee mug down on the nightstand next to the champagne bottle, and dug the ticket out of her Coach bag. The bag was beginning to look shabby, with frayed threads on the shoulder strap. There was a time when she would have replaced the bag with a new one months earlier but she would probably just have it repaired. She had to be thrifty these days.

  She held the ticket in one hand, the newspaper in the other, and moved her eyes back and forth as she compared the six numbers. She noticed almost immediately that the numbers were very close. She rubbed her eyes to clear them and compared each of the numbers again, one by one. When she was done, she stopped and blinked. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought it would sprint right out of her chest. All six numbers matched. Not two or three or four. All of them!

  She found herself choking. She sat on the bed and took a sip of coffee. Calm down, girl, she told herself as she fanned her face.

  She banged the coffee mug down on the nightstand, jumped up, opened all the blinds, turned on all the lights and slowly studied the numbers again. When she finished, she ran to the middle of the bedroom floor and raised her arms to the ceiling.

  “Sweet Jesus!” she yelled. She had just won $5 million. She screamed.

  THE LONG DRIVEWAY curved gracefully to the top of the hillside on Peacock Lane and ended at a circle decorated with a massive lighted fountain.

  Bradford pulled up in his silver Jaguar XK, and a uniformed parking attendant opened the door on Barbara’s side. The attendant extended a gloved hand as Barbara placed a satin heel down on the pavement. She was pleasantly surprised to discover a smooth black carpet beneath her foot. She had attended many glamorous affairs, large and small, hosted by top government officials and Bradford’s wealthy business clients, but this was her first carpeted walkway.

  Bradford walked around the car, and she took his arm as the attendant drove off to park. They smiled at each other but didn’t utter a word. They didn’t need to. She knew from the extra sprint in Bradford’s step and the sparkle in his eyes that he was immensely impressed with what he’d seen so far.

  As they climbed the wide staircase to the front door, Barbara looked up to see the most elegantly decorated stone and stucco mansion she had ever seen in P.G. County, let alone Silver Lake. It was in the style of a French chateau, with turrets soaring toward the dark evening sky, graceful arches, and windows with diamond-shaped panes. Whoever built this magnificent mansion had elevated Silver Lake to a new lofty status as the premiere black community in America.

  The Bentleys reached the landing, and Barbara subtly adjusted her Russian sable stole across her shoulders. The copper-colored wrap had been last year’s gift from Bradford for their thirty-first wedding anniversary, and Barbara thought it was perfect for such an occasion at this time of year. It was a chilly spring night, not cold enough for one of her full-length mink coats but too blustery to go out without something. The stole also nicely complemented her black Bill Blass evening gown.

  She smiled at Bradford as he lifted his arm and reached for the door chime. He looked extremely handsome in his new Brioni tuxedo. Even after more than thirty years of marriage, raising two daughters and the many highs and lows they had been through, she still found him sexy. She couldn’t count the times she had spotted him across a crowded room at a party or charity event and felt proud that the most magnetic man in the room was her husband.

  She still had a good figure herself and barely a wrinkle on her face. But as she and Bradford aged, they had to work hard at staying fit and looking youthful. She worked out regularly and routinely used all the latest in creams and lotions. Bradford lifted weights nightly in the exercise room in their house.

  In contrast, Noah was still young enough not to have to worry about staying fit. He played a lot of tennis, and . . .

  She caught herself. How in the world had Noah crept into her thoughts just now? She was attending a glamorous society event with her successful and much admired husband beside her—and here she was thinking about a young schoolteacher. Ever since that kiss, she found her thoughts drifting to Noah at the oddest moments even though she hadn’t seen him since that night. She had to stop this. He was probably in Jamaica now, sunning and partying with beautiful young women. He certainly wasn’t thinking about her. Barbara shook her head to clear it.

  A middle-aged black man with a clean-shaved head opened the front door and stepped aside as they entered a large foyer with inlaid marble floors and a vaulted cathedral ceiling. Hostesses at many of the private parties they attended hired temporary butlers for the evening, herself included, Barbara thought as the man graciously took her stole. But she had a feeling that this butler was a permanent fixture in the household.

  He led them across the foyer, under an arch, and down a short flight of stairs where they were met by an elderly white man. They followed this servant down a long corridor lined with paintings, and Barbara recognized the works of Jacob Lawrence, Ossawa Tanner, William H. Johnson, and other prominent African-American artists. She and Bradford owned a few paintings by talented black artists such as Alix Baptiste of Savannah and Lisa Quinn from Bermuda, and even one prized Jacob Lawrence painting. But Barbara had never seen such an extensive collection of art by top black artists outside of a museum. She and Bradford exchanged quick glances of admiration.

  Barbara’s mind raced as they rounded a corner and walked down yet another corridor. It seemed likely that the owners were African American given their taste in artwork. But who could they be? A celebrity such as an actor or a sports star? Maybe a prominent black businessman like Robert Johnson, founder of Black Entertainment Television based in Washington, D.C.? Or perhaps it was, as Pearl had heard through the rumor mill at her salon, a black woman who had married European royalty.

  All the possibilities were thrilling, and Barbara felt butterflies dancing in her stomach as the servant stopped in front of a set of hand-carved wood double doors. He opened them, stepped aside, and bowed as Barbara and Bradford entered a large chandeliered room. It had a towering stone fireplace at one end and a grand wrought-iron stairway with stone detailing at the other. Best of all, the room was filled with many of the residents of Silver Lake and Prince George’s County.

  Barbara noticed Bradford staring into the room with open fascination. He was not
an easy man to impress. It was usually others who stood in awe of Bradford’s accomplishments and possessions, and Barbara was dying to know who was responsible for putting this expression on her husband’s face. Not to mention her own.

  PATRICK PULLED INTO a parking space about a block away from the mansion on the hillside and took Pearl’s hand as they walked up the long driveway. Pearl wasn’t thrilled about trekking up a long hill in an evening gown and heels, but so many cars were parked along Peacock Lane that there didn’t seem to be much choice. It looked like everyone in Silver Lake was attending this affair.

  As soon as they reached the end of the driveway, Pearl realized that they had already committed gaffe number one when she saw the parking attendants. Drat. They should have expected attendants at a party like this. She and Patrick looked at each other and rolled their eyes to the sky. It looked like it was going to be a long awkward evening.

  She forgot their faux pas as soon as she stepped onto the carpeted walkway leading to the front door and looked up at the mansion. The place looked even bigger and more elegant close up, with all sorts of the kinds of doodads that appear in magazines like Architectural Digest. Pearl didn’t know the terms for all this fancy stuff, but it was mind-blowing nevertheless, especially the big lighted fountain at the entrance. The whole thing looked beautiful against the clear night sky.

  It was nearly enough to make her forget that she might have to face Jolene Brown with Patrick on her arm. Jolene had called Patrick the day before claiming that she had won millions in the Maryland lottery and that she might see him at the party. When Pearl thought about Jolene winning a pile of money, it made her shake her head. Jolene was the last person to deserve something like that.

  Patrick had tried to assure Pearl that Jolene had gotten past her ill feelings in the year since he’d left her and started seeing Pearl. But Pearl wasn’t convinced, especially after their encounter at the country club earlier that week. Women like Jolene always had long spiteful memories.

  Still, she was dying to see inside the mansion that had been going up in Silver Lake all these months. She was thankful to Barbara for calling the president of the Silver Lake Neighborhood Association. He had made several calls and got Pearl an invite within a matter of hours, and now she was finally going to find out who lived here. At one point, she and many others thought it had to be Michael Jordan. Not many African Americans in Maryland had this kind of dough. But Wizards owner Abe Pollin had fired Jordan, and the basketball star split from the city. So much for that theory.

  One of her salon clients had insisted that the owners were royalty. Pearl thought that seemed far-fetched. She knew how often the rumors she heard at her salon turned out to be false. The people who built this mansion might not even be black for all she knew. Still, somebody big and important had built this place, and it was exciting to be a part of it.

  In the foyer, she eagerly removed her black coat. It was her best lightweight coat, but it looked silly with a long dress. She needed a stole or formal jacket but she certainly wasn’t going to spend her hard-earned money on a new fancy coat for this one affair. It would be a lifetime, maybe never, before she got invited to a mansion like this again. Heck, this thing was more like a castle, she thought as she looked up at the vaulted ceiling in the foyer. It dwarfed all the other houses in Silver Lake, even Barbara Bentley’s.

  She reluctantly handed her coat to the butler, fully expecting him to smirk or something. But he was cool about it, and Pearl realized that he was far too professional to smirk at a guest. She and Patrick followed yet another man past several paintings and sculptures, most by black artists. How impressive, she thought. She took Patrick’s hand and squeezed it to keep from pointing and oohing like a fool. He smiled and gave her an “OK, calm down” look.

  The servant stopped at a massive set of double doors and opened them with a grand gesture. It was all Pearl could do to keep from giggling. She felt like she was in a movie.

  The servant stepped aside and allowed Pearl and Patrick to pass by, and this time Pearl gasped aloud. She couldn’t help it. She had never seen so much glitter and glamour. There was a big, sparkling chandelier, a fireplace that seemed to reach to the sky, and a beautiful long staircase. The room was filled with women in elegant ball gowns and fine jewelry and men in designer tuxedoes. She was eager to learn who had put all this together.

  JOLENE GLIDED HER Bentley sedan up the long driveway to the fountain in front of the mansion. It was a 2000 Bentley Arnage with only 37,000 miles on it, and she loved everything about it, from the way it looked to the way it handled. She had spent the entire previous day shopping for this baby and had paid a little over a hundred thousand dollars for it—next to nothing when you had millions.

  And fucking-A fabulous it was. The exterior was a rich creamy white, and the Wilton carpets had been made by a British company that produced flooring for royal and presidential palaces. Barbara might have the name Bentley, but she had the car.

  If only she could find a way to get an American Express Centurion Card, known as “The Black Card.” Now that was the epitome of arriving at the top. But she’d heard that it was an invitation-only card, offered to Platinum Card members who spend over a certain six-figure amount on the card each year. Now that she could charge that kind of money on her Platinum Card, she definitely planned to look into how she might finagle an invitation.

  She stepped out of the Bentley in her new white Gucci gown and paused in front of the two young black parking attendants for maximum effect. The gown had a V-neck that plunged to her waistline, and she had carefully placed the golden buckle in the shape of a G at the end of the vee. Her suede Gucci stilettos were covered with gold mink and had sexy ankle straps and four-inch python heels. Topping it all off was the pièce de résistance: a floorlength Blackglama mink coat. Granted, it was a little warm for a full-length fur, but Jolene couldn’t resist looking like the legend she knew she was.

  Jolene noticed the hungry looks on the faces of the parking attendants and she smiled seductively as she dropped her car key into the palm of the one nearest her. Between the Bentley and the boobs, the poor guy was panting like a dog in heat. Jolene’s smile widened with pleasure. It felt good to be back on top.

  She lifted her gown as she climbed the stairs to the mansion. It was a pity she had no gentleman to accompany her. She couldn’t possibly have invited Brian to such an elegant affair, and Patrick was coming with Pearl. But if she didn’t have a man, at least now she had moola.

  Jolene looked up at the soaring turrets and knew that she would not be able to live quite like this. People who had homes like this didn’t stop at one. They often had other places all over the country or even around the world. Hell, this might not even be this owner’s biggest spread. This kind of living took a lot more than a few million in the bank. But with her lottery winnings, she intended to come as close to this style of living as possible.

  Inside, the butler asked for her coat, but Jolene shook her head and waved him off. No way was she handing over a brand-new $20,000 mink coat before anyone had a chance to peep it. Why would she do anything so idiotic?

  She followed an older man down a long hallway past beautiful paintings and sculptures. She stopped to check the names of some of the artists as the man stood at the end of hall and waited patiently. She had no idea how much an original piece of art by these artists would set her back but she intended to find out.

  Jolene continued on as the man opened the huge double doors. She stepped inside, paused for a moment to take it all in, then discreetly opened and dropped her Gucci bag to the floor. The contents spilled out, and she gasped loudly as the old man scrambled hastily to pick everything up. When the voices died down and all nearby eyes had turned in her direction to see what the commotion was about, Jolene ceremoniously slipped out of her mink coat and held it at arms length to the man.

  Nothing like a grand entrance, she thought. She had dreamed of making entrances like this.

  Barbara
noticed Jolene Brown immediately, even before her little stunt with the dropped evening bag. She had been keeping an eye on the entrance in eager anticipation of the arrival of the host and hostess. But trust Jolene to create a scene as she arrived. And trust the stupid tramp to wear a full-length mink coat on a forty-fivedegree spring evening. Jolene Brown always had to overdo everything. What an ostentatious nut.

  And if the rumor that Jolene had just won $10 million in the Maryland lottery was true, then Barbara was certain that more ostentatious nuttiness wound be on display for all of Silver Lake in the weeks and months ahead.

  Barbara turned back to Bradford and the lieutenant governor and his wife. As boring as politics was, listening to Bradford discuss budgets and deficits was preferable to being distracted by that foolish woman.

  Pearl spotted Jolene as she handed her mink coat to the servant and quickly looked away. Jolene told Patrick that she had won $10 million in the Maryland lottery. Patrick later checked and learned the drawing was for only $5 million, but that was still a lot of money. Pearl was sure that Jolene would be gloating. Maybe she and Patrick would be able to avoid Jolene in this massive ballroom. Pearl certainly hoped so.

  To Pearl’s horror she heard Jolene’s voice behind her as soon as she had turned away.

  “Hello, Patrick.”

  “Hi, Jolene,” Patrick said, smiling at her. “How’s the million-dollar woman?”

  Jolene smiled back. “Never better.”

  Patrick gestured toward Pearl. “You remember Pearl Jackson, I’m sure.”

  Pearl nodded at her stiffly, but Jolene chose to ignore the reintroduction. As far as Jolene was concerned, Patrick’s whore was hardly worth attention, especially when she was wearing a hideously lame little black gown that looked like it had come straight off the rack at Kmart. That is if Kmart even sold formal dresses. She certainly wouldn’t know since she never put a foot anywhere near those discount stores.