Aftermath

by Tracy Brown

  “You still there?” Tremaine asked since the line was dead silent.

  “Yeah,” Baron said. “Aiight, then. I’m gonna hit you back when I get home.”

  Tremaine knew that Baron had gotten the message. His reign at the top was over.

  * * *

  Camille and Misa sat in the back of the church and listened as the reverend spoke on the subject of tithing. Camille closed her eyes, remembering a time when she had something to donate ten percent of. She remembered the lyrics to a song that her mother used to play years ago. “Ten percent of something beats one hundred percent of nothing at all.” How true.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around to see that Celia Parker-Nobles was seated behind her.

  “Hi.” Camille smiled brightly and clasped hands with Celia. Misa turned around and smiled at Baron’s mom.

  “What are you ladies doing after service?” Celia whispered.

  The sisters exchanged looks and then shook their heads. “Nothing,” Camille whispered back.

  Celia nodded. “Come with me.”

  Camille and Misa agreed and turned back around to give their attention to the reverend. Camille had never seen Celia at this church before all the way out in Long Island near Lily’s house. That meant that Celia had come there specifically to see them, and she wondered why.

  Misa thought about what Celia had already done for her. Camille had finally told her out of their mother’s earshot that Celia had basically bailed her out. Misa had been wondering ever since then whether it had been Celia doing it as a favor to Camille or a message from Baron that he cared about her. She hoped that after service she would get some answers.

  Celia sat there with her big red hat putting all the other parishoners’ Sunday finery to shame. She watched Misa and Camille as they participated in the service. She had a special place in her heart for both of them. Camille reminded Celia of her younger self. Like Camille, Celia had been the first wife of a very handsome and powerful man. She, too, had been abandoned in favor of a woman she had known, someone who had been in her home. As Celia watched Camille come unraveled by Frankie’s behavior, she had warned her to keep her dignity. Celia herself had never compromised her dignity for anybody. Not even the late, great, notorious Doug Nobles. She had acquiesced and divorced him, watched as he married Mayra Leon and had Gillian, and she had laughed all the way to the bank. Today, Celia was going to teach Camille how to do the same thing.

  Service ended and the congregants spilled out into the parking lot, all of them hurrying toward luxury cars in this affluent community.

  As they walked along, Celia linked arms with Camille. “It’s good to see you again,” she said. “I want to take you out to lunch, have a talk just me and you.”

  Camille smiled. “I’d like that.” She glanced at Misa. Celia winked as if she had a plan.

  “Misa,” Celia said, smiling and taking the young lady by the hand. “I’ve been praying for you and for your son. Everything is going to be just fine. Keep the faith.”

  Misa nodded and allowed Celia to lead her over to a black Town Car. A balding, round black man opened the car door for her as they approached and Misa turned to Celia, confused. Camille was but a few steps behind.

  “My son was released from the hospital the other day and he’s been asking about you. I told him how you held vigil at his side for so many days while he was comatose. He appreciates that because he’s feeling deserted by a lot of other people.”

  Misa nodded. She completely understood.

  Celia gestured toward the car and driver. “He asked me to send the driver for you so that you can go and see him. He’s at my house in Montauk, and I think it might be good for you to get away for a little while. Security is tight and all that. No reporters or anybody else will bother you while you’re there. You can rest assured.”

  Misa wanted to jump up and down, but instead she hugged Celia and said, “Thank you so much.” She hugged her sister, too, before she turned and greeted her driver.

  Camille and Celia watched as Misa climbed into the car and was whisked away. Then they walked back toward where Camille had parked her Range Rover. Climbing inside, Camille asked, “Where will we go for lunch?”

  Celia smiled. “IHOP.”

  Camille burst out laughing. Celia seemed too classy for the International House of Pancakes. “You’re kidding.”

  Celia took off her extravagant hat, shook her head, and frowned. “I’m not playing! I want some of that butter pecan syrup on mine, now let’s go.”

  Camille knew there was one about a mile down the road, so she drove off in that direction. She hoped Celia knew she was broke, that she couldn’t even pay for her own meal at IHOP. As if she read her mind, Celia turned to her.

  “I know times are hard, Camille. I just want to treat you to lunch, give you some advice, some girl talk. You know?”

  Camille did know. She wanted badly to get some good advice from someone who had actually walked a mile in her shoes.

  They arrived at the restaurant, got seated, and ordered their meals before Camille shared her good news.

  “So, I’m having a baby.”

  Celia couldn’t hide her surprise. “A baby? What?” She sat back in her chair and took a good look at Camille. “I knew I saw something different in your face.”

  Camille smiled. “Yeah. Frankie and I haven’t really had a chance to talk about it, so it feels … kind of unreal.”

  Celia thought Frankie was a true ass for treating his wife this way while she was pregnant with his child. On the drive over, Camille had shared her sad story—how Frankie had cut her off financially, how Gillian had called the cops on her. Celia was astounded now to find out that there was also an unborn child involved in all of it.

  “Camille, what are you going to do?” she asked.

  Camille held her hands up helplessly. “I have no idea.”

  Their food arrived and Celia said a quick yet poignant prayer before dousing her pancakes in syrup. Camille nibbled on her turkey sausage and looked at Celia.

  “What would you do?”

  Celia smirked as she chewed on her pancakes. “You really want to know?” She was thrilled that Camille had asked. Unsolicited advice was often unwelcome. But now that she’d asked …

  Camille nodded.

  “Sell that house out there on Staten Island. The market ain’t great right now, but it’s something.”

  “None of it is in my name.”

  “So what? You’re his wife.”

  “The barbershop and most of his other big assets are in his mother’s name. At least that’s what Teresa told me. Frankie doesn’t own much on paper besides Conga, and he just came into owning that recently. It’s the other money that matters most, and legally I can’t touch that.”

  Celia stared at Camille. “Legally,” she repeated.

  Camille chewed on her eggs and on what Celia was alluding to.

  Celia stirred her tea. “Frankie is giving you no choice but to play hardball. So, you have to do just that.” She sipped from the steaming mug. “I’ve spoken to Teresa, too.”

  Camille nodded. After all, Celia had every right to. She was the one who was financing Misa’s defense.

  “She tells me that you’re still hoping to reconcile with Frankie.”

  Camille shrugged, embarrassed. She had, in fact, told Misa’s attorney that she didn’t want to go too far in her efforts to get money from her husband out of fear that he would divorce her. “I was,” she admitted, wiping her mouth with her napkin and sitting back in her seat. “But after he stood there and watched the police escort me out of that bitch’s house … after how he looked at me and told me that he wasn’t happy about this baby…” Camille was so clearly hurt by that episode that Celia could tell it had been a turning point for her. “I’m done. I’m ready to file for divorce.”

  Celia nodded. “Good,” she said. “I know it’s hard because you still love him. I’ve been there. But you can’t make a man love yo
u back, even when you know he’s making a huge mistake.” Celia shook her head. “I spent the whole weekend in my mother’s house crying when Douglas married Mayra. She was clearly only with him for his money, and I really, truly loved that man.”

  Camille saw the sincerity in Celia’s eyes and it made her smile. That was exactly how she felt about Frankie. She wasn’t sure why Gillian wanted Frankie, of all the men she could have. But what Camille knew for sure was that Gillian couldn’t possibly love him more than she did.

  Celia sighed. “But I had to let him go. He wasn’t in love with me anymore. Thankfully, Doug had sense enough to provide for me willingly. He put the New Jersey house in my name, the Hamptons house, and one in Coral Gables, Florida. He set up a trust for Baron and made me cotrustee over it. And he sent money over every month, no questions asked. He didn’t make it hard for me. But if he had, I was fully prepared to get what was mine.”

  “How?” Camille asked. “What do I do to get what Frankie owes to me and to my baby?”

  “First step is, you have your girlfriend Toya prepare that house for sale. Have it appraised and have her list it. When Frankie raises hell about it, you lay your case down. You don’t want the public scrutiny of his finances, and neither does he. But, if need be, you’re willing to provide proof of the lifestyle you’ve become accustomed to. You tell him that you can’t live in that house under a microscope any longer. And since he won’t give you the money you need to find a safe place for you and for your child, selling the house and having the courts decide how to split the profit is your only option.” Celia looked Camille in the eye. “You remind Frankie of how loyal you’ve been to him over the years. Faithful and trustworthy. How silent.” She sipped her tea, holding Camille’s gaze over the rim of the cup. “Make him see how beneficial it would be for you to keep being silent that way.”

  Camille nodded.

  “If you play your cards right, Camille, he can’t deny you. You’ve been married for eight years, you gave up a modeling career to be a dutiful wife, and now you’re carrying his child. He’s abandoned you with no money, no means of supporting yourself or the baby. He has to pay. Period.” Celia shook her head and the expression on her face told Camille that this was the worst part. “Unfortunately, you can’t make Frankie be a good father to his child. Douglas never was a good father to Baron. Especially once Gillian was born.”

  Camille was surprised to hear Celia say this. She had always had the impression that Doug Nobles had loved both his children equally.

  “I watched him lead Baron into the business even though I begged him not to. What mother would want her son to be groomed for the drug business from the age of thirteen?” Celia had a pained expression on her face. “You’re about to be a mother, so soon you’ll understand. You know your child; know what they’re capable of, what’s outside of their reach, what can make them or break them. And Baron has always been seeking his father’s approval. He wanted to be just as notorious, just as flashy. But he kept falling short, while Gillian managed to remain the apple of her father’s eye.” She leaned forward and rested her chin in her hand. “Baron has been broken because of it. Nothing he ever did was good enough, and now he seems so depressed, so empty inside that I’m worried about him.”

  Camille sighed. “It’s funny because Frankie always envied Baron for being Nobles’s real son. Frankie always wished that you and your husband had been his parents instead of the two that he was given.” Camille had often heard Frankie express his admiration for Celia and she could see why. The woman was as real as it gets.

  Celia smiled. “I loved Frankie like a son, as well. And Baron loves him like a brother. I think it’s hard for him to understand being ignored by Frankie and Gillian like this.”

  “Frankie hasn’t contacted Baron at all?”

  Celia shook her head, sat back. “Baron has tried calling both of them and gets no response. If it weren’t for Tremaine, my son would be completely in the dark about everything.” She looked at Camille. “I don’t pretend that Baron is a saint. There are some things he’s not telling me. I’m not blind to that fact. He feels responsible for his father’s death in a major way. He won’t talk about it. But sometimes—when the painkillers get him feeling fuzzy—”

  Both ladies chuckled at that.

  “He tells me that he feels like the bad guy. Like in the movies … he says he’s been bad to everybody including himself, and that he deserves everything that’s happened to him. He told me that he’s in exactly the same position his father was—stuck in a wheelchair while life goes on around him.”

  They sat in silence for a moment and thought about that. It was true.

  “I think he’s finally had a chance to stop and think back on everything he’s done and it’s a tough pill to swallow. Baron isn’t the bad guy.” Celia realized that she sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “At least he doesn’t mean to be.”

  Camille nodded her understanding and smiled. “You’ve been a good mother to Baron,” she said, hoping that Celia wasn’t blaming herself for his shortcomings.

  “I know!” Celia chuckled. “If it wasn’t for me, that boy would be broke. So much of the money Doug gave me over the years is still there. I didn’t need much to survive or to raise Baron. Hell, once he got in the drug game he was living with his father and his newfound family more than he was with me.”

  Celia had seen her son on weekend visits and holidays while he was being groomed as his father’s successor. She had often wondered how Baron would have turned out had she had a stronger hand in his upbringing.

  “I had the properties Doug gave me and the money he gave me each month to pay for it all. And I got my hustle on—legally.”

  “What did you do?” Camille was intrigued.

  “I invested. I bought some art, some stocks and bonds, some T-bills. I invested in some real estate, long before the recent surge in home buying. I made a lot of money that way. I didn’t tell anyone about it until now. All these years, everyone assumed that I was just sitting around living lavishly off of my ex-husband’s money.” She shrugged. “I guess it was partly true, but I doubled and tripled it by myself without having to look over my shoulder the way that he did.”

  Camille was amazed. As the two women enjoyed their meal and talked strategy, Camille felt hopeful for the first time that she could actually come out on top. Finally, she had accepted that Frankie wouldn’t be playing the role of model husband and father in her happily-ever-after. But Camille was still about to have the child she’d always longed for, and she was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that he or she got the best life had to offer.

  * * *

  “I’m not saying that you’re wrong,” Baron was saying. He sat in his wheelchair, still unable to walk, though he was much more comfortable in his mother’s Hamptons estate than in the cold and sterile hospital. “But how do you know for a fact that it was Steven who did it?”

  Misa looked at Baron, her expression steely. “It was him. I just know it.”

  Baron didn’t press her. Her conviction had him sold on it, as well. It must have been Steven. What else could have made this petite and typically mild-mannered young woman commit murder?

  They’d been sitting together for close to two hours talking about the events of January 5, 2008. Misa had been reluctant to open up about it at first. But when Baron assured her that he was no longer in cahoots with Frankie, that in fact Frankie had abandoned him the same way he had abandoned Misa’s sister, she told him everything that led up to the shooting that night. She had gone into detail about her determination to remain at Baron’s bedside while he lingered in a coma; about the time she found Shane curled up inside Camille’s bathtub, hiding from Steven; how Steven had told her that Shane loved to play hide-and-seek, and how it haunted her now to think of the terror her child must have felt every time he tried to find a hiding place secure enough to keep a pedophile from hurting him.

  Baron sat there in silence for a while and w
atched as Misa got comfortable on the sofa. She seemed so calm and matter-of-fact now as she talked about it. But he could also see the torment in her eyes, the pain that lay just beneath the surface of her pretty brown eyes.

  He thought about what his mother had told him in the hospital, what Misa had confirmed for him tonight. She had sat by his side day in and day out for weeks, despite their checkered history. Knowing that he hadn’t always treated her well, Baron looked at her questioningly.

  “Why did you do it?” She looked at him as if she didn’t understand the question. “Why did you care about me so much that you sat with me all those days?”

  She had been asking herself that question over and over again. The answer wasn’t an easy one. She had done it because she hoped to show Baron that she was worthy of being his one and only. She had hoped to secure a spot in his life so that she could live better, so that Shane could have it all. But admitting that to Baron now as he sat in a wheelchair stripped of his seat at the helm of his family seemed cruel. Misa shrugged.

  Baron stared at the floor. He had been thinking a lot lately—about everything. And he had finally begun to ask himself some hard questions. One of the things he pondered was why he had been so violent toward the women in his life—particularly his ex-girlfriend Angie and then Misa. And Trina Samuels.

  “I wasn’t always nice to you,” he admitted. “I beat you so bad that time before I took you to Miami.” He seemed to cringe at the thought of it.

  Misa saw him struggle with the memory. She, too, recalled that trip with mixed emotions. On the one hand she had been overjoyed about being by Baron’s side, in his life and in his bed. But he had beaten her so mercilessly that she still felt sore at the thought of it. Misa decided to be honest in the hopes that he would see he wasn’t the only one in the wrong.