Mistress, Inc.

by Niobia Bryant

  Nunzio faced the camera. “This is Hardline News and we’ll be back to continue our in-depth look into ‘The Murder of the Minister’s Wife.’ ”

  The light over the camera darkened and one of the crew stepped forward to remove her microphone. “Thank you,” Jessa told him, as Myra stepped forward looking like she wanted to do a cheer as if she were on the sidelines of a football game where a winning touchdown was just scored.

  “You are a natural. You are a star, Jessa. You did g-r-rr-eat, ” she gushed.

  “Who are you, Tony the Tiger now?” Jessa teased, accepting from Myra the oversized snakeskin clutch that perfectly suited the soft ivory linen dress she wore.

  Myra just laughed.

  Jessa felt tired. This was actually her second cable news show that week discussing “The Murder of the Minister’s Wife,” which she thought sounded more like a horrible title of a mystery book than an actual news story headline.

  Myra opened her iPad as they walked off the set. “Don’t forget you have the interview for the magazine tomorrow. They wanted to do it in your home and take actual pictures of the room where the murder-suicide attempt happened—”

  Jessa shook her head. “No, definitely not.”

  Myra held up one hand. “I already handled that and told them you completely redid the room so there was nothing to see anyway. The interview will happen at the Terrace Room restaurant tomorrow at three. Do you know where it is?” she asked.

  Jessa smiled. “I think I can find it,” she said as they exited the studio and then climbed into the back of a waiting blacked-out SUV.

  Jessa’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, interrupting Myra as she pulled it from her clutch and answered the call without checking her caller ID.

  “Hello.”

  “You trifling, worthless, waste of skin and bones. Are you kidding me suing Eric’s estate on behalf on your bastard child?”

  Jessa sighed and settled back against the plush leather seat. “This call is as pointless as your behavior, Jaime. You’re a college-educated woman and everything is laid out in the papers. Take them to your attorney and have your people contact my people. And what will happen is that same little baby that you keep calling a bastard will be recognized, will be respected, and will receive its inheritance. Your mouth wrote a check your ass is going to sign ... over to me.”

  Jessa ended the call and powered the phone off before easing it back into her clutch with calm. She had already expected the call because her attorney let her know the papers were being served today.

  Contesting Eric’s will was more about getting what rightfully belonged to her child than thumbing her nose at Jaime, but Jessa had to admit—and she could only pray to God for forgiveness—that it felt damn good to put the bitch in her place.

  Eric had been a successful man and Jaime had filed for divorce from him. His death occurred before the divorce was finalized, and suddenly the runaway bride was the well-off widow.

  Well, she won’t spend this baby’s inheritance buying up Pleasure’s dick.

  “Umm ... Jessa. Are you pregnant?”

  Jessa shifted her eyes over to Myra. “Yes, I am.”

  “And it’s by Eric?” she asked with the type of wariness a person had around a rabid animal.

  “Yes, Myra,” Jessa said coolly as she looked down at her stainless-steel watch with diamond accents.

  “And you’re suing his widow to contest the will?” Myra asked again, her tone still careful.

  “Why, Myra?”

  Myra’s eyes widened as big as half-dollar coins. “Because this changes everything,” she said in exasperation, her fingertips flying over her iPad.

  Jessa eyed her for a second before she turned and looked out the window at the passing scenery. She knew the news of the lawsuit was about to hit and she didn’t care.

  She was pregnant.

  She was suing the estate of the baby’s deceased father.

  She had served her ex-friend and his widow with papers.

  The truth was the truth and Jessa wasn’t living lies anymore.

  After lunch with Myra in the city, Jessa felt completely exhausted and ready to go home for an afternoon siesta. Between the morning sickness and feeling tired as all get out, Jessa found herself sleeping more and more. I’m not a young spring chicken, she thought, as the SUV pulled up to the gate of Richmond Hills.

  Lucky, the portly red-faced security guard stepped out of his glass booth. Jessa lowered the rear passenger window and leaned her head out. “Hello, Lucky,” she said.

  He looked at her and smiled politely. “Hello, Ms. Bell,” he said, before entering a code onto the keypad to open the gate.

  Jessa leaned back and started to raise the window via the power button on the door console.

  “I saw you on Hardline this afternoon,” Lucky said.

  Jessa pressed a stiff smile on her face as she sat forward again. “How was I?” she asked, even as she felt her fatigue in her eyes and shoulders.

  “You made some good points and you looked really pretty,” he said.

  “Thank you, Lucky.” Jessa nodded and upped the window as she settled back against the seat.

  Lucky suddenly placed his hand on the window.

  Jessa frowned a bit as she looked at him.

  He looked apologetic. “I just wanted to warn you that a few of your neighbors—the wives—they saw it, too, and they’re pretty riled up to find out which one you were talking about?” Lucky said, looking bashful.

  Jessa’s face filled with confusion.

  “Um, you know, the part about the neighbor’s husband that’s not taking no for an answer,” he reminded her gently.

  “Ooh,” Jessa said in sudden understanding. “Well, they’ll be okay. And so will I. Thanks, Lucky.”

  She successfully raised the window this time and motioned with her hand for the driver to go. She felt fearless as the SUV cruised through the street leading to the cul-de-sac where her home sat. Jessa wasn’t in the mood for a bunch of cronies with insecurities.

  Yes, she played the cruel game of “Guess Who” with her friends about a possible philandering husband, but she wasn’t in the mood for the bullshit now.

  But her eyes widened in surprise at the large amount of women gathered on her front door. What the fuck? “Slow down, driver,” she requested, quickly counting more than fifteen women surrounding her house like this was the night of the crime scene. Black, White, Asian, Latino. Young, old, middle-aged.

  Do all of these women suspect their husbands of approaching her for an affair? And all of them are honestly seeking out the truth of their marriage from her? What the hell?

  It hadn’t been Jessa’s intention to have the wives of Richmond Hills shaking in their Louboutin pumps about their husbands. She had been making a point about the equal guilt of the husbands in beginning affairs.

  The women parted like the Red Sea as the SUV turned into the drive leading to her two-car garage. Jessa gathered her purse and shades as the driver left the SUV to come around and open the passenger door. He helped her down out of the SUV and securely held her arms as he guided her through the women who immediately began shouting at her.

  “Which husband is it, Jessa Bell?”

  “Call her what she is ... a jezebel!”

  “Is it my Frank?”

  “Or my Ryan?”

  “Who is it, Jessa?”

  “It’s all your fault!”

  “My husband better not be begging you!”

  “Who is it, Jessa?”

  “Why don’t you move?”

  “Yeah, nobody wants you here.”

  Jessa felt a thin hand push against her shoulder and she stumbled forward a few steps. Her hand went to her belly as her anger came in a rush and she whirled around with rage in her eyes. Most of the women stepped back. “You have until the count of twenty to get off my property before the sprinklers come on and the police are called,” she said calmly but coldly, even as her eyes continued to fl
ash.

  She turned and finished her walk up to the front door. “Thank you,” she told the driver before she unlocked her front door and entered her home even as they resumed hurling questions and accusations at her.

  “Are those heifers crazy?” she asked aloud, shaking her head as she made her way into the kitchen to a bottled water. She looked out the window as the women moved to stand in the street in front of her home. Still wondering. Still suspicious of their husbands. “Now why don’t they get the hell off of my property and go home and talk to their damn husbands. If they are that nervous he’s not acting right, they don’t need me to confirm a damn thing.”

  But maybe they do. Maybe women wanted to know for sure if the man they married was deserving of their trust.

  Jessa poured the bottled water into a glass as she looked out at the women still hovering around her home and discussing their fears and suspicions with each other.

  She thought of the video she had on her cell phone implicating one woman’s husband of pursuing her. Her eyes scanned each face of the women. She didn’t see her among the crowd.

  No, if she were one of the women in search of the truth, I would tell her. I won’t volunteer the info, but if she appears and asks me, his perverted ass is grass.

  Jessa sipped from her glass of water and politely walked over to the control box on the wall of her spacious pantry. With a few pushes of the buttons on the keypad, Jessa turned on her sprinklers and increased their velocity to full blasts.

  As she left the kitchen and began to climb the stairs, Jessa chuckled into her glass at the high-pitched and surprised screams of the women who were suddenly all wet.

  “There has been a very bizarre and shocking twist in the story of a local woman, Jessa Bell, who was the victim of an apparent suicide-murder attempt at the hands of her married lover, who was successful in his attempt to kill himself.

  “I have here in my hands copies of court documents that were served to the wife of her married lover detailing her attempt to contest the will on behalf on her unborn child that Bell claims was fathered by her married lover, Eric Hall, nearly a month before his suicide.

  “In recent weeks after the violent attempt on Bell’s life she has been very vocal on many news outlets, including the nationally syndicated Kerry Kay Show, speaking out about her ordeal and her decision to never enter into an affair again. Although she has been very outspoken of late, calls to Jessa Bell or her reps have not been returned. We will definitely continue to watch and report on this story as more develops ... and I definitely believe we have all not heard the last of his story. This is Maria Vargas reporting for WCBL. ”

  “Well, the shit has officially hit the fan,” Jessa said the next morning with a sigh as she placed the television on mute with her remote as she lay back against the many soft and plush pillows on her bed. She picked up her iPad and did a search on her name. Hundreds of links to articles about her interview on Kerry Kay, the attempt on her life, and the lawsuit against Eric’s estate flooded the page.

  Jessa didn’t bother to read any of the articles. She didn’t need her story told to her by someone else. No one knew it better than her-especially without the salacious lies and assumptions.

  Rising from the bed, she slipped her feet into her flat satin slippers and pulled a short silk robe over the lace teddy she slept in. After quickly going through her routine of washing her face, brushing her teeth, and combing her hair, Jessa made her way downstairs. She paused midway down the steps to listen to the quiet of her house and her life. The irony? The quiet was so loud, so noticeable. So unbearable.

  But soon this baby will bring life to my life. A second chance to make everything right, she thought with a wishful smile as she continued down the stairs and into the kitchen to start preparing her new morning ritual of breakfast, a glass of milk and her prenatal vitamin.

  Her OB/GYN stressed the need for her to eat small meals throughout the day. Now that Jessa had decided to have and raise this baby, she was determined to do everything right.

  She started a small pot of oatmeal just as her landline started to ring. Without a blink of an eye, she reached over and cut the ringer off, just as she had her cordless phone upstairs. The news of the lawsuit had opened the floodgates to reporters and bloggers wanting a statement from her. She was just grateful the gates of Richmond Hills kept anyone from showing up to her front door.

  Ding-dong.

  Jessa arched a brow as she pulled the pot of oatmeal off the stove and made her way out of the kitchen and to the front door. She eased up on her toes to look out the peephole and sighed to see Jaime, Renee, and Aria sanding there. Sighing, she opened the door. “I see more of you three now than when we were friends,” she said dryly as she eyed all three.

  “You’ve shown us we were all never friends,” Aria snapped.

  Jessa raised her hands and pretended to play a violin. “Sing me another sad song, that one’s played out,” Jessa said coolly.

  “Jessa, are you serious about suing Jaime for a part of Eric’s estate?” Renee asked, her face incredulous.

  “Legal papers are pretty serious,” she responded.

  “So trading your sins for money wasn’t bad enough. Now you want Eric’s money,” Aria snapped. “Now you’re making your scandalous life into a business. Some kind of Mistress, Incorporated or some bullshit.”

  Jessa eyed her. “Isn’t your restraining order still in place?” she asked, motioning with her hand for Aria to back up from her. “Give me fifty feet.”

  “Look, you crazy bitch, you are not going to get away with this,” Jaime spat as she held up papers bunched in her hand.

  Jessa frowned as she eyed her. “It’s enough of this anger and bitterness bull. I don’t like the energy around my baby,” she said. “Do not come near my home again. Anything you and I have to say to each other can be done through the lawyers.”

  Jaime took a step forward.

  Jessa stiffened her back.

  Renee stepped in between them.

  “I tried to apologize to all of you and you didn’t want it, so I’m not trying anymore. I’m not kissing any of your asses. God has forgiven me and that’s all I need,” Jessa said.

  “You think anyone believes that bullshit about you getting saved and wanting to change. Bitch, please!” Aria called from the street.

  “Isn’t the fact that you betrayed a friend, lied on innocent men, and almost got yourself killed enough. Do you have to be on television making her relive everything you did?” Renee asked.

  Jessa laughed bitterly. “Everything I did. Just me. I raped Eric. I stuck my hand up his ass and played the ventriloquist to the lies he told me. I caused all of this ... including that lunatic trying to kill me.”

  “But you want the lunatic’s money, though?” Jaime snapped from behind Renee’s broad shoulder.

  “And you don’t?” Jessa countered, locking eyes with her. “You didn’t love Eric and it had nothing to do with his involvement with me. You were paying Pleasure to fuck you long before then, and then was dumb enough to accidentally dial your husband in the middle of it all. That didn’t have shit to do with me. You were cheating on him long before he started anything with me. So save the sob story for someone who doesn’t know.”

  Jaime threw her hands up in the air.

  “What I am doing is for the baby we made together, and if I could change it all I would, but the fact remains that I am pregnant with Eric’s child and we both know he would have taken care of this child.” Jessa pressed her hand to her belly.

  “To hell with you, Jessa. But please know I will fight you every step of the way,” Jaime swore.

  Jessa shook her head slowly. “You will fight me to make sure Eric’s child doesn’t get one red cent of what would have been his inheritance if Eric didn’t kill himself before he knew about the baby,” she said with reproach and judgment.

  “What baby?” Jaime snapped in disgust, waving her hand dismissively before turning to walk away. “Ai
n’t no damn baby.”

  Jessa turned to face Renee. “And so, Renee, you wouldn’t stand up for your kids? You wouldn’t fight for their inheritance from Jackson if it was withheld from them. Huh?” Jessa asked.

  Renee closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her lips. “But I understand how I would feel if Jackson’s mistress sued me for it.”

  Jessa opened her mouth to speak but closed her mouth momentarily before she decided to forge ahead. “Is the child to blame for that? Does it lessen the fact that—and I’m sorry to say this—but the child by his mistress has just as much right as your children, Renee. I’m sorry, but it’s true,” Jessa stressed.

  Renee’s eyes filled with pain. “You’re one mean bitch, Jessa Bell.”

  “I’m not a mistress trying to hurt the wife. I’m a mother taking care of my child. Just like you.” Jessa leaned past her to eye Aria. “The baby you’re carrying, if Kingston didn’t help you take care of it, you wouldn’t sue for child support. Huh?”

  “I’m Kingston’s wife. Not his whore!” Aria screamed back.

  Jessa stepped back and started to close her door. “You’re both hypocrites and I’ll pray for you,” she said softly before closing her door and locking it securely.

  Chapter 8

  Jessa let the tears that filled her eyes fall freely down her face as she knelt at the prayer bench and silently asked God to guide her steps on the right path to salvation. Reverend Dobbins moved down and stood before her, lightly placing his hand on her shoulder. His gentle touch really struck a chord within her. It was the touch of an older man who cared and was concerned about her. That was something Jessa had never known before.

  The reverend moved on to the next of his kneeling parishioners and Jessa felt the loss of his touch. She rose to her feet and turned to press her crocodile Kate Spade’s into the carpet as she made her way back to her seat on the rear pew of Reverend Dobbins’s nondenominational church. She picked up her Bible and stroked it as her head hung to her chest. Soon her tears fell on the cover.

  Jessa hated the weakness and uncertainty she felt. She hated how her secrets and sins haunted her. She hated the guilt she felt about being happy for this baby. She hated that although her intentions were good, no one believed that she regretted her affair with Eric. No one believed she wanted to change.