The Ramseys Boxed Set

by Altonya Washington

  “Can’t complain,” Jasper looked down at Carmen on his arm. “Can’t complain at all.”

  Carmen read her brother easily and smiled to herself. She wondered if Marc was aware of the awed expression on his face. She could see him sizing up Jasper- his manner, speech and knowledge of his subject matter was clear as they spoke on the war, its future and even how business was at Ramsey.

  “Jasper Stone, the big man. With his own little temptress on top of everything else.” Marc’s pitch stare eased toward his sister then.

  Jasper felt Carmen’s grip tighten on his arm. He had to admit he liked it. She’d held his arm on countless occasions. This time though, her grip made him feel like her protector. From what, he had no idea…

  ***

  Josephine felt literally like the queen of her castle. The house was fabulous and decorated even more fabulously for the party, everyone raved over the music- the live jazz was exquisite mingled with classical arrangements; when the group took five. Every selection was extraordinary. The food and service was unparalleled. Even the weather was cooperating and guests had their choice of enjoying in or outdoor luxury.

  Josephine smiled as she wound up her trek through the maze at the edge of the property. She recalled one of the VP’s wives saying as long as the guests were laughing count it all success.

  That opinion was emphasized when Josephine overheard two women somewhere in the maze laughing boisterously. They were nearby from the clarity of the laughter and speech. Count it all success, Josephine told herself. Slowing her steps, she decided to take in a few more compliments about her party.

  “…Word is the live band travels with Gillespie. I’m having the best time, but I knew I had to come for that!”

  “I’ve been having the best time too and you’re right- the band is cool, but I just came for Marc Ramsey.” The woman giggled. “I mean that in the literal sense, girl.”

  “Scandalous!” The other woman told her friend. “You are bad!”

  “And he is good- very good.”

  Josephine could’ve laughed over the phrase ‘eavesdroppers never hear anything good’. She could’ve damn well laughed if she weren’t seething with anger. Surprisingly, she felt no emotion towards the woman, the anger was all for her loving husband. She tore out of the maze, through the garden and into the house. She scarecely wasted time sparing glances to her adoring guests as she flew past them with the short train from her gown floating in an elegant blur. She found Marc who appeared to be in deep conversation with about four or five executive types. They looked intense and not to be disturbed.

  Too damn bad, Josephine decided.

  “We need to talk.” She told him without waiting for a lull in the conversation before she cut in.

  Marc simply raised a hand in a silent request for quiet. He didn’t bother with looking in his wife’s direction.

  “This won’t take long dear,” Josephine stepped closer, intentionally clipping her words as she spoke. “Just a little matter about someone coming to see you.”

  Taking heed then, Marc turned. His onyx stare narrowed when he noted the wildness in his wife’s light eyes. Something warned him not to trifle with her and coolly, he excused himself from the gentleman he conversed with.

  ~~~

  “In our own damn house?! During this fucking party I slaved over for your lying ass?!”

  “You shut your mouth,” Marc’s hiss was almost drowned when he slammed the bedroom door behind them.

  “All the things I’ve heard…” Josephine was beyond listening as she paced the room frantically. “I never believed it. No matter how strongly everything warned me that it was true,” the train of the gown whipped about her as she ranted, “I never believed it ‘cause I hadn’t seen it- it was all hearsay. But this time,” her gaze narrowed and she angled her head, “this time I heard the shit directly from one of your sluts!”

  Marcus closed the distance between he and his wife in the span of two seconds. He grabbed her arm and gave her a firm jerk. “I won’t ask again.”

  “Or what?!” She spat, taunting him with her words and; unconsciously, her body. “What? Are you trying to tell me I’m mistaken you son of a bitch? That you didn’t just screw some bimbo right here in our-” Her argument was silenced by his kiss then.

  Affectively aroused, Josephine melted into him. For a time, she indulged in the coaxing kiss, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be subdued by want. She began to struggle then, wrenching against Marc, pummeling his chest with her fists. Marc however, only appeared to grow more aroused.

  “I don’t want it,” she seethed.

  “You will.”

  Her struggles renewed and she prayed for the ability to vomit right there in his face. She’d already dry heaved over the scent of sex and perfume from his earlier conquest. The aroma clung faintly to his clothes and added fuel to her anger. She clawed at his neck and may have tasted victory had he not turned her to face the wall. In moments, he had the chiffon folds of the elegant gown bunched about her waist. He freed himself in one smooth motion and took her from behind.

  Josephine lost her will to fight. She went limp over the reality of what had just happened. She had been raped by her husband. She closed her eyes, turning away when his chin rested on her shoulder.

  “Remember your place,” he breathed heavily into her neck. Dipping a finger inside her then; he trailed the tell-tale moisture along her cheek, fixed his trousers and left the room.

  R

  ~CHAPTER EIGHTEEN~

  Josephine maintained her position near the wall some three minutes after Marc’s departure. Slowly, she pushed away from the lavender painted surface. Her steps and manner gained energy on the way to the bath room. She stripped off the dazzling gown, stepped into the shower and tried to scrub herself raw. After twenty minutes, she slid down the tiles and curled herself into a ball in the tub. Water pelted down on her and she prayed the drops beating her head would clear images of the scene that had just taken place between she and her husband.

  Martha Simon found her daughter still curled in the tub some fifteen minutes later.

  “Girl what in the world are you doing in here?! You got a houseful of people to see to.” Martha shut off the water and frowned.

  “Party’s almost over, Ma.”

  “But aren’t you going to see it through?” Martha fiddled with the black fringe along the hem of her sequined blouse. Gradually, she took stock of the disheveled bed room. “Honey what in the world…? What happened in here?” She was turning to pick up the discarded gown when she heard her daughter’s wail.

  “Baby…” Martha knelt beside the tub and pulled Josephine into a rocking embrace.

  “I hate him Mama. I hate him. I think I’ve always hated him.”

  “You’re talking about Marc?” Martha pulled back with a look of disbelief shadowing her lovely round face. “But honey, why? When he’s given you-”

  “Oh Mama please! He raped me.” Josephine shook her head as fresh tears spewed. “He raped me.” She whispered that time.

  “Baby,” Martha shook her head, “but that’s not possible.”

  “I want out. I want out of this hell.” Josephine rapped her fist to the porcelain. “I’m gonna get out of it. I-”

  “Stop this! You hush and think. Think Josie.” Martha held her shoulders in a vice grip and shook until Josephine’s gaze connected with her own.

  “You think about your life now.” Martha gave Josephine another jerk to usher the words home. “Think about your life if you walk away now- what skills do you have, Josie? You forgot about your schooling when your last name changed to Ramsey. Marc would turn you into an outcast if he’s as ruthless as you say.” She shook her head defiantly. “I won’t see you wind up old, broke and alone like Clea and Ross or dead like…”

  “Mama…” Josephine perched on her knees to draw Martha close when she burst into tears over the thought of Fernelle.

  “I have to see at least one of my girls do it up r
ight.” She’d accept no more of Josephine’s comforting embrace and pulled back. “In the end girl, you have to ask yourself if it’s worth going back to the life of Josephine Simon after living the dream as Josephine Ramsey.”

  ***

  Full bodied laughter rambled from the table of devastating, well-dressed men in the far corner of Pete’s Tavern and Spirits. The sound drew dozens of female stares and those of several males who wished such charisma and allure were theirs to enjoy if only for a moment.

  Since their first meeting, Westin Ramsey and the Tesano brothers had developed something of a kinship. The men saw eye to eye on several topics from business to sports. Still, it was their opinions on business that fueled the interaction. West had become especially close to Roman, Aaron and Pitch Tesano. The foursome met for drinks at least once a month. The business topic that evening centered around Las Vegas and its awesome appeal.

  “So what do you think West?” Roman asked once Aaron had shared their plans to purchase property there.

  Westin grinned while shaking his head and reaching for the cognac he’d ordered. “Never made you cats for the casino business.”

  Again, laughter rumbled.

  “Not quite exactly what we had in mind.” Pitch said, laughter still coloring his voice. “We definitely want to grab some property while we can.” He shrugged. “Thought we’d extend you an opportunity to come in with us.”

  “Mmm…” Grimacing then, West contemplated his response. He wanted to be clear without stepping on the toes of his new friends.

  “I’d need time to think on it.” He winced, knowing the rest of the statement couldn’t be said any plainer. “My family’s never really had those…sorts of interests.” He watched the brothers exchange knowing looks and believed the new friendship was surely reaching its end. No matter how subtly spoken, a stereotype was a stereotype.

  “Guys, I think he means mafia interest.” Aaron’s deep voice held a humorous undertone.

  “Sorry West, you made friends with the least glamorous side of the Tesano family.” Pitch spoke with true apology lacing his words. “Land development’s our game. Condos, neighborhoods, business complexes…”

  “Yeah, pretty boring stuff,” Roman added.

  Aaron shrugged. “Sorry.”

  Seconds later, yet another round of laughter was rumbling around the table.

  “I’m sorry fellas.” West practically chuckled the words.

  “No need,” Aaron waved a hand. “Our own father thought we were idiots trying to craft some new business interest when we had a gold mine waiting for us if we chose a place in the family business.” He threw back the rest of his gin tonic. “We care about our family too much to have folks always thinkin’ we’re gonna take a hit out on ‘em because our last name ends in a vowel.”

  The laughter then was a bit less boisterous.

  Westin realized then how his friends had had to combat their own share of racism. “You guys sound like my little brother Damon. He’s obsessed with keeping the family name pristine.”

  Aaron nodded while tapping his fingers to the Muddy Waters groove filling the air. “Your little brother sounds like a good man.”

  “So? What do you think now about coming in with us on Vegas?” Pitch was asking.

  “Still need to think on it,” West raised his glass, “but the possibilities are looking good to me.”

  The foursome touched their glasses in toast.

  ***

  Josephine pulled herself together, put on her gown and headed downstairs twenty minutes after her chat with her mother. She was halfway down the hall when she turned her face toward the wall and gave into another sob.

  What had she gotten herself into? She recalled her pride when Marcus asked for her hand right there before her horrible sisters. He’d seemed so… in love with her but in hindsight and; probably more in her right mind, she realized he wasn’t in love. For whatever reason he’d needed more than wanted to marry her. Wasn’t that what he kept saying?

  She was the type of wife he needed to make himself look like something other than the slime he was. She was his shroud of decency. In reality she was no more to him than the trash he betrayed her with.

  The reality of it threatened to send her into another fit of crying. Hearing her name being called forced her to act accordingly.

  Jeff Carnes had already grown concerned though and was pulling her around to face him.

  “What is this, Jo? What’s wrong?”

  Her tears returned a split second later.

  Jeff moved in close offering her the expanse of a considerably broad chest to cry into.

  “Is it Marc?” He asked, already knowing that it was. He rocked her a bit when she nodded against his chest. “Can you get past it?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice, Jo.” Jeff pulled back to watch her closely.

  She rolled her eyes. “Right. Choose to go back to my non-glamorous and non-affluent life.”

  “Sugar that’s not important.”

  “Hmph. Spoken like a man whose always had money.”

  “Josephine money at the expense of one’s dignity and self esteem just ain’t worth it.”

  “Hmph. Spoken like a man.” That time Josephine had a smile in place.

  Jeff mimicked the gesture, but gave her a quick shake for good measure. “You promise me you’ll keep in touch if you ever need to talk in confidence.”

  “Thank J,” she sighed and brushed away the lone tear clinging to a lash, “but I can’t afford your fee.”

  “But your husband can. He made me a job offer.” Jeff explained when Josephine tilted her head. “I just decided to take it. Keep watch over things- including you. That’ll be true whether I’m working for Marc or not.”

  “Jeff,” Josephine fell against him again. “Thank you.”

  He patted her shoulder. “You’re gonna have to be strong if you choose this life.”

  ***

  “Sorry about that guys,” Marc was already back out at the party. He made a bee-line to the group he’d been talking to before Josephine’s interruption.

  Of course, the five executives could’ve cared less. They had the ear of Marcus Ramsey and would utilize whatever time they were granted.

  “I believe we were discussing insurance when I was called away.”

  “Right. Insurance and other employee benefits.” Reese Bergins explained.

  Marc’s dark gaze shifted between the men. “Is there some problem?”

  “Oh no, no Marcus just the opposite.” Reese looked to his colleagues who all nodded their agreement. “In fact Ramsey boasts one of the most impressive employee packages in the nation- that’s among white and black owned companies. We don’t have to tell you how impressive that is in light of how few black owned companies there are.”

  “Well I’ve always believed being a stand-out is deserving of praise.”

  The execs chuckled over Marc’s response, but were soon looking to Reese to continue. They couldn’t be certain how their opinions would be received by the second Ramsey son.

  “Quentin Ramsey was diligent in his efforts to provide for his employees. He believed that employees who were content with their income and well being were more productive workers.”

  Despite the accolades, Marc sensed the underlying agenda residing amongst the group. Hooking thumbs about his suspenders, he smiled. “Does more productive equal more expensive?”

  Again, the execs exchanged glances. Clearly, they’d regretted even considering voicing differing opinions regarding Quent Ramsey’s ideas.

  “My father and I rarely saw eye to eye, gentlemen. That became more evident once I expressed my interest in the business.”

  The men nodded, their ease slowly becoming more noticeable. George Crown stepped forward then, grimacing toward his co-workers before he spoke.

  “Marcus we all had the greatest respect for your father.”

  “I’d never question that you felt oth
erwise George. But?”

  “Well…it’s been our feeling that Mr. Ramsey may’ve been a bit…overzealous in his planning for the employees. The benefits and allowances made for the workers-”

  “Those in the industrial, manual labor level especially.”

  “Right,” George nodded back toward Reese who had spoken. “We feel those packages may’ve been too lucrative- in other words, too expensive.”

  Drake Kratchins stepped up then. “If we were able to modify some of those allowances, we could perhaps increase the company’s budget by as much as twenty or thirty percent. Maybe more.”

  “Are we in some sort of financial trouble that would make this necessary?”

  “Oh no, no nothing like that Marcus.” David Bookman waved a hand and grinned. “It’s our job though to improve the company’s financial outlook- this is but one suggestion- one that could be set into place rather smoothly.”

  “Do you all have anything in writing?”

  “We’ve done the preliminary numbers.” David said.

  Marcus extended his hand for shaking. “Have them on my desk Monday morning.”

  ***

  Briselle’s mouth thinned into a tight line when a teary, red-eyed Georgia answered the door.

  “Girl why don’t you stop bein’ an idiot and go wherever Felix wants you to?” She pushed her sister-in-law from the door.

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Why? Because he can’t pamper you well enough yet?”

  “Screw you Bri,” Georgia shuffled off toward her living room. “I love him Bri. I’m in love with Felix- I’ve always been in love with him, but with him I feel weak. I don’t feel like myself.”

  “But honey what’s wrong with that?” Briselle smoothed her black mini dress beneath her and perched on the end of the stout coffee table. “If it’s over the man you love?”

  “Please Bri,” Georgia’s lashes fluttered as she rolled her eyes. “Everybody’s love story isn’t the fairytale you and my brother have.”

  Briselle stiffened. “That’s no fairytale. West and me have our share of heartache, trust me.”

  “I’m sorry Bri,” Georgia scooted close to squeeze Briselle’s hand. “I’m sorry for sounding cold, but weakness- it just ain’t in my vocabulary.”