The Perfect Mistress

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  No one answered.

  “Hello,” Joyce repeated.

  Finally, a female voice said, “Is Vernon there?”

  Joyce’s breath caught in her throat. “Umm, may I ask who’s calling?”

  “I need to speak with Vernon,” she said, this time with much more attitude.

  “Excuse me,” Joyce said, “may I ask who’s calling?” Her whole body had grown tense by now.

  “I need to speak with Vernon.” The caller now enunciated each word.

  Joyce enunciated right back. “And I need to know who the hell wants to speak with my husband.”

  She huffed, like Joyce was the one calling her house at two in the morning. “It is very important that I speak with him.”

  “If you can’t tell me who you are, or what you want, you won’t be speaking to anyone on this line.”

  “Put him on the phone!” she screamed.

  “Bitch, please.” Joyce slammed the phone on the cradle. “Tell it to the dial tone.”

  Of course, it rang right back. Joyce contemplated ignoring it, but curiosity got the better of her and she snatched the phone back up. “What?”

  “Put Vernon on the phone,” the woman repeated, though her voice was a lot calmer.

  “Look, I don’t know who the hell you are, but you will not call here demanding to talk with my husband.”

  “I just need Vernon.” Her voice quavered now. It sounded like she was crying.

  She could dissolve in a giant puddle of tears, but she was not about to talk to Vernon. “I don’t know what you need with my husband, but it ain’t happening.”

  “You know what?” she said, her voice a mixture of sadness and anger. “Tell your husband to meet me at the hospital because I’m about to give birth to our child. I’m at Duke Memorial.” And then it was her turn to slam the phone down.

  Joyce stood in the kitchen, absolutely mortified. She didn’t notice that Vernon had appeared in the doorway.

  “Who is that on the phone, and what’s wrong with you?” he said.

  Joyce looked at her husband, searching for traces of deception. There were none. This had to be some horrible, horrible prank. Maybe the woman had the wrong number. But then Joyce quickly remembered that she’d asked for her husband by name.

  “Who was that, Joyce?” Vernon repeated.

  “It was . . . it was for you,” she mumbled, trying to keep her rage at bay. There had to be an explanation. Vernon had promised her that he would do right from now on, so there had to be an explanation to this call.

  “Okay, if it was for me, why didn’t you give me the phone?”

  “She hung up.”

  “She?” His tone betrayed the fact that he knew that this wasn’t going to be good.

  “Yeah,” Joyce continued, walking close enough to him to feel his hot breath on her face. “It was someone who said you need to meet her at the hospital because she’s about to have your child.” Her eyes bore into her husband. She wanted him to look as mortified as she. No, she wanted him to laugh and say that somebody was playing a stupid joke. But his silence said everything.

  “Who is she?” Joyce asked.

  “I-I-I don’t know,” he stammered. “You answered the phone.”

  “Which of your women is pregnant?” Joyce said, pulling her robe tighter, suddenly feeling self-conscious of being nude.

  “I don’t have any women,” he responded with more certainty. “And I don’t know why some woman would call you with that mess.”

  “Who is it? Don’t lie to me!” Joyce shouted, slamming her palm down on the counter.

  “Stop before you wake up Lauren,” he whispered.

  “Who is she?” Joyce repeated without lowering her voice.

  He released a defeated sigh. “It may be Cecile. She’s been talking crazy about being pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?” Joyce asked in disbelief.

  “Babe, let me explain.”

  “Is it yours?” Joyce demanded to know. As if sensing her impending rage, she felt the baby fluttering in her stomach. Joyce’s hand went to her belly and she finally lowered her voice. Stress wasn’t good for an unborn child. “Is one of your women pregnant at the same time I am?”

  “It’s not my baby. I promise you it’s not my baby. She’s just trying to pin this on me because she knows I have money.” He raised his arms to embrace her. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to believe me. I have been faithful since I promised you I would do right. I swear.”

  Joyce stepped out of his grasp. “But if she’s trying to pin this on you, that means it could be your baby?” Her voice cracked. He wasn’t talking like a man who hadn’t done anything with this Cecile woman. He was talking like a man who wanted desperately to believe that he would pass a paternity test.

  “Please,” she softly cried. “Please stop with the lies. Did you sleep with her? Could it be your baby?”

  He let out a heavy sigh again. “It was just one time. But it was before you and I recommitted.”

  Hearing these awful words, Joyce let out a wail that came from deep down in her soul. Just one time? She was supposed to believe that? The tears immediately began streaming down her face as she fell back against the kitchen wall and slid to the floor. As she continued to scream, an excruciating pain shot through her stomach. Her screams became of mixture of hurt, anger, and fear.

  “Oh my God,” Vernon said, coming to her side. “You’re bleeding!”

  She glanced down and saw the blood trickling down her legs. “The baby,” she cried. As another severe pain shot through her body, Joyce knew. The baby that she thought would save her marriage, the baby she didn’t want but had come to love, her baby, was gone. The stress of her marriage to Vernon had had the ultimate effect.

  This past year had been a year of losses.

  Not only had Lauren lost her baby sister, but her grandfather had died three months ago. The double loss had overwhelmed her mother, and now Lauren had lost her as well. Oh, physically she was still here. But emotionally, she was gone.

  For the past year her mother had walked around in a fog—when she bothered to get out of bed.

  As if it were possible, her parents’ relationship had gone from bad to worse. Her dad had lost his smile—probably because of the constant state of depression her mother stayed in. It was like a dark cloud had parked over their house and refused to leave.

  She hated the fighting. With every fiber of her being, Lauren hated the fighting. But it seemed that was all her parents knew how to do these days. And when they fought, Lauren was often caught in the crossfire. Like last week: Lauren had won a city-wide fashion competition for an original dress she designed. Two hours before the awards ceremony, her mother wouldn’t get out of bed.

  “Mom, please. This is important to me,” Lauren had begged her.

  “I don’t feel well,” her mother had snapped for the tenth time. “Call your father.”

  Lauren had wanted to cry. Her father was out of town on business and had tried to get back for her ceremony, but his plane had been delayed. At least he was devastated. Her mother couldn’t have cared less.

  After trying to no avail to catch up with her aunt Velma, Lauren did something she had been trying desperately not to do. She called Miss Callie.

  “Sure, sugar. You know I’d love to take you,” Miss Callie had said without hesitation after Lauren had explained everything.

  From that day on, her bond with Miss Callie had been cemented.

  Lauren had gotten to the point where she enjoyed being with her father and Callie more than being at home, because they were always happy. In fact, that was the only time her father was happy. Her father really didn’t want to take Lauren around Miss Callie, but after the first two times, Lauren had begged him to let her come, which in turn made Lauren’s life happy. They did fun things. They laughed. None of the things that she did with her mother. In fact, Lauren couldn’t remember the last time their family had laughed together, let alone went out and enjoyed quality time.
Her mother stayed in a constant state of depression and it only depressed everyone around her. And while she didn’t like seeing her mother hurt, she understood why her father didn’t want to be at home, because honestly, neither did Lauren.

  The few arguments that Lauren had witnessed between her father and Miss Callie were because Miss Callie wanted more. She wanted them to be together for good. She wanted him to leave her mother. Miss Callie had asked Lauren as much one day when she was taking her to get her nails done.

  “So, baby. Wouldn’t you like me to be your mother?” she asked her as she paid for Lauren to get extra rhinestones on her pinky finger.

  Lauren wanted to tell her that she had a mother and didn’t need a replacement. But she just smiled.

  “Yeah, we would do so many great things,” Miss Callie continued. “I’d make your dad really happy.”

  Lauren didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t going to become part of Miss Callie’s campaign to break up the family. Later, when Miss Callie had brought that up, things got heated.

  “How long do you think I’m going to hang around and just be your side piece?” Miss Callie had said to Vernon.

  “Baby, you knew that I was married when you met me.”

  “I know, but you said . . .”

  “Come on, Callie. You know how I feel: the best mistress is a quiet mistress.”

  And just like that, Miss Callie had sat back in her seat and shut up.

  Instead, Miss Callie focused on making Lauren and her father happy. Like today. They were out shopping for a dress for Lauren to wear to the homecoming dance. Miss Callie had been all too happy to step up when Lauren mentioned that her mother wasn’t feeling up to shopping.

  Lauren felt a twinge of guilt when she shared these special moments with Miss Callie. She knew her mother was just in a bad space, but what was Lauren supposed to do? Wait and hope that her mother returned to normal? At this point Lauren felt like this deranged, depressed attitude was the new normal. And if that was the case, where in the world did that leave her?

  For the past year, depression had consumed Joyce. The pain of losing her baby had torn apart her soul. Making matters worse, a DNA test revealed that Cecile’s baby wasn’t Vernon’s. He wasn’t lying—at least about her trying to pin the paternity on him.

  But the fact that they even had to have a test meant nothing had changed. He hadn’t changed. And she’d lost her own child over Cecile’s lie.

  Then her father’s death had sent her spiraling into oblivion. Outside of his support of Vernon, she had adored everything about her father. He had been strict growing up, but he’d never hesitated to show her how much she was loved. The sudden stroke that took his life had been devastating.

  Julian was gone. He rarely even called home. Joyce knew Lauren needed her, but she seemed to have lost all motivation. She had to make a monumental effort even to get out of bed on a daily basis.

  Vernon had tried to get her to see a doctor, but unless they had a prescription for a broken heart, no one could help her.

  But the call Joyce had just received was enough motivation to get moving.

  “Your mother is in bad shape.”

  The call had come from her mother’s longtime friend. Esther had moved in to help care for Joyce’s mother after her father died last year. She’d called twenty minutes ago to tell Joyce that her mother had been rushed to the hospital.

  Of course, no one was at home with Joyce. No one was ever at home. Both Vernon and Lauren stayed gone, no doubt trying to escape the gloom that pervaded their home. Joyce thought she heard Lauren say she was spending the night at a friend’s, but honestly, she wasn’t sure.

  Joyce fought back tears as she navigated her car into the Duke Memorial parking lot. She hadn’t driven in six months, but when she got the call that her mother needed her, Joyce put anything she was feeling to the side.

  “Oh, Joyce,” Esther said, jumping up from her seat once Joyce arrived at her mother’s hospital room. “I’m so glad you made it.”

  Joyce couldn’t bother with formalities. “What happened?” she said. Her mother was lying in the hospital bed, her eyes closed. “Is she . . .”

  “She’s resting,” Esther said. “She passed out and we had to rush her here.”

  “Passed out? Why? Was she dehydrated?”

  Esther shifted uneasily.

  “Esther, what’s going on with my mother?”

  She looked over at her friend, released a sigh of regret, then said, “Your mother has brain cancer.”

  The words made Joyce fall back against a chair. She had to grab one of the arms to steady herself.

  “What?”

  Esther nodded. “Yes. Advanced. She didn’t want to tell you, because, well, she found out around the same time you lost the baby, and you’ve been going through so much. And she knew you’d just lost your daddy.”

  Joyce had to take slow, deep breaths to keep a panic attack at bay. She was going to lose her child, her father, and her mother in the same year? What kind of cruel God would do that?

  “So, she’s known and she didn’t tell me?” Joyce managed to say.

  Esther just shook her head. Joyce couldn’t believe that her mother had been dealing with this while she wallowed in self-pity.

  Before Joyce could ask any more questions, her mother’s eyes fluttered open. “Joyce, baby, is that you?” Her voice was weak. Her light skin was pale and splotchy. Seeing her so fragile made Joyce’s heart feel like it was enduring major surgery with no medication.

  “Yes, Mama, I’m here.” Joyce raced to her side and took her hand.

  “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Joyce said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

  “Y-You’ve just been going through so much.” Her mother was wheezing, as if it hurt to talk.

  “Okay, shhh,” Joyce said. “Just rest.”

  Her mother shook her head. “I want you to know I love you, and I need you to be strong. Y-You’re dying, baby. You have to live. Vernon loves you. Those other women don’t mean anything.”

  “Mama, hush,” Joyce said.

  “You just tell my grandchildren that I love them something fierce.”

  “You can tell them when you get out of here.”

  She coughed, caught her breath. “You know I’m not getting out of here,” she said wearily.

  A doctor stepped in, interrupting them. “Hi, I’m Dr. Owen. Are you her daughter?”

  Joyce nodded. “I am.”

  “Can I talk to you a minute?”

  Joyce looked back at her mother. She’d already closed her eyes, like she needed to rest.

  “I’ll stay with her while you talk to the doctor,” Esther said.

  Joyce followed the doctor out into the hallway, her heart pounding.

  “Is there someone you can call to be here with you?” the doctor asked.

  The fact that that was his first question meant the news he was about to relay was not good.

  “Can you just tell me what’s going on with my mother?”

  He slipped into a doctor’s clinical monotone as he said, “Your mother’s cancer has spread. It has covered about eighty percent of her brain and is causing her internal organs to shut down.”

  Joyce could feel the floor dropping away. “Well, can you do something about it?” she said weakly.

  Before the doctor could respond, Esther came running to the door.

  “I think she’s having a seizure!” she cried.

  Joyce raced back into the room with the doctor to find her mother’s body convulsing like she was going into cardiac arrest.

  “Code Blue!” a nurse shouted as she ran into the room. In the middle of the chaos the machine her mother was hooked up to emitted a long beep. Several other hospital staff rushed in, their faces filled with alarm.

  “Ladies, can the two of you please step outside?” one of the nurses asked Esther and Joyce.

  Joyce consider
ed demanding that she be allowed to stay, but she knew that their attention needed to be focused on her mother. Esther took her hand and led her out of the room, both of them trying desperately to keep their panic at bay. Joyce’s entire body shook with fear as she peered through the small windows as the doctors and nurses worked madly around her mother. They had to save her. They had to. Her mother was always so good to everyone . . .

  Joyce watched until the doctor’s posture changed. He stood up, removed the mask from around his face, and shook his head.

  Joyce fainted where she stood.

  Vernon didn’t come home until four in the morning. He staggered into the living room to find Joyce sitting in the dark on the sofa. She’d been trying to go to sleep, but it refused to pay her a visit.

  “Hey, why are you sitting in the dark?” Vernon said, flipping the light on. He seemed shocked that she was out of the bed.

  Joyce just glared at him. She was all cried out and anger had shoved aside her tears. Both she and Esther had tried calling Vernon at the office, and even had his answering service page him, but they couldn’t get him. Esther had ended up bringing Joyce home and sat with her until the hour had grown embarrassingly late, then left.

  “What is wrong with you?” he asked, loosening his tie.

  She answered his question with a piercing stare.

  “Okay, let me guess, you’re mad about me coming in so late. But I’ve been working and I figured you’d still be in bed—”

  Joyce stopped him before he got too far into his lie. “I called your office.”

  “I wasn’t working in the office.”

  She gave him the meanest look she could muster.

  “Why are you tripping?” he asked. “All you want to do is stay up in this house and be depressed. You know that’s not me, so I was in no hurry to come home.”

  “I needed you,” was all she said.

  “Needed me for what?” He tossed his keys onto the bar and came closer to her. He finally noticed the puffiness around her eyes and said, “What’s wrong?”

  “They had to rush Mama to the hospital.”