Role Play

by Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker

  “I did too.”

  “When can I see you again?”

  “When would you like to see me?”

  “Tonight.”

  She blushed. “Sounds good.”

  “I have a few things to finish up and when I’m done, I’ll be right over.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Just like you,” he said, and they kissed, as if the only thing that mattered in the world was this moment.

  Chapter 44

  Monty

  “Governor Fields, wait—you can’t—” Regina, Stephen’s secretary, panicked as she shuffled behind Monty through the path of employees and glass offices that lined ICC’s corridor.

  Monty stopped at a set of hand-carved mahogany doors and flung them open.

  Sal stood at attention, tossed the hem of his shirt over his gun holster, and readied his hand to aim.

  Stephen sat in his oversized, warm brown leather chair with his red-bottom oxfords propped on his desk, and a lit Cuban cigar in the center of his lips. He raised a brow as he looked over at the door.

  Regina slumped her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Himes. I tried to explain to Governor Fields you were done with meetings for the day.”

  Stephen placed his feet on the carpeted floor and his cigar in the ashtray. “It’s fine. I was expecting Mr. Fields.”

  “Okay. Is there anything you need before I go?”

  “Not at all. But if I think of something, I’ll buzz you.”

  She nodded, then closed the doors behind her.

  Stephen turned to Sal and gave him a soft flick of the wrist.

  Sal sat back down.

  Stephen looked up at Monty and pointed to the brown leather chair facing his desk. “Sit.”

  Monty gave a dismissive wave. “I’m not here for that. I told you before not to involve my family, yet you snatch my wife out of the bank’s parking lot? This is not the wild-motherfuckin’-west! How dare you pull some shit like that? You got a problem, you deal with me. Leave my family out of it!”

  Stephen looked over to Sal, and they both cracked amused smiles. He turned back to Monty. “Did you rehearse that on your way over here?” Stephen walked around his desk and sat on the edge. “Seriously, was that the result of some heart-to-heart you had with your boy, Dominic, or your wife? Because anyone else would’ve warned you about charging in here with that shit.”

  Monty’s jaw tensed. “Stay the fuck away from my family.”

  “Or what?”

  Their eyes locked.

  Stephen continued, “Haven’t I been good to you, Monty? When you were wet behind the ears, no experience, you had big dreams and aspirations for the White House. I told you, I would be here for you. Would always support you. Isn’t that what I told you?” He paused. “We shook on that, and I took you under my wing.

  “I made sure my people donated generously to your last campaign, as well as this one. I got the unions to back you. The gun lobbyists, major corporations, small businesses. Every powerful entity in this state got behind you because of me. You’re governor because I said you could be. Not because of votes, policies, the stars aligning, or the shifting of the goddamn universe. Not even Jesus. Because of me. And when I agreed to grant your wish, I told you I expected loyalty, honesty, for you to keep your name clean, and to always be direct with me. You haven’t been. I have given you more than enough chances to get it right. But things have gotten worse. How do you think my people are looking at me now, Monty?”

  “I told you what you and your people needed to know.”

  “I decide that. You don’t have the power to make that decision. This is politics, you don’t get to go rogue. You are controlled.”

  “I ran for governor, not your lapdog.”

  “Semantics.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Then you’re ill-advised.”

  “Look, our business is done. Over. You crossed the line when you fucked with my wife. I will pay you the money I owe you, and after that, never speak my name again. No more contracts. No more access to the ports. Nothing.”

  Stephen lifted one brow, then the other. “Don’t threaten me. Don’t ever fuckin’ threaten me.” He stood up.

  Sal stood up, gun in hand.

  Stephen continued, “I did you a solid and sent your wife home in one piece. The next time she’ll be mixed into a barrel of asphalt and will line the street. So, I strongly suggest, after your little hip-hip-hooray rally tonight, you skip stalking your bitch’s house, go home, and clear your head. My regular delivery’s coming in, and as usual—before this little failed Killmonger routine of yours—I expect your men to be in place. Understand?”

  Silence.

  “Understood,” Stephen said. He retook his seat, picked up his cigar, and placed his feet back on his desk. “Good day, Governor.” He pointed to the door.

  Monty didn’t move. “I’m not done. Let me remind you, though I may be a politician, I’m a husband, a father, and a motherfucker from the streets first. And if you touch my wife again, or anybody in my family for that matter, I will show you just what the fuck I’m made of.” He stared Stephen down, then eyed Sal. “Now I’m done.” He stepped out and closed the doors behind him.

  Standing on the other side of Stephen’s office door, Monty tugged at his black lapel, dusted invisible wrinkles from his shoulders, and overheard Sal say, “We gotta keep a closer eye on that motherfucker.”

  Chapter 45

  Monty and Elle

  “I love my husband and he loves me,” Elle said with such conviction that for a moment she believed it.

  Then Monty grabbed her hand.

  The sweat from his palm slicked hers, and she was jolted back to reality. This was no longer love; this was business. A crumbling one.

  She loosely braided their fingers together and forced a smile onto her face.

  A WABC news reporter held a microphone beneath Elle’s mouth as he asked, “Then you’re denying the reports? You didn’t file for divorce this afternoon?”

  Cameras clicked, and a round of flashes engulfed them.

  The reporter pushed the microphone closer to Elle’s face. “The governor and I are happier than we’ve ever been. Is he perfect? No. But I didn’t marry him for perfection. I married him because I love him, and as my daddy, Reverend Elijah Lockhart, would say, ‘Love covers a multitude of sins.’”

  Monty’s grip tensed.

  Click!

  Flash!

  A distant voice rose above the bank of raucous reporters. “Mrs. Fields, what does that mean?”

  “It means we’re married and plan to keep it that way.”

  “No more questions,” Carmen, the communications director, said to the anxious reporters. “Thank you, everyone! See you inside!”

  * * *

  Elle and Monty headed into the Parker Convention Center for Monty’s reelection rally. Elle dropped his hand and walked a few steps ahead of him as they were ushered into a room where a buffet-style dinner lined the left side of the room. On the right were tables filled with boxes of T-shirts, lawn signs, and bumper stickers. Dominic, Carmen, Chris—Monty’s campaign manager—and other campaign staffers floated about. The roar of the crowd poured into the room through the surround sound.

  Monty stood at the door and said, “I need everybody, except my wife, to step out for a minute.”

  Carmen walked over to Monty and said, “With all due respect, sir, you’re being introduced now.” She pointed to the speakers around the room, where the voice of Johnathan Harvey, a state senator, boomed.

  Carmen continued, “We literally have about fifteen seconds before you’re on. We should be headed toward the stage.

  “I said, now,” Monty snapped.

  Carmen hesitated, then nodded. “You heard him. Everyone out.”

  They all dropped what they were doing and hurried to leave. The last person closed the double doors behind them.

  Monty stood a breath away from Elle’s face and said in a firm
whisper, “What the fuck kind of shit was that you just pulled? ‘Love covers a multitude of sins?’ What are you trying to do, get a whole new round of speculation going? Have you completely lost your fucking mind?”

  “I have.” She nodded. “Correct.”

  Monty hesitated. He stared at Elle, from the fury in her cloudy eyes to the way the left corner of her mouth twitched when she was upset. He wanted to stop the twitch by snatching her along the sides of her esophagus and pushing her head into the fucking wall, again, knowing he’d just told her to get her emotions under control, yet here she stood falling apart—as if she hadn’t brought this on herself. He had enough going on; he didn’t need this. And he wasn’t going to tolerate it.

  He had to play it cool, though. At least until the night ended.

  The senator’s voice invaded Monty and Elle’s space. “Ladies and gentlemen! The wonderful people of this great state of California, we are here because we all believe we can win together.”

  Monty reached for Elle’s hand. She snatched it back. “I know this is tough,” he said.

  “Do you?”

  “I do. But we can’t fall apart. In public we have to be composed. You can’t go saying inappropriate shit to the media. You have to remember who I am.”

  Elle took a step toward Monty. She straightened his tie, then tucked the tail neatly into his blazer. “I know exactly who you are. A fuckin’ punk, who’s so used to being his drunk father’s bitch, that now you’re Stephen Himes’s bitch and you don’t even know it. You, my dear husband, are not shit.”

  “And you signed up for all it.” He grabbed her hand, and as they walked out of the room, their two hands making a clenched fist.

  The senator’s voice rumbled through the speakers. “Put your hands together for Montgomery Alexander Fields the Third. The soon-to-be reelected governor of California!”

  They kept the smiles on their faces. The standing-room-only crowd cheered.

  Monty and Elle stepped up to the podium, swinging their arms in the air, as if they’d just won a prize fight.

  Elle kissed her husband on the cheek, then waved at the crowd, before walking to the back of the stage where she stood next to Dominic.

  Monty spoke into the mic, and the crowd cheered. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! To my beautiful wife, to all of you.” He fanned a hand across the crowd. “And to my wonderful staff, I say thank you. Thank you for believing in me. The media has tried desperately to tear me down, tear us down. But our spirits are high!”

  The crowd shouted.

  “Our hearts are determined!”

  The crowd cheered.

  As Monty continued, Dominic leaned into Elle’s ear and whispered, “Honestly, how are you?”

  She gave him a quick glance. The scowl on her face gave him the answer.

  “I’ve been wanting a chance to speak with you.” He flashed her a smile. “But I wasn’t exactly sure how you would feel about that, so I’m stealing a moment here.”

  Elle studied his lips, trying her best to decide if what he’d just said was sincere. “I didn’t sign up for this,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “Don’t play fucking cute, Dominic. You know what I’m talking about. I don’t know what you and Monty have gotten into, but I need to be left out of it. I didn’t sign up to get stuffed into the back of some fucking truck!” She paused. Looked around and spotted Carmen looking her way.

  Before saying anything more to Dominic, Elle tuned in to Monty as he said, “Don’t listen to the polls; we have a whole year to prove them wrong. Do not listen to the talking heads; listen to me!”

  Elle turned back to Dominic, who whispered, “You acted irrationally. Filing for divorce was premature.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Continue to be played for a fool? Just let him run all over me?”

  “I never said that. All I’m saying is you need to relax. Lie back and stop being so impulsive. Don’t step out and into the spotlight for any other reason than being the governor’s faithful wife.”

  “How dare you? This is my life, and it’s about more than being Monty’s wife.”

  “All I’m saying is stop letting knee-jerk reactions rule it.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  Elle swallowed the rest of what she had left to say. Once again, Carmen stared her way. Elle focused in on Monty.

  “All I ask is that when Election Day arrives, you all think deeply about what’s best for our state. Because the polls don’t matter. The media lies. The pundits only want ratings. But you and I want what’s best for the Golden State! That’s why the only ones who mean anything on Election Day are you all! And I know, and you know, we are in it to win it!”

  The crowd erupted into applause.

  Elle walked over to Monty and clamped a winning fist. They took a bow, then security escorted them off the stage and through the crowd. Monty shook hands, kissed babies, and waved. The moment they were back in the meeting room, the staff gave a round of applause, and Monty’s campaign manager walked over, gave him a firm handshake, and said, “That was great! I’m so proud of you!”

  “Thanks, Chris.”

  “You got it, Governor. Now, I was thinking we could all head over to the campaign quarters and have a brief meeting—”

  Monty pulled his vibrating phone from his pocket. “Sounds good.” He stared at the screen, then looked back up at Chris. “But set that up for tomorrow.” He looked over at Elle. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I have to go.” He looked over to Dominic. “Meet me back at the office. We need to put the last-minute finishing touches on the final paperwork for the opioid treatment center. Can’t afford for that project to be delayed another day. Otherwise, that’ll be the next headline.”

  Elle pushed a smile onto her face. She knew it was a lie. She’d just have to wait until she got home to find out what exactly he’d lied about. “No worries, my love. I understand.”

  Chapter 46

  Brooklyn

  Heavy raindrops cascaded into Brooklyn’s face as she let her car window down and one of Oakland’s finest shot daggers at her. “License and registration,” the officer hissed.

  “Why did you stop me?” Brooklyn peeked into her rearview mirror. Flashes of spinning red lights sliced the night. A second officer eased along the passenger side of her car and shone a flashlight into the back seat, then the front.

  “License and registration,” the lead officer repeated.

  “For what?”

  “Are you refusing, ma’am?” The officer placed a hand on his gun holster, while his partner shone the flashlight along the side of her face.

  Distressed, Brooklyn reached into her glove compartment and handed the officer the requested paperwork. “Can you tell me why you stopped me?” she asked.

  He ignored her and instead walked away. The backup officer continued to shine the flashlight into her face. “Put your hands on the dashboard,” he barked.

  She obeyed.

  Relax.

  Play it cool.

  Think positive.

  This is just some driving-while-black bullshit. I stopped at the stop sign. I wasn’t speeding.

  She turned her head, squinted through the flashlight’s unnerving glow to the cop’s face. Mirrored aviators. Dark brown mustache. Thin lips. White. And pissed.

  Stay calm. Keep hands still. No sudden moves.

  A few minutes later, the lead officer returned. “Step out of the vehicle, ma’am.”

  “Wha-what?” Brooklyn blinked and drew in a hard breath. “Step out of my vehicle? Why? For what? Why should I do that? I haven’t done anything!”

  The officer tapped the butt of his gun. “I’m not going to argue with you, ma’am. I said, get out of the vehicle. Now, you can either get out on your own, or we can help you.”

  Panic clustered in the pit of Brooklyn’s belly. Her face tensed. Her heart thumped erratically. “What did I do?”

  She bit into her bottom
lip as she opened the door.

  The officer snatched her out and forcefully turned her around.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” she screamed as he yanked her hands behind her back and in one swift move slapped cuffs on her wrists.

  “We have a warrant for your arrest.”

  “For what?!”

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  “The fuck are you arresting me for?!”

  He continued, “You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning.”

  “Answer me, dammit!”

  “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand?”

  “No!”

  He pushed her into the back seat of the patrol car, and they took off into the night.

  The city whipped by in streams of light as the officers raced through the streets.

  Angry tears wet Brooklyn’s cheeks as a childhood memory invaded her thoughts. Until this moment, she’d believed it was buried, but it had crawled out of its hiding spot. She wanted to grab her head and shake it, but she couldn’t.

  Her aunt Cary’s voice boomed in her ears. “You goin’ to jail ta’day! You stole my money, and you gon’ pay for that!”

  “I ain’t steal yo’ money!” fifteen-year-old Brooklyn snapped, as a scared fourteen-year-old Meechie grabbed her sister’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Oh, yeah, you did! You and I both know that yo’ little retarded ass is a thief!” Cary spat. “Think you hot shit ’cause youse a redbone, but you ain’t. You just as funny-lookin’ as that fat-ass tar baby sitting next to you!”

  “Don’t call my sister that!” Brooklyn said.

  “Who in the whole hell is you talkin’ to?” Cary shoved a hand up on her hip.

  Ding-dong!

  Brooklyn and Meechie’s eyes shifted toward the door. They held their breath.

  Ding-dong!

  Cary dragged her feet across the floor. She opened her apartment door, and the social worker, Mrs. Grace, walked in.

  “Now they stealin’,” was Cary’s greeting.

  Mrs. Grace’s black heels clacked against the tiled floor as she walked over to the recliner and sat down. She leaned forward and looked over at Brooklyn and Meechie, who sat across from her on the couch. “Girls, why don’t you tell me what happened?”