“So,” Lola began as she settled on her sofa, “you have my money.” It was a statement more than a question, but still, I wanted to respond to call this just what it was. “It’s actually my money, but you’re blackmailing my friend about your affair.”
She shook her head. “I keep telling you, this isn’t blackmail. This is payment for my services rendered. It’s not my fault Doctor Blake came after me.” She paused.“So … my payment is in there?” She pointed to the briefcase.
Without saying a word, I handed her the attaché. She placed it on her lap, clicked the locks open.
Now, twenty-five thousand dollars in cash was a lot of money.
But when Lola glanced at the stacks, it was like she was flipping through a magazine — she didn’t even blink.
“Looks like it’s all here.” She fingered through a couple of the bundles, then nodded as if she knew what twenty-five thousand dollars looked like. “I’m sure I can trust you, right?” She glanced up. “Because if you try to cheat me ….”
Mae Frances laughed. “If she cheated you, what?” my friend asked her. “You gonna go to the police?”
Lola cocked her head. “And again … who are you?” “I’m her banker.”
She chuckled. “I thought you were her insurance agent.” “Well, if you knew who I was, why you asking?”
Lola snapped the briefcase shut, then stood up. “I think we’re done.”
I said, “We are, as long as you understand that this is it. I don’t want you coming back for more.”
She placed her hand over her chest, though her hand didn’t cover a bit of her cleavage that was busting out of the teddy she wore. “What? You don’t trust me?”
I folded my arms. “Just know this is the end.”
She one-shoulder shrugged. “This is all that I asked Doctor Blake for. This is enough.”
I nodded.
When neither one of us spoke for a few moments, Lola said, “Well, I would offer you a seat, but I’m sure you really don’t want to stay and chat.”
She was right about that. I pivoted, but when I turned, Mae Frances was still standing behind me, her feet planted like she had no intentions of moving.
I whispered to her, “Let’s go.”
“You know what?” Mae Frances circled me and plopped down on the sofa. “I do want to chat.”
Both Lola and I frowned.
“That sure is a lot of money.” Mae Frances grabbed the briefcase. She had it locked and closed before Lola took a single breath. “Excuse me.” Lola reached around Mae Frances. “Please get your hands off my money.”
Mae Frances moved the briefcase away from Lola’s grasp. “Oh, it’s not your money, sweetheart. This belongs to my friend.”
“What are you talking about?”
Really, I couldn’t tell you if I said that or if Lola had spoken those words. Because I had no idea where Mae Frances was going with this. I’d told her why I was paying Lola — if she played games with this chick, I had no doubt Lola would have no problem going to Kyla and exposing Jefferson’s affair.
“I’m talking about why don’t we all sit down and you tell my friend, Jasmine Larson, the real story.”
Lola crossed her arms.“I’m not sitting down with you. You need to leave now, go on your way and we never have to see each other again.”
“Oh, we’re gonna leave,” Mae Frances said, “and we’ll never see you again. But Jasmine Larson is taking this money right back to her bank.”
“Mae Frances.” I hissed her name with all kinds of images in my mind of how this was going to play out and not one was good. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Because I don’t like being just another one of Lucy Levin’s marks.”
For a moment, I wondered if this was it — the point where Mae Frances’s age was revealed through this onset of dementia. Because she’d called Lola by the wrong name.
Except.
Lola hadn’t objected. She hadn’t done anything — just stood there like she’d turned to ice.
That was when I realized this was no dementia; this was Mae Frances.
Mae Frances said, “Or maybe it wasn’t Lucy the last time you pulled one of these things. Maybe it was Laverne Lockley.”
Lola was no longer frozen. Those last words had thawed her and made her melt right down onto the sofa.
That didn’t shut Mae Frances up, though. “You know,” she paused to pull something from her purse and when I saw the yellow envelope (like the one that Lola had delivered to me), I wondered how Mae Frances had gotten into my purse. In an instant, I checked, but my envelope was still in my possession.
She said to Lola, “I do have to admit that you’re really good.” Mae Frances removed what looked like photos to me, but I couldn’t see. She said, “These here pictures of you and the assemblyman must’ve gotten you a lot more than twenty-five-thousand dollars.” The way Mae Frances looked at the photos, the same way she’d done earlier, turning them from side-to-side and upside down, made me want to see them, too. Had Lola done this before?
As if she’d heard my thoughts, Mae Frances said, “How many times have you done this, Lola/Lucy/Laverne?”
Though she’d been a little shaken, her game-face was back. Lola sat like she was a hard rock.
“You can’t answer that?” Mae Frances pulled another sheet from her purse. “Let me see if I can help you out.” She scanned the paper she held. “I have seventeen here. Seventeen times — that I know of — where you’ve blackmailed men. And that’s just in the last two years.”
I gasped.“Seventeen?”When Mae Frances and Lola both glared at me, I held up my hand. “I’m sorry. Go ‘head, Mae Frances.” I was giving her permission to proceed, but at the same time, my words were meant to give her a verbal high-five.
Mae Frances kept her eyes on me for only a moment longer before she turned back to Lola.“Like I was saying, you are so good. Clearly these men were drugged, right?”
Lola didn’t move, her eyes so still on Mae Frances.
“But what I can’t figure out is how you get the dudes to look so natural? Like, how did you get their eyes open sometimes and closed other times?” She paused. “You’re good, girl. ‘Cause at one point, I believed these pictures. And if I believed them, then anyone else would for sure.”
In a move that I was sure shocked Mae Frances, too, Lola snatched the paper from her hand. But then, I wondered, if my friend really had been surprised because she said, “Oh, that’s your copy.” She pulled another piece of paper from her purse. “I have the original right here.”
Lola did the same thing, yanked it from her again.
Mae Frances said, “Oh, did I say that was the original?” When she removed a stack of papers from her bag, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Here, you can have all of these.”
As Lola glanced through the pages, Mae Frances kept talking, “So this is what I know … you’ve been doing this for a long time, Laverne.”
Whatever this woman’s name was, she looked up.
“You seem to favor professional men, those conventions are your specialty, huh?”
Again, she hardly moved, and even from where I stood, I could see that her eyes darkened. I wasn’t fazed, though. Mae Frances — whatever her age — could take Lola. I knew that for sure.
“So what do you do?” Mae Frances asked. “Meet them in the bar? Slip them a roofie? Then go to work?”
Now, Lola squinted.
Mae Frances spoke as if she were asking questions, but I knew what she stated were facts.
She said, “And then, by the time you go to the men with these pictures, they’re not so sure themselves, huh?” She paused. “They certainly don’t want to bring their wives any grief or any issues with their careers.”
Lola took a deep breath — at least, it was deep for her.
“I guess twenty-five thousand dollars is a small price for them to pay ‘cause you only choose men who can afford it.”
When she paused, I waited
for Lola to say something, react in some kind of way — deny, deny, deny at least. But she said nothing. My friend kept on, “I guess it’s a good gig, if you can’t get any other kind of work. And it seems to pay well.” She stopped for a moment and looked around the living room taking in the furniture the way I’d done on Sunday. Turning back to Lola, she said, “But, it’s a dangerous gig, isn’t it, Laverne?” Lola still didn’t part her lips.
“All we have to do is ask your mama.”
I didn’t know this woman, so I certainly didn’t know her mama.
But the way Mae Frances had just stated that, scared me. I wasn’t the only one, though. In all of my encounters with Lola Lewis, she had that poker-face poise on lock — until this moment. It seemed Mae Frances had the key that broke this woman down.
Because every part of Lola’s body reacted. First, there were tears, then, her shoulders shook and her hands trembled. I didn’t have x-ray vision, but I would’ve bet that her organs were doing all kinds of somersaults and backflips.
“My mother,” she whispered. There was shock in her tone. “Oh, yeah. Your mama. What’s her name? Gisele George?”
Before Lola could respond, Mae Frances continued, “Or is that the name she gave when she was arrested. She was also Genine Givens and Gloria Gray.” She paused and rolled her finger around in the air. “At first, I thought your best trick was always wearing a hat. Better that the police were looking for a hat than a face, right?”
That made me open my mouth wide.
“But I think what I love best is how you and your mama both use those alliterations with your names. Is that something she taught you? So that you remember all the names you have to use when you change up?”
“My mother … is dead,” she whispered.
Mae Frances held her forefinger to her head. “Ah … no … your mama is in prison. Bedford Hills, if I’m not mistaken.” And then, Mae Frances laughed. “What am I talking about? I’m never mistaken.”
“No,” Lola protested. “She’s dead.”
I didn’t know a bit of this story, but even I could tell that Lola was lying.
Mae Frances said, “Girl, stop playing. You went to see her three weeks ago and you always make sure she has money on her books.” But then, her laughter left just like that and Mae France’s own game face was back. “Look Lola/Lucy/Laverne. I’m not even gonna go to the police. I mean, I want to so that you can see your mama more often … like every day. But Jasmine Larson,” they both glanced up at me before Mae Frances continued, “has a good heart. And she told me she really likes you.”
I wanted to raise my hand and rebuff all those words, but I was enjoying this (except for what she’d just said about me) way too much to stop her.
Mae Frances sighed. “Jasmine Larson might not like you as much, though, if she realized how you set her up.”
“What?”
Mae Frances ssshhh’d me with her hand before she said to Lola, “Go on, tell her. Tell her how you set her up, showing up at the hospital knowing that one of Jefferson’s friends — whoever was there — would do anything to save his poor wife from finding out about you. Makes me believe that you’ve done this part before, too.”
My eyes narrowed. I’d been set up … just like Jefferson.
I was growling when Mae Frances continued, “Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t have told Jasmine Larson that.” She chuckled. “Maybe I should have just kept that between us.” She pointed her finger back and forth.“But still, I’m not gonna turn you in. I’m just gonna take this money and deposit it right back in the bank.”
She paused when her phone vibrated and as Mae Frances glanced down for a moment, I glared at Lola/Lucy/Laverne. Ooohhh, how I wanted to take her right there. Just one good uppercut to that chiseled nose and her too-thin-to-be-a-black-girl lips.
But I’d already messed up, so I had to ride this the way Mae Frances wanted.
My friend nodded, looked up from her phone, then stood. “Now, this meeting is over.” She grabbed the briefcase and when she moved toward the door, I scurried behind her. But right before she put her hand on the knob, she turned and said, “Oh, and you will never contact my friends again because you like the idea of your mama being safe in that prison, right?”
Lola blinked back what I was sure was a deluge of tears.
Then, Mae Frances did something that I’d never heard her do in the twelve years that I’d known her. “Right,” she exclaimed, raising her voice.
Her tone made me stand up straighter.
Lola nodded.
“I hope you’ve learned a couple of things about me today. One, I know people and I can make things happen. Things that you won’t like.”
She paused as if she wanted those words to settle in for Lola. Then, she added, “And two, no one messes with my friends.” Another pause.
Then, more, “So you can keep scamming all the people you want in New York. Just make sure that none of them are my friends. Before you drop that drug in their drinks, you may wanna ask, ‘Do you know Mae Frances?’” She laughed, but then straightened up real quick and real good. “I’m not kidding. If you don’t want to see my face again, stay away from anyone that I care about.”
Mae Frances opened the door, and then walked out as if she hadn’t just threatened this woman’s mother’s life. Before I stepped over the threshold, I turned back.
Lola/Lucy/Laverne sat on her sofa, her head down, her shoulders quaking from her sobs. In a few seconds, what Mae Frances had revealed rolled through my mind. This woman was a grifter, seemingly educated by her mama. It was a sad, sad song that almost made me feel sorry for her.
But that was the thing about the word almost. Almost didn’t matter. Almost never counted.
I walked through the door, not even bothering to close it behind me.
chapter 29
Kyla
Every doubt that I’d had about my husband, had been worked out. It was because of Hosea, helping me to remember who Jefferson and I were. And, I had remembered. And I had believed.
But now, I just didn’t know. Because of one word.
Lola.
I opened my eyes, though I kept my hands still clasped; my heart continued in prayer mode as I focused on the gold cross above the altar. I wondered, not for the first time, why I was always alone in this place? Except when Hosea had brought me here, and when I’d come in with Nicole, I’d never seen anyone else in the ICU chapel. Couldn’t figure out why since this place was filled with God’s peace.
That was why I’d come here. That was what I needed — God’s peace. Because right now, what was going on inside of me was anything but peace.
Anxiety, unrest, even turmoil. All because of … Lola.
I shook my head. What I should have been doing was rejoicing, giving God nothing but thanks for how Jefferson had opened his eyes just about thirty hours ago. From that moment, it had all been good, according to the doctors.
“Your husband truly is a blessed man.”
That was what Dr. Reid had told me last night after a day full of tests. But I already knew that God’s grace and His mercy was all around Jefferson. Because of all of the spoken prayers and ones that had been stored up.
There was no doubt anywhere inside of me — Jefferson waking up and being able to speak was a miracle. What I couldn’t figure out, though, was why had that miracle included him speaking another woman’s name?
Dr. Reid tried to explain it to me.
“Being shot in the brain is the most traumatic event the body can experience. Even with all that we know, there is so little that we know about the operating center of our bodies. Again, Doctor Blake may just be speaking about a movie or a song … we just don’t know. What I do know is that with speech and physical therapy, your husband’s prognosis is very good. I’m cautious, but very optimistic. Really, Mrs. Blake, there is no need for you to be concerned about your husband’s utterances after coming out of a coma.”
But I was concerned. He wouldn’t keep repeating
that name unless it meant something. And then, when I put that together with Jefferson being with some mysterious woman that night …. Unclasping my hands, I sighed. I felt like I was trying to put together a gigantic puzzle, yet, I’d only been given two pieces: Lola … and that woman. Two pieces that I knew were connected.
Like the corners of a puzzle … once you get those pieces, any good puzzler could fill in the rest.
That was what I needed to do — fill in this puzzle. And with a few more pieces, I could.
With a final, “Amen,” I pushed up from the bench and rushed from the chapel, passing the nurses (who felt almost like family now) and then, I peeked into Jefferson’s room before I stepped fully inside.
Nicole must have still been on the phone and for just a moment, my thoughts turned to my daughter. She’d gotten a call from one of her colleagues right when we arrived at the hospital this morning and with the time difference, I was concerned. It was after eight in the evening in Beijing when the call had been made and I wondered if the embassy wanted Nicole to return to work. That would be an issue because I knew my daughter; she’d quit her job before she’d leave her father.
Her father. My anxiety was back as I moved to my husband’s bedside, and I stood there for a while. Even with all I was feeling, there was nothing I could do except smile as I looked at him becoming himself again as the swelling subsided. Looking more and more like the man that I loved.
I kissed his forehead, then maneuvered around the bed to get to my purse. My cell was first, and then I grabbed the card that I’d tucked into the side pocket, sure at that time, that I would never use it. As I folded the card over and over in my hand, Hosea’s words came back to me:
“If you call him, he’ll be down here questioning you.”
When Hosea said that, I knew that he was right. I was sure that Detective Green would ask me all kinds of questions that I not only didn’t want to answer, but that would really hurt.
It didn’t matter, though; I had to do it if I wanted more pieces to this puzzle and only Detective Green could give those to me.
Temptation: The Aftermath Page 24
