When Somebody Loves You Back

by Mary B. Morrison

  Taking a brief intermission from the video replaying in her head, setting her purse on the floor, and picking up a twenty-pound dumbbell, Ashlee stepped back from the mirror, once, twice, three times, then resumed her thoughts. “I do,” she would’ve said, entering through the church doors, posing in the back aisle with a veil hiding her face.

  Every guest would’ve turned. Stared. And in unison would’ve said, “Aahhh.” Then the mumbling would’ve started. At a snail’s pace, she would’ve commanded their attention as she stepped, then paused. Stepped, then paused again all the way down that aisle, the aisle she should’ve graced instead of Fancy. Standing face-to-face with Darius, Ashlee would’ve politely uncovered her face and said, “This man is already married.”

  He was. To Ciara Monroe-Jones. Darius had married Ciara before changing his last name, but legally Ciara was his wife. For the longest time, Ashlee had no idea Darius had married Ciara, and he had no intentions of mentioning his little secret. Fortunately for Ciara, she discovered Darius’s motivation, to gain control of her casting company, before it was too late. Darius needed Ciara’s Hollywood contacts more than he needed her, but now that Darius didn’t need Ciara anymore, he had moved on, letting his father Darryl take over his movie-production company while Darius prepared to play in the NBA. The most fearless cat wasn’t luckier than Darius Jones-Williams.

  Ashlee blamed herself for falling in love with Darius. Believing she was different. Special. And Darius would protect her, never disrespect her. Ashlee should’ve spared herself countless heartaches and left when she’d discovered the truth about Ciara. One day, Ciara had showed up unannounced at their front door at nine o’clock in the morning.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Opening the door, Ashlee had asked, “Ciara? Is that you? Why are you knocking on our door so hard?”

  Ciara bypassed her and entered the house. “Why are you here?”

  “I live here. Well, at least until I find a place. But Darius isn’t here. I don’t know where he is.”

  Ciara said, “Don’t lie to me,” then stormed into Darius’s bedroom and froze. Ashlee watched in amazement too.

  “Ow, baby mama’s cumming,” a woman’s voice muffled from underneath a pillowcase. The woman’s hands pulled Darius’s face closer to her pussy, and then she rotated her hips on his lips. As Ciara and Ashlee watched, Darius’s face rose from between two chocolate thighs. His mouth looked like he’d been lapping in a bowl of milk.

  Wiping his mouth with the sheet, Darius said, “What the hell are you doing coming to my house?”

  On a return visit, Ciara threatened to kill Darius. Now Ashlee understood why: A woman’s heart was a terrible thing to break.

  Lifting her arm, Ashlee hurled the metal weight toward the mirror. “Ouch! Fuck! Oh my God!” Ashlee yelled, limping. “I think I broke my toe!”

  The edge of the dumbbell had landed on her little toe. Removing her shoe, Ashlee wiggled all her toes. If she had the courage, she’d pull the stake out of her bleeding heart and return the favor to Darius. Ashlee would one day kill Darius. No, she wouldn’t. She loved him too much. Her only true desire was for Darius to love her back. Was that too much to ask for?

  “Owwww! Shit!” she cried, hopping on one foot, gown in one hand, shoe in the other.

  Despite her heartbreak, the positive side was that Ashlee still had a chance to convince Darius not to marry Fancy. Ignoring the pain, Ashlee limped to Darius’s room and rolled around in his lush king-size bed, ruffling the rich purple velvet duvet. Darius loved big things. Twelve hundred square feet, larger than most peoples’ entire home, covered his whorish bedroom, complete with a stripper’s stage, dance pole, sex swing, and moonlit ceiling engulfed with simulated stars.

  Leaving the bed ruffled, Ashlee slowly opened the top dresser drawers. They were all filled with expensive imported lingerie sets: peach, pink, orange, banana, candy-apple red, plum.

  “How dare he move her into my space!” Ashlee yanked and ripped until all the frilly dainty items were shredded, and then she politely tucked them back in the drawers, closing each one tight. Peeping in the bottom drawer, she saw a pink leather strap with flaming red embroidery that read Pussy Whip.

  “I bet,” Ashlee said, retreating to what used to be her room. Her chin dropped as she gasped, “Wow.” Everything was exactly as she’d left it. Lime-green comforter, with matching pillows, and satin sheets. Removing her other shoe, Ashlee eased under the covers, careful not to tangle the train on her gown or smash her throbbing toe.

  “Oh, shit.” Ashlee jumped from the bed, hiked up her dress, then swiftly ran toward the door. Looking back, she yelled, “Goddammit!” watching her train hook the bedpost.

  Wham!

  Her face smashed against the floor. “Huuuhh.” Ashlee sat in the hallway for a moment questioning her intentions. Maybe this was a sign for her to forget about Darius.

  “No way.” Ashlee stood, ripped her train from the bedpost. Beads fell to the floor. A patch of satiny material remained between the wood and the carpet. Barefoot, Ashlee dashed outside and parked the SUV one block away, grateful that little Darius was quiet. His eyes were open wide. “Here, sit in your car seat. Is that better? Daddy’ll be home soon,” Ashlee whispered, placing the blanket beside his head. “And when he gets home, Mommy’ll come and get you right away. Okay?” she said, kissing him.

  Her baby was sniffling, his mouth gapped open. Ashlee had seen that look before. That facial expression meant there was a matter of seconds before the sniffing would end and the wailing would begin. Remotely locking the doors, racing downhill, Ashlee tripped, rolled into a snowball, entangling herself in the train, thankful and sorry that the palm tree stopped her. “Shit!” Tussling with the satin, finally she freed herself, then hurried inside, locking herself in her bedroom.

  She hadn’t even broken the stupid mirror and she’d already started having bad luck. Glancing at her image, she saw her hair scattered about her head. A few stems and twigs intertwined in it. Her face was flushed with dirt on her left cheek. Ashlee nodded. “I look pretty tough.”

  Was she tough enough to move in? Darius’s house was huge. If it weren’t for the baby, she could live there without Darius knowing. Maybe she would. Nah, staying wasn’t a good idea, but coming back was.

  Ashlee removed the gown, threw it across the bed, went to the closet, and eased into a size 5 of her stretch-to-fit jeans. Scanning the neat cotton blouses, Ashlee shook her head. “No more prim and proper. I like this rough and rugged look. And no more being nice. Nice women always get fucked.” Anally.

  Marching back into Darius’s room, Ashlee put on one of his wife-beaters, tied a do-rag over her head, and put on one of Darius’s button-up shirts but didn’t button it up. The shirt hung below her knees. Staring at the ruffled comforter, Ashlee smiled, removed her soiled white lace panties, slid them underneath the sheets toward the middle of the bed, pulled up the covers, and deviously smiled.

  “Where in the hell is he? He said he was close.”

  Restless, Ashlee circled the living room, then preset the radio alarm on it highest volume to go off at six in the morning, which was only a few hours away. She programmed the television for six thirty. Just enough time for them to go back to bed and get cozy. Still bored, Ashlee stumbled to Darius’s kitchen. Her toe ached again.

  “Toughen up,” Ashlee grunted, inspecting the contents inside the refrigerator. Juice, juice, and more juice: cranberry, aloe vera, Noni. “What’s Fancy calling herself doing? Her ass is trying to turn my man into a vegan with all this crap. Darius doesn’t like all this stuff.”

  The juice reminded Ashlee of what she’d almost forgot. Retrieving her purse from the exercise room, she returned to the kitchen, filled a glass with orange juice, downed two of the prescribed pills in her purse, then poured out all the beverages, placing the empty containers back in the refrigerator.

  How could she forget to take her meds when that was the one thing that kept her sane? But the side eff
ects often drove her insane. Lethargy. Memory loss. Severe mood swings.

  Picking up a bottle of veggie tablets, Ashlee said, “CKLS. What’s that?”

  Slamming the refrigerator, she considered refilling the bottles with poison. What could she use? Ashlee searched below the kitchen sink.

  “Let’s see, bleach, ammonia, detergent. All of this stinks and probably would only make them sick to their stomachs. That was if they’d even take a swig. I know what, I could scare the hell out of them when they walk in all happy.”

  A smirk emerged while Ashlee’s eyes widened. She went back to Darius’s bedroom, continuing into his bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, shook all the headache tablets into the toilet, and flushed. Ashlee removed the aspirin-looking abortion tablets she’d stolen from her doctor’s office on her last visit when he said, “Ms. Anderson, I’ll be right back,” before leaving her alone. Ashlee wasn’t having sex, so she definitely wasn’t having another baby. Didn’t want to raise the one she had. At least not by herself. One at a time, she dropped all eight of the abortion pills into the empty red and white bottle.

  “Perfect,” she said, smiling.

  Ashlee raced to the living room, opened, then quietly shut the heavy cherry-wood door. Darius’s limo was creeping up the driveway. Ashlee’s heart outraced her footsteps as she dashed to her bedroom, then locked herself in.

  “No, that won’t help me escape without being noticed.”

  Carrying her white shoes, Ashlee quickly turned off the lights, then hid in the garage.

  CHAPTER 4

  Candice

  Less than a block from Darius’s house, Candice’s neck snapped in disbelief. “Not in this affluent neighborhood.”

  A car, with a driver wearing a veil shielding the face, zoomed by. Either they were an underaccomplished actor, an actress hiding from the paparazzi, a pissed-off bride, or a crazy person. Realistically, all or any of those characters could reside in The Valley.

  Adjusting her rearview mirror in one fluid motion, Candice saw the car skid into Darius’s driveway. Candice hit her brakes, rotated her steering wheel to the far left, stomped her clutch, and shifted into second gear, making a U while turning off her headlights.

  Candice backed a few feet into Darius’s driveway, prepared for a quick escape if necessary. Fumbling through her shopping bag, grateful she’d bought binoculars, she leaned between the driver and passenger seats, adjusted the magnifying lenses, then peeped through the holes thinking, Why didn’t I get a camcorder?

  The black SUV, license plate HH2, faced the house. Dim, dimmer, the headlights vanished. The driver’s door opened. A woman, about five feet five, dressed in a wedding gown, got out of the car, in the car, then out of the car again. Tossing the veil inside, she definitely wasn’t Fancy.

  “This is great material for Act I of my screenplay. I’ve got to get closer.”

  Hanging her spy glasses around her neck, Candice tiptoed behind a pineapple-shaped tree. How many people had keys to Darius’s house?

  “Oh my gosh.” Candice ducked when sensor lights beamed in the woman’s face. Why was this woman entering like she lived there? Adjusting the binoculars, Candice gasped. “My goodness. It’s Ashlee.”

  Candice hadn’t seen Ashlee in years. The unmistakably creamy pale skin, straight dark hair, and small nose were definitely Ashlee Anderson. But why was she there? Ashlee was always a nice, polite, innocent little girl who’d grown up the same until she started working for, nah, make that fucking around with, Darius.

  Waiting for the door to close, Candice continued squatting as she scurried closer to the SUV. Peeping through the driver’s window, she saw the veil on the floor. Moving to the back window, “Oh God.” Candice’s heart thumped as she hoped what she saw wasn’t true. “A baby!” A precious little baby was asleep on the backseat.

  Sliding all eight of her fingers in the crack, Candice struggled to force down the window. The glass didn’t budge. She shook hard. The baby’s short arms stretched over its head, then covered the ears. Maybe Candice should call the police. Naw, that would ruin her chances of being the first one with the “breaking news.” Forget it. She’d find another way to rescue the infant.

  Lightly sprinting, Candice eased into her car. Scrolling her PDA, she entered the license plate number into her Palm Pilot. Shifting into second gear, she crept up the block at five miles an hour, headlights off, rubbing her palms, like she was preparing for a sneak attack on someone.

  “Why am I still hiding?” She laughed, pressing the accelerator. “I can’t wait to see the videos.”

  Candice wanted to stay, but Jada would soon wonder where Wellington’s stuff was. She should crush sleeping pills in Wellington’s food so Jada could get some rest. Poor thang.

  Stopping a few blocks away, Candice reentered the convenience store, reluctantly purchasing the junk food and a pint of strawberry ice cream. Parking in Jada’s driveway, Candice sat. Worrying. What if the baby was still in the car?

  Candice circled, then exited Jada’s driveway en route back to Darius’s house. Wellington would have to get his sweet satisfaction elsewhere. Candice had a screenplay to develop. With the short distance between the homes, maybe she could make it back before the ice cream melted.

  “Oh no.” Looking in her rearview mirror, Candice noticed a limousine behind her, so she bypassed Darius’s house, slowing to five miles an hour. When the limo cruised into Darius’s driveway, Candice made a U-turn. This time she parked curbside, knelt beside her car, and adjusted her binoculars. The shrubs shielded her body.

  The limo stopped. No one got out. Then all the lights in the house went out. Eagerly Candice mumbled, “No one would believe this if I told them.”

  “Believe what?”

  “Ooowwww!” Candice screamed, raising her hands to her face. Her eyes widened to a blinding flashlight.

  “Excuse me, miss, but what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, standing over her dressed in a dark blue LAPD uniform.

  If she had the balls, she’d punch him in his nuts. Go do some real police work. “Could you move that light out of my face? I thought I saw a puppy roaming in the bushes,” Candice said, fumbling with the branches before she stood.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before. Unless it’s your puppy, you’re trespassing. You’re a little too old to be one of Mr. Williams’s groupies, wouldn’t you say?” Stepping closer, the officer said, “Consider this a warning, lady. I will arrest you if I find you trespassing on Mr. Williams’s property again.”

  Sorry-ass wannabe cop. Probably trying to earn free tickets. “My apologies, Officer,” Candice said, looking at his badge, “Nero. I’ll leave. If you find a dog, give it to Mr. Williams.” Candice muffled, “So you can have an ass-kissing partner to cover your off shift.”

  “I heard that,” he said.

  Brushing off her sweatpants, Candice fingered her ponytail. He wasn’t worth arguing with, but he succeeded in ending her stakeout. For the moment. “Shit!” Getting in her car, Candice squeezed the carton of ice cream.

  “Great, now I have to go back.” Stopping three blocks away, Candice entered the convenience store, exchanged the pint of strawberry, and headed toward Jada’s via Darius’s house.

  Candice frowned. The black SUV was now parked on the street. Was it there before? Shaking her head, Candice doubled-parked. She peeped to see if the baby was still inside. Red and blue lights rotated behind her.

  “Oh, great. This is incredible.” Was Darius’s house the only one on his beat? If he was doing his job he would’ve discovered the kid was in the car. Maybe the baby wasn’t. But what if the child was? Nero wouldn’t believe her. Candice would come back after Officer Nero’s shift ended at seven o’clock in the morning.

  Parking at Jada’s, Candice entered the quiet house. Except for the foyer, all of the lights were off. “Hopefully they’re asleep.” Candice placed the snacks on the kitchen counter, the ice cream in the freezer, then strategically hid all except one of h
er clock cameras. She’d hide the last recorder in Jada’s bedroom after Jada took Wellington to the hospital.

  Returning to her guest room, alone, she sat by the large bay window. Her fingers tapped lightly against the keyboard, sixty, seventy words a minute.

  See, that’s why a brotha should never fuck his sister.

  CHAPTER 5

  Darius

  Applying pressure to his misbehaving, naughty, out-of-control, hot-and-bothered dick, Darius glanced at Fancy’s lips cushioned at the opening of his boxers. “Yeah.” He had to feel his dick inside her. But how, without putting her and the baby at risk? Ashlee was lying. There was no risk. But not knowing what he knew could be true; next time he had to consider precautionary measures and use a condom. Right? Wrong?

  He who was without sin was a liar. And since all sins were weighted equally, Darius was no different from the average man: selfish, self-centered, thinking with the, what Darius considered, right head. Suppose he tested positive and Fancy didn’t. Darius didn’t trust that love would convince Fancy to stay. Especially if she found out he knew beforehand. But if both of them were positive…

  Man, what is your fuckin’ problem? Your whole thought process is screwed up. HIV isn’t as easy to contract as most people think. Hit it. Quit it. She won’t get it.

  Unless she was susceptible.

  Ashlee explained that to him when Darius’s ex-fiancée, Maxine, tested positive and he tested negative. Somethin’ about a viral load in the first few days. Whatever. Hopefully his results would fare the same. If not, how many women had he blasted off in? He’d lost count. Wasn’t his fault. They wanted what he’d given them—an opportunity to brag to their friends that Slugger was their best lover and how they’d fucked the shit out of a millionaire who was now an NBA-bound player.