Lady Elect

by Nikita Lynnette Nichols

  “Well, then, keep the bags, Celeste. I’ll get them from you tomorrow.”

  “If you live that long,” Celeste commented.

  Ginger couldn’t believe what her friend had just said to her. “You know what, Celeste. Just because you live in a fairy-tale world with the perfect husband and the perfect job don’t make you any better than anyone else.”

  “What the heck are you talking about, Ginger? I’m trying to keep this fool from killing you. You better wake up and realize who really loves you. I’m tired of begging you to save your own life. If you wanna let that fool knock your brains out, then that’s on you ’cause I’m through with it.” Celeste opened her door, got out, and then pressed the seat forward.

  Ginger climbed out of the backseat. Portia exited the passenger seat and walked around to the driver’s side where Ginger and Celeste stood.

  Ginger looked at both of them. “I love y’all. I will see you at church in the morning.”

  Portia hugged Ginger. “I love you too, sis.”

  Ginger let go of Portia and looked at Celeste. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I know you love me.”

  Celeste made no effort to hug Ginger. She was angry. “Yeah, whatever. I gotta go.”

  She got in the car and backed out of the driveway.

  “You know Celeste is a hothead,” Portia said to Ginger when they were left alone in Ginger’s driveway. “But she only wants what’s best for you. We both do.”

  “Portia, I love Ronald. And I know that he loves me too.” Ginger made the statement as though she was simply telling Portia what time of day it was. It saddened Portia that Ginger may have actually convinced herself of that lie. “Ginger, is he loving you when he’s bouncing you off the walls?”

  Ginger lowered her head and didn’t respond.

  “Do me a favor, Ginger,” Portia said. “When Ronald goes to sleep tonight, take a picture of his privates. I wanna see if it’s been dipped in platinum. That’s gotta be the reason you’re tolerating this crap.” With that being said, Portia proceeded to her car.

  When Ginger entered the living room, she saw Ronald lying on the sofa watching a basketball game.

  “What did I tell you about leaving this house with dirty dishes in the sink?”

  Ginger closed the door behind her and stood with her back against it. “I’m sorry, baby, I forgot.”

  Ronald looked at the suit she was wearing. “Where have you been?”

  Ginger nervously looked down at her suit. “I went to see a lady from the church. She’s a seamstress. I needed to get my skirt hemmed for church tomorrow.”

  Ronald repositioned himself on the sofa. “You went to church last Sunday. You ain’t going tomorrow.”

  Ginger started to panic. Her name was on the church program. She’d been looking forward to emceeing the Annual Women’s Day program for the past three months. In preparation for the service, Ginger had been walking around the house pretending to hold a microphone in her hand, practicing her speech. What would happen if she didn’t show up at church? Folks were depending on her to be there. Ginger had to be at church; she just had to.

  She walked to Ronald and knelt down to kiss his lips softly before heading to the kitchen to wash the three glasses that she, Portia, and Celeste had drank tea from.

  “Next time, I’m not gonna ask any questions about dirty dishes being left in the sink, Ginger. If you’re gonna act like a two year old, then I’ll treat you like one.”

  “It won’t happen again,” Ginger said over her shoulder.

  “Make me a sandwich,” he ordered.

  Five minutes later, Ginger brought Ronald a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich on a small wooden lap dinner tray. Next to the sandwich was a glass of grape Kool-Aid.

  “Where’s my napkin?” he asked. “And you know I like ice in my Kool-Aid.”

  Ginger quickly returned to the kitchen for a napkin and to put ice cubes in the glass of Kool-Aid. “Can I go to church tomorrow?” she asked as she gave Ronald the napkin and Kool-Aid.

  Ronald looked at her. “Didn’t we just come to the conclusion that you went last Sunday?”

  “Yeah, but tomorrow is the annual Women’s Day celebration. I’ve been asked to be the Mistress of Ceremony.” Ginger stood in the middle of her living room, looking at this unemployed man who was not her husband lie on her sofa and watch the television she paid for, praying that he would permit her to go to church. It dawned on Ginger that Celeste was right. Ronald was ugly.

  Ronald drank from the glass and swallowed. “I should not let you go anywhere ’cause I’m tired of telling you about leaving dirty dishes in the sink.”

  With her suit still on, Ginger sat next to Ronald and pretended to be into the game he was watching. When he finished his meal and drank the last of his Kool-Aid, she took the plate and glass into the kitchen and washed them. Then she turned the kitchen light off, came back in the living room, and stood nervously by the sofa. “Honey, I know you’re into the game, but I was wondering if you’ve decided to let me go to church.”

  Ronald made Ginger stand there for a long thirty seconds while he continued to watch the game before he asked, “What’s in it for me?”

  Ginger didn’t say a word. She knew what to do next. Right there in the living room, she stripped naked, then knelt before Ronald. He grabbed Ginger by the back of her head and guided her face toward his lap.

  Celeste walked in the door and slammed it shut behind her. Her husband, Anthony, was talking on the telephone with their pastor. He watched as Celeste threw her purse and keys on the sofa next to him and walked toward the rear of the house.

  “It was good talking with you too, Pastor. We’ll see you at church in the morning.”

  Anthony disconnected the call and went to find Celeste. He found her in the master bathroom sitting at her vanity removing makeup from her eyes with a cotton ball. In the mirror, Celeste saw Anthony leaning against the door frame watching her. She didn’t acknowledge him, but by how far Celeste’s lips were poked out, he sensed that she was upset.

  Celeste tossed the cotton ball toward the trash can but missed. Anthony picked it up from the floor and threw it in the receptacle, then went and sat next to her. Celeste inched over to allow him more room.

  Anthony faced his wife. “Let me guess. Ginger and Ron, right?”

  “Yep, you guessed it.”

  Anthony extended his legs and crossed his ankles. He leaned backward and placed his elbows on Celeste’s vanity. “What did that punk do this time?”

  “He hit her again, Tony. You should see her shoulder. Bruises are every-darn-where.”

  “She showed them to you?” Anthony asked.

  “No. Evidently Ginger didn’t know the marks were there. Portia and I saw the bruises while she was modeling the suit she’s wearing to church tomorrow; that is, if Ron even allows her to go to church. You know how he is.”

  Anthony could only imagine how Celeste behaved when she saw Ginger’s bruises.

  “You didn’t freak out did you, Celeste?”

  Celeste was applying moisturizer to her face when she stopped and looked at her husband. “Heck, yeah, I freaked as I should have. What would you do if your best friend was getting his butt whipped all the time?”

  That wasn’t the first time that Anthony had to remind Celeste to stay out of Ginger’s business. “Look, baby, you and Portia have to come to the conclusion that Ginger is an adult. You can’t live her life or make decisions for her, nor can the two of you fight her battles. Yeah, Ron is a punk. But until Ginger decides that she’s had enough of his crap, there’s nothing you, Portia, or anyone else can do.

  “My concern is you. You’re my wife, and I don’t want you to have a stroke or develop ulcers over Ginger and Ron’s issues. The only thing you can do for Ginger is pray for her and be there when she needs you.”

  Tears ran down Celeste’s face. “Portia and I took her to the police station, but she wouldn’t even get out of the car. I went inside and got a fe
male cop, a sister, and brought her to Ginger, but she sat in the backseat and wouldn’t open her mouth. Portia and I looked like two fools.”

  Anthony grabbed Celeste’s hand and kissed her open palm. “You and Portia have been going through this with Ginger for years. Nothing will change until she faces reality and realize that it’s up to her, and only her, to get away from him, so let’s change the subject. How did your doctor’s appointment go this morning?”

  Celeste wiped the tears from her eyes. “And that’s another thing that’s getting on my nerves, Tony. I’m sick of being disappointed every month. We’ve gone to see three specialists, and none of them can tell us why we can’t get pregnant. Today, Dr. Bindu took my temperature and gave me an ovulation predictor. He said that our best chances of becoming pregnant is between now and next Friday.”

  Anthony stood behind Celeste and massaged her shoulders. What he didn’t know was that his loving wife, the wife he cherished, the wife he desperately wanted to have a baby with, had just lied to him. “So, what are we waiting on?”

  Celeste dismissed Anthony’s question and asked one of her own. “What am I gonna do about Ginger?” She was not in a rush to make a baby because a baby would never be made, not if it meant her body had to be involved.

  Anthony let out a loud sigh. “Celeste, I want you to let Ginger take care of Ginger. And I want you to come to bed so I can take care of you.”

  In her bedroom, Portia pressed the play button on her answering machine. She listened to her messages as she undressed.

  “Hey, beautiful. What’s up with you? It’s me, David. I’ve been calling you all day. Hit me on my cell when you get in.” (Beep)

  David insisted that Portia call him on his cellular phone. She wasn’t worthy of his home number. Besides, his wife could answer.

  “Hi, Portia. This is Greg. I’ve been trying to hook up with you for two weeks. What’s up? Are you missing in action or what?” (Beep)

  Every two weeks, like clockwork, when Gregory’s wife gets a headache, he always wound up in Portia’s bed.

  “Portia, this is Richard. Why are you avoiding me? You think a brotha ain’t got nothin’ else better to do than track you down?” (Beep)

  Three days ago, Portia received a dozen red roses at the car dealership where she works as an administrative assistant. The inside card read, My dearest Tamara, I love you always, Richard.

  Portia did a little detective work and found out that Tamara was Mrs. Richard Clark.

  “Hello, Portia. This is Gary. I’m in town for a few days. Let’s get together. Give me a call at my mother’s house. 555-3743. I would love to see you.” (Beep)

  Gary Stokes was stupid fine. He’d always been Portia’s weakness.

  Forty-five minutes later, Portia was standing at her stove unwrapping a king-sized milk chocolate Hershey’s candy bar. She placed it into a small saucepan, then added two pats of butter. She heated the saucepan on low, then stirred the chocolate and butter until they blended well. On the sink next to the stove was a bowl of fresh, ripe, juicy sweet strawberries. Portia removed the melted chocolate from the heat, then dipped the strawberries, one by one, in the chocolate and laid them on a plate. She placed the plate in the freezer, then showered while the chocolate hardened. Fifteen minutes later, Portia removed the plate of strawberries from the freezer and set it on the sink next to an open bottle of Moscato. She filled a syringe with the wine and carefully inserted the needle into each strawberry and emptied the syringe. As she finished, she heard a soft knock on the front door and smiled.

  She carried the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries into the living room with her.

  Portia greeted Gary wearing a white sheer teddy and a smile. “Hi, there.”

  Gary stood in the doorway looking as fine as he wanted to look. Six foot five inches of solid muscle walked past Portia and left a whiff of Pleasures in the wind. She shut the door and leaned against it, admiring Gary’s short, wavy hair. His goatee blended nicely with his mustache. His caramel-colored skin was as smooth as silk.

  “Umph, umph, umph. It’s a shame your wife lets you travel alone.”

  Gary’s mischievous smiled melted Portia. “Why is that?”

  “Because you don’t know how to behave yourself.”

  “That’s not true. I’m always on my best behavior when I’m away on business. It’s only when I come to Chicago that I get into trouble.”

  Portia walked to Gary and wrapped her left arm around his neck while holding the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries in her right hand. “Is that what I am, ‘trouble’?”

  He pulled Portia’s body closer to his. “With a capitol ‘T.’ But you’re the kind of trouble I don’t mind getting into, if you know what I mean.”

  Portia picked up a chocolate strawberry from the plate and inserted it into Gary’s mouth. He bit into it, and when he tasted the wine, he smiled. “Um, yummy.”

  Portia returned the smile. “You like?”

  “I love.” Gary answered sinfully.

  She set the plate of strawberries on the cocktail table and stood on her tippy toes to kiss Gary’s forehead, his left cheek, and his right cheek. Portia took her time and ran her tongue along his mustache from left to right. Gary picked her up, and she wrapped her thighs around his waist. The married man carried Portia to her bedroom, and there wasn’t any shame in their game.

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  Lady Elect Copyright © 2012 Nikita Lynnette Nichols

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-6228-6043-2

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

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