DJ patted me on the thigh, pressed his pointing finger to his lips. “Fancy, use your indoor voice.”
“My man.”
“Grown folks’ convo, Daddy?”
“You got it.”
I swore the entire restaurant could see the diamond’s shine darting from my eyes. I cried, covered my mouth, cried, nodded, then cried some more. “I love you, Darius Jones.” In part, my tears were to cleanse my spirit of the unhappiness I’d caused others.
Darius kissed my tears, then placed the ring on my finger. “This two-carat pear-cut diamond that points toward you represents a teardrop from my heart to yours. The one that points toward me represents a teardrop from your heart to mine. The three-carat heart-shaped diamond in the middle is a symbol of our infinite love.”
I thought I’d die from joy. He’d put a lot of thought into this and kept it a secret until now. Wow.
Gliding the ring on my finger, my husband said, “No matter where we are, we will always be together. The seven total carats mean we are indivisible. Divorce is not an option.”
Everyone in the restaurant applauded us. I hugged my man. I kissed my husband. Told him, “I love you,” repeatedly.
DJ leapt onto the booth, tapped Darius’s side. “Daddy.” He shook his head, then said, “Mommy’s not gonna be hap—”
Why should Ashlee be happy? It was her mistakes that allowed me to have her son’s father and custody of her son.
Darius quickly covered DJ’s mouth. “My man, right now I need you on my team.” Darius removed his hand, then gestured for a response from DJ. Darius stood, placed his huge hand on DJ’s chest, then eased DJ’s back against the booth.
DJ’s eyes scrolled all the way to Darius’s. “I am on your team, Daddy. I’m the sixth man, remember?” He nodded upward. His hands moved up and down as he tried his best to explain. “Mommy said I have to look out for you because you always make mistakes. Like when that lady sucked your—”
Darius interrupted, “Check, please.”
CHAPTER 10
Darius
Sho nuff this is my DNA.
I shook my head at my son. “My man. Chill for a sec.”
Thank God Fancy didn’t address anything DJ had said. My wife found out firsthand how crazy my son’s mother was when Ashlee slipped her an abortion pill. Ashlee killed our firstborn while it was still in Fancy’s womb.
Another lesson I’d learned. After a breakup, change all the locks to my house. Ashlee had entered my house, replaced my aspirin with abortion pills, then drove my wife insane enough for Fancy to take what she’d thought was aspirin. I hated thinking about that shit. I told my wife, “We’re celebrating the rest of this day.
“Hold your hand up.” I took a picture with my cell phone, posted it on Facebook with the caption, Just proposed to my wife again. We’re doing it huge this time!
I kissed my son. “Give your dad a hug.” It wasn’t his fault his mother had brainwashed him. I wished my mom would stop calling Ashlee for DJ and letting her fill his head with all that foolishness. Bad enough Ashlee’s weekend visitation was coming up. I dreaded calling her back.
Ashlee was bitter. Her life’s mission was to destroy men, myself included. This guy Jay who my son mentioned earlier, I wasn’t sure who he was but I knew it was in my best interest to find out. Wasn’t sure I wanted to know why he was really behind bars but I had to know if Ashlee was responsible. I’d bet money that Ashlee woke up angry, went to bed mad at the world, and spent her day contemplating how to break up me and my wife. I was already knowing Ashlee was going to explode atomic bomb style when she saw Fancy’s second engagement ring. This was my life and my wife and I couldn’t care less what Ashlee felt or thought.
“Make our order to go and toss in a bottle of champagne,” I said, handing the waiter my credit card. I dialed my mom to give her the news about our second wedding. Solemnly she answered, “Hey, baby.”
Was there a full moon coming tonight or what? I’d heard something about a full monster moon. My mom didn’t sound happy, and earlier, Fancy was tripping over the chick at the bar. Of course I saw her—who didn’t? My peripheral vision was spectacular on and off the court, but I wasn’t insane enough to say, “You mean the fine ass bitch sucking up oysters like she was sucking up dicks?” She was a 909.
My teammates came up with a coding system for females. Nine being the highest, the first number represented a woman’s face. The second number had to be zero or one. Zero meant we hadn’t fucked with her. One meant we had. And the last number represented her body.
I asked, “Ma, what’s wrong now? I knew you should’ve joined us.”
Fancy looked at my face. Frowned. “Your mom okay?”
I held up my hand toward my wife. “Hold on a minute, Ma.” Pressing mute on my cell, I told Fancy, “Sign off on the bill. We’ll be in the car.”
I walked outside, strapped DJ in his booster seat, doubled-checked to make sure the seat belt was snug across his shoulder, then sat in the front passenger seat. “Ma, give it to me. Straight.”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart.”
“Is that Grant guy disrespecting you? Is he tripping? If so, we can cancel the wedding and I can make him disappear from your life permanently.” Not the way Ashlee might do. I’d never send an innocent man to prison. I wasn’t that devious.
“It’s okay. I can handle him, sweetheart. He wants me to go to the movie premiere with him tonight. I wouldn’t mind if his ex, Honey, wasn’t going to be there. Just not sure I’m feeling up to any ghetto drama, that’s all.”
Truth be told, sometimes men liked a little fire in our women. I loved how my wife was nice, strong when necessary, and if she got a head start, she could drop a dude my size. Bring him crashing to his knees. My mom was strong in many ways but she was weak for men. Wellington. My dad. This dude Grant.
“I’m sending a car for you, Ma. Come hang out with us. We’re taking our food to go. If you’re hungry, I’ll have Fancy order whatever you want. I want to see you smile. Hear your happy voice. Besides, it’s not often we’re back home in LA at the same time.”
LA was special. I loved coming back to my house in the Valley. I had my fully furnished spot, my sports cars, the SUV we were rolling in, and my business here. My mom had the same but tonight she was in tow with dude and I didn’t want her to feel obligated to hang with him if he was making her miserable.
I had to give Mom a lot of the credit for my happiness. Coast to coast my face lived on billboards. My new office building, Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top, was state of the art and I was fully staffed with a hundred and one employees. I was so big in the industry I was the first baller to endorse myself.
“I’m okay, sweetheart. We’re heading out in a few. Bambi will be there if I need anything. I’ll call you later tonight after it’s over. Give my grandson a kiss for me.”
“That I can do. Ma. I love you. Thanks for always being there for me. You don’t always have to be Superwoman. You don’t need Bambi. Let me be here for you.”
Mom sniffled, then said, “I love you too, sweetheart. Bye.”
DJ was too far away for me to kiss him, so I kissed my hand, touched my son’s leg, then said, “My man, that’s a kiss from your grandma.”
I had no problem showing my son love and affection. Had no problem keeping him in check either. Didn’t want him to become the spoiled brat I was. I’d had so many women, I’d lost count by the time I’d met Fancy.
“Your mom okay?” Fancy asked, placing our food and champagne behind her seat. She settled in behind the wheel.
“She’s good. Just wish she’d stop seeing that dude. She’s not happy with him. Why do women cling to men who make them unhappy?”
“Darius, stop acting like you’re the parent. They’re not dating. They’re engaged.” My wife reminded me of what I knew but didn’t want to acknowledge.
My mom was holding on to Grant the way Maxine had held on to me. I was happy as hell I hadn’t
married Maxine. She was one of those ultra-conservative boring females. I’d heard that madness that a good girl was the kind of woman a man should marry. Bullshit. Boring wives deserved to get cheated on.
Sometimes I wondered if it was my fault Maxine had contracted HIV. Wasn’t sure Maxine would’ve cheated on me had I not cheated on her. Payback was a dumb reason for any woman to open her legs. With my promiscuous ways, one would think I would’ve contracted the disease, not her. Maxine had two lovers: me, and the dude who infected her. I was the male whore, so to speak, and not ashamed of my past, mind you. My whoring around before settling down made me a better man and a damn good husband.
Fancy started the engine, left the car in park, then said, “Oh, Darius, should we fly everybody to Paris? Spain? Italy? Should we get married on a yacht on the French Riviera? What about one of New York’s garden rooftops?”
“Whatever you want, Ladycat. Whatever you want.”
I gloated reading the comments and tweets.
You the man, dawg!
I want one, Darius. I’ll marry you too!
If I get one of those, you can have whatever you like.
The last comment was from a dude and had to be removed.
“For real, Darius. You just gave me this ring and your head is buried in your phone.”
“Sorry, baby. I’m just reading the responses.” Three hundred fifty-six comments in less than a half hour after posting. Damn. I could have a thousand tricks hitting me up before midnight.
The women I’d fucked, including my son’s mother, had come to me with their pussies on silver platters. Well, that wasn’t exactly true about Ashlee. I pursued her. There was something pure, innocent, and naïve about her at first. She believed in me, like my mom.
Fancy turned off the engine, opened her purse, got her phone, started texting too. I hated that shit. Watching my wife out the corners of my eyes as she texted made me jealous. Who the fuck was she texting? What messages was she sending? She scanned her surroundings, then looked at me as she tapped the keys. She only looked down to read a response, then she was at it again. Typing, faster.
I couldn’t match her speed so I laughed knowing I’d interrupt her thoughts. I kept reading my messages. My son was quiet. Probably asleep.
“My mom should’ve come. She’s going to love your ring.”
Fancy was quiet. Sometimes her emotions went from hot to cold but her pussy was always a hundred and six. She couldn’t outdo me with texting. She only had one close girlfriend and a bunch of clients. If I showed my wife the postings that just came in, her blood would boil. She’d lose her mind. That’s what happens when girls sign up for the boys’ club. They get burned.
A person would have to be slick times ten to get over on Darius Jones.
CHAPTER 11
Bambi
I sat at the computer desk in my hotel room at the Hollywood Renaissance braiding my naturally curly black hair into eleven corn-rows wondering if women in prison resembled me.
Not wanting to drive to my parents’ house in Long Beach, I’d checked into this hotel. Technically their house, free and clear, was now mine. I’d lived with my parents until the double-assisted suicides happened a year ago.
I stared in the mirror, covered my forehead, eyes, and nose with a mesh net stocking cap, then called Ashlee.
She answered, “Stop calling me!”
“What’s up with the yelling? I thought you might want custody of your son. I could help you get DJ back. You want in on my plan?”
“What are you up to?”
“In or out?”
“Out,” she said.
“Sleep on the idea, kiddo. I’ll call you with details,” I said, ending the call. She knew she wanted her son back. Couldn’t blame her for not trusting me. My being weird was my parents’ fault. My obstacles taught me how to be hardcore effective.
My childhood was abnormal. Too many unspeakable things happened inside my home. I believed school was my escape, until my first day. Why was I a doughnut when the other kids were shaped like Twinkies?
My classmates teased me about my weight. The pretty girls like Ashlee Anderson befriended me so I could be their ugly girlfriend and they could get all the attention from boys. Outside of school, I wasn’t permitted to socialize. Ashlee was my friend at school. I liked her until she made me hate her. Why did she have to have Darius’s baby? She had to take DJ because he wasn’t living with Darius and me.
Properly placing the stocking cap atop my head, I smiled. A million-dollar payoff to the coroner and my parents’ causes of death were documented as cardiac arrest. Their cases were closed, and I got what I deserved, a twenty-million-dollar cash settlement, the house, and my parents’ interest in their law firm. In exchange for leaving my parents’ financial interest intact, the remaining partners agreed to provide me with pro bono legal services and representation in perpetuity.
The amazing things one could do with money. I hired a personal trainer, lost a hundred pounds, and had a few nips and tucks. I looked so good I doubted anyone from elementary, junior, or high school would recognize me when they saw me, including Ashlee and Darius.
I applied a small amount of eyebrow glue to the back of my 100 percent human hair brows, then looked into the magnifying mirror, and perfectly layered each blond-colored brow over my jet black brows. I glued on my light brown eyelashes. Just as I finished trailing a thin line of glue along the edge of my hairline, my cell phone buzzed.
“Make it fast,” I said. I had to apply my full lace wig before the glue got tacky.
“Bambi, it’s done,” she said. “I got her good, Bambi, but I think I—”
Country bitch. I hissed, “Not on the phone. Tell me in person. I’ll call you after the premiere and tell you where to meet me tomorrow morning. I want full details.” I ended the call.
That woman was so desperate for a dollar she’d throw her firstborn under a bus, then roll over them. When I hired her she told me there were two things she’d never do and that was kill or steal. For the right price, she’d do both. The services Rita provided were worth more than I agreed to pay her. The fact that she didn’t know her self-worth wasn’t my responsibility. She’d get what she’d negotiated.
Securing my twenty-two-inch blond wig along my hairline, I waited fifteen minutes, stood, held my head upside down, brushed, then fluffed my hair.
I applied my concealer, foundation, and brown eyeliner. I stroked on various hues of sparkling green eye shadow, toned it down with a hint of jade, and brushed on a cotton-candy pink lipstick. I inserted my light blue contacts. After easing into my padded butt panties that would make Serena Williams jealous, I stuffed silicone breast pads into the sides of my bra to sandwich my B cups into a facade of perfect DDs that gave me amazing cleavage. My beaded forest green designer gown hugged my curves. I stepped into iridescent stilettos, picked up my purse, then double checked to make sure I had my ticket.
Instantly I went from being a fair-complexioned African-American woman to looking like Anna Nicole Smith with a perfect tan. I kissed the plastic covering on a photo of my Darius, then placed it back in my purse. His picture was my good luck charm. With Darius by my side, all things were possible.
Slipping my room key into my handbag, I grabbed my Ho-on-the-Go travel bag (filled with a complete change of clothes), left my suite, and made my way to the lobby. The bellman smiled at me. “You are one gorgeous woman. Can I, make that, may I assist you with your bag?”
“Thanks, but no thanks, handsome. My driver is right there,” I politely said. Easing into the backseat of the black stretch limousine, I thought, Neither the offer nor the compliment would’ve been extended a hundred pounds ago.
I gazed out the window, then became lost in Bambiland wondering how I’d use Darius’s mother tonight. There was a thin line between being professional and personal. Since I had access to Jada’s company’s files, the choice was mine.
I’d come up with something.
CHAPTER 12
Bambi
A long line of limos led to the theater. My driver opened my door. “Make sure you transfer my black leather bag to the Town Car that’s picking me up. Have the other driver here in thirty minutes.”
I swooped my thick wavy tresses to one side, thrust my breasts forward, arched my back, and smiled as though I was Mrs. Darius Jones. An usher escorted me to my seat. I sat one row to the right behind my future mother-in-law. By the end of the night, I would become Jada’s newest best friend or she would be my worst enemy. Getting past Jada to get to Darius wasn’t going to be easy but I refused to let her stop me.
The lights slightly dimmed. Jada glanced over her shoulder, looked directly at me. Quickly I turned my head, fingered my hair down my cheek so she couldn’t see my face.
She tapped my leg, then said, “That seat is for my assistant. You’ll have to—”
A very pregnant woman being escorted by a tall thin man with a long ponytail stepped sideways in front of Grant and Jada, commanding Jada’s attention. When the pregnant woman sat down next to Jada, Jada turned to Grant, stared into his eyes, squinted, then frowned. I noticed Jada’s jaw tighten like a nutcracker cracking a walnut.
Aw, damn. That’s Honey. Her pictures on Google didn’t do her justice. Honey was gorgeous and pregnant. And she was with Valentino? Once I make a few phone calls, Valentino will be back behind bars where he belongs. Pimping and pandering, Valentino had had one foot in prison all his life except he’d managed to keep both of them free most of the time to trample on his prostitutes. He was a slick motherfucker and a slick motherfucker like him could interrupt my flow if he got too close.
Halfway through the movie, Honey moaned and held her stomach but continued watching the movie. Here we go. Something was about to jump off. I clutched my purse, held my phone, prepared to make a move.
Darius Jones Page 4
