Baby, You're the Best (12 page)

CHAPTER 27

Blake

 

 

 

H
e deserved to die!

I contemplated picking up my gun, pointing it at his head, then pulling the trigger but I was in shock. I sat on the side of the bed, slid the straps of my gold platform heels off my feet, then let them drop one at a time to the floor. Easing out of bed, I saw that the hem of my purple dress was unraveled. Threads hung to my ankles.

Lowering my ass, I flopped on my chaise. My arms dangled as I stared at my red polished toenails. My hair hung like I was a rag doll. Thirty years ago I was in great shape. Now I weighed more and was less motivated to work out. If I had been stronger, I could’ve fought my way out of being raped by that filthy jealous bastard.

Never again would I leave my home accessible under the pretense that I lived in a safe neighborhood. I used to run a 5K in fifteen minutes. If I were faster, I could’ve escaped, run out the house, and screamed for help. I wished my neighbor across the street would’ve heard me. Tom would’ve killed Fortune.

Short breaths. Small steps. My sleeve fell to my bicep. I pulled the torn material over my shoulder then cupped my aching breasts. My side was sore to the touch. Quietly I inhaled, then held my breath as I paused at the foot of the bed to stare down at Fortune.

His mouth wide open, drool seeped from between his lips and slid down his chin onto my white satin pillowcase. He turned onto his side then snorted. His back was to me. That was the way we’d slept most nights. Facing away from each other.

I entered my spacious bathroom, stood in front of the full-length mirror trimmed in glittering gold. The image before me was nearly unrecognizable.

One eye that matched the color of my dress was nearly shut. My other eyeball bulged so far out that my eyelid couldn’t move. I blinked but couldn’t close either of my eyes.

Softly, I sang, “Happy birthday to . . . me.” Well, I was beautiful for almost a whole day. If Spencer could see me now. My body jerked but there were no tears, on the outside.

Sitting at my vanity, I soaked a cotton ball with witch hazel, then gently stroked my swollen jaw. I flinched.

I’d come home after the best day of my life to this bullshit.
This is bullshit!
Why the fuck did he come back here?

My girls must’ve given up on my coming over by now. No one had called. Suddenly I remembered my phone had died. Better for my daughters and Spencer to be mad at me for being a no-show than for me to show up looking like this.

Dropping the cotton ball into the trash, I exited the bathroom, got my phone off the bed. I placed it on the charger in the bathroom, then went to my walk-in closet, closed the door, turned on the light. I scanned everything I’d bought but had never worn. Dresses. Skirts. Jackets. High heels. Anne Klein. Donna Karan. Jimmy Choo. Red bottoms. All beautiful clothes too sexy to wear to work or church. But there were a few things appropriate for a funeral.

I’d worked my ass off to buy the finest house. Seven cars—one for Fortune, one for each of my daughters as their graduation gifts. The most expensive luxury sedan was my Benz. The red Ferrari was simply a gift to myself because I could afford it. I was on the verge of being genuinely happy. If I’d invested in a man who loved himself, this would’ve never happened.

I didn’t believe any man would love me unconditionally but I’d never been beat down. Maybe it was best I let things between Spencer and me end. He may have been intrigued by me but he’d never fall in love with me.

Don’t deny me.
Fortune’s words echoed in my head as I searched for the perfect dress. Suddenly, my body’s temperature was too hot, the memories were chilling. Hours ago that motherfucker had the audacity to force himself on me like he owned me!

I returned to the bathroom. Soaked another cotton ball. I hurled the bottle of witch hazel into the wall. “That motherfucker deserves to die tonight.”

My cell started chiming with incoming texts and missed calls. I picked up my phone, silenced the tone. Instead of returning calls my trembling fingers texted Mercedes,
I can’t make it. Thanks for a beautiful day. I love you. XOXO

As I put my phone down, my vision became blurry. I squeezed a few drops in each eye, then read Spencer’s text. I replied,
Something unexpected came up. Can’t do Vegas.
I wanted to add, “rain check,” but that wasn’t what I was feeling. Plus, I was tired of struggling to see the keyboard.

The voice in my head spoke softly:
Definitely the black dress.

I returned to my closet. Too sore to raise my arms over my head, one leg at time, as though putting on the pants I’d worn for the last time, I stepped into my dress. The side zipper remained undone.

I went downstairs to the kitchen. Opened the cabinet. I gripped the handle of the longest knife, sharpened the blade. One long stroke after another I repeatedly slid the edge in one direction.

I picked up a piece of paper, rubbed the edged of the blade along the side. It tore halfway then stopped. I continued sharpening. The next time the paper effortlessly divided.

What I was about to do was premeditated. There’d be no need to plead temporary insanity or guilty. I wasn’t crazy and this was not my fault. I dropped the sharpener to the floor.

There was one more thing I had to do before going upstairs. Reaching for a pen and a fresh piece of paper, I wrote,
I love you, Devereaux. Take care of your sisters
.

In a separate note, I wrote,
I love you, Mercedes. Take care of your sisters.
I’d done the same with Alexis and Sandara, then left the notes on the countertop.

Quietly walking toward the bedroom, I heard him snorting. He was lying on his back. I clutched the handle so tight that my red polished fingernails cut into my palms. I steadied the razor-sharp knife directly above his heart.

I knew if there were a God, there was forgiveness.

CHAPTER 28

Spencer

 

 

 

S
itting in the center seat on the plane next to Charlotte, I stared out the window.

Being with her wasn’t as much of a problem as how I’d gotten here. She spilled drama from the moment she stepped into the restaurant until the second I’d agreed to let her come.

If I wanted to take her, I would’ve invited her. Charlotte was a straight trip. I shook my head, kept watching what was happening on the ground.

Charlotte leaned on me. “I love you, Spencer.”

Her hair was loose, flowing down her back, pressed against my chest. It felt good in a soothing kind of way. I inhaled Gucci Guilty. Charlotte had this thing where she’d spritz perfume in her palms then run her fingers through her hair. Whenever I inhaled or a breeze blew, I wanted to grab her long blond strands and hold them under my nose. I hugged her tighter.

“I love you too, boo.” Truth was, I needed her to hold me. The sizzle reel in my head of the last twenty-fo highlighted the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I’d taken Charlotte on a few weekend road trips to Augusta, Savannah, and Macon. Was reluctant to drive with her to New York, New Orleans, or Miami. Didn’t want to cross the state line of Georgia with her by my side. This trip on a plane was about to be a first for us. Our first experiences—the day we met, kissed, had sex, made love—were memorable in a good way.

Out-of-state getaways were reserved for my boy, LB. I wasn’t a fan of traveling in groups. Hated hearing Charlotte whine before we left, then again when we returned. What the hell was she bitching about? I mean we could have a perfect day and she’d find that fucking needle in a haystack and poke me with it.

“Let’s get married in Vegas,” Charlotte said without facing me.

I ain’t gon’ lie, though. I had a tightness in my chest for Charlotte. The kind that made it hard to breathe at times but getting married was out. Right now, I was in excruciating emotional pain. If I were a “I don’t give a fuck about females” kinda bruh, long as I get mine, I would’ve cashed in Blake’s ticket, invited my boy, LB, on this trip, and let Charlotte sit this one out in the ATL with her other dude.

“Let’s figure out if we honestly want this relay, boo.”

Casually, she answered with an “Okay.”

I recalled my first kiss with Fabulous while we stood by her Ferrari yesterday morning. I was upset with Fabulous, too. She’d changed her mind about traveling with me but I went out of my way to celebrate
her
birthday. My ego told her ass not to worry about the trip hoping she’d plead her case. Her not having the decency to call was foul to the tenth power. Recalling her text message,
Something unexpectedly came up. Can’t do Vegas.
I balled my fist, placed it on my knee, tucked my lips, clenched my teeth, then shook my head.
Oh, she could’ve done Vegas.
It was more like, Won’t? Don’t want to do Vegas? Do me? Both? Nigga fuck you, Fabulous!

“Miss, I need to take your purse and put it in the overhead compartment,” the flight attendant said.

Charlotte’s head snapped toward the aisle. “I know you’re not talking to me.”

We were in bulkhead. Charlotte refused to hand her purse to the attendant. We’d both checked in our luggage. Hers at ticket check-in. Mine at the gate.

“Give it to me, boo.” I put her purse under the last seat in first class so we could see it the entire flight.

Charlotte said, “Thanks,” then leaned the back of her head on my chest.

I inhaled slow and deep, filling my lungs with the scent of my woman.

The attendant announced, “When we close the door, you’ll have to switch your cell phones to airplane mode or power them off.”

Taking my cell out of my pocket, I took the opportunity to check my phone for messages. Anxiously, I wanted Fabulous to have sent a text or left a voice mail apologizing.

Clenching my teeth, I powered off my cell.
Fuck that whore!
With every passing second I became angrier. I couldn’t lie. I felt like a fool.

Heaving, I tried to calm down. On the upside, at least twenty-four hours hadn’t passed since I’d paid for Blake’s ticket so I’d gotten a full refund from the airline back to my credit card. I could’ve cancelled my ticket, too, but Charlotte had become “get back at Fabulous.” But what good was a get-back if the person I was trying to make trip was clueless about my being pissed the hell off?!

“The world can wait,” Charlotte said without looking at me. “I love you, Spencer. Stop thinking about her. I promise I’ll never break anything in your house ever again.”

“Why do you lie to me? You’ve said that way too many times. You know I don’t believe you.” Just like I didn’t believe she’d stopped fucking dude. “From now on, I’m coming to your crib. No more kicking it at my spot.”

“That’s fair,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. She looked up into my eyes. “Your not having your mom. Me not having my dad. That’s why I’m so messed up, you know. Baby, maybe we should consider getting counseling together.”

My dick instantly got hard when she said, “Baby.” The way she looked at me with those sexy eyes. She had the sweetest voice even when she was mad.

“Tell the truth. Did you fuck dude when you left my place yesterday? Don’t lie.” I tried to lock eye contact with her.

Charlotte turned away, answered, “No,” then looked at me. “Let’s get married when we get to Vegas. Maybe being married and living together will help us grow closer together.”

What? She didn’t think I could tell she was lying and trying to change the subject. Marrying Charlotte wasn’t happening. Not this or any other trip. No amount of counseling could change her crazy ass.

I wanted to push her off of me! Best for me not to respond.

Maybe the way I’d sexed Fabulous scared her off. That shit was unforgettable. My hard dick wanted Fabulous seated next to me. I wanted to lick her asshole. Make her squirt again. Nah, I wanted to give her this dick nice and slow missionary style. Stare into her eyes, make her cry the kind of tears that would make her say, “I love you,” while holding me in her arms.

I told Charlotte, “I’ve gotta take a piss before takeoff.” Facing the person next to me, I said, “Excuse me.”

Standing in the aisle, I looked at Charlotte for the last time. Bypassing the flight attendant, I exited the plane onto the Jetway.

“Dude, I have an emergency.” Handing him my claim ticket, I asked, “Can you get my bag? Or is it too late?”

“Let me see,” he said, hurrying down the stairway.

The stewardess looked at me, opened her mouth. I pressed my finger to my lips, then shook my head. She closed the door. Instantly I felt relieved when the guy said, “Here you go, man.”

I offered him a tip, but he refused. “Go take care of your business. I’ll pray for you, brotha.”

Exiting the concourse, I headed to the MARTA station, hopped on the train. I might regret having memorized Fabulous’s address when I checked her ID at the bar. My destination was to get to my car in Buckhead then head north to Roswell.

CHAPTER 29

Blake

 

 

 

“N
ine-one-one operator,” she answered.

Matching her tone, calmly I said, “I need an ambulance to . . .” Giving her my address, I adjusted my Bluetooth deeper into my ear.

She questioned, “Is this an emergency?”

My pointing finger glided from the handle, along the dull side, to the tip. I stared at the knife, then at him. Softly, I answered, “Depends on how you look at it. Please. Send an ambulance. No, wait. Send the coroner.” I ended the call. Cleaned my face best as I could.

Fortune wasn’t man enough to stay gone after I’d put him out. Brought his disgusting-had-no-place-to-stay black ass back up in
my
house. Without
my
permission! Acted as though he had the right to go upside my head, then fall asleep in my bed as though nothing bad had happened.

He didn’t love me. He never loved me. This could’ve ended differently if he’d stayed gone.

Four hours ago I stood over him, watched him exhale his last breath. That was my first time watching a person die. I wasn’t sad. I was numb. Couldn’t stand to look at myself with all these bruises.

Softly, I said, “Do unto others.” He’d gotten what he deserved.

I’d waited to dial for assistance. Wanted to make sure there was no chance of the paramedics reviving him. One less trifling man in the world would save a few women from being abused.

The blaring sounds of sirens got louder and louder. I stuck my finger in my left ear. Entering my closet, I removed a pair of pink shoes from my Prada box, dropped the knife inside, then replaced the top. I changed from my black dress to a long pink silk robe. Quickly, I changed my robe from pink to white. White would make me appear as though I was the victim. Well, I was. Had two black eyes and a busted lip to prove it.

One last stare at that no-good rapist. The sirens stopped. I said, “There is God.” I spat in Fortune’s face, then I headed barefoot downstairs to my living room.

Opening my front door, the paramedics stared at me. One of them asked, “What happened, miss?” Immediately, the other one opened his first aid case, then said, “Have a seat. Let me check you out.”

I shook my head to the sound of more sirens. “I got my ass beat but I didn’t lose the fight. I’m not the one you came for.” Stepping aside, I pointed, then told them, “He’s up there.” I was at peace with what had happened to Fortune.

The paramedics rushed up the stairs. At the same time, a police car parked beside the ambulance in my driveway.

Oh, shit!
Racing into the kitchen, I ripped the notes to my daughters into tiny pieces then sprinkled them in the trashcan. I hadn’t realized blood was in the palms of my hands from gripping the knife. Quickly, I washed my hands, dried them with a paper towel, then tossed it in the trash. As I returned to my living room, two cops entered my home. I pointed upstairs.

Mercedes’s car pulled up. All of my daughters got out. Hurried to me. This was the first time that I needed each of my children more than any one of them needed me.

“All hell no!” Devereaux shouted. She started crying.

My girls talked over one another asking me questions at the same time. I heard, “Mama, what happened.” “We can see what the fuck happened!” “Where’s that bitch at?!” “I can’t believe this.” “Oh, my, God.”

I was relieved my girls were here. I opened my arms to all of them praying nothing like this would ever happen to any of them. No woman deserved this.

Mercedes stepped back from the group hug. “Fortune! Bring your trifling ass down here right now!” she shouted.

“I hope you cut his nuts off,” Sandara said, bouncing up and down. She threw a few jabs to the empty space in front of her face.

I nodded, then shook my head fast. Sounded as though they were speaking underwater.
Lord, please don’t let me lose the hearing in my left ear.

“Fuck that bitch! If he won’t come down, I’m going up!” Tears streamed down Alexis’s cheeks. She pulled her gun from her purse, wrapped both hands around the handle, pulled the firearm to her right shoulder, pointed the barrel toward the ceiling, then headed toward the staircase. “If he’s not dead, I’m going to make that bitch wish he were, Mama.”

Mercedes yelled, “Get back here, girl! And put that away. It doesn’t have a safety.”

Alexis said, “I’m the fucking safety.”

Devereaux chimed in, “Let the police do their job.”

A police officer appeared at the top of the stairs. “Ma’am, she’s right.” He drew his weapon toward Alexis, deepened his voice, then spoke with authority. “Put your gun away, now!”

Alexis placed the gun in the side compartment of her purse.

The officer said, “Everyone stay downstairs. No one leave.” He disappeared from the hallway.

I think the only time Alexis didn’t have a piece on her was when she was in church. Shaking my head, I wasn’t sure about that.

My girls knew a lot about guns. I did too. In Georgia, guns were allowed in the home. The car was an extension of the home. Possessing a firearm outside of the home or car required a license that all of us had.

I heard footsteps approaching my doorway. I wiggled my finger in my left ear. Assuming it was more policemen, I pointed toward the staircase.

“Fabulous, what’s going on?”

The voice and nickname were unmistakable. I turned and faced Spencer. “How’d you get my address?”

With all the commotion, I hadn’t noticed the black Range Rover in my driveway. It must’ve been his.

“Aw, hell nah!” he said, covering then uncovering his face. He hunched his shoulders, shook his head at the same time. “Fabulous, all I need to know is, where that motherfucka at?”

Two more officers entered my living room. They stared at me. Then one questioned Spencer, “Who’s responsible for this dispute?”

Yep, I’d lost some degree of hearing in my left ear. I could understand but the words were slightly muffled.

An officer standing above by the railing said, “Guys. Up here!”

One of the policemen eyed Spencer, then said, “Don’t you leave. Nobody leave.” Then, both officers headed to the second floor.

Spencer looked at me then shook his head. “You should’ve told me you had a situation at home. Now I feel bad for keeping you out all night. It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not.” Spencer obviously felt bad about what happened to me but the only person I blamed was dead.

Mercedes objected. “Yes. It is his fault, Mother. If he would’ve remained professional and not taken advantage of you, you would’ve made it home that night. Instead, thanks to Spencer Can’t-Keep-His-Dick-To-Himself Domino, you had on the same red halter dress the next day. And no panties, may I add!”

Spencer’s eyes widened as he slowly said, “Wow.”

Devereaux commented, “Keep it down, Mercedes. We don’t want the cops to think Spencer did this.”

“How do you know his last name, Mercedes?” I asked, then told Spencer, “It’s not your fault.”

Spencer came closer to me. “I can leave if you want me to. I was pissed that you stood me up so”—he paused then hunched his shoulders—“I was stopping by.” He paused again, then asked, “You okay?”

Sandara answered this time. “What you think, lover boy?”

Mercedes told Sandara, “I know you’re not talking.”

Just as I opened my mouth to speak, a paramedic came into the living room and confirmed what I already knew. He said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s dead. We’ll do an autopsy to confirm his cause of death but it appears he suffered a heart attack. The coroner will be here shortly. We’ll wait upstairs until they arrive.”

Tom, my neighbor from across the street, rushed into my house. Stared at my face. “Oh, my Heavenly Father. Who did this to you, Blake? Was it that sum-of-a-bitch Fortune? Where is he?”

I nodded, then said, “Dead.”

“Good,” Tom said. “I should go get my rifle and kill that sum-of-a-bitch again.”

Alexis swayed side to side. Patted her purse. “I’m with you, Tom. I say we do this!”

One of the police officers stood at the top of the staircase, then said, “Tom, is it?”

“Yes sir, officer. I’m Blake’s neighbor.”

The police trotted down the stairs. “Unless you’re involved in this situation, Tom, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Ms. Blake, we’re going to have to take a report from you and everyone who was here at the time of death. We can do it here or at the station.”

“If you need me, call me and I’ll come a-runnin’. You hear me, Blake,” Tom said, heading toward the door. “Good-bye, officer. You have a nice day.”

Mercedes said, “Officer, please. Take our mother’s statement here. She was the only one present at the time.”

“All of these are your children, ma’am?” the officer asked.

Alexis responded, “These are my sisters. He,” she said, pointing at Spencer, “is my boyfriend.”

Looking at Spencer, I was relieved that Alexis had taken the spotlight off of him.