Bad Girls Finish First (5 page)

She motioned for the waiter. “Key lime pie, please.” Forget all this meatless, no sugar shit. Raven shifted the conversation away from the governor's race to other races going on around the state. After the waiter set the generous wedge of pie topped with whipped cream in front of her and she'd had a chance to let its smooth sweetness tame her tongue, Raven took up the subject of Michael again.

“Erika, I know we're just getting to know each other, but I can already tell that we're the same type of woman. Strong, driven. What I said before about what I'm able to do—I'm sure you understand what I meant.” She put a hand to her chest, to emphasize her sincerity, but quickly lowered it when she thought about the size of her ring compared to Erika's. “I'm not only Michael's wife, I'm his confidante and his sounding board. He values my opinion, so if I advise him that it's in his best interest to stay away from the gun control issue, he will.”

“If Michael backed away from the issue, that would be all that we need. If you can get him to do that, I'll get him the votes.”

“We'll need more than votes.”

“You want my organization to publicly support Michael?”

Raven sighed regretfully and said, “I wish it were possible but an endorsement from STRA—from your organization might kill our campaign. If you're serious about helping Michael, I think the only way to do it is by making a contribution.”

Erika was taken aback. Up to this point she'd been impressed by Raven's savvy courting of her because she hadn't promised anything that—theoretically, at least—she couldn't deliver. But if money changed hands Erika would expect firm results. “Raven, I may not know exactly what you can or can't do, but I do know that Michael won't accept a contribution he can't explain.”

Here the bitch goes again
, Raven thought but she didn't become flustered. “Don't worry, Erika, I told you from the beginning: I'm running things. My husband doesn't need to know everything, he just needs to win.” Raven took a note from her purse and gave it to Erika. “Here are the details.”

Erika studied the note and said, “Five hundred thousand. I'm impressed. You certainly don't underestimate Michael's worth.”

“And you shouldn't underestimate mine,” Raven said. She had a big smile on her face and her tone was friendly, but Raven's eyes were dead serious. “You come through for my husband, and I'll come through for you. I promise.”

“For Michael, anything,” Erika said magnanimously.

“One last thing,” Raven said. Now that she and Erika had reached an agreement she felt comfortable setting aside her good political wife act and being herself. “Why do you keep calling my husband by his first name? You don't call Jeff Sweeney by his first name.”

“I know your husband a lot better than I know Sweeney,” Erika said. In fact, Erika used to know every inch of Michael's body, and although it had been ten years or so since the last time she'd seen him naked, from outward appearances not much had changed. She signed for the check and then stood, not waiting to see whether Raven was ready to leave. “I'll be in touch,” she said, and walked away.

5

A
s soon as she got the STRAPPED money, delivered in cash by Erika herself, Raven organized a series of small, lavish “platform meetings” held with black sorority chapters throughout the state. Michael and David, the dangerous duo, swooped through Texas with such speed that at times it was hard for them to remember where they were.

As they watched a beautiful young woman address a standing-room-only crowd of sorority women—Deltas, AKAs, and Zetas sat side by side—David yawned and asked Michael. “Where are we? Longview?”

“Longview's tomorrow. We're in Lufkin,” Michael said. The men were just to the left of the stage, and couldn't be seen by the audience.

“Better get it right, man. She's really building you up,” Michael said of the woman on stage, who was making a long-winded flowery speech in praise of David, who would then introduce Michael. “Go out there and call this town by the wrong name, you'll probably be booed off stage.”

David let out an easy laugh, and smoothed his goatee. “Sisters boo me? Not likely.”

David was right. Everywhere the two men went David was received with open arms. Michael wasn't surprised by how warmly women, from eighteen to eighty, embraced David, but he was shocked by their lukewarm response to himself. Before he married Raven, Michael had been as popular with black women as David. He'd had it like Denzel—some women liked his family image, and supported him for it, while other women couldn't care less if his wife and kids dropped dead; he was their fantasy man, their personal lover who could do no wrong. Michael had played both advantages, giving chaste kisses to single women who admired him as a husband and father, and dropping a little something extra on the ones who wanted more.

In his run for governor, Michael no longer had his double edge with women—he still had a wife, albeit a new one, but sisters saw her as a man-stealing, classless tramp. And because Raven satisfied him the way no other woman could, Michael didn't sleep around. He lost out on both counts.

Michael surveyed the crowd. The women who were all immaculately dressed sported campaign hats and waved little flags bearing Michael's picture. Although he couldn't see it from backstage, Michael knew that a huge banner reading, “Joseph for Governor” hung across the stage.

He noticed something amiss. “Most of them aren't wearing campaign buttons.”

David nodded absently. “Pin-on buttons and silk don't mix. The crowd loves you, but not enough to ruin a new suit.”

A relieved Michael peeked out again and commented, “I never knew there were so many good-looking women in small towns. I'da run for governor a long time ago, if I had known it would've brought me face to face with so many fine women.”

“Whatever you
were
missing, you still are, Michael, going straight to your room every night. You ought to get out more, see the sights.” David thought about getting out and about in Lufkin himself. He'd seen a nice little waitress in their hotel lobby when they checked in the night before. He hoped she was on duty tonight.

Michael turned his attention from the crowd and looked at David. “If I haven't said so before, I really appreciate what you're doing for me. Taking time away from New Word and your personal life to bring out the vote for me. I won't forget it.”

David said, “It's not me, Michael. It's God. He's just using me to help you fulfill your mission in this state.” David grabbed Michael's hand. “As a matter of fact, let's pray. We should've been doing this all along.” He uttered a short prayer.

Finally, with the dramatic flair unique to black sorority women, the young beauty announced, “Sisters of the Greater Panhellenic Council of Eastern Texas! REVEREND! DAAVID!! CAAAPPS!!!”

David bounded onto the stage amid wild applause and spoke for a mere ten minutes, but for every second of that time, he worked his Capps magic. He prowled the stage. He hollered. He spoke so softly that women stepped on one another's heels as they leaned forward to hear him. He didn't say a word about himself—his sleek, pantherlike control of the entire room spoke for him quite well. David's message was all about his best friend, Senator Michael Joseph. About Michael's past service to the state. About how, if given the chance, Michael would be the greatest governor Texas had ever seen.

When he whispered, David whispered to the women about themselves. About how they had the power,
only
they had the power to put Michael in office. He spoke a little louder when he told them what Michael would give in return for their support. Michael would create jobs. Michael would preserve minority set-asides, see that blacks got their fair share of government contracts. Michael would stop the Texas judicial system from devouring their sons whole, while giving white boys a pat on the butt for the same offense.

Shouting again, David reminded the women that it was about time. About time for a black man to run the state! About time for black women to
flex
, hallelujah, thank you, Jesus! David put on the same show in every city and small town he and Michael visited, and he was on like Hollywood every single time. Michael never tired of watching his friend. The Capps magic mesmerized even him.

By the time David introduced Michael, the women were so fired up all Michael had to do was wave and smile. Many times that was all he did, then he and David would work the crowd, woman by woman, gathering campaign workers, garnering promises of votes and cash.

 

 

“The tide has officially turned,” Michael said. He raised his glass and clinked it against David's. The men were drinking red wine, neither man's favorite, but it was the only thing David felt comfortable drinking in public. They were in the lobby of their hotel rehashing the day's events.

Their waitress came over and asked, “You fellas need anything else?” She was a perky blue-eyed little something, with blond hair swept back into a ponytail.

“I still want to know what you're doing serving drinks?” David asked. He'd been teasing her all evening. “Looks like we ought to be carding you.”

“Honey, I'm full grown,” she said, all Southern sass.

“I can see that.” David, having finished his second glass of wine, roamed her body with his eyes.

Michael looked from David to the waitress and back again. He clamped his hand onto David's arm. “Ready to call it a night? We've got another big day tomorrow.”

“Not yet,” David said, never taking his eyes off the waitress as she walked away.

“David,” Michael spoke slowly and forced David to look at him. “Are you sure?”

David waved him off. “I'm fine, Michael. I'm right behind you. Just want to sit here a minute, think through a couple of church matters I'll need to handle by phone tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, but watch yourself. What might fly in Houston or Austin could cause you to end up with a rope around your neck in this part of the state,” Michael said half-jokingly before he left for his room.

As soon as Michael walked off the waitress came back and, to David's pleasant surprise, she sat down. “Where's your friend?”

“Turned in for the night.”

“In that case, this is for you. My treat.” She slid a drink, which David had assumed was for another customer, across the table to him. “I can tell what a man likes, and you're definitely a single-malt-scotch type.” She leaned back, reached into her cleavage and pulled out one cigarette. “No pockets,” she explained to David, who watched her every move.

“Are you off for the night?” David asked as he took a sip of the drink. It was his first taste of hard liquor in two weeks, and my, it was good.

The waitress exhaled, sending a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Ten-minute break.” She looked at David and smiled. He noticed her dimples. “I get off in an hour.”

David leaned forward. “How old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-six. And when I said I'm full grown, I meant it.” She took another drag on the cigarette, let it out. “You're one hell of a good-looking man. Anybody ever tell you that?”

“All the time,” a feminine voice answered before David could respond.

Startled, David looked up to see Raven standing just behind his chair. “Raven,” he sputtered. “What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I'd check up on you boys.” She pulled up a chair and sat down. “My meeting for this afternoon got cancelled, and I don't have anything on my agenda for tomorrow.” She directed all her attention to David as though the waitress didn't exist. “So I decided to join you, see what life's like on the road.”

The waitress didn't move. She eyed Raven and kept on smoking.

“Sweetie, do you work here?” Raven finally asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“Great, I'll have a rum and soda, please.” Raven leaned back and crossed her legs. She had on a knee-length skirt and she didn't seem to care that it was riding up pretty high.

“I'm on a break.”

Raven gave her a wicked smile. “Well, I'm not. I want my drink now.” Raven stared at the waitress until the woman stood, put out her cigarette, and stomped off.

“Oh, and sweetie? Make that a double,” Raven yelled after her.

David took a sip of his drink. “Nice.”

“What?” Raven shot her thumb toward the bar. “Her? Don't worry, I'll give her a good tip.” Raven grinned wryly. “And from the looks of things when I walked in, Reverend Capps, you were about to give her even more than that.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” David replied.

Raven shook her finger. “Uh-uh. If there's one thing I know, it's men. The look you were giving her”—she nodded her head toward the waitress, who was headed back their way with Raven's drink—“means one thing. You're on panty patrol.”

“Panty patrol? That's a quaint way to put it, coming from a woman who supposedly knows men,” David said, feeling the alcohol.

“White pussy patrol. Is that plain enough for you?” Raven asked just as the waitress sloshed the drink down in front of her.

“Would you like anything else, sir?” she asked David without so much as looking at Raven.

Raven took in David's eyes and half-empty shot glass. “He'll have a bottled water,” she said. The waitress didn't move, so Raven, her hands clutching the sides of her chair, turned toward the waitress. “Bambi, Tinker Bell, whatever the hell your name is, you can bring us the water or not. Just get away from this table.” She looked at David, but spoke to the waitress. “I'm here now, so you might as well move on.”

When the waitress left, David burst out laughing. “Raven! I'll never be able to show my face in this place again. She's just a girl. Why'd you go off on her like that?”

Raven laughed too. “She pissed me off, that's why.”

“How?”

“Trying to push up on you. Then when I show up, she acts likes she's still the hottest thing in the room?” Raven pursed her lips and tossed her hair. “She must be out of her mind.”

“You sound jealous,” David said, a slight smile on his face. “Why would that be?”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I like being the center of attention.” Raven leaned across the table, suddenly serious. “I think you've had a little too much of this,” she said as she pushed his drink away from him. “I didn't want the waitress to take advantage. It wouldn't be good for you, or for Michael.”

David looked shamefaced, so Raven started flirting again, to ease the tension. “And like she said, you're a fine-looking man. I'd hate to see you waste yourself on the likes of her. Even for one night.”

“Oh, yeah? Why is that?”

“Because.” Raven tipped her glass up, partly obscuring her face.

David waited. He felt flushed and didn't know whether it was because of what he'd had to drink or the conversation.

“Because,” she repeated when she put her glass down. “You . . . are . . . one . . .
fine
black man. Trust me, I'm an expert.”

David cleared his throat. He felt hot all right, and it wasn't because of the alcohol. “Michael went up about ten minutes ago,” he said. “You might want to join him.”

Raven kept her eyes on David, willing him to squirm but he stared back at her as boldly as she stared at him. Finally she said, “Want to or not, I think I'd
better
go up.”

As she passed David, Raven bent and kissed him on the cheek, close to his mouth. “Good night.”