Diary of a Mistress (11 page)

“Do you know how it feels to believe you are well and then find yourself sick again, starting over from scratch to rebuild happiness that took so long to gain? I was fed up with being miserable and getting the short end of the stick all the time. I was desperate to get that happiness back again. So when Dr. Whitaker suggested I start a diary, something clicked in my head. I thought I had the perfect plan to win Carlos back. And really I just wanted his friendship back—at the least. But I knew there would have to be some friction between him and Monica before he would give me the time of day again. So I made up the diary. Well, actually, I just replaced David’s name with Carlos’s and used all the information I got from Carlos over the years to make it sound believable.”

Vanessa kept quiet, in part because she was at a loss for words and also because she didn’t want to say anything that would discourage Angela from confiding in her again. She just sat quietly and nodded understandingly at Angela.

“I had you send it to his wife. But I thought she would just leave him. I figured he would need a shoulder to cry on or somebody to talk to, and I would be right there. And possibly we could have become a couple, but truthfully, I would have been happy just being friends again. I never meant for it to come to this. When I saw that article in the newspaper about him almost being killed, I lost it. That’s why they committed me again. I lost it in front of everybody. Because I knew that it was my fault.

“He could be dead because of me, Vanessa.” Angela began to cry. “And now his wife is about to spend all those years in jail, away from him and away from their children. He’s really going to hate me now. I am hopeless. I did all this to get him, and all I did was make matters worse. I know how much he loved his wife and his family. And I took that away from him. There is no way in hell he will ever want anything to do with me after this. What was I thinking? Vanessa, I feel so sick with myself. Ever since I found out the consequences of what I did, I haven’t been able to eat or sleep. I’m always throwing up. God works in mysterious ways, though. Because if I would have never seen that article before court, they would have discharged me, and I swear, the minute I found out what had happened to Carlos, I would have killed myself.”

Vanessa let out a breath as she processed all of what Angela had confessed. “Oh, boy, Angela, that’s a lot to digest,” she said, breaking her silence. “I mean, if I had known this beforehand, I would not have put that diary in the mail.”

“Vanessa, I didn’t just tell you all of that for you to start feeling guilty,” Angela said.

“Well, I don’t know what you expect from me. I mean, this woman’s life is in shambles now, and I had a part to play in it.”

“Vanessa, you only acted as a friend. I was the one who messed up. Not you. I deceived you just like I deceived Monica. I have to live with this, not you,” Angela explained, continuing to cry.

Vanessa shook her head in disgust. “Angela, I’m glad you’re still here. You really do need help, and I pray that one day you get it,” Vanessa said, and she stood up and walked out of Angela’s room.

Monica was sitting on a prison bus staring out the gate-covered windows. She was in an orange jumpsuit, and her wrists were in handcuffs. She was being transferred from PICC to Muncy prison upstate. She was trying with all she had to keep from crying, but it was extremely hard. She could not believe her fate. Her entire life had changed instantly. She flashed back to the Marco Island trip she and Carlos had taken just a couple short months earlier. If someone had told her then that she would be headed to jail to serve a ten- to twenty-year sentence for almost killing her husband she would have just laughed. Now, here she was in shackles, on a prison bus with two armed policemen watching her and the other women like dogs. Her children would grow up without their mother. Her husband was in the hospital fighting for his life without his wife. And an entire public knew Monica Vasquez as a jealous wife who tried to kill her husband over an affair. How could this be? Monica thought. What did I do to deserve this? Monica was dying on the inside as she tried to make sense of the tragedy that hit her family.

When the bus arrived at Muncy, the inmates were let off the bus and led into the facility. They were stripped to nothing and searched systematically. First, Monica had to lift each of her breasts. Then she had to spread her butt cheeks and vagina. Last, a female guard had to rummage around in Monica’s hair piece by piece. After that humiliation, she re-dressed and was taken to her cell.

A female corrections officer walked Monica down the block. Inmates were staring at her as she passed by them. Some shouted things.

“CO! Bring ’er in here!”

“Oh, that’s a prima donna right there!”

Monica felt so many emotions, it was a wonder she didn’t have a nervous breakdown. She was scared to death, first of all. She wasn’t the fighting type and barely ever got in confrontations with people. She knew she was no match for any of the women in that prison. She didn’t belong there, among the most dangerous of criminals. In addition, she was still dealing with everything that had been going on with her family. It wasn’t like she committed a crime that had nothing to do with her husband and kids so that they could go on with their regular lives. Her family was destroyed, and there was no one to hold it together. Her children were without both their parents. And even though her mother was her children’s support system, there was no one to be there for her mother. It was killing her every time she thought about the grand scheme of things.

Monica and the CO approached the tiny cell. There was a woman on the top bunk asleep. The CO unlocked the cell and let Monica inside. Once in the cell, the CO removed the handcuffs from Monica’s wrists, left the cell, and locked the big, thick iron bars. Monica sat down on the bottom bunk. Her face fell into the palms of her hands, and all the tears she had fought to hold back came rushing out at once. She began sobbing uncontrollably.

“Shut the fuck up! I’m tryna sleep!” Monica’s cellmate shouted.

That was merely the beginning of Monica’s nightmare. She saw no way out as she quieted herself and silently prayed to God, asking for a miracle.

“MAIL!” a correctional officer shouted to the block of inmates. Hands started to appear through the thick iron bars. Monica stood up from her bunk and approached the CO.

“Bless you,” she said as she collected her mail.

Receiving letters and pictures from her mom and her sons had been Monica’s only means of maintaining her sanity while she had been in the county prison for the past three months. Now that she was upstate awaiting her sentence, she definitely needed to hear from her family. Being incarcerated with hundreds of women who had murdered and robbed people took a lot out of Monica. Seeing women be killed and raped in the prison was enough to make her lose her mind. And then there was the way the COs treated her and the other inmates like animals, feeding them food that resembled garbage, talking to them disrespectfully, and ignoring their personal well-being.

After Monica took her mail she sat back down on her bunk. Her face lit up as she noticed the return address on the first envelope. It was from her sons.

She opened the letter eagerly and silently giggled at the stick-figure pictures of her family they had drawn. She read the subtitles that, in a five-year-old’s handwriting, read: Mommy, Daddy, Grandma, C.J., and Chris. She couldn’t help but laugh at Chris’s oversized head on the drawing. She knew that C.J. must have been the artist. She opened a second envelope. Inside was a Christmas card from her mother, wishing her happy holidays. Inside the card was a letter telling her to be strong and to keep her faith in God.

A third envelope from a Vanessa Cooke took Monica by surprise. She set it aside, afraid to open mail from someone she didn’t know or expect to hear from. The last time she had done that, she wound up losing her best friend and almost her husband all in the same night. She decided against opening it as she pushed herself farther back onto her bed, allowing her back to rest against the hard, cold wall. She ran her fingers through her unkempt hair, untangling it along the way. A tear fell from her eye. She was an emotional mess dealing with so much at once. She picked up the drawing her son made for her and stared at it, laughing and crying at the same time.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?”

Monica covered her mouth and forced herself to stop crying.

“I’m sorry, Annette, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Monica said to her cellmate with a cracking voice.

“You know I sleeps through da mail. You couldn’t wait ’til chow to start dat cryin’ shit?” Annette asked, all attitude as she repositioned herself on the top bunk.

Monica stood up from her bunk. She figured she would try to make Annette feel better by offering her the letter she received from the unfamiliar woman.

“You want some mail?” Monica asked.

“Why? You got some for me?” Annette asked back.

“Here, it’s yours,” Monica said as she handed over the unopened envelope.

Annette snatched the envelope and read the front.

“Dis is for you, not me,” Annette said huffily, handing the envelope back to Monica. “Man, got me thinkin’ I had some mail,” she added.

“Pretend it’s for you. I don’t mind,” Monica said.

Annette sat up lazily. “Give it here,” she said with a grin, her lips twitching.

Monica handed Annette the envelope once more.

“Fuck you, Mom. Fuck you, Dad. Fuck you, family. I got my own mail!” Annette sang out loud.

Monica smiled and watched Annette open the letter.

Annette had been locked up for most of her young life and had been in that particular prison for a little over two years. She was serving time for several counts of vehicular homicide. She had been only nineteen years old and high on angel dust when she ran a stolen car going seventy miles per hour into the back of a minivan on a residential street. Every passenger in the van died, including a seven-month-old girl.

“Read it out loud,” Monica said, pretending to share Annette’s excitement about having mail.

“Damn, you wanna hear all my business,” Annette said, this time only pretending to have an attitude.

“Come on,” Monica said. “Please.”

“All right.” Annette sighed as she unfolded the letter, then playfully cleared her throat.

“ ‘Dear Monica Vasquez,’ ” Annette began. “Naw, fuck dat. Dear Annette Leanne Roberts,” Annette said jokingly.

Monica just chuckled.

“ ‘You don’t know me. My name is Vanessa Cooke. I’m a nurse at the institution where Angela Williams was placed. I want to start off by saying I’m sorry about your husband and what has happened to you and your family. I heard about your case on the news. It got my attention because your name sounded so familiar. Then it dawned on me that I was the one who sent you the diary. Well, let me rephrase that. I was asked by Angela to mail the diary to you, but she said that it was being sent to a friend as a way of her opening up and getting things off her chest without actually talking about them.

“ ‘Anyway, Angela confided in me some months back that she did not have an affair with your husband. In fact, nothing in the diary was true, well, nothing that was said about your husband. She made it all up because she was obsessed with Carlos, who was nothing more to her than a fitness instructor and friend. Angela is mentally unstable, especially when it comes to men, and that is part of the reason why she did something so stupid and cruel. I feel extremely bad for you, which is why I’m bothering to write. Ever since Angela confessed to me what she had done, and being I’m the one who put the diary in the mail, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and your family. It took me so long to say anything because of my job’s confidentiality agreement. I didn’t want to get fired. But now that Angela has been recently discharged, I am able to speak about this.

“ ‘I don’t know the law too much, but I’m sure if you speak to your lawyers about this, they can find a way to appeal and maybe get you out of there. You know, because Angela purposely misled you. Maybe you can use this letter as evidence. Or maybe you need me to testify. I will. I feel so bad that I mailed you the diary. Had I known what it was really about, I would have never sent it for Angela. I’m sorry for Angela’s behavior, and I’m sorry you had to go through all you did for nothing but a lie. Sincerely, Vanessa Cooke,’ ” Annette finished reading, then refolded the letter.

Monica’s face was blank as she tried to register what she’d just heard.

Annette slid the letter back in its envelope and handed it to Monica. “I think you might wanna keep dis one. Thanks anyway,” she said.

Monica reached out and accepted the letter, her expression still blank. “I don’t believe it. This woman is still fucking with me,” Monica said.

“I don’t know, man,” Annette said. “This sounds official.”

“No, no, it’s her. I bet you it’s her. She wants me to go crazy. She wants me to lose my mind. Seeing that I almost killed my husband wasn’t enough. Seeing me go to jail wasn’t enough,” Monica said, shaking her head.

“Let me see it again,” Annette said, holding her hand out.

Monica passed the envelope back to her.

“If it was her, she wouldn’t have put her return address on here,” Annette said, looking at the front of the envelope.

Monica looked at the envelope, paying heed to what Annette was saying. “So, wait a minute. She’s saying I went off for nothing. That…that I fought my best friend and almost killed my husband and put my children through all this bullshit for nothing! That I’m here getting ready to spend the next ten to twenty years of my life in prison for no reason at all. No.
No!
” Monica said, gasping with disbelief.

Monica backed away from the bunk beds while the words in the letter sank in. Pressed against the wall, she held her face in her hands. “I MESSED UP MY WHOLE LIFE FOR NOTHING! FOR SOME CRAZY, LUNATIC BITCH! NO! NO! THAT’S BULLSHIT! TELL ME IT’S BULLSHIT! TELL ME ALL THIS IS JUST A DREAM! JUST ONE BIG FUCKING NIGHTMARE! PLEASE! OH GOD! OH GOD!” she cried in anguish.

Monica was trembling. The pain she felt now was more overwhelming than any pain she felt since the day she read the diary. She could not believe that this was happening to her. It seemed like just yesterday her children were at her mother’s eating hamburgers and hot dogs and playing their video games. Wasn’t it just yesterday when her life had been as normal as the next person’s? She never could have imagined going through the turmoil that she had in a few short months. Never in a million years did she see herself being locked up in prison facing ten years minimum for almost killing her husband, the man of her dreams, a man she loved wholeheartedly and who had loved her the same. They’d had the perfect life and family, and now it was all lost—for nothing, for absolutely nothing. She was crushed. There were no words to describe how she felt. Nothing could measure up. Dying would have been better at that point.

The fresh snow that covered the streets and the Christmas lights that decorated the houses made Christmas Eve look perfect. Angela was one of the few people out and about. She was doing some last-minute food shopping. She had decided to cook dinner and spend the holidays inside alone. Ashley had invited her to join her at her boyfriend’s house, but Angela didn’t want to be up under a couple. She didn’t need anything reminding her of how badly she wanted a companion. If she went to Ashley’s boyfriend’s and watched them cuddle and say sweet things to each other the whole evening, she was sure she would end up back at her apartment drinking a whole bottle of wine and popping pills, so she declined.

It had been a little over a month since Angela left Taylor’s, and she was determined to keep it that way. She made sure to take her meds every day on time, and she even participated in outpatient therapy sessions. The Sunday following her discharge she went to a neighborhood church and got baptized. She asked God for forgiveness for all her wrongs and even said a prayer for Monica and her family. She hadn’t attempted to contact Carlos in any way, although she paid close attention to the news just in case they mentioned any changes or updates about him. She was concerned about his recovery. There wasn’t a day that went by that Angela didn’t regret sending the made-up diary to Carlos’s wife. But her medication helped her live with the regret.

Angela paid for her items and left the supermarket. She loaded her bags in her car and quickly got inside. After she started the car, she put her hands over the vents to get the chill off them, then drove to her apartment.

“My turkey is in the oven. Now I can take me a nice long bath,” Angela said to herself as she poured a glass of sparkling water and left the kitchen. In her bedroom Angela put on Carl Thomas’s CD. She hummed along to “Summer Rain” as she lit candles in her bathroom and ran a bubble bath. As she waited for the tub to fill, she pulled out a pair of panties and a bra from a drawer and placed them on her queen-size sleigh bed. She then retrieved a negligee from her closet, which she placed neatly beside her underwear. Back inside the bathroom, the water was ready. Angela turned out the lights and stepped into the tub.

“Oh, this feels so good,” Angela mumbled as she lay her head back on her bath pillow. Between the warm bath, the refreshing glass of sparkling water, the smell of the turkey cooking, and the sound of Carl Thomas, Angela was in heaven. For the first time in years, it hadn’t taken a man to put her there.