Diary of a Mistress (13 page)

Monica was sitting on her front steps watching her sons shoot hoops in their driveway. It was a nice June day, and she was enjoying the weather, but she couldn’t wait for Rita to arrive so they could be on their way to her first book signing. She eagerly watched every car that turned the corner, praying it was her best friend. Finally, Rita’s red Jeep appeared.

“Chris and C.J., come on. Aunt Rita’s here. Mommy’s about to go,” Monica said as she stood up.

“Hi, boys!” Rita yelled as she pulled into Monica’s driveway. “Monica, sorry I’m late. That damn sister of mine wouldn’t let me off the phone.”

“It’s okay,” Monica said as she led the twins inside.

“Gimme kiss,” Monica said, holding her cheek out toward her sons.

“Oh, Ma,” they said, kissing their mother’s cheeks simultaneously.

“Honey, Rita’s here!” Monica shouted as she grabbed her pocketbook off the couch and headed out the front door. “You and the kids be there in about an hour, okay!” she added.

“We’ll be there, don’t worry. Just go, you’re running late!” Carlos yelled from the bathroom.

“All right, I’m leaving! Love you! See you later!” Monica said before she walked out the door.

“How you got me late to my own book signing?” Monica asked sarcastically.

“I’m sorry,” Rita whined playfully.

Rita backed out of Monica’s driveway, and the two of them were on their way downtown.

“I can’t believe all of this,” Monica said as she fixed her hair in the passenger’s-side mirror. “Who would have ever thought something so bad would turn into something so good,” she added.

“Well, be blessed,” Rita said, her eyes glued to the traffic.

“Oh, I’m definitely blessed,” Monica confirmed. “I was ten seconds away from losing my husband and then was about to have to spend the rest of my life in prison behind it. And fighting with you like that. It was all so crazy,” Monica babbled. “And I’m still so sorry for that,” she added.

“Don’t worry about it. It ain’t like you whipped my ass,” Rita said.

“I did whip ya ass,” Monica said.

“What fight was you watchin’? I whipped ya ass,” Rita corrected her.

“I whipped ya ass,” Monica shot back.

“Bitch, please,” Rita said, refusing to give up.

“Oh, a mailbox, pull over,” Monica said, pausing their little spat.

Rita abruptly pulled her Jeep over and maneuvered it along the curb.

“We don’t have time for stopping. We’re late as it is,” Rita just had to say.

Monica ignored her friend. She pulled a letter addressed to her old cellmate, Annette, from her pocketbook and stepped out of the car. She jogged briskly to the mailbox, dropped the letter in the slot, and returned to the passenger seat.

When Rita and Monica arrived at the book signing in the Gallery, it was packed. There was a long line of people, mostly women, waiting with their books in hand. Some were munching on refreshments. Others were chatting with one another while the rest just stood quietly, looking around the mall.

“Have a seat right here, Mrs. Vasquez,” the event promoter said as he quickly pulled out Monica’s chair.

Monica sat down and got comfortable. She put on a big smile as she prepared to sign autographs. This was her moment, and she knew she would savor it forever.

“Move, got damnit! Oh! God, these people can’t drive!” Angela shouted as she zipped through traffic. “They act like they don’t have anywhere to go!”

“Your love’s got me lookin’ so crazy right now. Your touch got me hopin’ you page me right now.”

Angela heard her cell phone’s ring tone and slowed down.

“Oh, shit, that’s where my phone’s been all this time,” she said to herself as she reached down on the side of the passenger seat to retrieve the ringing phone.

“Yes,” Angela answered, loud and agitated.

“Angela, where have you been? I have been calling you for like a month! You had me scared to death!” Ashley blurted out.

“I left my phone in my car,” Angela said nonchalantly.

“I been callin’ your house too. I have been driving past there like every week for the last four weeks. Everybody is worried about you. Your job called me. You haven’t been to work. Apparently you threatened to kill yourself to somebody at Taylor’s, and they been to your house. They’re lookin’ for you,” Ashley gave her sister the rundown. “What’s goin’ on with you?”

“Ash, please. Taylor’s can kiss my ass! They don’t give a damn about me! They just want the five thousand a month they get to fill a bed in that motherfucker!”

“You’re talkin’ crazy.”

“Yeah, well. What do you expect from a crazy person?” Angela asked Ashley. “Move, bitch!” Angela shouted at a double-parked vehicle.

“Angie, where are you? I’m coming to get you,” Ashley said, concerned.

“No, no, no,” Angela said, frustrated. “I’m tired of you always rescuing me. I’m sick of being a burden on you. I’m sick of being a burden on everybody. Just leave me alone. I’ll be fine. Now, I’m tryin’ to get somewhere if you don’t mind.”

“Angie, I’m your sister, and I’m worried about you. You’re not in your right mind just now, and you don’t need to be driving anywhere. Tell me where you are so I can come get you,” Ashley pleaded.

“Why? So you can take me to Taylor’s. No! I’m almost at the Gallery anyway. Save your gas!”

Click.

“Hi, how are you?” Monica said with a smile.

The short Caucasian woman smiled back with tears in her eyes, and said, “Hi. I just want to tell you that I admire your strength. You give women like me hope. I’m a new mother of twins, and I was going through some rough times recently, with postpartum and all, and I really was ready to give up. And when I heard your story it really opened my eyes. I realized how blessed I was. To see you be so strong after all you been through, it really picked me up. I imagined myself in your shoes and pictured me being locked away, not able to see my kids grow up, and it changed my perspective. I could never see myself without my children. Thank you so much for showing me that. I was really at the end of my rope,” the woman said as she placed her copy of Monica’s book on the table.

Monica opened the book and asked “What’s your name?”

“Patty,” the woman responded, teary-eyed. Monica signed the book and gave it back to the woman. Then she placed her hands over the woman’s, and said, “God gave me that strength, and God gave my story to you so that you could get strength in your time of need. I’m so happy that God is working through me. And I’m so happy I could help you.”

The woman dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled piece of tissue. She thanked Monica once again and walked away. Another woman stepped up.

“I’m so happy for you. I’m glad justice prevailed. God is with you,” a young thirty-something woman said as she placed her book down on the table.

“Thank you so much,” Monica said with warmth, and she opened to the title page.

“Kelly, K-E-L-L-Y,” the woman said.

Monica scribbled some thanks and brief kind words on the page, then closed the book. She gave it to the woman, still smiling, and then greeted the next person.

“Hello,” Monica said cheerfully.

“Hi,” another young woman said as she approached Monica.

The woman put her book down on the table.

“Could you sign it to ‘Angela’ and write it with this?” the woman said as she scrambled through her purse.

Monica got goose bumps hearing the woman’s name. Then, seeing a small black gun in the woman’s purse, her heart skipped a beat.

“Angela Williams,” the woman said as she pulled the .38 revolver from her purse and pointed it at her own temple.

Monica placed one of her hands over her heart and the other over her mouth as she gasped. The crowd of people dispersed, some running, some slowly walking away, others ducking. Rita was frozen in her chair.

“Don’t do it,” Monica managed to say before the gun went off.

A loud boom echoed through the busy mall. Shortly after, screams could be heard. Angela was stretched out on the freshly buffed floor. A puddle of blood immediately formed adjacent to her head. Sirens and police radios were heard in the distance. The media arrived within minutes. Everything was happening so fast, but to Monica, everything appeared to be moving in slow motion, yet in a blur.

“As if it weren’t a bestseller already, there is more to Monica Vasquez’s story. The alleged stalker and once-thought-to-be mistress of Carlos Vasquez showed up to Monica Vasquez’s book signing today armed with a .38 revolver. She only made time to reveal her name before pulling the trigger and shooting herself in the head. She was pronounced dead at the scene.

“According to police, she left a short suicide note inside her copy of Monica Vasquez’s
The Diary of a Mistress
, which simply said, ‘Tell my daughter I always wanted her.’ No one else was harmed in the mall this afternoon.

“It’s been an ongoing tragedy for Vasquez, and she had only this to say: ‘I’m just glad my children weren’t here to see it.’ ”

Monica and Carlos sat on their porch swing, watching the sunset and wrapped in each other’s arms. It was early September and pretty warm outside.

“So, you think you can handle getting in front of a classroom again?” Carlos asked, stroking his wife’s hair with his fingers.

“I think so,” Monica said as she exhaled. “I think it’ll be good for me. Getting back to my normal life, doing what I was doing before all the craziness,” she added.

“Well,” Carlos said, as he gently lifted his wife’s head off his chest, “I’m going inside to get the kids ready for bed.”

“All right,” Monica said.

Carlos kissed his wife on her forehead, and said, “Happy anniversary, honey.”

Tears came to Monica’s eyes as she thought about the fact that she almost lost her husband that exact day a year earlier.

“Happy anniversary,” she said, then returned her husband’s kiss.

“Don’t stay out too long, you have a big day ahead of you,” he concluded and he reached for the cane that was leaning against the wall near him.

“I’m right behind you,” Monica said, not moving a muscle.

Instead, she sat there on the swing staring into the orange and pinkish sky, absorbing the beauty of the day, treasuring it as if it were to be the last one she’d live to see. She picked up her yellow notepad and opened it to a clean page. She retrieved the pen that was in between some pages and began to write.

Monica pulled into her parking spot reluctantly and looked up at the big stone building. She smiled at the fall decorations that covered the small windows. There was an aura around the school that she didn’t recognize. She felt somewhat out of place. She contemplated putting her car in reverse and going back to her comfort zone, her home. She had become a prisoner in her own house after the whole ordeal at her book signing. The only time she left was to go to the supermarket or to the dry cleaner. Other than that, she had spent most of the past few months inside. It was the only place she felt secure, protected from the stares and the whispers she had come to expect.

“Here we go,” Monica said to herself as she took a deep breath.

She grabbed her pocketbook from the passenger’s-side seat. She took one last glance at herself in her rearview mirror, then she stepped out of her car. She walked the ten feet to the entrance of the school and went inside.

Everything looked different inside the elementary school where Monica taught. It had been a long time since she’d been there for one, plus having gone through so much and spending time in prison, everything looked different to her.

“Hey, Mrs. Vasquez, welcome back.” The secretary in the main office greeted Monica with a smile as she walked in to retrieve her mail.

Monica smiled back and said, “How are you, Ms. Crane, and thanks for welcoming me, I need it.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine. The kids are still as sweet as they wanna be. You’ll see,” the secretary said.

“That’s good to hear,” Monica said, retrieving a handful of papers and envelopes from her cubbylike mailbox.

“The only thing that has changed is the day. Other than that, everything here is the same,” the secretary assured Monica.

“Yeah? Well, I’ll see you later, Ms. Crane,” Monica said, politely ending their small talk.

Monica walked out of the office and proceeded down a long hallway. Pictures of students and their achievements covered the walls. Announcements and a calendar listing events were stapled to a big bulletin board, and seasonal decorations bordered everything.

Sounds of children chattering in various classrooms could be heard throughout the halls. Teachers were scattered about, some holding conversations in the doorways of their classrooms, others settling their pupils. Monica was making her way to her room, taking her time getting there while she mentally prepared herself for her first day back in so long. It wasn’t teaching that worried her. It was facing the children that made her uncomfortable. Having two young kids herself, she knew how brutally honest school-age children could be. Her biggest fear was that one of her students would ask her if she was the lady on the news who had tried to kill her husband.

Through the door’s window that exposed the class she was assigned to teach, Monica could see an older woman sitting on a stool in front of a group of students. The children seemed to be very well behaved, quiet, and attentive to the elderly woman who sat before them. After another deep breath, Monica turned the doorknob and walked inside the class.

“Good morning,” the woman said as she turned toward Monica.

“Hello,” Monica said, forcing a big smile.

“You must be Mrs. Vasquez. I’m Mrs. Conner,” the woman said, standing to shake Monica’s hand.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Conner,” Monica said, forcing another smile.

“Don’t worry, this is the best group you can have,” Mrs. Conner said to Monica, sensing her nervousness.

“Children, this is your teacher, Mrs. Vasquez. Say hello and show her how we welcome our new teachers,” Mrs. Conner slowly instructed the group.

The group of about nine preschoolers rose to their feet and darted toward Monica. They all gathered around her, wrapping their little arms around her legs and waist, almost knocking her off her feet. She was startled but pleasantly surprised. She appreciated them.

“Good morning, Mrs. Vasquez,” the children sang.

Monica was pleased. The children had lifted her spirits and she was beginning to regain confidence. She hugged the children back, as many as she could, and they returned to their seats on the colorful ABC-123 rug.

“Okay, boys and girls, Mrs. Conner is going to leave you with Mrs. Vasquez now.” The sixty-something lady spoke cheerfully in third person.

Mrs. Conner glanced at Monica and winked. She smiled and left the classroom. Monica was on her own. But she felt good about it, thanks to the good group of kids and Mrs. Conner’s friendly welcome.

She sat in her chair at her desk and pulled the roll book from a desk drawer. She called the names of the preschoolers as they individually raised their hands to let her know they were present.

“Jamie Thomas, Maria Thompson, Shawn Walker,” Monica called out, pausing in between to write in her roll book after each name. As she was approaching the end of the names, Monica came across one that sounded familiar.

“Carla Williams,” Monica called out as she looked out at the group of children.

“Here,” a tiny voice responded.

Monica looked at the girl, almost staring. She was so pretty and innocent. Monica couldn’t help but wonder if she was the same Carla Williams Angela had given up for adoption. But before she found herself getting caught up in her thoughts, she just closed her eyes and silently prayed to God. God, please just continue to work through me. If this is yet another task you need me to complete, I’m yours.

Monica opened her eyes and took a deep breath. As she closed the roll book, a sudden calm came over her. She felt like a burden had been lifted off of her. She was ready to live again.