Games Divas Play (A Diva Mystery Novel) (18 page)

CHAPTER 13

Vanessa

T
he tension in the apartment was so thick, we could forget needing a knife to cut it—Marcus and I needed a
chain saw.

We had retreated to separate wings of the apartment. I had allowed him to come home last month since I didn’t want to be alone in the apartment. We only came together to interact with Damon when he demanded we watch TV together or eat dinner. We were civil in his presence, but I’m sure the frosty chill in the air made Nicole want to turn up the thermostat in the
apartment.

This morning, to escape the self-imposed prison our apartment had become, I walked down to the little mani-pedi spot around the corner after dropping Damon off at school. I was happy to see the reporters were gone so that I didn’t have to worry about any prying telephoto lenses. I dipped into the small, empty salon. An attendant introduced herself as Ling and asked me to pick my nail color from the wall’s cabinet. Scanning the bottles of OPI polishes, I quickly located my favorite, Lincoln Park After Dark, for both my hands and feet. Ling led me over to an elevated leather pedicure chair and turned on the massage button and heater. I dipped my feet into the warm scented water and let the jets massage my toes. I closed my eyes, my shoulders dropped, and I began to relax as I reflected on the last few days and formulat
ed a plan.

When Marcus and I got back to our apartment that first night after I was released from Dr. Harrison’s care, we retreated to separate corners of the penthouse. The next day when Marcus, who had slept in one of the guest rooms, brought a breakfast tray into our bedroom, I glanced over at the clock on the nightstand and saw that Nicole would have just dropped Damon off
at school.

One look at him, my ribs throbbing from the attack, and it was war. I threw the crystal clock from the nightstand at his head. As Marcus ducked, he dropped the contents of the tray on the floor, spilling eggs, bacon, orange juice, and coffee. The clock crashed against the wall, shattering and spreading glass across t
he carpet.

“You have to give me some answers!” I
screamed.

“I’m so sorry, V. You know I love you,” he said as he walked over to the bed to hold me. Marcus seemed unsure of what to do, but he kept apologizing in his sorry-ass way, shaking his head as if even he didn’t know how we had gotten here. His words were tired clichés with no meaning at this point. I pushed
him away.

“What about the vows we took? What about the promises we had made to each other when we got married and you went pro? You swore to me that nothing, not a single thing, would ever come between us. Not your career, not Kareem, and not those nasty-ass groupies you can’t seem to keep your hands off. Look at our life! It’
s a joke!”

“Vanessa, I can fix this,” he pleaded. “I know you’re right. I’ve lost sight of what matters, but I don’t want to lose you and I won’t lose my son.” He paced in front o
f the bed.

“Ha! Yes, your son. The one who’s counting on us to raise him together and looking to you to show him how to be a man. Is this how you show him how to be a man, by cheating on his mother wit
h whores?”

“Look, you don’t understand what life was like for me. Traveling around from city to city with everyone wanting something from you. It’s hard, Vanessa. I’m just a man, and yes, I’ve been weak. But none of that matters now. Haven’t I proved my love by giving you everything you could possibly want? The homes, the cars, the shopping sprees, the private jets, the jewelry. I work hard to provide all those things for you, so maybe this is the life of a professional athlete’s wife, the price of a
dmission.”

“Everything I’ve ever wanted?” I screamed at him as I slapped his face hard. “I’ve given you everything you’ve ever wanted. A life. A home. A son. What about that? And as for me, the only thing I ever wanted was you, and I’d trade it all in just for that one thing. Now can you say
the same?”

The weight of my words caused Marcus to fall back on the chaise lounge at the foot of our bed and drop his head into his hands. I wanted to hate him, but something inside still made me want to go to him. I steeled myself to stay wh
ere I was.

I gasped for air between sobs. Marcus came over to pick me up, but I pushed him away, screaming for him to leave our room and leave me alone. That was three days ago, and we hadn’t spo
ken since.

My body was still sore, and I covered the bruising around my neck with turtlenecks when I was around Damon. I wasn’t able to hide the swelling on my face, so we told our son that I got hit during a kickboxing class. Damon, a lover and not a fighter at age four, suggested I not go back if they were going to kick his mommy in the face. My bruised ribs were also starting to heal to the point where I barely winced when getting in and out of bed or standing from a seated position. But the physical part of healing
was easy.

It was the emotional and psychological parts that were killing me. The nights were the worst. I was afraid to fall asleep and relive the attack in the parking garage. Dr. Harrison had prescribed sleeping pills, but they only made the night terrors worse because the pills were so strong, I had difficulty waking myself up out of the deep slumber and was trapped all over again with that man. I could see his ugly, twisted face and feel his hot breath on my neck. The weight of his heavy body on top of mine made me gasp for air. And unlike in real life, in the dream there was no Alex to save me, and the attack played out in an end
less loop.

Most nights I slept with the lights on so that when I woke up from the nightmare, I could instantly see where I was, safe in my own bed. I also kept an extra pair of cotton pajamas on the bed next to me to change into after awaking from the nightmare because I’d be drenched in sweat as if I’d really been fighting off the man in the garage all o
ver again.

When the detectives working on the case came by the apartment and told us that the man who attacked me was dead, I felt a tremendous sense of relief, but that didn’t make the nightmares go away. They told me he was a low-level member of the Diablo Negro drug gang and that he had likely had his throat cut by a member of his own crew. Before I could ask any more questions, Marcus interrupted and said I needed my rest. He and Kareem would discuss the rest of the matter with the detectives in the library. Even though the monster haunting me in my dreams was dead, I still had a lot of questions. I couldn’t help but wonder why this man had targeted me. Was my attack just a random act of violence in the big city, or had he specifically been looki
ng for me?

The news of my attack hit the media, and the coverage was nonstop. The only good news that came out of it was that Laila was being portrayed by the media as the home-wrecking whore that she was and Marcus as the callous cheating husband. He didn’t dare go out and get caught being seen with Laila. The press would have crucified him. And as for the Gladiators organization, they were very concerned. Owned by an ultraconservative hedge-fund group, the team’s partners were loath to see their $150 million investment trashed in the press along with their hopes of bringing a championship to New York, so I knew without even asking that the heat had been put on Kareem to fix this nasty little matter. I could tell he was feeling the pressure from all the meetings he was having at the apartment with Marcus. Normally they talked business out in the open, but now the door was closed and the tones were hushed at times and elevated at others. Sometimes Desiree would join the strategy
sessions.

With All-Star weekend approaching in just two short weeks, it was DEFCON 4 for the brand. Naturally, Marcus had been selected again to play in the All-Star game, but I’m sure he wished he hadn’t been, because this year’s game was being held in Phoenix, so all the stories trying to link the dead cheerleader to Marcus would likely resurface in addition to this latest news. I had also heard from Nia that Laila would be in town hosting a star-studded premiere party for her reality show. I had to attend the weekend because we were scheduled to host our annual Marcus and Vanessa King Foundation dinner to raise money for Saint Mary’s Children’s Hospital in
Inglewood.

And just when I was sure things couldn’t get any worse or any more complicated, Dr. Harrison called to tell me that I was eight weeks pregnant. I couldn’t believe it. Marcus and I had been in such a deep freeze in our relationship for so long that I wondered how that was actually possible. But then I remembered that there was a night, about two months ago, before all the drama broke, when hair be damned, I slipped into the shower with Marcus after he’d come home from practicing with the team. Desperate for some physical contact and affection from a husband who was becoming increasingly distant, I slipped into the large stone shower and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my lips along his back. I took a bar of soap and began to lather his broad chest, working my way down as I pressed my full breasts into his back. Grabbing him in my soapy wet hands, I began to stroke him to arousal. He moaned with pleasure, and the hot water from the showerhead sprayed down over both of us. The steam enveloped us as I pushed him down onto the large stone seat in the corner of the shower and straddled him. Sliding down onto him, I arched my breasts into his mouth and squeezed his shoulders as he licked the water from my breasts and squeezed my hips, pulling me into him deeper. We exploded together and then went limp against the cool shower wall. After we both dried off, I suggested we get dressed and go out to enjoy a nice dinner at the new Italian restaurant that had opened around the corner from our building. Marcus hurriedly slipped into some fresh clothes and said he had to get to a meeting with Kareem about another new potential endorsement. He was out the door before I could even object or ask if we could m
eet later.

He didn’t return home until nearly three in th
e morning.

After finding out from Dr. Harrison that I was pregnant, I scheduled an appointment with my regular ob-gyn, Dr. Carter, who congratulated me in confirming that I was about eight weeks along and prescribed some prenatal vitamins. As with my first pregnancy, I was having little morning sickness and I wasn’t gaining weight yet, so it was easy to hide my condition. Since Marcus and I slept at opposite ends of the apartment, it wasn’t like he would notice that anything was different. But things were
different.

As Ling finished up my pedicure, I wiggled my gl
ossy toes.

“Beautiful,” I said to her as I slipped my freshly polished toes into the paper slippers and then climbed down from the chair to head over to the manicure station for my nails. I noticed a teaser from
Extra!
playing on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The sound was off, but I could understand everything I needed to as the screen cut to a clip of the show’s host, Mario Lopez, standing at the Grove, the outdoor shopping center in West Hollywood where they shot the show. The calm relaxation I had felt earlier evaporated when I saw Laila, dressed in a skintight strapless dress with her long brown hair cascading in curled waves down her back, talking to an animated Mario. Clearly that was the night’s
big story.

“Relax,” the technician said, patting my hands that had balled into fists at the sight of the woman trying to break up my marriage. “Relax now for a good
manicure.”

She was right: I needed to relax. Not just for a good manicure, but so that I could be in control. And seeing Laila being interviewed on
Extra!
had given me the idea for what I was going t
o do next.

This bitch thought she was going to take my man, but she had another thi
ng coming.

I was having ano
ther baby.

This was going to change everything, whether Marcus and Laila liked
it or not.

CHAPTER 14

Nia

A
s I watched Vanessa make her way through the maze of diners to our table for lunch at DB Bistro, a trendy Midtown eatery, I could tell that something was different. And it wasn’t just the oversize Chanel sunglasses she was wearing on an overcast morning that made me suspicious. Despite going through what anyone would consider two months from hell, she looked great. Dare I say she even glowed? I wasn’t sure she would still have that glow, though, once I told her what Terrence and I h
ad dug up.

“Girl, what is going on with you?” I said, laughing as she leaned in
for a hug.

“What do you mean?” she said coyly as she laughed and took off her heavy gray shearling coat and tossed it, along with several Henri Bendel shopping bags, into the seat next to us. She looked great in a simple black turtleneck and black wo
ol slacks.

“Don’t play with me, girl. What’s got you glowing today? Shoot, the last time I saw you with that glow, you were pregnant with Damon . . .” My voice trailed off. “Oh shit . . .
Are you pregnant
?
” I said as I reached for my glass of water and took a large gulp. This was not
good news.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” Vanessa said with a Cheshire cat smile curved on her glossy b
rown lips.

“How? Why? When?” I couldn’t get the questions out fa
st enough.

“Well, I think you’re certainly old enough to know how it happened, or do you need a refresher course since you ain’t had none in a while?” she said,
chuckling.

“Whatever, heffa. Don’t even try to play stupid with me. You know what the hell I mean. And for your information, I may not have had some in a while, but I had a near miss that you’re going to want to hear abo
ut later.”

“Oh, juicy. Do tell, girlfriend.” She squeezed a lemon into her water glass and then began to peruse the menu. “I’m starving. What’s g
ood here?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. You ain’t slick. For real, what’s going on?” I pushed down the menu and leaned in, staring her dead i
n the eye.

“OK, OK . . . Look, yes, I’m pregnant,” she said as she grabbed a warm roll from the bread basket in the center of the table. “It happened a few months ago. We were in the shower and one thing led to another and now I’m pregnant. There you go, the whole story. And, no, Marcus doesn’t know.” Vanessa patted her still-flat stomach proudly and continued to scan the restau
rant menu.

“What do you mean Marcus doesn’t know? How have you not told your
husband?”

“I’m just waiting for the righ
t moment.”

“Hmm . . . I don’t know what your plan is, girl, but you need to stop playing games.” While I knew I should be happy for my friend, the state of her marriage and the fact that there was a dangerous person out there targeting her family didn’t make me think that this was the ideal time for Vanessa to be having ano
ther baby.

The waiter appeared to share the day’s specials and take our orders, which provided a break in the conversation so that I could gather my thoughts. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy for my best friend or sad. Any fool could see that if she was thinking that this pregnancy was going to save her train wreck of a marriage, then sister girl was sadly mistaken. I wanted to tell her that this wasn’t some after-school special. This was real life, and real life doesn’t end like some Lifetime movie where the long-suffering wife fights for her man and gets him i
n the end.

“You do realize this is completely insane? You were just attacked in your garage, you still have some crazy stalker out there, and your husband is sleeping with a wannabe reality star. Explain to me how this is the perfect time to have anot
her baby.”

“Nia, I’m fighting for my marriage and my family right now, and that’s all that matters. The guy that attacked me is dead, and the police told Marcus and Kareem that it was an unfortunate random act of violence. There’s nothing more to it. And as for the stalker, we haven’t had a new note in over two months. Perhaps that psycho has moved on to someone else and that nightmare
is over.”

Her voice sounded like she desperately wanted to believe everything that she said. Because of her condition, I didn’t have the heart to bring up the note that Kareem had in his possession at Dr. Harrison’s office or what Terrence and
I learned.

“So that brings me to my other reason for wanting to get together for lunch today.” Vanessa buttered another roll from the bread basket. I had forgotten how this girl could throw down some food when
pregnant.

“You mean it wasn’t just for my sparkling personality?” I said mockingly. “I’m afraid to ask.” I pushed my own plate away and braced myself for another nuclear
bombshell.

“I want you to break the news about the pregnancy on the
DivaDish
site. I’m giving you the exclusive.” She looked very pleased with herself as she dug into the grilled salmon the waiter had placed in fro
nt of her.

“Vanessa, are you sure you want to do this? As much as you know I’m all about an exclusive, and I would love to be the first to post this story, for God’s sake, you haven’t even told Marcus—hello, your husband—that you’re pregnant.” Suddenly I had lost my appetite for the rosemary roasted chicken breast and fingerling potatoes that my mouth had been watering for just a few second
s earlier.

“Nia, I’m positive,” she said between bites of her fish. “This is what I want to do. And if you don’t want the story, I’m sure
Ebony
or
Us Weekly
would.” She had that look in her eyes that meant she had made up her mind and there was nothing I could do to change it. She was right: either I could run the story, get the credit for breaking the news, and get the spike in traffic or I could let it go to one of my competitors and get my ass handed to me by DeAnna who would no doubt be busting down my door when she found out we lost this
exclusive.

“V., look, this is crazy. Why don’t you take some time to think about this some more? You don’t have to decide now. What’s
the rush?”

“Not to play the total bitch card or anything, but Nia, we’ve been best friends forever, and not for nothing did I basically get you this job at
DivaDish
, and if you can’t do this one thing . . .” Vanessa’s voice trailed off. I couldn’t believe she was throwing introducing me to DeAnna back in my face, but if that was how she wanted to play, I’d treat her just like any other celebrity who had come to us with a big juicy
exclusive.

“OK, Vanessa. If this is what you really want, we’ll run it. But if we’re going to do it, let’s do it all the way. I want to crash your story into the magazine as the cover. We’re going to need a photo shoot and an in-depth interview that discusses the pregnancy, the attack, Laila, and the state of your marriage. That’s what people want to know. Are you really willing to
go there?”

“I was hoping you would say that, Nia. I’m totally ready to give you and your team whatever
you need.”

“You do realize this issue will drop on the Friday of All-Star weekend?” I looked at her with an eyebrow raised, letting her know she wasn’t fooling anybody and that she was playing
with fire.

“Yes, of course I know. That’s the perfect time.” Vanessa nodded as she turned and dove back into the rest of her lunch with a self-satisf
ied smile.

“You are killing me right now, you know that?” I said, picking at my now-cold roaste
d chicken.

“Whatever, girl. You know you love me. Now let’s get back to your almost getting some or whatever you were alluding to earlier. What happened? Did you get a new vibrator or s
omething?”

“Ha, ha, very funny. No, I didn’t get a new
vibrator.”

“Then what happened? You know you haven’t had any since that jerk-off king Eric back in LA, so I’m sure you had to vacuum that thing out before getting down to the nasty,” she said,
chuckling.

“Last week, Terrence was at my apartment and well, I said some things and then he said some things . . . And next thing I knew we were kissing.” I felt the warm blush creeping up my face as I tried to bury my face in
my plate.

“Shut up, girl. And you ain’t even call me! You know you are so wrong for that. What happened? You know I need all the details. And why’d you say you almost got some? I know you ain’t trying to save nothing. After all, he’s already had
it, girl.”

“Damn, V. Why you gotta be so harsh?” I said, laughing. “We started kissing and he was rubbing all over my body and, girl, you know it was feeling a little too good and then I had to tell him
to stop.”

“Stop? You told that fine-ass man, the love of your life,
to stop?”

“Yes, Vanessa. I told him to stop. Hello, he’s engaged. Remember? And to that supermodel Vivica
no less.”

“Whatever. You know that man isn’t going to marry her. He’s probably still in love with your crazy ass. You should have hit that
for real.”

“Hit that? Are you serious right now? Didn’t I just say that man is engaged? Given what you’ve been going through, I figured you would be on her side. I can’t do that to her. Like I told him, I’ve never been the other woman, and I’m not about to s
tart now.”

“I hear you and all about being the other woman, but check it, you and Terrence got some unfinished business and something deeper than what he has with Ms. Thing. And while I certainly don’t advocate cheating, I do think when two people are meant to be, there’s nothing that can stand in
the way.”

“OK, are you talking about me and Terrence right now or you an
d Marcus?”

“Might as well be both as far as I’m concerned. You can act like that ship has sailed if you want, but I see how your eyes light up when you talk about him like you think nobody is going to notice. I’ve never, in the twelve years I’ve known you, seen you so deep in love. And certainly not with the computer nerd in LA who used all your expensive-ass Crème de la Mer to polish his knob.
Ick . . .
”

“Well, whatever. There’s nothing I can do about it now. He’s engaged, and I’m not letting it go any further. What we had is officially black history. Over
and out.”

“Whatever you say, girl. Whatever
you say.”

When I got back to the
DivaDish
offices, MJ grabbed me at
the door.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he whispered as we walked down the hall to my office. “DeAnna’s in your office, and girlfriend is on the warpa
th today.”

“What’s got her panties twisted today?” I said as I handed MJ my trench coat an
d handbag.

“I don’t know, but when I told her you were on your way back from lunch and that I was happy to send you right over when you returned, she just plopped her butt right down in your chair and said sh
e’d wait.”

“Shit, I’m not in the mood for her drama today.” I smoothed my hair into place and took the MAC Lipglass from MJ’s outstretched hand to quickly dab on my lips before entering
my office.

There was DeAnna seated in my chair, scrolling through messages on her BlackBerry. I was at least glad to see she wasn’t on my computer. I was sure MJ had remotely shut it down to keep it away from her prying eyes. Hopefully she hadn’t snooped around my desk and seen the folder with the extensive research that MJ had compiled on Diablo Negro. I breathed a small sigh of relief when I saw that the folder was still on the side of my computer keyboard where I ha
d left it.

“Good afternoon, DeAnna,” I said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you come over to my side of t
he floor?”

DeAnna looked up from her PDA and tapped her glossy red nails on my desk before
she spoke.

“Well, I wanted to speak to you about an important new partnership that’s sure to triple the traffic on your website. Is that something you could be interested in?” She raised one of her razor-thin eyebrows at me to punctuate her rhetorical
question.

“That sounds exciting, DeAnna. Do tell.” I remained standing because I refused to take a seat at one of the chairs in front of my
own desk.

“Well, it’s just come down from corporate that today we are announcing
that PrimeTime Media is acquiring the Glam Network. As you know, their stable of reality TV and very desirable audience of young influentials eighteen to thirty-four years old are highly coveted and will make a great addition to our company. And our CEO wants to make sure that all the divisions of the company are incorporating Glam Network content and talent into our sites and m
agazines.”