The Fall of the Prodigal (4 page)

“Mousie! Mousie!”

Mousie listened to the cheers of the crowd and gave them a knowing smile. Like a cat, she crawled up the pole and arched her back with the grace of a ballerina dancer. Her white bloomers elicited an even greater roar.

She opened her legs, waiting for the precise moment when her audience saw the gaping hole and registered she might not be wearing any underwear.

As expected, a crescendo ensued. Bills were tossed in every direction. Mousie flipped her body in a deft move and executed a split.

More bills.

Her burgundy, spiced lips widened with approval. She twitched her ears causing her signature super-sized ears to wiggle up and down. Then she lowered the top half of her frame and wiggled. Her red and black tassels jiggled suggestively.

More bills.

With superior adeptness, she stood from her split. The men knew what that meant. She reveled in the cries, “Don't go, Mousie! Show us the cheese!”

Finn Morrison, the announcer and owner of the joint, prompted them. “Cheese, please. Cheese, please.”

Mousie grinned. Imagine that when she had approached Finn with the idea, he had said, “They'll laugh you to scorn.” But, she had persisted.

And, oh how right she had been. Her act had been a rousing success. Mousie was in big demand. So big in fact that she could afford to be eclectic. She came when she pleased, whenever the mood struck. Men flocked, not knowing when she would show up.

Finn basked in the rewards of having a packed house. “Sheer genius,” he said when she got offthe stage that first night, right before he smacked her on the lips.

Mousie had grabbed the front of his pants and squeezed until he jumped back with a yelp.

“Never touch me again.” She took the stack of bills in her hand and threw them at him. “Here's your money.”

Finn's mouth popped open. “You don't want it?”

“No, it's dirty,” Mousie spat. “I don't want it.”

He squinted his eyes. “Then, why are you doing this?” This he asked while scooping up the cash. She watched him flick the bills as he counted. Then he looked at her wide-eyed. “Do you know how much this is?”

“Like I said, I don't care.”

Finn grabbed his head. “Three thousand dollars! Who makes three thousand dollars their first night? And, an amateur at that.”

Mousie shrugged and turned to leave the room. She wanted to go home. Her tail swished hitting his leg. “Ouch!”

He did not see her vicious smile. She had done it on purpose of course on her way to the door. Mousie intended to practice using it as a whip. So many needed a spanking, and she was happy to oblige. With a mouse-like voice, she said, “I'll be back,” before slipping through the door.

“When? When?” Finn asked.

“Whenever.”

That had been a year ago.

Mousie zoned in on the crowd and spoke into the microphone attached to her ear. Another perk. She used her signature voice to ask, “You want a slice of my cheese?”

“Yes! Yes!” the men chanted.

More bills.

She sighed. Really this was getting old. It did not take much for her to get paid—well Finn. She still didn't want the money.

She counted to three before she tore off the special-made bloomers with a big swoop. Her gold-encrusted scrap underwear sparkled. She arched her back bending her body until both her hands and feet were flat on the floor.

Even more bills.

The lights went out. The bouncers gathered the cash. Mousie retreated.

“They keep paying me!” she screamed at Finn. “Why are they paying me?”

Finn pushed a bottled water into her hands and wiped her face with a hand towel. Mousie lifted her face and allowed him to perform the father-like task. It'd been six months before she'd taken water, and another two before she had permitted him to wipe her face.

“Mousie, please calm down.”

She grabbed the towel and threw it to the floor. Then, she stomped on it as a child would when throwing a tantrum.

“Gentle,” Finn stated. “I'll count to three. One, two, three.”

Mousie relaxed and plastered a cherubic smile on her face. Her hand gave his paw-sized hand a pat. “Thanks, Finn, you take such good care of me.” Then, she straightened her spine. “I'll be back.”

“When?”

“Whenever.” With a flick of the wrist, she was gone.

Until next time.

How dare she look at him like he had no right to be in his own establishment?

Inside the MJW Conglomerate, located in Midtown, blocks away from the Empire State Building, Michael met the front desk clerk stare for stare. She had the good sense to look away. His company signed her check. She had better keep her censure to herself.

Michael adjusted the top button of his Brioni navy pinstripe suit and walked across the marble floor to the elevator. He glanced at his Jorg Gray 6500 watch. He had bought one when he learned it was among President Obama's watches of choice. Michael had chosen his outfit with care. He wanted his board of directors to see he was very much the boss. In charge.

Twelve committee members, nine men and three women, waited for him. Some faces held frowns and others pity. He squared his shoulders and took his position at the head of the table. “Let's have it,” he dared.

Following his words, Verona entered the room. He eyed her black pants suit and burgundy stilettos. She made her way to “her” chair next to him.

Leonard Paulson, his VP, said, “Michael, we feel it's in the best interest of the company if you stepped down until your personal life—”

He glared at his VP. “No.”

“Our stocks nosedived and—”

“No,” he repeated. Then he eyed Patti Mourer. “How are the resort plans going for our L.A. expansion?”

She sputtered, “It's on hold. One of the key players is friends with Bill Laurelton and he's . . .”

Michael nodded. Evidently, the contractors were picking sides already. He had been found guilty among his peers. “I see.” He arched an eyebrow. “What's his name?”

“I don't think . . .” Patti trailed off. It was obvious she was afraid to mention a name. Michael's ruthlessness to those who crossed him was well known.

Eyes shifted. Pencils drummed the table. No one would look him in the eye. These were people he had handpicked for his company. He was tough, but generous and now when he needed their support . . .

Verona spoke up. “Patti, perhaps you can work on revising the specifics of the plans?”

“Why are we speaking in such generic terms?” Michael said. “Patti, if Steven Cummings wants to pull out of the deal because he thinks I'm a rapist, find someone else.”

“I have been trying,” Patti said. “You know how fast a reputation can bring a company down. Look at Paula Deen.”

“Each of the resorts has been inundated with cancellations. A father defaced one of the Atlanta resorts with the word ‘rapist' by your insignia. It's a mess,” someone said.

Michael froze. He knew what the board members were after. “You want my resignation.”

“If you don't resign, then I'm leaving. I have a nineteen-year-old daughter,” Nelson Phillips, his Cuisine and Caterer CEO said.

Nelson's challenge seemed to give the others a voice:

“I'm not staying on a sinking ship.”

“I won't work for a tarnished company.”

Verona jumped in to defend his position. From a business aspect, he knew they were right. Michael swiveled his chair to face the wall, tuning them out. If it were any of them, he would have fired them already. But MJW Conglomerate was his life. He had nothing else of substance. He could not let it go that easy.

He turned to the chief financial officer, Walter Stein. “What's the damage?”

The older man sighed like the world was on his chest. “It's worse than we feared. Stocks are now at pennies on the dollar. Our days as a Fortune 500 company are at an end.”

“Can we recover?”

Walter shook his head. “Possibly. Take a leave of absence and put Leonard in charge.”

Leonard leaned forward. “It would be in name only. You can still work behind the scenes but we have to show the public something. How will we look if we turned a blind eye to an accused rapist?” He pointed to the only other empty chair in the room, which belonged to Bill Laurelton. “Because I know he isn't.”

Michael redirected the conversation to Verona. “Draw up the papers.”

She touched his arm. “Give yourself a day or two.”

“No. Do it,” he whispered.

“I've taken the liberty of drafting your press statement. Take a moment to look it over.” Antoinette Myers, his Publications and Advertising CEO, stood. She walked up to him with the paper in hand. “I'll notify the press and release a statement announcing your resignation. It's a good call, Michael.”

Verona jumped to her feet. She raged at each of them. “You all should be ashamed. Imagine you're putting Michael's head on a platter to deliver up to the masses. Not one of you came to his defense!”

Antoinette gave Verona a nasty glare. “If it were any of us, Michael would do the same thing.”

Michael did not comment. He knew Antoinette spoke the truth.

With a wave of the hand, he gestured for both women to quiet down. Then he dismissed the board. All twelve of his executives scurried out of the conference room, their relief palpable. Michael sunk into his chair. Only Verona remained.

“If it's any consolation, your personal assets are still intact. You're a wealthy man and can live multiple lifetimes on what you have.”

Michael knew she meant to appease him. Instead, her words made him feel hollow. “Leave me. I need to be alone.”

Verona came to sit across from him. “You don't have to be alone. I'm here.”

Michael saw sincerity in Verona's eyes. Her words could mean many different things. He wasn't ready to hear that. “I want to be alone.”

Verona gathered her belongings in silence. Michael purposely turned his chair away. He didn't need anyone. He didn't need anything.

Out of the blue, a phone conversation he had with his mother jarred his memory:

Gerry exhaled. “I wish you would move on. You're too fixated on your ex
-
wife. Honey, you have to let Gina go.”

Michael had done it, too. He did have it all and now because of Mindy Laurelton, he was about to lose everything. His reputation and his businesses. He jutted his jaw. Maybe it was time he did some digging into Bill Laurelton's past. To the world, Bill was the distraught father of an innocent nineteen-year-old.

Michael rubbed his chin. Everyone had some old bones dangling in their closet. Everyone. And he would find them. He knew the person for the task. Frank Armadillo. He'd been using Frank for years for special jobs. If Bill had dirt, even a speck, Frank would find it.

“He's their uncle, their blood. Nothing can change that. We keep returning to this same argument and frankly, it's tired.”

Gina smacked her teeth. This argument had started in their bedroom and spilled over into the kitchen. Keith headed to his office. She was right behind him. “No, it's not tired. It's relevant, now. Your taking Michael's case is disrupting our lives.”

Now seated behind his desk, Keith exhaled. “Sweetheart, I'm trying here. I wish you'd meet me halfway.”

“You know what? We've never argued like this, ever. And your brother is to blame because you decided to represent a rapist.”

He puffed his chest and looked up to the heavens. “God, give me strength!” Then he pinned Gina with a stern gaze. “Michael's not a rapist, and forgive me but you of all people should know that.” After all, she had been married to Michael first. Keith raged, “You're so stubborn. I mean you won't bend.”

Gina pointed to the carpeted floor with emphasis. “You're calling me stubborn? Against my distinct wishes, you took this case. Now you want my children around him? Not going to happen.”

He jumped to his feet. Within seconds he was in her face. “I'm the head of this home and—”

“Don't you pull that head of the home nonsense with me, Keith Ward. I know the scriptures and I'm not following you blindly in your wrongdoings.”

“Wrongdoings? How is defending an innocent man wrong? He's family and his life is at stake.” He rested a hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged him off.

Keith grabbed her and pulled her close. “I'm done fighting,” he said. Gina's chest heaved against him.

“Whatever.”

Keith tucked his finger under her chin. “Michael is still worthy in God's eyes. He's still deserving of salvation.”

“You're right,” she answered begrudgingly. Then she changed topics. “Are you going to Trey's game? Because I'm meeting with the board of trustees about the T.K. Cancer Ball next Monday. The meeting was supposed to be yesterday on the eleventh, but they moved it to today because of Veterans Day.”

Gina referred to the foundation they'd established to help children facing leukemia. Trey had survived the debilitating disease because Gina's father, Jeff Price, had been a donor. Since then, she'd been led to this ministry. She volunteered to assist single or low-income parents at the hospital.

Keith couldn't meet her eyes. He had been bogged down in Michael's case and it had slipped his mind. He had a Post-it with November 12 on his computer. He had recorded it in his iPhone. Yet, he still had not remembered. Keith knew better than to admit that to Gina, though. “I forgot I needed to use your car.”

“Where's your car?”

For a moment he considered lying. But the Ten Commandments were too ingrained in him. “I left it at the church. Michael gave me a ride because we drove by the hotel as he recapped that night for me.”

“Michael came back to our house? Did he come inside?”

The woman had a one-track mind. “No, honey. Michael hasn't been back here since exactly two Tuesdays ago when you made it clear you don't want him here.”

Gina closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She opened her eyes and whispered, “Keith, I'm not the bad guy. I'm protecting my children, my home.”

He strove for patience
. Lord, I need you, now.
“I understand, believe me. No one will hurt you or our children ever again. Not while I'm alive and breathing. Plus, we've got God on our side. We have no worries because He's got us covered.”

She relaxed. “Giving my life to God was the best decision I've ever made. I don't regret it one bit.”

“No one who is saved and changed by God regrets it. I wish the same for my brother. Honey, Michael needs Jesus and he's entitled to salvation like everyone else.”

He had said those words at least a hundred times. However, for the first time, Gina softened. Pointing to her head, she whispered, “Up here, I know it and I agree.” Next, she touched her heart. “But here, I'm not ready to welcome Michael home like he's the prodigal son. I'm not about to throw a feast or party like there's no tomorrow.”

Keith nodded. “I get it. My advice is to pray on those feelings. We'll take baby steps. I won't push, but Michael needs family. He needs our support.” Then he said, “Michael needs you, too.”

Gina broke eye contact and glanced at her watch. “I'll drive you to your car. Make sure you videotape Trey's game for me.”

“I will,” he promised.

She strode out of the room to grab her coat and wallet.

Keith's cell phone rang. He swiped to answer once he saw Natalie Henderson's face. Dubbed “The Hawk,” Keith had hired Natalie as his assistant years ago when he was an evangelist with Zion's Hill television ministry.

Natalie supported him through the fateful interview where Michael revealed Keith as Trey and Epiphany's biological father. The interview became an instant You-Tube hit and ended Keith's days as a televangelist. But after an outpouring of letters from the viewing audience, the network had offered Keith the show
Second Chances. Second Chances
featured people who needed a second chance, just as he had been given. It aired on BET every Thursday night.

Keith promoted Natalie to operations manager. She spearheaded the TK Foundation and its Cancer Ball. Natalie was a beauty with sharp green eyes and an even sharper tongue.

“What's wrong?” Keith asked.

“Hello to you too, boss,” she said. “Everything's fine with
Second Chances.
It's the foundation's Cancer Ball. We have a situation with funds appropriation. I need to meet with you ASAP. Big trouble.”

From Natalie's dire tone, he knew he was not going to like it. “How about I meet you after Trey's game?” Efficient, Natalie would have already checked his schedule and known his whereabouts.

“That sounds great. Your wife is on her way here. Should I discuss this with her?”

“No, don't say anything to Gina yet. I'd rather you speak with me first. I'll text you later.”

Keith was about to end the call when Natalie said something of interest. “By the way, your brother's been calling some committee members inquiring about the foundation.”

Why was his brother sniffing around? Keith whispered a prayer for guidance. “I'll ask him about that. Is there anything else?” He gathered his papers and his camera, listening with half an ear.

“I know you won't want to hear this, but I think representing your brother might hurt the foundation. Commitments have been somewhat lackluster this year. I'll know if we have sold all our seats in a few hours.”

Keith dismissed Natalie's concerns. “I don't think one thing has to do with the other. I anticipate another sold-out event.” He heard her cluck in his ear. “We'll talk.”

 

 

Forty minutes later, Keith strolled by the field toward the bleachers. He saw Michael sitting there. With Verona.

What was his brother doing here? How did he know about Trey's game?

Thank God Gina was not with him. There would have been a major showdown. Keith walked to where Michael was sitting.
Don't make a big deal of it.

Nevertheless Keith's parent radar had been activated. He zoned in on Trey to assure himself his son was all right.

“Hi. I called your secretary and she told me you'd be here. After the day I had, I decided to swing by. I hope you don't mind,
brother?
” Michael's weary eyes held a challenge. Michael knew Keith would not be pleased to see him here, but he had come. Without an invite. With company.

Was Michael trying to stir up trouble?

“The game's about to start,” Keith said, choosing a seat where he could watch the game and keep an eye on his brother.

Michael squinted his eyes and pointed to a tall, lanky boy. “Is that Trey?”

Despite his slight uneasiness, Keith could not hold his proud grin. “Yes, that's him. He's the best on the team.” Like him and Michael, Trey was a natural-born athlete.

Michael lowered his cap farther on his head.
Maybe he doesn't want Trey recognizing him.

Keith saw Trey scan the crowd. When Trey spotted him, he lifted his hand in a slight wave and shouted, “Dad!”

Keith knew the exact moment Trey recognized Michael. Almost in slow motion, Trey's eyes widened. With eyes glued to Michael, Trey stood frozen until the coach called out to him. He turned and ran to join his teammates as the gaem was beginning.

Keith glanced Michael's way to gage his reaction. Michael's eyes were pinned on Trey. Gina's warnings echoed.

“Michael?” he queried.

Keith did not think Michael heard him until he turned. Michael had tears in his eyes.

“He's grown so much. I didn't know how much I missed him and loved him until this moment.”

Uh
-
oh. What did that mean?

Twenty minutes into the game, Michael patted Keith's arm. “You're doing an amazing job with my nephew. He looks great.”

Keith heaved an invisible sigh of relief. “Thanks, Gina and I are impressed with him. He's so put together. We are blessed.”

Verona looked around the men to address Keith. “Trey's also very good. He just hit a homerun.”

Keith smiled. He noted Verona's hand was on Michael's arm. He saw his brother shift to break contact. Troubled, Keith wondered, would Michael let anyone close to him ever again? He was wrapped tight with anger, envy, and malice. All the hurt and pain made Michael's heart like granite.

Keith whispered a quiet prayer to God. “Loose him, Lord. Loose my brother from the agony binding him. Loose him and set him free.”