Darius Jones (5 page)

I
sat at the computer desk in my hotel room at the Hollywood Renaissance braiding my naturally curly black hair into eleven corn-rows wondering if women in prison resembled me.

Not wanting to drive to my parents' house in Long Beach, I'd checked into this hotel. Technically their house, free and clear, was now mine. I'd lived with my parents until the double-assisted suicides happened a year ago.

I stared in the mirror, covered my forehead, eyes, and nose with a mesh net stocking cap, then called Ashlee.

She answered, “Stop calling me!”

“What's up with the yelling? I thought you might want custody of your son. I could help you get DJ back. You want in on my plan?”

“What are you up to?”

“In or out?”

“Out,” she said.

“Sleep on the idea, kiddo. I'll call you with details,” I said, ending the call. She knew she wanted her son back. Couldn't blame her for not trusting me. My being weird was my parents' fault. My obstacles taught me how to be hardcore effective.

My childhood was abnormal. Too many unspeakable things happened inside my home. I believed school was my escape, until my first day. Why was I a doughnut when the other kids were shaped like Twinkies?

My classmates teased me about my weight. The pretty girls like Ashlee Anderson befriended me so I could be their ugly girlfriend and they could get all the attention from boys. Outside of school, I wasn't permitted to socialize. Ashlee was my friend at school. I liked her until she made me hate her. Why did she have to have Darius's baby? She had to take DJ because he wasn't living with Darius and me.

Properly placing the stocking cap atop my head, I smiled. A million-dollar payoff to the coroner and my parents' causes of death were documented as cardiac arrest. Their cases were closed, and I got what I deserved, a twenty-million-dollar cash settlement, the house, and my parents' interest in their law firm. In exchange for leaving my parents' financial interest intact, the remaining partners agreed to provide me with pro bono legal services and representation in perpetuity.

The amazing things one could do with money. I hired a personal trainer, lost a hundred pounds, and had a few nips and tucks. I looked so good I doubted anyone from elementary, junior, or high school would recognize me when they saw me, including Ashlee and Darius.

I applied a small amount of eyebrow glue to the back of my 100 percent human hair brows, then looked into the magnifying mirror, and perfectly layered each blond-colored brow over my jet black brows. I glued on my light brown eyelashes. Just as I finished trailing a thin line of glue along the edge of my hairline, my cell phone buzzed.

“Make it fast,” I said. I had to apply my full lace wig before the glue got tacky.

“Bambi, it's done,” she said. “I got her good, Bambi, but I think I—”

Country bitch.
I hissed, “Not on the phone. Tell me in person. I'll call you after the premiere and tell you where to meet me tomorrow morning. I want full details.” I ended the call.

That woman was so desperate for a dollar she'd throw her firstborn under a bus, then roll over them. When I hired her she told me there were two things she'd never do and that was kill or steal. For the right price, she'd do both. The services Rita provided were worth more than I agreed to pay her. The fact that she didn't know her self-worth wasn't my responsibility. She'd get what she'd negotiated.

Securing my twenty-two-inch blond wig along my hairline, I waited fifteen minutes, stood, held my head upside down, brushed, then fluffed my hair.

I applied my concealer, foundation, and brown eyeliner. I stroked on various hues of sparkling green eye shadow, toned it down with a hint of jade, and brushed on a cotton-candy pink lipstick. I inserted my light blue contacts. After easing into my padded butt panties that would make Serena Williams jealous, I stuffed silicone breast pads into the sides of my bra to sandwich my B cups into a facade of perfect DDs that gave me amazing cleavage. My beaded forest green designer gown hugged my curves. I stepped into iridescent stilettos, picked up my purse, then double checked to make sure I had my ticket.

Instantly I went from being a fair-complexioned African-American woman to looking like Anna Nicole Smith with a perfect tan. I kissed the plastic covering on a photo of my Darius, then placed it back in my purse. His picture was my good luck charm. With Darius by my side, all things were possible.

Slipping my room key into my handbag, I grabbed my Ho-on-the-Go travel bag (filled with a complete change of clothes), left my suite, and made my way to the lobby. The bellman smiled at me. “You are one gorgeous woman. Can I, make that,
may
I assist you with your bag?”

“Thanks, but no thanks, handsome. My driver is right there,” I politely said. Easing into the backseat of the black stretch limousine, I thought,
Neither the offer nor the compliment would've been extended a hundred pounds ago.

I gazed out the window, then became lost in Bambiland wondering how I'd use Darius's mother tonight. There was a thin line between being professional and personal. Since I had access to Jada's company's files, the choice was mine.

I'd come up with something.

A
long line of limos led to the theater. My driver opened my door. “Make sure you transfer my black leather bag to the Town Car that's picking me up. Have the other driver here in thirty minutes.”

I swooped my thick wavy tresses to one side, thrust my breasts forward, arched my back, and smiled as though I was Mrs. Darius Jones. An usher escorted me to my seat. I sat one row to the right behind my future mother-in-law. By the end of the night, I would become Jada's newest best friend or she would be my worst enemy. Getting past Jada to get to Darius wasn't going to be easy but I refused to let her stop me.

The lights slightly dimmed. Jada glanced over her shoulder, looked directly at me. Quickly I turned my head, fingered my hair down my cheek so she couldn't see my face.

She tapped my leg, then said, “That seat is for my assistant. You'll have to—”

A very pregnant woman being escorted by a tall thin man with a long ponytail stepped sideways in front of Grant and Jada, commanding Jada's attention. When the pregnant woman sat down next to Jada, Jada turned to Grant, stared into his eyes, squinted, then frowned. I noticed Jada's jaw tighten like a nutcracker cracking a walnut.

Aw, damn. That's Honey. Her pictures on Google didn't do her justice. Honey was gorgeous and pregnant. And she was with Valentino? Once I make a few phone calls, Valentino will be back behind bars where he belongs.
Pimping and pandering, Valentino had had one foot in prison all his life except he'd managed to keep both of them free most of the time to trample on his prostitutes. He was a slick motherfucker and a slick motherfucker like him could interrupt my flow if he got too close.

Halfway through the movie, Honey moaned and held her stomach but continued watching the movie.
Here we go.
Something was about to jump off. I clutched my purse, held my phone, prepared to make a move.

Ten minutes went by. I decided to monitor my home in Long Beach from my iPhone. Outside there was nothing unusual. I checked my bedroom. Normal. I turned on the back porch and kitchen lights, turned off the living room lights, then peeped inside my parents' bedroom. The coffins were closed just like I'd left them.

After the credits rolled, the director proposed to Velvet. Right as Honey's water broke, Velvet accepted his marriage proposal, then Grant asked Honey, “Is that my baby?”

My jaw dropped. Jada stood, did the pee-pee dance. Jada was truly going to need a friend. I thought I was on top of things, but this was new and valuable information. Jada's cell phone rang, temporarily interrupting the flow of things.

Honey answered Grant, “It's not your child, but these babies are your twin boys.”

Well, thank God they weren't Valentino's. He already had three children he wasn't taking care of. Left his wife and kids, for what? To try to be the man for another woman? To raise Honey's babies? How he gon' put an engagement ring on Honey's finger when that fool was still legally married? According to Jada's file on Valentino, Summer was the best thing that ever happened to him. Hopefully Summer won't come running to bail him out this time.

Jada stopped speaking into her phone long enough to call Honey a liar. Jada walked away, returned, then cried to Grant, “Fancy was hit by a driver. We've got to go to the hospital.”

Bingo!
I said to myself. That was what my contact meant when she'd said, “I got her good.”
Yes!

Jada yelled, “Grant! Did you hear me? Darius's wife was hit by a driver! Let's go!”

I guess people had the right to be consumed with their issues. Jada was worried about Fancy. Grant was worried about Honey. And I was concerned with my Darius. He needed me to console him. I had to find out what hospital they were at.

My intention to get Darius was no fly-by-night suck-his-dick groupie trick. Oh, no. I'd already sucked his dick twice but he wouldn't remember. How could he? I was never the same woman twice. I was determined to either marry him or massacre him. If I couldn't have Darius Jones, no woman would, especially Fancy.

I had to make sure Fancy's hospital stay was permanent.

M
y heart dropped to the floor when Grant didn't move a step.

I had two choices. Drag him or leave him. I glanced at the woman sitting in Bambi's seat. Maybe Bambi had changed her mind about coming and gave her ticket to the white woman behind me. Refusing to make a spectacle of myself, I hiked up the hem of my gown, then stormed out the theater.

One heel clicked in front of the other. My pace increased to a light jog down the aisle and out the back exit. Frantically I searched for Grant's driver's limo. Rows of black stretch Escalades, Hummers, Lexuses, and Tahoes lined the parking lot. Holding my gown inches above my ankles, I gulped the warm car exhaust air in attempt to prevent an anxiety attack.

I turned 180 degrees and bumped into the white woman in a green gown who was practically on my heels. “I'm so sorry,” she said, then asked, “Are you okay? I overheard you say someone was in an accident. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Her Valley girl tone made me frown. She was extremely buxom for a woman of her race, like she was a black woman trapped in a white person's body. Her blue eyes stared into mine. I turned another 180 degrees. “Where is his driver?” The line for taxis was unbelievable. I couldn't give up. Darius and Fancy needed me. Panting, I leaned forward, placed my hands on my knees.

“I can give you a ride to the hospital,” the woman said. “I'm headed that way and my driver is right there.” She pointed at a black Town Car less than a hundred feet away. I didn't want to leave Grant with Honey.

Beep. Beep.
I glanced up but didn't straighten up until I heard Grant's voice. “Jada, over here.”

Thank God.
I told the woman, “I appreciate your offer but I have a ride.”

I hopped in the back of Grant's limo, sat beside him, then told the driver, “Take us to Cedars Hospital quick. It's an emergency.”

My body shivered but I wasn't cold. I was worried about Fancy, Darius, my grandbaby, and my relationship. I was terribly upset with and disappointed in Grant for believing Honey but grateful that he hadn't abandoned me.

“Can't you find a faster way out of this jam, driver?”

“Doing the best I can, ma'am, without going over the top.”

Grant laughed. I didn't.

Timing was horrible but I had to ask Grant, “What is your obsession with her?”

“Her? I'm here with you, aren't I?”

He was with me but he was torn between her and me. I wasn't going to be Grant's rebound. “Her, yes, her. Honey. That ‘her.' Now answer the question.”

“What was the question, again?”

“Don't play with me.”

Grant turned away, stared at the black tinted window. I stared at his reflection. He couldn't escape me or my question.

“Look, it's not an obsession. I know Honey. I'm the father. She wouldn't lie to me,” he said, still looking away.

Men. Grant didn't want me to see the uncertainty in his eyes. He prayed he was the father because he wanted Honey. Otherwise, he'd be on my side. He had to choose. No way was I signing up for a three-some or a five-some.

I demanded. “Look at me.” I waited, made an eye-to-eye connection, then continued, “Oh, but you lied to me.” I searched for answers I already knew. “How did she get pregnant if you claimed you used protection? Huh? We could've ended this relationship nine months ago.”

Grant stared at the floor, shook his head. “Jada, we've got more important things to concern ourselves with. This is not the time to argue.”

“Oh, so now I'm Jada and not ‘baby.' Admit that you lied to me, Grant! Admit it, damn it!” Maybe I should've accepted that ride from that nice lady.

“If it'll make you feel better, okay, you're right. You're always right. Satisfied? I lied to you but that doesn't change the fact that Fancy is injured and Honey is about to deliver
my
boys. Driver, please hurry. I don't want to miss my sons being born.”

I slid closer to him. My thigh touched his, reminding me how muscular his body was. How great his naked body felt lying next to mine. This man had sexed me senseless. Made me feel young again.

“No, Grant. She's about to deliver her babies. Until we have a paternity test, I consider this one more lie to add to her list of trifling ways. Maybe I should call the police and tell them where to find Ms. Prostitute. Huh? Ms. Madam. Huh? Save you the disappointment. She's unfit and you know it. How about I do you that favor?”

Grant became quiet. His jaw flinched. He sucked then licked his upper teeth. “How about I tell you that”—Grant paused, looked me in the eyes, then continued—“I'm still in love with Honey.”

Smack!
My involuntary reflexes hit him. I went to slap Grant's face again. He grabbed my wrist.

“Stop it, Jada. Don't you ever, ever hit me again. I'm trying to be honest with you. I thought I'd gotten her out of my system by not seeing her for nine months but—” He stopped speaking midsentence. A tear fell. He blinked.

I knew that feeling all too well but wasn't going to admit it to Grant. I told him, “I'd be lying if I said I understood. I don't. Why am I wearing this?” I asked him, wiggling my engagement ring in front his face. “What about the million dollars my son has already paid for our wedding? I didn't pursue you, Grant. You—” I stopped speaking.

I wanted to slap his face again. I wanted to push him out of the moving limo. I wanted to hurt him more than he'd hurt me. I deserved somebody to love me the way he loved Honey. My Wellington was my soul mate. He loved me like no other man but I couldn't bring him back. I had womanly needs that I wanted Grant to continue fulfilling.

Wellington and I had lots of great days but over time they were always interrupted by that no good Melanie Marie Thompson. There was always a woman lurking in search of destroying my good relationship. When Wellington and I were engaged, Melanie had lied and said she was pregnant with his triplets. She knew damn well her babies weren't for him. But like a fool (or a good man), Wellington believed her and did what he thought was right. He married her. So I left them in the Bay area and moved from Oakland to Los Angeles. After Wellington found out the truth we reunited and eventually married. Years later, when he was in the hospital dying, I wished I'd never found out that he'd never stopped seeing Melanie.

Why do men lie so damn much? Why do I keep falling in love with the same type of man? Maybe I should just let Grant go. He's already telling me he's never going to give up Honey. What was more important was for me not to take him back when he finds out those babies aren't his.

I was glad the driver was on La Cienega Boulevard in front of Bloomingdale's at the Beverly Center. “Go down Beverly and drop me off at the Emergency entrance.” I needed to get away from Grant and inhale fresh air before I passed out or knocked him out.

“Hey, I'm sorry,” he said, holding my hand. “I never meant for this to come out, not this way. I have too much respect for you. It's just seeing her and not knowing, you know?”

I wasn't about to accept his indirect apology. He'd known she was pregnant. When was he going to tell me? That was the question. In his heart, he knew he wanted her and not me. That hurt.

I removed his engagement ring from my finger, placed it in his hand, and said, “You owe my son a million dollars. Take your ring and save your apology for Honey. We're done. No, make that, I'm done with you and your lies. And one more thing. Don't ever call me again. And another thing, I hate you! And…and…” Wow. In less than five minutes after giving back his ring, I'd run out of negative things to say to Grant.

But I wasn't done with him yet. Oh, no. I was just getting started.