Don't Ask My Neighbor (18 page)

Twenty-Nine

_________

When I Get You Back

Joyce

THEY REALLY ROLLED OUT THE WELCOME mat for this bitch,
I thought, putting one leg outside the chartered limousine. Red carpet and velvet ropes just to honor Ms. Samantha Wells. If they only knew just an ounce of truth about the woman they invited to be a part of their exclusive club. I switched my small purse to my right hand, extended the driver my left, and accepted his muted offer to assist me to my feet. Either he was just doing his job, or there still were a few gentlemen left in this godforsaken world. I decided to believe the latter. He was as handsome as he was polite, and he kept me entertained the entire ride from the Hotel Palomar, unlike the dull man I drove with from Reagan National Airport, just across the bridge in Arlington, to the hotel.

Inside the gallery, the guests were dressed to impress, as if they were invited to the Queen’s ball. I gave them a run for the best-dressed award. I removed the long sleeve Chinese style jacket to reveal a one-shoulder white evening dress. I’m not one to blow steam under my own dress, but I looked Marilyn Monroe good. I was a real woman, and I still had curves some women in their twenties secretly wished they had. I looked around for Samantha, but she was nowhere in sight. She was probably working the room, trying to find her next victim, that was my guess, and with her luck, that shouldn’t take too long. Unfortunately, there were a few who still fell for her same bag of old tricks.

When I entered through the doors and into the banquet hall, two servers stood on either side, presenting trays of Champagne to the guests. It was my pleasure to relieve them of the weight they carried. I took one of the flutes, and almost in one gulp, it was gone. After I returned the emptied glass to the tray, I took another for the road, though this road only led to the back of this lavish-looking hall, not far from where I stood sipping on that second glass. I bet the gentleman and his Barbie doll arm-piece who followed behind me called me all sorts of uncouth in their minds, though the last thing on my mind was their simple-looking asses. His Barbie doll wife had nothing on me, or what I wore that night; assuming wife was the title she borrowed for the evening. Four extra-large crystal chandeliers hung on either side of the huge hall. The guests, those who weren’t passing the time in idle chatter, occupied round tables covered in black tablecloths. Short vases with an assortment of Tulips and Hyacinths were placed directly in the center. None of the guests sat with their backs toward the stage where Samantha would be presented her award. I could only imagine the style of chairs purposely arranged in that manner, since they hid under white silk chair covers. I sat in the back and waited for disaster to begin. It wasn’t long before the lights dimmed and the emcee took his place on the raised platform, behind the stand-up microphone.

He adjusted the microphone to complement his tall stature, and even still, he needed a slight bend to be heard. He introduced himself as Stanley Graybourne. I knew, then, where his offspring, Jelani Graybourne, got his good looks. Stanley’s bronze complexion glistened under the spotlight. I imagined he broke a few hearts in his younger days. His voice had a rhythmic boom that commanded your attention, and I figured every woman hung onto his words like I did, even if they didn’t want to admit it to themselves or their dates. He spoke with his hands behind him. His eyes perused the room, and I found myself following his scan from one side of the room to the other.
              “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. The guests scurried in the faint darkness to find reserved seats. “I’m honored to celebrate the accomplishments of one of E.S.G.’s own Samantha Wells, and I thank you all for joining in this celebration.” He paused and waited for the applause to subside. I kept one hand in my lap, clutching my purse, and the other around the stem of the wine glass. I cut my eyes at the mere mention of her name, and then finished the last bit of wine. I placed the glass on the table, sat back in the chair, and then crossed my right leg over my left.

He doled out one accolade after
the other. Not only was she the first from the firm to win the prestigious award, but also the first to receive the nomination. She was the first woman since 2008 to receive the award.
She’s going to be singing that praise for years,
I thought. Since Mr. Graybourne focused most of his attention on one particular table in the front, I imagined that was where Samantha sat, smiling from ear to ear every time she heard her name. When he was finished, he invited Michelle Ambrose from the Washington D.C. Council of Attorneys to help him with the presentation. She was a shorter woman, especially standing next to Mr. Graybourne.

“The Washington D.C. Council of Attorneys would like to recognize Ms. Samantha Madelyn Wells as the 2012 Attorney of the Year.”

What was I thinking, giving her my grandmother’s name? She hasn’t done anything to make my grandmother, Madelyn, proud, including giving birth to Gari. Samantha had even managed to screw up motherhood.

The room stood to their feet in unison and began their applause before Ms. Ambrose completed her announcement. I was in no haste to stand and celebrate Samantha. I uncrossed my legs and, in a slow motion, stood. Samantha walked to the stage as if she had just won an academy award. Hell, with the performance she’s given over the years, she might as well be accepting the Lifetime Achievement Award for the bedlam she’s caused in the lives of the people she claimed to love. On the stage, she extended her hand to Mr. Graybourne, who then kissed her on both cheeks. She had a brief exchange with Ms. Ambrose before she accepted her award, and then stepped to the microphone. I sat as the rest of the room sat, and then waited.

“Wow,” Samantha said, looking down at her award. “Do I deserve this?” She laughed.

I wanted to answer that question for her and scream from the back at the top of my lungs, “hell no, but they don’t know any better.” Instead, I remained a lady and held my peace. I knew my moment in the spotlight was coming, and so I waited with patience for my turn. I can’t believe this was the little girl who used to melt my heart with her smile. I used to be proud when I was told she looked just like me, but I now cringed if someone even set his or her mouth to draw that comparison.

Samantha stood on the stage in front of her colleagues and their guests wearing a black knee-length, spaghetti strap cocktail dress, and a confident smile. She still had the perfect figure—won’t let her hear me say that. Her dark red, five-inch platform pumps seemed to extend the curves in her legs. She showed off a deliberate cleavage, the one she’s used to demand the attention of so many men, and later reduce them to stupid, cause that’s the only thing that could cause them to fall for her type. She had a list of people she needed to do that. Her list started with Jelani Graybourne and ended with Felicia Hailey and Parker Chandler, though she forgot to mention that anything they did was probably done against their will or without them knowing. She stared at her award again and then lifted her head to speak, but I had heard enough. 

“So, is this what you wanted?” I questioned.

Samantha’s swift glance in my direction almost gave her a whiplash. In concert, the crowd turned their focus toward me with equal curiosity. I was seated in the back, watching her scan the room for the voice and the person who owned it. I interrupted the acceptance speech she had been planning for weeks.

“I waited to hear my name in your so-called thank you speech that you’ve prepared. And I must admit, it’s being delivered as if you truly deserve all the accolades these people have bestowed upon you.”

“Do I know you?”

She played the part of innocence well, but I knew her better. She stood in a spotlight, so the focus was definitely on her, though now it was for an entirely different reason, one
I knew she didn’t prepare for.

“What matters is that I know you,” I responded, still trying to keep my location a secret. But every eye in the auditorium stared at me as I spoke, and then at Samantha, like the little Shitsu sitting on the couch in the
Coming to America
movie, at awe in the ricochet of exchange.

“Samantha Wells, is it?” I got up and walked to a far corner and stood disguised in brown tinted sunglasses. “I’m here to see Samantha Malloy. I mean, that’s who you were, or pretended to be, when you left,” I
said, slowly removing my specs.

Samantha should have recognized my voice, but almost everything else about me had ch
anged.

“You must have really faked your way to this one, just like you’ve done everything else. You were so good, they even gave you an award for it.” My compliment w
as delivered soaked in sarcasm.

“Do I?”

“Know me?” I said, finishing her question. She had become so damn predictable. “Surely you don’t have to agonize over trying to figure out who I am. You’re no amateur. I’m quite sure.” I paused, searching for my words. “In fact, I know you kept a list of all the people you wittingly manipulated, stepped on, and treated like second-class citizens, and for whatever reason, the next person, and the person after that, still fell for the same manipulation. Their stupidity made you a professional.”

“What do you want?” Samantha asked with embarrassment grabbing at her throat.

“You know, that’s a very good question. One I hadn’t figured out until this very moment.”

I began a slow walk closer to the podium. For the first time, I saw the fright in Samantha’s eyes; the fear that her past had joined forces to plot her destruction, and it was unraveling at the very moment she should be celebrating. She was Samantha Lucas, the same heartless woman who conned and cajoled Ryle, and then left him defeated when she took all she thought she could from him. She was the same Samantha who punished him for another man’s decision, even though all he had done was love her.

Samantha looked in Jelani’s direction with hope in her eyes, waiting for him to rescue her from the rage that was leaving her feeling as if her feet were planted in cement. But he’s had his questions, too—unsettling feelings he tried to quell with questions that were answered with words and phrases that never really made him feel at ease. Jelani stood motionless, as Samantha’s secrets came gushing like water from a broken dam.

She looked with intent towa
rd the table in the front for her secretary, Felicia Hailey, hoping she would interrupt in some way; surely this wasn’t part of the presentation. But Felicia stood poised in the back, listening to Samantha as she delivered thanks to everyone for the role they had, or didn’t have, in making her the front-runner and eventual winner of this award. It’s the same place she stood witnessing the glistening beads of sweat form perfect circles on Samantha’s forehead as she nervously engaged in that aching exchange with the woman she strained her eyes to recognize in darkness.

Felicia tried to disguise the pleasure she experienced, watching behind darkened glasses as Samantha began to crumble under the direct inquiry from this woman who knew so much about her. Felicia’s reserved seat in the front of the hall had remained unoccupied all night as she timed her entrance with purpose. She was dressed in style. Her blue-black pocketed, cocktail dress was a perfect fit. The black sequined bodice added more sex appeal to an already sexy figure. Her dress fell just above her knees, revealing long curved legs she once kept hidden. Her black evening sandals added heig
ht to her already tall stature.

Felicia walked with an unimagined confidence and a mystifying stare Samantha couldn’t decipher. She sat sandwiched between Emory Sullivan and Parker Chandler, both with an identical look of perplexity, but for different reasons. Felicia sat erect, her legs crossed at the knees. Her hands were crossed one over the other at the wrist, and rested elegantly on her right knee. She couldn’t have planned a more perfect evening. Her plans were unravelin
g just as she hoped they would.

“What do you want?” Samantha asked, again.

“What do I want?” I repeated. “I wanted what I thought was mine. I wanted what you took from me, everything you took from me, and since there’s no way for that to happen, I don’t want a damn thing from you. This isn’t about what you owe me. It’s about what you owe these people,” I explained with an uncanny calmness in my voice.

“And what do I…?”

“The truth,” I interrupted. “You owe them the truth, Samantha. Something you never thought you owed me, or Ryle, or Vincent. Do I need to continue?”

“Or Gage,” Felicia chimed in.

“Gage? What are you talking about, Felicia? What have I done to you?”

“Personally? Nothing,” Felicia answered, “I mean, besides the low jabs, the insults you spewed out, and your total disregard to anyone you felt was beneath you, though the only person beneath you is you. I was more than your damn secretary, but you had your head too far up your own ass, you couldn’t bring yourself to see that. But I held my tongue. I played your game, knowing this day would come. Oh, this isn’t for me.”

“So, am I to assume you are connected to this Gage person?”

“Good one, Samantha. Is that your attempt to convince these people we don’t know what we’re talking about? Oh, baby doll, you’re going to have to pull off the Oscar winning performance of a lifetime for that to happen. And, yes, your assumption that I am connected to this ‘Gage person’ would be correct, Ms. Samantha Madelyn Wells-Garrett. May I?” Felicia asked as she stood to approach Samantha. Felicia walked a few steps, mounted the stage and stood beside Samantha, attempting to share the microphone and the spotlight. “I think everyone needs to hear this.”