Authors: Niobia Bryant

Mistress, Inc. (11 page)

BOOK: Mistress, Inc.

10.45Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads

“Which husband is it, Jessa Bell?”

“Call her what she is ... a jezebel!”

“Is it my Frank?”

“Or my Ryan?”

“Who is it, Jessa?”

“It’s all your fault!”

“My husband better not be begging you!”

“Who is it, Jessa?”

“Why don’t you move?”

“Yeah, nobody wants you here.”

Jessa felt a thin hand push against her shoulder and she stumbled forward a few steps. Her hand went to her belly as her anger came in a rush and she whirled around with rage in her eyes. Most of the women stepped back. “You have until the count of twenty to get off my property before the sprinklers come on and the police are called,” she said calmly but coldly, even as her eyes continued to flash.

She turned and finished her walk up to the front door. “Thank you,” she told the driver before she unlocked her front door and entered her home even as they resumed hurling questions and accusations at her.

“Are those heifers crazy?” she asked aloud, shaking her head as she made her way into the kitchen to a bottled water. She looked out the window as the women moved to stand in the street in front of her home. Still wondering. Still suspicious of their husbands. “Now why don’t they get the hell off of my property and go home and talk to their damn husbands. If they are that nervous he’s not acting right, they don’t need me to confirm a damn thing.”

But maybe they do. Maybe women wanted to know for sure if the man they married was deserving of their trust.

Jessa poured the bottled water into a glass as she looked out at the women still hovering around her home and discussing their fears and suspicions with each other.

She thought of the video she had on her cell phone implicating one woman’s husband of pursuing her. Her eyes scanned each face of the women. She didn’t see her among the crowd.

No, if she were one of the women in search of the truth, I would tell her. I won’t volunteer the info, but if she appears and asks me, his perverted ass is grass.

Jessa sipped from her glass of water and politely walked over to the control box on the wall of her spacious pantry. With a few pushes of the buttons on the keypad, Jessa turned on her sprinklers and increased their velocity to full blasts.

As she left the kitchen and began to climb the stairs, Jessa chuckled into her glass at the high-pitched and surprised screams of the women who were suddenly all wet.

“There has been a very bizarre and shocking twist in the story of a local woman, Jessa Bell, who was the victim of an apparent suicide-murder attempt at the hands of her married lover, who was successful in his attempt to kill himself.

“I have here in my hands copies of court documents that were served to the wife of her married lover detailing her attempt to contest the will on behalf on her unborn child that Bell claims was fathered by her married lover, Eric Hall, nearly a month before his suicide.

“In recent weeks after the violent attempt on Bell’s life she has been very vocal on many news outlets, including the nationally syndicated Kerry Kay Show, speaking out about her ordeal and her decision to never enter into an affair again. Although she has been very outspoken of late, calls to Jessa Bell or her reps have not been returned. We will definitely continue to watch and report on this story as more develops ... and I definitely believe we have all not heard the last of his story. This is Maria Vargas reporting for WCBL. ”

“Well, the shit has officially hit the fan,” Jessa said the next morning with a sigh as she placed the television on mute with her remote as she lay back against the many soft and plush pillows on her bed. She picked up her iPad and did a search on her name. Hundreds of links to articles about her interview on
Kerry Kay,
the attempt on her life, and the lawsuit against Eric’s estate flooded the page.

Jessa didn’t bother to read any of the articles. She didn’t need her story told to her by someone else. No one knew it better than her-especially without the salacious lies and assumptions.

Rising from the bed, she slipped her feet into her flat satin slippers and pulled a short silk robe over the lace teddy she slept in. After quickly going through her routine of washing her face, brushing her teeth, and combing her hair, Jessa made her way downstairs. She paused midway down the steps to listen to the quiet of her house and her life. The irony? The quiet was so loud, so noticeable. So unbearable.

But soon this baby will bring life to my life. A second chance to make
everything
right,
she thought with a wishful smile as she continued down the stairs and into the kitchen to start preparing her new morning ritual of breakfast, a glass of milk and her prenatal vitamin.

Her OB/GYN stressed the need for her to eat small meals throughout the day. Now that Jessa had decided to have and raise this baby, she was determined to do everything right.

She started a small pot of oatmeal just as her landline started to ring. Without a blink of an eye, she reached over and cut the ringer off, just as she had her cordless phone upstairs. The news of the lawsuit had opened the floodgates to reporters and bloggers wanting a statement from her. She was just grateful the gates of Richmond Hills kept anyone from showing up to her front door.

Ding-dong.

Jessa arched a brow as she pulled the pot of oatmeal off the stove and made her way out of the kitchen and to the front door. She eased up on her toes to look out the peephole and sighed to see Jaime, Renee, and Aria sanding there. Sighing, she opened the door. “I see more of you three now than when we were friends,” she said dryly as she eyed all three.

“You’ve shown us we were all never friends,” Aria snapped.

Jessa raised her hands and pretended to play a violin. “Sing me another sad song, that one’s played out,” Jessa said coolly.

“Jessa, are you serious about suing Jaime for a part of Eric’s estate?” Renee asked, her face incredulous.

“Legal papers are pretty serious,” she responded.

“So trading your sins for money wasn’t bad enough. Now you want Eric’s money,” Aria snapped. “Now you’re making your scandalous life into a business. Some kind of Mistress, Incorporated or some bullshit.”

Jessa eyed her. “Isn’t your restraining order still in place?” she asked, motioning with her hand for Aria to back up from her. “Give me fifty feet.”

“Look, you crazy bitch, you are not going to get away with this,” Jaime spat as she held up papers bunched in her hand.

Jessa frowned as she eyed her. “It’s enough of this anger and bitterness bull. I don’t like the energy around my baby,” she said. “Do not come near my home again. Anything you and I have to say to each other can be done through the lawyers.”

Jaime took a step forward.

Jessa stiffened her back.

Renee stepped in between them.

“I tried to apologize to all of you and you didn’t want it, so I’m not trying anymore. I’m not kissing any of your asses. God has forgiven me and that’s all I need,” Jessa said.

“You think anyone believes that bullshit about you getting saved and wanting to change. Bitch, please!” Aria called from the street.

“Isn’t the fact that you betrayed a friend, lied on innocent men, and almost got yourself killed enough. Do you have to be on television making her relive everything you did?” Renee asked.

Jessa laughed bitterly. “Everything
I
did. Just me. I raped Eric. I stuck my hand up his ass and played the ventriloquist to the lies he told me. I caused all of this ... including that lunatic trying to kill me.”

“But you want the lunatic’s money, though?” Jaime snapped from behind Renee’s broad shoulder.

“And you don’t?” Jessa countered, locking eyes with her. “You didn’t love Eric and it had nothing to do with his involvement with me. You were paying Pleasure to fuck you long before then, and then was dumb enough to accidentally dial your husband in the middle of it all. That didn’t have shit to do with me. You were cheating on him long before he started anything with me. So save the sob story for someone who doesn’t know.”

Jaime threw her hands up in the air.

“What I am doing is for the baby we made together, and if I could change it all I would, but the fact remains that I am pregnant with Eric’s child and we both know he would have taken care of this child.” Jessa pressed her hand to her belly.

“To hell with you, Jessa. But please know I will fight you every step of the way,” Jaime swore.

Jessa shook her head slowly. “You will fight me to make sure Eric’s child doesn’t get one red cent of what would have been his inheritance if Eric didn’t kill himself before he knew about the baby,” she said with reproach and judgment.

“What baby?” Jaime snapped in disgust, waving her hand dismissively before turning to walk away. “Ain’t no
damn
baby.”

Jessa turned to face Renee. “And so, Renee, you wouldn’t stand up for your kids? You wouldn’t fight for their inheritance from Jackson if it was withheld from them. Huh?” Jessa asked.

Renee closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her lips. “But I understand how I would feel if Jackson’s mistress sued me for it.”

Jessa opened her mouth to speak but closed her mouth momentarily before she decided to forge ahead. “Is the child to blame for that? Does it lessen the fact that—and I’m sorry to say this—but the child by his mistress has just as much right as your children, Renee. I’m sorry, but it’s true,” Jessa stressed.

Renee’s eyes filled with pain. “You’re one mean bitch, Jessa Bell.”

“I’m not a mistress trying to hurt the wife. I’m a mother taking care of my child. Just like you.” Jessa leaned past her to eye Aria. “The baby you’re carrying, if Kingston didn’t help you take care of it, you wouldn’t sue for child support. Huh?”

“I’m Kingston’s wife. Not his whore!” Aria screamed back.

Jessa stepped back and started to close her door. “You’re both hypocrites and I’ll pray for you,” she said softly before closing her door and locking it securely.

Chapter 8

J
essa let the tears that filled her eyes fall freely down her face as she knelt at the prayer bench and silently asked God to guide her steps on the right path to salvation. Reverend Dobbins moved down and stood before her, lightly placing his hand on her shoulder. His gentle touch really struck a chord within her. It was the touch of an older man who cared and was concerned about her. That was something Jessa had never known before.

The reverend moved on to the next of his kneeling parishioners and Jessa felt the loss of his touch. She rose to her feet and turned to press her crocodile Kate Spade’s into the carpet as she made her way back to her seat on the rear pew of Reverend Dobbins’s nondenominational church. She picked up her Bible and stroked it as her head hung to her chest. Soon her tears fell on the cover.

Jessa hated the weakness and uncertainty she felt. She hated how her secrets and sins haunted her. She hated the guilt she felt about being happy for this baby. She hated that although her intentions were good, no one believed that she regretted her affair with Eric. No one believed she wanted to change.

And she did.
For myself and for this baby.

“God, I thank you for your presence in my life and I thank you for not leaving me when I stumble on this path to living right. I thank you for forgiving me when people push me to do things I know I shouldn’t,” she continued to pray silently.

And people were truly trying her by walking her last nerve with their judgment and reprimands.
I’m sick of their fucking bullshit,
she thought, wanting to choke nearly each and every one of her neighbors.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation as she caught her cuss-filled thoughts. “Sorry, God,” Jessa mouthed, rising to her feet with everyone else as Revered Dobbins brought church service to an end.

Jessa was one of the first to leave the church. She was all for going to church every Sunday and even catching a night of Bible study once every other week, but she had yet to get accustomed to the whole ritual of the church members gathering outside and looking to converse.

Jessa was interested in getting the word, feeling a little closer to her Jesus, and going home. She wasn’t looking to make friends or pretend to listen to the ramblings of non-ministers who felt they were Christian soldiers.

Before she got into her Jag, she removed the feathery fascinator that perfectly matched the dark blue fitted dress she wore.

“Sister Bell.”

Jessa made a face of annoyance as she heard her name called. She forced on a smile and turned just as one of the men from the church stepped in front of her. “Yes?” she said politely, tilting her head back to look up into his face. The man had to be close to six foot five.

“I just wondered if you were coming back for the program?” he asked. “All of the groups coming in to sing are really good. I thought you might enjoy it.”

Jessa opened her car door. “No, thank you. I have other plans,” she said.

“I was hoping to see you there actually,” he said, stepping forward to hold her door.

Jessa’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she looked at his large hands and then up to his face.

“I thought maybe we could have coffee afterward,” he said.

Jessa stiffened. “I can’t even come to church without getting hit on by married men? What the hell?” she muttered. “Look—”

He held up his hands. “I’m not married,” he said. “If I was, I wouldn’t have approached you. I’m a man of honor.”

Jessa laughed bitterly. “Are there any more left?”

“Yes, plenty,” he said with the utmost seriousness. “But I get it. I find myself asking that about women as well.”

“And that’s why you are ‘approaching’ a former mistress who is now pregnant with the baby of her married lover who tried to kill her before killing himself. And might I add, who is also suing the estate of her dead lover. That all just screams honor.”

The man slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks in the tailored suit he wore. “Sounds to me as if you’re judging yourself. Not me.”

Jessa leaned back against her car as she gave him a serious eye. Although he was as tall—and almost as wide—as a tree, he had the kind of big-man good looks that reminded you of Gerald Levert. The deep bronzed skin, the smooth black hair and goatee, the bright eyes and warm smile.

Not the athletic type she was used to, but handsome. Still ...

“Listen, I am just trying to get my life together and the last thing I need is someone else to answer to or worry about,” she told him with honesty.

He smiled.

Jessa’s mouth fell open a little bit at the sight of twin dimples as deep as wells.

“I just wanted to go have dinner and talk a little bit. I wasn’t looking to propose,” he told her, raising his arms to cross over his chest. “Reverend Dobbins thought we had similar stories to share.”

Jessa eyed him.

“You’re not the only human being with sins.”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Henry Lyons.”

Jessa held out her hand. “It was nice meeting you,” she said.

He undid his arms to take her slender hand in his. “Nice meeting you, too,” he said.

“I guess I’ll see you in church next Sunday.” Jessa slid her hand out of his and climbed behind the wheel of her car.

He eased a card from his pocket and reached around her still-open door to hand it to her. “If you just want someone to talk to or to pray with or lay some burdens on ... call me,” he offered.

Jessa took the card with a smile and closed her car door. As she started the car and pulled away, she noticed a lot of the churchgoers had made their way out the doors and were watching them closely. She fought the urge to make a face at them all as she drove off the church grounds, leaving all thoughts of Brother Lyons and a prayer circle behind.

Or at least she hoped she would.

Love and everything it was or wasn’t for her changed so many times over the years of her life. Through her family and her relationships and friendships, the definitions or expectations of love had shifted.

Running her fingers through the soft tendrils at her nape, Jessa steered her car toward Heavenly Rest Cemetery. But this time she made her way toward the rear of the property to Eric’s resting place. As she stood at the foot of his plot, she let all of the emotions she felt wash over her and flow freely from her and her mouth.

“I hate you, Eric,” she began. “But I hate myself more for making myself believe that what we shared wasn’t the biggest mistake we both made. I truly believed that I loved you and I deserved you and we would make each other happy. But I was wrong. What we shared wasn’t love. But now I’m pregnant with your child, and what type of legacy have we created?”

Jessa looked down at the metal marker of his dirt-covered grave. His headstone had not been delivered yet. Either Jaime wasn’t bothering with one or she ordered one custom. “I damn you to hell for trying to kill me. For making me this mess that doesn’t know if she’s coming or going. That could be me in the grave right now instead of you. I still can’t believe you wanted me dead, Eric.”

She felt her heels sink into the grass surrounding his fresh grave and she shifted her feet. “But I won’t spend my life bashing you to our child. And that’s not because of you. It’s because I don’t want to bring a child up spoon-fed on hating you. I know how it feels, and I wouldn’t put any child through that.”

Jessa sighed as she looked around at the gravesite. “Really, your widow could have chosen a better spot for you,” she said, looking over her shoulder as a car sped by on the road just beyond the wrought-iron gate. “You tried to kill me and I wouldn’t have stuck you back here in the hood.”

“I know you are spinning in that grave because you didn’t have the foresight to change your will once she filed for divorce.” Jessa pouted her lips. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’re usually smarter than that, Eric ... but then again I would have thought you were too smart to kill yourself.”

Jessa released another heavy breath. “She wouldn’t let me say good-bye to you at the funeral and so I’m saying it now. Good-bye, Eric. I know you are burning in hell and I am doing everything in my power to make sure I don’t join you there when my time comes,” she said in finality. “I will never forgive you for trying to take my life, but I do thank you for teaching me about lust and love and how to know the difference between the two.”

With one last glance at his grave, Jessa made her way back to her car. With her free hand, she loosened the tight bun at the base of her neck, running her fingers through the loose waves of her jet-black hair as she steered her Jag toward home. Summer was coming to an end, and although Jessa loved the fall best, she lowered the windows of the Jag and let the summer breeze blow against her face as she drove.

The last couple of weeks of her life had been chaotic. The press had just begun to leave her alone about the lawsuit. She was so tired of seeing Maria Vargas and her cameraman at random places she visited that Jessa didn’t know what to do.

She remembered her grandmother saying once that the emotions of a pregnant woman manifested in the baby. And if that was true, Jessa was planning to give birth to a crying bundle filled with stress, anxiety, and anger. She didn’t want that.

Jessa reached for her cell phone and dialed Myra’s number. It rang three times and went to voice mail. “Myra, this is Jessa. Listen, I need a vacation. I know you have a busy week for me. But I need time away from everything. I need a break. No, no, I am taking a break. Just fix it. Fix all of it.”

She hung up the phone and tossed it over onto her driver’s seat with her oversized tote.

Maybe she would drive down to Pennsylvania to their cabin. She thought about all the grass and dirt and wildlife and frowned. The beautiful log cabin was deliciously delightful in the winter when everything was covered by snow. In the summer? Not so much.

Okay, maybe a quick flight to Antigua?
Jessa quickly pushed that thought away. Who wanted to do a beautiful romantic locale like that ... alone?
Not me.

Maybe a nice weekend in the Hamptons or Martha’s Vineyard?

It really didn’t matter where. It just mattered to get away from Richmond Hills. The old Jessa reveled in the discomfort she brought to the lives of her ex-friends and neighbors by her very presence. But day by day, more of the old Jessa was disappearing and it was leaving her raw and exposed like the little girl who couldn’t understand why her mother left. She hated it.

As she turned her Jag into Richmond Hills, she was surprised to see Keegan’s bright red hair poking out of the driver’s side window of a green convertible Volvo.

Jessa actually felt happy to see the lively redhead. “Hey, Keegan,” she called out.

She turned and spotted Jessa behind her before she climbed out of her Volvo and walked back to her in a deep purple jumpsuit and gold wedges. “Hey, sugar, I was just dropping by to check on you.”

“I’m fine.... As a matter of fact, I’m in the mood for a mini-vacay. You game?” Jessa asked, following an impulse.

“Am I ready to sleep somewhere besides the big empty bed my dog of a husband left me to rot in? Hell yeah. Let’s ride, Thelma. Louise is ready.”

The very next day, Jessa and Keegan were in their bikinis and lounging on the deck of the small yacht they chartered to cruise around the Hamptons. The sun was beaming brightly. The smell of the ocean was refreshing. And Jessa felt good about being away from Richmond Hills.

“I really needed this getaway,” Jessa sighed, stretching her limbs above her head to accept the crystal flute glass of apple juice spritzer the waiter presented her on a tray.

Keegan smiled at him as she took her flute of champagne. “You have to remember to put that baby first. Plenty rest. Less stress.”

“I know.”

Keegan sat up on the lounge chair and eyed Jessa over the rim. “You must have a clit on you bigger than a set of balls to sue that estate, though.”

Jessa shifted her head on the lounge chair to eye her from behind her oversized shades. “If Marc and Eric were alive and I tried to force Marc to take care of a child that I knew belonged to Eric, then I would be wrong. Why is it different because they’re dead?”

“Oh, look here, honey, I agree with you. I just don’t know with all the press you’re getting if I would have the nerve to do it,” Keegan said, reaching over with her flute. “Cheers to you, darling.”

Jessa touched her flute lightly to Keegan’s before taking a deep sip.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

Both ladies turned their heads and then lifted them to look up at the tall and broad-shouldered man standing above them in all white. He was the owner and captain of the chartered yacht. Tyson Hearst.

Keegan pressed her full bosom forward as she smiled. “Hello, Captain.”

He smiled as he shifted his eyes over to Jessa, who remained quiet. “Just call me Tyson.”

BOOK: Mistress, Inc.

10.45Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads