Mistress, Inc. (7 page)

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Authors: Niobia Bryant

BOOK: Mistress, Inc.
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Jessa licked her lips. “Why open myself up to more attention and speculation and judgment. For what reason?” she asked, turning to set her clutch and her keys on the counter before walking to her restaurant-quality refrigerator and grabbing a bottled water.
“I’m here to tell you, Jessa—can I call you Jessa?”
“Sure.”
“Jessa, that local news station is already pushing this story to break nationally. It would be a big boost for them and that newscaster who is all over this. The only thing you can do is get out there and tell your own damn story ... especially the ex-mistress who is regretting her decision to be the other woman.”
Jessa thought the woman’s words rung so close to her counsel from Reverend Dobbins.
“Only I can write the story of my life that will be told,” she said softly, almost to herself as she remembered his words of advice as she pressed her hand to her belly.
“That’s right, Jessa.
Only
you.”
Chapter 5
Two weeks later
 
 
J
essa held up her hand to the makeup artist and yawned. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am so tired.”
“That’s okay. We’ll be done soon,” the young black woman said, her dreadlocks as thick as sausage links and long enough to reach her lower back.
Jessa shifted her eyes from the woman’s face to her reflection in the lit mirror running above the long counter of the hair and makeup for
The Kerry Kay Show.
Jessa was nervous, but she was determined to work this interview for everything it could bring her. Kerry Kay was no Jeremy Kyle or Jerry Springer with its edgy tone and rowdy audience. Kerry Kay was on the verge of becoming the next Oprah Winfrey or Barbara Walters.
“How you feeling?”
Jessa shifted her eyes up as Myra strolled into the room. Again, Jessa noted how the woman didn’t resemble what she imagined on the phone. The short and petite woman with the big corn-fed smile was not the overly gorgeous, supremely confidant, diva in training. Myra said she loved to be underestimated.
“I’m fine,” Jessa lied, refusing to show the nerves that had her stomach bundled in a tight knot.
Myra looked at her with eyes that could con a homeless person out of
their
last nickel. “Could I have a quick second with her?” she asked the makeup artist.
“Sure.”
Jessa spun in the chair to face her publicist as the woman left the room. “What’s up?” she asked, already knowing what was coming.
Myra smiled, big and bright. “Listen, I know you’re Ms. Sophistication personified, but this whole cool exterior is going to put people off and alienate you.”
Jessa crossed her legs. She knew Myra was good at what she did. Jessa did her homework and the woman handled some heavyweight New York clients. Certainly not A-list clients but was well-respected, and Jessa went with her because she was drinking the Kool-Aid the woman was pushing.
Myra had plans for her. Big plans. Jessa was on board.
But...
“I’m not going on television and crying like Jimmy Swaggart. I
am
apologetic. I
am
more enlightened since I almost died. I
am
willing to tell my story. I
am
not going to make an ass out of myself,” Jessa stressed, her eyes showing no room for debate on that.
“But you can’t come off like the cold-hearted side-chick on the come-up,” Myra stressed back.
“Side-chick? Come-up?” Jessa said with a disgruntled eye. She knew exactly what the terms meant, she just refused to acknowledge them as part of her vocabulary.
Next I’ll be head bobbing, chewing gum, and saying “Nigga, please” on the regular.
“How about this? Just be real to how you feel and don’t try to hide behind the cool façade,” Myra suggested. “The point is to come off like the reformed mistress, not a spotlight-grabbing, money-hungry charlatan soaking up five minutes of fame like these reality TV chicks.”
“Okay,” Jessa agreed, just to end the conversation.
Thankfully, Myra left the subject alone after one last squeeze of Jessa’s hands before she moved to the door to wave the makeup artist back in. Jessa felt a wave of nausea hit her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply until the moment had passed.
Morning sickness was taking its toll on her. The doctor said it should get better in the next few weeks after she entered her second trimester and Jessa couldn’t wait. She thought about the baby she was carrying. It all seemed unreal.
“Okay, all done.”
Jessa opened her eyes and nodded in appreciation. The makeup was less dramatic than her normal bright red lipstick and heavily done eyes. Myra thought a more natural look was best. That and the wide-leg pantsuit she wore that was a far cry from the form-fitting, well-tailored designer dresses she preferred on her curvaceous shape.
Jessa actually thought she looked younger.
Humph, well, I’ll be damned. Maybe less is more.
One of the show’s associate producers popped her head in. “We’re ready for Jessa,” she said to Myra.
Jessa rose to her feet, trying not to feel like one of those ass backward
Jerry Springer
guests waiting to air their person problems on the show.
The travel, accommodations, and personal car service had been far above anything she was sure most talk shows were doling out, but still, what was she opening herself up for?
“Jessa, they’re ready for you,” Myra said, standing in the doorway.
Jessa gave herself one last perusal in the mirror before leaving the room.
God, please strengthen me ...
“Jessa, you admit that you entered into an affair with a man who was married to one of your closest friends and also a good friend of your deceased husband?”
Jessa nodded her head as she looked across the small divide at Kerry Kay sitting next to her. She was an average height woman with dark flawless skin and a beauty that was as regal as an African queen. She was pretty. She was smart. She was relatable. She was on target to fill the gap left by Oprah.
“That is true unfortunately,” Jessa finally admitted, crossing her legs in the oversized club chair in which she sat.
The audience stirred.
Jessa looked out at the hundreds of audience members as they suddenly stirred as their murmurs rose. She looked slightly pensive as she imagined one of the women jumping to her feet and screaming “Whore!” at her as she pointed.
“I think I chose to deal with the sudden death of my husband—whom I loved deeply—by turning what was a love between friends into something more ... particularly when I noticed that his attention had changed. We shared a look and I knew that he looked at me different, and it nudged me to view him in the same way. I wish now that we never had that moment.”
Kerry Kay eyed her. “Why specifically?” she asked as she settled her chin in her hand and leaned in to watch Jessa closely.
Jessa wanted to snap, “Get out of my face!” but instead she licked her lips.
“There were so many repercussions of the affair. I ended friendships because of it, and then when I told him that it was over and that I wasn’t interested in the secrecy and the lying anymore, he became ... different. He changed.”
“He stalked you?” Kerry asserted.
Jessa nodded. “Yes, he still wanted his wife
and
me. He wasn’t willing to take no and ... and ...”
Her words faltered as she was pulled back to that night. Eric’s erratic behavior. His cruel words. His hands on her neck. The breath leaving her body. Unconsciousness ...
She was surprised by the tear that raced down her cheek.
Kerry leaned over to press a soft tissue into her hand. “And what?” she gently urged.
“He strangled me. He blamed me for leaving. He blamed me for telling his wife and ruining their relationship. And he was obsessed with me. That was the scariest night of my life.” Jessa lightly dabbed at her eyes, careful not to ruin her makeup.
Kerry Kay looked at her sympathetically before turning to face the camera. “We’ll be back with more and Jessa will tell us about the scary night her married lover attempted to kill her before taking his own life.”
Soft and sad music filled the studio audience.
A man with a headset on came up on the stage and Kerry turned to him in a low voice. Jessa heard something about the last segment running too long. Turning her head from them, her eyes happened to land on a small cluster of women sitting in the audience whispering together; then they all turned to eye her.
Jessa stiffened her back and met their stare. She felt their judgment. She turned her head and another woman’s eyes pierced her as well.
“And we’re back in five, four, three, two ...”
Kerry Kay faced the camera again. “And we’re back. We were just listening to the story of a former mistress who nearly died after trying to end the relationship,” she said, before turning her head to look at Jessa. “Tell us about that night.”
Jessa didn’t see any compassion in the woman’s eyes and she knew she wasn’t getting her story told the right way. “Um, he had made promises that he didn’t keep. He was very different with me than he was with his wife. I had no idea that once he discovered her affair that their relationship behind closed doors became very sadomasochistic. I didn’t see that side of him until I attempted to end our relationship. His behavior was very erratic, very intense, very crazed. At one point when I refused to open the door to the home we were supposed to share, he stood outside and masturbated against my window.”
“Were you afraid of him?” Kerry asked.
“Yes,” Jessa asserted. “It seemed the more his wife pulled away from him or angered him, the more he wanted me to still be there for him, and when I wasn’t, his anger and everything disturbing escalated to the night he forced himself into my home. He blamed me for destroying his life and he strangled me until I blacked out.”
“Now, what happens after you lost consciousness has been chronicled in detail by the local news media in New Jersey. Let’s take a look,” Kerry said.
Jessa averted her eyes as a collage of all the news media clips played, detailing all of the sordid details of the love triangle that turned deadly.
“I noticed that you didn’t watch the tape,” Kerry said. “Are you embarrassed by this story taking on such life and exposing a lot of your dirty secrets?”
“Yes,” Jessa said emphatically. “Most definitely.”
“I’ve always believed everything in life happens for a reason and there is the ability to pull a lesson out of adversity. What is the lesson in all this for you, Jessa?”
“Even before the attempt on my life, I made the choice not to be his or any other man’s mistress anymore, but the point has really hit home since I’ve seen all of the blame of the relationship laid at my door,” Jessa said, locking eyes with her host. “I accept my role in it, but now it’s as if his death has absolved him from any blame and to have people feel as if I deserved to die because I was a mistress. I ended the relationship, but my trial and persecutions never ended. I do wonder about that.”
Myra nodded from her seat in the front row as Kerry reached over and lightly clasped Jessa’s hand. Jessa had spoken with truth and with real emotions, but she did accept the small victory of drawing the woman—and perhaps many more—onto her side.
 
Her interview on
The Kerry Kay Show
wouldn’t premiere for two weeks, but just the golden nugget of the taping—and the recent news of a high-profile murder-for-hire involving a mistress looking to be the wife—led to Myra booking Jessa on several of those cable entertainment news shows to speak about her own thoughts and wishes on the case as a “reformed mistress.” Before they parted ways at Newark International Airport, Myra received a call finalizing Jessa’s input in an article on the dangers of being a mistress by a major magazine publication.
As Jessa rode in the backseat of the black SUV of the car service, she felt adrenaline at the chance to increase her platform and get her story told. She wanted to change her image.
For my baby.
I’m having this baby.
She didn’t feel she ever deserved the right to bear a child, but Reverend Dobbins said that this pregnancy was a blessing from God.
An image of Eric’s face distorted with all kinds of crazy suddenly filled her head.
Lord, please don’t let that shit be hereditary.
“Driver, do you have another appointment this afternoon?” Jessa asked, tilting her head to the side to eye the man.
His eyes shifted up to the mirror to eye her.
Jessa didn’t miss the interest clear in his eyes. “I would like to go to the mall. I would pay you for the extended time,” she told him.
“I could go off the clock and we could make it a date,” he offered, his voice deep and nice. The kind to make you shiver when you heard it through a phone line or close to your ear.

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