The Replacement Wife (27 page)

1.
What was your initial take on Quentin and Chloe's relationship? Was Quentin leading Chloe on, or was she living in her own fantasy?

2.
Why do you think Quentin started Transitions? Was his purpose fulfilled?

3.
If you were Montana, would you have done things differently with Quentin? Was she a man stealer, in your opinion?

4.
Discuss Job 13:15. Have you ever had a “though He slay me, yet will I trust Him” experience? How was your faith restored?

5.
Do you believe a person can have more than one soul mate?

6.
Do you think this is the last Quentin will see of Chloe?

PAM

I
sn't it weird how the very best things can happen to you at the very worst times? I just got off the phone with an editor at Gideon Publishing. Her name is Carmen, and she wants to give me a book deal. It's for my second book, a fictional version of the story of Jesus and the woman at the well. I never sold the first one that I wrote, which is probably a good thing, because there is too much of my own life in its pages.

My second book, called
The Chance Meeting,
took me only a year to write, but it took another year for me to get replies back from my query letters. Now, finally, eight years into my publishing journey I'm being offered the opportunity of a lifetime.

It is the best thing that could happen in my life, but I hate that it's happening when Troy is at absolute rock bottom with his music thing. He's lost nearly every penny of the three and a half million dollars he earned after discovering a powerhouse vocalist named Lisa with an incredible voice.

“Hey, babe. Logan is coming over in a few. Are you gonna cook something?”

Troy's voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I gaze directly into my husband's ruggedly handsome face. That very appealing face, those incredibly sexy light brown eyes, and his undeniable swagger caused me to postpone every single last one of my dreams while he pursued his music career.

Not anymore. I feel God moving me in a different direction, one that doesn't include feeding his friends. I've got to write a proposal for my
next
book. Carmen wants to offer me a two-book deal, but I've not given any thought to another project.

“I think
you
should cook something or order out,” I say.

He blinks, as if blinking will help him hear me better. “Come on, Pam. This is important. He's going to collaborate with me on some music. He's really well connected, and I think he can help get Aria's project off the ground.”

I roll my eyes. I should've stopped myself from doing that, because it makes me seem like an unsupportive wife. But I've been hearing that singing harlot's name for the past eight years.

Aria is Troy's big project. He's spent almost a decade trying to blow up with this girl. She's in my home so much, she might as well be my sister-wife, except I can't ever see that chick lifting one of those acrylic-nailed fingers to do a dish or a load of laundry.

“Pam?”

I shake my head and the negative thoughts about Aria. “No, Troy. I can't do it tonight. I've got something really important to do, and then I have to go to a Sister to Sister meeting.”

“What can you
possibly
have to do that's more important than handling my business? Your job is to take care of home. Me and the kids, Pam. You been chilling for the past eight years, so the least you could do is be hospitable when I have guests.”

I know he did not just reduce everything I've done in the past eight years to “chilling.” I didn't know raising three children was chilling. I didn't know that the upkeep of a five-thousand-square-foot house was chilling. If I was chilling, then what was he doing in all the years before he made the three million dollars? Sounds like if I am in chill mode—which I am not—then it's my turn.

Besides, Troy knows dang well that if something doesn't give in the next six months, then I definitely am going to have to go back into the corporate workforce. He hasn't even asked me about my writing career—not since he bought me a journal when I was pregnant with our son, TJ. I'm starting to wonder if he even meant anything he said about supporting my dreams.

I close my eyes and sigh. “What do you want me to make, Troy?”

“I can make some wings and salad, Mom. Do you want me to?”

That is my surprisingly capable fourteen-year-old Gretchen. She's been obsessed with cooking since the age of ten, and she can probably cook a better meal than I can. A month ago, I let her handle Easter dinner, with me supervising, of course, and she really did a wonderful job.

“I'll give you an extra ten in your allowance if you do, honey. I sure appreciate you,” I say and give Gretchen a kiss on the cheek. Then I give Troy a dry peck. “Gotta go.”

“Your Sister to Sister meeting is not until seven. It's only five o'clock. What are you doing between now and then?” Troy asks.

I was wondering when he'd ask what I had to do. I almost thought he wouldn't. Troy barely notices anything that doesn't impact him directly.

“A publisher offered me a book deal, but I have to come up with a proposal for my second book.”

Troy's eyes widen, and he hugs me tightly. “That is great, Pam! When were you going to tell me?”

When you stopped making requests. “I wanted to make sure I'd be able to come up with a second book proposal.”

“That shouldn't be a problem. All that gossiping y'all do at those women's meetings, you ought to have plenty of story ideas.”

“I'm not going to write about my friends.”

Troy shakes his head. “I don't know why not. They would if they had the opportunity. How much money is the publisher offering you?”

“Um, she said seven thousand dollars for two books.”

Troy frowns and scratches the back of his head. “Is that all? I thought publishers were handing out six-figure deals and whatnot. That's what we talked about when you were sending out all those letters.”

“I did some research, and what they offered me is pretty standard for a brand-new author.”

“So when do you get the money?”

“I-I'm not sure.”

“You're not sure? Pam, if you don't know the right questions to ask these people, you need to put me on the phone.”

“I'm sure I have to sign a contract first.”

“Well, we could sure use those thousands, Pam. We're getting low on funds, just so you know.”

I lift an eyebrow and fold my arms across my chest. “How low?”

“We've got about two hundred thousand left, but it won't last long if we don't get some additional funds up in here.”

See, this is exactly what I'm talking about with him. I'm sick of Troy living from one gig to the next. We've got about two hundred thousand dollars left out of the three and a half million. That's barely enough to get us through another one of Troy's ventures.

First, there was the Aria record project. He finished that one and sold about twenty-two copies. Okay, it was more like ten thousand. But he spent more money marketing and creating that record than he earned in profits.

Then there was the Aria tour. I guess Troy thought since he had all those CDs stacked in the garage that they should probably go on the road and try to sell them. Yeah, that wasn't such a good idea, either. The concerts—mostly in shopping malls and hole-in-the-wall clubs—didn't move many records. Just money from the assets to the liability column of our family balance sheet.

Finally, there was the Aria video shoot. Get the pattern here? The singing harlot and
her
career have sucked our blessing dry.

“And by additional funds, you mean the money from the book?”

“That and some more. I was wondering if you'd mind getting a part-time job, just until we get done with this project.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“No, I'm not. I mean, it's not like I'm really marketable in corporate America, and you know I can't do no factory work. You were a VP at Ellis Financial. They'd give you something.”

Anger simmers in the pit of my stomach, like a tea kettle full of near-boiling water. Troy told me I'd never have to go to work again. That I could take care of our family and that he'd take care of me.

“I've been out of the workforce for eight years, Troy. It won't be easy for me to get a job, either. Plus, I'd like to see where my book career could go.”

“Both of us can't be starving artists.”

“You're right, Troy. One of us has to be
responsible
.”

Troy touches my arm lovingly, but I snatch it away. “Pam, baby, it's only for a while. Just until Aria's new record takes flight.”

“Don't you think you should find a new artist? You've been trying with Aria for years, and she's not a young twenty-year-old anymore. I think her time has passed, and you need to move on.”

“You always want to give up before we break through.”

“That's the problem, Troy. There's no
we
in this conversation. It has always been about you.”

“You'd think that after all these years with me you would've learned something about teamwork.”

Teamwork? Teamwork! I can't believe what I'm hearing. Troy is on a team, all right. Only I'm not on it, too. Aria is his partner and has been for eight years.

The teapot is on full boil now, and the whistle is ready to blow.

Then the doorbell rings. Troy looks as if he wants to say something else to me before opening it, but then he gives me a soft look and turns the knob.

“Logan! Man, it's about time!” Troy exclaims as he gives Logan a one-armed hug and fist bump.

“What do you mean? I'm early,” Logan says.

“No, man. I mean, where have you been my whole life? It's time to get this thang popping.”

I suppress the urge to cringe at Troy's slang. He keeps forgetting that we're almost forty years old, and that it sounds a lot better for grown-ups to use standard English.

“Man, God's timing is always perfect. This is our time!” Then Logan looks at me. “You must be Pam. You look exactly how Troy describes you.”

In my opinion, there's nothing more handsome on a man than a smile, and Logan's smile is contagious. I can't help but give him one in return. His pretty white teeth seem to gleam in contrast to his blackberry-tinted lips and ebony skin. I can't believe he's standing here in our living room. He could be on a movie screen.

“Nice to meet you, Logan. Troy speaks highly of you,” I finally say as I shake Logan's outstretched hand.

“This is my wife, the
writer,
” Troy says. “Doesn't she look like a writer?”

Logan chuckles. “Sure, she does.”

“Yeah, well, she needs to write some song lyrics or something, 'cause that's how we're gonna get to stack the dough. Nobody black is about to get rich off writing books.”

“I only know music, not books,” Logan says. “And this sounds like a discussion I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.”

“Troy doesn't know, either,” I say, hoping Troy can hear the venom in my voice.

I spin on one heel and grab my purse. I storm out of the house, knowing that this isn't over. As a matter of fact, it's only just beginning, because if Troy thinks he's going to throw my dream away like it belongs to him, he's got another thing coming.

This dream is mine, and God opened a door that no man can shut. Especially Troy.

“H
e asked me to marry him! We're getting married!”

According to a recent report on ABC's
Nightline
, 70 percent of professional African American women over the age of twenty-five are unmarried. As JJ held the phone away from her ear to avoid Sydney's screams, she realized that her older sister had joined the 30 percent and left her stranded.

JJ Isaacs set the phone on hands-free and began applying mascara to her lashes. Though the news was not entirely surprising, it was not what she had expected to hear when she saw her sister's number pop up on the caller ID. Not on this night, anyway.

“Ohmigosh, JJ! He wants to marry me. Hayden Windsor wants to spend the rest of his life with me. Can you believe it?”

Could she believe that ex–NBA star Hayden Windsor, one of the first professional basketball players to figure out how to retire from the game and not go broke, wanted to marry her sister? Of course she could. Who wouldn't want to marry her tall, gorgeous, successful-business-owning sister? In fact, if they weren't related, JJ would have married her.

“Congratulations, hon,” JJ said, pushing back a thin layer of irritation to find the genuine happiness for her sister that was camouflaged underneath. “I'm guessing you said yes?”

JJ grimaced and reached for her lipstick as Sydney screamed her response in the affirmative. She had never seen—okay, heard—Sydney like this. Her older sibling was usually the sane one in the craziness that was their big, dysfunctional family. Whereas everyone else was content to fly by the seat of their pants, Sydney was always the one with the plan. Getting married to a man she had dated for less than a year was not like her at all. But that's what happened when people fell in love. Or so JJ assumed. Having had no firsthand knowledge of the being-in-love experience, she couldn't say for sure.

“That's great, Syd,” JJ said, reminding herself that she was happy for her sister. “Hayden's a prize.”

“He is amazing, isn't he?” Sydney said, managing to modulate her voice to a less ear-splitting volume. “JJ, you should have seen his proposal . . .”

JJ rolled her eyes and mouthed a silent
no, thank you
.

“It was perfect,” Sydney began. “He took me to . . .”

A banging on wood saved JJ's sanity.

“Five minutes to curtain, ladies,” a booming voice called from the other side of the dressing room door.

JJ had never been so happy for a curtain call. She loved her sister and really was happy for her, but the last thing she wanted to hear from her sister, who had yet to remember what JJ was doing that night, was how her perfect boyfriend had done the perfect proposal to set off their perfect engagement.

“Syd, I gotta go.” JJ jammed her feet into heels and swiped a layer of gloss over her lips as the scramble of women around her picked up speed. “I'm about to go onstage.”

“Oh, honey, I'm so sorry! I completely forgot you had a show tonight.”

JJ tried to ignore her annoyance.

“It's okay.” JJ stood and straightened her dress. “I wouldn't have wanted to wait till tomorrow for this news. In fact, you can call me back later tonight and tell me all the details.”

By then she wouldn't be as anxious and cranky as she usually was the last few minutes before a performance.

“Okay, sure,” Sydney agreed.

A hand tugged at JJ's arm.

“We gotta go, JJ,” Torrina said, nodding toward the door.

JJ picked up the cell phone to end the call. “Gotta go, Syd. Love you.”

“Love you, hon. Have a great—”

JJ didn't hear the end of her sister's sentence. She barely got to toss her phone on the dressing room vanity before Torrina, her fellow backup singer, dragged her through the door and down the narrow backstage passageway. Sturdy iron beams holding the stage in place, and swiftly moving black-clothed men and women holding the show in place, barely registered with JJ as she hurried behind the other singers to her place near the second curtain.

“Everyone on your marker Curtains go up in five, four, three, two . . .”

JJ didn't hear the end of the countdown. Just the drummer's intro as the band started up Jayla Grey's “Sunday to Sunday.” JJ was already up onstage with the rest of the backup vocalists as the curtains rolled up. Jayla would make her entrance in only a few seconds as she sang the first verse to one of the most popular songs off her Juno Award–winning album,
Desire
. JJ remembered when the “Sunday to Sunday” single first started blowing up the airwaves a couple years back. She never dreamed that she would be part of the performance for that song, but here she was at the Festival Place with hundreds of eyes watching her perform. Okay, so they weren't really there for her, but she was part of the show.

Jayla's strong, sultry contralto voice came in with the first few lines of the song, about a woman who was willing to slave for her man because she loved him. The crowds began to clap in rhythm and cheer.

JJ's own hips began to move to well-choreographed steps as the song progressed. Beads of perspiration began to dot her forehead and chest as the hot strobe lights shone down on her and everyone else onstage. But it just energized her and set her blood pumping as her voice came in strong for the pre-chorus. Her body began to feel the music, catching its own rhythm, making the steps her own. The sweet melodies curled out of her, blending with those of her fellow singers to bring a rich, lush harmony that cushioned Jayla's flawless voice. The screams of the crowd soaked into her like a light, warm drizzle on a humid day. JJ was in heaven and she never wanted it to end.

But eventually it did. Much quicker than she expected, with the fifty-minute set feeling like only fifty seconds. Her body still buzzed with energy as she skipped down the steps from the stage, her five-inch platform heels clicking gracefully. At first she could barely walk in the things. But after four months of wearing them onstage, she could manage a sprint if she needed to.

“Good show tonight, guys,” Coley, the show's producer, said as he met JJ and the rest of the singers at the bottom of the steps. He pushed the mouthpiece of his headset up to his ear. “You guys were awesome, as usual.”

“Good to know,” Donald, a fellow singer, commented as he uncapped a bottle of water. “Especially since I felt like I was melting underneath those lights up there.”

“Yeah,” Torrina agreed, with a cheeky smile. “Plus I almost broke my neck on the wires on the floor back there in our little area.”

“I guess it's a good thing I work with professionals then,” Coley said, returning his mouthpiece to the right position as he began to walk away. “Lesser singers would have complained.”

They all laughed as they headed back to the dressing rooms. Jayla, who was already in her robe, met them at the doorway.

“Thanks a lot, guys,” she said, hugging each of them. “I was just telling Philip and the rest of the band, everything was almost perfect tonight. Couldn't have asked for a better show.”

“Does that mean we get a raise?” Mark, the other male singer, asked with a grin.

Jayla smiled. “You better talk to Todd about that. He's the one signing your checks, not me. I just dish out the praise. You guys enjoy the rest of the night and this week. On Monday we'll start rehearsals for the tour.”

JJ smiled but said little. Though everyone had been really nice to her, as one of the newest members of the team of backup singers, she still felt a little on the fringes. Truth was, she was only there because one of Jayla's original singers, Amina, got in a tiff with management and quit. Torrina had shared the dramatic details with her not long after JJ joined the crew.

However, her newness meant she didn't get all the inside jokes and she didn't always get invited to all the social events. But over the past two months, as she spent more time with the team, she was starting to feel like one of the family.

“I'm gonna head out but just wanted to say you were amazing tonight, Jayla,” JJ said, squeezing the older woman's arm. She was about to turn away when Jayla grabbed her.

“You weren't too bad yourself,” Jayla said with a smile. “I caught you doing your thing out there. You're coming on tour with us, right?”

JJ's eyes widened. She knew Jayla was going on a major tour in a couple weeks, but she had assumed that the main three would be going as backup. No one had talked to her about being a part of that team, and she honestly hadn't even considered it.

“Uh, I . . . I don't know,” JJ stammered.

Jayla nodded thoughtfully. “Let me talk to my people and have someone get back to you. But keep your calendar open.”

JJ opened and closed her mouth a couple times to answer and just ended up nodding.

Jayla chuckled. “See you next week, JJ.”

JJ stumbled through the dressing room, barely able to focus as she gathered her things and exited the building. As soon as she stepped through the door into the cool, dark night, a hand grasped her upper arm, yanking her forward.

“Did I just hear what I thought I heard?” Torrina asked, her voice several pitches higher than usual and her eyebrows arched several inches higher than normal.

“She wants me to come on tour with her!”

Both women squealed and jumped around in the parking lot, holding on to each other. JJ wasn't normally a screamer, but maybe there was something in the water tonight. She couldn't help herself.

“Jayla Grey wants me to come on tour with her!” JJ shrieked again. “She told me she was going to talk to her people. She invited me to rehearsal on Monday. She wants me to come on tour with her!”

“Oh, that's amazing,” Torrina said, still bouncing even though her feet were planted firmly on the ground. “It would be so much fun to have you with us. I mean the other guys are great, but it would be great to have a girlfriend on the bus.”

“I know,” JJ said. “And, girl, I'm gonna need you to have my back. Someone's gonna have to keep me from making an absolute fool of myself when I see Angie Stone.”

“Girl, I don't know if I can help you there,” Torrina said, slapping a hand on her hip. “Last year I saw John Legend backstage at a show I was doing and I near lost my mind.”

JJ burst out laughing.

“I'm serious!” Torrina said, eyes widening and hair flashing in the normal dramatic way in which she told her stories. “I was trying to climb over the barriers from our backstage area to his, nearly ripped my thousand-dollar dress. I almost got to him too, except his security guard got to me first.”

“Oh no!” JJ covered her mouth. “That must have been embarrassing.”

Torrina grinned. “Just a little. But I could take a little embarrassment for some John Legend. You know what I'm sayin'?”

JJ laughed. Only Torrina.

The door swung open again, letting out a blast of sound and another round of musicians and performers, some of them from Jayla's team.

“JJ, Torrina, you guys heading out with us?”

“Where's everyone going, Sam?” Torrina asked the short, stout guy wearing a spiky Mohawk and sunglasses.

“Probably going to grab a bite to eat in the hotel restaurant, then hit a couple bars downtown. One of the other guys says he knows a spot where they have a live band all night. Wanna come?”

“Sure,” Torrina said with a nod. “I could eat. You too, JJ?”

“I'll head back with you guys to the hotel, but I've gotta crash,” JJ said. “I'm exhausted. I think my body's still reeling from the excitement of these last couple nights. Plus I feel a headache coming on.”

“Not used to life on the road yet, are you?” Donald asked. He threw an arm around JJ, tugging her against him as he joined their circle.

“No, not yet,” JJ said with a tight smile as she casually eased herself out of Donald's uninvited embrace. “Still a newbie.”

JJ followed the group over to the two huge, black SUVs that would take them back to the hotel where they had been staying for the past two days, making sure to be seated between Torrina and the door. As the vans pulled out of the parking lot, Torrina leaned over and whispered in JJ's ear.

“It's okay. You can come with us tonight. I'll keep Donald out of your way and make sure they lay off you at the bars. No one will give you a hard time.”

JJ was grateful for Torrina's concern. She knew that Donald's unwelcome attention created an issue for JJ, especially when they all hung out socially. In any other situation JJ would have just told him to back off. But she was trying to make a name for herself in the industry and didn't want to stir up drama over what might just be a minor issue. The fact that she opted not to party like a rock star already made her stand out. She didn't want to be called a whiner on top of it too.

“Thanks, but I really am tired,” JJ whispered back. “Three shows in three days is crazy.”

Torrina's lip curled. “I know that's right.”

“Plus my sister got some big news today and she's supposed to call me back tonight, so I really want to catch her,” JJ added.

“Gotcha.” Torrina nodded. “If you change your mind though, just text me and I'll let you know where we are. We'll probably be out till four a.m. anyway. When we finish a set of shows like this, these guys like to go hard and then crash for a couple days.”

JJ chuckled. “I can imagine.”

The SUVs pulled up to the hotel entrance and they all got out. JJ waved to the others as they split up in the lobby; she headed toward the rooms, they headed to the hotel restaurant.