The Rich Girls' Club (19 page)

I
’m not going to die. Not like this.

The hardwood floor squeaked for five seconds, then quieted. The dark bedroom filled with silence, for a moment. Resurfacing, the crackling noise grew closer to the bed, abruptly stopped, then faded toward the bedroom door.

Here comes the drama I’ve feared.
Whoever it was, they’d waited until eight weeks before Election Day to strike. But what they didn’t know was she wasn’t home alone. She was going to be the next governor of California and no man was denying her, including the one in her bed.

Lying still on her back, her heartbeat thumped deep in her throat, damn near choking her. She held her breath, covered her mouth. Struggling not to cough, she quietly sucked in oxygen, removed her satin eye mask, then slid her hand under the sheet to the opposite side of the mattress. She touched her lover’s muscular thigh then swiftly pulled her trembling hand away. He remained motionless.

Eyes wide open, but the darkness surrounded her. She knew where everything in her bedroom was, including her gun. The Smith and Wesson Sigma 9mm that she usually kept on her nightstand was…
Aw damn!
It was still in the living room. She usually concealed her protection inside the top drawer whenever one of her two lovers stayed the night.

Since her announcement, she was down to one man but had considered inviting Jason over. With the personal training skills listed on his business card Jason might be better suited to protect her but would a considerably younger guy be sexually pleasing?

The man in her bed was asleep.
That’s best
. He was a man of action and very few words—when he felt threatened. Awakening him would unleash his rage, expose her filthiest scandal, and alert the intruder that
two
persons were in fact in her bed.

The major disadvantage Brooks had was that whoever was in her bedroom was no stranger to the layout of her home. There was only one person that knew the new code to her alarm system. Morgan would have a motive to sneak up on her in the middle of the night, but was she bold enough to do so? She’d scared Bailey so much, she knew he’d never show up again. She prayed she was right.

What did the intruder want? Why were they there?

Since announcing her candidacy, she’d made more friends than enemies. But it only took one spiteful person to end it all. Her first guess to the intruder’s identity was still Bailey Goodman.

Brooks kept still. As she counted three hundred seconds in her mind, her heart must’ve beaten a thousand times. She heard nothing. She told herself she was not imagining things.

How could a day that had started out perfect end like this?

What she heard next…terrified her.
Click.
She’d definitely heard her bedroom door open. Or was it a gun’s trigger preparing for release? She wasn’t sure. Was there more than one person invading her bedroom?

Sunshine would not brighten her room for another hour or so, depending on the present time. She lifted her head from her down feather pillow, then tilted her left ear toward the door. Nothing. She froze, wanting to lay her head back down on the pillow. Go back to sleep, she told herself. But she couldn’t.

Her lover scooted closer to her, wrapped his arm around her waist. Gently she lay on her back beside him. He pressed the front of his naked body to the side of hers. Brooks cringed. She placed her palm to his chest and held it there.

That was when she heard it again. The floor squeaked. This time she heard another click. Was the intruder moving closer to the bed, or leaving?

Brooks longed to dial 9-1-1 for real this time and scream, “There’s a robber in my house and they have a gun! Send the police quick before they kill me or I kill them!”

She was no murderer. But in a life or death situation, she wouldn’t hesitate to aim for the head or the heart then pull the trigger. That was, if she could get to her gun in time. What if they had it?

Brooks could no longer wait for the intruder to make the next move. Her trembling hand tapped her lover’s chest. She needed him to do his job, to protect her. Protect them. She whispered in his ear. “There’s someone in my house.”

“Huh? What?” he mumbled. Rolling onto his other side, he faced away from her.

Brooks nudged him in the back. “Wake up. There’s somebody in my house.”

He pulled the covers from her side of the bed, wrapped his upper body, then resumed a comfortable position.

Brooks quietly inhaled, held her breath, prepared for whatever was next. Her vision went from being blinded by darkness to being impaired by bright, rapid camera flashes.

“Fucking bastard!” she yelled. “Get out of my house!”

Her lover sprang to his feet, stood beside the bed. More rapid flashes ensued. “What the hell is going on here?” He rushed the intruder, wrestled him to the floor, struggled to take the camera.

When Brooks turned on the light, her lover yelled, “Damn!” Then as if he’d seen a ghost, he raced from the bedroom.

She was in shock. Why did Magnum abandon her again? Was he afraid that if the situation got media exposure, Morgan would know the truth? Magnum could stay gone. He was no longer welcome in her home after leaving her to defend herself. The intruder stood three feet away, cloaked in an oversized coat and wearing a ski mask. Brooks couldn’t identify the person before her.

What she could do was run to the living room and get her gun. Unlike the time with Bailey, this time she wouldn’t miss. But would the intruder shoot her in the back? Being in the bed put her at a disadvantage. Brooks opted to do nothing. If he’d come to kill her, she’d be dead.

All she could see was that the intruder’s eyes were blood red and that gloves covering the hands holding the gun pointed at her face. Brooks closed her eyes and prayed he didn’t pull the trigger.

T
hree months to Election Day.

At the break of dawn, Hope’s cell phone awakened her. Sleepily she answered. “Hey, you okay?”

“Can you come to my house right now?” Brooks’s voice trembled with fear. “I need you and Storm here…now!”

“Okay, honey. Calm down. I’ll call Storm and I’m on my way now. Is Morgan there with you?”

“No, just hurry. I’ll call her and I’ll explain when you guys get here.”

“Stay on the phone with me,” Hope insisted.

Brooks became silent.

“You okay?”

“Yes. No. No. I’m not. Do I sound okay? I don’t know. Please hurry,” Brooks said, ending the call.

Hope’s heart raced. She sat up, turned on the lamp. Stanley sat up, grabbed her. “What now?” he asked, pulling her toward him.

Jerking away, Hope explained, “Brooks needs me.” She didn’t have time to tell him what she didn’t know.

Stanley held her wrist as she was getting out of bed. “I need you. What about me?” he said, tugging her in his direction. “I’m your man—not Brooks, Morgan, or Storm. Me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you guys were fucking one another. She’s running for governor, not president. Every time something comes up I’m the one left hanging. You know what Brooks needs? A man. It’s not your job to rescue her. You’re not leaving and that’s—”

Breaking his grip, Hope protested, “Let me go! It’s not negotiable.”

“But your being my woman is? I’m tired of this, Hope. I should come first!”

Hope hurried into a pair of sweatpants, put on a T-shirt. “I apologize, baby. I’ll be back in a few hours and I promise I’ll take care of your every need when I return.”

“Don’t bother,” Stanley said, getting out of bed. He put on his jeans, shoes, and pullover collared short-sleeved shirt. “Don’t bother. I’m out. And don’t call me.”

Perhaps that was best for both of them. He worked a nine-to-five so when he was off from work everything in his life centered around her. Next to his occupation, she came first. Hope didn’t feel the same about Stanley. Her clients, her girls, her parents, depending on the circumstances, all came ahead of him.

She made no effort to stop Stanley. In fact, he needed to move faster. “Bye,” Hope said, to encourage a quicker pace.

When any of the girls were in trouble, Hope was on the way to help. A man with millions might understand her loyalty if he weren’t chauvinistic. As soon as Stanley left, she got in her hot magenta Ferrari California hard-top convertible, settled into the pink leather seat, lowered the top, shifted into first gear, and ripped out of her driveway. By the time she reached her fuchsia gate, it was already open. Stanley was a few car lengths in front of her and he was in her way. The gate closed behind them. As soon as he turned onto the main road she revved her engine and sped past him.

In thirty minutes, she arrived at Brooks house. The entrance gate retracted immediately. Morgan’s and Storm’s cars were already parked in Brooks’s driveway. Hope rushed inside. The girls were in the kitchen, all seated around the island.

“I got here fast as I could,” she said, rushing in. “What is it? What’s happening?” Hope asked, sitting on the stool as she gasped for air.

“I have to show you guys the latest footage from my security camera.” Brooks turned on the wall-mounted HDTV and raised the volume. The morning news was on. Johnathon Waters stood behind a podium surrounded by the press.

“Turn that up. What’s he up to?” Hope said. “I know he’s not coming out of his panty-wearing closet.”

Storm laughed.

Brooks interjected, “This meeting is about me.”

“Wait a second. We need to hear this. Turn that up,” Morgan said.

Johnathon announced, “First, I want to thank all of my supporters. Those of you who worked diligently at my campaign headquarters. The volunteers across the state that made phone calls on my behalf.” He looked directly into the camera and continued, “Those of you who generously contributed financially, every penny was truly appreciated. Unfortunately, I have to withdraw my candidacy for governor of the state of California. I’m not at liberty to say why at this time but I promise you I’ll be back next election. You have my word.” He said this with tears in his eyes. “I’m backing the incumbent, Bailey Goodman, and ask that you do the same.”

“This is not what we wanted! Blackmailing him is useless now,” Storm said. “We needed him in this race. Hope, what happened? You were supposed to make sure he scaled back on campaigning, not dropped out to support Goodman. Damn!”

“He didn’t throw your ass in the pool.” Hope laughed. “Relax. We’ll be fine. We’ve got footage on Goodman.”

“Do we?” Brooks asked. “Has anyone seen the video Morgan claims to have? And Storm is right. Johnathon was not supposed to drop out.”

Morgan remained and Brooks became silent. Was this meeting really about their unresolved issues? Hope prayed it wasn’t. If it was, it was certainly no emergency and she could’ve stayed in bed with Stanley.

“You need to back up, Brooks. Everyone has done everything they were supposed to do. I can’t control Johnathon’s dick or his decisions. Maybe he told his wife. Maybe she insisted he drop out. Maybe Goodman paid him to swing his votes. Who knows?”

Storm sat down. “I apologize, Hope. You’re right.”

Quietly Brooks said, “Maybe I’m the one who needs to withdraw. I shot at Bailey Goodman when he came here and threatened me, and last night someone broke into my house and pointed a gun in my face.”

Storm sprang from her stool. “Aw, hell no! Oh, my, god! And you waited until now to tell us that? Why aren’t the police here? I’ll call 9-1-1 right now.” Storm picked up her cell.

Calmly, Morgan told her, “Storm, wait. That’s not a good idea. Yeah, Brooks. Why didn’t you call the police instead of calling us?”

Brooks stared at Morgan. Morgan stared at Brooks.

“What the hell is going on here?” Storm asked, holding her cellular in mid-air.

Hope’s eyes shifted back and forth between Morgan and Brooks. The energy between the two wasn’t about hatred; it was of disappointment and sadness.

Hope told Storm, “Put your phone down and be quiet for a moment.”

The girls sat in silence. Morgan’s bond with Brooks remained intact.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Storm’s lips parted. Hope turned to Storm, pressed her pointer finger against her lips.

Morgan broke the silence but not her stare. “Yes, Brooks. Answer my question. Why did you call us and not the police?”

Tears streamed down Brooks’s face but there were no whimpers, sniffles, or attempts to dry her sadness. “I’m sorry,” was all she said.

Two months before Election Day. Mayhem was an understatement.

“What the hell is going on between you two now?” Hope asked. “I demand the truth or count me out of this plan.”

“You can already count me out,” Morgan said before walking away.

M
organ, get back here and sit your butt down. You can’t be serious about not supporting Brooks.”

Storm sat on the sofa in a semi-private area at Trés restaurant facing a wood-burning fireplace. It wasn’t cold enough in LA to have flames sparkling but the ambiance made for a cozy environment. The awkwardness between the three of them was obvious.

Hope was seated in a high-backed espresso cushioned chair to Storm’s right. Morgan was in a slightly different chocolate-colored seat to Hope’s left. Morgan had agreed to meet with them only if Brooks was not invited.

Morgan’s behavior had instantly become that of a toddler’s. Her willingness to embrace the all-for-one and one-for-all bond the girls had established had diminished significantly.

“I’m dead serious,” Morgan said, digging into her lavender designer purse.

“Why? Why now? Why all the secrets?” Storm asked. “That’s what I want to know. That and how long have you been doing Brooks?”

Hope told Morgan, “More importantly, you devised this plan and if you want out, forget it. You will not abandon this mission until it’s complete.”

“Are you dictating to me?”

Calmly Hope replied, “Someone needs to and I have no problem speaking my mind. You know this. You’re the one being evasive. Evasive about your relationship with Brooks, about Brooks’s alleged affair with Magnum, about the so-called baby in your belly. I don’t mean to sound insensitive but it’s not getting old, honey, it is old. All of it.”

Morgan placed a camera in her lap. “Alleged, my ass. What would you do if Brooks was fucking your man?”

Storm and Hope became quiet. Storm glanced around their area. The nearest diners were two seating areas away.

“Pussy ain’t never been my problem. Friend or no friend, I’d check my man,” Storm said, scanning the latest news on her iPad. “Wait. Listen to this. It reads here that Randall Wallace is withdrawing from the race. He’s giving his support to Anthony Dennison.”

“Aw, hell no,” Hope said. “You were supposed to make sure he scaled back on campaigning, not drop out and support Dennison. Damn!”

Nodding, Storm smiled. “I deserved that, but don’t you see what’s happening? They’re uniting to beat Brooks. They think Randy’s votes will give Tony a solid position for their party. We can’t let this happen. Morgan, we have to revise the plan.”

“Morgan, did you give Bailey Goodman his video?” Hope asked.

“That’s right. Is there footage on him? Why haven’t we seen anything?”

“Yes, there is footage,” Morgan retorted. Handing Storm the camera, Morgan told them, “Scan the pictures and tell me what you would do about this.”

Hope relocated next to Storm on the sofa as they viewed the pictures. She was a bit surprised that Magnum was bold enough to get comfortable in Brooks’s bed but none of the photos shocked Storm.

“How long have they been fucking? Brooks is starting to come across as a closet freak,” Storm commented.

Hope cleared her throat. “Morgan, let’s discuss everything or nothing. Are you sexing Brooks?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Let me rephrase the question. Have you ever had sex with Brooks?”

Morgan exhaled. “What difference does that make? Look at the damn pictures!” Morgan lowered her voice, then continued, “You see her in bed with my husband?”

“Has your husband seen you in bed with Brooks? Dammit, Morgan,” Storm hissed, “what is your problem?”

“Why do I have to be the one with the damn problem?”

Storm wanted to get up and slap Morgan but didn’t. She wasn’t a violent person but she swore Morgan’s stupidity was testing her patience.

“Because you’re acting childish,” Hope said. “So it’s okay for you and Brooks to have sex? Only god knows where or how long you’ve been doing this but now that Brooks and Magnum are doing the same thing, you’re upset?”

Storm chimed in, “Seriously, Morgan. Brooks probably thought you were okay with it.”

“Okay, my ass!” Morgan protested.

Storm shook her head. “Bring it down. I shouldn’t have gone there,” she said when she saw tears form in Morgan’s eyes.

“Changing the subject,” Hope said. “You want to confess you’ve lost our twenty-million dollar investment? Or do you want to keep procrastinating on providing a statement that doesn’t exist?”

Storm worked hard for her money. She wasn’t as wealthy as Hope. There was a huge gap between millions and billions. Hearing this accusation, she couldn’t believe her seven-figure investment might be lost. Storm exhaled, rolled her eyes at Morgan. “I’ve given Randy and Tony a million each, which I now owe Hope’s dad from my personal account, and you’ve done what? Please deny this. Say it isn’t so.”

Morgan shook her head. “I’ll explain at the next meeting, which will also be our last. And you’ll get your money even if I have to take it out of my personal investment account.”

Hope exhaled. “So you managed not to lose yours but you’re admitting you’ve lost ours?”

“Does Brooks know about this? I see what you’re doing. Just know that if you’ve lost
my
money. I’m going to—”

Hope interrupted. “Storm, I’ll take care of it. I’ll cover your costs until Morgan gives us the report.”

Morgan blurted, “I’m in love with Brooks.”

“Not this again. Damn, let it go. You can’t be serious.” Hope sat on the edge of the sofa. “Morgan, you’re sick, honey. You need professional help.”

“What about Magnum?” Storm asked.

“I love him, too.”

“So what is it that you’re trying to do?” Storm asked.

“I don’t know.”

Hope interjected. “Who gives a damn about your personal life?”

“We’re not letting Brooks back out of a campaign she’s sure to win,” Storm said.

“Fine, but do it without me,” Morgan said, reaching for her camera.

Storm grabbed it, then stood and went to the fireplace. “You don’t need this,” she said, tossing in Morgan’s camera.

“The only blackmail the Rich Girls will have is against our opponents. What you need to do, Morgan, is get your shit together. All of it,” Hope said.

Morgan stood. Brushed off her slacks. “You dangle a carrot in front of Stanley, and as long as he does what you want him to, you’re satisfied. But you don’t have a clue what it feels like to give your heart to him…And you, Storm, you’re so worried about what your parents think about who you marry that you’re afraid to fall in love with Chancelor. What y’all don’t understand is love is not something you plan for. If it were that easy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Just like our investments, love is a risk you take when you trust someone with your heart. Love grows over time. You look up and realize it’s grown roots and no matter how hard you try not to love someone, the roots keep spreading. And you’re right, Storm. I don’t need those pictures to prove what I already know. And you’re right, too, Hope. I do need to get my shit together but it’s going to take a while because right now my shit is diarrhea. These are my problems. I’ll find a way to solve them. And I’ll repay each of you your five million even if I have to liquidate my assets.”

“Morgan, wait. Please sit. I apologize,” Storm said.

“Me too, honey,” Hope commented. “We need you to finish what you’ve started, then we’ll support you on whatever decisions you make about Magnum, Brooks, and the baby.”

“Like I told you before, count me out. I can’t do this,” Morgan said before grabbing her purse and leaving the restaurant.