Woman on Top Page 11

“C’mon man, call me Skinner, we’re among friends,” responded my husband who was pouring himself another drink.

  “So tell me, man, what’s happening down the old way? I’m all the way up in Lower Merion now.”

  Malik lowered his voice, making me wonder what he was about to say.

  “Here’s one for you, that dude, Tootie’s daughter’s father, well she found out around Christmas that he was pitching for the other team.”

  “Get the hell outta here. What she do, beat the brother down?” Carmen asked, now standing in between her husband and mine.

  “She wanted to, I had to talk to her, she was pretty messed up about it,” Malik told them.

  I was a little taken aback that Malik had never told me that story. I’d have to follow up to get the details because I was sure Tootie put on a show hearing that news.

  “Man, what’s up with your boy?” Coach asked.

  “Yeah, Wesley seems to have an unapologetic zest for trouble, always did,” offered Carmen.

  “I did my best by him, but it wasn’t enough,” Malik told them.

  “You know he was always jealous of your moves,” Coach added.

  Shifting her attention to me, Carmen asked, “Tiffany, didn’t I see you on television recently? You’re working with that Turner-Cosby woman. That’s a big deal.”

  “Actually, she donated to our Wellness Center.”

  “Right, the cuddle campaign,” said Christy.

  “Hey, Skinner, let’s cuddle now and post some videos on your Twitter page,” Carmen suggested, her eyes on me as she loosely put her arm through Malik’s.

  I practically spit out my drink at the audacity of this woman, old friend or not, she was flirting with Malik right in front of me, and her husband. I knew women vied for his attention, but they usually had more respect than to do it when I was around. I’d have to keep my eyes on this Carmen.

  “It might look a little risqué if we all start hugging up in here, you know like one big orgy,” Coach joked, causing everyone to break out in laughter, yet his eyes were on me, making me wonder if that might be something him and his wife were into.

  Max must’ve sensed my uneasiness when she told them, “You’re supposed to cuddle babies, and I don’t see no babies around.”

  “How much money will it take? Here take this,” Chris said, putting ten twenty-dollar bills on top of the fireplace mantel.

  “The campaign is closed,” I shared, hoping they weren’t trying to impress my husband.

  “But the money don’t stop,” Peterman said, as he too dug into his pocket.

  “Yeah, woman, let them unlock them wallets,” Malik, who I noticed was on his third drink, told the group.

  Stepping away to the bar to refill his drink, Lynn offered, “I ain’t hugging a bunch of men, but I’ll put up some cash.”

  “Seriously, how can we help with your baby project?” Sonia asked.

  “Let’s cuddle, c’mon y’all, let’s take some selfies,” Carmen, now having become obnoxious, said.

  “Carmen, I don’t know if that’s a good idea, we’ve been drinking,” Max told her.

  “Anything to support my beautiful wife, c’mon,” Malik responded.

  “At least take that drink out your hand,” I told him before reaching over to take his glass.

  “This is great, I’m going to post to Twitter and let my city know that the Mayor knows how to have a good time, for the right cause, right, woman?” he asked, winking at me, this time to make sure I was okay with it.

  “Go on, Malik, enjoy yourself.”

  With the exception of me, who was taking the picture, the entire group gathered in the living room to take what turned into several pictures, from everyone’s individual cell phone.

  “All right folks, pictures posted, now give up the money!” demanded Lynn, peeling bills from under his money clip.

  “We’re turning up tonight!” said Carmen, who was now trying to get Malik to dance to “Blurred Lines.” Luckily, he declined, as Malik wasn’t the least bit naïve.

  “This calls for champagne. The Skinners brought Grand Krug Cuvee,” Lynn told everyone, as he held up the bottle.

  “That’s the good shit, open it up,” said Renee, whose husband couldn’t keep his hands off her and was grinding on her butt the entire time “Happy” played.

  Once we toasted, before I knew it, we were all dancing to Frankie Beverly belting out “Before I Let Go.” I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen Malik dance like he was at an old school basement party. This was good because so far, there’d been no knock on the door from Phinn saying the Mayor was needed and I’d only caught Malik checking his watch twice. The last time, I put my hand over his wrist, kissed him and said, “Not tonight.”

  “You having a good time?” I asked him in between him trying to feed me fondue-dipped strawberries and kiss me at the same time.

  “Woman, this is the best. I love you,” he whispered.

  It was Carmen though, who I couldn’t seem to warm up to. Her eyes caught mine every time I turned her way. I’d have to ask Malik if she’d been one of his childhood sweethearts. Instead of being jealous, after a few drinks I thought it was comical the way she kept checking me out. Maybe she, too, realized that I wasn’t as boring as my public persona.

  I was the one though, who was envious of Max and Lynn for having a normal life and being able to entertain without pretense. Who could I possibly invite to my house that would create this type of atmosphere?

  By one in the morning, things had begun to wind down and everyone had left except me and Malik, Carmen, and Coach, who were on the terrace smoking the Cuban cigars that Lynn had passed out. They were seated around the fire pit so deep in conversation about South Philly that I lost interest. Even Lynn had stepped away to his office to check on the next day’s logistics.

  Max suggested a tour of the house since we’d never gotten around to doing that. She grabbed a bottle of wine and we headed upstairs. The front room was an enormous master suite, complete with a seating area overlooking the driveway. Connecting to their bedroom, was a large bathroom, with an extra large Jacuzzi, a rainforest shower stall and a private toilet area. On the other side of the bathroom was another door that led to a walk-in closet. Down the hall from their room were two smaller bedrooms that had been converted into Lynn’s office. Finally at the back of the house was a cozy sitting room with a view of the park, and a winding staircase that led down to the kitchen.

  “Max, your house is amazing.”

  “Thanks girl, I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re here. Lynn bet me that the Mayor,” she laughed, “that Skinner wasn’t going to show.”

  “We really needed this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Malik enjoy himself so much,” I shared with her, as we stood looking out the large window at the pit flames flickering in the dark below.

  “Good. Now tell me, since you and I haven’t really had a chance to talk all night, how’ve you been?”

  “Honestly, Max, there’s so much going on, if I wanted to tell you I wouldn’t know how,” I said.

  “I was worried about you.”

  I decided to take a chance, a big one and turning to face her, I asked, “Can I tell you something in the strictest of confidence?”

  “I would never break your confidence, but are you sure you wanna tell me?”

  Lowering my voice, I said, “It’s the former DA, Greg Haney, he showed up in my room that night.”

  Her eyes flew open in astonishment. “What night? At Woodloch?” she exclaimed a little too loudly, causing me to cover her mouth with my hand.

  “For what? Do you know him like that? I mean why would he come to your room, unless. Wait, no wonder you were acting all paranoid at breakfast. Tiffany, what’s going on?”

  I kicked my shoes off and slowed, pacing the space, pretending to be admiring her artwork, then said, “It’s a long story, from a long time ago, but it’s not like that now. I probably shouldn’t even be telling you this, but I ha
ve no one to talk to about it.”

  Max had come to stand so close behind me that it stopped me from moving.

  “What about your husband, does he know? Did you tell him? I’m so confused.”

  “No, I can’t, Malik would kill him if he found out. Hell, he might kill me. You don’t understand, it’s complicated.”

  She refilled our glasses, then stated, “I need you to help me understand why that man would come to your hotel room, three hours away from Philadelphia.”

  My eyes told her what I couldn’t say.

  “Wait, you’re not saying that you and him are. . .”

  “No, no, we didn’t, I swear, but a long time ago before he went to prison.”

  “You were in a relationship with him, the District Attorney? Wasn’t he married to some white woman?” she asked, pulling me down onto the futon.

  “He was and I was seeing his son at first and then things got out of control.”

  “Wait a minute, it’s all coming back to me. When you had that club you used to date his corny ass son, G-Dog; he went to jail for selling drugs or something and oh my God, so did his father, it was a big scandal. And he’s your sister’s father too, right? That was all in the paper, I remember. This is crazy and your husband doesn’t know.”

  “Like I said, it’s more complicated than I can say.”

  “Girl oh girl, your husband was the one who uncovered their mess. I remember that was all over the news. He moved right up the political ladder and after that, he was like a hero. I mean, he brought down the district attorney.”

  We were quiet, if only for a minute, before Max figured it out. “Wait, girl are you telling me you were doing both of them, father and son?”

  I bowed my head in embarrassment before saying, “I’m begging you, Max, don’t tell anyone, you can’t even share it with Lynn. I need to know I can trust you.”

  “Never! But I gotta say, you’re a bad bitch, Mrs. Skinner,” she teased, throwing up a high five.

  “Not the bitch I need to be. I’m trying so hard to keep my distance from him.”

  “Don’t sound like that’s working too well for you.”

  “It’s not. I mean I haven’t had sex with him yet, but he does have this way of getting to me. I can’t stop thinking about how it was then,” I said without realizing I was biting my lip.

  “You poor thing, I feel for you ’cause I’ve been there. I had a man like that once, and girl, not only was he loaded, but he knew how to make me. . . damn.”

  Simultaneously, we both took a big gulp of our drinks. Lost in our memories, neither of us spoke for a few seconds.

  “Then you totally understand. Max, I swear in the last few months, I’ve come to realize that as women, we’re programmed from little girls to you know, get a college education, and then in the end, it’s get married, have kids, that’s it. But nobody tells you to look for passion, real sexual passion.”

  “You’re getting deep on me, but you’re right. Once a man has touched that core, that spot that even you didn’t know existed, well you’re screwed, literally and figuratively.”

  Max moved to the edge of the futon, then turned to me and said, “Now it’s my turn to tell you something in confidence.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “A long time ago, while Lynn and I were dating, I got involved in something that almost caused me to chose the wrong man.”

  “You cheated on Lynn?”

  “No, well not initially. Initially, I was only dancing, but then came the private dances.”

  “Huh?”

  “Dancer, stripper, you know on a pole. C’mon Tiff, you know what I’m talking about.”

  Holding my mouth to keep from laughing too loud, I said, “You can’t be serious. You’re a teacher.”

  “Actually, I’m dead serious. It started out innocent, plain curiosity. Well anyway, it happened and I made a ton of cash. How do you think I got this house? It was all good until I met a man like him, like Haney. Someone who knew no limits when it came to making love to a woman.”

  “Girl, Haney doesn’t make love,” I lowered my voice and whispered, through a smile, “He fucks.”

  “Exactly.”

  With Max’s eyes holding a gleam of deviltry, she continued, “This man elevated me sexually to places a woman shouldn’t be taken. It was like he’d studied me, making me feel him even when he wasn’t there. But when he discovered I wasn’t another broke stripper, everything changed and to make it worse, right before I moved here, Lynn found out and my life imploded.”

  “What happened? What did you do?”

  She waved her hand, “Believe me it wasn’t easy, but Lynn finally sat down and listened to me. Really Tiffany, I told him the truth, how it had originally been a dare while I was on this boring vacation and strangely enough, I became so good that it turned into a lucrative second job. What I didn’t tell him was about that one man who turned me out. I’ll admit though sometimes, every now and then, I second-guess myself. You know when I want to be reckless, to do that nasty stuff you can’t ask your husband to do. It just ain’t fair.”

  We both grew quiet, caught up again in memories that we shouldn’t have been remembering, until I said, “Max, I’ll keep your secret if you do me one favor.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Teach me how to dance.”

  Chapter 11

  BBWC

  It had been two month’s since Officer Campbell’s murder and no matter how many persons of interest they’d marched into homicide; all leads had proven to be dead ends, mostly people trying to cash in on the reward money.

  Commissioner Outlaw and the homicide division were catching hell from the public, and so was Malik for not having kept his promise of keeping the city safe. Sometimes I wondered if people expected him to don a uniform, holster a gun, and literally fight crime himself. When I said these things to him, he would tell me I didn’t understand how the city worked.

  There was some good news though, for my husband, and the city. Vetri Construction & Engineering, a 70-year-old firm, had agreed to relocate their headquarters from Conshohocken to the Cira Center in Philadelphia, along with expanding their operations division to the Naval Yard. Both would be adding approximately 200 jobs, some union employees, others would be welfare to work and ex-offenders, all of which gave Vetri a huge tax break. For that, the city patted Malik on the back with the hopes that other businesses outside the city might follow.

  In addition, the city’s Office of Sustainability had been the winner of a White House competition on solar energy that Malik had fought Council President Gillman to approve. That news conference, held earlier in the week, lauded Malik as moving Philadelphia into the future. Malik and the program’s developer were now waiting for a date to attend a White House reception to formerly accept the award from President Obama.

  For me, Spring was definitely in the air and this morning I was happy to be on my way to the BBWC Executive Board meeting, being held in the Lincoln Room on the second floor of the Union League. Even though Malik and I weren’t members, we were often at the League and this morning it was on Judge Renwick’s account.

  Our board consisted of ten members, all well-respected movers and shakers in the city. Members had either been selected or volunteered, knowing we had an uphill battle with the platform we’d chosen. One of the by-laws for being on our board was that each member was required to donate $10,000 of their own money, with a pledge to bring in at least one-million each, all of which we’d surpassed.

  Since the beginning of the year, there’d only been subcommittee meetings and a litany of emails between us, causing some members to feel alienated since we hadn’t met prior to the press conference with Mrs. Cosby. That was all about posturing from certain members and I knew exactly who they were.

  Gretchen Hockstein, VP of Operations at PGW, and Elise Nelson, CEO of Nelson Broadcasting were always the first to arrive, and this morning was no different. Gretchen resided in St. David’s, PA
with her husband Bill, a highly regarded Wall Street Banker. Elise, on the other hand lived at the Ritz Carlton residences with her wife, an actress who spent most of her time in California.

  At every opportunity, the two of them bragged about the money they’d pulled in, and the circles in which they traveled. Needless to say, they were the ones most shocked about my signing on RTC Holdings.

  It wasn’t so much my position as the mayor’s wife, but they expected me to have an Ivy League background, rather than a bachelor’s degree from Temple University. Perhaps having worked in corporate America would’ve given me more credibility with these ladies. But now I had something they didn’t, Raquel Turner-Cosby.

  It didn’t matter to me if I measured up to people’s expectations so long as those people they called friends contributed their old money or their new millennial money to BBWC. For that, it was worth listening to all the places they traveled and the persons to whom they entertained because I wasn’t in the least bit envious of their superficial lives.

  “Good morning, Gretchen, Elise,” I said, greeting them when I entered the conference room.

  “First Lady, how are you?” asked Gretchen, keeping her back to me and pouring orange juice.

  “I’m doing great, looks like this should be a good meeting for us.”

  “We’re all waiting to hear about your new cohort, the mysterious Raquel Turner-Cosby,” said Elise, eagerly standing in my personal space.

  “I’m not sure I’d call her a cohort; she’s a supporter like everyone else. She’s just one of the wealthiest.”

  Standing off in the corner was Judge Renwick, who was on the phone probably with some defense attorney, threatening to put his client back in jail. He nodded hello, then returned to his rant.

  On the other side of the room, Craig was busy organizing his handouts to deliver his financial report. Ever since the contribution from Turner-Cosby, we’d begun to receive commitments from other deep-pocketed donors. Today, we’d see the breakdown and tally on where our finances stood.

  I attempted to get around them and put my things down, but they had me hostage.

  “Well I’m sure that woman’s on for more than she’s told you,” echoed Gretchen.