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  “You’re reading way too much into this, Mrs. Cosby simply wants to support BBWC.”

  “How’d you get to her anyway? We sit on the board of Trustees at Drexel with her and when we mentioned meeting with her to discuss Blessed Babies she blew me off,” said a perplexed Elise.

  I turned to see Janae slipping into the room with her clipboard and iPad in tow, scurrying for a coffee and croissant. I knew little about my assistant’s personal life, except she was a tall and fashionable 23-year-old, no children and she lived in a studio apartment at 2100 Chestnut. I didn’t generate enough work to employ her full time, and I no idea what else she did to generate enough income to live in such a ritzy building. But when listening to her, nothing else mattered except shopping and living in the city. The one thing I did know over the last three years was that she had a good sense of anticipating my needs.

  “Good morning, everyone,” said Deacon Brown when he entered the room. “Tiffany, I need to speak with you before the meeting starts,” he said, his hand on my elbow.

  “Of course. Is everything all right?” I asked, unable to imagine what could possibly be so urgent that it couldn’t wait for our meeting to begin. I dropped my things on my chair and followed him.

  “I could use your help,” he told me once were outside the room.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “How much do you know about Raquel Turner-Cosby?”

  “Probably as much as anybody else, why?”

  “All I’m asking is if you get the opportunity, can you tell her that Deacon Brown would like a few minutes of her time.”

  “I’m not sure what that’ll mean coming from me.”

  “In your position, it’ll mean a lot. Trust me.”

  “I don’t know what position you think I’m in, but she simply signed on as a patron for donor. I can’t go to her and ask for favors.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Obviously I don’t,” I said, not wanting to admit she’d told me about the donation to Shiloh’s building committee.

  Luckily before I broke that confidence, we were interrupted by the arrival of my favorite board member, Brother Ahmeen Sadiq who I knew from my days as a nightclub owner. For our board and the city, Brother Sadiq represented the Philadelphia’s Muslim community and was often called upon to diffuse volatile situations.

  Recently Commissioner Outlaw had sought out his advice as they searched for and profiled the cop killer. His full time job though, was working out of DA Leander’s office as a member of the Gun Violence Task Force.

  Brother Sadiq was every bit the ladies man, with intense dark brown eyes, a smooth bald head and a meticulously groomed Lihyah beard. A devout Muslim, he made Salah five times a day, stayed away from pork, attended Jummah Prayers on Friday, and maintained two wives and several children.

  I always joked with Brother Sadiq that if Malik and I ever broke up, I’d be his third wife, albeit without the hijab and khimar. However, what I liked best about Brother Sadiq was that he always smelled good, the kind of scent that made a woman want to get underneath a man. I didn’t know if it were Muslim oils or if his cologne was from the counter at Saks.

  “Greetings, Sister Skinner,” he said, pulling me in for a hug so warm that I didn’t want to let go.

  “Assalamu Alaikum, Brother Sadiq. How are you this morning?”

  “I’m blessed to be here for you,” he said to me before turning to Deacon Brown. “Greetings, Deacon Brown.”

  “Mr. Sadiq, good morning.”

  Before I could swoon anymore, Janae peeked her head out the door and said they were ready to start.

  Judge Renwick called the meeting to order and we began moving through the morning’s agenda; Jim Molk, our secretary, who was also a restaurateur and head of the Molk Restaurant Organization, began with the minutes from our previous teleconference. Judge Renwick gave the executive report on our selection of a CEO to head up the Wellness Center, followed by a report from Gretchen on rounding out the staffing requirements.

  Michael, although not a board member, was there to provide an update on how things were shaping up for the Gala, ribbon-cutting ceremony, and our overall public relations campaign.

  “What’s the crowdfunding page look like?” I asked.

  “Final count was seventy-five thousand as of this morning and we’ll be uploading the photos and videos to the BBWC website by end of the week. It did more than we expected and even though the campaign has ended, people won’t stop hugging and posting. Have any of you visited our Facebook page recently?”

  “It’s received over 13,000 hits this week,” Janae added.

  “Let me also add that to date, we’ve sold 214 tickets for the gala, bringing in $53,500, but you’ll see that in Craig’s report.”

  “That’s good work,” I told Michael, offering him a round of applause.

  “Craig, let’s hear the financial report. You know that’s what everyone’s waiting on,” said Judge Renwick.

  “Yes sir, I’m ready, here we go!”

  While Janae distributed his handouts, Craig had us focus on the screen, where he showed slides from his laptop.

  “Our goal was to raise $40 million to cover operating costs for ten years. As of January 2, we were at $15 million. By March, we’d received $220 thousand in donations, and then, last week the big one hit, taking us over the top, twenty-five million dollars from the phenomenal Raquel Turner-Cosby, all of course thanks to our First Lady!”

  Everyone clapped, but he wasn’t finished, “And let’s not forget that cute little donation from her brother Julian ‘Huli’ Johnson for twenty-five thousand.”

  “So what you’re saying is, if we don’t raise another penny, we’re solid for ten years?”

  “Yes Judge, yes, yes, yes!”

  “Craig, I picked up a check yesterday from the PO Box,” offered Janae.

  Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, he asked, “Tell me quick Janae, how much?”

  “It’s a cashier’s check for $5 thousand from The Friends of Tiffany Johnson-Skinner.”

  “From who?” asked Deacon Brown.

  “The accompanying letter says it’s from your friends at the Welker’s party. It’s signed by several people,” Craig said, waving the letter in the air.

  “Are you running for office, Tiffany?” asked Gretchen.

  “Let me see that,” I told Craig, holding out my hand for the letter, and wondering how those few twenties on Max’s mantel had turned into five thousand dollars. “I barely know them,” I said, more to myself than the group.

  Ralph Dovi, our Vice Chair and the VP of Player Relations for the Philadelphia Flyers, began to clap, the others followed suit.

  “Whoever they are, I think it’s pretty damn nice to have friends like that,” Ralph commented in his deep and distinct voice.

  “Excuse me, but I’d like to take a minute to discuss Raquel Turner-Cosby,” Gretchen said. “Are you expecting any of her friends to donate?”

  “I don’t know her friends,” I said, not mentioning I had a date for High Tea and giving Janae the eye not to mention it either, then continued with, “I believe a few of her business acquaintances have made donations. I’m sure it’s in Craig’s report.”

  “She’ll want to take over, that’s what she does,” commented Deacon Brown, making me wonder why he, who was ever the optimist, was now being so pessimistic. I couldn’t wait to speak to Malik about it, maybe something was wrong.

  Judge Renwick chimed in and said, “Folks, seeing that we’ve surpassed our financial goal, might I suggest we put some of that money in a reserve account and perhaps start a foundation connected to BBWC so there are no questions about how our finances are being used. I mean, if that’s okay with you, Craig.”

  “Judge, I’m all over it,” Craig told him, as he fervently tapped notes into his laptop.

  I stood up, poured myself another cup of coffee and leaned against the back of my chair waiting for them to finish.
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  “Tiffany, has she asked to sit on our board? Is her contribution contingent on anything? I mean, have any promises been made?” asked Elise, who didn’t seem to want to let this go.

  “Who cares what she wants, we got what we wanted, didn’t we?” said Ralph, sounding every bit annoyed.

  “Let me be clear, nobody is controlling this board, or the Blessed Babies Wellness Center. And honestly, I’m really confused as to why everyone is so suspicious of this woman giving us twenty-five million dollars. Would you like me to give it back? She signed the same agreement as our other patron donors, so if I’m missing something, please tell me what the problem is.”

  Judge Renwick’s powerful, but soft voice garnered everyone’s attention as if he were on the bench. “You folks are losing focus, worried about some woman who’s only trying to help us. Now listen up, because I don’t have all morning. Six years ago, there were three of us at this same table, Craig, Tiffany and myself, with thirty-thousand dollars and now we’re ten members looking at over forty-million. I’d say that’s not only significant, but a credit to all of us. Now what the hell are you complaining about?”

  Brother Sadiq’s sexy voice spoke up, “I agree with the Judge; we’ve done more than we set out to do and we should be celebrating.”

  “I’m with you, Brother Sadiq,” Craig told him, as he began to gather his things.

  “Damn it then, let’s celebrate,” said Judge Renwick before going into the hall and requesting that the server bring us two bottles of Dom Perignon.

  “It’s 8:30 in the morning,” complained Dr. Marie Ennis, a cardiologist at St. Christopher’s Hospital for Children.

  “Then we’ll mix it with orange juice,” commented Jim Molk.

  Once the champagne was poured, everyone stood, their glasses held high in the middle of the table.

  The smile that washed across my face was evident for everyone when I said, “Judge, will you please do the honors?”

  He nodded and began, “May we all have the hindsight to know where we’ve been, the foresight to know where we’re going, and the insight to know when we’ve gone too far.”

  After hailing a toast, everyone began to scatter, but as I was packing up to leave, Dr. Ennis sat down in the chair beside me. “The old DA came to my office the other day.”

  I steeled my body and asked as casually as I could, “Really, does he have a sick child?”

  “No, not at all. Actually, he’s quite a charmer and he’s interested in sitting on our board; what do you think?” she said, while tapping her fingers on the table.

  Knowing Mr. Haney’s motives, but unsure of hers, I replied, “Our board only holds ten.”

  “We could make an exception since we don’t have a lawyer and we’ve been wanting one. He is a results oriented man, which is clearly evident by the work he’s been doing around the city,” she said trying to defend him while hiding behind a coquettish grin, which led me to ponder if their relationship was more than platonic.

  “I believe he was disbarred when he went to federal prison,” I answered.

  “What about as a legal consultant to review contracts and the like? I mean, your husband certainly seems set on giving him a second chance.”

  She was really pushing for him and I’m sure he’d put her up to this without her even realizing it, that’s how Haney was, he’d ingratiate himself to you and you’d find yourself his cheerleader and clearly Dr. Ennis had fallen for his antics.

  My mobile vibrated with a call, but before answering, I said, “My husband is only Mayor of this city, and does not sit at the head of this board. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to take this call.”

  “Think about it, he could make a difference.”

  Chapter 12

  Happy Mother’s Day

  It was the Wednesday prior to Mother’s Day and Malik was packing for New Orleans, where he was attending the Black Mayor’s Conference. Usually we took this opportunity to sneak in a mini vacation, extending it by a day or two, but this year I couldn’t make it. Nylah had come down with a fever, and leaving her with Nanny or my parents wasn’t an option because when my daughter was sick, the only person she wanted was her mother.

  With so much needing to be done prior to the BBWC gala and opening, I wasn’t as disappointed as I’d led Malik to believe. His being away would give me the opportunity to personally wrap up a lot of loose ends and hold a meeting with Janae, Craig, and Michael at my house.

  The other reason I was glad to be home was that Haney had managed to get himself on the agenda. For someone who couldn’t practice law, he’d made quite a name for himself since January.

  Along with his legal consulting, and spearheading the absolution of eminent domain, he’d also developed a platform on prison reform, re-entry, and recidivism. By all accounts, he’d become the ideal reformed inmate and the face of second chances.

  What I wasn’t ready for was the request Malik made while packing up to leave. It seemed Cyndi was trying to catapult her experience as press secretary into a television job.

  “Cyndi would like to interview you for a series she’s writing for the Huffington Post on the wives of inner city mayors,” he stated, in the process of zipping up his garment bag.

  “You mean she’s not going with you to New Orleans? I can’t believe she passed up that opportunity,” I said, handing him his toiletries.

  He stopped his packing and took a seat on the bed. “Tiffany, you’re not being fair. That woman has done nothing but help me.”

  “Why do you always take up for her? You know she wants you,” I teased, managing to wedge myself between his open legs.

  “Maybe because even if she were interested, I’m not.” He kissed me and said, “Tiffany Johnson-Skinner is all the woman I need.”

  “Oh please. Well you better make sure she doesn’t leave anything else at my house when you have your ‘meetings’.”

  He squeezed my butt cheeks, causing us both to fall backward on the bed. “Okay, what’s it going to cost me for you to do the interview? C’mon, she belongs to some liberal woman’s group who has a big online presence. Might get you additional funding, unless you don’t need money anymore since you’re friends with Turner-Cosby.”

  “That’s not it. She’s just not my favorite person.”

  “It’ll give you a chance to get to know her a little better, then you can see she’s not my type.”

  “Whatever the Mayor wants, the Mayor gets. When’s the interview?”

  “See, that’s why I love you. It’s tomorrow.”

  That evening after Malik left and Nylah finally fell asleep, I sat in bed with my laptop, scrolling through dresses on Net-a-Porter, while simultaneously watching Huli’s game against the Astros. It always made me proud to hear sportscasters talking about my brother, his skills, and of course, his new contract. They also joked about him having been photographed in Miami with Tika Sumpter, making me wonder if that was the woman he’d mentioned at lunch. I sent a group text to Kamille and Huli.

  Tiff: Is Tika your new chick?

  Kamille: Is she coming for Thanksgiving?

  Tiff: Probably dumped her already. LOL

  We wouldn’t hear back from Huli until after the game, but I was sure he’d get a kick out of that.

  Perusing online also gave me the idea to login into Haney’s website and watch one of his presentations. As soon as I clicked on GDH3.com, it opened to a video of him speaking as part of a panel discussion.

  “Oftentimes the cycle can be broken. You simply can’t say to an ex-offender ‘get a job’. There has to be a vehicle for training and development that leads to solid employment. On the back end, analytics need to be put in place to not only track who’s going back to jail, but if the proper skills are put in place to decrease the recidivism. . . we’ve paid our debt. . . no man wants to be unemployed. . . we want to be responsible. . . we want to vote, we want to make more than $7.50 an hour.”

  Studying Haney made me wonder what his life had really
been like. Not only had he been disbarred and stripped of his position, but also his wife had divorced him and his son was still in jail. My question was, where was the rest of his family and if they weren’t around, maybe that’s why he’d reached out to Kamille.

  My sister had nothing but good things to say, and even though she hadn’t told me, according to my parents they’d recently gone to dinner with him and my sister’s family. Malik certainly didn’t have a problem with him. So then why was I still hesitant about accepting this supposedly changed man? One reason could be that each time I’d seen him, I’d responded to him in ways that I shouldn’t and even now sitting here, I imagined what it might be like to be with him again.

  Between Haney and Malik there was a vast difference in their lovemaking techniques. My husband had always been passionate, showing me he loved me in how he handled my body. Haney on the other hand showed no mercy and would force me to do things I’d only imagined, always telling me he was giving me what I wanted. He’d also become the first and only man with whom I’d ever had anal sex. All of this reminded of the danger I faced getting too close to him.

  The next afternoon while I prepared for my interview, my mother came over to watch Nylah. At exactly two p.m. Cyndi Kilrain and Lou Mendels showed up to the house. Restricting them to two rooms, Lou began taking pictures before we even started the interview.

  I’d prepared a small spread of refreshments set out in the living room and once we finished the preliminaries we were set to begin. The objective, as Cyndi put it, was for the public to see me in my everyday environment - see me as a regular person, whatever that meant.

  Since this was supposed to be a casual interview, I wore pale blue linen pants and a matching pale blue linen button down shirt, with my hair in a low bun.

  Sitting across from me in Malik’s favorite chair, Cyndi was dressed in a pair of white jeans, a black long sleeve t-shirt and white sandals, all of which were unflattering. If anything, I should’ve been offering her some fashion tips. Perhaps Malik had been right, Cyndi certainly was not his type.