Woman on Top Page 16

  “Who?”

  “You know the movie, ‘White House Down,’ the sexy white guy with Jamie Foxx?”

  “Yes, I’ve seen it, now what are you cooking?” I asked, in response to my growling stomach, which made me realize that lately, I hadn’t made the time to sit down and actually enjoy a meal.

  “We got filets on the grill, grilled veggies, corn on the cob and a Caesar salad.”

  “Great, cause your girlfriend’s starving, and if I have to eat another damn appetizer, I’m going to puke.”

  While Max was in the kitchen fixing Phinn a plate, I came out of my shoes and jacket, and then called my parents to check on Nylah. The five o’clock news was on, covering the pool opening, showing Malik in swim trunks, jumping in with the kids. This of course, was overlapped with the earlier deluge of questions from reporters at the ribbon cutting. The comparisons never ended.

  “You mind if I turn this off? I’m not in the mood to hear my husband’s bullshit speeches.”

  “I saw those reporters grilling him about his friend and those cop killings.”

  Max handed me a glass of wine and said, “Let me take this to your driver, be right back.”

  When she came back in the room, I simply blurted out, “He’s having an affair.”

  “Who, Malik? Stop playing. You can’t be serious.”

  “Cyndi Kilrain, his press secretary.”

  “The one that interviewed you? No way, she’s not his type – too trashy,” she said, setting down trays of food in front of us on the family room coffee table.

  The food looked good, butter oozing off the corn, heat rising from the steak and veggies charred to perfection. I picked up and bit into the crunchy asparagus.

  “Some men like that, they think it’s sexy. But never mind him and his tramps, what did you want to talk about?” I asked, after downing my glass of wine and pouring another.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  She said it so matter-of-factly, that I didn’t catch it at first. “What did you say?”

  “Pregnant!! Having a baby, bun in oven, with child!”

  “Max! Oh my, God, Max!” I screamed, while leaping from my side of the couch over to hers, practically knocking over our food trays.

  Laughing, she said, “Slow down, I found out last week. I’m two months, due January 25th.”

  Wrapping my arms around her, I started crying.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just been an emotional few days, but this, you pregnant, this is such a blessing. I’m so happy for you. Lynn must be so excited.”

  After taking a sip of her juice, she laughed and said, “That man is crazy, he’s worse than me. He wants me to quit work.”

  “Is everything okay? I mean, you know,” I asked, nodding vigorously while she spoke.

  “You mean ’cause my ass is almost 40? Doctor says he doesn’t foresee any problems.”

  “Boy or girl, what are you having?”

  “We want to be surprised, but Tiff, there’s something I need to ask you.”

  “What, anything? Can they call me Auntie Tiff?” I asked, anticipating decorating the nursery, or hosting one of many baby showers.

  “Would you be my child’s Godmother?”

  Placing my hand across my heart, I asked, “Max, really, are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. What are you talking about? I know we haven’t known each other long, but you’re my best friend,” she said, with a sparkle in her eyes and a glow on her face that only pregnant women could carry.

  My eyes filled again with tears as I said, “I love you Max, thank you.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well you just drank a half bottle of wine in minutes and you haven’t really eaten anything.”

  “I’m fine, it’s just all this stuff with Malik.”

  “And Haney, what about him?”

  “Nothing, I’ve done nothing yet.”

  I moved over to sit closer to my friend, hugged her tight, then asked, “Forget about me, now tell me, how’d you find out?”

  “You know, it was weird. Every morning I kept getting this tingling sensation in my breasts. My nipples were so sensitive I couldn’t stand for Lynn to touch them. Then one afternoon at work, I got sick, cramping, vomiting and everything. I thought I had food poisoning or worse, a damn kidney stone or something. It never entered my mind to take a pregnancy test. I simply went to the doctor and boom!”

  “We have to celebrate,” I said, before skipping into the kitchen and removing a chilled bottle of Santa Marghertia from the wine cooler. For Max though, I poured a glass of orange juice for us to toast to our friendship, and Baby Welker.

  “C’mon, let’s put some music on,” I said, waltzing across the floor to the bar.

  “I thought you were hungry,” Max said, her face quizzing my now upbeat mood.

  “Not anymore, I’m Happy, where’s that song at?” I asked, while thinking I wanted to be happy for so many reasons that I didn’t want to talk about with Max while we were celebrating her good news.

  “Wait, I think I owe you something,” she said before going behind the bar to open the closet where the AV equipment was stored. It only took a minute for music to fill up the room. “I promised to teach you how to dance, you ready?”

  “You sure it’s okay for you to do this?”

  “We’re only dancing, ain’t nobody climbing poles. Slow or upbeat, how do you like it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been a stripper before. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Tiffany please stop, you’re acting like Lynn. Here, let’s put in my housecleaning music, it’ll be easy.”

  “I’m surely about to make a fool of myself.”

  “First you have to come out of that suit.”

  I removed my shirt, down to my teddy and pencil skirt, but put my heels back on. Then I watched Max dance to Rihanna’s “Rude Boy” with me trying to follow along. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have rhythm, but this was different. I was moving too fast and spinning too loosely.

  We fell out in uproarious laughter. This definitely wasn’t something I was good at, but I gave it another try.

  “You’re killing me right now, it’s not a party. Here, just watch me first. You have to slow it down, like you’re making love to Malik. Here wait, try this,” she said when Beyoncé began with her sensual lyrics of “Drunk in Love.”

  With my eyes glued to her, Max started dancing, her svelte body gyrating in ways that I couldn’t imagine doing, her hands moving through her locs. It was so damn sexy that not only was I fascinated, but I also felt seduced. Her body glided like it was made for the music. She was in sync with every beat, her hips, her hands, it all moved. Even her facial expression was sensuous. I’d never seen anything like it.

  Fanning my hand across my face, I said, “Whew, girl, you turning me on.”

  “That’s the point. Man or woman, you gotta stay focused. You must keep your eyes on the mark, make Malik think he’s the only one in the room. Then, when you have him, you start to undress, to the beat of the music, and not the first beat, but the one you feel pulsating deep in here,” she teased, grabbing hold of her vagina.

  I took a big sip of wine and said, “Start it over, let me try again.”

  Dancing to Kelly Rowland’s, “Motivation,” I tried my best to emulate her, but it wasn’t working. So, I closed my eyes and allowed the wine to carouse through my body. Then it came. The memories of Mr. Haney touching me, pushing me down on my knees, bending me over, entering me over and over again. Handling me anyway he chose, simply because he could.

  I unzipped my skirt, pushing it down slowly over my hips until the sound pulsated where Max said it would.

  As one song ended and another began, I kept my eyes on my mark, my mark was Phinn. He stood watching me from the patio.

  Chapter 15

  Devil in the House

  Dinner at Nanny’s proved to b
e uncomfortable for Malik because all Nanny could talk about was the situation with him and Wesley and she felt he should reach out to him. My husband, although frustrated, would never disrespect Nanny and instead just listened and told her he would take care of it.

  Malik and I had never got the chance to talk about the Cyndi situation, and I believed he was avoiding the subject. In turn, I carried on as usual, waiting to hear from Haney to see if he could confirm their affair. Nylah though, was the only one excited because Sheema was spending the night at our house.

  After they’d gone to bed, Malik and I tried to talk, with him attempting to convince me that he wasn’t having an affair with Cyndi, but all he did was dig himself in deeper. It then escalated to me giving him excuses as to why I hadn’t gotten pregnant. Finally, tried of arguing, I went to bed, leaving him downstairs drinking Pappy.

  When he finally did come to bed, instead of making love, he forcibly took what he wanted, using my body to take out all his frustrations; however his masochistic lovemaking became so painful that I had to beg him to stop.

  Sometime during the night, I woke to hear the pounding of rain against the house. I checked the clock, it read 5:30 a.m., then my mobile vibrated with a text.

  GDH3: Turn on the news

  In the dark, I found the remote on the nightstand and powered on the television.

  “Wesley Lawson, former friend to Mayor Skinner is claiming. . .”

  “Malik, wake up,” I said turning up the volume so he could hear.

  “What?” he groaned.

  “It’s Wesley, on the news.”

  Without budging, he lay there and listened.

  “Mr. Lawson is accusing the Mayor of taking kickbacks from Asian business men in exchange for. . .”

  “My phone,” he mumbled, feeling around the covers, disoriented from the argument, the drinking, and the sex.

  “I’ll get it.”

  Knowing he’d be leaving out soon, I climbed out of bed, turned on the shower for him, then went downstairs to find his phone. There’d been eleven missed calls and even more text messages throughout the night. I filled a glass with water and took that, and two aspirins upstairs to him.

  “Wesley’s out to get me. I have to go,” he said, while sitting on the side of the bed, scrolling through his numbers before calling the Deputy Mayor.

  While he took a shower, I checked on Nylah and Sheema, who were still sleeping. So, I closed her door and went downstairs to make a pot of coffee.

  “My head is killing me,” he complained, coming into the kitchen.

  “Did you take the aspirins?”

  He sipped his coffee, popped the aspirins in his mouth, then said, “I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

  I handed him his messenger bag, stuffing his iPad inside.

  When I walked him to the door, there were two city cars at the curb. Blu Eyes strolled toward Malik, holding up a large black umbrella.

  We stood on the porch for a moment, with the wind slapping the rain against our faces.

  He began first, “About last night, I’m sorry if I. . .”

  Knowing he was in for a bad day, I stopped him and said, “How about we forget it?”

  He kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you, but Tiffany, I swear I’m not having an affair with Cyndi.”

  Taking the plastic-covered newspaper from the front step, Malik climbed into the back of one the Tahoes, the other backing up to block the driveway. When I saw it was Phinn, I waved him inside.

  He jumped out of the car, making a quick gait to the porch. “Good morning, Mrs. Skinner, your husband asked that I sit on the house today.”

  “Is it really necessary?”

  “I think so; a few reporters showed up, but they’re gone now. They followed the Mayor out.”

  “Thanks, Phinn.”

  “Will you be going out later?”

  Glancing up at the dreary sky, I answered, “I’m staying in.”

  “If you change your mind, let me know,” he said, turning to go back to his vehicle.

  “Why don’t you come inside for a minute? Have you had coffee yet?”

  He looked behind him, then said, “For a minute.”

  I went to the kitchen to retrieve my vibrating mobile and while doing so, I poured him a cup of coffee.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Skinner,” he said while moving toward the door with his coffee mug.

  “How long have you been outside?” I asked, detaining him for my own selfish reasons.

  “Since about two-thirty this morning.”

  “I was going to fix some breakfast. Why don’t I make enough for you, too?”

  “I had a few donuts.”

  We both laughed at the old cliché.

  “Really, I’m okay. The coffee is plenty.”

  “Phinn, I insist. I mean it’s not like you’re not still guarding the house.”

  “You’re the boss. Mind if I turn the television on?” he asked, nodding toward the 19-inch flat screen that hung on the kitchen wall.

  Leaning across the counter to pass him the remote, I said, “Go ahead.”

  As soon as the television came on, Good Day Philly was tossing out teasers that they had breaking news on accusations being made against the Mayor.

  “One of the mayor’s former aides, Wesley Lawson, claims Mayor Skinner has taken kickbacks from an unnamed organization connected to the hiring of his Senior Director of Community Affairs, Jason Wu.”

  Included was a clip of Wesley sitting down with investigative reporter, Dave Schratwieser, who was infamous for uncovering dirt on politicians and in Wesley, he’d found the perfect candidate. My thought was why hadn’t Cyndi seen this coming?

  “Why do you think you were demoted, Mr. Lawson?”

  “He got paid to do it, to put Wu in place to make good on campaign promises. It was all part of the plan, to which I was never consulted.”

  “You’re saying the Mayor received financial contributions to his campaign as well as money in his own pocket?”

  “Plenty. The Asians gave him plenty of money.”

  “And you say you have proof that Asian gangs are involved in the police murders?”

  “I gave him a lead and I’ve yet to see any results.”

  I turned the volume down. I couldn’t believe this was the Wesley I knew. What had turned him against Malik? The broader question of course was, if my husband actually had taken pocket money. If he had, I certainly hadn’t seen any significant bump in our accounts.

  “Why is he doing this?” I said aloud, while staring at the man on the screen that my husband had called a friend.

  “Ma’am, I can tell you any leads the Mayor’s been given are being investigated. But I’m sure you already know that.”

  I didn’t say it to him, but I didn’t have any details on the investigation because Malik and I hadn’t been talking, that is until this morning.

  “Anyway, let’s see what we have to eat this morning,” I said, opening the refrigerator, removing a dozen eggs, sausage, and a sleeve of biscuits.

  “Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Skinner?” Phinn asked, with a short pause, giving away the fact that his eyes were focused on my braless cleavage, making me realize I was still in my pajama shorts, a tank top, and my hair an absolute mess.

  Asking him to keep an eye on the food, I went upstairs, took a quick shower, afterward slipping into a pair of cotton sweatpants and an Angels t-shirt, this time with a bra underneath. Then, I brushed my hair into a loose ponytail.

  As I was coming back down the stairs, I overheard Phinn on the phone. “I can’t. I have to work. I told you that. Why are you so damn selfish?”

  When I walked back in the kitchen, he hung up and for the first time since I’d known him, Phinn looked tired. I couldn’t imagine his life, always on call for a man to whom you couldn’t say no, and to now be relegated to watching his wife. I presumed it didn’t give him much of a personal life. It was also then when I realized that Max was right, he did resemble that actor.<
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  From the cabinet, I pulled out a box of grits and poured some into the boiling water.

  “So Phinn, tell me about yourself. How’d you wind up on the Mayor’s detail?” I asked, my back to him.

  “Usual route, corrections officer, cop, then I guess somebody was looking out for me,” he said before taking another sip of his coffee.

  “Is that a coveted position, being on the Mayor’s detail?”

  “Best job in the city.”

  “Somehow I don’t believe you. But anyway, wife, children?”

  “I have a set of twin girls by my first wife, and I’m mid-divorce from the second.”

  “Really? How old are your girls?”

  “Hanna and Hailey are seven,” he said, a proud smile on his face.

  “I’m so embarrassed not knowing that,” I stated, moving about the kitchen fixing breakfast as I made an attempt to get familiar with the man who’d become my personal security.

  “It’s all right, it’s my job to know about you,” he said shyly, causing me to wonder how much he really knew about me.

  My mobile rang, interrupting us.

  “Tiffany, chile,” Nanny said the moment I answered my phone, “what’s going on?”

  “I’m not really sure, Nanny. Malik left for City Hall. I’m fixing breakfast for the girls,” I said, hoping to block any additional questions.

  “You let me know as soon as you hear from him.”

  “I will. Thanks for calling,” I said, realizing that she probably had more details than I did.

  While I was on the phone, Phinn had refilled our coffee mugs.

  “This is going to be ringing all day. Sometimes I wish I could turn it off,” I told him.

  “I feel the same way some days.”

  “I bet, and I’m sure the last person you wanna hear from is me,” I joked, turning my attention to the slow bubbling grits.

  “Actually, Mrs. Skinner, I don’t mind at all,” he said, now having turned the television to ESPN.

  I wanted to tell Phinn it was too early in the morning for all the formalities, but I knew he’d never call me Tiffany. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  After scrambling the eggs and pouring them into the frying pan, I asked, “What do you know about Blu Eyes? He scares me. I mean really, what’s up with him?”