Woman on Top Page 21

  “We’ll leave y’all alone. But we gonna buy y’all a drink so we can toast the newlyweds, ’cause fella, you got a long night ahead with this beautiful woman,” said Corpus Christie.

  Phinn bent his head toward me and said, “So beautiful lady, do you make a man work hard?”

  “You have no idea what it takes,” I said, teasing him with a lingering kiss on his cheek.

  Throughout dinner, Phinn continued to be gracious to our guests as well as accommodating to me. At one point, I rested my back against him and breathed in his cologne, which had the distinct aroma of Tom Ford. I also took the time to really look at Phinn; he was handsome, especially tonight in a navy blue linen blazer and white pants. For the first time, I wondered if he had a girlfriend.

  “Hey now, I ordered some shots, I hope y’all city folk can handle it,” said the other man who hadn’t told us his name or where he was from.

  “I can! Bring on the Don Julio!” I told them, already having surpassed my usual two-glass limit.

  “You already had a shot, and two glasses of wine,” Phinn said.

  “Counting my drinks? I’m a big girl,” I told him, feeling the effects of my drinking.

  “Every time a woman says that, it gets her in trouble.”

  The shots came, but it was more like three shots as I was determined to keep up with everyone else.

  For as much as we were having fun, the dark reality of what was happening in Philly still hung in the air between us, especially since neither of us had heard from Malik.

  “I had no idea you could be this cool, Mrs. Baker. You’re always so mysterious.”

  “Me mysterious? I’m an open book.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Go ’head, ask me anything!” I told him, now turned in my chair so that I was facing him, with my legs between his.

  “Here’s what I know. You’re close with your family; your only friend, from what I’ve seen is Max. You and the Mayor, well I can tell when you’ve had an argument.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “His attitude is bad, he’s short with everybody. And you, you try to cover it up with small talk and you know, other stuff to keep you busy.”

  I threw back another shot of Don Julio and boldly asked, “And how does he handle Cyndi?”

  His shifting eyes gave away what I’d suspected. “Cyndi and the Mayor? I don’t know anything about them and wouldn’t want to. You’re way more interesting. . . and sexy, Mrs. Baker,” he said.

  “Well, we already know you’re the most handsome guy in the room,” I told him, which gave way to a slow and sexy smile appearing on his face.

  “The other thing I know. . . is that you always smell good when you get in my truck; it’s like damn, I can smell you in the air all day. . . and while I’m at it, let me just say right now that I apologize for everything I’ve said tonight.”

  “You don’t have to apologize, we’re on a date, remember?”

  When it was time for dessert, we declined, but the other guests at our table ordered a tasting of the entire dessert menu. Once it arrived, they convinced us to try the Hovnanian Kona Chocolate Soufflé, which I fed to Phinn by the spoonful. Licking his lips, he stated, “Best chocolate I ever tasted.”

  “Thanks for doing this, but I’ll tell you, this is not the best,” I whispered in his ear, my hand resting on the dark stubble of his beard.

  Taking my hand in his, he said, “Let’s get outta here.”

  Saying goodnight to our table guests, Phinn stayed close to me as I swayed walking toward the exit.

  “Nightcap at the pool?” I suggested, once we were standing in the middle of the dimmed lighting of the lobby.

  “Mrs. Skinner, we both. . .”

  “Wow, you really know how to change up on a girl. I thought I was Mrs. Baker tonight.”

  He glanced around the lobby, settled his hands onto my hips and in a voice that I was sure was reserved for the women he dated, he asked, “Can you be Tiffany tonight, for me?”

  “I can. . . I am. . . whatever. . .” I tried to say, but my words were slurred and rather than let me finish, he did what we’d both been anticipating, he kissed me.

  After a few seconds of our tongues searching each other’s mouths, he stepped back and averting his eyes, he said, “I’m sorry, damn, I’m sorry.”

  But then, I reached for him and kissed him, and he didn’t resist as his hands made their way through my wildly curly hair.

  I didn’t care that it was wrong or who might be watching, all I knew was that he felt good, and I felt safe from all that was going on back home. My husband had left me in the care of this man and he was now protecting me.

  “Mrs. . . .”

  “Shhh, don’t say it, don’t stop.”

  He brought me to him again, his face buried in my hair, taking deep breaths of my natural scent, and there we stood in the lobby of the Grand Floridian, kissing like we were really on a date. But this was a date that had gone terribly wrong.

  With his arousal rising against me, he backed off. “If I don’t stop, I won’t be able to and we’ll regret it.”

  “Take me somewhere, Phinn. Now, I want you to taste my. . .”

  He quieted me with one short peck on the lips, then taking me by the hand, he said, “Mrs. Skinner, I really think we should call it a night.”

  The next morning I threw up.

  Chapter 18

  FALL

  If you couldn’t be safe at City Hall, then where were you safe? For as much as the crime rate had gone down since Malik had taken office, the cop killings, even though solved and having no connection, and his best friend having been murdered on the grounds of City Hall overshadowed it all.

  Across the city, there was a heavy police presence and even when we weren’t home, a police vehicle was stationed outside our house. Blu Eyes and now, Meryl Pope detailed Malik, while either Phinn or Keenan was with me. All of this confirmed that Wesley’s death had not been a random act of robbery.

  Malik’s days and many nights were spent at City Hall, where he tried to focus on running the city, but in reality, he was consumed with Wesley’s murder. Every informant had been brought in and questioned and if the commissioner had allowed it, Malik would’ve donned a gun and walked the streets personally. They’d initially suspected the Ho Ching Girls, but that proved wrong because they’d had nothing to gain by killing an average citizen. However, even with the large reward money being posted for the mere capture and arrest of a suspect at $125,000, all leads went nowhere.

  At night, I would hear Malik juggling calls between Commissioner Outlaw, DA Leander, Deputy Mayor O’Hare and even the district captains who’d been instructed to call him if they received any credible information. I was sure to them, he was micromanaging the case, but he couldn’t help himself.

  The media had no sympathy for my husband; he was scrutinized at every turn. His loyalty to Wesley was being questioned to the point that Jason Wu considered resigning. No one would dare come out and directly accuse Malik, but the implications were worse because he couldn’t defend himself.

  After all my husband had given to the Mayor’s office and this city, I’d come to realize how news coverage could dramatically shift from a good thing to a bad thing and you never knew what side you were going to be on. As much as we both tried to ignore it, he was at their mercy.

  Not only was Wesley’s murder draining the city, it was draining our marriage and had taken away Nylah’s father. When he was around, though, she was the only one who could make him smile. But he was barely home, so he rarely smiled.

  As much as I tried to be supportive, Malik wasn’t letting me in, and whenever I tried to talk to him, he kept telling me he was okay. He didn’t seem to understand that I was hurting too, yet he refused to discuss his feelings or provide me with updates on the case. He had no interest in sex and when he did come home late, with the smell of liquor on his breath, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was grieving with Cyndi. But I didn�
�t dare bring her up, knowing my own transgressions.

  With the spotlight on us, without discussing it, I enrolled Nylah in McDaniel Elementary School. There was no way we could bring attention to ourselves by enrolling her in a charter or private school now.

  I’d visited Curtiss several times, taking trays of food and desserts and helping out at her crowded house where everyone was coming to offer their condolences. The pain in her face was indescribable. Every time I left her house, I’d sit in my car crying.

  We had to wait two weeks for Wesley’s funeral; there had to be an autopsy, family needed to travel from out of state, and special arrangements had to be made to accommodate for his fraternity and the Free Masons.

  Wesley had taken out a million dollar insurance policy, ensuring that his family would be financially secure and that didn’t include what he’d earned from the city. Without asking me, Malik had gone to Wells Fargo and set up a college fund for their children in which he’d personally deposited $5,000. His executive assistant, Nicole, set up a funding page to which money was pouring in for their college expenses. Not that I would’ve objected to our contribution, but it bothered me that Malik was making financial decisions under such emotional strain.

  Two days before the funeral, Malik was preparing to travel to Washington, DC for a reception at the White House to finally accept an award for the solar energy competition. Initially, he’d been looking forward to it, but now it was just one more thing to get in the way of mourning for Wesley. I didn’t doubt though, that the police department, and his staff, would be relieved to have him gone for a day since he’d entwined himself in their investigation. I actually thought it might be a good thing as well, until before walking out the door he asked me a favor.

  “There’s this scholarship dinner tonight at the University of the Arts. I kept meaning to tell you, I need you to attend.”

  “Tonight? The funeral is tomorrow, I was planning on going by to see Curtiss again tonight.”

  “I know, but I need you to do this for me.”

  “I don’t have to speak, do I?”

  “The speech is short and it’s already written.”

  “But isn’t that what Deputy O’Hare is for?”

  “Please, do it for me. It starts at five-thirty and you can be out of there by seven-fifteen,” he said, a slight beg in his voice.

  Knowing the pressure he was under, how could I say no? “Not a problem, I’ll be there. Whatever you need me to do.”

  “There’s one drawback, well, not really a drawback. But Haney will be there, and I know he can get under your skin.”

  “I’m not worried about him, but why is he coming?” I asked, trying to remain indifferent, but also realizing Mr. Haney might be able to answer questions relevant to Wesley’s murder.

  “He pushed for one of the kids who’s been living in a shelter to get a scholarship. The kid wants to study graphic design, he did Haney’s website, or something. I don’t really know.”

  “It wouldn’t be Haney if he didn’t have his hands in everything.”

  “I’ll tell O’Hare you’ll be there. Thanks.”

  My mother came to the house and picked up Nylah that afternoon since she would have her while I was at the funeral the next morning.

  Phinn was driving me that evening, which made it a bit awkward after our intimate moment in Disney. We hadn’t spoken of the incident, but both of us, I’m sure were embarrassed that we’d drunk too much and acted inappropriately.

  “Phinn, how’s my husband doing?” I asked, after settling into the backseat.

  “Ma’am, we barely interact so I don’t know. Blu Eyes has been put in charge of his personal detail.”

  “Did he go with Malik to DC?”

  “Yes ma’am, he doesn’t go anywhere without him.”

  “Where does that put you?”

  “Protecting you, Mrs. Skinner.”

  “Have there been any real leads into Wesley’s murder?”

  “Nothing solid.”

  “Don’t you think that’s strange with there being such a big reward?”

  “Actually I do, but then again what do I know?”

  I wasn’t sure if he was holding back information or if he really didn’t know anything. Surely he had to know more than I did because Malik wasn’t telling me anything. Then again, maybe he was trying to maintain his professionalism after our encounter.

  I arrived to Dorrance Hamilton Hall at five-fifteen p.m. where about 60 people were gathered. The media had a low, but visible presence and I wound up chatting briefly with Lou Mendels, thanking him for the great photos from my interview and events. But then I was forced to hear his opinion on the climate of the city. For all it was worth, his travel throughout the city to both political and private events made him privy to a lot of conversations. It was just that sometimes he could be a bit lengthy.

  Haney strolled in right before the program started, wearing a suit that was way more expensive than any my husband owned. O’Hare was seated on my right at the dais and after Haney greeted us, he took the seat to my left.

  In reading over the short program, if all went as scheduled, I would be out of there by seven-thirty, early enough to drive out to see Curtiss. The Program Director, Ms. Bingham, took to the podium, welcomed everyone, described the awards, and then followed with my introduction.

  As I listened, I pondered Raquel’s offer to me to become CEO of her arts initiative. That really would be a good move for me, as she said I could prepare myself for it over the next two years. If it were my plan to design, I’d have another baby and then be ready to step into the role. This time though, I’d get a nanny and a bigger house. I doubted that Malik would complain if he got what he wanted.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bingham,” I said as I began my speech. “The arts encompass a broad spectrum. . . develops the total human being. As artists, you will see the world through a different lens and offer that view to us. . . music, literature, art, drama and dance are part of our lives. . . the arts community. We need the arts, we need you to give us the arts, in all its forms. This is a great opportunity for all of you, so please be sure to live out your dreams.”

  Out the corner of my eye, I could see Haney, reared back in his seat, arms folded across his chest, appearing to be genuinely interested in what I was saying.

  When I returned to my seat, my bare leg accidentally brushed his and when I went to cross my legs, his hand held onto my knee. Not being in a position to say anything or move it without O’Hare noticing our interaction, I left it there.

  Next on the program was O’Hare, who assisted Ms. Bingham in handing out the scholarships.

  With his voice barely audible under the applauding audience, Haney said, “Come see me.”

  Trying my best to ignore him and his roaming hand, which had now made its way between my thighs, I smiled and clapped on cue, and while Lou snapped pictures, I noticed Phinn on the back row, texting. This was when I realized that having a conversation with Mr. Haney would not be in my best interest.

  “Let go of me,” I said through lips that barely moved.

  Glancing at the face of my watch, if the program were correct, then I had seventeen more minutes before this was over and I could get away from his sexual taunting.

  “Please,” he said, his breath too close to my ear, until finally Ms. Bingham called him to the stage.

  After the official ceremony ended, we took group pictures, and each time Haney managed to tug me closer to him. I had no intentions on staying for refreshments.

  “I want you, Tiffany,” he told me, having now slipped his arm around my waist for a selfie with one of the students.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You can do whatever you want. Isn’t this your city?”

  “But I’m riding with Phinn.”

  “He’ll bring you. He owes me.”

  What did he mean by that? How could Phinn possibly owe him, and for what? I couldn’t dare ask him to take me to Haney, could I? />
  On the way down Broad Street with City Hall looming in front of us, Phinn and I didn’t talk because when I told him where to take me, I could sense his disappointment. Before I stepped out the SUV, I felt the need to explain.

  “Phinn, this isn’t what you think; we’re just conducting business. Malik will. . .”

  “No need to explain, you have my confidence. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

  I had Haney’s confidence, too. So confident that I’d come, Haney had left the door slightly ajar. So I wandered inside, curious about the place he’d made his home. The rooms appeared to have been professionally staged for a showing, thereby lacking any genuine warmth. A flat screen television took up an entire wall of the living room, in front of which was a table, holding various remote controls. His furniture was a smoky gray leather couch and two matching chairs. The only evidence of him living there was an 11x15-framed photo of my nephews that sat on the sofa table and two flickering scented candles. The other free space held a tabletop humidor and a few pieces of Asian art sat against the wall, waiting to be hung.

  I followed the light to his bedroom where he sat in a leather recliner, across from a king-sized iron bed that took up most of the room.

  “I made you a drink,” he said, offering me a glass of white wine.

  “I hope there’s nothing in it,” I responded, still standing in the doorway.

  “We’re past that, but you do seem a bit nervous. Anything I can do to help you relax?”

  “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

  “We could just talk.”

  “Funny thing is, I’ve never been in your personal space,” I stated, realizing that all of our past encounters had been in every place and on every surface except a bed.

  Getting up from the chair and motioning me to sit down, he said, “Come on, I’ve learned to be patient, relax.”

  “Relaxing, is that what I’m here for?” I asked, my voice tinged with attitude because I’d allowed myself to be manipulated into coming here. But had I really been manipulated?

  “When did you get wound so tight?”