Woman on Top Page 23

  I looked at it again, was it really me? It wasn’t grainy, and the cityscape made for a perfect backdrop as it glittered with lights, but it was clearly me because I remembered that exact moment.

  My mind raced with questions. How had he done it? There’d been no phone in his hand, at least I didn’t think there’d been. Had someone else been there? Who else had this photo been sent to? Was this a joke or was Haney trying to blackmail me?

  I steadied the phone in my hands and stared down at the numbers, there weren’t enough digits to make it an actual phone number. Who was doing this to me? It had to be Haney.

  There was no time to text. I pressed the home button on my phone and shouted, “Siri, call that asshole, Haney, call him now!”

  Siri answered back, “I don’t see an asshole Haney in your contacts.”

  I screamed again, “Please Siri, call Mr. Haney!”

  “Calling Mr. Haney.”

  The phone rang once, twice, then was sent to voicemail.

  “God, what am I going to do?”

  For the third time, I examined the photo, turning it horizontal, then vertical to see if I could tell if it had been a selfie, or taken from inside the condo. Had there been cameras? Had someone else been there? I started to cry slowly at first, but when my heart and pulse began to pound, the tears poured from me. Unable to breathe, I unbuckled my seat belt to prevent myself from hyperventilating.

  I had to get to Malik before anyone else did. Not realizing that I hadn’t put the car in park, when I stepped on the gas, I rammed the car in front of me. Shifting the car into reverse, I hit the gas and the car jerked backward. Ignoring the occupants beeping horn, I pulled out and barreled down 4th street.

  Once onto Market Street, blinded by my tears, I didn’t stop for yellow lights and barely stopped for the red ones. I had to talk to Malik.

  I swerved around cars, buses and taxicabs and even when I heard the siren and saw the flashing blue lights of a police cruiser in my rearview mirror, I didn’t slow down. There was no time for me to pull over; I had to reach Malik before the picture did.

  Rounding City Hall, I beeped the horn repeatedly at pedestrians, then jumping the curb, I drove onto the wide sidewalk on the north side of the building, screeching my car to a halt. The police officer followed suit, jumping the curb, his door swinging open as he jumped from his vehicle, with his hand on his gun, trying to stop a presumed maniac from storming City Hall.

  “Ma’am please, move away from your car, now!” he shouted, until he realized who I was, which made it worse for him.

  “What? What?” I yelled, daring him to stop me, as I ran toward the lobby doors.

  “Mrs. Skinner, I didn’t know it was. . .” he said, and then backed up a few steps, easing his gun back into its holster, but staying close enough behind me to keep up with my frantic pace.

  I made my way through the entrance, not even stopping to greet the security personnel; they knew who I was. With no patience to wait for the elevator, I took the wide rounding staircase to Malik’s second floor office, with the patrol officer still on my heels.

  I probably should’ve had more control, showed some poise and restraint in handling this, or maybe called Malik or perhaps waited until he’d gotten home that evening, but I didn’t do any of that.

  Outside Malik’s office, there were four uniformed officers, casually standing around talking and drinking coffee.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Skinner.”

  “Morning, Mrs. . . .”

  No time for greetings. I ignored them, pushing through the glass doors to the Mayor’s suite.

  “Where’s my husband?” I demanded of Rasheeda, Malik’s receptionist.

  She stood up, blocking the city crest on the wall behind her, and said, “He’s in a meeting, Mrs. Skinner, would you. . .”

  I didn’t wait for her to finish; instead I burst through his double office doors, and blurted out, “Malik, I need. . .” but I stopped short. Sitting around his conference table were Deputy O’Hare, Chief of Staff Barnes and Mr. Haney. Utter shock was on everyone’s face, but the confusion and concern on Haney’s face, matched that of my husband’s.

  However, now that I was there in front of Malik, Haney, and some of his senior staff, I didn’t know what to say. My eyes darted around the paneled office, searching for something to focus on, to regain my balance and to formulate words that made sense.

  The red, white and blue flag stood off in the corner of the room, Malik’s scarred oak desk was in the middle, there was a couch stacked with files, and two chairs, a coffee table, end tables with lamps.

  Malik sprang from his seat asking, “Tiffany, what’s wrong? Where’s Nylah?”

  With everyone staring at me, I realized I’d come here without a plan and it was obvious he hadn’t seen the photo, at least not yet. I couldn’t tell him, not here at work.

  I swallowed hard and said, “Malik. . . I. . . I have to talk to you please, right away.”

  “My apologies everyone, can you excuse us?” he told the group.

  They didn’t bother to gather up their papers, files, iPads or phones; they just all scurried out the office, as if they too were afraid of what I had to say. All except Mr. Haney, who kept turning back to look at me. Did he not realize what he’d done?

  Malik brought me to him and pleaded, “What’s wrong, baby? What happened? Talk to me.”

  The lies came quickly.

  “I almost had an accident. I did have an accident.”

  “Where? Are you hurt? Is anybody hurt?”

  He pulled away, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes searching to see where I’d been injured.

  “I hit a car, I was texting, and a cop followed me. I’m so sorry.”

  “Here, sit down,” he offered, bringing me to the couch beside him. I glanced around me at all that was important to him. This office was a symbol of everything he believed in about justice, the law, and his character, now, because of me, it was about to crumble.

  “Is anybody hurt? Where were you?”

  “I was parked and I pulled out and hit the back of the car, the front, I don’t know, the car was empty. . . I think. . . I don’t know. . . I panicked.”

  He began to laugh. “Slow down, all right, stop crying.”

  “Malik, you don’t understand,” I cried, burying my head in my hands.

  “So you’re telling me that my wife, who campaigned to end texting and driving, hit a parked car while texting and driving?”

  “Malik, it’s not that, it’s more. I mean, it’s bad.”

  He stroked my hair. “Woman, nobody knows you were texting. It won’t be in the papers, relax. I thought something happened. I’ll take care of it.”

  “I’ve ruined everything.”

  “No, it’s okay, stop crying, you haven’t ruined anything,” he told me, then wiped my eyes, giving me a tissue to blow my nose.

  “I love you, Malik, I swear I do. I would never do anything to hurt you.” I looked around, probably for the last time and said, “I’d never do anything to take away this.”

  “I know, baby, hold on.”

  He hit the intercom on the end table. “Rasheeda, can you send Phinn in, please.” Then he turned to me and asked, “Who were you texting?”

  I gripped the phone in my hand, paranoid that the photo was still on the screen. Luckily, Phinn entered the office before I conjured up another lie. Malik explained the situation to him.

  “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

  “Tiffany, let Phinn drive you home and I’ll be there later.”

  “What about Nylah? I have to get her from school. . . my car is here.”

  “I’ll take care of it, go home, relax and have a glass of wine, okay.”

  “Malik, I love you, no matter what, I love you. I’m sorry.”

  He laughed, whispered in my ear and teasingly said, “How about I punish you when I get home?”

  Before following Phinn through a side exit, I kissed Malik, certain it would be our las
t.

  In the backseat of the Tahoe, I thought about who I could call, who could help me. Who could stop the hell that was about to reign down on not only me, but also my husband, my family, and the city?

  I couldn’t call Kamille, she’d say it was my fault and she was right since I’d willingly been with Haney twice. I tried calling Max, but when she didn’t pick up, I decided against leaving a frantic message; she didn’t need my drama while she was pregnant. I had to find a way to fix this myself.

  “Mrs. Skinner, are you going to be all right?” Phinn asked, gazing at me through the rearview mirror.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Greg Haney, I need to see him – in private. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Once inside the house, I needed something to relax me, calm me down so I could think clearly and figure this out before Malik came home. I scrounged around in the kitchen cabinets and found a bottle of expired Xanax. I took one, chasing it with a half bottle of flat champagne that had been left in the refrigerator.

  I tried calling Haney again, two, three times, thinking I could talk him out of exposing the photo to Malik, and to the media. Whatever he wanted, I’d give him. I just didn’t want to ruin my husband.

  However his unanswered calls just heightened my anxieties, so I took one more Xanax, this time opening a bottle of wine.

  Somehow with my mobile still in my hand, I’d fallen asleep. I was laying across the bed when I heard the alarm chime. Malik was home. The clock on the cable box read, four a.m. He knew.

  My head was in a fog from the Xanax, and so slowly I made my way to the top of the staircase and called down to him. “Malik.”

  He didn’t answer. I went halfway down the stairs and tried again. “Malik.”

  I continued down the stairs until I was standing at the entrance to the kitchen. The lights were out, but the blue light from his mobile sat blinking on the counter.

  “Why, Tiffany? Why the fuck did you do this to me?” he asked, not even turning around when I entered the kitchen.

  I mumbled, “Nylah, did you get her?”

  “You didn’t think I’d bring her here, did you? She’s with your parents.”

  “I didn’t mean to do it, Malik. Give me a chance to explain.”

  “That’s funny ’cause I think this picture is explanation enough.” He held up his phone, the photo staring back at me. “What do you think?”

  Turning my eyes away, I tried to talk. “It’s not that, it. . .”

  “Stop, don’t even try to lie. I know everything.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, realizing that if he really did know everything, then only one person could’ve told him.

  “You fed me all that bullshit when he came home about being worried about me. When here, I’d married Haney’s whore,” he said, his statement ringing with disgust.

  In all the years we’d been together, Malik had never called me a derogatory name, and now I was everything evil and bad that had happened to him in the last ten months since Haney had come home.

  “Malik, I’m not a whore. Please hear me out. It wasn’t like that. I made a mistake.”

  “What is there to hear? You ruined my reputation,” he retorted, and then took a drink from the bottle of Pappy he was holding down on the counter.

  I reached out, my hand on his arm, but he shook it off and moved to the other side of the counter. Pleading, I said, “Malik, we can fix this.”

  “Really and who’s gonna fix it, Olivia fuckin’ Pope? Or, let’s see, maybe your lover, Haney? Yeah, he can fix it, like he fixed things with Wesley?”

  My words constricted my throat, but I had to ask. “Does the media know yet?”

  “Not yet, but they’ll be here.”

  “There’s still time, Malik. We can figure it out. You can say it was photo shopped.”

  “You sound ridiculous. I’m not getting caught up in that lie. Do you think when someone sees that photo, they won’t know that it’s really you? And what would that change? Even if we fooled everyone else, I’d still know that you’re a whore. Shit!” he said, slamming his glass onto the counter, breaking it into shards that crashed to the floor.

  I moved to the opposite side of the counter, facing him, but he kept turning away. Was he afraid of hitting me, and if he did, what would I do?

  “You have to listen, give me a chance, please, I’m begging you.”

  “Go ’head, Tiffany, tell me how you were fucking that man and his son, how you videotaped your threesome with your girlfriend. Yeah, that’s right, I know it all.”

  Backing up away from him, I stepped on glass, but that pain wasn’t important. Using my hands, I covered my ears from his awful words and yelled, “Stop! Stop! Let me talk, I can explain. I was trying to help you.”

  “It’s funny now, but I knew there was more to you wanting to bring him down. I was so blinded by you, by the power taking him down gave me, and now look, I’m the one that’s powerless. It’s always a woman, always, Nanny told me that a long time ago.”

  By now Malik’s mobile had begun ringing with calls and vibrating with text messages. I felt myself fading away, probably from the pills and alcohol, but I had to hold on, to my thoughts, and to my husband.

  “What? No! I’m home,” he screamed at someone on the phone.

  “Who was it?” I asked, assuming it was Cyndi warning him that the pictures were about to hit the press.

  His head snapped up. “Are you really asking me that? Oh that’s right, I’m screwing Cyndi. I guess that’s mute now. You have nothing to say. You know what, Tiffany, why don’t you get out?” he demanded, while his hands gripped the sides of the counter. I’d never seen my husband filled with so much anger.

  “I am not leaving!”

  “Why not? You’ve disgraced the one thing I believe in, my family. You had that man in my home. Ain’t I the fool?”

  “NO, YOU HAD HIM HERE. YOU’RE THE ONE THAT WANTED HIM TO FIX THINGS WITH WESLEY. IT’S YOUR FAULT WESLEY’S DEAD!”

  As soon as the words were out, darkness covered his face. I knew I’d gone too far. He headed toward the door. I followed after him.

  “Malik, wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that, please don’t leave me,” I begged, holding onto his arm.

  Tossing me aside, he said, “You whore, get the fuck away from me!”

  Chapter 21

  Platinum Images

  I don’t know how long I slept, but the constant ringing of the house phone, coupled with the vibrating of my mobile, might’ve been the only thing that saved me.

  Awkwardly sprawled across the bed, still in my skirt and bra, I attempted to sit up, causing the room to spin. I crawled to the bathroom, vomiting before I reached the toilet. Lying on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor eased my throbbing head, until I began replaying how things had unfolded. The photo, City Hall, arguing with Malik, the drinking, the Xanax, and now, more vomit.

  The jarring light against the frosted bathroom window told me it was daytime, but the house was dark and cold. My panic came when I wondered where Nylah was, had she seen me like this? Where was Malik, had he taken her from me?

  Using the sink, I pulled myself up, cranked open the window and even though I was blinded by the sun, I saw Phinn. There he sat, protecting me from the throng of reporters gathered on my front lawn.

  Back in the bedroom, tangled up in the comforter I found my mobile, filled with numerous missed calls, and text messages, the most recent one from my mother.

  Mom: We have taken Nylah on the road with us to California.

  There was also an earlier text from Haney.

  Haney: It wasn’t me. Let’s talk.

  It was too late, they knew, everybody knew. Rather than talk to anyone, I unplugged the bedroom phone. I was about to turn off my mobile when it rang, displaying a number and name that I couldn’t ignore, and didn’t want to. I pushed the accept button.

&nb
sp; “I hear you could use a friend.”

  “Sasha,” I cried to my former boss.

  “Are you able to get to my office?”

  I was crying too hard to answer.

  “Never mind, stay there, I’m sending Michael.”

  I prayed that if nothing else, maybe Sasha could help me get out of town. I could go to my house in Montauk, figure things out until my parents returned.

  An hour later when I opened the front door for Michael, who was carrying coffee and bagels, he hadn’t come alone. Falling into Max’s arms, her swollen belly was comfort until Lynn had to steady me down into a chair at the kitchen table.

  “Here,” Max said, holding a cup of coffee to my lips, “drink this, please.”

  I could tell my friend had been crying and instead of glowing in her pregnancy, Max was drawn and worried because of me. I hadn’t been a good friend.

  “Max, I’m sorry.”

  “Shhhh here, take a bite,” she said, offering me pieces of a bagel.

  Michael chimed in, “First thing she needs is a shower. Lynn, can you get her upstairs?”

  “Sure thing,” he said, before lifting me into his arms and carrying me like a baby upstairs to my bathroom. With Max’s assistance, I undressed and stepped under the hot spray of water.

  “I’ll find her something to wear,” Michael said, from now inside my closet.

  “You’re going to be okay, we’ll get through this,” Max assured me.

  “I’ll clean up,” Lynn told them, having seen the vomit on my bedroom and bathroom floors.

  The shower was helping to clear up some of the fog in my head, but my stomach was in knots. Max stayed right there with me, while I showered, washed my knotted hair, and brushed my teeth.

  Once I was dressed, the next step was getting me out of the house, past the reporters and up to Montauk. Phinn, and Lynn had the uniformed officers push the media all the way back to the street, making a path for Lynn’s truck to back out. Then with Max and Phinn in front, and Michael and Lynn beside me, they hurried me outside through the swarm of reporters, shouting questions and cameras in our faces, all of which turned into one big blur behind my sunglasses.

  Thirty-five minutes later, we arrived at Platinum Images. It had been remodeled in the seven years since I’d been gone, but there were still some friendly faces who smiled when we came through the reception area.