Diary of a Mad First Lady (6 page)

“Mom, I’m sorry that I’ve had you worried, but trust me; I’m fine. All is well. Pastor and First Lady Johnson, along with their church family, have accepted the apology, and we’ve moved on to reconciling.” I hoped that my chipper tone was enough to convince my mother. I was wrong.

“Baby, but it’s just not right. You have to think of someone other than yourself. I know you have your reasons for being there, but, baby, you’ve got to know that God ain’t pleased. What are you gonna do when you reap what you’ve sown? Child, the tables will turn, and you’re going to wish that you’d thought better of what you’re trying to do.”

Sometimes I wondered whose child I was. I never knew my father, but it was in times like these that I wondered if I knew my mother. She had no backbone and obviously didn’t know the definition of persistence.

I concluded that this conversation wasn’t going anywhere. “Mother, we’re going to have to discuss this later. I’ve been busy trying to get settled and today I got up early for church. I’m tired. I’ll have to call you back later.” Before she had the opportunity to protest, I closed my pink RAZR flip phone.

I drove up to my driveway, clicked the button that opened and closed the massive gates, pulled into the garage, and turned off the ignition of my blue BMW 750 Li.

The cost of living in Florida was astronomical compared to the suburbs of Atlanta, and three months ago, I didn’t think that I would ever be able to make Atlanta my permanent residence again. But I was here to stay. Nothing would stop me. My brilliant plan, which would assure me of my dreams, was already working.

Granted, I’d had somewhat of a minor setback with Michelle, but she could be handled. Before long, I would be where I belonged—in the arms of Pastor Darvin Johnson. This time, I wasn’t going to stop until I reached my destination. And my final stop would be in the role of Darvin’s wife and the First Lady of Mount Zion Baptist Church.

The excitement of that thought caused me to practically jump out my car and run into my house, where I kicked off my three-inch white sandals and fell back onto my couch. I smiled as I looked at the dry-erase board that I’d hung on the wall in the kitchen next to the refrigerator, and I made a mental note to cross out the first step to becoming Darvin Johnson’s wife. It was now time for me to get to work on step number two.

Glee filled my heart because I could smell the fragrance of victory and it hadn’t even come yet. One thing I’d learned from growing up in church was that you didn’t have to wait until the battle was won, but you could shout right now. And that is what I did. I stood up and gave God praise for giving me the luminous mind that He did. Because it was nobody but Him who’d spoken to me this plan, and the least I could do was obey. Some would classify me as crazy for even thinking that God would outline a plan to me that would take another woman’s husband—but He did.

Although the homes on my street were guarded by gates, the view of each home was obtainable from certain rooms in my house. I ran to an upstairs bedroom to see if the Johnsons had made it home. It was perfect timing. Their armor bearers were helping them into the house, and Michelle was slowly moving toward the front door. Looking at her, I was quickly reminded that I had another problem.

Before returning to Atlanta, an inside source from the church had kept me abreast of all the happenings of the Johnsons. Just before I was released, I received the letter that drove me back to crazy land. The letter informed me that Michelle was expecting. Now, watching her from across the street, I could see the tiny bulge in her stomach that was peeking out from under her shirt. That tramp was pregnant with my man’s baby.

I was suddenly outraged and wanted nothing more than to go and push her down onto the concrete driveway. But as soon as the thought came, I dismissed it, because her pregnancy may actually work to my benefit. Yes, I would use her pregnancy to my advantage, and by the time I was through, she wouldn’t know what hit her.

Feeling a slight sense of achievement, I slipped out of my yellow sundress right in the middle of the guest bedroom, and I let it pool around my feet. I stepped over it and headed to my bathroom to take a long soak in some Sun-Ripened bath bubbles while I focused on my next course of action.

Going into the bathroom, I glanced at the picture of Darvin sitting on my nightstand. He was so handsome and so innocent. I knew after leaving him today that I’d left him thinking. I always had that effect on people, especially him.

I picked up the picture frame and kissed the image of the man who was soon going to be mine. If I stayed on course, by this time next year, the AJC would be doing an article on me and my husband. I could imagine the headline in bold letters:

FLORIDA
NATIVE
WEDS
RENOWNED
PASTOR
DARVIN
JOHNSON
.

I placed the picture back into its place, and caught a glimpse of the worn piece of paper that first held my plan before I transferred it to the dry-erase board in the kitchen. One day, I would share with our children how God told me exactly what to do to get their father to see we were meant to be together.

I could only pray that they would be as blessed.

The little paper was crinkled to say the least, but I unfolded it and looked at my first two steps. 1. Introduce myself as Dawn Carlton; 2. Befriend First Lady Johnson . . . again.

Starting off, my plan looked simple. But it wasn’t. For the rest of my life, I was going to have to remind myself every day that I was no longer Daphne Carlton, the person that I was born as, but Dawn Carlton. Not only that, but I had to keep what little family I had away from Atlanta. Since no one understood how important this was to me, they were sure to sabotage everything that I was working so hard for. Many people didn’t get the option to start all over in life, but I’d created my own destiny.

It had been a little easier that I’d imagined convincing Darvin, Michelle, and the church that I was my own twin. Oh, and I couldn’t leave out my little informant that I had been paying generously to give me whatever information I needed—when I needed it.

After leaving town as Daphne, I served my two years in that god-awful hell hole. When I first arrived, I thought all hope was lost. But after hearing my story one day, my roommate reminded me that I could have easily been sentenced to do some jail time. That’s when I realized that God had looked out for me and was giving me this opportunity to regroup.

An investment I made with an old friend and business associate, Steven Chiles, just prior to being locked away, materialized and produced a sizeable return. Oh, what a happy day it was when Steven called me and told me the good news. My third stop after being released was to his office to pick up my check. The first was home to change into some decent clothes, and the second was at Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. God knows I had an obsession with glazed doughnuts. So, I picked up the check, cashed in, and was now sitting in a very comfortable financial position. I could pretty much buy anything I wanted—including happiness.

By the time this was over, everyone but Michelle was going to love me.

Chapter Five

Michelle

It had been a very long day, and the tranquility that I’d experienced when the day began had long been replaced with fatigue, stress, and anxiety.

Dawn Carlton’s appearance had shifted my mood for the entire day, and all I wanted to do was get inside of my house and go to bed.

Chanice, who decided to ride home with me today, noticed everything. She said, “First Lady, would you like for us to order dinner in for you? I know that you normally cook on Sundays, but I think it will be best if you ordered out today.”

I continued to look out of the window as we were driving down our street, hoping to find my thoughts on one of the street signs. The signs failed to yield any answers to the many questions running rapidly through my mind.

Why was Dawn Carlton really here?

“First Lady?” Chanice repeated. “Do you . . .”

Her voice trailed off as I put my hand up to interrupt the rest of her statement. I didn’t want to be asked any more questions. I had enough of my own. I turned to face Chanice, who was sitting in the back of my Navigator.

“I’ll be fine.” I looked at Twylah, who was driving, and said, “You guys are great, and I don’t want you to think that I’m being unappreciative of what you’re trying to do, but I just want to get into my own space and sort through the events of the day.” Exhausted by that one statement, I turned back around to continue the search for answers outside of the window.

As we pulled into our driveway, I looked at the house across the street. It had been for sale for some time now, but the FOR SALE sign had been taken down earlier in the week. I made a mental note to introduce myself to our new neighbors, something that was often unheard of anymore.

We drove through the gates that led to my own safe haven, and no sooner than the automatic locks could free me from my current prison, I was opening the door. Darvin, who pulled right behind us in his black Mercedes S550, saw the swiftness in me trying to get out of the truck, and rushed to my side to help me out. I glanced quickly into his eyes and pleaded with him not to ask the same question people had been asking me since I’d left the church. I was fine, and would be better if I could just get to my king-sized bed, dive underneath the same covers that had engulfed me earlier that morning, and drift away into an ocean of deep sleep, leaving all of my troubles behind.

I walked into my doorway and kicked off my shoes. My house still smelled of the breakfast that I’d eaten just hours before, and unexpectedly I found myself in the guest bathroom emptying my stomach of all that I’d delighted in that morning. I seldom had morning or anytime sickness, but today was an exception. Considering the turn of events, I was almost expectant that the day would only continue to get worse.

I found the strength to get to my bedroom, shed my clothes, and climb into my green sea of Egyptian cotton high thread count sheets. I heard Chanice and Twylah discussing with Darvin the dinner plans before I drifted off into unconsciousness.

As I drove up to my house, I noticed that it was unusually dark. I tried to always leave a light on, especially when I knew that I would be out late. In spite of the nervousness that I felt, I got out of my car and went toward the door. No sooner than I could step over the threshold, I saw her. Even in the piercing black, I could see the anger in her eyes. Fear had me frozen in place, paralyzing all of my rationale and my ability to decipher what my next move should be.

“So, Michelle, you’ve made it home.” I could hear the sarcasm dripping from her tone. “Why don’t you turn on the lights? Let’s talk.”

“Dawn?” I asked, trying to grasp that she had somehow gotten into my house.

“No, Michelle. You’re mistaken. I’m Daphne,” she said with a smirk.

I could feel my throat getting tight. How had she gotten in? Wasn’t she supposed to be in Florida?

“Daphne, please, whatever you’ve planned, don’t do it,” I pleaded.

“Michelle, don’t give me that pathetic plea. It’s not going to work. I’ve waited a very long time for this day, and you aren’t going to destroy this moment by attempting to make me feel guilty. Nope. Not gonna work.”

I felt an eerie feeling that I was desperately trying to ignore.

“Now, Michelle, I’ll ask you again. Turn on the lights,” she said through what sounded like clenched teeth.

I hesitantly, by memory, moved to the small table that held the antique lamp. I switched on the light and jumped at the sight of Daphne standing next to the staircase dressed in one of my Donna Vinci suits and wearing my matching J.Reneé shoes. My diamonds flanked her neck as if they belonged there, and my grandmother’s earrings clung to her ears as if she were the owner of them. Looking at Daphne Carlton was like looking at my own image. Her makeup was absolutely flawless, and a waft of my perfume, Angel, slid across my nostrils. Her outfit was near perfect, except for the 9mm accessory in her hand.

“Michelle, lock the door,” she commanded.

“Daphne . . .”

“Michelle!” she interrupted. “Stop it! I’m the one doing the talking. Just do what I tell you to do!”

I turned back to the door. For a split second, I thought of running out, but I knew a bullet would be in my back before I could get two feet. I had to figure out a way to buy myself time.

“Michelle, I know what you’re doing. And trust me; you’re not going to find a plan to escape engraved in the door, so turn back around,” she demanded.

I slowly turned around. The slight flutter in my stomach was the reminding force that propelled me. I became like a wild lioness whose sole objective was to protect her cub. The thought of my unborn baby and its safety was enough to develop the strength I needed to conquer this giant.

“Daphne, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you are not going to get away with it. You will not come into my home and take over while I sit back and watch you do it.”

Her laughter sounded like something from a horror movie.

“Michelle, you never cease to amaze me. Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out, you surprise me. You actually have a spine.” She began to walk closer to me. “What am I going to do with you?” She paused and turned serious again, and was now standing directly in my face. “After I kill you.” She grazed the tip of my nose with the gun.