Divine Intervention (33 page)
Read Divine Intervention Online
Authors: Lutishia Lovely
3
Sistah-Girls, Sistah-Chats
T
he next morning, Hope bounded out of bed at seven a.m., wanting to be ready when her personal trainer, Yvette, arrived at seven-thirty. The popular L.A. trainer, who came at a hefty one-fifty an hour, had proved herself well worth the payment: Hope was smaller than she’d been before getting pregnant, actually in the best shape of her life. Yvette combined several popular training modules—pilates, aerobics, Zumba—along with her own brand of stretch and cardio. She achieved in forty minutes the same results that usually required sixty to ninety minutes of working out. The routine was grueling, fast-paced, relentless and, aside from time spent with her husband and/or children, the absolute best time of Hope’s day. She donned workout gear and picked up the children’s monitor before walking over to the other side of the second floor to check on the twins. Satisfied that they slept soundly, she kissed first Camon and then Acacia’s forehead and then made sure that the room monitor was turned up so that any noise coming from the room could be heard over Yvette’s barked orders in the downstairs gym. Going into the kitchen for a bottle of water, she smiled as she spotted a note on the fridge:
he next morning, Hope bounded out of bed at seven a.m., wanting to be ready when her personal trainer, Yvette, arrived at seven-thirty. The popular L.A. trainer, who came at a hefty one-fifty an hour, had proved herself well worth the payment: Hope was smaller than she’d been before getting pregnant, actually in the best shape of her life. Yvette combined several popular training modules—pilates, aerobics, Zumba—along with her own brand of stretch and cardio. She achieved in forty minutes the same results that usually required sixty to ninety minutes of working out. The routine was grueling, fast-paced, relentless and, aside from time spent with her husband and/or children, the absolute best time of Hope’s day. She donned workout gear and picked up the children’s monitor before walking over to the other side of the second floor to check on the twins. Satisfied that they slept soundly, she kissed first Camon and then Acacia’s forehead and then made sure that the room monitor was turned up so that any noise coming from the room could be heard over Yvette’s barked orders in the downstairs gym. Going into the kitchen for a bottle of water, she smiled as she spotted a note on the fridge:
Baby: I hope your workout this morning is half as good as the one we gave each other last night. Have I told you lately that you’re amazing? Hope these meetings go quickly. I already miss you. Cy.
“I miss you, too, baby,” Hope murmured, as she ran her hand over the note. It was a habit they’d started in the early days of their marriage, leaving each other notes in various parts of the house, but most often on the kitchen fridge. Even with the popularity of texting, emails and the old school phone call, there was nothing quite like seeing pen having been put to paper, hearts hastily drawn or an ‘I love you’ scrawled in Cy’s bold handwriting.
Bold. Strong. Yes, that’s my baby.
She remembered how well he’d sexed her last night and then again this morning before leaving on his New York business trip. During the downturn in the nation’s economy and the subsequent falling real estate prices, Cy had greatly expanded his company’s portfolio, picking up several prime pieces of land and property from the eastern seaboard all the way down to the Florida Keys. He and one of his newest business partners, Jack Kirtz, had also secured property outside of the United States, including ocean-front property in Dakkar on which they’d built a sanctuary for children orphaned as a result of war and disease. The simple yet sturdy housing complex was comprised of one-thousand units and included a school, gym, playground, general store and medical facility. It was one of Cy’s proudest achievements and since she and Jack’s wife had been a part of the planning process, it was Hope’s pride and joy as well.
Bold. Strong. Yes, that’s my baby.
She remembered how well he’d sexed her last night and then again this morning before leaving on his New York business trip. During the downturn in the nation’s economy and the subsequent falling real estate prices, Cy had greatly expanded his company’s portfolio, picking up several prime pieces of land and property from the eastern seaboard all the way down to the Florida Keys. He and one of his newest business partners, Jack Kirtz, had also secured property outside of the United States, including ocean-front property in Dakkar on which they’d built a sanctuary for children orphaned as a result of war and disease. The simple yet sturdy housing complex was comprised of one-thousand units and included a school, gym, playground, general store and medical facility. It was one of Cy’s proudest achievements and since she and Jack’s wife had been a part of the planning process, it was Hope’s pride and joy as well.
“Perfect timing!” Hope opened the side door that led directly to the area of the mansion that housed the gym, game room, laundry room, and maid’s quarters.
“The traffic cooperated this morning,” Yvette replied. “A good thing since your neighbor hates it when I’m late.” The ladies continued chatting as they walked the short distance to the gym, and Yvette replaced sandals with athletic shoes. “I still don’t get why you and Millicent don’t work out together.”
“It’s a long story,” Hope replied, placing her water on a nearby bench before stretching her hands high above her head. “Besides, I like our one-on-one routine.”
“That’s just it. The routines I’ve designed for both of you are very similar; it would be less work for me and more fun for you. I’d even give you a discount. So what’s the story?” Yvette asked when Hope continued stretching in silence.
“You don’t want to know and probably wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Millicent and I have known each other for a long time and while we’ve learned to co-exist quite nicely, we’ll never be BFFs, okay?”
“Okay.” Yvette knew when she was coming close to a line she dared not cross. She walked over and placed her iPod on the dock. Soon, Adam Levine and Maroon Five were talking about moving like Jagger. “Let’s get to work.”
An hour later Hope had finished her workout, showered, helped the housekeeper and part-time nanny dress the kids and had made sure they were settled in for their Spanish lesson followed by lunch and their daily “wear them out so they’ll take a nap” romp in a nearby park. Ironically enough, her housekeeper Teresa was a member of Open Arms, the church pastured by Cy’s business partner, Jack Kirtz. He was also her former nemesis Millicent’s husband and she had been the one who, after Hope had mentioned her desire to have someone help her with her growing and increasingly rambunctious children, suggested Teresa as a perfect fit for the job. She’d been right. The forty-five year old mother of four grown children had melded into the Taylor household right away and quickly become invaluable to Hope’s running of it. In addition to housekeeping and baby-sitting, she taught the children her native language. These days in California, and increasingly in other parts of the country as well, knowing Spanish was not an option, but a necessity.
Hope was in the kitchen and had just downed a bagel with her daily superfood smoothie when her cell phone rang. “Hey, cuz! How’s the doctor’s wife?”
“Bored as hell,” Frieda grumbled. “Gabriel has me at this vanilla-ass breakfast with some snooty-ass women flaunting their husbands’ millions. I had to come out for some air before my face fell into the eggs Benedict.”
“It’s probably a very nice breakfast.” Even as Hope said this, she could barely keep from laughing. Her ride-or-die former hoodrat cousin wasn’t much for high-class hobnobbing.
“Please,” Frieda responded, proving Hope’s point. “There’s enough silicone and bleach in this room to open up a business on the black market. Wish I’d known what kind of paper would be in here. I could have had one of my former neighbors stick this joint and walk away with diamonds worth at least five mil!”
“Frieda, you don’t mean that.”
“Hell, if I hadn’t stopped carrying my piece like you told me, I could have stuck up these bitches myself!”
“Ha!” Hope knew her cousin was playing, mostly.
“The best part of the whole morning was the mimosas. I know my man Dom when I taste him.”
Hope could hear that Frieda had bought “her man” out with her and was now taking a healthy gulp. “We’re not drinking and driving are we?”
“We’re not. I am. But don’t worry. I’m not driving far; heading back to the house as soon as this is over so I can get my groo ... never mind.”
“Since when have you been coy about love-making? You’se married now,” Hope continued in her best Suge Avery voice. “Sex is allowed.”
“What are you doing?”
Hope didn’t miss that Frieda was changing the subject, a red flag since it was one of her cousin’s favorites. “Wait. Why do I feel there is something you’re not telling me?”
“Nothing, girl.”
“Frieda . . .” She heard her cousin taking another drink.
“Aw, hell. I might as well tell you since I might need you to cover for me one of these days.” A pause and then, “I’ve got a new boo.”
“What?”
“A tenderoni girl, with a big, thick black dick that he knows how to use!”
“Frieda!” Hope jumped off the bar chair where she’d been lounging. “Tell me you’re not serious.”
“As serious as a blod clot on its way to the brain.”
“Frieda, Gabriel is a good guy, a wonderful man. He’s the man supporting your lavish lifestyle, the father of your child!”
“Maybe .. .”
“What?” Hope’s voice went from a low G to a high C in no time flat. “Okay, I know you’re joking but girl, that’s not funny.” Silence. “You are joking, right?” Before Frieda answered, Hope’s phone beeped, indicating an incoming call. “Don’t hang up,” she warned Frieda before switching over. “Hello?”
“Hey, girl.”
“Stacy! Hold on a minute, Frieda’s on the other line talking crazy. Let me do a three-way.”
“Okay.”
Hope clicked back to the other call. “Frieda, you there? It’s Stacy. I’m going to click her into the mix. Frieda? Cuz, you there?”
Cuz wasn’t there. Cuz had dropped two bombs and then left the building.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2012 by Lutishia Lovely
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-7937-8
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