Every Woman Needs a Wife (20 page)

“Well, even you’ve said at one time or another that your temperature’s been set to bitch lately. Why would today be different?
Especially
after Friday.”

Brandi turned, eyes narrowing as she scanned the length of the office. Heads turned, dipped down, some whipped back to their computer screens; everyone averted their eyes, pretending to suddenly find work interesting. Brandi sensed that more gossip than work had taken place all day.

“Vernon tore through here this morning and almost killed some folks,” Renee said in a low tone.

Placing her leather briefcase and the messages on Renee’s neatly organized desk, Brandi strolled to the center of the office. “May I have your attention, please.” Gee, she was saying a lot of that lately.

Like a symphony, everyone focused back on Brandi, necks craned. Employees in the back near the kitchenette stood to get a better view.

Brandi stared at the group for a moment, paying special attention to Fabian.

The skinny loudmouth ducked behind Ella Clark’s wide frame, almost disappearing. Ella yanked the petite woman out of hiding and pushed her forward. “If you’re woman enough to start it, then be woman enough to own up to it.”

Brandi looked down at the weave-wearing woman—and a bad weave at that—and made a note to have a conversation with her later. Or was it even necessary? The damage was done. She did need to put her foot up Thomas’s sixty-inch ass. Family business was family business.

“May I have your attention please. Just to dispel the rumors before they get out of hand, Vernon and I are experiencing a few personal challenges right now,” she began in a loud, clear voice. “But it will not affect what’s going on with The Perfect Fit. It’s business as usual. I know that’s a concern for you, with the holiday season just around the corner and all. Now… get your nosy little behinds back to work!”

Murmurs followed her all the way to her office as she whizzed past Renee, who handed her the messages again and turned back to her computer.

Brandi switched on the music in her office, settled into her black mesh chair, spread her notes out over the smoke-tinted glass desk that rested on two white Greek columns, and began jotting down what she would need to put in her new business plan.

Twenty minutes later she reached out. Punching the intercom, she said, “Renee, I need financial statements for the last two years, accounts payable and receivable to date, client histories, and client preferences.”

“On everybody?”

Brandi said patiently, “Yes, ma’am. If you need to leave on time, go ahead. Just leave me a note showing where I can find things, but do the best you can.”

“I called my husband,” Renee replied; Brandi could hear papers shuffling in the background. “He’ll pick up the kids and some dinner. I can stay as long as you need me.”

“And I’ll make sure we’ll have dinner brought in and you’ll take a cab home.”

Renee’s voice perked up. “Cool. Let me get started.”

Eventually, Brandi and Vernon would need to split The Perfect Fit down the middle, whether she stayed with her husband or he decided that her new terms were too much for him to handle and went elsewhere. And she would hold her ground, too. Just having Tanya around was enough to make the man want to give birth to triplets.

Moments into the planning stages, she searched her briefcase and purse several times, but couldn’t find a valuable piece of equipment that contained notes for the final projections. She placed a quick call to Avie and found
her lawyer was in court and probably wouldn’t return to the office. Grabbing her coat, she said, “Renee, I have to run downtown and get my handheld. Hold down the fort.”

“No problem. Pulling these files should keep me busy until next week.”

An hour later, just before she stepped into the elevator of the AON Center, Renee called on her cell. “Tanya was just on the other line. It’s urgent. Something about your daughter.”

T
anya, who had been relaxing on the sofa reading
Superwoman’s Child: Son of a Single Mother
, looked up just in time to see Simone stroll through the front door. She slipped out of a neon green sweater, snatched the scrunchie out of her hair, shook the curls out like a runway model, dropped the book bag in the foyer, and sprinted toward the bathroom.

Tanya turned her attention back to the novel expecting Sierra to come bounding in the door any minute.

She didn’t.

An alarm went off in Tanya’s head as she quickly sat up, placed the book on the sofa, and called to Simone, “Where’s Sierra?”

The tall, slender replica of Brandi shrugged as she come into the room and dropped onto the love seat with an iPod in hand. “Don’t know. She wasn’t on the bus.”

“And you didn’t think that was strange? You’re supposed to come in together.”

Simone draped a jean-clad leg over the arm of the love seat and didn’t look up. “Well, I’m where I’m supposed to be,” she said, voice laced with sarcasm. “Hey, she’s got her life and I’ve got mine. She’s ten years old and able to keep up with herself. I am
not
my sister’s keeper.”

Tanya snatched the iPod. “Technically, you are. Did you think about the fact that maybe something could’ve happened to her?”

“Like what?” Simone spat back. “She’s too fat and stupid for anyone to want her for anything.”

“That’s real insensitive coming from her own sister,” Tanya said, appalled at the girl’s nasty tone. “I hope you don’t say that where she can hear you.”

Simone’s angry brown eyes shot daggers. “She knows she’s fat and her grades say she’s stupid. What’s it to you, Blondie?”

Tanya gasped at the blatant disrespect. She had never seen either girl act this way and was sure that Brandi didn’t tolerate such behavior. “What you’re not saying is that she’s caring and kind, and she loves you,” Tanya replied. “Now where is she?”

The feisty little girl looked up—eyes just like her mother’s—staring at Tanya in silence.

“Your mother’s gonna kill you.”

Simone shrugged. “If she’s ever home long enough to try.”

Tanya ran to the phone, glancing out of the window just as a strange moving van pulled off.

Tanya glared at the defiant girl waiting impatiently for Brandi’s assistant to answer. Finally! “Renee, is Brandi in her office?”

“She has asked not to be disturbed. May I ask who’s calling?” Renee asked, almost spitting out the words.

“Tell her it’s, um, her wi—” Tanya caught herself just in time. “Tell her it’s Tanya, and it’s urgent. Her daughter didn’t show up after school today.”

Suddenly Renee sounded as panicky as Tanya. “Oh, she had to make a run downtown. Do you have her cell number?’

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

Seconds clicked by as Tanya dialed several times and it went to voice-mail. Simone tried to get up from the sofa, but Tanya grabbed her before she got away, and pushed her back down.

Finally Brandi picked up. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

“Sierra didn’t come home from school today. Simone walked in but her sister wasn’t with her.”

Brandi gasped. “Did you call the school?”

“That was my next move, but I wanted to call you first.”

“I’m on my way home. Call me back if anything happens.”

Tanya quickly dialed the principal’s office. She didn’t bother with formalities. “Have you seen Sierra Caldwell-Spencer?”

“Her bus pulled off twenty minutes ago. She should be home by now.”

“She didn’t make it to the bus. Can you have someone check the grounds?”

“I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

Simone propped her legs on the freshly dusted coffee table, a soft liquid smile on her thinly curved lips as she stared at Tanya. The girl’s face was a blend of Brandi and Vernon, but that steely, stubborn determination in her eyes belonged solely to Brandi.

So would her ass if she didn’t start talking.

Tanya took a long, slow breath. “I know this whole situation must be hard on you, being the oldest and all, but you can’t take things out on Sierra.” Tanya softened her tone. “Your mother says you’ve always looked out for your little sister. Sierra looks up to you. She even tries to buy clothes like you and do her hair like yours. You’re her role model and don’t even realize how important you are to her.”

Simone’s head whipped up, lips pursed in a thin, hard line. She folded her arms over developing little breasts.

“She loves you and you don’t even speak to her sometimes.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What do you know about us? Daddy said you won’t be here long no matter what Mommy says. You’re on your way out.” She picked up the iPod again. “So why do I have to answer to you?”

“You don’t, but I’m sure your parents taught you to be respectful. I’m sure they taught you and your sister to look out for each other.”

“Yeah, well, their stuff’s messed up, too.”

Tanya opened her mouth to speak and shut it just as quickly.

Damn, the girl
did
have a point.

“G
od, why is this happening now? Why now? Please, Lord, protect my little girl.” If there was a God, how could He have let this happen? Brandi wondered, hoping the Creator would hear her even though she hadn’t set foot in a church since she was thirteen.

Brandi grabbed the handheld from the receptionist and sprinted toward the elevator. She placed a quick call to Renee. “Go home Renee, we’ll do this tomorrow.”

“You want me to stick around just in case she calls here?”

“No, they’ll call my cell if anything happens.”

Brandi reached the marble-encased lobby, punched the silver button three times, as if that would make the elevator come faster. Where was her little girl?

She got on, flicking a quick glance at a man wearing a plaid shirt and corduroys, then to another tall, tattoo-riddled man with a long beard, and a bald head, and minus any type of deodorant. His menacing green eyes seemed to bore straight through her, sweeping aside her fear for a brief moment and making her uneasy.

Punching the button for the lobby, she turned to face the little display screen showing quick bites of today’s news and stock quotes, and said a quick prayer. She had trusted a total stranger with her children and look what happened! The Polish woman who kept an eye on the kids for a couple of hours every day and cleaned the house had to quit because of her arthritis. She hadn’t had time to replace Mariska, and she had become
consumed with Vernon and Tanya. Actually, Tanya couldn’t have come at a better time. But then again, maybe Brandi was paying for her role in this unfolding saga.

As the traffic and weather splashed across the screen, the elevator came to a screeching halt between floors eighty-two and eighty-three. All three occupants managed, with great effort, to keep their balance. The little screen went blank. The lights dimmed, died out, then flickered back on, all within a matter of seconds. The sudden whirr of the overhead mechanisms shrieked and whined momentarily. Then all was quiet. Trapped on an elevator? Exactly what she needed!

“Shit! I wish they’d get this fucking thing fixed. This is the fifth fucking time this fucking month,” the man in the plaid shirt muttered.

Brandi turned to him. “You know, there are other words besides profanity.”

She opened the gold door near the bottom of the elevator, yanked out the phone, keeping a wary eye on Mr. Plaid.

“Well, right now it fits the fucking situation.”

“Yeah,” the bearded one said, his raspy voice echoing in the elevator’s tiny space. “I think hell and damnation would be a pretty good way of stating the obvious.” He leveled a steely gaze on Brandi. “Especially since they haven’t fixed the fucking phone in this thing.”

Brandi, already filled with worry, barely hung on to her temper. She replaced the phone and frantically reached in her briefcase and tried her cell, but of course—no signal. Where was Sierra? The one who reminded her so much of herself—sure the girl was carrying around a few extra pounds, but her open smile and willingness to do anything to help people reminded Brandi of how she used to be before she was raped.

Her baby girl! She prayed that what had happened to her at thirteen would never happen to her little girls—ever. It was one of the reasons she had been so adamant about not having children. The world was not safe for little girls. Come to think of it, little boys didn’t get off so easy, either.

A quick glance over the bearded man’s body made her wince and clutch her case. Glaring back at her as though to taunt anyone’s religious beliefs were tattoos on both arms stating
the devil rules
, a skull and bones on his
upper chest, and a dirty shirt with the slogan:
There’s enough Satan to go around, have you tried him on for size?
Suppose someone like him had gotten to her daughter. Oh God!

The combination of the man’s odor, his disdain for positive reflection, worry for her daughter, stress, and a sleepless night worrying over the business were too much. She closed her eyes, sending up a fevered and heartfelt prayer. As her whispers grew louder with each plea to God to protect her child, and to shield her from the poor man and his love for Satan, the bearded smelly one roared with laughter. “Peddle it somewhere else, Nigger, we’re not buying today.”

“And I’m not selling,” she snapped, ending her prayer. “I refuse to be locked up in this little silver cell with someone who thinks that Satan rules over the Creator and still thinks Black people can be
that
word.” She flexed her fists. “And if you don’t back up, I’m gonna ram this briefcase up your ass and follow it with my size elevens to make sure it stays put.”

“Ouch!” Mr. Plaid Shirt said, coming to stand between them. When the Satanist moved back, the Plaid man slumped down to the thin carpet. “I don’t think either one of you have a leg to stand on. I don’t believe in God.” Then he turned to the grinning bearded man. “Sorry, dude, I don’t believe in Satan, either. And as for the N-word, only African-Americans are supposed to call each other that now,” he said, giving Brandi a sly grin.