Every Woman Needs a Wife (26 page)

Her mother quietly assured her that she would heal, and that some young man would love her and appreciate her. He would ask her to be his wife long before he asked to be her lover—and then that would happen on their wedding night. Her young man would stand before the Creator and the whole world to say he loved her, not sneak her off into some little hideaway that no one else could know about—like Hollywood.

“Mama…”

“It’s all right, baby,” she said, patting her gently. “It’s all right. I never wanted this to happen. I always tried to be strict and it pushed you out there into…” Her voice trailed off as she tried to compose herself. “Sweet Jesus, my baby girl!” Mama’s sobs pierced the air, ripping into her soul in a way that the man’s attack never had.

Hollywood was arrested for attempted rape, and expelled from school. The man, Trevor Thompson, was arrested and convicted of rape. Across the courtroom, she could see the glint in his eyes and realized he wasn’t the least bit sorry for what he had done to her. Jail time wouldn’t give back her virginity, but at least he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

♥♥♥

Now, twenty-two years later, she was picking up the pieces behind another painful incident, this one a broken heart. Instead of following her own mind, she had taken her mother’s advice—advice that came from her mother’s own fears. Now, just like her father, Vernon had hurt her beyond words: her father by abandoning her in death when she loved him and needed him so much; Vernon by not respecting their vows. Although he had been there in the flesh every single night, he, too, had abandoned her emotionally, spiritually, and intimately.

The soft, tinkling laughter of the children as they came in from the
garage jarred her into the present. Tears escaped and landed on the financial projections as she willed away the painful memories.

Sierra and Simone burst through the office door and shot across the room, straight into her open arms. She held onto them—sobbing a little as she took in the soft scent of baby lotion, which soon filled the air around her. They had showered before coming in.

Brandi pulled away to look at the smaller versions of her and Vernon.

“I love you, Mommy,” her youngest said, reaching up to take another hug.

“Me, too,” Simone said. Not wanting to be left out, she reached out to wipe the tears from Brandi’s face before burrowing her little face into the soft curve of her mother’s neck. “I love you, Mom.”

The one thing she knew the day she got married was that she
didn’t
want children. She never wanted to put herself in a position like her mother, worrying about children.

Now she had two little girls; every day she prayed for their safety. Every day she held her heart in reserve, just waiting for bad news. No matter what she did to keep them safe, the thought that some man might be lying in wait to hurt them always lurked in the back of her mind.

Now she also could lay the prospects of a broken heart at their feet. And there would be nothing she could do to protect them against that, either.

T
he November air was colder than expected. Normally snow would grace the ground this close to Thanksgiving, but it hadn’t made an appearance yet. Working people were grateful. As soon as those little white flakes hit the air, people forgot everything they knew about winter driving, slipping and sliding into each other and adding to the already obnoxious Chicago traffic mess. And the judge had warned that if any party came late, he would rule for the other side.

Brandi sat next to Avie in courtroom 1900 and glanced over at Vernon and his attorney, Mason Myers—the attorney that Vernon had generally wanted as legal counsel for The Perfect Fit. Vernon, dressed in a dark business suit in contrast to Brandi’s winter white dress, didn’t look quite as confident as he had been before.
What happened to Craig?
Brandi thought. He was a lawyer. Evidently, Alanna didn’t want him in the middle of the madness. See, women did stick together. Craig probably would have given Avie a little run for her money. But in the end she still would have mopped the floor with his ass. Brandi stole a quick glance at Vernon’s attorney. Remembering Mason’s incompetence in handling The Perfect Fit that first time out, Brandi smiled. This was going to be easy.

“All rise. The Honorable Judge Bowden presiding in the matter of Spencer versus Spencer.”

Mason stood and addressed the court. “Your honor, we’ve filed for a legal separation.”

“I can see that,” the judge said, pushing gold-rimmed glasses up on a bulbous nose. “After reading the material from Mrs. Spencer’s lawyer,
I’m surprised that she didn’t file first.” He looked in Brandi’s direction.

“Oh, no Your Honor, I
love
my husband,” Brandi gushed, laying a hand on her chest as she batted long, mascara-covered lashes. “I
wanted
my marriage to work. Ouch!”

Avie kicked her under the table, growling just under her breath, “You’re laying it on too thick, Brandi. Cut it out!”

“She’s lying about wanting to stay together,” Vernon snapped as he brushed away Mason’s hand. “She knows exactly what she needs to do if that was the real motive.”

Judge Bowden peered over the edge of his glasses at Vernon. “And what’s that?”

Mason leaned over, warning Vernon, “Let me do the talking, please.”

Vernon ignored him. “She needs to get rid of that woman!”

“What woman?” The judge looked down, flipping through his papers. “Are you bringing charges of—?”

“No, I don’t mean they’re sleeping together,” replied an embarrassed and somewhat subdued Vernon.

“Not yet,” Brandi answered as she stared at her husband.

“Is there something going on here that I should know about?” the judge asked.

Brandi stood. “Well, yes—”

“Please excuse my client’s outburst, Your Honor.” Avie yanked Brandi down in her seat and hissed, “Hey, let me do the talking. That’s what you’re paying me for.”

“I’m not paying you,” Brandi shot back, grumpily.

“They don’t have to know that!” Avie snapped with an angry shake of her head that sent her auburn hair tumbling across her face. “Leave me with some dignity.”

“Oh, so you have that?”

“Don’t make me whip your ass up in here,” Avie whispered, hoping the others wouldn’t hear.

Judge Bowden cleared his throat, hiding a chuckle behind his hand. “Actually, Counselor, I’d like to hear this in her words. It should be quite interesting.” He reached out into a tiny glass bowl perched on the clerk’s
desk and pulled out a handful of pumpkin seeds and popped a couple in his mouth.

“Well, his mistress has moved into our house and—”

The court reporter blinked and her hands paused over the stenograph machine. The bailiff looked at the judge, then at Brandi. The clerk froze with a silver date stamp still in hand. The courtroom was eerily silent.

Judge Bowden nearly choked on a pumpkin seed. “Come again?”

“Tanya Kaufman is now a member of our big, happy family,” Brandi said, with a wide grin and a perky California-sunshine attitude. “Isn’t it just wonderful?”

The judge looked at his people before scratching his bald spot. “Okay, give me a second while I wrap my head around this one.” He stared at Brandi, then at Vernon before he turned to the clerk and asked, “Are we well stocked with bubbly? I think we’re
all
gonna need it.”

The plump woman scrambled out of her chair and disappeared into the judge’s chambers, returning with a bottle of sparkling grape juice and three glasses that she perched right in front of him.

Mason’s and Vernon’s jaws dropped.

The judge looked at both of them and said, “My courtroom, my rules.” Brandi managed not to laugh, but she decided this judge was her type of person.

The judge leveled a gaze at her. “You may proceed.”

Avie covered her eyes with a single hand.

“Well, since Vernon felt it necessary to have a little outside…ahhhhh…
activity
—and we’re supposed to share things—I thought we should share the mistress, too,” Brandi explained.

The judge blinked at her, his lips crinkling in an effort not to laugh. He scratched his temple for a moment, then bolted from the bench and through the wooden door, leaving a cool breeze in his wake.

A sudden roar of hysterical laughter echoed from his chambers, bouncing off the high ceilings and tickling Brandi’s ear.

Vernon’s shoulders tensed as he gripped the wooden table. Oh, yes, this would be a piece of cake. Chocolate at that.

The portly bailiff glanced at the door, rocked on his heels, bit his bottom
lip, and bolted for the judge’s chambers. His hearty laughter joined that of the judge. Professionalism be damned.

Even Avie had lowered her head and let out an unladylike snort.

Several minutes later, composed, but still red-faced, the judge and bailiff returned to the courtroom. “Okay,” the judge said, “we will proceed.”

This time Avie spoke up. “Mrs. Spencer wants to separate the business right away.”

Judge Bowden looked at Mason. “Can you at least agree on that to make it easy?”

Vernon hesitated, then turned to his attorney.

Brandi spoke up. “All I want are my clients and half the equipment—fifty percent. He can keep the house on Cregier—”

“The house?” Vernon looked over his attorney’s shoulder to look at her.

“You don’t want to just sell it and split the profits?” asked an astonished Judge Bowden.

“Nope,” she said, with a quick shrug. “He can have the house.”

Judge Bowden paused for a moment before asking, “And the children?”

“He’s a good…father,” she said with a sly glance in his direction. “Joint custody is fine. All I need is child support, and maintenance to help with the mistress’s upkeep.”

Judge Bowden shook his head. “I’m not sure I can rule on the mistress. She’s an adult.”

Avie lifted a single document from a redwell folder. “Your Honor, we have a contract signed by Tanya Kaufman putting her into service of the Spencer family for a six-month period.”

She passed the notarized document to the bailiff.

When the judge got it, he scanned it as though he suddenly held the Holy Grail in his thick hands. “I’ve never had a case like this in all the time I’ve been on the bench.”

Mason asked, “Is that a valid contract?” He looked from the judge, to Brandi and Avie, who both nodded.

“It’s notarized and everything,” Brandi said.

“Judge, can I, um—,” Mason cleared his throat—“use your chambers for a moment?”

The judge studied Mason’s face. “Sure.”

The short man fled the room, followed by the clerk and the judge. Moments later peals of laughter again rent the air through the not-quite-closed door.

“This can’t be happening. This is a nightmare!” snapped Vernon.

Composure somewhat restored Mason, the clerk, and the judge reentered the courtroom.

“I’ve had people fight over children, pets, and family heirlooms,” the judge said. “This will be the first case in history that a couple fights for custody of the mistress.” He rubbed his hands together as though preparing to dig into a good meal. “I’ll finally get my name in the books without someone having to get killed.

“Since you guys really don’t seem like you want a divorce, I’m ordering counseling with a court-appointed therapist. In the meantime, the wife keeps the house on Cregier Avenue. You will sell the house on Wabash and split the profits. You all will work out visitations with the kids, because either way I’m going to allow joint custody.” Then he took a long, slow breath. “And the wife, as requested in this petition, keeps…the mistress. The contract is hereby entered into court. The husband is to have no intimate contact with Ms. Kaufman without his wife’s express written permission.”

Avie gasped and looked at Brandi. Mason’s jaw dropped. A strange silence filled the courtroom—but at least no one laughed this time.

“I don’t believe this—this—this—crap! You can’t do this to me!” Vernon snapped, jumping to his feet. “What kind of judge are you?”

Judge Bowden turned and scowled at him. “One that sees the bigger picture here.”

Mason yanked Vernon back into the wooden chair.

Brandi leaned back so she could see around Avie. “Hey, you’ve had her for six months. It’s
my
turn.”

The judge paused, gavel in mid-air. “Do you need time to reassess things?”

“What I want is my wife,” Vernon said.

“What you’ve got is a problem,” Brandi shot back as Avie tried, unsuccessfully, to pull her back.

“But she’s living in
my
house,” Vernon yelled at his wife.

“No, she’s living in
mine
.”

“You crazy Bi—” Mason quickly covered Vernon’s mouth.

Avie pinched Brandi hard on the arm, trying to get her to keep quiet. “No, I think my woman meter’s set to just plain PMS today. Try again.”

Vernon growled, shaking off his lawyer, then stormed out.

Walking through the chilly weather, Vernon pulled his collar tight around his neck to avoid the Chicago Hawk. His father, his mother, his friends—the whole world was against him. He passed Marshall Fields on State Street, ignoring the elaborate display of a storybook Christmas in the large plate-glass windows. Tourists, somewhat oblivious to the weather that was cold enough to turn cornflakes to Frosted Flakes, had camped out in front watching the animated figures.

As he turned the corner, a scene of the woodsman from
Prince Charming and Snow White
came into view. A strange take on the childhood story, but as he looked closely at the woman caught between the two men, an idea came to him.

Whipping out his cell, he dialed the one man he knew who could put an end to Tanya’s reign in his house. Snow White wouldn’t know what hit her.

B
randi signed a lease for space in Avie’s downtown building. Avie was on the fifty-sixth floor of the AON Center and The Perfect Match would be on the fifty-fourth. “And I’d better not hear no crap about I’m too far away,” she told Avie as they celebrated the new business downstairs in Café 200.