Every Woman Needs a Wife (31 page)

Brandi wore a low-cut navy dress that glided over her full breasts and pulled in at her waist, then draped sexily over her wide hips. When she’d arrived, the appreciative glances thrown her way made Vernon cross the room and collect her before someone believed she was available. As far as he was concerned she was not! Michael could talk all day long, but there was no way in hell he would get Brandi. No fucking way.

The silver necklace he had given her for their fifth anniversary glistened on the smooth curve of her neck. This time she wore very little makeup,
but the light brown beauty he had loved and married came shining through. He loved her. He just wanted her the right way.
His
way. Couldn’t she understand that?

Vernon held out a chair for Brandi as she picked up the bouquet on the table. “Nice flowers.”

Vernon shrugged. “Orchids are your favorites.”

“Glad to see you remember
some
things.”

Reaching for her hands, he brought her fingertips to his lips, saying, “There’s a lot I remember.”

A single arched eyebrow shot up.

“Like the time you tried to make dinner and didn’t realize the pilot light was off. Served me raw chicken for dinner.”

Brandi’s lips broke into a sincere smile. “Oh, you would bring that up. I was nervous and it was my first time cooking for anyone. How was I supposed to know chicken shouldn’t be pink after all that time? I followed your mother’s directions.”

Vernon laughed. “Or we could talk about the time you almost gave birth to Simone in the car because the cab driver wouldn’t go over fifteen miles per hour.”

Now that memory brought another grin. “I almost beat his ass, didn’t I?”

“Let the police report tell it. You
did
beat his ass,” Vernon said, taking a sip of his beer.

“One tap is not considered assault and battery.”

“Brandi, you gripped the man’s neck and said, and I quote, ‘If you don’t get me closer to the hospital and some drugs in the next five minutes, I’ll stick the steering wheel up your ass and drive you instead.’”

She dipped her head sheepishly, grimacing. “I said all that?”

“Yep,” Vernon replied. “Poor man probably has a complex about Black women to this day.”

The waitress appeared and Vernon asked Brandi to order for both of them. She chose their favorites, something simple and wonderful—slow-roasted chicken so tender that the meat would fall off the bone, steamed vegetables, chive-studded mashed potatoes, and a house salad with garlic
bread. An Oreo ice cream sandwich was a great way to finish, but if their record held true, they wouldn’t have room.

“Nothing to drink?”

Her lips twitched as she looked at her glass of ginger ale, then back to him. “I’m pregnant,” she said softly. “With twin boys.”

Vernon choked, almost spraying her with beer. She reached out, trying to help him regain composure, before she added, “Just kidding. But your reaction’s pretty good. I give it an eight.” She looked up at their tall, spiky-haired waitress and said, “I’ll take an Amaretto sour, please.”

Straightening his tie he said, “Oh, that’s cold. And you said that with a straight face and everything. God, you’re so hard to figure out these days.”

All humor died away as she looked across the table at him. “All right, Vernon. What’s this all about?”

His fingers trailed a soft line over her hands. “I want to come home, baby.”

“I didn’t say you
couldn’t
come home.”

He searched her eyes for a moment. “I can’t live there with Tanya in the house.”

“But it was okay when you paid for her to live somewhere,” she said, this time without a trace of sarcasm. As the days wore on, she was becoming more and more numb to the situation. “I don’t see the problem.”

“That was a mistake. A serious mistake.”

She shrugged before taking a sip of her drink. “A mistake I’m trying to rectify in my favor.”

“Brandi, I was wrong and I see that now. I want to get things back to the way they were
before
Tanya entered the picture.”

“Things weren’t all that great then. You were still trying to fit me into your mother’s mold. Something you still haven’t realized will never happen,” she said, her soft weary tone making his heart pause for a beat or two. “And as far as I’m concerned everything’s still the same—me, you, the kids, and the
mistress
. Nothing’s changed except location, location, location.” Brandi held up her glass and winked. “And maybe the fact that now I’m enjoying things, too.” She nodded and smiled. “Yeah, that’s changed. As Janet Jackson says, ‘It’s all right with me.’ ”

“I mean
before
that.”

“You know, I kind of like things the way they are now.” Then she leaned forward, whispering, “You have excellent taste in women, I’ll give you that. Tanya makes the best omelets in town.” Her lips lengthened into a grin. “
And
she likes to cuddle.”

This time Vernon did spit out his beer.

She winked. “Just kidding, honey.”

Vernon’s heart sank as a sudden realization hit him that maybe, just maybe Brandi
wasn’t
joking. “You’d actually sleep with her?”

“You know, I’d have every right to get some ass, too. Sharing things goes both ways. What’s the difference in her sleeping with you or making love to me. I could always strap one on.” She smiled as her voice took on a breathy tone. “And the sound of—,” she gasped—“‘yesssss, Mistress Brandi’ has a nice ring to it.”

Vernon choked, unable to recognize the woman he married. “You need help.”

“And thanks to you I have exactly the type of help I need. At least she’s doing her part to make amends. I don’t see you trying. Although dinner is a nice touch, I’d like for you to finally realize that this marriage is about more than your needs. We set out to do things together, but you’ve been so busy trying to live up to your father’s image, you’ve spent more time trying to show everyone that you’re better than him, that you’re good enough to follow in his footsteps that the togetherness got lost. You’ve been stuck on appearances while I’ve done the majority of the work, and you’ve reveled in my accomplishments. Be honest with yourself and maybe this marriage can be saved.”

The jazz trio, which stood directly across from the large plate-glass windows, sprang into a smooth rendition of “Girl from Ipanema.”

“Get her out of my house!”

“Not until her contract is up,” she said, savoring a bite of her meal. “And since you can’t seem to deal with things the way they are, why don’t you contact me when it’s all over? I give you my word—she’s not leaving until she completes her time with our family. Quality time.”

“I want to be home,” he said, realizing Jeremy’s suggestions were good, but wouldn’t crack the hard outer core his wife now had. “I’ll miss out on spending time with the girls.”

“No you won’t. You’ll see more than you did when you were with Tanya—very little.” She shrugged. “At least now you’ve been forced to do more one-on-one stuff with them. And they’re enjoying it, too. So it’s not a loss for them. Even Sierra, who you tried to turn against me on Halloween, has said that she hasn’t seen you so much since whenever.”

Vernon leaned back in the black leather seat.

“No, baby, when you went cat hunting, putting your energies elsewhere, leaving me to pick up the slack, things changed. This one’s not going to be easy to fix. We started the journey with just the two of us and now there’s more players—the children, Tanya, your father, and that Professional League. I’m not mad, I’m weary. And I still love you, but we’re not the same. You saw to that.”

Vernon reached for Brandi. “We could fix it if you get rid of Tanya.”

“I’m enjoying having someone to look out for me for a change.”

“So we
still
have to go to the counselor tomorrow?”

“Ah, so
that’s
the real reason for the dinner,” she said, slipping a bite of roasted chicken between glossed lips. “It’s part of the court order. I’m going whether you do or not. Did you see his response to you? The judge will definitely watch this case very closely.”

The soft approach hadn’t worked. Vernon pushed away his meal. Damn, what could he do now? If he could ask his father for help, he would. But the man had been adamant about his stance on Brandi and would only rub it in. Vernon couldn’t go to his mother, either; she was still mad because of the way he’d treated her after the divorce. And he was wrong then, too. Especially since she had always been in his corner.

♥♥♥

When he had gone to his mother about his plans to marry, she was elated for the couple. His father, on the other hand, didn’t say a single word. He
left all of his bellyaching for a late-night conversation that Vernon wasn’t supposed to hear.

Unfortunately, the vents in the Kenwood house had been cleaned the week before. Equally unfortunate was the fact that Dad’s voice could carry across international waters with just string and a Styrofoam cup.

“If he marries her, I’m cutting him out of my will.”

“You do that and I’m leaving,” Bettye Spencer snapped. “You will not use money to make our son give up on what he wants to do.”

“Worked on you, didn’t it?” William shot back. “So get off it.”

“That was different,” she said in a voice so weary. “I had a family to look out for.”

Vernon had felt sadness in his heart, knowing how hard his mother had it growing up. Her family had been dirt-poor—living in thatched houses with dirt floors throughout; no indoor plumbing, only an outhouse. And his father never let Bettye forget.

“Yeah, I never knew when I asked for your hand in marriage there would be twenty others right behind it and they’d be out all the time.”

Bettye Hancock landed a marriage with William Spencer in college, and not only was it a step up, but a step out of a life she’d never quite accepted. Attempts to help her family were met with some resistance, but finally they adjusted to the new large house she had built on the family property. Unfortunately, some had adjusted too well. And William never let anyone within hearing range forget it.

“I’m giving him my blessing whether you do or not,” she said. “But know this: I won’t stand for you trampling all over that girl’s feelings or lording over Vernon’s life. Let him be.”

“So they can turn out like those lazy, good-for-nothing, waiting-on-a-government-check bums you’re related to?”

Vernon bristled at against his father’s vicious tone.

“I can’t change where I come from and I’m not ashamed of growing up poor. You grew up with money and look at how you turned out,” she growled.

“Successful, respected, and powerful,” he said proudly.

“Selfish, inconsiderate, and a complete ass,” she shot back.

Vernon rolled over, trying to tune them out. No luck.

“If I’m such a bother to be around, why are you still married to me?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “For the same reason I married you in the first place—comic relief.”

Bettye Spencer held her ground and, along with Brandi’s mother, planned and executed an elegant, but intimate lavender, white, and black wedding, complete with horse-drawn carriage and a candlelight ceremony.

For years afterward, Vernon watched his parents drift farther and farther apart. His relationship with his dad became nonexistent except for a few grunts in passing. Then his mother found out about the three little mistresses: one in a brick house in Lincoln Park; one in a condo in the Gold Coast; and the last in a townhouse in Englewood. And Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

Avie Davidson, lawyer extraordinaire was on hand to pick up the pieces and put Mrs. Humpty back together again, leaving Mr. Dumpty with several cracks in the shell.

But right after the final divorce decree, something changed between Vernon and his father. All of a sudden, William began to pay attention to Vernon, offering bits and pieces of advice at first, then offering money to help expand the business. Vernon, believing that the success of The Perfect Fit had finally gained his father’s approval, soaked up every piece of advice like an underused dish towel, regaling Brandi with details of business meetings and golf games (though Vernon hated golf—all walk and very little swing).

Under his father’s tutelage, Vernon soon learned that the reason so many Black men and women missed major deals was because they didn’t happen in the boardrooms of corporate America. The ones that mattered happened on lush green lawns of places whose names ended with “Social Club” or “Country Club”—and they were definitely on the side of town that didn’t have many Black people as neighbors.

Billions of dollars changed hands every day—right there on the green. The same green of places that didn’t allow Tiger Wood’s father to crush the dew-laden grass underfoot, but had to change their stance when major
televised events focused on that error and a star player who couldn’t perform for America’s public because of “hidden rules.” William Spencer had also forced a few of those closed doors to swing wide open and caused others to open just a crack. When CEOs and presidents of major corporations made away with company cash or swindled unwitting employees of billions and needed a way to cover it up, William Spencer came to the rescue.

Those men, with sons in Harvard and daughters in Yale, had taken risks that put the family fortune in jeopardy. Only a discreet mergers-and-acquisitions man with no long-lasting ties to the elite society, which had been closed to anyone who didn’t have a disposable income starting in the tens of millions, could set things right.

Selling a portion of their companies allowed those same men who wouldn’t acknowledge they even knew William Spencer in public to keep their lies intact. William stood quietly behind every sale, gaining a power no one, Black or otherwise, had a right to command. He wanted his son to follow in his footsteps.

Unfortunately, Vernon didn’t have the heart for shady deals or to help people hide money at the expense of working-class families. Somehow, he couldn’t rejoice with each victory and found each celebration to be hollow and haunting. He just couldn’t do it. But oh, did he try to learn all about it—just to please his father, the father who had made good on his threat to cut him off. And somehow as he drew closer to his father, Vernon had forgotten all about his wife—the woman who had steadily helped him build a company from the ground up—with practically no money at all.