Every Woman Needs a Wife (36 page)

“Your Honor—”

“Young man, you are trying my patience.” Judge Bowden waved his wooden gavel. “If you all were crazy enough to bring this in front of me, then I’m crazy enough to rule.”

“Your Honor, this is not acceptable!” Mason pushed his shoulder downward until Vernon ended up back in his seat.

“You’re wasting my time,” the judge said before pointing the gavel at Vernon. “Go home and work things out with your wife. This could all go away.”

“Not with her there!” Vernon said with a quick glance across the room at Tanya.

“What’s wrong with
her
all of a sudden?” the judge asked with a smile. “Did she turn purple and grow polka dots? She was fine three months ago. Or have you lost the…
holiday spirit?”

Vernon remained silent, glowering angrily at the judge.

“Get outta my courtroom,” Judge Bowden said, looking first at Mason, then at Vernon. “I’ve had enough of you two clowns today.”

As Vernon left the building, the Channel 7 news crew and several other members of the media were ready for him with a barrage of questions. After five minutes of “No comment,” he grew impatient and shouted, “Get that thing out of my face,” then pushed through the crowd. He managed to get only three feet before finding himself face-to-face with the three women who were making his life a living hell.

Brandi, Tanya, and Avie strolled across the black marble and sand-colored pavement.

“Hey, I’m here to offer you a movie deal,” shouted a bushy-haired man wearing an oversized Hawaiian shirt as he waved a business card in the air. “We’d like to shoot a film based on your story.”

The man must’ve been from California
, Brandi thought. Who else would wear a short-sleeve shirt in weather that was frigid enough to turn cold cream to ice cream.

“I’m not interested,” Brandi replied, then pointed to Tanya. “But she might be.”

Brandi’s heels clattered down the stone tile as the man turned around and said, “How about it?”

“I don’t know how to act.”

The man grinned, closing in for the kill. “It isn’t too hard. With your looks, you’d be a natural.”

Tanya leveled an icy-blue gaze on Vernon, raised her voice, and asked, “Any harder than faking an orgasm?”

All mics swung in her direction.

Vernon visibly blanched, mumbling something the nearby newscasters struggled to catch.

Mr. California followed her gaze. “Maybe it’s a lot less difficult than
that.”

“Then I’m your woman. I’ve had two whole years of practice.”

Brandi chuckled as the news teams tried to run Vernon down.

“Mr. Spencer, what’s your take on all this? Your wife now has her own wife.”

“It’s not gonna last,” he growled. “She’s just doing this to get back at me.”

A female reporter thrust a microphone in his face. “But you did sleep around on her, right?”

“No, I mean—Yes, I mean—Get outta my face!”

“And doesn’t she deserve something, too?” The woman lifted her eyebrows twice. The implications weren’t lost on anyone.

Vernon froze. “She’s not sleeping with her. My wife’s not gay!”

“And you know that for sure?” The woman leaned in wearing a sly smile on her thin pink lips. “Who knows? Maybe the mistress enjoys being her wife more than being your mistress.”

The would-be movie director perked up. “Now that’d be a real story.”

“Look,” Vernon said, stopping to address the crowd, “this is just a phase she’s going through. She wanted to prove a point.” He said it loudly enough to be sure Brandi and Tanya heard him. “You mark my words: That woman will be out of my house real soon. I’ll have my life back.”

“Can we quote you on that?”

“You can quote anything you like. My wife, the woman I married, will come to her senses. And things will be back to normal.”

The news crews in front of the Daley Center turned their collective attention to the women.

“Mrs. Spencer, are you—”

“No comment!” she growled, trying to pick up the pace.

“Aren’t you setting a bad example for marriages?” asked a pushy young reporter from Channel 7 news. “Or was this a cover-up because you are bisexual?”

Brandi whirled around on one heel like a prima ballerina, leaving Avie stumbling to keep up. She drew in a deep breath and said, “Let me tell you something—”

Avie lunged forward, grabbing Brandi by the collar before she could get the rest out. “My client has no comment.”

Tanya grabbed Brandi’s other arm and they practically lifted Brandi off the ground.

Brandi looked over her shoulder, glaring at the mop-haired newscaster as she flipped the woman the bird before Avie could rein her in a second time.

Brandi nearly tripped into the glass doors, making a beeline for the safety of the parking garage. Tanya managed to keep up. Avie, high heels and all, was right behind her.

“How did the press know about this, Avie?”

Avie shrugged, pulling her synthetic fur coat around her thick frame, avoiding eye contact with her friend. Oh yeah, that heifer had something to do with it.

“Avie?”

“I don’t really know for sure,” she said softly. “I just know that I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Brandi eyed her best friend, as they kept three steps ahead of Fox News. “Mrs. Spencer, tell us about the case.”

“Yes, we want to hear your side of the story.”

“Hey, can I get an exclusive?”

“Will you give me a moment to talk with my lawyer?” Brandi bellowed loudly enough to wake the residents in Oakwood Cemetery.

A sudden hush fell over the few newscasters and people trying to get around them, as everyone inched back. Tanya snatched up the keys and ran into the garage. “I’ll bring the getaway car,” she said over her shoulder.

Brandi turned to Avie. “Woman, if you don’t start talking, I’m gonna tell Carlton who really scratched up his Barry White
Unlimited Love
album.”

The lawyer gasped, holding the briefcase to her chest as her hazel eyes widened with horror. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

Avie lowered the leather briefcase to her side, saying, “Vernon’s lawyer kind of…
mentioned
that he might, ah,
you know
.”

Brandi leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose. “And you didn’t think of mentioning
you know
to me?”

Avie swallowed hard. The first time Brandi had ever seen her at a loss for words. “I didn’t think he’d really go through with it.”

“What possible reason could he—”

“Vernon wants you back. He doesn’t want a divorce,” Avie said, pulling back some. “If he made things public, he hoped that pressure from outside sources would embarrass you enough to put the mistress out and let him come home. And I didn’t see too much harm. You still love him and want him back in spite of every warning I could give.”

“Traitor!” Brandi pushed Avie’s shoulder. “How could you do this to me?”

“Because he has a point!” she shot back, before taking aim on the reporters who had inched closer to take notes. “If you motherfu—”

“Avie, cool out!”

The reporters got the message and filed out of the parking garage.

“You’ve taken things much too far. We’ve gone back and forth to court
wasting resources and time for what? To prove a point! You don’t want a divorce and neither does he.”

“So now you’re playing house with Mason.”

“No, I’m looking out for my friend,” Avie replied, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder. “A friend who’s making an absolute fool of herself.”

The sound of stick drummers on the corner of Randolph Avenue and State Street filled the air and drifted into the parking garage. The rhythm of their drums steadily vibrated up her spine.

Brandi turned to walk away, then stopped suddenly and faced her friend. “Did you think for one moment how all this publicity would affect the kids?”

“Did you think about how having that strange woman in your house affects the kids?”

“Tanya wouldn’t hurt them!”

“You don’t know that! She could be setting you up for failure—big-time. Don’t forget this woman slept with your husband; she wants him, too.”

“She wants no part of him in bed or out. She’s just as prime for our arrangement as I am,” Brandi replied. “He used both of us.”

“This is sad, Brandi. You’ve taken this martyr bit to a whole new level.”

“I’m not a martyr, I’m a survivor,” Brandi said, poking a finger in Avie’s fur. “Something that a whole lot of women aren’t able to say.”

“A survivor who’s exposing her kids to her husband’s infidelity.”

“He
already did that,” Brandi said, glowering angrily at her best friend. “I’m just making it work for everybody.”

“You’re making it work for
you.”

Brandi took a moment to absorb what she’d heard and said during the last few minutes. “If I ever find out that you’ve sold me out again, it’ll be the last time we speak. You’re supposed to be watching my back, not plotting my downfall. You pick now of all times to act like a lawyer.”

“That’s ripe, even for you, Brandi.”

“So maybe this will help keep you focused,” Brandi said, scribbling out a check, handing it to her friend.

“What is this?”

“For all the times we’ve gone
back and forth
to court. This is a thirty-five-hundred-dollar
retainer. Maybe now you’ll act in my best interest and stop sleeping with the enemy.”

Avie tore up the check and tossed the little pieces in the air. “Screw you and your raunchy ass attitude!”

“If that’s an offer, I refuse.
I’ve
already got some lined up. If you meant that as an insult,
you’ve
already got that covered.” As Tanya pulled the Lexus in front of her, Brandi gestured back to the Daley Center. “Live at five, news at ten, right? Thanks a lot,
friend
!”

V
ernon sat in his father’s office—a room big enough to sleep a family of eight—on the eighty-second floor of the Sears Tower. He had always hated the building, especially since they were so far up. Every time the wind blew, the building would move with it—almost like a ship sailing across choppy waters. Vernon avoided visiting his father whenever possible. Those times he couldn’t avoid meeting with the old man, he parted ways with his appetite for the rest of the day.

William cracked his knuckles, then his neck. “So what happened to the guy you put on to Tanya?” he asked as he sipped his brandy. “I thought you said he was a sure thing with white women.”

“Mark normally is, but he said he did all the right things and she became suspicious. Then she stopped taking his calls. Tanya was never a gold digger. So appealing to her that way will never work. She never asked for anything. She was satisfied with the things I gave her.”

“Must be nice,” William said, casting a wary glance at Julie’s picture. “So,” he said with a stifled yawn, “on to Plan B.”

Vernon was afraid to ask, but he had to. “What’s Plan B?”

“The League. If you can’t get your wife to put that woman out of your house, you’ll have to find a way to get her attention.”

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Vernon’s stomach. “What can they do for me?”

His father’s sneer almost made Vernon sick to his stomach.

♥♥♥

An hour later in a banquet room at the Hyatt Regency McCormick Place, Vernon hung back near the door. Black men wearing business suits and ties mingled in the room. Vernon wasn’t comfortable with his father’s plan. It was downright mean and Vernon never played the game that way. A little dirty, maybe, but never mean.

His gaze swept across the room, taking in the men, who all had college degrees and either worked in high-level positions at Fortune 500 companies across the nation, or had their own businesses. The League had hit about twenty-five thousand members in forty-five chapters nationwide. The board did not allow a chapter to begin unless they had at least two hundred-fifty, half of the required number of businessmen to pull it off.

As the meeting moved on to new business—Vernon’s category—William signaled him to the podium.

Vernon slowly took the microphone and turned to greet his brothers in business. “Good evening, League.”

A sea of voices rang out, loud and hearty. “Good evening, Brother Spencer.”

A quick glance at his father got an encouraging nod.

Vernon turned back to the men and began, “As you’ve probably heard on the news by now, I made a huge mistake and I’m paying for it. I need your help to get my life back…” He paused a moment before explaining. “My wife moved my mistress into our house and I moved out.”

At first nothing. Then the expected laughter erupted from all sides of the large room.

Several minutes later Vernon managed to get their attention again. “The case has gone public and she’s gaining ground, which means if this is allowed to happen—from now on women will all pull the same stunt when they get mad.”

The laughter came to an abrupt halt. Vernon filled them in on a few coached details, then the questions came.

“The judge gave your wife custody of the mistress?”

“Yes sir,” Vernon said to Andre Adams, president of Avistar Manufacturing—the most successful producers of tradeshow displays and promotional items in North America.

Turning to his lawyer, who sat two aisles over, the sharply dressed man asked, “Is that legal?”

Attorney Lloyd Howard shrugged. “I’d have to see the contract.”

Vernon reached into the folder on the podium and slipped out the mistress contract, as Howard came forward.

The lawyer scanned it twice, and each time he choked, obviously holding in a major laugh. Then he looked up and out at everyone. “It’s a valid family contract with his wife’s signature on it. The judge accepted on that basis.” Then he looked down again. “You’re paying maintenance for your wife and your mistress, plus child support?” His thick lips broke into a grin. “We should give Brandi Spencer your membership. That was clever as hell.”

Vernon shot him an angry glance. “Would you say that if Doreen brought your mistress home?”