Every Woman Needs a Wife (4 page)

Vernon reared back, his hand sailing through the air. Just as suddenly, it fell back to his side. “You bitch,” he spat, his skin turning an even darker shade.

“Oh, come on, can’t you do better than that?” she taunted, marching out of the bedroom. “Jeez, and I thought you were such a master of words.” Then she grinned. “To be honest, my G-spot’s been invisible to you since day one, although strangely enough
I
know how to find it so…”

Vernon appeared behind her. “I’m sorry for talking to you that way.”

She didn’t face him. “Save the apologies for your wife. You’ll need them.”

He reached for her, pulling her against him. “I’ll take care of everything with Brandi. Just show me that you want to stay…”

“Which means I have to continue to sleep with you?”

“I know I lied,” he said, glossing over that point. “But I can pull things together and it’ll be all right. I just didn’t know how to manage things between us and I didn’t want to lose you. I still want you.”

“Right now, I wouldn’t screw you with somebody else’s pussy.” She jerked free of his hold. “And to tell you the truth, I’ve got a better offer on the table. I’ll be seeing you around.”

Vernon followed Tanya to the car. As she stuffed the last of her most important things into the backseat he asked, “Where the hell do you think you’re going? You don’t have any family. You don’t have any friends. All you have…is me.”

Something really ugly had come into his voice and she couldn’t resist saying, “What I
have
is a Lexus. What I
have
is a diamond ring that can probably carry me for at least eight months. What I
have
is the common sense to leave while my ass is attached to my body. Thanks to your wife.”

Tanya slammed the door, crossing to the driver’s side. “You’ve lied to
me and I don’t mean a little white-collar lie, I’m talking a state prison kind of lie.” She pulled the seat belt over her breasts. “It was different when I didn’t know. Now that I do, it would be wrong for me to even
think
about staying with you. Really wrong.” She cranked up the engine. “You dismissed me as if I were nothing but a pile of shit caught on the bottom of your wingtips. So screw you.”

“I was good to you when it counted,” Vernon said softly, gripping the edge of the window. “You didn’t say anything then.”

“True, but I would’ve appreciated a lot less attitude and dick, and a lot more honesty and love.”

Vernon dipped his head, reached in and snatched the keys from the ignition. She grabbed his hand, which he yanked back, victoriously waving the keys. In the struggle his wallet had slipped out, lodged between the seat and the door.

He glared at her. “You can’t take the car.”

“It’s in my name free and clear. Something I should’ve done with the house.” She reached in her purse, scrambling the contents for a second before pulling out the spare keys. “The Lexus will probably get better mileage than this relationship,” she said with a faint, bitter smile as she let the window up slowly. “And it certainly goes the distance, which is more than I can say for your bedroom techniques. And it hits corners much better. See you around.”

She pulled away before he could reply, hitting the corner at Wabash before turning onto Eighty-Seventh Street. Then the tears came.

Growing up, her mother had read her all the fairy tales about Prince Charming—an ivory-skinned, handsome blond with blue eyes the color of the sky, six feet tall, and a smile that ushered in the sun. He’d come riding in on a unicorn—oh, how she had loved those magical creatures—and he’d sweep her off her feet and they’d live happily ever after.

In reality, Wilbur Jaunal, Tanya’s father, the king of the castle, was a child molester who used his power and money to cover up his crimes. Margaret, “the queen,” did whatever it took to keep him on the hill, even going so far as trying to kill Princess Tanya in the process.

Prince Charming Number One was the pimp who tried to rein her in the moment she got off the bus in New York. He soon learned that
country
was not synonymous with
dumb
.

Prince Charming Number Two was an East Indian man who needed her to marry him so he could stay in the country and continue his work as a restaurant chef. He had a wife back home whom he planned to bring over once his visa was in the clear. At least he was upfront about his sins. She declined this prince’s offer because she didn’t want to take three years out of her life trying to convince the Department of Naturalization that they were truly in love—especially not for the mere $15,000 he offered. Surely Princess Tanya deserved much more for three years of her life.

Prince Charming Number Three was the wonderful man she had married, who had loved her and treated her like a real princess. Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized that not having a will leaving a portion of his business to his wife would lead to greedy partners swooping in like vultures, scooping everything up and leaving zilch for Tanya.

Prince Charming Number Four—Vernon—was a silver-tongued man who already had a castle filled with a queen and two little princesses in training. Somehow, the fairy tale had been one big lie. Could she sue the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen?

She switched on the stereo and jazz filled the car. She glanced down at Vernon’s wallet; it gave her a brilliant idea. She flipped it open and scoped out his driver’s license, checking the address of Queen Brandi and King Vernon.

Tanya whipped into the nearest alley, pulled a U-turn, and aimed the car in the direction of the Jackson Park Highlands.

V
ernon stormed back into the house, grabbed his jacket and keys, locked up Tanya’s place, and tore out of the driveway, racing to cover the distance from Chatham to South Shore. He had to catch Brandi before she got home and alerted the tribe
and
the troops. And he didn’t want to discuss things in front of Sierra and Simone.

Slamming his hand on the SUV’s steering wheel, the horn honked at no one in particular. Damn, he’d fucked up. He wasn’t actually going to marry the woman, things were too perfect as they were. A Black woman who held down the home front and a submissive white woman in the wings to take care of his needs. And Tanya could put a shine on his dick better than Johnson’s Wax.

Sure, Brandi was spectacular in the boardroom, but sometimes her demands for equal play in the bedroom were a bit too much—all that was missing were bullwhips and an occasional flogging with a side order of—“yes, Brandi, I’ve been a bad boy.” Tanya was willing and soft-spoken. Just the way he wanted his women. Just the way Brandi had been in the beginning. Then she found her wings when they opened The Perfect Fit, a human resources and staffing agency, and she took off—sometimes without him, especially when he hesitated to take risks. She would leave him on the runway without checking to see if he was behind her. Most times he wasn’t.

He made a quick swerve onto 87th Street and was soon in creep-and-crawl traffic. “Hell! I’m gonna make a career out of getting home.”

His father had said that the two places a man needed to maintain control were the boardroom and the bedroom. With every deal she sealed, Brandi had the boardroom locked up better than a virgin’s drawers. So a few months ago, he changed his strategy. When he stopped having sex with her, he expected a little more consideration all the way around.

It hadn’t quite worked out that way.

His father had managed to keep a wife and three mistresses without anyone ever finding out. Well, at least not until two years ago when had Mama sent him packing, extracting a hefty divorce settlement in the process. That was not going to happen to Vernon. He could never please the man who had always said that his son would never top his accomplishments. He had to prove his father wrong.

Vernon had excelled in the business, and the League of 1,000 Professional Black Men accepted him just as it had his father. The men in the league were all about church, home, security, and business. Members frowned on infidelity, but as long as no one found out, it still happened. Now this little episode jeopardized everything he’d worked hard to maintain.
How the hell did Brandi find out? I made it home every day at a reasonable time. Who could have told her where Tanya lives?

He had only given Tanya a ring to keep her with the program. She’d been edgy lately, but his promise to marry her had put her back on point. And when she was on point,
he
was on point. Both women had appetites that would make porn star Vanessa del Rio look like a saint.

That one time where Tanya had tied his wrists to the bedposts and had him whimpering like a child had taken every ounce of his energy to keep up. Then he went home that night and Brandi rolled over and wanted some, too. That night he’d almost been put into a coma. His dick had stayed hard hours beyond the act—and wouldn’t come down. A trip to the hospital for a shot of muscle relaxant proved interesting. The chuckles of the emergency room staff only pissed him off.

And when had Brandi gotten a dildo? He’d never seen it around the house. If he found that little sucker, it would hit the garbage so hard it would bounce three times before settling. There would never be another
dick in his house besides his—human
or
battery-powered. And especially not something that had the ability to bypass him even with a fifteen-year head start. No wonder denying her some nookie didn’t get the results he wanted—she was still getting it on the regular.

“Move that piece of shit!” Vernon yelled at the driver who moved in front of him, into the fast lane, and dared to go the actual speed limit.
What’s wrong with people
! Turning onto Stony Island, he punched the pedal to the floor and zoomed into traffic.

If he could get home, make sure the girls were in bed, square things with Brandi, and end it with a little tongue gymnastics followed up with some “below the waistline sunshine,” he’d probably only feel her wrath for two weeks or so. Yeah, he’d get her back in line, too. Great sex had always won the worst arguments. All except one, and he still hadn’t given up on Brandi letting him take over the business so she could stay home and tend to the girls.

Showing up at Tanya’s? When had she become bold enough to do some shit like that? Brandi had always been the one to avoid confrontations in their marriage; he could recall only three or so. She would hold her ground silently until the situation or someone else proved her point. Passive, easy to maintain…when had she changed?

As his SUV lunged forward, a driver flipped him the finger. Vernon flipped one right back.

And how dare that white trash talk about him like that? She wasn’t saying that shit when she wrapped her lips around his dick and sucked it as though gold had been layered on the opposite end. Damn, just the thought of those hot red lips on his—

“Get a grip, Vernon!”

His SUV swerved into the left lane, cutting off a grandma who didn’t know the first thing about pushing that money-green Mustang to full capacity. Her horn blared as he barely missed swiping the front end of her car. “If you can’t drive the damn thing, get off the road.”

He jammed his foot on the gas to avoid danger, the engine roared, protesting every inch of the way. Moving between a beater held together
by spit and shit and a contractor’s van, he flowed into traffic, then swerved out again and thought he saw Tanya’s Lexus. Heading toward his house!

The scream of sirens became louder with each second. Vernon glanced into the rearview mirror, straight into the glare of a windshield and the flashing blue-and-red lights of Chicago’s finest.

“Damn!” Vernon banged the steering wheel. “Great. Just great!” He slowed, hoping the police wanted to zoom by on the way to a real emergency. But inwardly he knew the truth.

Unfortunately, Officer Friendly had kept pace with Vernon’s SUV, obviously wanting to reel in a big one. End of the month was quota time—and without noticing, Vernon had just been reeled in right before 79th and Stony, the third longest speed trap in the city. Forty-five miles over the speed limit could not be easily explained. He’d never make it home in time to beat Brandi’s call to her best friend…Avie Davidson. A lawyer who had never liked him all that much anyway. If she got started with divorce proceedings she would never let Brandi back down, no matter how much pressure he applied.

Vernon veered off to the right. The officer followed.

“Just what I need.”

Vernon pulled over and parked on the shoulder, imagining Brandi whizzing through the house at that very moment, whipping up dinner and talking on the cordless, filling Avie in on everything. That meant it would all find its way to the League. Avie’s husband, Carlton, was a member.

Officer Friendly, with a frame so wide he had to roll out of the car, moseyed over to the car. The dark-skinned man whipped out his nightstick and tapped on the glass.

Vernon lowered the window.

“License and registration, please.”

Vernon searched his jacket with no success. Then he scrambled around in his pants pockets—no luck. Flipping open the glove compartment, his registration and insurance card fell out. He handed both to the officer, before continuing the search for his wallet.

“Do you realize you were going seventy-five in a thirty zone?”

Shit, was it that fast?
Vernon cleared his throat, jamming his hand between
the seat cushions as he said, “I was going with the flow of traffic, man. People were going faster than me.”

The officer leaned in. “Yeah, but none of ’em were weaving in and out like an idiot.”

Vernon grimaced as the man—Officer Holland, according to badge—continued, “What were you rushing off to? A fire?” He whipped out his ticket pad.

“Naw man, I’m trying to catch up with my wife. She just left my woman’s house.”

The pen froze. Officer Holland leaned in. “Come again?”

Vernon shrugged. “I was just busted, man. My wife showed up at my girl’s house and raised holy hell.”

The officer started chuckling. Seconds later he bent over letting out a loud guffaw.