Murder on the Down Low (19 page)

“Why? I’m not on that case.”

She swept her hair from her face with both hands. “Please don’t tell me O’Reilly hasn’t spoken to you about it.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Well, give him a call. Hillman’s your case now.”

“Excuse me?”

Haley put both hands on her hips. “And I had nothing to do with it. If you have a problem with this, talk to O’Reilly.” She turned on her heels and left.

Vernetta snatched the telephone to call O’Reilly, then slammed it back down. This discussion needed to be conducted face-to-face. She tore out for his office.

She knocked on the door and walked in at the same time. Towering over his desk, she peered down at him with a pair of irate eyes. “Haley tells me I’m handling the Hillman case now.”

He looked up at her, frowned, then finished what he was writing.

“Sorry.” He glanced up at her without making eye contact. “I meant to call you. I’d like you to take over the case. Haley’s going to be much too busy with Vista Electronics.”

“And so am I.”

“Haley’s made quite an impression with the execs at Vista. She’s going to be handling many of the day-to-day responsibilities on the case.”

A jolt of frustration surged through her body.

“It wasn’t my decision,” O’Reilly said quickly. He still hadn’t looked her in the eye. “It was the client’s request. And don’t take it personally. The fact that Haley’s billing rate is a lot cheaper than yours had a lot to do with it.”

Or maybe it’s because she’s screwing you.
“Are you telling me I’m no longer on the case?”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“She’s a second year associate, O’Reilly. Since when is she knowledgeable enough to play a lead role in a major case like this?”

“You and I will be keeping a close eye on her. Not that we’ll have to do much of that. Haley’s a very smart cookie.”

And you’re apparently enjoying her cookies.

This was total bull. O’Reilly was putting a plan in place to get her out of the way. She would need to show a solid record of strong performance on major cases when her name came up for partnership later in the year. She could not make partner handling a useless matter like the Hillman case.

“Where did things go wrong with us, O’Reilly?” Vernetta couldn’t believe the words that had just slipped from her lips. But she had wanted to ask the question for some time. She used to be O’Reilly’s favorite. Other associates even joked that she was the managing partner’s pet. Now, he treated her like she was an afterthought.

“Vernetta, c’mon, don’t be so sensitive.” His eyes finally met hers, but not long enough for it to matter. “The client is calling the shots here. There’ll be another great case coming through the door any day now. Don’t overreact.”

“I’m not overreacting. When the partnership vote comes up, I need to show that I’ve handled some key cases. Hillman won’t cut it.”

That was O’Reilly’s cue to reassure her. To say that she already had a solid record of great work. That she didn’t need to be overly concerned about the vote. That she was on track for partnership. 

Instead, he scratched the back of his neck. “Vernetta, don’t be so emotional. I bet you’ll be the one associate who can wrap up the Hillman case once and for all.”

The turtleneck sweater she was wearing felt like it was tightening around her throat. She was about to say something that she would surely regret later when O’Reilly’s telephone rang.

“I have to take this call,” he said dismissively. “Let’s pick this up later.”

Vernetta was so livid she could barely remember the way back to her office. She stepped inside, shut the door and dialed Jefferson’s cell. It took way too long for him to pick up.

“Hey, babe, what’s up?” Vernetta could hear what sounded like hammering in the background. She knew this wasn’t a good time to call, but she needed him. Now.

She tried, but couldn’t get any words out. Just a whimper.

“Babe, are you crying? What’s the matter?”

“You’re right,” she finally sniffed. “I’m stupid for trying to stay here. They’re not going to make me partner. I’m going to quit. Right now.”

“Whooaaa,” Jefferson said. “What’s going on? I never heard you talk like this before. What happened?”

She recounted her conversation with O’Reilly.

“Babe, you know how I feel about your job. I felt you should’ve left a long time ago. But I think you should give it some more thought before quitting.”

His words floored her. “I can’t believe you’re telling me
not
to quit.”

“I can’t believe it either,” Jefferson said with a laugh. “And for the record, I’m not telling you not to quit. I’m just telling you not to quit right this second, when you’re so emotional. I want you to think it through after you’ve calmed down so you don’t wake up tomorrow regretting your decision. Why don’t you just go home? We can talk about it tonight. And if you still feel the same way, you can quit in the morning.”

As upset as she felt, Vernetta appreciated her husband’s cautious wisdom. “Okay,” she said, falling into the chair behind her desk. “But there’s no way I’m going to change my mind.”

S
pecial’s right knee anxiously bounced up and down as she sat in the waiting area of Dr. Shirley Blanchard’s office on Santa Monica Boulevard in West L.A.

She didn’t need to talk to a counselor, and she certainly didn’t need to talk to some high-priced psychologist who probably didn’t even know what being on the down low meant. But she couldn’t afford to lose her job, so she was doing what she had to do. Anyway, she didn’t expect it to take long to prove that she wasn’t crazy. Then she could get her ass back to work.

Dr. Blanchard greeted Special in the reception area of her office. She had frilly black hair and a voice that sounded like a phone sex operator. Her makeup was way overdone, and her lips were fixed into a permanent pout. Bad botox job, Special thought.

“So tell me why you’re here,” Dr. Blanchard said, once they were seated in her office.

“I’m here because the people I work with think I have a problem, but I don’t,” Special huffed. “My cousin recently died because her fiancé infected her with HIV. I just broke up with my boyfriend. I’m behind on about every bill I’ve got and there’s probably an eviction notice waiting for me when I get home.” She grinned. “But I ain’t crazy.”

“That’s quite a load to be carrying. You think people who go to counseling are crazy?”

“No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant . . . I know how to handle my problems.”

Dr. Blanchard nodded. “Well, I’m here to see if I can offer some assistance in helping you do that.”

“Okay, then, Doc, shoot your best shot. I can’t go back to work until we go through this routine. So let’s get to it.”

Dr. Blanchard proceeded to ask her a series of questions about Maya. Before she knew it, Special had divulged the whole story about Maya’s death as well as the events leading up to her breakup with Clayton.

“You’ve been through an extremely emotional period,” Dr. Blanchard said. “Sometimes life’s events can affect us in ways we don’t see. So what are your feelings toward Mr. Nelson?”

“What are my feelings? That should be an easy guess for you, Doc. I wish he were dead. If I thought I could get away with it, I would kill him myself.”

Dr. Blanchard reared her head back. “Those are some pretty strong emotions.”

“Rightfully so, don’t you think?”

“There are both proper and improper ways to express negative emotions.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m cool. So how many sessions we gotta have, Doc?”

“It depends on your progress. Before our next meeting, I’d like you to write whatever words come to mind when you think of Mr. Nelson.”

“Okay. That sounds easy enough. In fact, why don’t I get started right now.” She pulled an envelope from her purse, scribbled on it and held it up for Dr. Blanchard to see. She had written the word
hate
five times.

By the time Special left Dr. Blanchard’s office, she felt ten times better. Talking about her hatred for Eugene turned out to be surprisingly cathartic.

Instead of going home, she went to the Jamba Juice in the Ladera Center and bought herself a large Caribbean Crush and a bag of onion bagel chips. She pulled up a chair at one of the wrought iron tables outside the Starbucks next door and took out the latest issue of
Star
magazine. The sun felt good. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed.

She had just finished reading an article about Brad Pitt and Janet Jackson’s secret love child when a disturbing sight caused her to gag.

Eugene and a woman were walking out of the adjacent T.G.I. Friday’s restaurant, smiling and laughing. She watched in stunned amazement as Eugene opened the door of his convertible BMW and helped the woman inside.

“Oh, hell nah! I can’t believe that dog is back to his old tricks already!”

Special made a dash for her car two rows over, forgetting about her Caribbean Crush and
Star
magazine. She started the engine just as Eugene was backing out of the parking stall. When he drove past, she ducked, then followed.

Eugene kept straight out of the Ladera Center along Little Centinela and made a right onto Halm. She stayed a good distance behind as Eugene turned into a driveway on the left. Special pulled to a stop on the opposite side of the street, several houses back.

Eugene and his new woman strolled to the front porch. While the woman opened the door, Eugene bent over the porch railing, picked a yellow daffodil from the garden and handed it to the woman. She giggled and gave him a hug. Special wanted to vomit.

Turning off the engine, she rested her forehead against the steering wheel and tried to calm herself down. She didn’t know when Eugene would be leaving the house, but she planned to wait. Even if it took all night.

And when he did, Special had an earful to tell his new girlfriend.

S
pecial parked outside the woman’s house for close to two hours, comforted by her collection of gospel CDs. After listening to the entire
Best of Yolanda Adams
CD
,
she switched to Fred Hammond. She had almost dozed off when she noticed Eugene exit the woman’s front door.

It was almost dusk now, but she could see Eugene and the woman standing on the porch. They embraced, then Eugene kissed her on the cheek. At least the girl had the good sense not to tongue-kiss the man, Special thought.

The lawsuit they had filed against Eugene had been splashed all over the newspapers, TV, and radio. Had the woman been hiding under a rock? How could she not know the man was HIV positive?

As Eugene’s car passed hers, Special ducked down in her seat and prayed he didn’t recognize her Porsche. When he was out of sight, she drove closer to the woman’s house, climbed out, and boldly knocked on the front door.

“Yes, may I help you?” The woman peered through the peephole.

Special tried not to sound confrontational. “Uh . . . I’d like to talk to you.”

“Do I know you?”

“No, you don’t. It’s about your friend, Eugene. It’s very important. It’ll only take a minute. I’m not asking to come inside since you don’t know me. But I do need to share some important information with you.”

After a long moment, the woman opened the door, but did not remove the safety chain. “What about Eugene?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but there’s no other way to do it, so I’ll just blurt it out. Eugene is gay.”

The woman’s face did not convey the alarm Special had anticipated. She actually looked rather nonchalant.

“I know this is a shock.” Special tried to sound empathetic. “I saw the two of you come out of Friday’s earlier today. I just felt you needed to know. And not only is he gay, he’s—”

“HIV positive,” the woman said. “I already know that.”

Special’s mouth flew open.

“You must be Special,” the woman said. “Eugene told me all about how you’ve been harassing him. There’s nothing you can tell me about Eugene that I don’t already know. So I would suggest you just—”

“Did you know that he killed my cousin by intentionally infecting her? Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t
intentionally
do anything,” the woman fired back. “He didn’t even know he was HIV positive.”

“Well, he knew he was screwing men!” Special shouted.

The woman bristled. “Eugene was very confused about his sexuality back then. He’s saved now, and he’s giving his life to God. God has forgiven him for his transgressions and so have I.”

“His transgressions! Are you a fuckin’ nut case? That man has a deadly disease. He killed my cousin. He could kill you, too!”

“I’m not going to stand here and discuss my personal relationship with a total stranger. Eugene told me you needed psychological help and I completely agree with him.” She slammed the door.

“I don’t need psychological help!” Special roared at the closed door. “You’re the one who needs help!” She staggered to her car, nearly blind with rage.

There was no way she was going to sit back and watch Eugene continue with a happy, carefree life. The man had to pay for what he did. And suing his ass just wasn’t going to cut it.

S
econds after Jefferson talked her out of quitting, Vernetta received an emergency call from a client. She ended up driving to San Pedro to deal with a union organizer who was demanding access to her client’s facility. It was after seven by the time she made it home.

Vernetta had just put her key in the lock when Jefferson opened the door and pulled her into his arms.

“I was just about to get worried. But then I figured you’d ignored my advice like you always do and quit anyway.”

“Nope, I didn’t quit yet,” she said.

“So where you been?”

She was about to answer, but he didn’t give her a chance.

“I decided you needed some TLC tonight.” He kissed her, then took her purse and briefcase. He picked up a wineglass filled with cranberry juice from a sofa table in the entryway and handed it to her.