Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2) (16 page)

             
“Oh so this is all about everyone else’s career, but what about mine?”

             
“Come on Danielle.”

             
“Goodbye Jacob.” I go for my bag and then turn to head out of the jet. Rena and Georgie follow.

             
“Danielle, Malcolm is done with Laura and trust me, he and I will clean this up. I told you, we’re already prepared for this.”

             
“Jacob,” I spin around to face him, “no matter what Malcolm says, the fact remains that the entire scene looks shady. And, let’s be honest, Malcolm never even told me that he was paying two mortgages!” My cell phone vibrates. My father.
Ignore
.

             
“Well his, uh, homes are paid for.” He says awkwardly.

             
“Oh really? Wow that’s fantastic. Fuck a mortgage, make sure Laura lives footloose and fancy free. So what happens when the
national
media catches wind of this? Because you do know that this will turn into a national story. Malcolm told me that Rossi is about to put his bid in for the presidency next week. This shit will be all over the news.”

             
And Jacob, for once, is speechless. He doesn’t say a word because he’s already thought of that. He, Malcolm, Nat, Rossi … they all have. This fire is about to go viral, and I don’t care what anyone says, Malcolm is to blame. If the deed wasn’t in his name, this wouldn’t be a story at all. This would be just another unfortunate incident but, now that Attorney Malcolm Blair is dating a local black feminist and still giving room and board to his former lover, we have a story ladies and gentlemen. We have a love triangle.

             
“Come on Rena.” I say. Jim rushes to the cabin doors to open them and then gives me an uncomfortable nod
goodbye
. I raise my chin, throw my nose in the air, grab my bag close to me, storm pass him and almost fall my ass down the steps.

             
“Uh, oh. You alright there?” Jim asks. Mind your own damn business Jim!

             
“I’m fine.” I say as I storm down the rest of the steps. Now I’m not scared, now my ass is pissed. “That’s why Malcolm was chasing me.” I say to Rena as we walk to the waiting town car, full of self-righteous anger. I’m actually the
victim
here!

             
“Uh-huh, he knew the media was about to be all over that deed.” Rena says.

             
“Yep.” Though I had already found out that Malcolm owned that home, I thought very little about it.  After all, I knew that he bought Laura that home, Lola told me already that. Though I assumed that the deed was in Laura’s name, I was only mildly shocked to learn that it wasn’t. Foolishly, when the fire commissioner called Malcolm’s cell phone to tell him of the fire, I had no idea what kind of problems that was about to cause.

             
But
he
did.

             
My cellphone vibrates with a text message. Mac. Wait,
Mac
?

             
“Jacob’s ass logged into my cell phone while we were asleep. Overrode my damn password and everything.” I say to Rena as I flash her the screen showing
Mac’s
name.

             
“Wow, such a violation of privacy. What did his ass say?”

             
Mac 12:27 pm:
Red, let me fix this one.

             
Ignore
.

Danielle

4:00 pm

             
“Hi!” The delivery guy says as I answer the door. He has rosy cheeks, a toothy smile, a chipper Southern twang and an elf hat on. “My name is Donald and I have a package from a Mr. M.B for a Ms. Red Rouge-Blair.” Funny Malcolm, but don’t you
ever
attach your lousy ass last name onto the back of mine. Men! What makes him think that I’ll change my last name to conform to his? Sexist bastard!

             
“First of all,” I say to Donald, “I don’t change my name for
no
man. Second of all, I can’t be bought with gifts. I make my own money. Whatever it is in that box, I can buy tenfold. Please believe it.” I snatch the package from Donald and then rip it open. Oh shit.

             
My necklace with the earth pendant. It must have fallen off in the limo because I remember having it on when I got on the flight from New York. In the midst of all the commotion, I didn’t even realize that I wasn’t wearing it. Damn … I almost lost this. I’ve had this necklace since high school. When I shower, give a speech, go to work, attend meetings, head to a bar … I’m wearing this necklace. I wear it every day like Jasmine wears her pearls. That’s a running joke between us two: Jasmines loves her pearls, Danielle loves her worlds. Goodness, Malcolm gave me this earth pendant when I was sixteen years old. I would have
never
been able to replace this. Never.

             
“There are just some things you just can’t put a price on.” I say to Donald as I raise the necklace to him. He smiles and nods in understanding before looking around. “Hold on, let me go get my clutch.” And as I head to grab Donald’s tip, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I’d be willing to appear like a fool for Malcolm Blair. Wow, I can’t believe I just thought that.

             
Damn, what’s going on with my life?

Malcolm

7:15 p.m.

             
“Alright, are the royal houses of Blair and March all ready?” My mother says as Jim walks to the cockpit.

             
“Yeah.” We all mumble as we sit together at a long table in the cabin of the plane.

I’m tired as hell. I’ve had a
long day of black coffee and head scratching. Jacob, Nat and I were prepping Rossi for an interview that he’ll have to give in light of this fire and adultery story. He needs to smooth this over and he needs to do it soon because Red is impatient. I’ve also spent part of the day sealing her divorce settlement so that the media won’t get their hands on the legitimate copies in my possession. The good thing is that Jon and Red’s divorce was amicable. They weren’t fighting each other for money or homes or support. So Jon didn’t retain his own attorney. That’s a common practice for couples who peacefully divorce; it eliminates extra attorney fees. (Of course Jon and Red’s divorce was free of charge. Something he has yet to thank me for.) The bad thing is that I fear there’s only so much adultery talk Red will be willing to take before she decides to commit another murder. I’m almost nervous to see who the next person on her list is. So the divorce papers are sealed. Private … except for two copies.

Red and Jon have
the only legitimate, unsealed copies of the divorce settlement.

             
The fire story made it to the national news a few hours ago so I’ve been on the phone nonstop, trying to sweet talk producers, hoping they’ll keep Red’s name out of their journalists’ mouths. So far, the national news mentioned her as my current girlfriend and that’s it. But there are some producers who care more about ratings than money, so I’m preparing for Red’s marriage to come up anytime soon. But it’s okay, I’ve got that covered when the time comes. I also have a connect at Fox News who is planning to help me out with this fire story, I’m shooting her an email before we take off.

             
So what’s everyone else doing? Ralphie (Winnie and Jacob’s son), and Evan (Nat and Dena’s son), are both three years old and are currently slamming each other against the plane’s walls. They’re finding this game hilarious. Nat and Jacob are checking their emails, tying up some loose ends with Rossi’s local interview that’s scheduled for tomorrow. My father is leaning back in his chair, smoking a cigar and humming Frank Sinatra’s
Come Fly With Me
. About a minute ago, Lola accidentally spilled her glass of champagne on Cadence. So right now, he’s drying himself off and saying ‘hell hath no fury ...’ Lola’s now watching him dry off. Dena is crying into a stack of tissues, sniffling occasionally and then crying again. Winnie has her Beats headphones on, sitting next to Jacob, singing Adele’s
Someone Like You
. I know this because periodically she’ll yell out:
Never mind I’ll find someone like you!
When Winnie does that my mother shoots her a look, which quiets her down until the chorus comes around again. Currently the chorus has come around again so my mother is holding Dena’s hand and looking at Winnie.

             
“I just can’t believe Laura’s gone.” Dena cries. “I shouldn’t even be leaving,” she hiccups, “not until we find her. I mean, heaven forbid, what if she’s dead?”

             
“Never mind I’ll find someone like you!”
Winnie screams out.

             
As far as Red goes, I’ve been texting her all day and this is how it’s going:

             
Me 3:30 pm:
Can you answer your phone please?

             
Red 3:30 pm:
No, fuck you.

              So that’s pretty much what we’re all up to.

              “Malcolm.” Nat says as the plane begins to move along the tarmac. I look up and he nods. He’s found Laura.

             
“Where?” I ask.

             
“Vacation.” She’s on her way to Hilton Head.

             
“Flying?”

             
“Yep.” His airport connect just notified him. “Twenty-eighty.” That means she’ll be landing at 8:20.

             
“Good job.”

             
Laura’s coming to Hilton Head. But I was expecting that.

Danielle

8:30 p.m.

              “Welcome to Oyster Bar, wait a minute, I remember that hair. You were here this summer.”

             
“I was.”

             
“Well welcome back. Whatcha drinking darlin’?”

             
“Scotch please.”

             
“Here alone?”

             
“No, I just needed a moment to myself. I’m expecting three other ladies here in about an hour.”

             
“Wait … aren’t you that girl on the news? Look up there on CNN, that’s you right?”

             
“Oh shit.”

Laura

9:20 p.m.

To Do List:

1. Find $250,000.
   
2. Catch a flight to Hilton Head.
   
3. Meet with Danielle.
   
4. Publish a book.
   
5. Receive my book advance.
   
6. Mani-
   Pedi.
   

Dear Danielle,

Well it seems as though you’ve gotten yourself in quite a pickle haven’t you! Red Rouge: The Adulterer. How embarrassing. Yet, it’s not as embarrassing as being called a mistress. Now
that
shit is embarrassing. Did I expect to be called that once I anonymously notified The Boston Globe about the deed and your marital status this past summer? No. (By the way, Nat told Dena that you were still married, that’s how I knew.) Unfortunately, it appears, the captain went down with the ship. Fucking reporters, I swear they have no loyalty. I give them a good story, they bitch slap me with it. Just tell me how I’m supposed to show my face in North Boston’s Junior League meetings now! The answer is, I don’t.