Power Couple (16 page)

Not only did I have to worry about Brazilian bitches and Russian whores, apparently, I also had to keep an eye on hoes from the 'hood. What was the use in trying to protect our reputation if Maverick was going to continue to get blowjobs, bite on asses, and dick-down anything that moved?

“I sincerely hope that girl didn't have her phone out, sneakily filming the blowjob she gave you. Low-caliber hoes like her have no shame. They proudly post their sexual conquests with celebrities online, simply to get more Instagram followers.”

“She wouldn't do that.”

“You don't know what that bitch is capable of.”

Maverick's face clouded over, revealing his dark side—a side of him that I was keenly aware of, but his adoring fans had never seen. “Trust, she wouldn't want to make an enemy out of me.”

CHAPTER 23

E
xpecting the white supremacist to act the fool after he got the ax, Josh had plenty of extra security on hand. Angus didn't disappoint. His exit was ugly.

With an evil expression that looked satanic, he gave the remaining contestants a roving middle finger, and called Azaria Fierro a spic-cunt as he groped his privates threateningly—like he intended to rape her.

As two security men were hustling him off set, he fixed his mean, blue eyes on me. I shuddered, and then braced myself for an explosion of ethnic slurs.

“What are you looking at, Kizzy? You chitlins-loving, Aunt Jemima-bitch,” Angus spat.

Though I was braced for the worst, I still cringed as he continued his verbal attack. “I bet your great-grandmother loved opening her funky thighs for her slavemaster. ‘Fuck me, Massah! Fuck me good and hard with that lily white cock of yours,'” Angus taunted in his version of slave dialect.

His vile words ripped into me like an onslaught of knives, piercing my very soul. I was speechless. I thought I could handle a racist attack, but being the recipient of such impassioned hatred had stolen my breath away.

Once Angus had finished terrorizing me, he released a demonic burst of laughter before directing his hateful rant at Josh.

Referring to the injustices inflicted upon Holocaust victims, he taunted Josh by yelling that Josh's relatives had been turned into soap and that he had lamp shades in every room of his house that were made from the human flesh of stinking Jews.

Josh turned such a deep red, his face looked purple. He let out a cry of anguish and actually swooned. He went down in slow motion, like in the movies. As malicious as Josh could be at times, there was obviously another side to him that was extremely fragile.

His assistant and several college interns tried to revive him by patting his face, fanning him with a clipboard, and calling his name.

Being that there wasn't a stretcher on hand, members of the crew had to half-carry and half-drag Josh back to his office.

Meanwhile, escorted off the premises by security, Angus yelled racial epithets throughout the journey from the cooking area to the back door. Of course, TV viewers would never see or hear about Angus's meltdown. The televised version of his exit from the show had been prerecorded. But still...what a mess!

I'd never developed a taste for hard liquor, but when I closed the door to my dressing room, I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from my mini bar and tossed back a shot with no chaser. It had been a terrible, terrible week and my nerves were shot to hell.

I was about to have another shot when there was a beep from my phone. It was a text from Josh's assistant informing me that the set would be closed tomorrow.

Tomorrow was Friday and that meant our final three contestants would be locked away in their hotel rooms for an extra-long time. Better them than me—I would go stir-crazy.

Having extra time on my hands, it occurred to me that Maverick and I should probably spend some time quality time with Sophia. The agency stressed that couples should stay in close contact with their surrogate. But I wasn't in the mood for the tension that
would more than likely exist between Maverick and Sophia. She definitely was not a fan of his after he'd chomped on her thighs.

I wasn't in the mood to placate Sophia. Maverick and I needed some couple time, and I wondered if he'd be amenable to a weekend getaway. Football season hadn't started yet, and though he'd been doing a few sports interviews for his new show, he wasn't that busy, yet. I wasn't sure if his show was going to succeed. It seemed kind of boring to me. Last week he taped an interview with a disgraced jockey from New Zealand who had been disqualified from riding horses for seven years for throwing a race so that he could profit from a bet he'd made.

A show about a sleazy New Zealand jockey didn't seem exciting enough to draw a large audience, but Maverick seemed to believe that his Sunday show was his ticket to garnering the same level of respect as Bryant Gumbel. With his new contract, he was earning more than Bryant Gumbel, but Maverick also wanted to be perceived as a respected sports journalist.

Maverick knew everything there was to know about football and was a great sportscaster, but he was no television journalist. Loving him the way that I did, I would never bruise his ego by telling him that he couldn't hold a candle to Bryant Gumbel when it came to hosting an investigative sports series.

I smiled as I envisioned Maverick and me getting away from the city for the weekend, cuddled up together in a cabin in the woods—somewhere upstate or maybe Connecticut.
On second thought, scratch that.
Neither of us could deal with insects and we'd both run for the hills if a raccoon, snake, or any kind of forest creature came near our front door.

We needed quality time together in a tropical environment. Somewhere close—like the Bahamas. Our marriage had become so tainted and dirty, it no longer remotely resembled the relation
ship of two people who were lovingly committed to each other.

Our marriage needed to be rejuvenated, and we needed to take the time to reflect on what was good about our marriage.

As I envisioned us gazing at the stars in the moonlit sky and holding hands during walks on the beach, a sudden thrill went through me. I imagined the beautiful photos of Mav and me that would pop up on the blogs during our romantic getaway.

Of course I would alert the paparazzi as to our whereabouts. Stargazing wouldn't mean a thing if our fans couldn't vicariously enjoy the moment with us.

I smiled as I phoned Maverick at the station. Expecting him to be busy taping or going over interview questions with his producer, I was prepared to leave a message. Surprisingly, he picked up. “Hey, Cori. What's going on; is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. I don't have to be on set tomorrow and was wondering if you were free to get away…maybe to Miami or the Bahamas?”

“Aw, I wish I could, babe, but something came up.”

I was instantly deflated. “What?”

“I got an assignment to go to Brazil for a week.”

“Brazil? Why? It's not Carnival season.” Maverick went to Rio every year for Carnival and sometimes returned with rare and defiant STDs that were a challenge for his doctor to treat. He used condoms with prostitutes in the States, but for some reason he liked to fuck those Brazilian whores bareback.

Feeling faint, like all the life was being sucked out of me, I went silent.

“Are you there, babe?”

“I'm here.” My voice was barely a whisper.

“I know what you're thinking…”

“The last time you went to Brazil you fucked eleven different
whores during the trip. And you didn't bother to put on a damn condom, even once.”

“I'm not going there for fun. I have an exclusive interview lined up for the show.”

“An interview with whom—a bitch named Alessandra or Tereza?”

Maverick chuckled. “No, it's not like that. I promise you, my trip is all about work.”

“Right.”

“Remember that soccer referee from Brazil who was in the news last year?”

“No, I don't,” I said sullenly.

“Yes, you do. We laughed about it when we watched the video. The dude who pulled a handgun out on the managers and the players in the middle of an amateur soccer match.”

“Okay, I remember. But it was amateur soccer. Why would your network be interested in someone associated with an amateur sport? Furthermore, your people usually fly the guests to New York. Why do you have to travel all the way to Brazil?”

“The ref is afraid of flying.”

“Wow,” I said sarcastically and then went quiet again. I hoped my silence would make my husband realize how much he was upsetting me.

“Listen, Cori, I have to go. Do you want to go out to dinner tonight? I figured we'd eat out since we don't have a chef anymore.”

“A nice restaurant isn't the answer to our problems, Maverick. Every time you go to Brazil, you lose your damn mind. I'm not trying to mess around and catch AIDS because you won't strap up.”

“I'm not going there for personal pleasure, I swear. But if I do get into anything while I'm there, I promise I'll wear a condom. Okay? Feel better?”

“Not really. I feel—”

“We'll have to talk about your feelings when I get home. Love you, Cori. Bye.”

Before I could utter another word, he hung up.

Our relationship was a disaster, and I was a pathetic human being to be involved in such a sick and twisted marriage. Sadly, I didn't know how to get out of it.

I was convinced that as soon as we had our son, Maverick would be inspired to change his ways and become a decent role model.

But who was I trying to fool? In my heart, I was well aware that the unborn child I was forcing upon Maverick was not the solution to our problems.

In deep despair, I began to cry. Afterward, I felt purged. Shedding tears had been cathartic, but now I wanted revenge. If Maverick thought he was the only one in the marriage who could fuck around, he was sadly mistaken. Fuck him! He could have his Brazilian whores, and I hoped that this time he got hit with a disease so severe it caused his dick to shrivel up and fall off.

I decided to make plans of my own. Plans that included the kind of man who would appreciate spending time with me.

I nibbled on my fingernail as I thought hard, trying to figure out a way to accomplish an undercover hookup with Michelangelo.

CHAPTER 24

M
averick had gotten up early to catch his flight to Rio de Janeiro and I was up, too. I fixed him coffee and made a cup of green tea for myself. Drinking my morning pick-me-up, I went through his luggage, making sure he'd packed enough clothes for a week.

He was so accustomed to me playing the role of the long-suffering wife who took all kinds of shit off him, it wasn't surprising to him that I was up early helping him get ready to fly out of the country to go fuck a bunch of whores.

I checked his bag one last time before zipping it. “Honey, you didn't pack any condoms.” I spoke warmly, keeping any hint of the animosity I was feeling out of my tone.

“I don't need any. I told you this trip is about business.”

I thought about those exotic STDs he was apt to get and groaned inwardly. “Pack the condoms, sweetheart. Just in case you need them,” I said, giving him the kind of smile that an overly permissive parent gives to a spoiled brat kid that she adores but can't do a damn thing with.

“You're right, Cori. You never know what will happen in Brazil. Those women…whew! They can turn a saint into a sinner.” Laughing, he went inside his closet and came out with a jumbo-sized box of condoms.

“Really, Mav? You need all of those?”

“Better safe than sorry,” he quipped, and I smiled at his stupid humor.

If my fans only knew that the woman they admired was having a discussion with her husband about taking precautions against catching a venereal disease from whores, they'd lose all respect for me.

Maverick's phone jangled a melody and he peeked at the screen. “It's my ride to the airport.” He kissed me on the forehead and grabbed his luggage.

I stood in the doorway, watching him walk jauntily toward the elevator. “Call me and let me know you arrived safely.”

“I will,” he replied without bothering to turn around.

I stood there until he stepped inside the elevator and the doors slid closed. Then I shut the door to our apartment and engaged the digital lock. I checked the time and frowned. It was only six forty-five. Much too early to start putting my plan in motion.

I began pacing. It probably would have been best to wait until nightfall before trying to sneak Michelangelo out of his hotel room, but Maverick had tried my patience, and I couldn't wait that long.

It wasn't that I was in dire need of sex, I wanted to get even with Maverick for all of his man-whoring over the years.

I was so amped up with adrenaline, I burned off a lot of energy by popping in an
Insanity
DVD and working out like crazy. After showering, I browsed through my closet, selecting the clothes and jewelry I would wear during the long, romantic weekend with Michelangelo.

By ten o' clock, I was ready to get in touch with him. Contacting him was a risky endeavor, and it was the risk factor that made the adventure even more exciting. Now that we were down to the final three, each of the contestants had the luxury of their own private room. Problem was their cell phones had been confiscated and the hotel phones had been removed from the rooms.

In order to reach him, I had no choice but to call the suite where they were allowed to hang out as a group. The rules of the competition allowed them to venture down to the lobby but prohibited them from leaving the hotel premises. They were supposed to use their free time preparing themselves for the next challenge by studying the recipes in my cookbooks and DVDs.

I called the suite and crossed my fingers, hoping Michelangelo would pick up.

“Yello!” said a man with a Southern drawl.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was the fucking preacher!

Though disappointed, I didn't miss a beat. I instantly went to my backup plan. “Hey there, Yancy. It's Cori Brown. How are you?”

“I'm fine as of now, but I won't be for long if you're calling to give us some bad news. I hope you're not gonna tell me that our leisure time is over and you have some kind of atrocious challenge for us to do,” Yancy said with a groan.

“No, not at all. I was only calling to remind you guys to study and to wish you all luck. Are you all together in the suite?”

“Becca and I are playing cards and losing our minds from boredom. Michelangelo hasn't come out of his room today.”

“He's probably studying. A word to the wise…your time would be best spent if you were studying, too. The competition is going to get even more difficult, Yancy.”

“I'm sure the three of us have studied your recipes so much, we know them up and down, in and out, and sideways.” He laughed loud and heartily at his corny joke. I chuckled politely.

“Okay, well, congrats on making it to the final three. Good luck on Monday. Now, I'd like to speak to Becca, please.” I didn't actually want to speak to Becca, but I had to make it look good.

He put Becca on the phone and I repeated the spiel about studying. Her slurred responses let me know that she had been drinking—and it was only a little after ten in the morning. I'd heard from
LaTasha that Becca was a lush, but now I realized it with certainty. It was a good thing she didn't stand a prayer of winning. We couldn't send an unreliable drunkard on a press junket, nor could she be trusted to represent my brand.

I pretended not to notice that Becca was tipsy. After wishing her luck, I told her that I needed Yancy to get Michelangelo.

“I'll get him,” she offered.

I considered her offer, but declined. “No, Yancy can do it.”

“Okay.” She sounded disappointed.

I didn't give a fuck about her disappointment. She struck me as the kind of drunk who became flirtatious and sexually uninhibited. I didn't want to risk her going to Michelangelo's room and then worming her way into his bed while I was waiting on the phone.

Becca relayed my message to Yancy, and I heard the preacher say, “Okay, be right back.”

Nervousness set in as I waited to speak with Michelangelo. I was playing with fire and the mixture of fear and excitement was so exhilarating, my heart began to pound.

It took less than five minutes for Michelangelo to pick up the phone. “Hey, Cori. What's good?”

Ah, that voice. So smooth and sensual. I was immediately catapulted back to our make-out session in my dressing room. His hands gliding over my body, gently squeezing my breasts, and then meandering between my thighs and stroking my clit through my panties, and bringing it to rigidness. Thinking back, the clit action was probably when I became entranced and was unaware that he had pulled my panties down. I wondered if he'd slid a finger inside me while he was playing with my cooch. Did I hump his finger and moan? I wondered.

Suddenly, I was aroused and was eager to finish what we'd started in my dressing room. “Listen, carefully, Michelangelo. Don't let on that we're having a personal conversation.”

“Okay.”

“I've been avoiding you, but after what happened with Ralphie walking in on us, I'm sure you can understand the position I was in.”

“Yeah, I understand.”

“But today I'm willing to take a risk. I want to kidnap you for the day. But, for obvious reasons, Becca and Yancy can't know. So, play along with me, all right?”

“Sure.”

“Do you want to be kidnapped?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said in a voice that didn't betray any emotion. His response was so lackluster, I wasn't sure if he wanted to spend a day with me or not, but I pressed onward.

“Have you been studying my recipes?”

“I was watching one of your DVDs when Yancy knocked on the door.”

“Oh, very good. I'm glad you're staying on top of your game.”

“I'm trying.”

“Well, I want to wish you luck for the next competition.”

“Thanks, Cori.”

“Also, I want you to figure out a way to slip out of the hotel, undetected. Meet me at Pinkberry at the end of the block at noon.”

“Will do. See you later.”

I hung up and broke into a smile. For the first time in my marriage, I was actually going to step out on my husband and fuck another man. I so desperately wanted to pay Maverick back, I would have chosen the first swinging dick that passed my way, and so I felt extremely lucky that the man I was going to cheat with was easy on the eyes.

If that fine-ass Michelangelo was as good at his fuck game as he was with those long, magical fingers of his, I was in for a hella good ride.