The Ex Files (3 page)

A
SIA
I
NGRUM

Asia squeezed her daughter. “When you get home from school, I’ll have a big surprise.”

“What, Mommy?”

“You’ll see. Now, get going.”

Angel’s pigtails bounced as she took her baby-sitter Tracy’s hand. With a final wave, the five-year-old stepped into the elevator and then, Asia slammed the front door closed. For the last seven months, this was when she’d rush into the living room and, from eleven stories up, watch Angel scurry into Tracy’s car before they sped down Wilshire Boulevard.

But today, Asia raced up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time to the second level of her condominium. Inside her bedroom, she rummaged through the walk-in closet, tossing couture lingerie over her shoulder until she found the silk knit kimono.

She laid the robe, matching thong, and bra on her bed, then dashed into the bathroom. As she turned on the shower, her glance rested on the Jacuzzi tub. She wished she could linger in a bath-salt soak, but Angel had robbed her of time. It began when her heaven-sent daughter wouldn’t get out of bed and then battled over what she would wear. The final war was fought over a banana—Angel wouldn’t eat her Frosted Flakes without one.

Asia had almost cried with relief when, fifteen minutes after she called Nicolas, her building’s concierge, two bananas were delivered to her apartment. She’d given one to Angel and smiled as she thought about what she could do with the other.

Now, as the shower’s water caressed her like summer rain, her thoughts returned to the banana. She and Bobby had used all kinds of toys in their years together, but she couldn’t recall a banana.

Asia shivered, but it wasn’t the thought of fruit that made her shudder. It was the words that, today, Bobby would finally say to her now that his ball-playing days with the Lakers were over.

He’d contracted with the ESPN Los Angeles bureau to co-anchor a sports talk show. He’d be living in Los Angeles permanently. And that could mean only one thing.

She was still a bit miffed that she’d found out about Bobby’s new position with the rest of the world, through a news conference almost two weeks ago. But then, she reasoned he was saving his new job as a surprise—along with the rest of today’s news.

The anticipation made her giddy. She’d been this way since yesterday when he called.

“Asia, I want to come by tomorrow. There’s something…” He’d paused. “I’ll come by right after Angel leaves for school.”

She knew what this visit was about. She couldn’t stop her giggles—thinking of him. Of them. Of their daughter.

She stepped from the shower and patted her copper-colored skin dry. She sucked in her belly. She hadn’t eaten a thing since Bobby called; her size 4 toned and shapely form looked as good as it did when she’d last seen him, three weeks before.

Asia had just slipped into her feather-adorned stiletto mules when she heard the beeps of the alarm indicating the front door opening. A final glance in the mirror assured her that she was ready and she scurried toward the stairs. He was standing at the bottom, his keys dangling in his hand.

Asia sauntered down; her open robe flowed behind her like a wedding-gown train.

It was all that she could do to hold her gasp inside. Ten years, and Bobby still made her heart flutter. It was the way his broad shoulders framed his sculpted chest that even now, through the cotton of his shirt, showcased his muscles. It was the way his legs bowed, just enough to make her whimper, “Umph, umph, umph,” as she imagined his legs around her. It was the way he held his head, tilted a bit, like he was posing for an underwear ad and he knew he had the best face—and body—the camera had ever seen. Each time Asia laid eyes on the athletic Adonis, she was in love all over again.

“Hey, baby,” she whispered, pulling her voice from her throat.

His eyes glided over her, beginning at the fire-hot-red polish on her toes. She tossed her bone-straight hair over her shoulders and posed, hands on her waist. His eyes ingested all of her before she strutted forward and leaned into him. She felt the beat of his heart (and other parts), but after a moment, he eased away.

She chuckled. He was ready to get right to it. And so was she. Three weeks—too long.

“Asia.” Bobby cleared his throat. Turned away. “We need to talk.”

She frowned and followed him into the living room. Settling onto the couch next to him, she asked, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Asia, we’ve been together for a long time.”

It came back to her—the reason he was here. Anticipation made her shake once more. She tried to keep her smile small as she glanced at her left hand. She wondered if he’d brought the ring with him, or would they shop for it together?

He continued, “I never meant for things to go on like this for so long.” Finally, he looked at her.

She pouted—just a bit—the way she knew he liked. “Baby, it’s okay. The past doesn’t matter. It’s about what’s happening now.”

His forehead creased as if he didn’t understand.

She couldn’t help it—her smile was broad. “Baby, I know what you’re going to say.”

His frown deepened.

She said, “I knew it as soon as you said you wanted to come over.” She cupped her hands over his. “Baby, I know this is hard, but it’s best for Caroline.” He flinched; she’d broken their silent rule—his wife’s name was never to be spoken. “And it’s best for me and Angel.”

His eyes thinned; still not understanding.

“Bobby, Angel is going to be so excited when we tell her we’re getting married.”

He snatched his hands away from her. “No!” He stood, paced.

“Baby, what is wrong with you?”

With a breath, he said, “You don’t understand.” Another beat. “I’ve decided…to stay…with…my wife.”

Asia frowned and wondered when Bobby had stopped speaking English.

He continued, “With this offer from ESPN, I’m ready to make a change.”

Still she could not understand.

“I want to honor…my wife.”

His words took her breath away. She didn’t move, couldn’t move, until he called her name.

“Are you okay?”

“What did you say?” she asked as if she dared him to repeat the nonsense he’d just spoken.

He turned away and spoke over his shoulder. “I owe this to…my wife.”

“Owe it to your wife?” Asia sprang from the couch. “What about me, Bobby?” she asked, getting in his face. “What do you owe me?”

“You’ll never have to worry. I’ll take care of you.”

“You think that’s enough?” Her head rolled with each spoken word.

“Of course, I’ll take care of Angel too.”

“Damn straight since she’s your daughter.” Asia stared at him. “I cannot believe this.” She crossed her arms. “I thought you were coming here to tell me you wanted to get married.”

He looked at her as if she were now the one speaking a different dialect. “I never made you that promise.”

“How can you say that?”

“You always knew about my wife, where I stood.”

“I knew that I was the woman you wanted. I knew that I was the woman who gave you a child. Bobby, this doesn’t make sense. What was all of this about?” Her arms flailed through the air as she looked around the massive living room.

“This”—he paused and lowered his voice—“was about taking care of you.”

“I thought this was about you loving me.”

He stared—a moment passed—he turned away.

Asia’s mouth opened wide. “Bobby, you’ve been screwing me for more than ten years.”

“Why are you acting like you didn’t know the deal? Like you didn’t know that one day our affair would end.”

“An affair is a couple of times. Maybe a year. Maybe two. We have a daughter. We have a commitment,” she screamed.

“I never committed anything to you.”

His words paralyzed her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

“Asia,” he began, “don’t let this turn ugly.”

Still, she stayed silent.

“I’ll take care of you and Angel. We’ll arrange something that’ll work for both of us.”

Still, she stood frozen.

“I think…it would be best…until everything is settled…over the next few weeks, if we…just let the attorneys do the talking.”

She began to thaw.

He said, “Actually, for a little while, it might be better if we don’t see each other.”

She flexed her fingers—imagined each one pressed around his neck.

“And when you think about it, this is really going to be better for you, Asia.”

Her legs trembled.

“You’re a beautiful woman.” He moved closer to her. “There’s someone out there for you.”

It was the ten years she’d spent waiting for him that sent her fists flying against his chest. She screamed, “You son of a—”

“Stop it!” He grabbed her. “What are you doing?”

“What are
you
doing?” she cried.

“The right thing,” he freed her, “for both of us.”

“This is not right for me.” She tightened her robe. “How could it be? I’ve spent ten years, being here, being there, being anywhere you wanted me to be. Doing anything you wanted me to do.”

“You were paid well for it, Asia.”

This time, she planned to kill him. But his six-foot-ten-inch frame stopped her hands before she could reach his neck.

“Stop it,” he said, holding tight to her wrists.

She twisted inside his grasp, waiting for the moment when she could scratch his eyes out.

Still holding her, he pushed her down onto the couch. “We’re not going to do this. Both of us have too much class to end up on the front page of some tabloid.”

She growled.

He said, “I’m serious. I don’t want anything to happen here that later we’ll regret.” He held her down, until her breathing steadied. “I’m going to let you go now,” he said softly, “but I’m not going to let you hit me. Do you understand?”

She didn’t respond and he clutched her wrists tighter.

She squirmed. “You’re hurting me.”

“I guess you understand. Don’t…” He left his warning there. Slowly, he eased his fingers from her.

She glared at him as she massaged her wrists.

“You’ll get a call from my lawyers in the next few days,” he said, once he was sure she wouldn’t budge. “But, Asia, understand that it’s time to move on.” His eyes stayed on her—even as he backed away.

She stayed, bonded to the couch, continuing to rub where he’d hurt her on the outside. Not able to touch the place where he’d slain her on the inside.

“Good-bye, Asia.” And then, he was gone.

Asia didn’t move. She needed all of her energy to think, to come up with a plan. A way to make Bobby Johnson pay big time for messing with Asia Ingrum.

V
ANESSA
M
ARTIN

If he closed her husband’s coffin one more time, Vanessa was going to scream. And then the funeral director did it again. Then again. Over and over until Vanessa couldn’t take it anymore.

She opened her mouth and her eyes at the same time. Her head swayed from side to side before consciousness returned. She pushed herself up and drank in her surroundings. She wasn’t at church. She was home. In her bedroom. The funeral had been over for hours.

Vanessa swung her legs over the bed’s edge, stood, and smoothed the duvet. Then she did the same to the white flowered dress she’d worn to the funeral. The knit hadn’t wrinkled at all—she looked almost as fresh as she had this morning when she’d marched into the church with her head high and took that first seat in the first row. The chair of honor for this occasion.

As she turned, she noticed her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her waist had narrowed; her hips were much more slender. She’d dropped at least fifteen, maybe even twenty pounds in just over a week. A month ago she’d been ready to have her sister-in-law purchase those illegal diet pills. But she wouldn’t need them now. Death was the ultimate appetite suppressor. She hadn’t eaten a morsel since she’d received that horrific call.

“Mrs. Martin?”

“Yes?”

“This is the coroner’s office.” The man hadn’t spoken another word before the scream rose from her center.

Now she pressed her hands against her ears. She’d lived that moment every time she closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about it while she was awake.

She stepped from the bedroom and paused. She could hear muffled voices, but it didn’t sound like many. Good. She’d get rid of whoever was left so that she could do what she had to do.

Soundlessly, she moved down the stairs, through the living room. Outside the kitchen she stopped, listened.

“I’ve tried to talk to her; I want her to spend a few days with me.” Her mother’s southern accent seemed thicker through her sniffles and Vanessa wondered if she’d been crying all of these hours. “But she keeps telling me no.”

“Vanessa will be fine.” This time it was the rhythm of her mother-in-law’s Jamaican brogue that Vanessa heard.

“She’s my daughter, Dorothy,” Wanda Fowler stated. “I know her better than you do. And I’m worried.”

Vanessa didn’t have to be in the room to see her mother’s expression. She imagined how Wanda’s lips had turned down. The way her eyes rolled. The way her cheeks were sucked in—to show her disapproval of Dorothy’s words.

“Well,
your
daughter is strong.
My
son always said so.”

With a fake smile, Vanessa sauntered into the kitchen. “I didn’t think you guys would still be here.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” her mother asked and sniffed.

Vanessa did her best not to sigh. Her grief was enough—she couldn’t carry her mother’s as well.

“I was just waiting until you woke up.” Dorothy spoke softly. “Did you rest well?”

“Of course she didn’t,” Wanda answered before Vanessa could. “How can she rest? Her husband…he’s…” She stopped; shook her head as if finishing was too painful.

“I did sleep a little,” Vanessa said, ignoring her mother’s theatrics.

Dorothy Martin smiled. While Wanda Fowler had worn her sorrow like a new suit, Dorothy, who’d lost her only son, stood anchored like the Rock of Gibraltar that she always was from the moment she’d heard the news.

“You still look tired,” Wanda said, rubbing her daughter’s arm.

Dorothy said, “Why don’t you guys come over to my house? There’s still plenty of food and I’m sure a houseful of people. You know how my people are,” she said with a chuckle.

“That’s a good idea, sweetheart,” Wanda said. “Go upstairs and change. And I’ll drive you over to Dorothy’s.”

“Or you can ride with me,” Dorothy said.

It drove Vanessa crazy, the subtle battles between her mother and mother-in-law. They’d never had an all-out war in the fifteen years of their children’s marriage, but the small clashes were just as annoying—if one said black, the other swore white. Her husband, Reed, had been the referee—she didn’t know how it would be now.

“You know,” Vanessa began, “what I really want is for you to leave so I can be alone.”

This could have been a first—mother and mother-in-law agreeing. If she’d had any joy inside her, Vanessa would have laughed at their matching expressions.

“That’s not a good idea,” her mother said.

“And it’s not necessary,” Dorothy added. “Come over to my house for a little while. Eat something, and then I’ll bring you back here.”

“No.” Vanessa lifted her mother’s sweater from the couch and handed it to her. “I really want to do this my way.” She grabbed her mother-in-law’s purse and gave it to her.

Seconds passed before Dorothy said, “Well, if this is what you want.”

Vanessa nodded, then glanced at her mother, who stood strong as if she had no plans to leave.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Wanda said, and her eyes watered.

Because you’re getting on my nerves
, was what Vanessa screamed inside. “It’s been a long week, Mother,” she said. “I’m tired and I have to get used to this anyway.”

“You don’t have to get used to it all at once. All alone.”

Vanessa closed her eyes for a moment, soaked in those words: All alone.

Wanda continued, “Sweetheart, listen to me. I know.”

“Mother, you know everything.”

Wanda pressed her lips together, crossed her arms. Stood, stared, waited for her apology.

Vanessa sighed. “Just give me tonight. And if I’m not good, I promise I’ll call you.” She looked at Dorothy. “I’ll call both of you.”

“There’s no need to bother Dorothy with this,” Wanda said as she slipped into her sweater. “If you need someone to be here with you, it’ll be me.”

“Call me whenever you want to.” Dorothy hugged her daughter-in-law.

Vanessa was surprised at the way Dorothy held her. The Martins weren’t known for their affection, but she’d had more hugs from her in-laws in the week since Reed’s death than she’d had in all the years of their marriage.

Dorothy kissed Vanessa’s cheek. “I’ll call you later.”

Her mother’s hug was much warmer. The Fowlers were a touchy-feely family. And tragedy just made Wanda love harder.

Vanessa stood at the door as the mothers in her life marched to their cars. Without a word to each other, they sped away, but not before waving to Vanessa. Her mother raised her hand with her thumb to her ear and her pinky to her lips. Call me, she mouthed.

Vanessa nodded, making sure she kept her smile wide. The moment the Camry and the Explorer were out of sight, she closed the front door.

Her smile stayed as she returned to the kitchen and wiped invisible crumbs from the granite-top counters. She was still beaming as she fluffed the already plump pillows on the couch in the family room and then did the same to the ones in the living room.

As she climbed the stairs, the seventeen hundred square feet of silence screamed at her, but she ignored the quiet and kept the veneer of cheer.

In the guest bathroom, her smile dimmed a bit when she opened the medicine cabinet. There weren’t as many bottles as she thought. But she gathered the three prescriptions and then strolled toward her bedroom.

Inside the master bathroom, she lined up the bottles on the counter before she opened the cabinet. In here, her wide smile returned. As she placed these five bottles next to the other three, she wondered why she and Reed had kept these prescriptions long after their headaches and toothaches and muscle aches were gone.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” she said to herself.

She leaned against the wall, folded her arms, and stared at the bottles lined side by side like soldiers.

This was enough for what she had to do.

She wondered if Reed had taken this same care when he planned his death. Knowing her husband, he’d probably spent weeks organizing it all. She closed her eyes and once again imagined his last moments. The gun to his temple. The way he’d probably looked at his watch and counted the seconds. The way she hoped he’d said good-bye to her. Then, hello to God.

“No,” she screamed, and opened her eyes.

Sadness stared back at her from the mirror and she forced the ends of her lips to turn upward. There was no need for sorrow. All she needed to do was embrace the joy that came from knowing that—as soon as she got the word from God—she and Reed would be together again, married forever.