Twisted Vows of Seduction (10 page)

Without blocking her number as she had done last night, Ménage called the number and waited for Nadine to answer.

“Hello,” Nadine answered on the first ring, catching Ménage completely off-guard this time.

Ménage laced her voice with seduction. She spoke slowly and every other word had a short moan behind it. “May I speak with Jeff?”

“He just left. May I ask who's calling?”

She thought about giving her some bogus name. She thought about hanging up the phone in Nadine's face. But why? That wouldn't accomplish anything, she reasoned. It was time The Bitch knew that there was a new bitch on the scene.

“Ménage.”

“I'm sorry. Who?”

“It's Ménage. His…fiancée.”

Nadine got eerily quiet on her. Silence was always a good thing in these types of situations. That meant she had her undivided attention. Ménage continued, knowing her next jab would really fuck Nadine's head up.

“I'm leaving the clinic and I just wanted to tell him our good news…”

“How did you get my number?” Nadine interjected.

“This is his mother, right?” Ménage asked cheerfully. “I've been dying to meet you, Mrs. Jackson,” she carried on. “Jeff has told me so much about you.”

“No, this is
not
Jeff's mother. Listen, I'm not sure how you got my number or why you're even calling my house looking for him, but please don't call here again.”

This time Ménage got quiet. “I'm so sorry, please forgive me. “I'll try him on his cell…”

“Wait! How long have you two been…”

Ménage slowly pulled the phone away from her ear and promptly hit END to cancel the call. Her lips broadened into a dirty conniving smile. She felt like she had just won the lotto.

She turned off the AC and opened her sunroof to let the wind inside of her car. She cranked up her music and sang along to the R&B song she had been jamming to on satellite radio, all while laughing inside. “Dumb broad!” she hollered, pulling into her designated parking spot.

She trod up the stairs and as soon as she walked inside of her apartment, she located her laptop to check her email. As she scrolled over her latest email, her face lit up like a Christmas tree. Her homeboy, Reginald, one of the club promoters for X-Rated, had done exactly what he'd promised he would do for her. He got the casting director for an upcoming feature film to review the portfolio that they had put together. They agreed he would shop her as a model and an actress to decorate her resume to make it appear as if she had experience in film. He had some local film students produce several commercials, trailers, and pilots, featuring Ménage to make it appear as though she was more experienced than in reality. So in addition to her exceptional acting skills, it
showed her versatility. The idea worked, and now Reginald was emailing her about this fantastic opportunity.

Ménage quickly replied to Reginald's email and waited for him to respond. She needed more details. Hell, she wasn't trying to be no damn extra or supporting character. She wanted a leading role; if not, it wasn't worth any of her time.

While waiting, she Googled
EVICTION NOTICE LETTERS
. There were over a million results. All she needed was one good letter sample so that she could execute the next step in her plan. If she could get Jeff to take her in, she would be that much closer to the megabucks. She would find out where the money from the insurance policy was stashed as well as the other bank accounts, and then squeeze him for every last dime.

After going through pages and pages of uploaded evictions, Ménage copied and pasted, tweaked and inserted, just to get exactly what she needed to create a legitimate-looking eviction notice. After spending over an hour on her letter, it came out perfect. She printed off two copies of her splendid handiwork. She had made up some bogus name to put in the spot designated for the landlord's representative's name. She signed the false name, folded the paper and placed the letter in an envelope with her name scribbled on it. She tucked it inside of her beige and red Gucci tote bag, then called the leasing office, hoping they hadn't already left for the evening.

“It's a lovely day here at Cornerstone Townhomes. This is Cathy, how may I assist you?”

“Cathy, this is Ebony Greer, Apt 2101,” Ménage said with a tremble in her voice. She paused for dramatic effect and made a sobbing sound. “My mother has just been diagnosed with terminal cancer.” Another pause. “The doctors don't expect her…to live long.” She imitated a weep.

“Oh no,” Cathy gasped.

“So I'll be moving back home to be with her…for her final days.” Ménage sniffed.

“Why of course,” Cathy said, sounding so disheartened by the news.

“I understand there are penalties for breaking a lease, but I wanted to see if you could make an exception this one time,” she said through sobs.

“Well…we typically…”

Ménage continued with her charade.

“I'll tell you what,” Cathy said. “Come on down to the office and I'll see what we can work out.”

Ménage muffled an, “Okay, I'll be right down,” before hanging up. Ménage knew if things worked out as planned, it would only be a matter of time before she had Jeff right where she wanted him. She went back to check her email.

From: Reginald Scott

Subject: Ebony L. Greer / Film Audition

Message: You funny as hell, Ménage. Hell naw you won't be just walking down the street. You're auditioning for one of the lead roles. Just trust me on this, baby girl. You in this thang! I got you set up for Tuesday at 3pm. You're meeting with a guy named Russ. It's a low-budget feature film as I told you before, but this dude has major connects and he's well on his way in the film biz. This could be your big break so rock it! Also, he's not a fan of arrogance so don't try to outrun this cat with that fly-ass mouthpiece of yours. Just look sexy, nail the audition, and make me proud. I'll text you the address and phone number in a second.

Love
,

Reginald

Ménage let out a sigh of relief. She could feel it. She was damn right going to nail this audition and have Russ's ass begging her
to take the part. Following that thought, she checked for plane ticket times and booked the first thing leaving out of Dallas to Louisiana. It wasn't Hollywood, but it damn sure was a head start in that direction. Like the saying went, “You gotta crawl before you walk,” and Ménage made a living getting on her knees so this was going to be a piece of cake.

Ménage searched through her closet for a shirt less revealing. She threw on a long beige shirt, overlooked herself in the mirror and began to rub her eyes until they turned red.

She hurried to the bathroom, brushed on some mascara, and thought about the most tragic image she could think of in order to get the tears rolling. All she could see clearly in her mind now was Slug's lifeless body lying up in a silver casket lined in chrome. She imagined every detail right down to the color of the pillow his head lay atop of. More tears crowded her face.

Truthfully, she didn't know if her boyfriend was dead or not. But whenever she thought the worst that could have happened to him, tears would immediately flood her face. Ménage walked out the door and headed for the leasing office, teary-eyed, distraught, and full of lies that she couldn't wait to sell. It was the only way out of that damn contract without ruining her perfect credit.

I
t was like looking off into the Pacific Ocean as Greg stared deeply into the depths of Vivian's luminous teal blue eyes. Something he hadn't done in a very long time. She was more gorgeous than he'd liked to remember. Her perfectly shaped nose, lifted cheeks, luscious enhanced lips, and lifted chin, made her a walking billboard for one of the best plastic surgeons in the state of Texas. It was worth every penny she'd invested and even he was incredibly pleased with the outcome. Her warm tanned skin was tight, smooth, and flawless, thanks to the best cosmetic enhancements money could procure.

He thought to himself how undeserving he was of her as his eyes fixated on her posed sensuously with her long silky blonde locks swept to the right side of her neck. Voluminous curls spilled over her bare shoulder and onto the white mink scarf draped around her neck. Her tiny freckles had been concealed with makeup, but Greg knew they were there. He could point them out in a heartbeat because he could see beyond the mirage. He knew Vivian inside and out, but after all these years of being married to her, he didn't understand why it had taken him this long to realize that deep down, he wasn't completely happy.

He had been living in the illusion of happiness. He had adapted to her way of life. A life that was once all a facade to him, on the outside looking in. Greg adored his wife and he still loved her.
But loving her wasn't enough anymore. She had deprived him of children, of a family, and of himself. Causing him to miss out on life's most precious moments and joys. Some days he found himself staring in the mirror, only to be reminded that he was still black, and that no matter how many elite clubs they were in, parties they attended, or how much money they tossed into political buckets, he would never be one of them. And him marrying a white woman wasn't going to change the hue of his skin or this color complex he'd been accused of having. But he had to admit that it felt good being at the top of the food chain and rubbing elbows with some of the same individuals he and his best friend once tried to get to invest in their entrepreneurial ventures.

So many sacrifices had been made to appease his wife, however, Greg couldn't do it anymore. Losing Denise had made him realize how he didn't want to take another second of his life for granted.

“Sorry to keep you holding there, Mr. Adams. Had to catch that call,” Dave said, jolting Greg out of his thoughts. “Now where were we? Oh yes, the Sunset Boulevard property. As I was saying before, I truly believe we might have a deal on that one. And with it being a for-sale-by-owner listing, it really increases our chances of snatching it at the price I proposed.”

Greg placed the five-by-seven, silver framed photo of his wife back on his desk and sat upright in the chair. “Great! But how soon will we know for sure?”

“I'm going to call the seller first thing in the morning to see how he feels about the offer I submitted.”

“Dave, I want that house. I don't have time to waste,” Greg said sternly.

“I know, I know. And I'm going to see to it that you get it. I just have to make the numbers work out because what he's asking for is ridiculously above the market value.”

“What's the asking price?”

“It's listed at $4.5 mil which quite frankly he's not going to get.”

Without hesitation, “Tell him I'll offer him $5 mil,” Greg shot.

“What! I thought we said…”

“And I'll pay for his movers,” he interjected.

“Greg, that's ludicrous! You sure you don't want to see what the appraisal report looks like?”

“Listen, I want that house. So do whatever you need to do to make it happen,” Greg quipped, leaving no room for negotiation. He had loved it when he first laid eyes on it and Naomi did as well. It was the perfect house to start a family and that was all Greg had ever wanted. All he ever dreamt about. The more he thought of the future with Naomi, the more he couldn't wait to surprise her with the news that they were moving to Los Angeles.

“Are you sure about this?” Dave asked. “Because I say we wait a couple of more days and see if he accepts the initial offer. I'm trying to save you a little bit of money here, pal.”

“You know as well as I do that money is no object. So…the faster you can facilitate a deal, the sooner you'll be holding your commission check,” Greg reminded.

As if without a single second to spare, “All right. Anything you say, Mr. Adams,” Dave said, catching Greg's drift. “I'll call him with the new proposal right now and get back to you with his answer.”

“You mean his move-out date.”

“Indeed, sir. I'll be calling you back with his move-out date,” Dave agreed.

Greg checked his Rolex for the time. “Perfect. I'll be waiting for your call,” he said lastly, terminating the call.

Greg sat behind his desk a moment longer before finally retiring work. He had other plans in mind. He shut down his computer, locked up his personal files, and switched off the office light. He
strolled down the corridor and peeked into his secretary's office. She was nowhere to be found, but her computer was on. He walked around to the file room where she normally was when she wasn't behind her desk. He stuck his head in the door.

“Macy, I'm getting ready to head out for the day,” he said, brushing his short beard and goatee with his hand.

Macy jumped, causing one of the manila folders to fly out of her hand. She turned to see Greg standing there and flew one hand over her chest. “Dear God, you scared me!” she said, trying to catch her breath. She pushed her glasses further back on her face and retrieved the fallen folder.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you,” Greg said, trying to hold back a laugh. He figured she would have heard him coming down the hall if she didn't always have that headset glued to her ears.

Macy slipped the headset off. “No, it's okay. I've been extremely jumpy today. Shouldn't have stayed up and watched
Insidious
last night. I'm really not a fan of horror movies, but my boyfriend dared me.”

Greg couldn't help but to release his laughter. “Well, I bet you won't be doing that again.”

“No, sir. Not for a long time.” Macy joined him, not seeming to mind that the tittering was at her expense. She pulled her long tresses behind her ears. She was a fabulous brunette and wore a simple bob that framed her oval-shaped face. Her warm and smooth cappuccino complexion was absent of makeup, but her lips were painted mauve with a hint of lip-gloss. Macy looked to be in her twenties and had the most giving heart of all the employees in the building. She never forgot any of the staff's birthdays, and when the holidays rolled around, she always brought her specialty—lemon meringue pie.