Twisted Vows of Seduction (26 page)

Minutes later Tiffany reappeared from around the corner twisting harder than a two-dollar hoe. He reclaimed his spot and picked up a magazine off the table. After fifteen minutes had passed, Ménage finally said something. “What the hell is taking them so long?” she wondered.

“Hell if I know. Go see.”

Ménage tossed her napkin and coffee cup in the trash. She strutted back over to the teller window. Rhonda was nowhere in sight. She asked the other teller how much longer the wait would be.

“Let me go check for you, ma'am.”

“Thank you,” Ménage said, disguising her frustration.

The teller returned rather quickly. “They said they're counting out the money now.” She smiled.

Ménage nodded her head. “Oh okay.” Satisfied, she walked back over to where Tiffany was. “They're counting the money,” she told him.

“Damn, it takes that long. Don't they have one of those machines that count the money for you? Wheww…this is ridiculous!”

Ménage looked at him as if he were crazy. He was acting as if this money was really his and he was a real customer.

Another ten minutes passed. Ménage only knew as she kept sending Slug's calls straight to voicemail. Didn't he get the memo that she wasn't going back to him or Detroit? She was not about to ruin her Hollywood reputation before it even got off the ground. She decided that she was going to go straight to Sprint after all this and have her number changed.

“Ms. Greer,” Rhonda called out.

“Mr. Hernandez,” the other teller who had helped Tiffany said.

“About damn time,” Tiffany huffed under his breath.

They waltzed over to the window and when they got there, there was no money in sight.

“Ms. Greer, I'm sorry to inform you that we are unable to cash your check today.”

Ménage drew her neck back. “What! Why?”

“Because these checks were stolen.”

“Oh hell no!” Tiffany exclaimed. “I didn't steal a damn thing.” Ménage shot him a look and he ignored it.

“So for that reason we're going to have to retain the checks as evidence.”

“Evidence!” Ménage and Tiffany said in unison.

When they heard the lobby door chirp, they both turned around to find two Dallas police officers walking inside.

“Fuck,” Ménage hissed under her breath.

Tiffany shrieked. “Bitch, I cannot go to jail today! You better tell them something.”

Ménage looked back at Rhonda as the officers approached her and Tiffany. “There has to be a mistake. I had no idea,” she pleaded.

“Ma'am, place your hands behind your back,” the first officer said.

“Officer, there's been some kind of mix-up,” Ménage tried explaining. “If you give me a minute to make a phone call, I promise I can straighten all this out.”

“Lord, please don't let them take me to jail,” Tiffany began praying as he was placed in handcuffs as well. “I'll do anything. I'll stop smoking, I'll stop drinking. I'll even go to church every Sunday,” he whined.

The officers walked each of them over to the lobby. “Take a seat,” the lead officer instructed. He whipped out his writing pad and then walked over to the tellers to get their statements.

“Tiffany, stop panicking!” Ménage grimaced.

“Bitch, I got anxiety and a bad heart.” He winced. “I can't go to jail. Do you know what they do to pretty girls like me?”

Ménage rolled her eyes. If she had never been embarrassed by him before, she sure as hell was now.

“They make us their bitch,” Tiffany retorted. “And I be damned if I'm going to be somebody's
bitch
and not get paid. Ooooo, Lord help me father.”

Ménage instantly regretted bringing Tiffany's over-the-top ass. She tried to think of a way to get them out of this, but this time when the lobby door chirped, she realized all too soon that they were both going to jail today.

Jeff had the nastiest scowl on his face as he bypassed Ménage and walked straight over to the teller area where the two officers were standing.

“We're so screwed!” Tiffany chimed.

Jeff, the tellers, and the police officers headed in their direction. Ménage tried to show a sense of remorse, although she wasn't feeling it. She did what any other bitch would have done if they had access to that kind of money.

“Sir, do you know these two individuals?” the officer asked.

Ménage could see the fire burning in Jeff's eyes as he darted them from her to Tiffany. His brows furrowed and his nose flared as it always did when he was upset. But Ménage swore she saw fumes coming out his head. He looked at her as if he wanted to choke the life out of her.

“Yes, officer. I know them both.”

“It's up to you if you want to press charges, sir. We can take them down and get them processed for check fraud so that you don't have to worry about this happening again.”

Jeff continued to look at Ménage with unbelieving eyes. She worked up just enough tears to start a nice drum roll. She heard
Tiffany sniffling; only she knew his tears were real. Jeff didn't look the least bit moved by her performance.

“Those tears don't work today.”

She finally averted her eyes, wishing they would get it over with instead of making her and Tiffany the laughingstock of the bank. Everybody that walked in looked right at them. She could hear their snickers a mile away.

“I would have given you my last dime,” Jeff said. “I trusted you! My daughter trusted you!”

Ménage couldn't stand to look at him, but she could see Tiffany's face quietly begging him to not press charges.

“I don't want to ever see either of you again,” Jeff said. He turned to the officer. “I won't press charges
this
time.”

Tiffany exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Jeff!” he said.

Ménage, on the other hand, didn't utter a peep.

“Thanks for calling me, Rhonda.”

“No problem, Mr. Jackson. I'll make notations and freeze all the accounts until we can get them closed out and new ones opened.”

“Thank you. Call me if you need anything.” He shook both of the officers' hands and walked out of the building.

The officers turned to Ménage and Tiffany. “The two of you better consider yourselves awfully lucky. But before we let you go, we're going to take down some more information in case you get the itch to try this again.”

About ten minutes later, Ménage and Tiffany walked out of the bank free as birds.

“Gurl, I thought I was a goner!” Tiffany said as he nervously shuffled through his purse for his keys. As they walked through the parking lot, a BMW rolled up. The driver rolled down the window and Ménage and Tiffany both saw that it was Jeff.

“You wanted my money? Here you go!” he said, throwing out a handful of pennies in their direction.

“Fuck you!” Ménage yelled, grabbing the attention of some of the people in the parking lot.

“We tried that, remember?” Jeff hollered. “Dirty bitch!”

Ménage and Tiffany walked as fast as they could toward the car and got in. She was beyond humiliated, but even more upset that she didn't get the money. They watched Jeff drive off before finally pulling out.

“You think he gon' follow us?” Tiffany asked.

Ménage burst out laughing. “Naw. He just mad 'cause he got his little feelings hurt,” she said. “He'll be all right.”

“You are one coldhearted bitch,” Tiffany said, firing up a cigarette. He offered Ménage one, but she declined.

“I need a blunt after all this,” Ménage said before placing her shades over her eyes.

Tiffany looked over at her. “Diva, what you gon' do now?”

“I'ma keep doing what I do best. Get money!”

“D
addy, where's Ebony?” Deandra asked the instant she walked through the door. She hadn't seen Ménage's car and Jeff knew she would be looking for her. Especially considering how well Deandra seemed to take to her.

“She's not here,” Jeff said as he took his keys and cell phone out of his pockets and laid them on the table. “And she won't be back.” Just that quick he'd saved himself from having to answer a million questions.

“But…I thought the two of you were getting married.”

Jeff's face seemed to swell. “Married!” He'd banned that word from his vocabulary months ago. So as his cheekbones pushed his eyes into a squint, he looked at her wondering where in the hell that ludicrous idea had come from.

“Deandra, why would you think Ebony and I were getting married?”

“Because she told me you were.”

Jeff snatched off his tie. The anger rising inside of him had his blood boiling. He clenched his jaws.

“Ebony told you we were getting married?” He wanted to make sure he'd heard her right the first time.

Deandra nodded profusely. Not an ounce of doubt in her face. “She told me I would be the flower girl and that Nadine…”

“Nadine?” Jeff shot.

“Yes, Daddy. She said that Nadine was going to be her maid and that she would get to hold her dress as she walked down the aisle.”

“She lied to you, Deandra, and she used you for information!” He was furious.

Deandra appeared saddened. “Daddy, please don't be mad at me. She told me to pinky swear not to say anything because it was supposed to be a surprise.”

Jeff shook his head and walked over to hug his daughter. “Daddy's not mad at you, baby. I'm mad at myself because I should have never brought her here.” He kissed his daughter on the forehead. He wished like hell that he had seen this one coming. He was upset with himself more than anything because he'd given her the benefit of the doubt. He thought he was helping her. Now he wondered if she really had been robbed or if it was all part of her scheme to rob him.

“Go on and do your homework,” he said. “I need to handle some business.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

Jeff picked up his phone to call Nadine. He needed to fix this because she was the last person he wanted to believe this nonsense. Not so much that her input would have mattered had he chosen to walk that path again, but she deserved the truth. And the truth was, he wasn't marrying anybody. Not today, not tomorrow, or years to come.

“This is Nadine.”

“Are you busy? I had something I needed to straighten out.”

“Actually…yes.”

“Here, baby, let me get that for you,” the male's voice in the background called out.

“Thank you,” Nadine said, obviously switching her attention from Jeff to whoever she had been conversing with before his call.

“Ma Ma…”

Jeff froze in his steps. That was his son.

“Nadine, where are you?”

“Jeff, can this wait until later?”

“Where are you with my son?” He didn't mean to sound as angry as it came out.

As if muffling her voice to speak, she asked, “What's so important that you need to talk to me right now?”

“I'm coming over.”

“We're not home.”

“I want to see my son!” Jeff could hear the rounds of laughter in the background and it made his stomach churn.

“Leonard, I'm going to step out for a minute, baby. I'll be right back.”

Jeff could hear her heels patter across the floor. There was an echo as she moved from one area to the other, but even in the distance, Jeff could hear his son laughing, playing, and enjoying, this other man.

“What has gotten into you?” Nadine lit into him. “It's only Monday, and all of a sudden, you want to see your son.”

“Don't do that.”

“Don't do what? Tell you how I really feel for a change?” She didn't give him time to respond. “I'm sick of you playing part-time daddy to Canvas when it's convenient for you! He needs a father, Jeff. A father! So why don't you, Deandra, and your new fiancée, go on with your happy lives, and let me do what's best for my son. You can clock back in on Friday!”

The only reason Jeff knew Nadine had hung up the phone in his face was he no longer heard his son's laughter. And the only reason he realized how bad he had hurt her was because he could feel his own heart beginning to break as her words echoed in his
mind. He could feel that double-edged sword being shoved deeply down his throat. That quickly, she had diabolically cursed him with her anger and pain. Jeff could feel it in his bones. Every fucking ounce of it, he could feel. And the only way he knew the feeling consuming him was the real deal and not a false alarm, was when Deandra walked up to him with her homework in hand. Instead of asking for the help she was seeking, she said, “Daddy, why are you crying?”

F
ive hundred pounds of weight had been lifted off his chest. Greg had been delivered from all the sneaking around and lying he'd found himself doing in order to keep his dirty little secrets safe. It had gotten to the point where he found himself lying to Vivian about almost everything. From his whereabouts, the lipstick print she'd found on his collar last month, right down to his wedding band. It had been one untruth after the other, time and time again. He had lied so much that it was beginning to feel normal. At times he didn't even trust his own tongue out of fear of what lie would roll off of it next. Therefore, when the perfect opportunity came for him to relinquish, he did. Feeling as though he'd perjured himself enough.

After she'd splashed hot coffee in his face, Greg was surprised that when Vivian did finally calm down, she didn't so much as rebut or ask questions. It was as if she had known about his latest affair all along, and his admission had only been to clear his own guilty conscience. They'd talked like civil adults and eventually she agreed that they were no longer good for each other. She'd said they had lost all the fundamental components that were essential in keeping a marriage together. He'd told her flat out—people change. They'd outgrown each other, he had said bluntly. He'd felt the need to remind her how they wanted different things out of life, figuring that would lessen any hurt, but he'd refrained.
Vivian wanted to move back to Connecticut to be near her father while Greg, on the other hand, had other endeavors to pursue. He wanted to settle in California, venture back into the restaurant business, and most importantly, he was ready to start the family Vivian had refused to give him.