Twisted Vows of Seduction (5 page)

“All right. Chat with you later, babe,” Tiffany hollered back.

Ménage disconnected the call and instead of hanging up the
phone, she entered the two-digit code to block her number, and quickly dialed the number she had memorized from a couple of hours earlier when it had come through Jeff's phone.

“Hello?” a woman answered groggily.

“Hi. Is Jeff in?” Ménage inquired in the sexiest phone voice she could muster.

“No, he isn't.”

“Are you expecting him anytime soon?”

“No. May I ask who's calling and what matter this is in regards to this time of the night?”

“Is this Nadine?” Ménage asked, already knowing the woman's name.

“Yes. This is Nadine. Now who am I speaking with?”

Silence.

“Hello?” Nadine asked repeatedly. “Are you there?”

Ménage listened as frustration seemed to build in Nadine's voice. Finally, she hung up. A sinister smile crossed her lips from the satisfaction of hearing Nadine inquire about who she was and the purpose of her call. Ménage didn't have a personal beef with Nadine, but she did have a problem with the distraction she was becoming to her and Jeff's relationship. And she wasn't going to let anyone interfere with this opportunity of getting out the strip game and moving on to a real career in Hollywood.

Ménage took the cap off one of the many colorful liquor bottles arranged on her bar. She rolled the money like a weed joint, then dropped each bill inside a Ciroc bottle. She was now in Boss Bitch Beast mode and her game plan was in full effect.

J
eff was yanked out of his good sleep by the deafening sound of raging smoke alarms. Something was burning. Something was on fire. At least he thought. Only dressed in his boxer shorts, he rushed to his daughter's room in a sure panic, only to find her not there. His heart pounded through his chest and his breathing got lost in its own way as he raced through a cloud of smoke and into the smoked-out kitchen where the pungent smell was coming from. There stood Deandra, his ten-year-old daughter, standing on her stepstool in her Hello Kitty pajamas and slippers. She had on her mother's favorite cooking apron. She was multitasking; scrambling eggs in one pan, and trying to fry bacon in another. On the counter behind her was a heap of lopsided chocolate chip buttermilk pancakes.

Jeff exhaled in relief as he shook his head and chuckled at the Kodak moment. He wondered how in the world she managed to wake herself up so early on a school day when any other day he was her alarm clock.

Deandra hadn't noticed him standing behind her because it was clear that she was in her own zone. Jeff surveyed the kitchen and the huge mess that she had made. He quietly grabbed one of the towels off the countertop, walked into the hall and began fanning the smoke detector with it. A minute later, the noise stopped.

Jeff discreetly retreated back to his room, got back in the bed,
and waited for Deandra to surprise him with breakfast in bed as he suspected she would. He pulled the covers up to his stomach, positioned both hands behind his head, and lay back against the pillow. At times like this, his thoughts settled on Denise, his ex-wife. He could almost feel her spirit there in the room with him, lying next to him as if she had never left.

Denise's sudden death had been hard on everyone, but Jeff felt as if he had been affected by it the most. After all, Denise was the woman he had considerably made his wife and she was the mother of the child he continued to raise as his own, despite Denise's startling deception.

Even with everything she had taken him through, Jeff told himself that he would have traded places with Denise in a heartbeat. Had God given him that choice, he would have laid down his own life for her with no second thought about it. Denise didn't deserve to die and Deandra didn't deserve to be without her mother. Now, Jeff found himself a single man having to raise their daughter all alone.

While it took Jeff a considerable amount of time to muster up enough strength to be in the same space as Denise after she'd slapped him in the face with her confession, he eventually managed to find it in his heart to forgive her. He had learned during that meeting with her that she had been raped, and that her only intentions were to raise Deandra with a man she felt would make a suitable father for her child. Denise had given him a great deal of credit before being so sure that he was even capable.

However, every now and then, Jeff found himself wondering how
any
woman could look her man in the face and lie to him about the paternity of his child. Wondered how she slept at night with that kind of secret buried inside of her. The day he'd read those paternity test results and found out Deandra wasn't his biological
daughter, he'd cried like a newborn baby. Felt like his heart had been ripped out. He recalled barely being able to eat or sleep for weeks. Jeff had shut down mentally and the only thing that helped him survive the madness in spite of the paternity results, was the thought of his baby girl. While it was hard for Jeff to accept that Deandra wasn't his biological child, he dealt with it and tried to move forward. His love for his child never wavered because in his eyes, Deandra was
his
baby, and that was never going to change.

As Jeff's thoughts raced to the role Nadine played in all of it and the downright scandalous treachery that would scar him for the rest of his life, his stomach began to churn. It made him resent Nadine all the more. After loving two women and being hurt by both, Jeff felt he would never recover from that kind of pain. He was a man scorned, but he'd be damned if he ever admitted that shit out loud.

Jeff heard the clinking of the dishes as Deandra came walking down the hall. She was headed right his way. He pulled the sheet up to his chest and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He added a snore for good measure.

“Good morning, Daddy!” Deandra said energetically as she placed the folding tray on her father's bed. “I made you your favorite breakfast, Daddy. Wake up!”

Jeff slowly opened his eyes, outstretched his arms, and raised his body up in the bed. He relaxed back up against the headboard.

“I made breakfast for you,” Deandra said again proudly with a smile brighter than the glare of sun beaming through the window. “See!” she said, moving the tray closer to him.

“I see,” Jeff said, observing all the food piled on his plate. There were a total of six pancakes, five slices of bacon, and scrambled eggs. He even had a tall glass of orange juice to wash it all down. “All this for me, huh? Courtesy of Chef Deandra.” Jeff smiled.

Deandra nodded her head, her big cheesy smile still planted on her face.

Jeff acknowledged that his daughter looked more and more like her mother every day. It seemed like it was yesterday when he was bringing Deandra and Denise home from the hospital. He remembered how small she was. Five pounds, six ounces. A little over seventeen inches long with a head full of silky jet-black tresses. Now his baby girl was half-grown and about to eat him out of house and home.

Jeff picked up his fork to dive in as Deandra flopped on the bed beside him.

“Did you forget what today is, Daddy?” Deandra asked, a drop in her voice.

Jeff thought long and hard before it finally hit him. It was the one-year anniversary of Denise's death.

Jeff eased the fork back down on his plate. He looked over at his daughter. There was a tremble in his voice as he started to speak. He cleared his throat. “No, Daddy didn't forget, sweetheart,” he fibbed. He stopped and looked around the large room. Everything was still in the same spot for the most part, just as Denise had left it. In fact, the entire house had remained the same. “And you know what, that's why there's no school today. We're going to go visit your mother,” he said. They had gone last weekend, the weekend before that, and the weekend before that. Jeff and Deandra visited Denise's grave as often as she wanted to. Mainly on Sundays, after he picked her up from her grandmother Grace's house after staying the weekend over.

“Is Grandma coming this time?”

“Not sure, but I'll ask.”

“I would like for Grandma to come with us. She never comes
with us to visit Mommy, and when I ask she always starts crying,” Deandra said.

Jeff knew this had been hard on Grace as well. She had lost her only child and while they never really discussed Denise openly, it was obvious that Grace was still healing from it all. A process Jeff had yet to go through.

“Grandma will come around. It's just going to take more time, that's all,” Jeff assured her.

Deandra looked at her father and planted a good smack on his cheek.

“What was that for?” Jeff smiled.

Deandra smiled back. “Mommy wants me to give all her kisses to you now.”

Jeff swallowed the burn in his throat, trying to mask his feelings as best as he could in front of his daughter. “What do you say I finish my breakfast while you go get cleaned up? I have to make a pit stop to the barbershop and then we will go see your mother right after that.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Deandra jumped up from the bed and headed off to her room, closing Jeff's door behind her.

Jeff was glad to see how well his daughter was coping with her mother's death. Furthermore, he was even surprised that he hadn't had to seek therapy for her like he had done for himself. Only he had to spend outrageous money for the kind of therapy that he needed. It was the only kind of
help
that would take his mind off of everything he was going through. Even if it was only temporarily.

Jeff drove five miles per hour along the trail of Laurel Land Cemetery until finally coming to a spot in close proximity of Denise's gravesite. He pulled in slow and parked right next to a sleek black, chrome-accented, Rolls-Royce Phantom. He called off the make and model right off the bat. He sat in admiration, telling himself that he would never spend that kind of money on a damn car, but he couldn't deny how much pussy he would pull from it. The thought brought a tempting smile to his face.

He leaned over to the passenger seat and grabbed the beautiful flower arrangement he had brought to replace the one from last week. Just as he turned to get out of the car, Greg Adams, his wife's former client and the man that rocked his marriage worse than a California earthquake, was walking toward the luxurious vehicle.

Jeff quickly placed his glasses over his eyes, wanting to be certain of the man's identity. Thankfully, Jeff couldn't be seen behind the dark tint of his car, but he could make out Greg Adams as clear as a sunny day. He would single the man out in a lineup without a problem. It was a face he would never forget, even if he tried.

The son of a bitch was dressed in the same fashion that he had been dressed in at the funeral. His tailored black and gray Giorgio Armani suit, cufflinks, and polished black shoes, summarized him in one word—money. Jeff's face frowned all on its own and an awful bitter taste filled his mouth as he sat there profiling the man that he really didn't give a hot flying fuck about.

“Daddy, what are we waiting for?” Deandra asked.

“One minute, baby. I'm trying to see something,” Jeff replied, his voice monotone.

Jeff studied the man from head to toe as he got closer. His hair and face was groomed with precision. His fine designer threads exclusively tailored for his tall, medium-built frame. He had a casualness about him, yet an arrogance that was almost as flashy
as that fancy automobile he drove. The wind seemingly stood still as he approached the $500,000 car. Jeff secretly eye stalked the man as he unlocked his vehicle and got inside. He turned his head in the opposite direction once Greg started up his engine and began to slowly reverse out of the parking lot.

To pass time, Deandra began reciting the poem she had written for her mother earlier that morning.

“That's real nice, baby.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Jeff waited until Greg was a half-mile down the path before pulling off.

“Where are we going?” Deandra asked, looking around them.

Jeff's eyes darted from the road to the rearview mirror. “Daddy forgot to do something, baby. Just give me one minute. I promise it won't take long.”

Jeff followed Greg at a three-car distance. He didn't know where Greg would lead him or even why he was following him in the first place. After all, he hadn't done anything personally to him accept for fuck his wife. In hindsight, Jeff had a valid reason to want to destroy the man's very existence.

A
fter handing the valet attendant the keys to his vehicle, Greg casually walked directly across the street. He felt extremely overdressed compared to those around him, but didn't bother with that thought much, being that he was already running behind schedule.

The weather was surprisingly nice, considering how it had rained most of the week. It was 82 degrees. Perfect weather for a game of golf. However, with all the pandemonium going on in his life, his day was far from perfect. Had been that way for quite a while now, and every day for the rest of his life, Greg knew he would have to live with those badgering reminders of how his life once was before he allowed the only woman who supplied him with a greater happiness and sense of fulfillment, to slip away.