If You Don't Know Me (4 page)

Mama had on a beautiful long white lace dress that Aunt Wilma had picked out from Mama's closet. She wanted to put jewelry on Mama but Beaux and I didn't want to give anyone a reason to dig up Mama's body so we insisted, no jewelry. Mama's hands were folded at her waist; her favorite white Bible with that fancy gold trim around the edges of the pages lay on her stomach right underneath her palms.

Standing tall, Beaux and I tucked the white satin liner deep into the casket. The guys from the funeral home came over. “We'll do this. That's our job.”

“We want to do it,” Beaux said.

When I slammed the top, the coffin slid. People in the church gasped, then somebody laughed.

Beaux caught Mama's casket before it hit the floor. “Bro, you still clumsy,” Beaux said laughing too. “Mama probably got a kick out of that.”

I should kick him. What if the gun was on top of Mama's Bible? It was a good thing we didn't have to open the casket again. I locked it, then eyed the dude in the back. He was still taping.

The guys from the funeral home helped us carry Mama's body to the hearse. I whispered to that camera dude, “I want that tape,” then kept going. What if Charles was setting me up? We slid Mama's coffin in the back. I asked one of the guys, “Dude, who was taping? Y'all know him?”

One of them said, “Yeah, he's cool.”

“How much y'all trying to add on to our bill for that?”

“Two.”

“Two what?” Beaux asked.

“Hundred. But you're not obligated,” he said.

“You damn straight,” Beaux answered.

We had their number. If we wanted it, we could get it later. It was time to go to the cemetery. Beaux got into my Super Duty truck. We didn't want no fancy limo driver. Closely we followed the hearse.

Looking behind his seat, Beaux asked, “What's in the suitcase?”

“A million dollars.”

Beaux laughed. “Yeah, right.”

While my brother was busy laughing, I'd just come up with another brilliant idea.

“H
ush little baby don't you cry. Your daddy will buy us whatever I say.”

Did I need Roosevelt's money? No. Did I want his money? Of course. My resources were solid until my father jeopardized our business, sold my car, leveraged my home, and pawned my engagement rings. If I were to maintain my lifestyle and secure my family's financial future, control over all of Roosevelt's resources—bank accounts, investments, and inheritances—was what I needed.

In some cases, a man would stay married in order to live the good life. My man had generational wealth. He could replace me and replenish his accounts at the same time. In order to maintain my position as first lady in his life, I had to capitalize on his weakness, our son.

Asking my man to spend his money wasn't the most effective way to have my monetary desires met. For an established guy like Roosevelt, it was best to mention what I wanted and let him take the initiative to do the rest. Gradually, he'd start to trust me, then add my name to his signature cards, and once he'd done that, I could restore all that my dad squandered and more. When my husband discovered my father had leveraged my home and sold my Ferrari, he settled the lien against my property and bought me a Bentley.

How many women could get a man to pay their car note let alone purchase them a luxury vehicle? Thoughtful wealthy men were scarce and I was not going through nine more engagements in hopes of finding another man as generous as the man I was legally married to. Papa had cashed in eight rings. The only one he hadn't stolen was the one on my finger.

I sat in my family room in the white leather rocking chair my girlfriend Tisha bought me. This was no ordinary chair. It was my favorite! The arms, seat, and back were plump and plush. It reclined, vibrated, could do a one-eighty swivel, and it had a climate-control thermostat. The softness comforted me while I held my child. There were days when both Zach and I fell asleep for hours in the chair.

Having Roosevelt come home to us at night was my goal. I'd grown tired of our living in separate homes. She could visit my husband, sleep in his bed, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to prevent that unless I moved back in.

I knew he wasn't happy with me but everything was temporary. My giving birth to his first and only son was priceless. Even if his mistress, Sindy, had a dozen babies by Roosevelt, mine was his first.

Touching my son's toes, I whispered to Zach, “The football game is over. He'll be here shortly.” I hoped she didn't change his mind about coming to visit his child. She appeared the kind that would try to monopolize my man's time.

Rocking back and forth, I'd watched from the coin toss until the last second ticked off of the fourth quarter. I think Houston won by ten but I felt as though I was losing this round. I lost track of the score when the cameras flashed to Roosevelt's suite. Sindy Singleton was by his side. I could contact the media, start newsworthy drama, but that would be to her benefit. I'd come across as desperate. I was. But the world would never see that side of me.

She tucked her long cinnamon hair behind her ears. The diamond solitaires were more brilliant than the lights in the background. Her breasts sat high and round. For a moment I was saddened remembering how I'd had my breasts surgically removed. I'd done the right thing. I was cancer free.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I let the tears fall onto my baby's blanket. Sindy's teeth were perfectly straight and ultrawhite. The harder I tried to find a flaw I noticed this woman appeared ideal for my husband. The operative word was “appeared.” Who was I fooling? Certainly not myself. There was another thing she had that I used to have: a glow of happiness. Her being there illuminated my husband's eyes.

Slowly, I rocked, realizing that pain was for the person who cared.

I knew where I'd done wrong but why did it hurt so bad? I didn't know how to get back to the days when my, I mean our, relationship was perfect. The more he pulled away, the more he ignored me, the tighter my fingers curled clinging to the possibility of what had already slipped away. The slime in my hands made me envious of her. But I refused to give up holding on to my first and only husband.

Accepting Loretta's stupid bet ruined my life. “Why'd I fuck Granville's dumb ass?”

Loretta had screwed up my life and moved on with hers. I saw her from time to time, wished she wasn't my next-door neighbor but she'd forever be my ex-best friend. Her daughter's father was coming around more. Staying longer. Once a woman had a baby by a man, he'd always feel entitled to fuck her. Things probably weren't going too well with Raynard's wife, Gloria. Heard her son wasn't his. Maybe Loretta was finally getting some default dick regularly. Raynard would fuck her until he found someone else and she was stupid enough to let him. I wished there were a way I could've made her a suspect in my husband's shooting. She had a gun in her purse at my reception. No one knew but Tisha and I.

“I hate her ass!”

“Whaa! Whaa!”

Wow. I'd unintentionally said that aloud. I cuddled my baby to my chest. Soon I'd have implants. I was home with Roosevelt's child and he was on national television with another woman. Didn't any of his fans care about me?

A commercial came on advertising same-day delivery for items in-store at Target. The real holidays were starting next month. At the end of this month I'd skip Halloween. Pagans honoring witches and goons didn't make sense and I was not dressing my son in a pumpkin or superhero costume.

I kissed his little nose. “Your father is your hero.”

Sometimes I only needed someone to listen. Glad Zach was too young to understand; he'd become my sounding board. Squeezing my son, I inhaled the fresh scent of new life.

Thanksgiving was five weeks away. I wished I could fast-forward and skip it all. Roosevelt and his family would want to share these joyous occasions with my baby and his mistress would sit at the table breaking my bread, drinking my wine, and toasting in the New Year. Where would I be for Christmas? Home, alone? Not at my parents'. Definitely not at Mrs. DuBois's house caroling. Tisha lived on the other side of Loretta. Maybe I'd celebrate with Tisha and her boys.

More tears fell on Zach's blanket. I had to find a way to prolong our divorce until Roosevelt changed his mind. My signing the papers didn't make our dissolution final. Did it? We still had to go to court.

“Whaa!”

“Shhh. Hush, Mama's baby,” I said gently bouncing Zach in my arms.

He cried louder. “Whaa!” His face turned red.

Exhaling my frustrations, I remembered I fed him a half hour ago. I'd learned in a bad way not to stick my finger inside his diaper if I wasn't sure what was in it. Laying him on my lap, I peeled the tape from his diaper. It was wet. Again.

I kissed Zach's feet, wiggled his soft toes. Fingered his full head of dark wavy hair. I loved my baby's pecan tone. Zach's skin was a combination of Roosevelt's tan and my nearly white complexion. His ears were slightly darker. I prayed his tone would even out all over to the color of his face.

Laying him on the changing table, I cleaned his private area. For a second, I thought, “Couldn't be.” His penis and balls were large. Maybe that was my imagination. Perhaps they were just swollen. He was only a week old. The darkest part of his body was his genitals and the pigment wasn't fading. The tip of his ears, his cuticles . . . I closed my eyes for a moment and prayed, “Lord, please forgive me for cheating on Roosevelt.”

The only thing that reassured me Granville wasn't the father was the paternity results Roosevelt and I had gotten. That, and Zach's curly hair. Granville's head was bald but that man had pubic hairs that could be plucked and used as a scouring pad. Or a clit scratcher. I couldn't lie. Granville's dick felt amazing.

There was no need for me to let my guilt give me doubts. “Thank you, Jesus.” God had granted me the one thing I'd prayed for. The right father.

My doorbell rang. Tisha was on the security monitor in the top corner of my flat-screen television. I taped a fresh Pamper to Zach's bottom, snapped his onesie, and carried him to the living room.

Opening the door, Tisha instantly took her future godson out of my arms and lovingly placed him in hers. I handed her his receiving blanket.

“My boys wanted to come but I told them they had to wait until Zach was a little older,” she said. “My mom is at my house, so I took a break from my kids to come see the baby. And you, of course.”

“How are the boys?”

“Girl, fine. It's my soon-to-be ex-husband that's acting a fool since I put him out and filed for a divorce. Darryl is dead to me. I'm still not responding to his texts or calls. If he wants to see his stepkids, which he doesn't, I told him pick them up from my mom's.” She kissed Zach on the head.

I laughed. “Darryl barely saw you or your kids after he moved in. He's desperate and broke. He'll probably go back to selling drugs. Hell, he might sell your kids. If he doesn't get his life together, Darryl is going to end up back in prison.”

“I never told you that,” she said.

“Didn't have to. A fast-talking fine-ass man like Darryl, with no legitimate work history, had to be an ex-con.”

Tisha nodded. “This has got to be the most attractive baby in all of Houston. Madison, you should get him an agent and put him in commercials.” She hugged Zach to her shoulder, then gently rubbed his back.

My friend was done talking about Darryl and so was I. We sat next to one another on the sofa in the living room. “You know I'm not going to have my baby all over the Internet. Too many weirdos out there.”

“Like Granville,” she said.

We laughed.

I said, “Exactly. You know he'll be showing people pictures of my baby claiming it's his. Wait here. I need to show you something.”

Trotting upstairs, I got the signed copy of my divorce papers, then returned to the living room. Handing her the papers I took my baby. “Is this final?”

The doorbell rang again.

“I got it.” Tisha placed the papers on the coffee table. When she opened the door, a florist handed her a bouquet of white long-stemmed roses. Before signing, Tisha sniffed them. “Oh, wow! These are nicely scented.”

“Who are they from?” I asked hoping Roosevelt had thought of me.

Signing the iPad with her finger, she closed the door. “Smell them.”

I shook my head. She handed me the card, placed the vase in the center of the sofa table behind the couch, then took Zach.

I read the card. “White represents purity (for Zach) and new beginnings (for us). Please forgive me. I love you. Loretta.” I ripped it again and again then tossed the pieces into the wastebasket behind my sofa.

“Dang, Madison. You didn't have to make confetti. She's trying to apologize. She wants to see the baby.”

“I don't want her around my child or me. In fact, I don't want to live next door to her. Just in case Roosevelt is serious about leaving me for Sindy, I'm going to buy a condo where he lives. That way I won't need his permission to get access into the building.”

“Bad idea. You can't force that man to take you back.”

Take me back? Wow.
I was down. Not out.

Picking up the papers from the coffee table, Tisha shook her head. “After what you've done, that plan to live where he's at could backfire.” Reading, she kept shaking her head.

“What? Say whatever you're thinking.”

“I'm not an attorney but my understanding is sixty days from filing the executed dissolution the divorce will be final. You signed it a week ago so in about fifty-three days, right before Christmas, you'll be a single woman. But your preliminary hearing is scheduled right before Thanksgiving. You could settle out of court but whatever happens, don't buy a place where he lives. What if he marries Sindy and you have to see her all the time?”

“I'll make her wish she hadn't. I have his firstborn son. But I'm also smart enough not to sell this house. Thanks to Roosevelt,” I boasted, “it's paid in full.”

Tisha covered Zach's ears, then leaned toward me. “I hate to say it but you fucked up a good thing, Madison. Let him go. Make sure you don't miss your court date next month. When it's over, meet another man.”

“With no breasts,” I protested.

My doorbell rang again. I glanced at my monitor.

“You are the sexiest woman I know. I'm not feeling sorry for you. Not having breasts is temporary and you know it. I'll get the door,” Tisha said.

When she opened the door, my dad walked in. “Madison, sweetheart. You've got to stop him. Roosevelt gave me a notice. He's stealing my company.”

Eager to get the check Roosevelt had offered, my dad signed 51 percent of Tyler Construction to my husband. As Mrs. Tyler-DuBois, I held partnership in the controlling interest.

“Papa, don't be rude,” I said tilting my head toward Tisha. “Here, hold Zach.” I placed the blanket and his grandson in his hands. “Hold his head.”

Papa sat in a chair facing the sofa, then placed Zach on his lap. “Hi, Tisha. How're the boys and your mom?”

“Everybody is fine, Mr. Tyler. I'll tell my mother you said hello.” Tisha lifted Zach from Papa's lap and placed him in my dad's arms.

Papa lamented, “I know how to hold a baby.”

“Madison,” Tisha said, pointing at the papers on the coffee table. “Call me later so we can continue our conversation. Bye, Mr. Tyler.”