Married on Mondays (13 page)

“I don’t want to discuss it. Let’s hurry up and make these pastries so I can go home,” Victoria said.

DéJà approached Victoria. “You’re not squashing this. Like it or not, you are going to discuss it. Did Naomi do this to you?
Did she find out about your seeing Rain?”

Foxy hugged Victoria.

“Naomi would never do this.” Victoria cried in Foxy’s arms, pulled away, dried her tears. “Rain and I had a disagreement,
that’s all. I’ll be fine.”

“It would’ve been better if you’d said you had rough sex. I can relate to that. But this, my sister, is beyond a disagreement.
I’m calling Dad.” DéJà pressed one button on her cell, placed the phone to her ear.

Victoria snatched the phone from her hand, powered it off, then said, “I need to handle this on my own.”

DéJà grabbed Victoria’s wrist, peeled her sister’s fingers away from her phone, went in the office, locked the door, then
powered on her phone.

Victoria banged on the window, shouting, “You have no right to do this! For once, can’t you let me be in control of my life?
I’m okay!”

DéJà turned her back to Victoria. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hey, queen in charge. How are things? I was just telling your mother I need to get by the shop and see my girls.”

DéJà smiled. “Daddy, that’s a great idea.”

T
hursday evening, alone in his office, Winton mulled over Nova’s case.

Their best defense would be to force a mistrial, settle out of court, or find a way to make Nova’s boyfriend withdraw. His
disrespecting Nova was no crime. Her hitting him with her car out of anger was vehicular assault and could get her three to
five in prison. If they could prove it was an accident, her sentence would be reduced to eighteen months and parole. If they
could prove she was fleeing the scene because he was trying to attack her, the fact still remained that she’d hit him with
her car. Although she’d claimed he was a user, her boyfriend had no prior history of drug possession, assault, or battery,
but he did have a compelling argument and witnesses willing to testify on his behalf.

Nova had no cause that the judge would consider reasonable or any witnesses Winton could subpoena in her defense, but maybe
he could make the jury doubt the credibility of her boyfriend’s witnesses. He had to call Nova and give her more bad news;
her boyfriend was suing her for ten million dollars for his pain and suffering.

Winton laughed. Was the money compensation for the accident or the relationship? He’d charge Nova a reduced retainer of fifty
thousand dollars, then bill her for another fifty grand every two weeks her case was in litigation. Life was what it was but
life definitely wasn’t fair. Partially billing Nova before fucking her increased his chances of having her volunteer to suck
his dick. She could afford his rate, but if he were fortunate, she’d try to fuck her way into a pro bono case and he’d let
her.

Wealthy men who fucked women without offering monetary compensation were stupid. That was why he’d bought Isis a house. But
he’d have to handle Nova with care so he didn’t end up being his own plaintiff.

Women had to choose other ways to deal with cheating men. Breaking out windows, kicking in doors, assaulting the other woman
wasn’t the solution. Police in Crème City were locking up all parties involved in domestic violence altercations. People should
move out, temporarily leave the house, or find another mate. In most instances, men already had another woman on the side.

All of the above were difficult to do when a person was in love, but those were smart options Winton suggested when speaking
to men in prison for battering their wives or girlfriends. “I don’t care what she’s said or done, man…. Step. Get out. Do
not touch her ass. She’s not worth your serving time.”

The inmates would agree. But they’d get out, get jealous all over again, beat their women, then end up back behind bars before
they found a job. Police officers weren’t much different from criminals except they could justify everything including murder.
Like Rain. He was the dirtiest cop on the force. So filthy no one challenged him. That was how he’d made police chief. There
were some clients Winton would not represent and that included the entire police department.

Winton was in business because intelligence seldom overrode jealousy. From murder to pushing people out of cars on freeways
to setting spouses on fire to shooting and stabbing them, people in love were insane. People were living with so much rage,
they could snap at any second. Like Nova. She could’ve killed her boyfriend.

Winton could get Nova off, but he had to have more time. His immediate action for her case was to request a continuance.

Six o’clock. He shut down his laptop, locked his office, headed to the garage. A white envelope was tucked under his windshield
wiper. It was a note from Isis: “Forgive me. I love you. Don’t leave me. I’ll listen to what you say.” She was dick-whipped.
His key was inside the envelope. Winton left the key in the envelope, put the envelope in his glove compartment.

He stopped at the flower shop, paid for two dozen roses. One red. One white. He told the florist, “Combine those in that lavender
crystal heart-shaped vase for me.”

Happy he’d made it home before Foxy, he placed the vase of flowers on her nightstand. He wasn’t the best cook but he
seasoned two chicken breasts, boiled the frozen broccoli, and prepared a box of rice pilaf. Winton set the dinner table for
two. His presentation wasn’t better than Isis’s, but it was decent, he thought. He went to Foxy’s bathroom, filled the spa
tub with hot water and bubble bath. The water should be the perfect temperature by the time they were done eating and ready
to get in.

Seven o’clock, the chicken breasts sizzled as he placed them on the George Foreman Grill. It wasn’t the best combination,
but he hoped Foxy would appreciate his effort. Tonight he wanted to listen to his wife and not tune her out. He wanted her
to reassure him she still loved him, tell him where they went wrong, trust he was in love with her and that he’d do better.

He waited until eight. No Foxy. Winton ate without his wife. Maybe she’d stopped by one of her sisters’ places. Nine. No Foxy.
Ten o’clock. No Foxy.

Winton phoned Acer.

Acer answered, “Please tell me it’s not an emergency and that crazy Nova woman hasn’t done anything else stupid.”

“No, man. That’s not why I’m calling. Is Foxy there with DéJà?”

“Hold on.” Acer called out to DéJà, “Baby, you still on the phone with Foxy?”

DéJà hollered back, “Just got off. Why you need me?”

Acer yelled, “Where is Foxy?”

“Where she’s always at this time of night, at Dallas’s house. Why?”

“Her cousin Dallas? The guy Winton got the DUI charges dropped for?” Acer asked.

DéJà yelled, “That would be him, handsome. He holds Foxy better than he holds his liquor. Truth is, he’s not her cousin, he’s
her ex-fiancé. Why so many questions, handsome?”

“Sorry I asked,” Acer replied. He said to Winton. “Hey, man. I don’t know—”

Winton ended the call. “That bitch.” He washed the remaining food down the garbage disposal, took the flowers off the nightstand,
then left. He headed west on Shoreline Drive, drove to Dallas’s house. The lights were on. He phoned his wife.

“Hey, everything okay?” she answered.

“I need you. Where are you?” What if he really did need his wife?

She asked, “Where are you?”

“On my way home,” he lied.

“Then I’ll see you when you get here.” She hesitated, then asked, “You okay?”

“I’m good,” Winton replied. “Real good.”

He ended the call, parked his car between two trees across the street facing Dallas’s house. Twenty minutes went by before
his wife opened Dallas’s front door. He could be dead by now. She kissed Dallas, got in her car, and headed out the driveway.

Winton leaned below his dashboard. When Foxy’s car was out of view, he drove to Isis’s home and let himself in. Foxy was indebted
to Isis. If he had followed Foxy home, what Nova had done to her boyfriend would be nothing compared to what he would’ve done
to his cheating, conniving, low-down, despicable tramp of a wife. How dare she give his pussy to another man?

In the midst of fucking Isis, Winton stopped, then said, “And that motherfucker was at our wedding and in my damn pictures.”

Ain’t that a bitch
. Winton sat on the side of the bed. He was pissed the fuck off. His wife had been fucking around on him longer than he’d
fucked around on her.

T
o what extent

Would you go

Out of your way

To ruin

To destroy

To condemn

A person who was once your friend

To what extent

Would you lie

Create an alibi

Deny the truth

Say it wasn’t you… to

A person who is your lover

Liars cheat

Cheaters steal

Jealousy kills

To what extent

Do you care about your lover

Remember

Karma is a mutha

She tossed all night wishing she had something to hold instead of her wife. Victoria wiggled to the edge of the bed, turned
away from Naomi. Victoria slept with her eyes opened, fearing Rain would knock on her door for attacking his dick. She didn’t
mean to hurt him.

She flashed back to the few television shows she’d seen about women in prison. She still hadn’t told Naomi what had happened
at Rain’s house. Each day she felt her wife becoming a little more insensitive toward her.

If Victoria had honored her wedding vows, ceased communicating with Rain when she became engaged to Naomi, like DéJà had done
with all her exes when Acer proposed, Victoria wouldn’t be lying awake sweating. She flipped her soaked pillow to the dry
side.

Victoria thought she could be Rain’s friend without being his lover. He was a loner. Had told her she was his only friend.
When he was an officer, he rode solo, no partner. As chief of police he’d schedule meetings with the mayor and other officials,
but he ate lunch by himself. On occasion he’d invite her to join him. Rain’s attachment was more than his wanting her virginity.
The signs that his life was empty without her were clear.

Minutes felt like hours. Victoria stared at the phone, expecting her BlackBerry to ring at 4:00 a.m. It was only midnight.

F
oxy rushed home to her husband. She searched the house. Good. He wasn’t there. She’d made it home before him, took a quick
shower, put on a red nightgown. She peeped into the garage. His car wasn’t there.

“Hum, why did he say he needed to see me? Maybe he’s taken care of his problem.” She called his cell.

A woman heaved in Foxy’s ear, “
Hel-lo
.”