More Lies and Alibis (Using Lies as Alibis #2) (2 page)

Chapter Three

Dionne

Rod and I drive to Peach’s house in silence because I have to get my mind together before I see this chick.  The
fact that she gave my husband his firstborn child is always gonna be an issue with me. 

I was
so happy when Rod lost his memory.  My grandmothers had me thinking it was some kind of miracle and gift from God, and I believe it.  If it hadn’t been for the gunshot wound that caused Rod’s brain damage, I’d be a single mother.  The ex-wife of a celebrity. 

“You all right, babe?” Rod asks me as we
pull into the drive of a small house in Dunwoody, Georgia.

No, I’m not all right.  First of all, why do
es this heifer have a house in Dunwoody?  It’s one of the smaller ones on this street, but celebrities live in this development.  This is not a neighborhood for groupies.  Second of all, where did she get the money?  No one is making it rain that hard for this chick to get a half million dollar home.  The only thing that makes me feel a little better is that this house could fit inside my Buckhead mansion several times over.  But why should I have to compare what I have to a groupie’s come up? 

Why couldn’t Rod keep his man parts in his pants?  And if he couldn’t why didn’t he wrap it up? 

“I’m fine, Rod.  Let’s pick up the little girl.”

“My daughter.”

I press my lips together.  “Right.  Your daughter.”

Rod gets out of the car and starts toward the house.  I stay seated until he remembers that he has a pregnant wife in the car.  He does, and comes back to open my door and help me out of the car. 

“Sorry, babe.  I just want to hurry up and get this over with.  Peach is lightweight tripping.”

“What is she tripping on?  Was your check late?”

He shakes his head.  “Don’t worry about it.  I can handle it.”

Rod holds one of my elbows as I take my time walking to the front door.  I know Peach is looking out of the window, probably about to have a nervous breakdown.  But that’s what happens when you build your little fantasy dream world with someone’s husband.  It’s bound to come tumbling down at some point.  Hoes ain’t always winning.  Sometimes they lose.

Before we get to the door, Peach swings it open and walks outside.  Her outfit makes me want to vomit and bust out laughing at the same time.  This dummy has on a pair of sheer leggings and a skin tight sweater that comes to her waist.  I have never seen a worse case of camel toe in my life.  I think she has on flesh colored thongs or something, but she looks naked from the waist down.

I don’t know if this is supposed to entice Rod, but he frowns and looks away.  I can’t help but snicker.  That’s what she gets for trying to seduce my man when he’s trying to spend time with his daughter.

“You brought your wife over here?” Peach says.

“Can you send Rodeisha outside?” Rod says. 

Peach looks me up and down, probably wishing she was me.  Her top lip trembles like she’s furious. 

“My child isn’t going anywhere with her,” Peach says.

“Dionne is my wife, Peach.  She’s going to be around Rodeisha whether you like it or not.”

I say nothing.  I don’t have to.  My husband and my smile say it all. 

“You told me that you’d keep Rodeisha safe.  I don’t think she will be safe with her.”

Rod runs his hand over his head and sighs.  Just then, Rodeisha dashes from behind Peach with the nanny trying to snatch her back inside the house.

Peach shouts when the three year old runs to Rod and jumps into his arms.  Rod kisses the top of the child’s head and smiles at her.

“Daddy’s baby!  You ready to go ride that pony?”

“Yes, daddy!  Let’s go.  Can we have pizza too?”

Peach says, “Sorry, Rodeisha.  You can’t go with him today.”

The little girl bursts into tears.  “Why can’t I go with daddy?”

“Remember what I told you about strangers?” Peach says.  “Do you know this lady that’s with him?”

Rodeisha looks at me like it’s the first time she’s ever seen me, although it isn’t.  “She was at the hospital when daddy was sick.”

“Rodeisha, this is your stepmother.  Her name is Ms. Dionne,” Rod says as he gives me a lifted eyebrow.

“Is she an evil stepmother?” Rodeisha asks.

This makes me laugh out loud.  Children are so honest.  I’m s
tarting to think me and Rodeisha are going to be cool.

“I’m not evil, honey
,” I say. “We are going to have a good time.”

Peach stomps toward Rod and snatches her child from his arms.  Her massive booty jiggles so hard that I don’t think those panty hose pretending to be leggings can hold it in.

“I don’t want your wife around my child.  You promised me that, Rod.”

“I never made that promise.”

Peach glares at me.  “Yes you did.  Right before you asked me to marry you.”

Rod throws his head back and looks at the sky.  He is not doing a good job of handling this situation at all.

“Look, Peach, or whatever your real name is, whatever you had with Rod is in the past.  He’s home where he should be.  We don’t have a problem taking you to court for his visitation rights.”

Rod gives me a blank stare that I can’t read.  Oh well.  Somebody had to say something.  This busted trollop think she’s running something. 

“You can’t talk now, Rod?” Peach asks.  “I had this baby because you wanted a child, and you said your wife’s eggs were scrambled and fried. You made promises.  You’re going to keep them or everybody in Atlanta is going to know how low you are.”

“Ain’t nobody scared of you!” I yell.  “You ain’t the first groupie to pop out a baby!  You best keep sliding down that pole and saving your tips, and you betta hope Rod don’t decide he want custody.  You don’t look like a fit mother.”

Peach lunges toward me and Rod jumps in front of me.  Peach screams every curse word she can think of at me, and I just laugh.  The queen isn’t about to be stressed by the concubine.

“Stop acting like this in front of my daughter,” Rod says forcefully.  I just now notice that Rodeisha is sobbing into her mother’s leg.

Peach nods to the nanny, and she leads Rodeisha back inside.  I can still hear her sobbing even after I can’t see her anymore.  What kind of mother cusses like that in front of her toddler?  And what kind of woman wears stripper attire in front of their little girl?  Ain’t nothing about her classy. 

“Come on Dionne, let’s go.  I’m going to reschedule my visit with Rodeisha.”

I notice that he says
my
visit and not
our
visit.

As we walk away, Peach screams.  “Rod, you broke our agreement!  I can’t be held responsible for anything that happens now!”

Rod frowns and shakes his head, but does not reply.  When we get into the car he slams his door.  He peels out of the driveway like he’s about to be in a drag race.

“Um, baby on board!  Why you driving so crazy, Rod?”

“Why did you threaten to take Peach to court?  I’m trying to keep things friendly between us for Rodeisha’s sake.”

“
Because, I don’t know if you saw what I saw, but she wasn’t going to let you see your child.”

“She would’ve if you hadn’t said anything.  You’ve got to remember that I was with her for years, Dionne.”

I stare at him.  “Do you remember being with her?”

“No, but I’ve seen the pictures.  I know it wasn’t right, but it’s my fault not hers.  I’m the married one.”

“So, what?  I’m supposed to feel sorry for the hoe that was sleeping with my husband?”

“No.  That’s not what I’m saying.  I just don’t want you to antagonize her.  It doesn’t help anything.  You’ve got me.  I love you, and I’m all yours.  You don’t have to threaten Peach.”

I can’t believe my man is trying to check me over a groupie stripper.  He really went there. 

“So you’re gonna let her decide when you get to see your daughter
?”

“Until she gets over me leaving her, yes.”

“Well, I don’t care anything about her.  If she comes for me, I’m coming for her.”

Rod bites his bottom lip and taps the steering wheel with his fingers. 
“Then, I think it’s best if you stay away from her for now.  Especially while you’re pregnant.”

“I know you don’t think I’m letting you go over there by yourself when she comes to the door butt naked.”

“I’m not asking for your permission.”

I fold my arms across my belly and stare straight ahead.  The baby is kicking, almost like he’s joyful.  He must not have any idea what’s going on out here. 

His father is doing a horrible job.  He’s trying to keep two women happy, and when the women are your wife and former mistress, there’s no way that’s going to happen. 

Chapter Four

Camille

B
ryan is putting me through work to save our marriage.  Just because I made a few mistakes with the money I made by playing Bingo, it doesn’t mean I have a gambling addiction. 

Bryan wasn’t even all that upset about me winning the money.  I think deep down he believed it was a blessing just like I do.  I understand why he was unhappy about the house flipping scheme I got caught up in after I won.  I was just trying to enlarge our territory, but I didn’t know it was illegal.

I was upset about that too.  My friend Lenora told me all about the plan to buy houses, put in a few repairs and sell them.  But she left out the part about FBI agents showing up at my house.  I thought Bryan was going to pull my head right off my neck!  I have never prayed that hard before. 

I’ve been praying hard since then, though.  Praying that Bryan stops letting the devil use him and forgives me completely. 

“So tell me about yourself, Camille.”

I pause before I reply, because I’m trying to decide if I’m staying.  This psychiatrist was recommended to Bryan by one of our friends in ministry.  I don’t know if I trust her yet, though.  I don’t even like her name – Dr. Rayna King.  She’s only been in Atlanta for a year and her card says something about healing the mind and the spirit. 

When I need my spirit healed, I go to church.  And ain’t nothing wrong with my mind, so what is the point?

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

Dr. King stands up and runs water into a tea kettle and puts it on. 

“If you could describe yourself in three words, what would they be?”

“Saved, sanctified and blessed,” I say without a moment of hesitation. 

Dr. King chuckles.  I didn’t say anything funny.  This is why I don’t think saved people should go to these quack psychiatrists anyway.  I mean, I know they went to real school like my baby sister, but the fact that she laughs at my faith makes me want to get up and leave right now.

“I thought you were a Christian therapist,” I say as Dr. King sits back down to face me.

“I am a Christian.”

“Then, why did you laugh?”

She eases back into the cushions on her loveseat and smiles.  “I admit I was amused.”

“Why?”

“Because your response told me nothing about your character.  I am also saved, sanctified and blessed.  Do you know any more about me now that I told you that?  Besides the fact that we both claim a belief system of some sort?”

My nose flares slightly.  I guess she’s right.  I know folk claiming salvation that are probably gonna bust hell wide open. 

“Well, those are the most important things about me, and you only gave me three words.”

“Outside of being a Christian tell me about you.  Give me three words that describe your character.”

Now, I have to think for a moment.  I’ve never had anyone ask me this before.  I don’t even know where she’s going with this line of questioning. 

“I’m loyal and a giver.”

Dr. King smiles.  “Okay, one more.”

Why is this so hard?  I should be able to think of three things about myself! 

“I like craft projects…so artsy craftsy?  Can I say that
? Is that a word?”

“You can say whatever you like here, Camille.  You are loyal, a giver, and artsy craftsy.  I love it.”

I feel myself relax a little.  For a second I thought she was making fun of me, but now I don’t.  It seems like she’s trying to get to know me. 

“I bet your friends love you,” Dr. King says.  “It sounds like they can count on
you.”

I think about this.  I really don’t have any friends that aren’t my family.  Sydney and Dionne are my best girlfriends and Bryan is supposed to be my best friend, right?  Husbands and wives are supposed to be best friends. 

“My husband and sisters are my friends.  And yes they do count on me.”

Dr. King lifts her eyebrows.  If she was holding one of those little shrink notepads, I think she’d be writing something down.

“You don’t have any friends at church?” Dr. King asks.

Sometimes I participate in the Women’s Ministry events, but I don’t really feel like those women are my friends.  They’ve never been to my home and I’ve never been to theirs.  I definitely can’t trust any of the women in the choir.  Half of them are trying to sleep with my husband on the sly.  So…they are my sisters in Christ, but I don’t think of them as friends.

“Not really.  I don’t deal with a lot of women, and I certainly don’t have any male friends besides my husband.”

“Do you feel as if you can share everything about yourself with your sisters and husband?  Is there anything you wouldn’t share with them?”

I clear my throat and glance over at the teapot.  For some reason I’m feeling thirsty all of a sudden.

“It’ll be ready in a moment,” Dr. King says, her eyes following my gaze. 

I nod.  “Well, I suppose there are things that I don’t share with them.  But I am a private person, so that’s not a problem.”

“I am not trying to identify problems, Camille.  I’m just trying to understand who you are.”

“Oh.  Well, I prefer to take things to the King of Kings.  He’s the only one I really have to answer to anyway.”

Dr. King nods slowly.  “But you do acknowledge some accountability to your husband, sisters and other family, correct?”

“Of course, but at the end of the day, I want God to say, ‘Well done my good and faithful servant.’”

“Camille, I want you to relax with me,” Dr. King says.  “Think of my office as a sanctuary, a safe place.  There is no judgment here.”

“I don’t think you’re judging me.”

“That’s good, because I’m not.  My beliefs and opinions really don’t have a place in these sessions anyway.”

I narrow my eyes in confusion.  “Aren’t you going to diagnose me and tell my husband that there’s nothing wrong with me?”

“No.  I’m not going to do that.  That’s not why you’re here.”

“Why am I here, then?”

“You may not want to admit it today, but some of your choices led to some pretty scary consequences in your home and marriage.  We’re going to talk about those choices and analyze how you came to make them.”

“Okay.”

“That said,” Dr. King says, “
I would like you to try to answer my questions without quoting scriptures.”

I frown and fold my arms defensi
vely.  “What kind of Christian doesn’t want to hear the infallible Word of God?  The devil is a lie!”

“Yes, the Word of God is infallible, but sometimes the context we use it in is not.  As Christians, sometimes we can justify our choices good or bad, by using the Bible.”

“What do you mean?”

The tea kettle starts to whistle and Dr. King rises slowly from her seat.  She takes her time walking to the kitchenette, and preparing the tray with teacups, packets of tea, sugar and honey.  When she’s done, she takes slow deliberate steps and gingerly places the tray on the table between us.

“What kind of tea do you like?” Dr. King asks.  “I have herbal peach, cranberry and ginseng.  There’s honey, sugar or agave nectar.”

“Agave nectar?  What’s that?”

“It tastes like sugar, but you use much less and it doesn’t make your blood sugar spike like sugar,” she explains.

“So why would anyone use sugar?”

Dr. King asks.  “Well, it’s not exactly the same, but I prefer the agave nectar myself.  Or honey.”

I take a tea cup and an herbal peach tea bag.  I think I will try the agave nectar.  Maybe if I could put that in my coffee every day, I could manage to get below this size twelve.  Every time I look at Sydney and her slip hips and midsection I want to go to the gym.  I won’t even comment on Dionne, because she will go and get liposuction anytime she feels like it. 
That doesn’t really count.

“So,” Dr. King says, “let’s talk more about what I said before the tea was ready.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s imagine that the FBI hadn’t been willing to offer you the deal and you’d been charged and sent to prison.  On your first Sunday back to church after your release, how would you testify about your experience?”

I burst into laughter.  “Are you serious?  I don’t know!  Thank God, I don’t have to give that testimony.”

“It’s an exercise,” Dr. King says with a smile.  “Try to imagine it. You spent six months
in prison and you’re finally out.  What would you say to the congregation?”

I swallow hard.  “Honestly, I wouldn’t even go back to that church.  I’d never show my face there again if I had to serve prison time.”

“That is interesting.  You just said you mostly felt accountable to God and only a little bit to your family, but you would’ve hidden your face from your church if you’d gone to prison.”

I think she just tricked me. 

“Well, I just mean I wouldn’t feel the need to go back there.  None of them matter that much to me, so I’d just want to be elsewhere.”

“I understand.”

“But if I did have to give a testimony, I’d probably say that all things work together for the good for them that are called according to His purpose.”

“Would it be more powerful to say you made a mistake, endured the consequences and learned a great deal from your experience?”

I don’t know that I have a response.  I can honestly say that I’ve never heard anyone testify this way. 

“That sounds more like a confession.”

Dr. King says, “Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed.  That’s James 5:16, I believe.”

“What are you telling me Dr. King?”

“You’re going to own your choices.  I do believe in tests and trials.  But there are some things that we decide to do, that render consequences.  These decisions can be opportunities for learning.”

“Learning.”

She nods.  “Absolutely.  Let’s learn together.”

Okay, she’s a little strange, and I’m not one hundred percent sure she is saved.  But I think I like her.  So even though this is completely unnecessary, I may just decide to come back.