Sinful Too (29 page)

Richard, dressed in blue jeans and a dark and dirty golf shirt, wiped his brow with a soiled handkerchief. “God said to move, so we moved. We believe in remaining faithful in our brokenness, which is a constant reminder that trouble don’t last always.” After Richard’s heartfelt sermonette, two of the young men dumped a cooler of Gatorade on his head, which was typically reserved for football coaches after engineering lofty accomplishments. Cheers rang throughout the intersection from church members and bystanders alike. Richard, now soaking wet and grimacing from gallons of chilled liquid, shivered as his friends and family laughed. “Whew, that’s cold!” he yelled. “Next time, a simple pat on the back will do.”

Nadeen toweled him off as best she could while Mahalia and Roxanne giggled by her side. Dior watched the newscast on the television in the hotel room Richard had stashed her away in. Her shoulders tightened at the sight of him being comforted by his family. She was only biding her time before that man and that job belonged to her. For now, she’d set the stage for a celebration Richard wouldn’t soon forget. She went to the closet to select an outfit for the occasion, knowing the dutiful pastor would come tipping by as soon as he could. After agreeing to play it safe when Richard flew her into New Orleans, Dior saw fit to crawfish on the deal and sidestep the one she made previously. She’d reasoned that showing up wasn’t enough to chase Nadeen away after her trips to the M.E.G.A. Church facility neglected to bring about her desired result. This time, she had to do more than simply show up: It was time to show out.

She made several calls to area hotels, searching for the one with the amenity she just had to have: Richard Allamay. Once she discovered where the congregation was staying, Dior made other living arrangements. She showered, changed clothes, then rang to have her luggage brought down. The young bellman with a tanned bronze complexion grinned politely when she opened the door. Her tight white slacks with a peach-colored halter top inspired the fair-skinned hunk to hustle. He moved double-time to catch the same elevator going down. “You sure you want to check out, miss?” he asked as the doors opened on the ground floor.

“I need better accommodations than this hotel has to offer.” She stepped off with the handsome Cajun on her heels.

“If there’s something I can do to change your mind, I get off in an hour.” Dior whipped her head around to shut the door on what she saw as a cheap proposition. Then she leered at him with a discerning eye. She noticed his curly hair and boyishly charming good looks, recognizing that a man with his features could come in handy if she played him right.

“What makes you think I’d be interested in accepting a date from a man who’s carrying my bags?”

“I feel you,” he said, chuckling. “I can see why you might have preconceived notions about a lowly bellman. But I’m a medical student during the week, and I clean up real well.” He blushed innocently after making a pitch at the prettiest guest he’d seen in a month of weekend shifts.

“A doctor in the making, huh? Well, that is a reason to give it a little more thought. Why don’t you give me your cell number so you can swing by the place I’ll be staying tonight? If you clean up as nice as you say,
Frenchy
, dinner is on me.” He passed her a slip of paper with his cell and home numbers jotted on it. Dior read over them, then smirked at him amiably. “You sure do scribble like a doctor. I can hardly read this chicken scratch,” she joked.

“So, you’ll call me then?” he asked, flashing two rows of perfect teeth.

Dior read the name tag on his uniform. “Yeah, Armand, I’ll call you. By the way, I tend to get very impatient so don’t make me wait too long after hearing from me.”

“No, ma’am, there’s no chance of that,” he answered, pushing the lobby doors open for Dior to exit. “Taxi!” he shouted urgently. “I’ll be ready and looking forward to it. Be careful. Dressed like that, somebody might get you.” He watched the taxi zoom out into traffic until it made a right heading toward the Navy Pier. Dior didn’t have to guess what was on Armand’s mind. She intended on having a similar effect on Richard when he saw her traipsing through his hotel lobby.

The plan she laid out in her mind could not have worked out better. Dior’s taxi whipped in front of a line of buses idling against the curb. “This is the Marriott,” her lady cabdriver announced from the front seat. Dior paid the woman, then climbed out onto the sidewalk with her designer bag on wheels. The sway in her hips insisted that every man in her path become aware of her presence. She was in a devilish state of mind with the goods to pull it off. The doorman raced to get her bag but she declined. “No thanks, I got it from here,” she told him plainly. With a great deal of reluctance, he nodded then backed away.

Dior entered the lobby, which was buzzing with an anxious multitude forming lines for room assignments and keys. She recognized several of the people from the newscast she viewed earlier. Richard’s attention was tied to a clipboard when she strutted toward the front desk to check in. Phillip saw the same young men who had drenched Richard captivated by something behind him. Phillip discovered what held the men in suspense. It was Dior’s shapely profile.

The front desk manager worked diligently to find her space in his sold-out hotel. She flirted with him, batting her eyes and suggesting an upgrade to a suite would suffice if he couldn’t locate a regular available room. “I’m sure you can come up with something if you put your mind to it,” she said suggestively, playing the diva in distress. In a matter of seconds, Dior was awarded a junior suite on the eighteenth floor. She thanked the manager then requested he have someone bring her bag to the room.

Phillip grunted slyly when she glided by, en route to the elevator. Richard glanced up from his list then shot a stinging glare at her. His expression was textbook shock and awe. As if seeing her there wasn’t bad enough, Nadeen passed Dior as she exited the gift shop. She stopped on a dime then spun on her heels. Dior kept right on going. Nadeen was so angry at Richard she considered doing the same thing. Was there no end to his hypocrisy? she thought. She assumed he’d flown her in to be near him. Although Richard would deny it vehemently, Nadeen knew better.

She searched the lobby for Rose, who was cooling her heels in the lobby sports bar with a virgin daiquiri. “Hey, there you are,” she said, practically out of breath.

“What is it, Nadeen? One of the girls sick?”

Nadeen frowned sadly. “You might say that, but not either of the ones you’re thinking of. You can’t guess who I almost ran smack into.”

“Okay, I won’t try then,” Rose answered. “But I can tell it wasn’t anyone you wanted to see.”

“Apparently Richard has lost his ever-loving mind. Dior is out there and is dressed in skimpy paper-thin clothes too. You should have seen the way men were gawking at her.”

Rose gasped at the implication. “Richard didn’t?” she said, sensing that he had. “Nadeen, you know that girl ain’t wrapped too tight. Maybe she came down here on her own. I wouldn’t put it past her.” Nadeen panted. Her eyes stared into the distance as if she could see her future and didn’t care for the way it played out. “Hey, you alright?” Rose asked cautiously.

“No I’m not alright, but I’m getting used to it and that bothers me. I wished my day hadn’t been ruined and I hate to take this up with Richard while the girls are here. It could and probably will get gritty.”

“You need to tend to that. I’ll keep an eye on Roxanne. Mahalia is already signed up for a streetcar tour and dinner with the young adult ministry. Don’t worry about her. She’ll do fine with her friends.”

Nadeen huffed then rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “I need some Visine and there isn’t any telling what I’ll need later on tonight. Thanks, Rose. I’ll call you later.”

“Go slow, Nadeen. If that woman did follow Richard here on her own, you need to know that too. Ain’t no reason to rush into anything you can’t take back or do over. I’ll pray for you, and Richard.”

Twenty-seven

Bayou Heartbreak

A
s soon as the last room assignments were doled out, Phillip glared at Richard. “I’m not trying to tell you when you’re screwing up, but this is it.”

“Man, I had no idea she would come here. I didn’t have anything to do with this,” Richard said.
This
would be referring to Dior traipsing through the same hotel where his family was staying. Richard wasn’t ready to admit his continued infidelity. Phillip took a long look at his old friend, then shook his head and threw up his hands. Richard glinted at him. “You don’t have to say it. I know it’s jacked up. I sure hope Nadeen doesn’t see her. She won’t believe I didn’t orchestrate this whole thing. Why would I ask for another headache when we’re just smoothing over the last time Dior popped up at church? She must’ve decided on her own to make the trip,” he lied.

“I’ll tell you one thing, selling that story to Nadeen is going to take some doing. I’m on your side and I don’t know if I believe it,” Phillip confessed honestly.

“Thanks for your vote of confidence. I’m in it waist-deep, huh? Keeping them separated — that’s the only chance I’ve got to come out of this with Nadeen by my side. Got any ideas?”

“Yeah, a good one,” Phillip answered. “Get prayed up; you’ll need it. I’m out.” He started out toward the elevators, washing his hands of the matter. Phillip was smart enough not to look back. Rose had warned him about getting into the middle of other people’s marriages when lies were running through them.

Going it alone, Richard hurried into the men’s room. He whipped out his cell phone then scrolled down the address book for Dior’s number. Pacing erratically, Richard frowned as the voice mailbox picked up the call. “Dior, this is Richard! You couldn’t have thought I’d be okay with you changing hotels like this. I purposely selected one where you’d be close enough for me to slide by and see you. This — this stuff you pulled is sick. Nadeen’s going to have a fit! Call me and leave your room number.” Richard flipped the phone shut then stared at himself in the wall mirror. He didn’t like the image leering back at him. Phillip was right: He needed to get prayed up, but quick.

On the eighteenth floor, Mahalia carried an ice bucket to the vending area. She sang a carefree tune, glad to have completed a day of service for the less fortunate. Out of nowhere, Dior appeared with an ice bucket, chips, and a bottle of soda cradled in her hands. Mahalia gawked without any trepidation whatsoever. “What are you doing here?” she asked shrewdly.

“Oh, I thought I recognized you,” Dior replied. “You’re quite the protector, huh? Cute kid, don’t get yourself hurt.”

“I’d take the same advice if I were you,” the young girl threatened. Dior turned her nose up then entered the first room on the next corridor. Mahalia read the room number then scampered back the way she came.

While banging on the door, Mahalia tried to calm herself down. “Mama, open up! It’s me, Mahalia!” When there was no immediate response, she remembered having adjoining rooms. She dug into her pocket and pulled out the plastic keycard. Shoving it in hastily, Mahalia couldn’t get it to work. “Come on! Come on!” she whispered heatedly. On the second try, the magnetic lock released. She opened the door, throwing the empty ice bucket aside. “Mama!” she started in again, rapping on the door separating their rooms.

“What’s gotten into you?” Nadeen asked, startled and half dressed. “Let me get this robe fastened.” She pulled it together before fastening the cloth belt around her waist.

Mahalia bent over, gasping for air. “Where’s, where’s Daddy?”

“Downstairs I think, why? What’s going on?”

“I saw her, Mama. That evil witch Dior,” she confirmed excitedly. “She was right out in the hall, on this floor!” Mahalia was confused by her mother’s unruffled demeanor. “Don’t you care? Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

Nadeen sat on the edge of the bed, composed and contrite. She was so sorry for what her daughter had endured. Furthermore, she was convinced that Dior’s guile was exceptional. “Sit down, Mahalia. I said sit! I know she’s here. I passed her down in the lobby acting like she owned the place. Yes, I do care and will talk to your father as soon as he comes in.” Mahalia pounced up angrily, obviously dismayed by what she heard.

“That’s it?” she spat. “You’re not going to break her neck?”

“That’s not the way to handle a thing like this,” Nadeen debated, not sure of what the best way was to go about it. She rubbed her chin with the back of her hand, contemplating everything that had happened since Dior’s first appearance in their lives. Since she didn’t have the answers Mahalia was eager to hear, Nadeen tried to assure her of an inevitable outcome. “Don’t worry. This sort of problem usually works itself out in due time, you’ll see.”

“I’m glad one of us thinks so. When I get married, I’m not letting any woman terrorize my family. I wish Dior and every conceited cow like her was dead.”

“Don’t talk that way,” Nadeen fussed, although she remembered telling herself the very same thing when she was about Mahalia’s age. “Don’t ever forget you’re a Christian.”

Mahalia moved out of arm’s reach before flinging a stiff suggestion in return. “Don’t you forget there’s a funky-butt-skank sleeping with your husband!” She dashed out of the door to flee her mother’s reprisal.

Nadeen shouted down the hall after her, “Mahalia! Mahalia, you get back here. Mahalia!” Nadeen was beside herself with grief. Her hands went numb as she untied her robe. She felt ill, having been chastised by her child and made a jackass of by her husband. Her only saving grace was the knowledge that Roxanne was out of earshot and ignorant to the facts plaguing her. She wished she could say the same for Mahalia, but it was too late for wishing all the way around. Something had to turn things in the other direction or she’d be faced with raising her daughters as a single mother with the aftereffects of a publicly scrutinized divorce. Nadeen dreaded that more than dealing with her present set of circumstances.

Richard made it to the room eventually. He was surprised to find the bathroom door locked when he attempted to open it and inform Nadeen of his arrival. “Hey, Nadeen!” he yelled, knocking on the door. “Nadeen, I’m here. It’s Richard!” He placed his ear against it. He heard the shower running and his wife’s voice.