The Million Dollar Deception Page 16

  “Of course not! He was probably at Freddy’s, playing video games and drinking, but still, he could have come home at a decent hour, especially after acting like he didn’t want to go to the gala.”

  Tabatha sat beside Monica. “Forget him. Take me.”

  “We keep going to these things together, folks gonna think we’re a couple.”

  “Then take—”

  “Don’t even fix your lips to say it, girl,” Monica said.

  “Okay. Then did Lewis even try to apologize this morning?”

  “He was knocked out when I got up. I dressed and fed Layla, and I got us out of there, not saying a word to him. He’s the one messing up. Let him come to me.”

  Just then a delivery man walked up to the counter with a wrapped bouquet of flowers.

  “Speaking of messing up,” Tabatha said. “Look who’s trying to fix things. Can I help you?” Tabatha said, leaning over the counter to take the delivery.

  “Sign here, please,” the young man in shorts and a cycling helmet said.

  Tabatha signed and set the flowers on the counter before her. “At least the boy has enough sense to know when he’s wrong.”

  Monica smiled, waved Lewis’s gesture off, and said, “I ain’t even interested in those. But go ahead and open them. See how creative he got.”

  Tabatha tore the white paper away from the flowers to expose a dozen fully bloomed peach-colored roses.

  “Beautiful. Okay, then,” Tabatha said. “Lewis knows a little about what he’s doin’.”

  “Wow. Peach-colored roses. Those are my favorite. Lewis doesn’t even know—hold on,” Monica said, standing. “Give me the card out of there.”

  Tabatha plucked the card out from between the stems. She handed it to Monica. “I gave that boy too much credit, didn’t I?”

  Monica opened the envelope, read the card, and a slight smile appeared on her face. She pulled something else out of the envelope and started laughing.

  Tabatha stole the card from Monica, and read it aloud. “Please!” it said. “We’ve never made cookies before and we need all the help we can get. Signed, the two Nates.”

  Monica passed Tabatha the other item that was in the envelope. It was a snapshot of Nate and Nathaniel, wearing aprons. Their hands, noses, and cheeks were covered in flour and cookie dough.

  “Well, this is just the cutest thing in the world,” Tabatha said, turning to Monica. “Tell me again why you aren’t in this photo, right there between these two handsome guys?”

  “Because Nate is an uncaring, insensitive, evil man,” Monica said.

  “Oh yeah, that’s right,” Tabatha said. “Looking at this picture, I remember now.”

  58

  It was after 1:00 P.M. and Lewis sat at the corner table of an empty, run-down fast food joint. He wore his work shirt, jeans, and work boots. His head was resting heavy in his hands, his temples starting to pulse with pain brought on by the meeting he’d had not long ago.

  This morning, the ringing from Lewis’s phone had pierced his brain like a railroad spike.

  “Hello,” he said, still in bed under the sheets, his head throbbing from all the beers he had consumed last night.

  “Lewis, it’s Salesha. You need to be meeting me and Salonica at ten o’clock.”

  “Meeting you for what?” Lewis said, sitting up in bed, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. He noticed Monica was gone.

  “You just do.”

  “It can’t be at ten. I’ll be at work.”

  “You get a lunch break, right? Make it at noon.”

  “Where?” Lewis said, not certain he was even going to show.

  “We gonna be getting our hands and feet done, so meet us at the salon on Forty-first and Cottage Grove.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Lewis said, preparing to hang up.

  “Lewis,” Salesha said, her voice much more businesslike now. “I’m serious. This ain’t no bullshit.”

  “Yeah.”

  At noon, Lewis walked up to the salon, saw Salesha and Salonica in the window looking like twin prostitutes. Huge frozen curls were stacked on top of their heads and sprinkled with glitter. They looked like Christmas trees.

  They wore tight T-shirts, miniskirts, and strapped high heels, the straps crisscrossing up their thin calves.

  Lewis pulled open the door, and Salonica said, “We can’t talk in here. Let’s go to your car.”

  He followed them to the truck. Lewis clicked the keyless remote, watched the two women get in, Salesha in the front seat, the daughter in the back.

  Lewis climbed in afterward. “What’s this about?”

  “Ain’t you happy to see us, Lewis?” Salonica called from the backseat.

  “Yeah.”

  “Haven’t seen you since my sister’s funeral, and all you got to say is ‘What’s this about?”’

  “I’m sorry,” Lewis said. “But it’s always something with you, so I just want to get to it.”

  “Fine,” Salesha said. “We want Layla.”

  “She’s in day care right now. But I told you, I’ll work out a time when you can—”

  “Naw. I think you’re misunderstanding us. I ain’t sayin’ we want to see her. I’m saying we want her. I want my grandbaby back,” Salesha said.

  An hour later and Lewis still couldn’t believe Salesha had the nerve to ask him that. He looked up at Freddy, sitting across from him.

  “And what did you tell her?” Freddy said, a soda cup in his hand.

  “I told her hell the fuck naw, and to get her and her daughter’s country asses out of my truck.”

  “Damn,” Freddy said sadly, shaking his head. “What you think they gonna do?”

  “She said they weren’t gonna take no for an answer. They said they’re gonna keep hounding me, ringing my phone. I told them to try it.”

  “You try giving them a few bucks to go away? You know that’s all they probably—”

  “I ain’t giving them shit!” Lewis said, shooting up from his seat, raising his voice. “Give them money for what? So I can keep my child? Naw, yo’. It ain’t like that. Trust me when I say that, Freddy. It ain’t going down like that.”

  A Korean man, the obvious owner of the fast food joint, looked out over the counter as if expecting trouble.

  Freddy noticed the owner eyeing them. “Dude looking at us like we about to rob this place.” Freddy stood and said to the owner, “What the fuck you lookin’ at? We paid for our nasty-ass food. Can’t we eat it without your supervision?”

  The man ducked back behind the counter.

  Freddy sat back down. “Don’t stress it, Lewis. You need something to take your mind off this nonsense, and you know your boy, Freddy, got what you need.”

  “I don’t need nothing,” Lewis said, his head in his hands again.

  “You don’t need to see the Bulls spank the Lakers’ asses on Thursday?”

  “For real?” Lewis said, perking up. Then deflating he said, “Naw, Monica’s thing is on that night, remember?”

  “Dude, sometimes you gotta do something for yourself. When was the last time I been able to get us tickets to a Bulls game?”

  “Like two years ago,” Lewis said.

  “And when was the last time you went to one of Monica’s things?”

  “The last time she had one. I gotta go every time she has one.”

  “So you deserve a break, right?” Freddy said.

  “Yeah, you right. Thursday night, we on!”

  59

  Monica sat on the living room sofa, her elbows on her knees, her palms pressed together, brought to her face as though she were praying. She wasn’t. She was angry.

  She had spent the evening out with Tabatha, partly because she needed a drink, and partly because she didn’t feel like dealing with Lewis. When she pulled into the driveway, it was only minutes before nine o’clock.

  She had left Nate’s roses at work. But Monica slid the little snapshot out of her purse and looked at it for the umpteenth time that d
ay and smiled.

  She should have called Nate and at least thanked him for the flowers, for the lovely photo and the little bit of joy it brought her. But she didn’t. She was engaged to Lewis, she had to keep telling herself, and she didn’t want Nate to start thinking that would change.

  But considering what a complete ass Lewis was being right now, Monica thought maybe he didn’t appreciate her devotion to him.

  She slipped the photo in between some envelopes in her glove box, knowing it might not be safe from Lewis’s eyes if left in her purse. When she entered the house, she searched for Lewis. He was in Layla’s room, sitting at the girl’s bedside, staring down at her, the night-light burning dimly beside them.

  Monica stood at the door for a few moments, knowing Lewis sensed her there, knowing he’d heard her car outside, heard her close the front door, climb the damn steps. But he didn’t turn around.

  “Lewis,” Monica said, her voice low, careful not to wake the sleeping child. “When you’re done, I’d like to talk to you downstairs.”

  She heard Lewis give a sigh he obviously did not try to hide.

  “Lewis, did you hear me?”

  “Yeah. I heard you,” he said, but did not look away from his daughter.

  “How long will that be?”

  “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Monica looked up when she heard Lewis finally descending the stairs and realized it had taken him fifteen minutes, not the one minute he’d promised.

  He stood in front of her, and said, “What?”

  Monica unclenched her jaw to speak. “What were you doing up there? I asked to speak to you almost twenty minutes ago.”

  “I was spending time with my daughter.” His tone was defensive. “I can’t do that?”

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just that I asked to speak to you, you said it would be only a minute, but you lied.”

  “So now I’m a liar because I want to sit with my daughter?”

  “You’re putting words in my mouth,” Monica said.

  “I’m putting them back in your mouth, because they never should have come out.”

  Monica was silent, shocked by Lewis’s harshness. She nodded her head and smiled sadly a moment, as if letting it all roll off her back, then said, “We still need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About how you reacted when I asked you to go to the gala with me. I want to know why—”

  “We don’t have to talk about that, because I ain’t going.”

  “What?” Monica said.

  “I ain’t going. I got some stuff on my mind. I’m feeling kind of stressed.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Whatever. I’m not going,” Lewis said, walking toward the front door.

  Monica followed behind him. “But you said you would.”

  He turned to face her, just feet from the door. “Why you always want me to go with you to those things? People talking about stuff I don’t understand, looking at me, talking shit, like because I don’t want to do what they do, be who they are, then I’m less than,” Lewis said, getting angry. “I don’t know them people, don’t like them people, so fuck them people!”

  “I’m one of those people.”

  Lewis looked as though he didn’t know just what to say. “Don’t ask me to go to none of those things no more, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “You going to be here for Layla?”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Then I’m going out for a drink. Don’t wait up,” Lewis said, opening the door and walking out.

  Monica didn’t move for a full minute.

  Afterward, she went straight to her purse, pulled out her cell phone, dialed a number, and when her call was answered, she said, “Hello, Nate.”

  60

  Two nights later, wearing a silver sequined backless evening gown, Monica walked into the Hilton’s large, elegantly decorated ballroom.

  The hall was busy with men and women dressed in tuxedos and beautiful formal dresses. They stood, sipping from champagne glasses, chatting and laughing, as big band jazz played in the background.

  A man stopped in front of Monica. “You look amazing tonight,” he said. It was William Keys, one of her customers. He worked at the Benston law firm downtown.

  “Thank you,” Monica said, taking the hug he offered her. But her mind was somewhere else. As she hugged William, she was glancing over his shoulder, scanning the room for Nate.

  “Well, gotta mingle. See you around okay?” William said.

  “Yeah, okay,” Monica said, walking deeper into the room.

  She had called Nate back, the day after she had first asked him to go with her to this event. Monica was uncertain if she should have gone through with it, and Nate picked up on that right away.

  “Is everything all right? You sure about wanting me to go with you?” he asked.

  “I’m positive,” she said, sounding far less than certain.

  “I’m not going to ask why your fiancé isn’t going.”

  “Good. Don’t. You want to come with me or not?”

  After a short pause, Nate said, “Sure. Yeah, I’ll go.”

  Monica filled Nate in on the details, where and when to meet her, then quickly got off the phone.

  Now, walking slowly through the throngs of people, a wineglass in her hand, Monica realized how short she’d been with him and wouldn’t have blamed him if he just didn’t show.

  After smiling, greeting, and chatting with at least a dozen people, Monica found a velvet-cushioned bench to sit on.

  She turned up her glass and swallowed the last of her wine.

  “Easy. You gotta pace yourself if you don’t want to end up drunk and have some man take advantage of you.”

  Monica looked over the rim of her glass and saw Nate looking incredibly handsome, wearing his black tuxedo, standing before her. He had gotten a fresh haircut, a close shave, and every crease and corner of his suit was razor sharp. His teeth gleamed, and his cufflinks and the Cartier watch he wore sparkled.

  “I was starting to worry that you wouldn’t show,” Monica said.

  Nate reached out, took Monica’s hand, and said, “That’s something that you need never worry about again.”

  Nate seemed to be having a wonderful time. The two had engaging conversations with other couples and groups, talking about everything from politics to world events to, of course, business. There were so many people who knew Nate, had known Monica from when they were married, and they smiled when they saw the two of them together.

  While dancing, Monica’s hand on Nate’s shoulder, she asked, “Why do people keep smiling at us?”

  “What people?” Nate said, his palm pressed softly into the small of Monica’s back.

  “Your friends, Barry over there, and some of the people we used to hang out with.”

  “They see us and think we’ve gotten back together.”

  Monica and Nate danced and drank and chatted for the entire three hours of the event. Afterward, they stood outside in the warm Chicago spring evening, waiting for the valet to take the tickets Nate held.

  Nate turned to Monica and smiled. She smiled back, pulling her silk shawl up over her shoulder, then looked away.

  A young man hurried over to Nate. “Your ticket, sir.”

  Nate gave the man one ticket, and the red-jacketed valet ran off. “You only gave him one.”

  “That’s because I want you to come with me.”

  “Nate, no,” Monica said.

  “Before you say no—”

  “I already did. We aren’t going to—”

  “We’ll drive to my house, you can spend fifteen minutes with Nathaniel, and I’ll drive you right back. When I told him I was going out with you, he made me promise I’d bring you back, even if only for a moment,” Nate said. “Please, Monica.”

  Monica glanced down at her watch. It was only fifteen minutes after ten o’clock. Lewis would not be looking for her. Yesterday h
e had admitted that Freddy had gotten tickets to a Bulls game, and that’s where he would be. Monica couldn’t believe he’d actually admitted that to her.

  “Okay, but only for a few moments.”

  When Nate and Monica walked into his house, Mrs. Weatherly was sitting in the living room, reading a romance novel by the light of an end-table lamp.

  She stood, smoothed the front of her dress, smiled, and then walked over to meet the couple.

  “Mrs. Weatherly,” Nate said, his hand at the small of Monica’s back again. “This is Monica, my…well, you know who she is.”

  Mrs. Weatherly extended a hand. “Very good to meet you, ma’am. I’ve heard so much about you…from both of the Nates.”

  Monica shook Mrs. Weatherly’s hand and smiled, thanking her. “Please, call me Monica.”

  “Mr. Kenny, Nathaniel fought like a champion, but he just could not stay awake till you got back. I know he would love to see the two of you. Should I wake him?”

  “No, Mrs. Weatherly, let him sleep.” Nate turned to Monica. “I’m going to walk Mrs. Weatherly back to her house in the back, but please, go on upstairs and see Nathaniel. His room is the first door on the left.”

  “No. I’ll just wait—”

  “Monica, please. It’s fine. I’ll be right behind you. Okay?”

  Monica smiled, nodded her head. “Okay.”

  After Nate and Mrs. Weatherly walked out, Monica slowly climbed the stairs to the second level.

  Nathaniel’s door was open. She stepped into a room decorated with items seemingly from every cartoon ever created. A dim blue lamp glowed at his bedside. Monica walked quietly up to the boy’s small twin bed and just stood over him.

  He lay on his back, his face turned toward her, wearing white Spider Man pajamas. Monica sighed, in awe at his beauty.

  This was the child she had sought out, the child she had found, had wanted so badly to mother, and here he lay, just before her, and she could do nothing but admire him. If things had gone the way she wanted them, the way she planned—no, no! Monica told herself not to get caught up in that. It was over. The decision had been made. She had left Nate, and she could never go back. But couldn’t she? She was standing in this room, in her ex-husband’s house, over the boy who believed she was his mother.