Believe in Me (Strickland Sisters Book 2) Read online

  Her: Hey, did we talk last night? The entire evening is a blur for me.

  Me: You called me. I think you were drunk?

  Her: Oh no! I’m so sorry! What did I say?

  Me: Nothing to be embarrassed about. Couldn’t make most of it out.

  Her: Good. I won’t let that happen again.

  Me: It’s all right. I thought you were calling to tell me you were a free woman.

  Her…

  Her…

  Her: No. Sorry.

  Me: Oh well. You take care, Doc.

  Her…

  Her…

  Her…

  Her: You too.

  *****

  “Explain to me again why you can’t come over? I’m hot as hell, and you’ve never turned me down before. Why start now?”

  “I told you. I’m busy, Veda. In the zone writing this book.”

  I didn’t feel like dealing with Veda’s crazy ass. There were levels to dealing with her. Level one was the occasional booty call, where I tried to stay. Level two was regular booty calls, which led to level three, a relationship. We were at level three about two years ago, and that shit was disastrous. Veda was a short, thick, pretty half-black, half-Mexican woman, but her ass was homicidally jealous. And clingy and possessive. I just couldn’t handle it.

  But she was good in bed, so I kept her at level one, and I guess, according to her calendar, I was past due for a visit. But the problem was, in addition to not having the stomach to deal with her potential crazy, I still had Ms. Strickland and her sweet treat on my mind and in my memory.

  Then I started thinking maybe I needed to go see Veda and relieve some damn tension when she went into this Spanglish rant about how niggas ain’t shit and how we were all estúpido and she didn’t need me to get off anyway.

  So I hung up on her insane ass and went back to staring at my blank computer screen. Yeah, I lied about that. The only zone I was in was the damn twilight zone with Ms. Strickland, having no idea when or even if I’d ever really get a chance to be with her. I was playing hard, doing exactly what she asked by breaking contact with her, but I wanted her ass. I really, really wanted her.

  13

  I spent exactly thirty minutes at the conference Saturday afternoon, grabbing up pamphlets and free swag to take back to Genesis like a mad woman before joining a group of attendees, some of which I was familiar with from the conference circuit, as they ventured off into the city to shop. I didn’t really feel like shopping, but I also didn’t feel like sitting through any of those boring presentations. So I climbed into the Uber SUV with three other women and ended up at Stanton’s Department Store where we met up with five or six other ladies from the conference. I quickly located the plus section, found a blouse I liked, and decided to check out the cosmetics counter. Tested the perfumes, and had decided to go ahead and buy the blouse when a scent slammed into my nose, causing me to swoon a little—warm, earthy, woody, familiar. I whipped my body around, expecting to see Lorenzo somewhere in close proximity, but instead, an older lady with gorgeous walnut-colored skin stood a few feet away from me at the men’s cologne counter flapping one of those little white sample cards under her nose.

  That scent lassoed me, pulling me to her. “Excuse me, what cologne is that?”

  She looked up at me and smiled. “It’s the new one from Prada. I’m thinking of getting it for my husband.”

  My eyes rested on the black bottle sitting on the glass-topped counter. I pointed to it, asked, “This one?”

  She nodded. I lifted it and removed the cap, holding it under my nose and smiling as I closed my eyes and let my mind form an image of Lorenzo in all white, kneeling before me in the kitchen, his head between my—

  “It’s a gorgeous scent, right?”

  I opened my eyes to find a clerk smiling at me.

  “Yes!” the older lady agreed. “I’ll take it.”

  “One-point-seven ounces or three-point-four?”

  “Oh, I’ll just take the smaller one.”

  About fifteen minutes later, I met my shopping mates outside the store, a bag whose contents included the blouse and a large bottle of the Prada cologne in hand, and made the suggestion that we head to the book store just down the street next. Everyone agreed, with most of them mentioning some bestseller they wanted to get.

  I was looking for a bestseller, too, finding not one but three that I happily purchased. After grabbing a bite to eat together at a local restaurant, we all headed back to the convention where I made myself sit through a panel discussion which turned out to be a heated debate regarding being a midwife versus being a doula.

  Later, back in my hotel room, I sprayed the cologne in the air and sank into the bed with a bag of my favorite potato chips and my copy of Bulletproof 2: The Queenpin. This was the story of Monty’s daughter, Montine, who was born to his girlfriend at the end of book one. Set fifteen years later, it chronicled Montine’s rise to power after her father is murdered by a rival drug dealer. I was halfway through the book when I drifted off to sleep.

  *****

  “What?! You want what?!”

  Up until that point, Danielle and Robert’s lawyer, Parker something or other, had done all the talking, but after Parker laid out Robert’s requests, no, his ridiculous, insulting demands, I found it impossible to hold my tongue. This total and complete asshole was asking for the house, which his ass could have since all it held for me was bad memories of a bad marriage, and his car. I couldn’t give half a damn about that either. But then his lawyer fixed his pink little mouth to say Robert wanted spousal support. Spousal support! What. The. Hell? Our salaries were comparable, and I said so.

  “Yes, but due to the stress he’s endured from you abandoning the marriage, Mr. Mattison has had to take a leave of absence. So he’s unable to make the commissions that usually round out his income.”

  “Huh?” I said. Was this man insane? “I left because you cheated on me repeatedly and made a damn baby with another woman!”

  Robert eyed me and then leaned in and whispered something to Parker as Danielle rested her hand on my wrist in an attempt to calm me. It might’ve worked had Parker not added, “The baby is part of why Mr. Mattison finds himself in financial distress. He is having to pay child support, handle the mortgage and household bills alone. It’s been overwhelming for him.”

  “Move! Sell the house! Learn to keep your dick in your pants!” I shrieked.

  “You’re the reason I made that baby. If you’d only been there for me, I wouldn’t have gone looking for affection outside our marriage…you should be paying the child support, not me!” Robert screamed.

  “There for you? All I did was sit my dumb ass up in that house night after night and wait for you! And as far as me paying child support? You must have lost your fucking mind!”

  Robert shook his head. “There you go with the abuse again. Yelling at me. Cursing at me. I don’t have to sit here and take this. Not anymore, Renee!” He was trying to sound all wounded and fragile, but was giving a horribly poor performance.

  “Abuse? What the hell are you trying to pull up in here?! I have never been anything but a weak fool for you, and you know it!”

  He flinched and shook his head. “What’s next, Renee? You gonna hit me again? Well, you won’t get away with it this time! There are witnesses!”

  “Hit you?! You’re the one who put his hands on my sister! I knew I should’ve let her tell the police, but my dumb ass protected you as always. Always thinking about you! Well, that’s over, you lying asshole! And I tell you what, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I pay you spousal support!”

  He shrugged. “Fine. Then I guess we’re going to court.”

  “We sure as hell are!”

  I went to work after the meeting despite the fact that I was so angry I could’ve wrestled a damn tiger. Entering the waiting area, I was instantly hit with his scent, which seemed to fill the huge space. A strange sense of relief washed over me as I thought to myself that this
man just seemed to know when I needed him. Sure, I’d told him we couldn’t be in contact with each other anymore, but I’d broken that rule when I drunk-dialed him, and besides, I needed him to contact me, to pursue me, to ignore my request. So there was a smile on my face when I approached him in the waiting area.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked.

  He looked up at me, a disinterested expression on his face. “Oh, hey. Waiting for my sister. She’s got an appointment with Cassandra.”

  I nodded. “Oh. I thought maybe you were here for me?”

  He frowned slightly, then gave me a look of confusion. “Why would I be? That’s not what you want, is it?”

  I gulped, suddenly feeling like the queen of all asses. “Uh, no.”

  He nodded.

  And I just stood there, too stupid to say what I really felt.

  “Renee?” Saved by Janine.

  I turned and approached her desk, half-listened to her talk about some woman who called for me, and when I was finally able to close myself up in my office, I cried like a baby.

  14

  It was my turn to host our girls’ night, and I was sitting on my bed watching Nicky rifle through my collection of essential oils, praying she didn’t swipe my lavender oil while I wasn’t looking.

  “What man’s been sleeping in your bed?” Nicky asked from her seat at my vanity, the same vanity that matched the same bed and dresser I’d had when my family first moved into this house decades earlier. I marveled at how it all still looked brand new, but realized my father had paid a pretty penny for it. He may have been an inattentive father and a womanizer, but he was not cheap.

  Angie chimed in, “Yeah, I was going to ask you about that when I first stepped in here. It definitely smells like a man’s been in here. At first I thought you’d been sneaking Robert in here, but you truly hate him at this point with the way he’s dragging this divorce out.”

  I’d lost my mind when I first got back from Atlanta, spraying that cologne on my sheets and in the air like a freaking air freshener. Then we had that little run-in at Genesis, and I promptly trashed the bottle and washed my linens, but I was sure it was in the carpets.

  I shook my head. “Y’all are probably just smelling a sample from some magazine over on my nightstand. I haven’t had any male company whatsoever anywhere.”

  “Still upset about how Lorenzo acted at Genesis the other week?” Angie asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Well, from what you told me about the whole Lorenzo thing, you played yourself, big sis,” Nicky said. “I mean, you did basically tell the man to back off. How’d you expect a man who wants you so bad he’s willing to lick your kitty on the third date to react to being rejected?”

  I glared at Angie, since I’d only told her about the whole oral sex in his kitchen thing and not Nicky.

  Angie stared back at me, wide-eyed. “What?”

  I sighed. “You just had to tell her.”

  Angie grinned. “I knew if anyone would appreciate hearing about that, Nicky would.”

  “Mm-hmm, and if it was me, his face would still be between my legs!” Nicky declared.

  “Can we talk about something else?” I groaned.

  “Why? Because you’re getting all hot and bothered over there?” Nicky asked.

  I scooted further up in my bed, careful to leave my feet hanging over the side so my wet toenails didn’t touch the comforter. “No—shit…yeah. You’re right. I played myself, and now I’m stuck in divorce purgatory with Robert with no relief. At least Lorenzo gave me something to look forward to, and I had to go and snatch that away from myself. I’m so damn stupid.”

  “No argument here,” Nicky said.

  “Damn, Nicky. Kick her while she’s down, why don’t you?” Angie said.

  Nicky sucked her teeth. “Look, you two are cut from the same cloth, the Lisa Boston-Strickland cloth. Y’all are just like Mama used to be—dutiful, upstanding, boring. Sitting around clinging to men unworthy of you, missing out on good, nasty sex. No fun or spontaneity in either one of you.”

  “Excuse me? I think you need to remove me from that category. I mean, did you forget I’m Mrs. Boyé now? Ain’t shit boring about my life in or out of the bedroom. Best believe that,” Angie shot back.

  “Girl, my bad. I know you getting it good now. I was talking about your pre-Ryan era. Anyway, back to you, Renee. You get ahold of what you describe as a fine nigga with exceptional cunnilingus skills, and what do you do? Kick him to the curb to remain true to Lord Voldemort’s ass! You better learn to let loose.”

  I threw my hands up. “I’m trying! But…I can’t do anything right now but will myself not to kill Robert. I despise his lying ass!”

  “Well, I guess he’s living up to his threat to make you regret filing for divorce,” Angie pointed out.

  “The only thing I regret is ever even looking in his direction all those years ago. The best decision I ever made was filing for divorce, and if he keeps messing with me, he’s going to be the one with regrets.”

  *****

  I sat in Danielle’s office and shook my head. She had been in contact with Robert’s lawyer as we attempted to reach a settlement that would keep us out of court. As it stood, the courts were backed up, and we weren’t scheduled to go before a judge for another couple of months. I wasn’t going to be able to spend another couple of months married to Robert if I was to retain my sanity, so I told Danielle to offer him the house, his car, half the money in our joint savings account even though he’d made no deposits, and all the proceeds from the sale of a plot of land we’d bought on the outskirts of town with plans to eventually build a home there.

  This meeting was scheduled so that I could read Robert’s answer to my amended petition for divorce.

  And this fool had gone from bad to worse.

  He was fine with everything I proposed, even dropped the request for spousal support. But now he wanted me to sell my portion of Genesis Birthing Center and give him that money, too.

  I slumped back in my chair, listening as Danielle explained how a judge might actually rule in his favor because Cass and I had opened the center six years ago, after I married Robert. My interest in the center was essentially community property, and even though Tennessee wasn’t a community property state, Robert’s lawyer could make a compelling argument and just might sway the right—or wrong, depending on how you looked at it—judge.

  I closed my eyes as cold, hard rage filled me. I had worked my ass off, me and Cass both, to build that place into what it was—a thriving, successful, black-owned medical facility. The only one of its kind in the county and for several miles. Genesis was our baby, our legacy, and he knew that. He knew how much it meant to me.

  But the worst part was the fact that I had always supported him in his career at Garner Technologics. He was in sales and had earned a huge commission when I persuaded Cass that we should purchase our copier, fax, and phone system from him. I always, always wanted him to win. Even after we split, after he devastated me with his countless infidelities, I never wished him any ill will. But it seemed he was trying to destroy me, and I just didn’t understand why.

  I left Danielle’s office feeling defeated. Wished I could go back in time and erase ever having met Robert Mattison. I sat in my car on the parking deck and closed my eyes, trying to will the throbbing headache that was nearly blinding me to cease when my cell rang. A quick check of the screen informed me the call was from my husband.

  With a scowl on my face, I snatched the phone up from the console and answered it by yelling, “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why are you doing this?!”

  “So you read my answer to your new petition, huh? Look, why don’t we go have some drinks tonight, talk about reconciling. You are ready to reconcile now, aren’t you?”

  I held the phone, then took it from my ear and stared at it. Then I ended the call. I was upset, hurt, angry, but I wasn’t going to sit there and let him gain satisfaction from playing wi
th me. He thought I was still the old Renee. The one who begged him to stop cheating and go to counseling. The one who actually sat and babysat his baby for a few hours until Angie talked some sense into me. The one who turned her head night after night, pretending not to know he was cheating. I might not have been perfect or the strongest woman in the world, but I wasn’t her anymore. I hadn’t been her in a long time.

  I kept my mind off our upcoming court date and the possibility of losing my business by recommitting my time to the organizations I’d abandoned during my marriage. It felt good to be amongst old friends again, and they quickly embraced me, got me plugged into some committees. For Mahogany Women in Motion, I was given the duty of trying to sell the last three tables for the annual benefit, a casino-themed affair complete with fake money and roulette tables. Chaka Khan was to provide the night’s entertainment, so I hoped that would be a good selling point. I bought one of the tables myself, convinced Nicky to get her lawyer boyfriend to buy another, and unloaded the last one on an old college friend who owned a local day spa. In the three weeks leading up to the event, I’d have to find appropriate attire and convince Mama to come. Invitations to join me at my table had already been accepted by Angie and Ryan, Janine, and Cass and her husband. I was going to have a good time that night. I was determined to. This was the very event where I’d met Robert all those years ago, and I was going to do everything in my power to attach new, better memories to it.

  15

  I liked a good party, but not these types of parties. Not the stuffy, black tie, room full of pretentious assholes parties. But my mom did, and after all she’d been through in her life, one of my main objectives was to make sure she got to do everything she enjoyed doing, and she enjoyed being around these people, drinking expensive champagne, eating expensive food, bidding on stupid silent auction items. Plus, she deserved a night away from home. She was shouldering too much of the responsibility where Loren was concerned, but that was just my mother. She gave too much, loved too hard, sacrificed to a fault. So, if she wanted me to buy a table, buy her an expensive beaded gown, put on a tux, and bring her to this thing, I was going to do it without hesitation.