Attorney-Client Privilege (17 page)

S
pecial was trying her darnedest to be a model Muslim woman. Dating a man as fine as Clayton and having to forego sex was hard enough. But this was a bit much.

She glanced at the gathering of women in the small room at the mosque and wished she was someplace, anyplace else.

“Welcome, sister.”

A young, soft-spoken woman greeted Special, then introduced her to everyone in the room. Most of the women were friendly enough, but she already had enough friends. Attending the women’s meeting, however, was a mandatory part of her training for becoming a model Muslim wife.

Of the twenty or so women present, there was a mix of modern and traditional Muslim dress. Several women wore business suits. Special was dressed in a knee-length skirt and white blouse. She didn’t feel like covering her head, but had a scarf in her purse just in case it was required.

The women arranged their chairs in a semi-circle with an older woman at the top of the circle. She had creamy, maple-colored skin and a gentleness about her that immediately put Special at ease.

“I’d like to welcome Sister Special,” Mother Jackie, the elder woman began. “She’s the intended of one of our most dynamic young men, Brother Clayton. She’s new to the Community, so we need to make her feel welcome.”

Akila, a woman sitting directly across from Special, had attitude all over her face. Special heard from another sister that Akila had expressed an interest in meeting Clayton before finding out he was engaged.

“One of the reasons for our meeting is to help Sister Special understand a wife’s obligations as dictated by the Almighty Allah,” Mother Jackie explained.

Akila addressed Special directly. “Sister, under Muslim law the female is her husband’s helpmate. He is head of his family. We are gladly subservient to him because—”

“Hold up,” Special interrupted. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but why do we have to be subservient? Why can’t we be equals and help lift each other up?”

The temperature in the room fell ten degrees as the other women eyed each other in dismay.

“I see y’all looking at each other out of the corner of your eyes,” Special boldly continued. “I just don’t understand why we have to consider ourselves less than a man.”

“We don’t question Allah’s teachings,” Akila sniffed.

Mother Jackie raised both hands palms out as if to hold down the tension in the room. “We understand your concerns and we’re here to answer any questions you may have. In Islam, obedience is our first rule. Obedience to Allah and obedience to our husbands. And while you may have concerns at this point, as you continue to grow in your faith, Allah will reveal the truth to you. There is a place for women in the Community. But foremost, you should understand that honoring and serving your husband does not make you less than him.”

Special pursed her lips and folded her arms. “I’m sorry. That just don’t make sense to me. Women fought for equal rights. This is like taking ten steps backward.”

This time, there were audible sighs along with shakes of the head.

“We don’t think less of ourselves.” Mother Jackie’s tone was firm, but gentle. “Supporting our husbands does not take anything

away from us as women. I have some readings for you that will help enlighten you.”

“Sister Special,” said a voice to her right, “I understand your frustrations. I was raised in the Church of God and Christ and I work in the corporate world.”

Special turned to face the speaker, a woman named Carol. Special was relieved to be hearing from someone who could see things from her vantage point.

“When I met my husband and found out he was a minister in the Community, I never thought we would make it. He just asked me to be open to the teachings and once I did that, I was enlightened.”

“But how can you come from corporate America and deal with someone telling you to be subservient?”

“Just as the media has painted all Muslims as violent extremists,” Carol said, “you’re relying on the Western interpretation of Islam as sexist. You’ll see many women in leadership roles in the Community of Islam.”

Another woman, Malia, spoke up. She was covered from head to toe in powder blue. Special could still tell from the small swatch of her face that she was a beautiful woman.

“If more of our people embraced the teachings of Islam, we wouldn’t see our young girls walking around looking like hookers. I don’t view Islam as making me less than a man. My husband honors me and in turn, I honor him.”

The other women murmured their agreement.

“You’re also forgetting that the Christian faith can be just as sexist as Islam is perceived to be,” Carol pointed out. “My aunt graduated from divinity school and set out to become a minister in a Southern Baptist church. You want to talk about sexist? Just listen to a few of her stories.”

Special nodded. She was well aware of the imperfections of Christianity.

“Knowledge is held extremely high in the Muslim faith,” Carol continued. “The Holy Qur’an teaches us to seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave. And that is what I urge you to do.”

Mother Jackie reached over and squeezed Special’s hand. “What we’re saying to you, my sister, is please come to us with your eyes open and your heart receptive. Judge us for what we are, not what non-Muslims perceive us to be.”

G
irlie didn’t like the lack of enthusiasm in Eli’s voice when he’d called that morning asking to meet with her. She assumed his investigation probably hadn’t uncovered any earth-shattering information.

She welcomed Eli into her office and directed him to a chair in front of her desk, rather than her pink couch. Today her focus was all about business.

“Got anything good for me?”

She placed her clasped hands on the desk and waited as he pulled three red folders from a beat-up leather briefcase.

Eli shrugged. “A few interesting tidbits. Unfortunately, nothing earth-shattering enough to make or break your case.”

He handed her a folder labeled
Background Checks
.

“Olivia Jackson didn’t have anything unusual in her background. She spends all of her free time at Hope in Christ Community Church in Compton. No kids, an equally religious husband who teaches history at Centennial High School in Compton. Nothing much in Ida Lopez’s past either. She has a lot of debt. Lives paycheck to paycheck.”

“Ida’s out of the case now,” Girlie said. “Anything on Benjamin Cohen or Vernetta Henderson?”

“Not really, both of ’em are pretty clean. The Jewish dude basically lives for his job. The worst thing I saw Vernetta Henderson do was purchase a couple of bootleg movies on the way into the beauty shop. But I have to say, I was a bit surprised to see her at a Community of Islam meeting.”

Girlie’s spine straightened at that news. “That black separatist group?”

“I don’t think they would describe themselves that way, but yeah.”

“So she’s a member?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure. Her best friend definitely is. Here’s a snapshot of Vernetta and her husband standing outside the mosque.”

Girlie stared at the photograph as Eli handed her another folder labeled
Big Buy.

“You didn’t ask for this,” Eli said, “but I stumbled across some interesting information about your client. The company’s about to be bought out by the Welson Corporation.”

Girlie looked up from the picture. “That merger is supposed to be top secret. I can’t believe you found out about it.”

“Damn!” Eli slapped his thigh. “So you already knew about it? Did you also know that the day the deal closes the CEO will walk away with one-hundred-and-twenty-five mil?”

Girlie whistled. “
That
I didn’t know.”

She had figured Rita Richards-Kimble would get a windfall from the deal, but nothing that massive. Now she understood why the CEO was so concerned about making sure the case didn’t turn into a class action. She was worried that it might kill the deal.

“There’s more,” Eli said. “I didn’t run across any information about those missing documents, but why don’t you open that folder and skip ahead to page three of my report.”

Girlie did as instructed. She read the first paragraph, blinked, then read it again.

“Is this true?” she asked, looking across her desk at Eli.

He held up his right hand. “Nothing but the truth, so help me God.”

“And you confirmed it.”

“Absolutely.”

“Wow,” Girlie said, placing a finger to her smiling lips. “This is excellent information. It’ll be very, very useful to me.”

The investigator glowed with pride.

“And now I have a follow-up assignment for you,” Girlie said, pulling an envelope with Eli’s cash payment from inside her purse.

“I want you to find out everything you can about Vernetta Henderson’s involvement with the Community of Islam.”

T
hen Special heard the heavy pounding on her front door, she already knew who was standing on the other side.

As soon as she swung open the door, she could tell from Clayton’s hooded eyes and dour expression that he had been filled in on the women’s meeting at the mosque. That conniving-ass Akila had probably called him the second it ended.

Special stuck her head out of the door and looked in both directions before letting him in. “Are you sure you wanna come in? Don’t we need a chaperone?”

“That’s not funny,” Clayton said, brushing past her.

“So what’s up?” She wasn’t in the mood to be subservient. If he started fussing at her, she planned to fire right back at him.

Clayton looked disapprovingly at her body. “We need to talk. But first you need to go put on something more appropriate.”

Special glanced down at her body. She was wearing shorts and a tight-fitting tank top. She was about to remind Clayton that this was
her
body and
her
house and she could dress any way
she
wanted, when an idea popped into her head.

“Okay,” she said with a sinister grin. “Give me a second.”

Five minutes later, Special stalked back into the living room.

“Is this
appropriate
enough for you?”

She was now dressed in a pair of baggy sweatpants and had pulled her shorts on over them. Her burgundy-and-gold USC sweatshirt was underneath a black sweater that was buttoned up to her chin. The scarf wrapped around her head made her look like Little Red Riding hood pretending to be a mummy.

Clayton’s eyes blazed. “Don’t make fun of my faith.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You told me to cover up and that’s what I did.”

If Clayton’s faith was everything he claimed it to be, she should have been able to walk into the room butt naked without it fazing him.

“You know women aren’t required to cover their heads at home.”

Special snatched off the scarf and tossed it on the coffee table.

Clayton sat down on the couch. “Have a seat,” he said tightly.

She took the far end of the couch, facing him, her arms locked across her chest.

“I love you,” Clayton began. “You know that, right?”

Damn!
She hated the way he could aim straight at her heart. The anger built up inside of her started to seep away. She nodded her response for fear that if she moved her lips, a cry might escape.

“Maybe before we got back together I should’ve told you how serious I was about the Community. I don’t think I gave much thought about how hard this might be for you. You’re pretty outspoken. Frankly, that’s one of the things I like most about you.”

She was on the verge of blubbering any minute.

“I know that this is
my
chosen faith, not yours. I understand that and I’m trying to be patient with you. But what I don’t understand and what I will not accept is you disrespecting me and disrespecting Allah. Akila told me how you acted down at the mosque today.”

The swell of emotions she had felt just seconds ago melted into mush. An explosion of words—cuss words—danced on the tip of her tongue.

“I love you just as much as you love me,” Special said. “The only difference is, I don’t expect you to change overnight and—”

“I don’t expect you to change overnight. I—”

“Hold up.” Special raised her hand high above her head. “I let you talk without interruption and I would appreciate it if you showed me the same courtesy.”

Clayton looked away and rubbed his chin. If one of his Muslim brothers were around, they’d probably tell him he didn’t know how to handle his woman. But this was
her
house and she was going to speak
her
piece.

“I don’t know what you heard about that meeting, but it wasn’t my intent to disrespect anybody. I just had some questions and I asked them. I’m not comfortable being told that I need to be subservient to a man. I will love you and support you and lift you up, but not at the expense of my own self-worth.”

Clayton stared straight past her.

“I’m done,” she said. “You can talk now.”

He rubbed his chin again and looked into her eyes for a long time before speaking. “I’m not sure this is going to work out.”

Tell me something I don’t know.
Special had been wanting to say those very words herself.

“Okay, fine.” She stood up. “So you want your ring back?”

“This ain’t about the ring. This is about us. This is about whether we can really do this. I feel like we’re at opposite ends of a rope, pulling in different directions. We need to be pulling in the same direction.”

“Maybe you need to put a little slack in your rope and I’d be willing to meet you halfway.”

“There’s no halfway with Allah. I’m committed to my faith and I need my woman to be equally committed.”

“Well, I have my own faith.”

“That’s funny. I barely remember you going to church. And you certainly agreed to convert to Islam without even a second thought. So you couldn’t have been too much of a Christian.”

“That’s because I love you.”

“But the question is, do you love Allah more?”

“Why can’t you just love your God and let me love mine?”

“The Holy Qur’an says a man is supposed to lead his family. I can’t do that if I’m going to the mosque and you’re off at some church.”

They locked eyes in a wordless standoff.

“So, I guess this means we’re breaking up,” Special said, anxious to get it over with.

“I didn’t say that.”

“So what
are
you saying?” Both hands were on her hips now. She had no idea why she was pushing the issue. She didn’t want to break up.

“I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Then I guess that says it all.” She started to pull the ring from her finger.

“Don’t do that.” He reached up and grabbed her hand. “Keep the ring. I want you to have it.”

Clayton rose from the couch and headed for the door. When he reached it, he turned back to face her. “Maybe we should have a hug for the road.”

“You sure we don’t have to run down to the mosque and get somebody’s permission first?”

He ignored her crack and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. Special folded into him, reveling in the security of his embrace, the comfort of his scent. They remained glued together for a long, long time. So long, that Special felt his erection press against her.

When she tried to pull away, Clayton held on tighter. He finally leaned down and pressed his lips to hers and she eagerly kissed him back. Seconds later, his hands groped their way through her layers of clothing until he found flesh. Clayton quickly stripped off her bulky sweater, helped her shimmy out of her sweatshirt and unhooked her bra.

Special stood before him, bare-chested, as he gently cupped her breasts, licking them with the slow, careful precision of a cat cleaning its fur. She moaned and leaned her head back, relishing the sound and feel of Clayton’s lips and tongue pleasuring her neck and chest. She let out a low, guttural moan when his tongue began to slowly encircle her right nipple.

Clayton abruptly stepped away from her, but only long enough to hoist her off the ground and cart her down the hallway in the direction of the bedroom.