Never Keeping Secrets (21 page)

“Look, somebody's been sending me e-mails and then I got a red box with some chocolates and a stupid Babyface remix of one of his songs telling me to come here,” Keesha said, not missing one detail of the expensive clothes on Monica's back.

“So did I,” Monica said.

The ballroom door opened and they both turned.

 

D
anielle walked into her New Jersey apartment, closing and locking the door behind her. She dropped her purse and keys on the sofa before walking into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge. As she tipped her head back to sip the water she looked around at her apartment.

Danielle had made the choice to not renew her lease in the next few months. She was moving out to Los Angeles once and for all. She weighed the pros and cons of the West Coast versus the East Coast: she would save thousands on the rent and utilities she continued to pay; she found a world-renowned specialist on PKD in Los Angeles; and most importantly, after spending that week with Mohammed and his family and falling completely back in love with him, the apartment was just a reminder of him and their relationship that she could not bear. When she kissed Mohammed good-bye that morning at the airport she had said her farewells for good.

Carrying the bottle, she made her way into the living room. She sat the bottle on the ottoman she used as a coffee table and picked up the remote to turn on the TV. She settled on VH1's perpetual run of reality TV show marathons. It didn't really matter. She really just wanted to break up the silence.

Danielle finally pulled off the burnt orange belted wool capelet she wore with jeggings and thigh-high camel-colored boots. She glanced at her watch.

Her stomach clenched and she took a deep breath as she reached for her water and enjoyed a long, quenching gulp. Her new blood pressure medicine kept her running to the bathroom and she liked to make sure she wouldn't get dehydrated. “Like an old woman,” she muttered, reaching in her Birkin for her iPhone.

She had missed calls but the first she noticed was from Omari. She still hadn't called him but every so often he would send a text or call to leave a voice mail that he wished they could reconnect. “I bet,” she drawled, remembering the blow job she gave him in her LA office.

Danielle tapped her phone against her knee before she turned it over in the palm of her right hand and dialed his number. The man at least deserved some explanation for the end of their friendship—not the truth but something. It rang several times and went to voice mail.

“Hey, Omari, this is long-lost Danielle. I was in town until later tonight and thought I would give you a call and just explain things. I have to head out at seven for an appointment at eight but if you get this and you're not busy, give me a call back.”

She ended the call and sat her phone on the seat beside her. She turned to lie back against the arm as she raised her legs up and crossed them at the ankles. She felt tired. She didn't know if it was jet lag or her illness but she could sleep for days.

She had gone right back to work on
The A-List
and flew out that morning right after taping. She was headed back on the first plane smoking as soon as her meeting was done. Danielle had no qualms about the fact that she flew into town for one night just to find out who was behind the upcoming blackmail. She had no choice.

When Danielle got home from Jamaica the doorman at her Los Angeles condo had given her the red box with the gold bow. The candies were melted but the message in the card was clear that someone was out for revenge and had secrets on her that they were willing to release to her network bosses if she didn't show up for the eight o'clock meeting.

She could still hear that fucking music.

Danielle had no idea she could dislike Babyface so much.

She just wondered who it was claiming to know her secrets and what they wanted in return to go against the music and actually keep them. She had all week to fret about it.

Needing a distraction, she dug into her tote and pulled her iPad to swipe through the photos she took in Jamaica. A picture of Mohammed filled the screen and Danielle smiled, reaching to touch his face without swiping to the next photo. When her eyes became teary she sniffed, cleared her throat, and moved on through the series of photos. Again, she paused at one of her holding Adric as they came down a water slide.

She missed him just as badly as she missed his father. An actual pang of hurt touched her.

And she came to the photo of Oni holding a wooden statue during their visit to the craft market in Ocho Rios. Her eyes met Oni's in the photo.

Danielle closed the iPad cover and set it on the seat next to her now-sweating bottle of water. She shifted onto her side and tried to focus on the television.

Danielle was startled awake and she shot straight up, looking around. She hadn't even remembered falling asleep. She glanced at her watch. Almost three hours had passed.
Damn, I was tired.

She looked at the door as if she could see through it. Uncrossing her feet she stood up and walked over to it, already knowing it was Omari. She opened the door with a smile.

Sure enough Omari was leaning in the doorway looking handsome in a chocolate overcoat, a wool brim, and dark jeans with boots. “Look who reappeared,” he said with a smile.

Danielle smiled in return and moved a few steps backward to open the door and wave him in. “I've just been really busy,” she said as she closed the door and watched him unbutton his coat before he sat down.

“I was in a meeting when you called. After your message I decided to come over instead of call,” Omari said, lightly patting the seat next to him.

She picked up her iPad and bottled water to sit on the ottoman in front of him. “Still looking good I see,” she said, crossing her legs.

His dark eyes took her all in. “Same here.”

They fell into a comfortable silence.

“So what happened?” he asked. “I know we said no relationship but damn you just kicked a brotha to the curb. Used me up and threw me away.”

Danielle cupped her hand over his. “It wasn't like that. Things got really stressful at work and I had to thin out my schedule,” she lied.

Omari nodded in understanding as he turned her hand over and began tracing delicate circles in her palm. “I've missed you.”

Danielle arched her brow. “Oh I know what you missed,” she quipped.

“Hell yeah. Shee-it,” he said. “But I also just missed talking to you and seeing that pretty face.”

Life was all the curveballs. Here was another decent guy with a good job and an even better dick game willing to woo her. She could no more lead him on than she could Mohammed. “I'm moving out west permanently,” she admitted. “I'm giving up my lease on this apartment.”

“Wooow,” Omari said softly, looking at her in surprise.

Danielle cocked her head to the side and pouted. “I'm sorry,” she said.

Omari sat up on the edge of the sofa and released her hand to press both of his hands to her hips as he leaned forward and kissed her full on the mouth. Once and then again. “I could have fallen for you,” he admitted. “But I understand.”

Danielle closed her eyes as he tasted her mouth again. She couldn't lie—his kisses tasted and felt good. And there was a time when having two men at her beck and call would have made her proud. She would have used them for the time, their gifts and their dick even as she knew her health meant no promise of forever. Thankfully she had grown up. And it felt good.

She just wasn't that selfish person anymore.

So she gave him one last deep kiss that brought moans from them both, before she stood and held his hand to lead him to the door.

“If you change your mind . . .”

“I'll call,” she finished.

Omari gave her one last kiss on the cheek before he turned and walked out of her life.

Danielle shut the door and turned to see he left his brim on the sofa. She started to call him but walked over to pick it up and inhale the scent of his spicy and warm cologne instead.

Glancing again at her watch, she shoved the hat, her cell, and her iPad back into her tote and slid her capelet back on over the long-sleeved fitted white tee she wore. Since the hotel was by the airport she planned on heading straight there after the meeting, confrontation, sparring match, what-the-fuck-ever.

With one walk through every room in the apartment, she finally turned off the lights, picked up her tote, and headed out of her apartment. She paid the car service she used to get from the airport to sit and wait to carry her back. As soon as she walked off the elevator, crossed the foyer, and came through the open door of the building, the uniformed driver hopped out of his seat and came around to open the back passenger door for her.

“Thank you,” she said.

As he came around the SUV and climbed back in his seat, she told him, “The Hilton at the Newark Airport.”

Danielle looked out the window at the already dark skies. She moved her foot back and forth rapidly as she fought not to let her anxiety overcome her. She tried to envision who could want revenge for something she did?

The last man she did wrong was Sahad Linx, the record label owner who walked in and caught her full of Mohammed's dick. Was it him? He had been pissed at her the last time she saw him at a restaurant in New York five years ago. She had considered contacting him directly but if it wasn't him she didn't want to look foolish.

And then she considered that if it wasn't Carolyn then maybe it was someone Carolyn bragged to.
You cannot trust a cokehead. Especially a freaky one.

Whoever it was sent the package to her Los Angeles address but wanted to meet in Jersey? Another damn riddle she contemplated all week long.

Danielle hated the idea of being watched, stalked, and monitored. How else did they know where she lived in Los Angeles? She shivered in repulsion.

This had to be about money because she just couldn't see anything else to be gained from it.

An accident on 1 and 9 tied them up. Danielle glanced at her watch as the driver pulled to a stop just outside the towering hotel. It was a little after eight. “I shouldn't be more than an hour,” she told him as he held the door and held her hand to help her down.

“No problem.”

Danielle walked into the stylish lobby and headed straight for the Elizabeth Ballroom. When she worked at the law firm there had been a huge banquet there. She reached the double doors and pulled the right one open and stepped inside.

“Danielle?”

She stopped, her heart still pounding with adrenaline, and she looked from the surprised face of first Keesha and then Monica. And then back to Keesha. And back to Monica.

For a moment she forgot her reason for even being there and felt overwhelmed by the sight of her friends. She turned and squeezed her eyes to keep from crying. So many times she had thought of them and wanted them near her as she fought not to look at life like it was ending. She missed them terribly.

“Did you get that red box too?” Monica asked.

Danielle took a deep breath and turned back to them, her face filling with surprise as she continued to blink rapidly. “Yes. That's why I'm here,” she said.

“Me too,” Keesha said.

“Same here,” Monica added, crossing her arms over her chest.

Danielle looked around at the empty room and the four chairs. “So I assume we're just waiting on Latoya to get the party started.”

Both women nodded in agreement.

 

L
atoya didn't know why she was concerned about her appearance for someone who wanted to wreak havoc in her life, but she was. As she stood outside the double doors of the Elizabeth Ballroom, she smoothed herself, made sure none of her short hairs were flying and the jean dress she wore was dust-free. With one last prayer to God she raised her hand to pull the door open and looked down at it trembling. She gripped the handle and pulled it open.

“We've been waiting on you.”

She paused in the doorway at Monica, Keesha, and Danielle standing in the massive empty ballroom. Her eyes feasted on them. Keesha was a little thicker but still curvy with the same flawless dark skin that Hershey's couldn't make in a million days. Danielle was still a tall version of LisaRaye with the curves and light eyes and all. Monica looked the most different with her waist-length, bone-straight hair and clothes that were casual but pricey. Anyone could see that.

She genuinely smiled at them as she finally walked into the room and let the door close behind her. “You all didn't have to go through all this for a reunion,” she said, walking up to them.

“We didn't,” Keesha said.

Latoya let her perplexity show.

“Someone has been harassing all four of us for months and we all got the package of candy telling us to meet here at eight,” Danielle said, moving across the room to grab one of the chairs and plop down into it.

“Whoever it is has it out for all four of us obviously,” Monica said.

“Like who?” Latoya asked, moving to take one of the seats by Danielle when she caught Keesha's dark eyes leveled on her in assessment.

The doors opened and they all looked on at the tall and handsome man entering the ballroom dressed in a three-piece pinstripe suit that was tailored flawlessly, fitting his toned frame with perfection. The wide lapel of the jacket with a crisp spread-collared shirt and Windsor-knotted tie was off the pages of
GQ
. Even the briefcase he carried was the type of polished leather that had to cost four figures.

He smiled at them as two bodyguards entered the room to flank him. “Good evening, ladies,” he said, his voice deep and filled with confidence.

“It was you, Usain?” Monica asked in disbelief, storming up to him with her hand ready to deliver a blow to his smug face.

The bodyguards stepped forward to block her path.

Latoya couldn't believe she was looking into the face of her church friend Marion.
But Monica knows him as Usain?

“Usain?” Keesha added, rushing forward to join Monica in trying to swing on him. “That ain't no motherfucking Usain. That's my neighbor Jeremiah. You old slick gay bastard you.”

“I can assure you that I am far from gay,” he promised her just before he locked his gaze on Danielle sitting there completely stunned by it all. “Am I, Danielle?”

“Fuck you,” she said to him in a voice tight with anger.

He nodded. “You did and very well too. I thank you for it,” he said as he smoothed his hands over his silk tie before placing them in the pockets of his pants.

“What are you, the fucking male Sybil?” Keesha snapped as she eyed him walking to the front of the room with swagger of a man used to being in control.

“No, that would be your mother. Who by the way
is
crazy as hell,” he said, calmly pulling a remote from his pocket, dimming the lights, and lowering a large screen from the ceiling. “How's that gunshot?”

Keesha picked up a chair. One of the bodyguards made it across the room in no time to jerk it from her hands.

“And Monica don't even think about using that gun you brought last week,” he said, never once turning from watching the screen lower and stop.

Latoya shook her head in denial as she sat there stiff as a board craving another of the pills in her purse. One trip to the doctor with a lie about back pain and she was back in business. She was ashamed of her relapse. Her weakness.

Things between Taquan and her had never been worse. Never.

He wouldn't forgive her for putting his megachurch plans at risk and she . . . she would never forgive him for cutting her out of his life until she finally apologized to Olivia. And even after she sat before her husband and the entire church board, he still treated her coldly afterward. She gave in to his demands and she was still being punished.

She turned to the only thing she could to cope and she knew her faith in God should be stronger but fighting the pain was too much. Living life on the edge of tears and feeling helpless had been too much to bear. She couldn't even remember the last time she prayed.

And now this circus unfolding before her. Discovering that a man she considered a friend and confidant was nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing. The devil in disguise.

It was too much.

She gripped and released the purse over and over, fighting her urge, fighting her demon.

Usain/Jeremiah/Marion/Omari laughed as he jerked at the cuffs of his sleeves. “You ladies have no idea how long I have waited for this right here,” he said, turning as images began to flash across the screen.

All of the women gasped as snapshots of them filled the screen one after the other in rapid-fire succession.

“Sweet Jesus,” Latoya whispered in shock, covering her gaping mouth with her trembling hands.

Monica pressed against the wall as the man she knew as Usain knelt to eat her.

He chuckled. “When you took that picture from me that night in your office I was just removing the camera I had put there earlier,” he said.

Keesha getting dicked from behind by a tall and thick dude.

He glanced over at Keesha as he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “So which one was hitting the pussy better, your man or his cousin right here tagging the hell out dat ass?”

Danielle on her knees with her lips sealed around a man's shiny dick.

“You sick bastard,” she whispered harshly, burying her face in her hands.

“You suck a mean dick,” he said, using the remote to pause the photo just as the tip of his dick pressed against her inner cheek. “Swallow and all.”

“Who are you?” Monica screamed.

“Good to the last drop, huh?” he said coldly, his eyes still on Danielle. “I thought I might get one last good blow this afternoon at your apartment—”

Danielle dug in her tote and snatched out the wool brim he had left on her couch. She flung it across the room at him. It landed near the tips of his polished shoes of the finest Italian leather. “You left this, you lying, sneaky, phony, posing-ass pussy motherfucker,” she screamed, tears in her eyes.

He kicked the hat back toward her. “It doesn't match my outfit,” he said, using the remote to resume the slide show.

The sight of Latoya stretched out on the church floor.

“That was smart of you pretending to catch the Holy Ghost so the church didn't know you were high off those pills you love,” he said with a chuckle and slow, mocking clap. His eyes dropped down to her hands clenching and unclenching the handle of her clutch purse.

“Anytime you want to pop one of your pills you schemed from your doctor you just go right ahead,” he said. “I know how it must feel to be a junkie and need a fix. Right, Keesha?”

Latoya felt the eyes of everyone in the room switch to her. She turned and raced to the door.

“Oh, no, don't you dare leave. We've only just begun, Mrs. Reverend Taquan Sanders,” he called across the expanse of the room, his voice echoing and mocking.

Latoya froze at the door, her hand on the handle. Her addiction revealed. Her shame on full display. She dropped her head to the door.

She felt an arm on her shoulders and looked to see Keesha standing beside her.

“Excellent idea, Keesha. You really are the best one to help her since you know how it feels to fiend for it. Right?”

Latoya turned, shifting her eyes from other random shots of the four of them still flashing on the screen. “What the fuck do you want?” she said coldly, coming forward.

He frowned. “Language, First Lady. The Rev and that church board wouldn't like that,” he said, throwing things she shared with him back in her face.

The man had weaved his way into all their lives for months and sat there sucking it up like a leech.

Latoya couldn't believe they all had been so stupid.

The lights in the room brightened and he picked up the briefcase he'd sat on the floor to pull out four files. He nodded as he tossed a file at each of their feet. “I don't need these anymore. Please know that there is barely anything about you that I don't know. Money talks and I got plenty of it.”

Keesha swiped up her file and flipped through it. “No the fuck he didn't,” she gasped.

“Yes the fuck I did,” he said, clasping his hands together and looking so pleased with himself. “My private detectives are the best. Go ahead. Check it out. I had a ball. Better than anything on reality TV.”

He pointed his finger at Danielle. “Having a lesbian tryst to start your career. The handyman boyfriend in the Bahamas who broke up you and Sahad Linx of all people. That motherfucker almost as rich as me. Almost but not quite.”

Danielle shook her head back and forth as she glared at him like her eyes could burn a hole through him.

He turned to Keesha. “You really were so low to fuck Monica's man. I guess the dope made you able to look at yourself in the mirror. But then you top all of that by fucking two cousins at the same time and don't know who your baby daddy is. Damn you scandalous.”

Keesha flipped him the bird. “You don't know shit about me,” she snapped.

He snorted in derision and turned to Monica.

She kicked her thin folder and it slid across the carpet toward him. He stopped it by placing his foot down on the center of it. “You really messed up that therapist you were sneaking with. I didn't quite get to hit the pussy and see just what drove one fool to break your leg and the other one to stalk you and then eventually leave his wife. It tasted damn good though. Did you tell Cameron that you spread those legs for me?”

He turned back to Danielle. “Don't worry yours was good too,” he said, chuckling.

She swiped at a tear that raced down her cheek.

He focused on Latoya. “You fight dirty for what you want. By any means necessary—including selling stories to the tabloids on your baby daddy. You really got to lay off them pills. You're starting to lose weight. Next you be selling ass for pills.”

Latoya honestly didn't know if she could take any more of the humiliation from him. “What do you want?” she asked him again, her throat tightening with tears filled with anger, shame, and withdrawal.

He took his time unrolling his sleeves, buttoning his cuffs and sliding on his jacket. When he focused back on them his face was hard with anger. “Payback is a bitch and I owed you tricks. I mean I
really
owed you. Period point blank. Life is all about karma. And when it comes to karma sometimes it happens naturally and sometimes a bad motherfucker like me creates it.”

He looked at each one with a line in his face born from bitterness. “You probably forgot the bullshit you pulled on me in high school. But I never forgot.”

“High school,” they all shrieked in disbelief before looking at each other in obvious bewilderment.

“You bitches don't even recognize me, do you?” he asked, his eyes glittering with anger.

Latoya squinted her eyes as she studied him.

Monica shook her head.

“Sure don't,” Keesha said, closing the thick file folder that held her secrets.

Danielle crossed her legs and waved her hand at him. “This is your big moment. The big reveal of this childish bullshit. So have at it,” she said.

He nodded. “You're right, beautiful, it is my motherfucking day, plus I know you're tired from your disorder and so I won't keep you—especially you—any longer.”

Latoya, Monica, and Keesha all looked at Danielle as she dropped her head in her hands and cried. They all instantly moved to stand around her. Latoya knelt by her side and gathered Danielle's hands into hers.

He walked up to them with his briefcase in hand.

“And by now all of your dirty little secrets that I already told you I would not keep have been sent to . . .”

They all looked up with hatred in their eyes for him. “Cameron,” he said, pointing it at Monica.

“Corey.” He pointed to Keesha.

He pointed to Latoya. “The Rev.”

“And your producers,” he told Danielle.

She jumped to her feet and swung ever so quickly.

The sound of the slap echoed inside the ballroom.

The bodyguards instantly stepped forward. He held one hand up to stop them. “It's okay. She could never hurt me again the way I have hurt her,” he said, flexing his broad shoulders in his suit. “Plus that blow job was worth a slap.”

“How could you be so hateful?” Latoya asked him. “What kind of life is that if everything you are is built on a foundation of hatred?”

He looked at her like she was silly and nonsensical. “A damn good one,” he said cockily.

“I want you to know that Xavier Lofton has
completely
wrecked y'all's shit,” he said coldly, walking out of the ballroom without another glance back in their direction.

As soon as the door closed behind him and his bodyguards, the stereo surround system kicked in.