Chapter 41
ASHA
T
he note surprised the hell out of us. Who would have expected that sweet-looking woman to be a closet Glenn Close? Saundra wanted to confront them before they got too far up the block but I didn't think that was the smart thing to do. Obviously Lula wasn't playing with a full deck and, if she was crazy enough to write the note, then who knew what else she was capable of. I didn't want to find out. Saundra suggested that I tell Brent that he might have a problem on his hands but I thought, why should I? He's a lying, cheating bastard and he should learn the hard way.
Kevin buzzed in that I had a phone call from you know who.
“Thanks, Kevin, I'll take it.”
“This is Asha Mitchell.”
A cleared throat. “Hey, Asha, it's Brent. How are you?”
“I'm fine and yourself?”
“Good, good. Hey, I just wanted to say . . .”
“One second, Brent, I got someone else on the line. Hold on.”
I sat there with the phone on hold. I wanted him to suffer through this. After going to the water cooler down the hall and getting a Snickers out of the vending machine, I came back.
“Sorry about that, you were saying?”
“I was saying that I wanted to apologize about last night.”
I rolled my eyes at how rehearsed his apology sounded. It's almost like he quantified the exact pitiful sounding tone and pitch to get my forgiveness.
“I don't know why you're apologizing, Brent. We have no commitment, so save that guilt trip for your wife.”
Silence.
“Uh . . . okay. Well, then, can I see you tonight?”
“Sure.”
A deep sigh of relief. “Good, I'll send a car to take you to the Four Seasons at about five-fifteen.”
“Okay I'll see you then.” I said calmly.
“Ciao.”
After work it was pouring rain and I ran to the sleek gray Lincoln Town Car and hopped in the backseat. The driver nodded a hello and took me to my destination. As I walked through the cold, geometrically complicated building and up the stairs to the discreet Four Seasons restaurant, all I kept thinking about was how I was going to bring up the ruby earrings.
“Good evening, Ms. Mitchell. How are you?” the maître d' asked.
“Fine, Lucio, and you?”
“Very well,
madame.
What is the name of your party and I'll check the list to see if they have arrived.”
“Uh . . . Davis.”
The maître d' squinted as he scanned the long list. “Ah, right this way please.”
I was confused because there were no other Black people in the room. We stopped in front of a tall blonde sitting with her hands folded.
I tapped Lucio. “I'm sorry there has been some kind of mistake. I was looking for Mr. Brent Davis.”
“There has been no mistake. I am
Mrs
. Brent Davis.” The blonde said softly.
My heart began to thump wildly in my chest. Shit. What the hell was going on here? The tension must have been painfully obvious because Lucio scampered away like a frightened squirrel.
“Uh . . . hello . . . I'm . . .”
“I know who you are,” she said with her eyes narrowing.
I couldn't believe this was happening. “What's this about, Mrs. Davis?”
Her mouth was drawn tightly in anger and when she parted her thinly glossed lips, it looked painful. “Please have a seat, Ms. Mitchell, we need to talk.”
“I don't have anything to say to you, Mrs. Davis.” I turned to walk away.
“If you take one more step, I will embarrass us both. Please sit down.”
Now I was getting furious. A part of me wanted to test her but Mama always told me never to test someone who is desperate and has nothing to lose. I used the Four Seasons a lot for business and I couldn't afford to get banned. I eased down in the chair and sat there stoically.
“You have been sleeping with my husband for quite some time, Ms. Mitchell.”
The turtleneck I was wearing felt like it was squeezing tighter and tighter around my throat. “Obviously if you went to this trouble to get me here, you must know for a fact that I am sleeping with Brent, so I won't insult your intelligence. But to be quite frank, Mrs. Davis, I think this is a personal problem between you and your husband.”
Her milky skin became a rosacea-colored blush. She leaned forward with her teeth gritted. “I'm glad you won't insult my intelligence because I know exactly what you've been up to. I've been looking at all of Brent's receipts and credit card statements and the purchases . . .”
I held up my hand. “Like I said, this is between you and Brent. Don't worry about him seeing me anymore because I'm done with him. I don't need this drama.”
She sat back with a smirk on her face. “It doesn't matter if you see him or not because I have filed for divorce and I'm going to take him for everything he has. So, Ms. Mitchell, he won't be able to afford Badgley Mishka and all those other gifts you've been receiving.”
So much for the ruby earrings.
“How did you get me here?” I asked.
A waiter came over to take our order. He looked fresh from Sicily.
“I'll have a cup of Earl Grey,” she said.
“I'll have the same.”
She sat sideways so her long stockinged legs could cross. I could tell by her mannerisms that this woman came from old money.
“Brent was at home when he called you. I heard everything when he asked you to come here to meet him. I simply called his secretary back pretending to be you and cancelled so I could meet you here.”
“I see.”
She became even more relaxed and I did, too, for some reason. I guess it was because neither of us wanted anything to do with Brent anymore.
“Might I add, Ms. Mitchell, that it is to your credit that you are just as unapologetic about sleeping with my husband now as you were on the telephone.”
This was getting too weird. “I think you've had your say, Mrs. Davis. I'm going to leave now.” I stood up and grabbed my coat.
“You may leave now if you want to but I think you should know about Lula Karapachoo first.”
“Who the hell is that?”
“My husband's other mistress, the Hawaiian that you met at Jade Crown.”
“How did you know about the incident at the restaurant? Are you following me?” I asked, getting more and more angry.
She laughed and tossed her long hair behind her shoulder. “Of course not, I have better things to do. But I did hire a private investigator to follow Brent.”
At that moment I pictured her producing shiny black-and-white photos of me giving her husband a blow job to show in court. “Oh, for Chrissakes,” I said.
The waiter returned with the steaming hot tea. “May I have a Bacardi and Coke instead? I need a drink.”
Annoyed, the waiter nodded crisply and removed the beverage.
“I don't know what to say, Mrs. Davis.” I laughed at the sheer complexity of the situation. “So the note was a joke, then?”
She tilted her head in confusion. “What note?”
“When they left the restaurant, the hostess gave me a really weird note. It was rather threatening.”
She shook her head as she sipped daintily from the teacup. “I certainly didn't tell her to write it but I'm not surprised.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lula used to be my private eye. She dropped the case and refunded my money because she fell in love with Brent.”
“You've gotta be joking.”
A painful gaze transformed her beautiful face. “I wish I were.”
“So how did she know I was going to be there with my sister?”
She shrugged. “That, I believe, was chance.”
“I can't believe this. You hired her to watch Brent and she ended up sleeping with him?”
“That appears to be the situation. I suggest you be careful.”
I drank two huge gulps from the Bacardi and Coke that had appeared in front of me.
“Sounds like we got a real live one here.” I said.
“Pretty much.”
“Well, I appreciate your warning me. I don't know if I would have done the same in your situation.”
She didn't answer when I said good-bye.
The streets were slick and cars splashed water as they whizzed by but I didn't care. A man's wife just told one of her husband's mistresses to beware of the other mistress. That meant Lula must be pretty nutty. I clicked along in my heels for about ten blocks before I realized I might be in danger walking the streets, so I hailed a cab.
Saundra was already asleep on the sofa when I got home. I've told her a million time not to ruin my leather couch. Was she tired of sharing the bed with me? Well, that was just too bad.
It took me a while to get to sleep and, when I did, I still didn't rest. It was that right-below-the-surface sleep that might as well not be sleep at all because when you wake up you still feel tired.
Someone was knocking on my door. Frustated and groggy, I glanced toward the clock. Three o'clock in the morning!
“Who is it?” I asked.
“It's me. Saundra. The doorman just called. Brent wants to come up.”
I thought about that Lula woman and I became suspicious.
“How do I know it's really him?”
“Asha, what are you talking about?”
I shook my head to clear it. There was no way I was going to add my drama to her already troubled mind. “Nothing. Let him come up.”
I was surprised at how disheveled he looked when I opened the door. “What do you want, Brent?”
“I really need to talk to you. Please let me in.”
“I don't think so.”
“Please, Asha. I know about what happened at the Four Seasons. Amanda told me everything.”
Saundra was staring at us both. She looked scared.
“Don't say another word, Brent, until we're in my room.”
Once we were away from Saundra's distressed gaze, I faced him. “Why are you here?”
“I just had to clear things up after what happened between you and Amanda.”
I sighed and flopped back. “Brent, none of that matters now. I'm through.”
“No, Asha, please don't say that. I don't know what she told you but I'm sure it's not the truth.”
I began to laugh but it wasn't as hearty as it would have been if I was well-rested and functioning. “Now why should I believe
you
that she lied to
me
?”
“She's not the one who filed for divorce, Asha. I'm the one who asked for it.”
I felt my lips part in surprise. “Why?”
“I told her a few weeks ago that I wanted out because I fell in love with someone else.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Okay, whatever, but what does this all have to do with me?”
He reached in his pocket, pulled out a box and placed it on the bed between us. I opened it and a huge diamond ring sat nestled between the velvet slits. “I told Amanda that I'm leaving her so that I could marry you.”
I looked at the glimmering diamond and back at Brent. Even if I did love him, which I didn't, I'd be a damn fool to marry a shameless adulterer.
“You've got to be joking.”
Brent shook his head and got down on one knee. “Asha . . .”
“Brent get up off the damn floor, take this ring and go home,” I said.
“I know what you're thinking . . . that I'd cheat on you like I did with Amanda.”
I sat looking at him in utter disbelief. “Brent, I don't love you and I have never loved you. When we first hooked up, I told you that I had plans never to commit to anybody. I thought we were cool
because
you were married. And now that you're getting a divorce you think you love me?”
Brent sat back down. “I don't believe you don't want to be with me.”
This pompous bastard. He thinks he is such a catch that it's impossible that I wouldn't want him.
It was definitely time for him to go. “Why do you want a black wife now, anyway?”
“I was young and ambitious. Amanda just went along with the package.”