The Bad Seed Page 6

  As we lay intertwined in a messy pool of love, I remained nestled in his arms for a few moments until I had caught my breath. As we lay, my phone began to ring loudly, shattering our bliss. The obnoxious ring I chose specifically for Robert pierced the air and filled the room with panic and alarm.

  “That old fucker always calls at the wrong time,” I said.

  “Just let it ring, baby.”

  “Trust me, I wasn’t about to answer it.” I reached over to the nightstand and hit the button on the phone to silence the death rattle. I lay back down and placed my head back on his chest and closed my eyes, momentarily losing myself in the warmth of his embrace. It felt like home.

  “Blues, what’s going on with Robert?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How is his health?”

  That’s an odd question.

  “You mean besides his heart condition, eczema, and being old as dirt?” I laughed.

  “Hmm, yeah. Anything else?”

  “Not that I know of, but hell, I wouldn’t know. He could have Ebola for all I care.” Nigel didn’t smile at my joke. “Okay, Nigel, what’s wrong?” I adjusted my position so that I could look in his eyes, which carried concern, as if he was pulled away in thought. He sat up in the bed.

  “Are you and Robert okay?”

  “We’re as good as we usually are. Why?”

  “Today, Robert called me into his office to talk about his will.”

  “Do I still get everything when he dies?” I asked eagerly.

  Silence. Uh-Oh.

  “Nigel…”

  “I don’t want you to get upset, but he wanted me to start working on drawing up a new version.”

  “A new version? What the fuck?”

  “He wants to leave most of his estate to Howard University.”

  I leapt up in a rage. “You have got to be kidding me!”

  “I don’t understand it at all. I asked you about his health because it’s common for dying people to start making sizeable donations and he has been very charitable lately.”

  “He wants to leave all his money to Howard University? He didn’t even go to that damned school!” I was furious.

  “Just calm down, Blues.”

  “How can I calm down when you just told me that Robert wants to give away most of his money. This is not a time for calm!” I took several deep breaths. “What about me? What does he want to leave me?” Nigel paused. “Nigel, what is he leaving me?” My voice was stern.

  “He’s leaving you about a half-million.”

  “Half a million? Are you fuckin’ kidding me? That’s chump change compared to what he’s worth. What about the house?” Outside of Bob Johnson, Robert was probably the second richest black man in the D.C. area.

  “He’s leaving that to charity.”

  “He wants me to be poor and homeless? That old raggedy son-of-a-bitch!”

  “A half-million dollars is hardly poor.”

  “It is, compared to what he’s worth. I can’t believe this shit.” Now, more than ever, I realized what I had to do. Robert had to die before Nigel completed the new will. “When does he want this change made?”

  “Soon. He didn’t give me a date, but soon. I could stall, but I don’t know what good that will do.”

  “What about getting me a divorce settlement?”

  “Well,” he said in a low voice, “things don’t look that promising.”

  “Don’t make any changes right now. Let me work on Robert.”

  “You can’t mention any of this to anyone; I could get disbarred.”

  I moved closer to him and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “I’d never do that. I just need a little time to get him to value me more, to see my worth. All this is worth a hell of a lot more than a half-million,” I said as I pointed at myself. He grabbed me and pulled me into his arms.

  I was worth far more than a half-million dollars. I could have any man I wanted, yet I chose to marry Robert, and he was now acting as if my sacrifice was practically worthless. Beauty is a commodity far more valuable than gold. He needed to understand what I had sacrificed to be with him. With each caress, he incurred a cost; each time he pressed his lips against mine or inserted his filthy tongue into my mouth, he was assessed a fee; each kind word or gentle embrace was taxed; each time he pressed his flesh into me, he was charged an exorbitant service charge. Surely, he didn’t think I was free. If he thought he could buy me at a discounted rate, he was mistaken. The money he gave me each month as an allowance paid for nice clothes and jewelry, but that was simply a monthly maintenance fee. The seven-figure checks he was donating across town was money that I had already counted in my inheritance. I earned that money—each and every night—on my back, on my knees, with my legs in the air, and on all fours; I earned that money with my sweat and spit and lips and hips and now he wanted to cheat me out of what I had paid for with my body. Fuck that. He should have run the numbers and decided if he could afford me before he married me.

  Sometimes, you have to pay the price.

  CHAPTER 7

  Once I got home from my tryst with Nigel, I walked up the staircase toward the bedroom, humming a love song underneath my breath. I wanted to relax for a couple of hours before Robert got home and I had a few minutes before Oprah came on. It was her final season so I wanted to see when she was going to buy a whole city and gift it to a lucky viewer—I knew she was going out big.

  As I entered the room, I was startled to see Robert standing in the middle of our bedroom like a statue, staring directly at me; with that damn cat at his feet. His poker face didn’t provide any hint of what he was feeling or why he was home at three-thirty in the afternoon.

  “Robert,” I said as I caught my breath. “You scared me. What’s going on? What are you doing home so early?”

  He picked up what I gathered was a glass of whiskey and took a long, slow sip.

  “Where have you been?” he asked flatly as he set his glass down and picked up the cat and started stroking her.

  I stepped deeper into the room and moved cautiously over to him, not sure whether this old bastard was ready to swing on me. The air was thick and his mood sour. I didn’t know what was going on, but he had me spooked. He could be volatile and unpredictable and there were a few times, particularly after he drank a lot of tequila, when I was sure that he wanted to punch me. Now, it had never happened, but I never put it past him. So, I treaded carefully.

  Could he possibly know about Nigel and me?

  I eased my way over and kissed him on the forehead. As I tried to step away, he grabbed my hand, not forcefully, but with enough pressure to let me know that something was dreadfully wrong.

  Oh shit.

  “I asked you a question and I expect an answer. Where have you been?” He bent over and dropped the cat gently on the floor. She paused, meowed, and then strutted out of the room as if she didn’t want to witness the ensuing bloodshed.

  “Oh… I was out running errands,” I said, trying to sound as if it was no big deal. Inside, an almost paralyzing fear that he had found out about my affair, or even my plot to kill him, overtook me. Had I left some evidence around? I swallowed hard. I could feel the strength of my heartbeat. “I wanted to get some new music, but didn’t see anything I liked.” I eased my hand from his grip, as if nothing was wrong, and walked on wobbly knees to the dresser. I took off my watch and set it on the dresser, trying to resume my normal routine.

  “Really? I called you and you didn’t pick up; you know I hate that. Today has been crazy for me and I really needed you, but you weren’t around. I needed you to bring my file folder about the Purple Party. I had a meeting with Kevin, but apparently you had more important things to do.”

  “Baby, I went to Best Buy; it wasn’t that important. And, what’s with the third degree? I honestly didn’t know you called. If I had, I would have picked up. I love talking to you.”

  Uggghhh.

  “That’s what you say,” he said again, trying hi
s best to make me feel guilty.

  He stared at me with cold, blank eyes and took another sip. His left eye twitched, and I could see the nostrils of his thin nose flaring ever-so-slightly. His beady, black eyes sucked in all the light from the room.

  He watched every move I made like a hawk. He was watching the way that I walked so that he could tell if I had been recently fucked. I tried not to panic and continued gliding casually across the room like he wasn’t there.

  Finally, I stopped and made eye contact with him.

  “Robert, you’re beginning to make me nervous.” I could no longer bear the weight of his stare. If he was planning on punching or stabbing me, I could do without the build-up of drama. Just do it.

  He walked over to me, maintaining an unbroken stare. I hoped he couldn’t detect the fright lurking beneath the surface. When he was close enough, he reached out and grabbed me by the waist.

  Finally, he smiled, slightly. “I didn’t know where you were. Call it an old man’s paranoia.” He leaned in and gave me a deep, sensual kiss that lingered longer than I liked.

  I hope you like the taste of Nigel’s dick.

  “I love you,” he whispered. I felt the heat of his breath on my neck as he held me tightly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Well, you don’t have to wonder; I’m not going anywhere.”

  Robert hugged me tightly and inhaled deeply. Something still wasn’t right with him.

  I pushed back. “When are you going to tell me what’s really wrong?” He released me from his embrace.

  “I can’t get anything past you, can I?” he said with a tiny, forced smile.

  “No, you can’t, so don’t even try. Wassup?”

  Robert looked at me as if a great weight rested on his shoulder. I wasn’t sure if I had ever seen him so disturbed. It had to be something major for him to leave work early and that bit about me bringing him the folder was all a gimmick. He needed me for something else. Something had unnerved him; to his core.

  “Robert, tell me what’s wrong.” He took my hand and led me out of the bedroom. We moved down the hallway and down the staircase. “Where are we going?”

  “I have to show you something.”

  He tightened his grip on my hand and practically dragged me down the hallway into the solarium.

  As we neared the room, he inhaled deeply again. I wasn’t sure what he was about to show me, but I was sweating bullets. What if he knew? What if he had photographs and was taking me into the room to show me the evidence? I wanted to yank my hand from his grip and run in the opposite direction, but I didn’t. I stayed the course.

  When we got to the sunroom, I saw a pair of red bottom, high-heel shoes attached to a pair of smooth cocoa-colored legs. As we entered the room, a woman slowly stood up. As she turned to face us, I realized she was the same vixen who had accosted me when I was at the fundraiser the other night at RDE. What the hell was she doing in my house?

  She smiled at me, almost triumphantly. She had said she’d see me later; she was right.

  Robert walked over to her and put his arm around her waist.

  “What the hell is going on here?” I exclaimed.

  “Blues, it’s good to see you again,” she said in a tone far too casual for our relationship. We weren’t friends and I didn’t want her being so familiar with me, even if her arm was around my husband’s waist.

  “Oh, so you two have met?” Robert asked.

  “Sort of. This…woman…approached me at the fundraiser you had at RDE the other day, but she didn’t tell me who she was. Now, I find her in our house, so it’s about time someone told me what’s going on.” I looked her directly in the face. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  Robert paused. He looked at her and smiled, like an old fool. I rolled my eyes.

  “Blues, I’d like you to formally introduce you to Ashleigh Douglas; my daughter.”

  The words “my daughter” slapped me across the face and my mouth dropped to the floor. I knew Robert had a daughter, but he hadn’t spoken to her in at least five years. I considered her dead. Last time he had spoken of her, it wasn’t in pleasant tones.

  “Your daughter? The crackhead?” I asked suddenly.

  Robert winced, as if he felt pain from my very accurate description of her.

  Once a crackhead, always a crackhead.

  She smiled. “Blues, I had a little problem with crack when I was younger, but I’ve been clean for over two years.” She spoke in a pleasant tone, as if being a reformed crackhead carried a lot of dignity.

  “From what I was told, it was far more than a little problem. Robert,” I said, turning to him, “what is she doing here? The last time she was here, didn’t she steal fifty thousand in cash from you, out of your safe? Do I need to hide my pocketbook?”

  “Blues—” Robert said.

  “No, it’s okay, Daddy. I did a lot of awful things when I was high. One of the things I learned in rehab was to own the harm that I’ve done to others and to make it right.” Her voice sounded practiced, as if she had rehearsed an Easter speech for church.

  “I bet.” I moved into the room and took a defiant stance near one of the windows, my arms folded across my chest, my lips pursed together. “So, what are you doing here now? What do you want?”

  “I wanted to see my father. I’ve missed him.” She turned and hugged him tightly. To a less discerning eye, it would appear that she genuinely missed her father and that this faux hug was authentic, but she wasn’t slick enough to fool me. I could see through her subterfuge; game always recognized game. She wasn’t here for anything as noble as reuniting with her father. She was here for the same reason I was—money. Cold. Hard. Cash. “We have so much to catch up on, Daddy. I have so much to tell you.”

  As she hugged Robert, she looked at me, with a glint of satisfaction in her eye. Her wry smile hinted at a sinister motive. I was not about to be played. Robert may fall for her tricks because he was sometimes a sentimental old fool, but if she thought for one second that I was going to let her ooze her way back into Robert’s life and take his money—money that would be mine—she was mistaken. I had put in far too much work to lose now. I win. Always.

  I watched their embrace. Robert’s face seemed to soften and his permanent scowl relaxed a bit. This whole scene played like a script out of some midday soap opera: the drug-addicted daughter of a millionaire businessman emerges from obscurity after a five-year absence to reclaim her inheritance.

  “You two have a lot to talk about. I’ll let you catch up.” I turned and made a quick exit out of the room and ignored Robert, who was calling my name.

  I was completely caught off-guard.

  CHAPTER 8

  I couldn’t bear to be around Robert and his daughter anymore. Something about the entire situation turned my stomach. I grabbed my keys and got the hell out of the house. I didn’t have any idea where I was going, but anywhere would be better than being in the house with them. I was already tired and this sudden surprise was too much for me to process. It made my head hurt.

  Even though Robert had mentioned a one-night fling with an Asian girl that produced an offspring when he was in college at the turn of the century, I had somehow blocked it out of my mind. Never, not even in my wildest dreams, had I ever expected to meet this love child, particularly after the stories he had told me about her. On the rare occasion when he spoke her name, he didn’t speak of her in flattering terms. He only told me what a nightmare she had been.

  When she was fifteen, her mother had died and she had come to live with Robert. I couldn’t imagine Robert taking care of anyone besides himself. I knew him very well and he wasn’t exactly the nurturing type, so I could imagine the tension they had in their relationship.

  As soon as she moved in, from what I was told, the trouble began. She was fighting, skipping school, and being a royal bitch to everyone. Robert talked about the many times he had to go up to school after she had gotten into a fight and th
e many times he had to call the police because she had run away. For no other reason than rebellion, she had fallen in with a bad crowd of girls from Anacostia—the bad part of town—and developed a ravenous addiction to crack. She stole from Robert more than once to feed her habit. He sent her to rehab several times, but she never took to it.

  When she was twenty-five, he sent her to rehab again—for the sixth and final time—after she failed out of Georgetown University. After four days of a twenty-eight day program, she disappeared into the night. Poof, she was gone. That time when she ran away, he didn’t bother to try to find her. Instead, he decided to wash his hands of her. Last he heard, she had hitched her way to Los Angeles.

  That was five years ago.

  Robert had once confessed to me that he loved his daughter, wished her the best, and sometimes wondered what had become of her. I heard a hint of disappointment and sadness in his voice when he spoke of her that time. I wasn’t sure if the disappointment he felt was directed toward himself for not being a better father or toward her for being a terrible daughter. Maybe he blamed himself for her failures. I didn’t bother to ask any follow-up questions because, honestly, I didn’t care. She was out of his life and that’s all that mattered to me. I didn’t have time or the inclination to be a stepdad. He hadn’t seen her in years so I assumed she had died from an overdose in a cardboard box somewhere on skid row.

  Clearly, I was mistaken.

  Now, here she was, in the flesh, in my house, after all this time.

  Something didn’t feel right—at all.

  As I darted down M Street, NW, in my shiny foreign car, the city was racing with the hurried energy of a city on the move. Cars whizzed by. Buses crawled along. People with their small lives and small concerns littered the sidewalks, like urban trash. As usual, throngs of hungry people lined up outside of Georgetown Cupcakes. The way people waited in line for a $5 cupcake, you’d think they were baking crack right in the mix. I had to admit, though, those cupcakes were on point.