Deadly Satisfaction (13 page)

Once Vivana went back into her house, still chomping on the dessert, Charlene sprinted back to her car, focused and already thinking about what she had to do next. Earlier that day, she'd made a bowl of cupcake batter, but had only poured it into one cupcake holder in her muffin pan. She dumped the rest down her sink and waited for the single cupcake to bake. She then typed a note on her computer, printed it off, and read it twice to make sure it sounded right.

Satisfied that the note would serve its purpose, Charlene folded it twice and put it inside the decorative bag along with the cupcake. She waited until seven o'clock that evening to drive over to Vivana's house. Dressed in black from head to toe, she prayed that no one would see her cutting through their backyard, and if they did, she was in good enough shape to make a run for it.

Once Charlene returned home safely, she poured herself a glass of wine and then waited until she knew that Vivana would be fast asleep before she headed over to Johnny's house. Charlene had researched what kind of drug she should use in the cupcake. She needed something that would knock Vivana out for up to twelve hours, and would leave her system quickly without a trace of it having ever been ingested. There were dozens of odorless, tasteless pills floating around on the black market that Charlene knew would do the trick, and instead of wasting time trying to obtain something exotic, she decided to go with Rohypnol, commonly known as the date rape dug.

During the trial when the prosecutor questioned Vivana about the phone records they'd obtained that showed she'd called Johnny just a few hours before he was murdered, Vivana had said that Johnny had asked her to call him, and that he'd left a note and a cupcake on her doorstep. She'd kept the note as proof, but it was as useless as a counterfeit bill because, as the prosecutor had pointed out, anyone could've typed that note, even Vivana herself. It hadn't been difficult for the jury to believe that she'd made up the entire story, especially after she'd spent four months pretending to be someone else, all in an effort to get close to Geneva.

Charlene had been extra-careful in her planning, right down to the way she'd killed Johnny. She'd been meticulous about every detail. However, if there was one thing she could've changed, it would have been that she'd lingered inside the house a little too long. If she could do it all over again, she would have killed Johnny the minute she'd walked through his back door. But she'd enjoyed seeing the doomed look in his eye when she pulled the gun on him, and she'd savored it for a few minutes longer than she should have.

Charlene had felt triumphant because she'd avenged dozens of women whom Johnny had wronged, and she'd also given him payback for the life of an unborn child he'd taken as a result of his selfish ways. But as the investigation had heated up, she'd realized that Johnny's murder had actually caused further hurt to the women he'd blackmailed, because now their dirty little secrets were exposed for their friends, families, and fellow church members to see. The saying, “What's done in the dark will be brought to the light,” had never been more true, which brought Charlene back to the present—and the fact that her own sins had come back to haunt her.

Charlene closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. She'd been sitting at the breakfast table for more than thirty minutes, and she knew she had to pull herself together before her children came home. She thought about them, and the repercussions that would surely follow. “I can't let that happen,” Charlene said aloud. “I need to find out who sent that text to my phone, and then I need to make sure I handle them so I can deal with whatever Leslie has up her sleeve.”

D
ONETTA

E
ven though Donetta had been tired when she'd called Geneva twenty minutes ago, she'd also been filled with joy because she'd awoken with her head resting in the crook of Phillip's arm, secure in his embrace. But by the time her conversation with her friend had ended, Donetta's lower pelvic area had begun to ache and she had a bad feeling she couldn't shake.

From that fateful morning when the police had come by the salon and questioned Geneva's coworkers about Johnny, to yesterday, when Vivana and her attorney had announced there was evidence proving Vivana's innocence, Donetta had always felt there had been something very sinister at hand surrounding Johnny's death, and now she felt it more than ever. It might have been a dream, but what Geneva had told her was convincing, and Donetta hoped that Councilwoman Harris could help her friend finally get to the bottom of the ugly mess.

“I know it's too late to make wishes, but I wish to God in heaven that Geneva had never married that arrogant, no-good son of a bitch, 'cause right now this would be someone else's shit to deal with,” Donetta mumbled as she shook her head. “Geneva's upset and scared, and my stomach is in knots because of a man who's still raising hell from the grave. I've got to refocus my mind before I make myself sick with all this worrying.”

Donetta looked at the turkey sausage and eggs she'd set on the counter, and thought about how nice it was going to be to eat breakfast in bed with Phillip. But when she walked over to her spice rack to retrieve some seasonings, another sharp pain punched her lower abdomen, followed by a sudden and intense throbbing between her legs. She wasn't wearing panties under her nightie, and when she looked down at the floor, she saw small specks of blood at her feet. “What the hell?”

Donetta held her legs together and quickly walked to the powder room down the hall. She drew in a startled gasp when she wiped herself and saw bright red blood on the tissue. “Shit!” she hissed. She knew she needed to be quiet because she didn't want to wake Phillip, but at the same time she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs because she was in pain, and she was scared about what the bleeding meant.

She wiped herself again, gently placed a wad of tissue between her legs, and gritted her teeth to temper her scream. “What the hell is happening to me?” Donetta whispered as she washed her hands and stared into the mirror. To have woken up and not done anything in the way of beautification, she still looked like a million bucks. Her eyes were bright and her bed-tousled hair had a wild, sexy look. But her outward appearance belied what was inside, because she was beginning to feel worse by the minute. Then it came to her. “Oh no. Please don't let this be happening because I had sex.”

Donetta hadn't bled six months ago when she'd had sex for the first time after her surgery. But then again, the guy she'd been with, who she'd later found out had been married, had only penetrated her halfway before he'd ejaculated, at which time he'd put on his pants and had left her lying in bed in the hotel room they'd checked into only fifteen minutes before. But she and Phillip had made love for an hour, and it had been the most satisfying, wonderful experience she'd ever had.

She'd been nervous at first, praying that her encounter with Phillip wouldn't be as disappointing and uncomfortable as it had been with the married jerk.

He'd touched her gently, caressed her with care, and kissed her passionately—all over her body.

“I'm going to go slow and take my time,” Phillip had said.

Donetta moaned with pleasure as his fingers moved between her legs while he kissed her softly. She'd been glad that her surgeon had been right when he'd told her that the clitoris he'd sculpted from the sensitive skin around what had once been her penile head would produce erogenous sensations when properly stimulated, and lead to fulfilling orgasm. Phillip not only knew how to properly stimulate her, he'd made her climax twice.

But now all Donetta could feel was severe discomfort. “Urrrghh,” she moaned as she held one hand over her vagina and the other over her lower abdomen to help stifle the pain. Slowly, she tiptoed back to the kitchen and wet several paper towels in the sink. She whimpered and gritted her teeth as she bent down and cleaned up the small specks of blood she'd hemorrhaged onto the floor. “I can't believe this is happening,” she moaned. She was starting to feel dizzy, and sadly, she had a feeling it was about to get worse. She grabbed her phone off the counter and headed to the bedroom. With slow and measured steps, she eased past the bed and was relieved to see that Phillip was still sound asleep, snoring on his back. Another sharp pain hit her as she limped into the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind her. She knew exactly what she needed to do, so she opened the closet where she kept her medications.

She pushed the bottle of Percocet to the side in search of the high-octane painkiller she'd hoped she'd never have to take again. “There it is,” she whispered, grabbing the bottle of Dilaudid.

Donetta put one of the powerful pills in her mouth and limped over to the sink. She cupped her hands under the running water and gulped until the painkiller slid down her throat. “Lord, please let this work fast.” She felt as if she'd run a marathon, and now when she looked at herself in the mirror she could no longer see the sexy, bright-eyed woman who'd stared back at her just moments ago. Large beads of sweat dotted her forehead, her eyes looked red and tired, and her skin looked flushed. She practically staggered over to her marble soaker tub and plopped down on the edge. The pain was so great she began to feel hot and nauseated. “Lord, please let everything be all right with me. Please.” Donetta dialed the number to the clinic where she'd been going for the past several years, and waited for someone to answer.

When she was finally patched through to one of the nurses on duty, Donetta could barely speak, but she gathered the strength to explain in detail what had happened to her. “I was fine during sex last night,” she whispered.

“Was it moderate or rigorous?”

“Rigorous . . . and good.”

The nurse cleared her throat. “Okay.”

“I felt fine when I woke up this morning. I even talked on the phone with my best friend for a while. I was about to make breakfast when all of a sudden my lower pelvic area started hurting, and then my vagina felt like it was on fire. I looked down and saw blood. I'm still bleeding now. I'm hot, nauseated, and I feel terrible. What's wrong with me?”

The nurse explained that even though it had been a full year since her surgery, bleeding could still occur if this was the first time she'd had rigorous intercourse. The nurse instructed her to take her temperature while they were on the phone. When Donetta removed the digital thermometer from under her tongue, she was grateful to see that it was normal.

“You're sore and you're in pain,” the nurse continued, “and that can cause the headache, nausea, and fatigue that you're experiencing. You need to drink plenty of fluids and monitor your temperature. If it rises, that means you have an infection and you'll need to get in here right away.”

“How long will this last?” Donetta asked.

“It's hard to say. You could feel better in just a few hours, or it might take a few days, depending upon how quickly your body heals. Most likely you'll have some residual discomfort due to the intercourse you described, but that will get better over time. The most important thing for you to do is to stay calm and listen to your body.”

“Okay, I'm just so scared.”

“Anxiety will only worsen your symptoms and elevate your blood pressure. The Dilaudid you took should start working pretty soon, and that will immediately help to ease your pain and calm your body. In the meantime, get plenty of rest and monitor your temperature throughout the day because as I mentioned, that will be a direct indicator of infection. Also, make sure you douche this morning and dilate later tonight.”

Donetta hung up the phone and wanted to cry. The thought of putting anything inside her right now made her feel weaker than she already was, and took her mind back to the hell she'd suffered after her surgery.

She'd experienced a range of emotions the morning of her surgery, vacillating between whether to go through with it or not. She'd always been sure that it was what she'd wanted to do, because she'd felt it was the final step in making her outside match up with who she was on the inside. But when she'd been lying in the prep room, waiting to be wheeled into the OR, her fears about the pain she would experience dominated her mind. She'd done years of research and had thoroughly discussed the procedure with her surgeon. She'd talked to as many trans women as she could who'd had the surgery, she'd watched hundreds of YouTube videos and read equally as many blogs of women who'd chronicled their experiences before and after surgery. Some had recovered without a single problem, while others had been plagued with one catastrophe after another, sometimes resulting in the need for additional surgical procedures. But no matter their individual experiences, one thing rang true with every testimonial that Donetta had heard, seen, or read, and that was the fact that there would be no getting around some amount of pain.

Donetta had been beyond thankful to have Geneva there by her side, holding her hand each step of the way. She knew if it hadn't been for her best friend, and her beloved grandma Winnie's spirit praying over her from above, she couldn't have made it through. When she'd awoken in her hospital bed after surgery, Geneva's determined and caring face had been the first thing she'd seen, and it had made Donetta smile, but that was the last time she would smile for several weeks.

The pain that Donetta had experienced had been so excruciating that she hadn't wished it on her worst enemy—not even Johnny, from the grave—and that had been saying a lot because she'd despised him. She'd lain on her back in pain for five days before her surgeon removed the packing inside her new body part. She'd tried to think positive about what was about to happen, and she had focused her mind on the women who'd described the feeling as liberating, once they'd been unpacked. Unfortunately for Donetta, it had been so painful and uncomfortable that she'd had to ask for another dose of Dilaudid just to get through the procedure. It had taken several minutes to remove what had felt like miles of gauze from the new space between her legs. And if she'd thought the unpacking had been bad, the dilating had been downright torture. Just as she'd done research about the surgery, she'd educated herself as much as she could about dilating, especially because it was something she'd have to do for the rest of her life.

Donetta still remembered the sharp pain she'd felt when her surgeon had inserted the long, hard plastic dildo inside her immediately after removing the packing. In retrospect she'd realized later that he'd actually been as gentle as a lamb, but at the time she'd been so swollen and sore that it had felt as though he'd jammed hot coals inside her.

“Dilation is a lifelong commitment, and something you must continue from this moment forward,” Donetta's surgeon had told her in a calm, steady voice as he pushed the dildo farther and farther inside her. “If you do not dilate on schedule, it will result in a shortening of your vaginal depth, and once you lose depth you can never get it back.” One of the trans women in Donetta's support group had explained it in more basic terms. “It's like getting your ears pierced. If you don't wear your earrings, your hole will close up.”

For the first eight weeks after surgery, Donetta had had to dilate five times a day for twenty minutes each time. From week eight to week twenty-four, she'd gone down to three times per day. From week twenty-five to fifty-two, it had dropped to once a day. And now, she only had to dilate once a week. In the beginning, Donetta had felt as though her entire life centered around the exhaustive exercise and the extreme amount of time it took to lube up, dilate, and then clean herself, as well as the dilator, after each session. She'd gotten to a point that she'd planned her days around her dilation. Fortunately, it got better over time, and now dilating was as normal and easy for her as brushing her teeth. But not this morning.

Donetta grimaced when a hot burst of pain shot through her lower body as she leaned against the back of the commode, inserted the douche nozzle, and squeezed. She closed her eyes and saw bright lights and stars. “Sweet mother of Jesus,” she called out in pain. At this point she didn't care whether Phillip woke up or not, and as a matter of fact, if he did she would ask him to douse her lower body with a bucket of ice.

Slowly, Donetta rose to her feet and ran cool water over a washcloth. She gently pressed it between her legs and held it there, praying for the Dilaudid to kick in. She wiped away more blood and then reached into her cabinet and pulled out a box of Always with wings. Suddenly, she felt light-headed, and she knew her prayer had been answered—the medicine was taking effect. “Thank You, Lord.”

From past experience, Donetta knew she only had a few minutes before the powerful drug would begin to make her feel loopy, because once it kicked in, it took her down for the count. Back in the bedroom Donetta walked gingerly to her dresser and removed a pair of cotton panties. She was about to walk back to into her bathroom to insert her pad while she was still coherent enough to do it, but when she turned around she saw Phillip sitting up on his elbows, staring at her.

Donetta was holding her panties in one hand and her pad in the other. She didn't have the energy to explain anything to Phillip, so she stood where she was without saying a word. She watched him as he tossed his long, muscular legs over the side of the bed and reached down to pull on his boxer briefs. Even in her dizzy state, Donetta could still see that his body was a thing of beauty. He walked over to her, gently embraced her, and kissed the top of her forehead.