Getting Some (21 page)

“No.” I try to resist him pressing my head to his chest. “I am not going to cry. Charles is a piece of shit.”

“But you were married to him.”

“For too long.”

“The point is, you cared about him. It’s okay to feel something now that he’s gone.”

Suddenly, I am crying. “Damn him. Taking the easy way out. I should have known.”

“I was hoping the news didn’t reach you in Vegas. I wanted you to hear it from me.”

Now I slip my arms around him and squeeze.

“Some reporters have already called. I don’t think they’ll go away until they get to talk to you about this.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” I wipe at my tears.

“Hey.” Dominic lifts my chin upward, forcing me to look at him.

“What?”

“You are right about one thing. With your husband dead, the case against him is over.”

“Please don’t refer to him as my husband.”

“I’m just saying…Forget it.” He wraps his arms around me. “You want to head to bed?”

“To finish what we started?” I joke. Lamely.

“No,” Dominic says. “So you can get some sleep. I don’t know how you’ll feel about this in the morning, but I want you to know that I’ll be here for you every step of the way. Whatever you need to do. The funeral—”

“Funeral?” The thought that I’ll have to bury my estranged husband is too much to bear. “You don’t really think I’ll have to bury him?”

“Forget I said that. We’ll figure things out in the morning.”

“Great. Just great. Charles has found yet another way to screw me.”

“He’s got no other family?”

“A brother somewhere.” My head starts to throb. “No one I cared to talk to. Do you think it’s my legal obligation to start making calls?”

Dominic leads me to the bed, where he forces me under the covers and tucks the sheets around me.

“Dom—”

He places a finger on my mouth to quiet me. “I know you have a million questions. A million concerns. But nothing’s gonna get solved tonight, all right? You take the time you need to let this sink in, or to cry, or whatever you need to do.”

“I need you,” I tell him. “Please, lie with me. Hold me.”

Dominic slips into the bed beside me and snakes an arm around my waist.

For a long while I don’t sleep. But when I do drift off, Dominic’s arm is still wrapped around me.

Lishelle

W
hen a person returns from a vacation, she expects to be refreshed. She expects to have a smile on her face for at least a couple weeks.

But when Claudia, Annelise and I returned from Las Vegas, life changed immediately for the worse. No longer were we happy women who’d gotten our grooves back. Because suddenly, with the news of Charles’s death, we were thrown into tragedy.

As you can imagine, Charles Crawford’s suicide was big news. With the city anticipating his trial for embezzling money from the Wishes Come True Foundation, the news hit Atlanta hard. Some felt Charles had received the justice he deserved, while others felt that he’d taken the easy route to escape what was sure to be jail time, and a lot of it.

As far as I’m concerned, what’s happened has happened and we all have to deal with it. I only care how this has affected Annelise. Sure, she’s put on a brave face, even when she gave me an exclusive interview on the news. But inside, I think she’s suffering more than she’s letting on.

The funeral was yesterday—a week and a half after our return from Vegas. Annelise helped Charles’s brother with the arrangements, and she sat at the front of the church during the service, and was front and center at the graveside. I think her religious and moral convictions kicked in, and she dealt with Charles’s passing the way a committed wife would.

While Annelise hasn’t admitted it, I’m sure that Charles’s death has hit her hard. My hope now is that with the funeral over, the healing will begin.

I’m at work now, and I reach for the phone on my desk. I dial Annelise’s number.

The phone rings three times, and I’m about to hang up. But then someone picks up. It takes a couple seconds before I hear, “Hello?”

“Annelise, hi. It’s Lishelle.”

“Oh, hey.” She sounds tired.

“Did I wake you up?”

“No. I was just lying down.”

It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. I wonder if she’s even gotten out of bed today. “How’re you feeling?”

“All right. I’ve got a bit of a headache, that’s all.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Come on, Annie. You know why. Your husband died, and you haven’t talked about how this has made you feel. I don’t know if you’re sad, happy, angry.”

“You sound like Dominic.”

“Normally you tell me and Claudia everything. Remember when you found Charles in bed with Marsha, and you thought you were going to have a nervous breakdown? You leaned on us for support, and we helped you get through that.”

“I’m not in love with Charles anymore. I’m not going to lose it.”

“You just spent the last week and half dealing with funeral arrangements like you were his doting wife.”

“He needed to be buried.”

“I know that. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t have done what you did. What I am saying is that you’ve kept all your feelings bottled inside. You need to know that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to call me in the middle of the night in tears. It’s okay to feel like you want to dig him up and kill him again. Whatever.”

“It’s over. I’m moving on.”

“And why are you in bed at four o’clock in the afternoon? I really don’t like that you’re home alone.”

“Claudia came over earlier. She brought me lunch.”

“Oh, okay. Well that’s good.”

“I’m not drowning my sorrows. I’m not on the verge of an emotional breakdown.”

“I’m only worried because I love you to death,” I explain.

“I know.”

I glance at my watch and sigh. It’s time for me to head over to hair and makeup. “Sweetie, we’ll talk later, okay? Maybe I’ll visit you tomorrow before work.”

“Like I’m a grieving widow.” She pauses. “My God, I
am
a widow.” Annelise says this as though she has just realized that fact. “The asshole died before we could get divorced.”

“Yes, but—”

“You know what really sucks? Now that he’s dead, I don’t know if I can revert to my maiden name.”

That’s not what I expected to hear Annelise say. “I’m sure you can,” I tell her.

“But what will people think of me? That I’m some callous bitch? My husband’s body is rotting in his grave, and I can’t let him rest in peace. I’ve got to hurt him one more way by dropping his name.”

“Who cares what people think? And let’s face it, Annie. It’s not gonna matter to Charles one bit.”

Annelise starts to cry. “My God, he’s dead. He’s
dead,
Lishelle. This past week and a half, it’s like I’ve been starring in some really bad off-Broadway play. Playing this part I never thought I’d have to play, doing things I never imagined doing. And I had to smile and be polite so I didn’t offend the audience. But you know what? I’m really angry. Charles took so much from me already. And now he had to go to the grave and rob me of my plan to divorce him while he was alive…”

“Maybe you should call Claudia. Ask her to come over.” Or better yet, I could give Claudia a quick call myself.

“Dominic and I haven’t made love since he told me the news. It’s like he’s afraid to touch me. And with all this, ‘Your husband’ from the funeral directors and media and strangers, I feel like some kind of harlot for living with another man.”

“You’re not a harlot.”

“And where was Marsha Hindenberg in all this? The supposed love of Charles’s life? The bitch broke up our marriage, and she didn’t even make a fucking appearance at the funeral.”

“Isn’t she in jail?”

“No, she’s out on bail while awaiting trial. It’s probably a good thing she stayed away, because I might have pummeled her.”

This is good, Annelise’s release of all these emotions. If only the timing for me didn’t suck.

There’s a knock at my door.

“Annie, sweetheart? I really do have to run. But we’ll talk later, okay.”

“Thanks for calling. I do feel better.”

I end the call and hurry to the door. The first thing I see when I open it is a bouquet of flowers, an explosion of lavender and purple. Then Bernie from the mail room peeks his head out from behind the bouquet.

“Oh my God.” I laugh giddily. And the thought that immediately pops into my mind is,
Roger
.

Since I’ve been home, I’ve thought of him often, wondered when I would hear from him and if we’d be able to pick things up from where we left off. Which is weird, since I’m not really into him.

Well, not totally.

Now that I’ve been able to look at the situation with some perspective, I know the guy’s not my type. He’s good for a one-night stand or a short-term affair. I figure what I truly want is to assuage my bruised ego.

“You have one helluva fan,” Bernie tells me as he walks into the room with the arrangement. “Where do you want this?”

“My desk is fine.” I scoot ahead of Bernie to clear off a corner of my desk. And the moment Bernie is gone, I rip the card open.

The message on the front of the card makes me laugh out loud:

I’ve got to hand it to Roger. He’s got a sense of humor. This is his way of saying that we can take what we started in Vegas and finish it in Atlanta.

I flip the card over.

My eyes narrow. What the hell?

I turn the card over again, and this time when I read the front the words have an entirely different meaning.

There’s no name on the card. I search the envelope and also find nothing about a name. Then I dig through the flowers for a sign of another piece of paper.

But I find nothing.

I know I’m supposed to be in makeup, but I get on the phone and call Bernie. There’s something I’ve only just realized, something that has struck me as odd.

“Hey, Bernie. It’s Lishelle.”

“Hey, babe. What’s up?”

“That bouquet you delivered for me. Do you know where it came from?”

“Naw. The card should say.”

“It should, but it doesn’t.”

“Was it unsigned?”

“Yeah.”

“Something you’re worried about?”

I hesitate. “No,” I lie. “Just wondering which of my friends is playing secret admirer.” I force a laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”

“All right. Call me if you need me.”

“Will do.”

When I hang up with Bernie, I stare at the bouquet of flowers. Filled with lavender roses, chrysanthemums and purple and white carnations, it’s the kind of floral arrangement that speaks of romance.

Who would send such a beautiful bouquet with such a sinister message?

Claudia

I
f anyone knows that life can change on a dime, I do. That one day you can happily be trotting down one path, only to have a gale-force wind knock you straight onto a path you didn’t even know was in the vicinity.

What you don’t know at the time is that the new path can be much more scenic, more beautiful, more peaceful. Even if it does have some twists and turns that continue to surprise you.

When Adam Hart, my fiancé of four years, broke up with me, I was catapulted onto a path I didn’t expect. That was jarring, but I got up and kept walking.

What happened today, however, has straight-up pulled the paved path out from under me and left me on a bed of sharp rocks.

I’m sitting on my living room sofa, staring at the arrangement of purple flowers that had just arrived and rests on the coffee table. Maybe I should throw the damn thing out. Dump it in the trash where it belongs.

But dumping it in the trash isn’t going to change the reality that it brought. It’s not going to erase the implied threat.

Part of me wants to dismiss the crazy note that accompanied the flowers. And I would—if it hadn’t arrived at my home.

Maybe Arlene learned I was in Las Vegas and figured I must have had a scandalous affair. After seeing her in the salon before my trip, she’s probably been itching to get back at me for standing up to her. She’s that kind of bitch.

And I wouldn’t put it past her to think I’d start sweating at the prospect of her telling Adam all about my “dirty deeds” in Sin City.

It’s plausible, yes, but is it likely? How the heck would Arlene know about my trip? And even if she does know, she’d have to have had someone tailing me to know I fucked a man I barely knew.

No, the more I consider Arlene’s possible guilt in this, the less it makes sense.

I call Lishelle’s cell phone and leave her a message. Lishelle’s good at giving level-headed advice, and if she thinks the bizarre note is someone’s idea of a bad joke, then I’ll dismiss it.

In the meantime I’m restless, so I decide to call Annelise. I saw her earlier today for lunch, and she appeared in good spirits. But I also suspect that the dam holding her emotions in check might bust at any moment.

Annelise answers on the first ring. “What’s up, Claudia?” she says, which tells me she saw the Caller ID before she picked up.

“Nothing much,” I answer. “Just checking in with you. Wondering how you’re doing.”

“Well, I had a good cry.”

“Because of—”

“Charles, yeah. I talked to Lishelle about an hour ago, and out of nowhere, I started to feel again. First, it was anger. Anger at Charles for killing himself and leaving me to deal with his mess. Anger at all the bullshit I’ve had to endure because of him. Anger because he made sure he’d never have to pay for his crimes. But then…Then the sadness came. Claudia, I just cried and cried, and I don’t even know why I was crying.”

“You’ve been through hell in the past few months. You’re entitled.”

“I know. And I feel better now. Especially since I got this gorgeous bouquet of flowers from Dom. He’s been so sweet and supportive.”

Annelise’s words make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Flowers?” I ask.

“Yeah.” I hear a smile in my friend’s voice. “They just arrived when you called. It’s a beautiful summer arrangement, with lavender roses, carnations—”

My heart starts to pound so loudly, I hear it in my brain. It drowns out the sound of Annelise’s voice.

“—trying to find the perfect place to put it,” she’s saying when I can hear again.

“Did you open the card?” I ask urgently.

“Not yet. Like I said, I got the bouquet, then you called.”

“Open the card.”

“What?”

“Open the card, Annelise. And it’s not because I want to find out how romantic Dominic is.”

“You’ve lost me,” she says.

“I just got a bouquet of flowers, too. About half an hour ago. A beautiful, purple floral arrangement.”

I hear the sound of an envelope ripping. “This is what mine says. ‘What happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas. Your dirty little secret—’”

“‘—is about to be exposed,’” I finish for her. “Damn it. I got the same one.”

“Claudia, what does it mean?”

“I have no clue. And there’s nothing on the card to indicate where it came from.”

“But the nicest guy delivered these to me,” Annelise says, as though that means something.

“You saw him?” I ask. And before she can answer, I continue. “Did you see the delivery vehicle, which company it was?”

“He had dark hair. I think. He had sunglasses on. He smiled a lot and seemed friendly.”

“And the vehicle?”

“A van, I think. White. Oh, God. I’m not sure.”

There’s silence for several seconds. “What are you thinking?” Annelise asks me.

“I’m remembering that story here in Atlanta from about ten years ago. The one where a woman opened her door to a flower delivery guy and he shot her. Hired by her husband to kill her.”

Annelise gasps. “That’s right. You don’t think…Charles couldn’t have set this up? He didn’t even know where I was.”

“I’m thinking that we don’t open the door to any more flower delivery guys,” I say.

“What could this be about? What dirty secret?”

“That’s the thing. What
could
it be. So what if we went to Vegas and messed around a bit. Who doesn’t in Sin City?”

“You think Lishelle got one?”

“Likely,” I answer. “And maybe your sister, too.”

“I’ll call her and ask, then let you know.”

I hang up feeling even more alarmed. My eyes land on the flowers.

“Who the heck is behind this?” I ask aloud.

But of course the flowers can’t answer.