The Perfect Mistress (37 page)

“I'm not a bad person,” Vivian said, gun still pointed, like she was talking to herself. “All I wanted was to please my husband, be a good mother. But women like you keep it from happening. Women like you give husbands the false idea that the grass is greener when you digging with hoes.”

Lauren debated whether she should lie and claim ignorance, but this was a calculated plan. Obviously, Vivian had planned everything down to the last detail. Lying would only make things worse.

“Please? Just let me go. I'm about to get married.” Lauren's voice cracked.

“Do you think I sympathize with you?” Vivian said, cocking the gun. She looked like a madwoman. Strands of hair had been released from her perfectly coiled bun, as if she'd been pulling them loose one by one. Black streaks ran down her face from the mascara, and it looked like she'd purposely taken scissors and cut the sleeves off her dress. “I know you don't think I'm about to let you have some happily ever after.”

Lauren measured the distance to the door. She could run, but Vivian would get a few good direct shots to her back.

“Vivian, you can still see your child. You won't be able to see him in jail,” Lauren said, deciding to reason with her rather than run.

Her voice shook. “His daddy has already poisoned him against me, trying to make him think I'm crazy, and now my own son doesn't want to be bothered with me. I. Have. Nothing.”

Lauren knew there was no reasoning with Vivian. Maybe a harsh dose of reality would help her. “Your husband was leaving long before I came into the picture,” Lauren said.

“That's bull!” she screamed, jabbing the gun in Lauren's direction again. “All marriages have their problems. What women like you do is you magnify them. You flash freaky sex, you're nice to them . . . because you only have to see them for the couple of hours that you're screwing them. You don't have to see them and watch them leave their drawers in the middle of the floor.
You don't have to take care of a child, the house, then try to friggin' make them feel like a king when you're utterly exhausted. You just whip in, all made up, screw our husbands, whisper sweet nothings, then go on back to your life.” She began pacing as she rambled. “I contemplated how I could make you pay. I even thought about seducing Matthew. But here's the tripped-out part: you got a good guy. And every time I watched you with Matthew or listened to one of your ridiculous stories, I seethed inside because you don't deserve a good guy. You deserve to suffer like all the women you've made suffer.”

Lauren decided she would have to take her chances and make a dash for the door. She was just about to do it when the door swung open.

“Lauren, baby. I left my clutch . . .”

Joyce's words trailed off when she noticed the gun pointed at her daughter. “What is going on?”

“Go away,” Vivian spat.

Instead, Joyce slowly walked into the room, and stopped right in front of Lauren. “My God, what are you doing?”

Vivian jabbed the gun with one hand, while wiping her face with the other. The move only smeared her mascara more. “Look, old lady. This ain't your business. Go away.”

Joyce ignored her, pushing her weight on the cane to help her stand erect. “Lauren is my business.”

“Mama, she's right,” Lauren said, trying to edge in front of her mother. “Vivian and I are just talking. Just go.”

But instead of moving, Joyce took a step closer to Vivian. “This doesn't look like talking to me. Put that gun down.”

“Do you think I'm playing?” Vivian yelled. “I'm not afraid to use this!”

Joyce wagged her finger. “My daughter is getting married today. You get out of here with this foolishness before we call the police.”

That caused Vivian to get even more agitated. “I'm not playing! I will shoot both of you.”

“Mama, move,” Lauren said, trying to push around her mother.

The strength with which Joyce held her back was surprising, especially considering how frail she'd been this last week.

Joyce narrowed her eyes at Vivian. “Young lady, put that gun down now.”

“I'm not afraid to use this!” Vivian said.

Lauren knew she had to defuse the situation because Vivian seemed to be slowly losing it. But before she could act, Joyce raised her cane like she was about to strike Vivian.

“I told you—”

“Mama, no!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, there was a loud pop. Then unearthly silence.

Joyce's back hunched and she fell to the ground.

“I-I wasn't trying to shoot her!” Vivian said, immediately dropping the gun in terror. “Oh my God. Oh my God!”

“What have you done?” Lauren dropped to her mother's side. “Mama!” She lifted her mother's head and placed her hand over the bloody spot in her stomach. Was she really about to watch her mother die in the same manner that her father had? “Nooooo! Mama, hang on. Please hang on.” As Lauren eased under her mother, trying to provide a cushion, the blood seeped onto her white-beaded gown.

Vivian was sobbing, muttering something about not
“meaning to shoot her.” But her words were becoming jumbled. All Lauren could hear was the life coming out of her mother's body.

“Get some help!” Lauren screamed. “Somebody help us!”

The door swung open again and the wedding planner stood looking in shock. “Oh my God. What happened?”

“Get help! Call 9-1-1!” Lauren screamed.

The wedding planner took off.

“I'm s-sorry I was such a bad mother,” Joyce whispered.

“No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I did,” Lauren cried.

“F-Forgive me.”

“Shhh, Mama. Just hold on.”

“F-Forgive me,” she repeated.

“I forgive you! Now just be quiet. Help is coming.” She rocked back and forth as tears streamed down her face.

A small smile spread across Joyce's face. “Thank you. Tell Julian I love him, too . . . I'm coming, Vernon.”

As Joyce's eyes slowly closed, a smile crossed her face, and Lauren let out a piercing scream.

T
here is nothing like karma. She'd rained down on Lauren with the wrath of a scorned goddess, leaving her life in shambles.

After they put Joyce in the ground, Dr. Stephens delivered the disastrous news that despite the fact that Teresa Brooks had dropped her lawsuit—rumor had it her husband paid her off—the board was offering the presidency to someone else. The devastation on Matthew's face was heartbreaking.

“Everything happens for a reason,” Aunt Velma told Lauren after Matthew broke the news. She didn't understand why a man as deserving as Matthew should miss out on his dream.

Vivian had been arrested for shooting Lauren's mother. But she was in a mental facility, so there was no telling whether she'd get better. Of course, after the shooting, Lauren and Matthew didn't move forward with the wedding. And now, two weeks later, Lauren doubted that they ever would. Marriage was obviously not in the cards for her, she figured.

“Good to see a smile on your face,” Lauren said as Matthew walked into the den.

“I have reason to smile. Florida Union heard that Carolina State passed on me, and they want to make me an offer.” He
sat next to Lauren on the sofa. “So, if you're willing, I'd like to still get married and move to Florida.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “You want to still marry me?”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

He didn't have to tell her twice. Nothing would make her happier, either.

“Yes, I'll marry you!” Lauren planted kisses all over his face. She didn't know why she'd been given another chance. But she was grateful just the same. She was going to take the good from her parents' marriage and toss away all the bad. Her happily ever after was here and she didn't plan to ever mess that up.

W
hen I first came up with the title for this story,
The Perfect Mistress
was the perfect fit. But I almost changed it. After all, as a married woman of twenty years, I didn't want anyone thinking I thought there was even such a thing as a “perfect mistress.” But the title fit this story perfectly. As I normally do, I wanted to tell a story that went beneath the surface . . . and in this case, show how the things we do as parents—good and bad—lay the foundation that shapes our children. THAT'S the bigger story here. At no time when Vernon was gallivanting around town, daughter in tow, did he stop to think of the seeds he was sowing into his own child. And the branches that would flow from that deception.

That's why I write. Yes, I want to entertain you with a good story, but I also want to make my readers think about their own choices and reflect on the consequences that are often extensions of the decisions we make.

Of course, I would not be able to do any of the things that I do without the support of a network of people who support, encourage, and uplift me both personally and professionally. God has truly blessed me with an awesome team.

The coach, the top dog, the man who pushes me, my husband, Dr. Miron Billingsley. You've been on this journey since
I began. Thank you for holding it down, pushing me, loving me, even when I rolled my eyes at your constant “shouldn't you be writing instead of watching
Scandal
” admonishment. My three beautiful children, Mya, Morgan, and Myles. Thank you for your patience and understanding. And for keeping me grounded by sending me texts, telling me things like, “When you get off the red carpet, can you come take me to Target for a posterboard?”

To my sister, Tanisha Tate. You've been there since before Day One . . . since we were kids and I was making up stories on you for entertainment. If God told me to design the perfect sister, I would design you. Thank you for everything, especially carrying the load of caring for Mama. I am eternally grateful.

To Victoria Christopher Murray, my business partner, my writing partner, and my very dear friend. This book wouldn't be what it was if it wasn't for you. Thank you for putting your own projects on hold to help me work through the dynamics of this book. Amazing doesn't even begin to describe you. (Have you ever thought about mentoring people?)

To one of the dearest friends a person could ever ask for, Pat Tucker. Distance doesn't diminish how eternally grateful I am for your friendship. It has been an honor taking this literary journey with you.

There are so many others in this industry who have been a tremendous support . . . I'm almost hesitant to name names. But special thanks to my other business partner, Jacquelin Thomas, and also Nina Foxx, Eric Jerome Dickey, Kimberla Lawson Roby, and Lolita Files. To Tiffany Warren, Rhonda McKnight, and Renee Flagler . . . thanks for the convos that keep me from jumping off a cliff some days.

To my Brown Girls Books family: Jason, Princess, Pam, Norma, Kimyatta, Brianna, Lasheera, Michelle, Angela, Damita, Richelle, Gina . . . thank you so much for all that you do. To our amazing author partners . . . I'm so honored to be affiliated with you! We're truly changing the game!