Don't Ask My Neighbor Read online

  I walked through the hotel’s first floor lobby, through conversations held in whispers. The intimate, European atmosphere boasted a cornucopia of red, beige, and brown furniture. A baby grand piano sat in the far left corner, against a backdrop of New Bedford bricks, a few feet from the wood-burning fireplace. I carefully made my way to the entrance of Degrees Bar and Lounge in the right corner. In Degrees, red leather sectionals, bar stools, and chairs dominated the décor, adding to its warmth and cozy ambiance. The lights were turned to a dim, but still cast shadows against the walls and on the hardwood floors. I proceeded to seat myself at the last table on the right side.

  “Dinner for two?” he asked.

  My waiter was a medium-built dark man with a very thick African accent. His name, which he politely presented, was lost in his twang, and I didn’t bother to ask him to repeat it. I liked that he didn’t assume I would be dining alone. After my confirmation, he offered a menu and then placed the other in front of the seat next to me. He immediately busied himself, clearing the extra place settings from the table that had been originally decorated for four, leaving a seat for my guest, who still hadn’t arrived, and me. The flame from a single candle, set in a small red holder in the middle of the table, danced in the gentle, comfortable breeze, and wouldn’t have been noticed otherwise. The music, which dithered between light jazz and contemporary instrumentals, was less than overwhelming, mimicking the simplicity of the décor.

  The other guests, all fourteen of them, including the three that sat at the bar, spoke in a very quiet tone. Compared to other weeknights, this Wednesday night wasn’t particularly active. In between his visits to my table and the one other table he serviced, occupied by clean-cut businessmen in Nordstrom suits, my waiter kept the bartender’s company, engaging in small chatter until he was summoned back. The bartender kept his patrons entertained, too, exchanging sports talk with an older couple who sat directly in the middle of the bar, the older gray-haired man dominating the conversation about the Nationals baseball team. When he needed a break from that chatter, he substituted it with flirtatious smiles and a disguised wink at the woman who sat at the end of the bar to the left. The woman, when she wasn’t flirting with her drink, flirted with him, too.

  “Something to drink?”

  This time the waiter spoke more clearly, breaking the focus on temporary entertainment. He allowed me a moment to peruse the menu, a 16 x 8 sheet of paper with simple cuisines on one side, a long list of fizzing and vanguard wines on the other. I decided to indulge in a glass of Pinot Noir. He retreated to the kitchen area to the right of where I sat and, after a few moments, returned with a bottle and suitable wine glass. I didn’t go through the usual antics of tasting the sample he dispensed. After the night I had, I was ready to smooth over the antics with a few glasses. He was pouring sparingly, when I wanted him to fill the darn glass.

  Between sips, I made quick glances at my wristwatch, anticipating that Parker Chandler would be walking through the door at any moment. I also managed to engage in a light conversation with my waiter, just to past the time.

  His name was Sekayi, from Zimbabwe. He’d only been in the country a few years, which explained his heavy accent, and hadn’t been back since he came. He was a third-year law student at Georgetown Law. He smiled before he spoke, and his sentences were always complete. He never took his eyes off me. I loved the confidence he presented. A few minutes into our conversation, Parker came strutting in.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Parker offered.

  “No, you’re not,” I quickly rebutted.

  “Traffic.”

  That’s the best he could come up with, and he knew I didn’t believe him for one minute. D.C. had its moments when driving from one corner to the next could drive you insane, but tonight was different.

  “It’s Wednesday night in D.C.”

  “What’s your damn point?” he said, removing his jacket and finally taking his seat to my right.

  “Absolutely nothing,” I hastily admitted, just to end our disagreement.

  He ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio as soon as he sat. This is what Parker did best whenever he was upset; drink. He was known to put away a few. As slender as he was, he could put them away with little side effects. Tonight he was going a little lighter than usual, but the night was just getting started.

  “Thirsty?” I asked, pulling my glass closer to me, and smiled before slowly bringing it to my lips.

  “Over it,” he responded with a smile.

  “Another long day?”

  I could tell Parker was disturbed with whatever transpired in his meeting. It took a lot to get on his bad side, but it was obvious that mission was achieved with relative ease.

  “I swear. If I have to pretend to like this bitch one more day, I’m going to explode.”

  When the waiter returned with his drink, Parker took a long sip from his glass, returning it to the table half-empty.

  “What was supposed to have been an hour meeting to discuss the Turner case, turned out to be twenty-five minutes discussing strategies, and two hours pretending to be interested in her tell-all about her rendezvous with J.B. Graybourne. I mean, what makes her think I wanted to hear about that shit, especially when I can’t have him. And as far as I’m concerned, I would look better on his arms than that damn pushover.”

  “She got under your skin?”

  “That’s putting it lightly. Kennalyn, I swear. I don’t like calling women out of their names, but that bitch makes my skin crawl. Everything she does is done with total disregard to everyone and their feelings. I mean, you should see the way she treats her assistant, Felicia. She is so damn callous, and poor thing just sits there with no retort.”

  “I don’t think you should worry about this Felicia person.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He looked at me from the side of his eyes like a skeptic, but he had no reason to doubt. As far as he knew, everything I knew about Felicia, I got from him.

  “You said it yourself. Eventually, people learn to respond to Samantha’s heartless treatment. Who knows, maybe she’s taking notes and plotting her sweetest revenge.”

  “Hell, someone needs to, ‘cause God knows you’re taking way too long for me. We need to get this bitch, and get her good.”

  “Remember, revenge is a dish best served cold.”

  “There you go with another one of your damn proverbs again.”

  I chuckled. He already thought I was an old woman trapped in a young woman’s body, and that proverb only helped his case. Well, he can blame Grandma Oliphant for that.

  “Don’t act like you’re not writing them down,” I smiled. “But, seriously, we can’t rush this. Eventually, she will hang herself; we just need to make sure we give her a long enough rope.”

  “How much more Goddamn rope do you want to give her?”

  “Look, she already thinks she’s gotten away with what she did to you and this Ryle Lucas guy. She’s in his office, in his chair, looking out his window, acting like she’s got big balls dangling between her legs. She’s giving this Felicia woman everything she can handle, and she thinks she’s got Graybourne hooked on her sweet juices. I think we got her right where we want her.”

  “So, I guess we’re not going to throw her stealing your husband and breaking up your happy home in the mix?”

  Parker sat back in his chair and stared at me. That was his sly way of reminding me that the people I mentioned weren’t her only victims.

  “Trust me, I’m reminded everyday what she took from me.”

  After my admission, Parker and I sat in silence. We stared at the sometimes-invisible scars Samantha had left us with. He hated the fact that he allowed Samantha to use him the way she did. He was willing to help her get her payback as long as his involvement could be kept a secret until she was escorted out the same doors that gave her a lukewarm welcome.

  I earned Parker’s trust a couple years ago. I’d proven myself with what he deemed classified informatio
n, though his disclosure wasn’t planned. Two Long Islands left Parker loose, and he found himself dangling the text message he sent to his ex, Nigel—a picture text of Nigel’s then boyfriend on Parker’s bed in a compromising position. The boyfriend, who till this day has remained Parker’s little secret, was never on his to-do list, but this was the only way to prove to his ex that the boyfriend he gave his everything, was out there giving his everything to everyone else. He wasn’t acting out of jealousy—at least that’s the argument he’d maintained. As much as Parker hated that love no longer existed between him and Nigel, he wasn’t going to sit back and let anyone break a heart he had always protected, even when protecting his wasn’t high on Nigel’s list of priorities, if it were on there at all.

  Before that night, Parker had come close to telling Nigel about infidelities that existed in his relationship, but with no concrete proof, he would only be seen as the jealous man that wanted his ex back. Obviously, he got proof and then some. Parker was a private person. He upheld a squeaky-clean reputation until Samantha Wells came waltzing in. The man sitting in front of me wasn’t the same person who donned his business suits and attaché case, walking into one of the biggest law firms in the D.C. area.

  “How’s Nigel?”

  A look of dissatisfaction tiptoed onto Parker’s face.

  He picked up the menu that lay to his right since he occupied his seat. He took a quick glance and placed it back in the space it claimed.

  “If we are going to talk about him, I’m going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than Pinot Grigio.”

  Parker raised his hand to summon our waiter back to the table.

  “Is the lady and the gentleman ready to order?” Sekayi asked.

  He looked over at Parker and then diverted his attention to me.

  Parker ordered a State of the Sazerac—bulleit rye whiskey, absinthe, angostura bitters, and simple syrup. The waiter smiled and then concurred the excellence of his choice. Parker continued his order, adding Pan Roasted Rockfish and baby green and red romaine. The waiter accepted the menu from Parker and then turned again in my direction. I added the New York strip with baby arugula salad and mixed heirloom tomatoes. I waited for him to pull out his pencil and pad from his pockets, but he had committed our order to memory. I handed the waiter my menu, and smiled to confirm I was impressed. Silence befell as soon as he left.

  I sat and waited for Parker to entertain my inquiry, but I guess he needed his drink, at least, to help him find his words. I sat and waited with him, until impatience got the best of me.

  “Well, how is he?” I asked, reminding him of the topic I had introduced minutes earlier, since he was feigning as if he had forgotten.

  “You know if I could breathe for that man, I would.”

  “Right. But the question is, would he breathe for you?”

  I was almost afraid to ask Parker that question. When it came to Parker and Nigel, I learned to keep my opinions to myself. I had met Nigel only from the descriptions Parker provided, and everything I knew about their relationship, came from Parker’s vantage point. I’ve never heard him use the word “love” unless he was talking about Nigel. It’s been about three years since their split, and a little over two years since he became privy to the fact that Nigel had decided to move on.

  “Him breathing for me was never part of my worries,” Parker responded, and we were silent again.

  Sekayi cut through the silence, first filling our glasses with our original drink choice, and then helping a waitress ornament our table with the Rockfish and steak that had us salivating at the mere thought of the juices wrapping around our tongues. Parker immediately shoved his fork into his fish and placed a small piece in his mouth. I hated when he ate as if he was watching his damn figure. He could chew on bread and pasta for a year, and it still wouldn’t do anything to him. I envied him for that.

  “Let’s say he’s still searching for forgiveness. Maybe he’s still searching for his pride, too.”

  “He’s having a hard time forgiving you?”

  “But I don’t need his forgiveness. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m satisfied knowing I saved him from…”

  “You’re not his savior, Parker,” I interrupted, focusing on the knife slicing through my steak, avoiding any eye contact with him.

  Parker dropped his knife and fork on the side of his platter. His thump attracted the attention of the bar patrons in our direction. He sat back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest, and sighed. He breathed, as if what was about to roll from his tongue was very difficult.

  “My relationship with Nigel is not up for discussion. Now, I was almost certain you called me here to discuss Samantha, and Samantha only. Let’s stick to that, shall we?”

  The waiter kept his distance while Parker and I ate and talked, although since our food arrived, our conversation had been dominated by silence. I wasn’t going to strong-arm him into discussing something that still left him feeling uneasy. I knew Parker well. This time tomorrow night he’ll be on the phone divulging everything he’s pretending to hold in now. Parker was right about one thing. I had invited him to dinner to discuss Samantha Wells, and the fact that she had been able to get away with murder, with absolutely no scars to show for the disruptions caused in the lives of so many. She’d killed my marriage to the father of my children and the only man I loved. She slaughtered the career of Mr. Ryle Lucas, and now she had her sights on J.B. Graybourne.

  “You’re absolutely right,” I said, reaching my hand into the outside pocket of my Rose Purple handbag. I removed the news article, unfolded it, and placed it directly in front of Parker.

  “What’s this? Samantha Wells, Esq. to be named Trial Lawyer of the Year,” he read, allowing his voice to wither into a whisper as he read her impending accolade. “We can’t let this happen.”

  “My sentiment exactly,” I said, drooling at the thoughts churning in my head. “This is where we do it. She’s being honored by the firm…”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Just trust me.”

  “Trust you?”

  I tilted my head forward and looked at Parker through squinted eyes. I couldn’t tell him everything…not yet.

  “Yes, Parks. Trust me.”

  Degrees was empty by 9:45, leaving Parker and me to finish up our dinner and conversation. I’d caught him up on Cody and Alexis’ week at school, including Cody’s upcoming soccer games. He’d promised to make it to one or two games, if he could get away from the shrew that is Samantha Wells.

  A few minutes later, Sekayi handed the small black binder with the bill in front of Parker. He looked at the bill and laughed.

  “What so funny?”

  “It says to complete for room charges. What room are we staying in?”

  “We aren’t staying in a damn room, you simple bitch,” I said, laughing.

  “Fuck you. Make one up.”

  He winked and smiled. I guess he was reminiscing his college days.

  Parker removed a leather money clip wallet from the inside of his jacket and placed his firm’s credit card on the table.

  “Consider Samantha Wells business.”

  After the bill was paid and the waiter was tipped generously, Parker and I held hands and walked out of the restaurant and into the hotel lobby like a couple. The lobby was deserted, with the exception of the two desk attendants who smiled as they bid us a good night. They weren’t the same two that occupied those positions when I walked in over two hours earlier.

  Outside, the temperature had fallen a few degrees. The wind felt cold and razor sharp against my face. Parker didn’t complain, although I could tell by his tight grasp it was a little too cold for his comfort.

  “How far did you park?” he asked, holding his jacket closed with his right hand.

  “Four cars from the corner.”

  Once we turned the corner, I pressed the remote, opening the door and starting the engine to my black sapphire X6. After kissing Parker on hi
s cheek, I sat in my car and waited for him to give his version of a goodbye.

  “Sorry I snapped at you,” he said before closing the car door.

  He knew I was a sucker for an apology, but honestly, this one was not needed. I wound down the car window and stared at him as he walked away.

  “Your snaps are like paper cuts. I never notice them because they never hurt.”

  I drove back down K Street, ruminating on a plan of action that I still needed to put the finishing touches on. At the stoplight, I dialed the number to Gage’s mother, Leandra, to say goodnight to the kids, since they would be staying the night with her. Leandra and I haven’t had the best relationship since the divorce, but for the children’s sake, I remained cordial whenever they were around. I kept my distance otherwise. I was going to miss my nightly mommy duties and the morning routine of watching Cody’s sluggish walk to his bathroom down the hall, usually with his eyes still closed, and helping Alexis get dressed as she recites “I’m still sleepy, Mommy”, as if I were going to relent. Still, I was looking forward to a quiet night and a less busy morning.

  Nine

  _______

  Second Time Around

  Ryle

  THE MORE I THOUGHT ABOUT HOW I treated Samantha and what I got in return, the more intense the desire for retaliation. No one warned me about the second coming; Samantha’s second coming, as if I had forgotten how she nearly destroyed me before. Samantha was painstakingly beautiful, even from a distance, but her ways made her ugly. She looked just as I remembered her. Three years had passed since I last saw Samantha, and just like she had disappeared without warning, she reappeared just the same, only this time she came with a hidden agenda. Unfortunately, at the top of the agenda was my demise. Why had I let Samantha in my life again?

  Everything I did was to help Samantha. Everything she did was to hurt me, even the second time around. Just like the time before, I’d done nothing to deserve her conspiracy, but when had she ever cared about that. Even though she came wearing the same face, she somehow managed to convince me her worst days had been left behind her. My biggest ally, Jelani Brennon Graybourne, sat composed and watched me fall. Samantha stood poised to steal my success, and that is exactly what she did. Without his knowledge, J.B. became Samantha’s accomplice. What have you done to make your lies so believable? I thought. My question was rhetorical. I had a pretty good idea how she outwitted J.B. She probably presented him the same damsel-in-distress persona and he fell for it. I became disappointed all over again. J.B. treated me as if nothing but lies spewed from my mouth in my attempt to exonerate myself.