The Next Best Thing
By Deidre Berry
DAFINA BOOKS
Copyright © 2009
Deidre Berry
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-3832-0
Chapter One
What happened? Well, before I get to that, let me digress for a
moment to say that besides the category-four wind/rainstorm
that raged outside the church that day, everything on the inside
really was beautiful and fairytale-like. Exactly one hour and
thirty-three minutes after the ceremony was to begin, now,
that is when things got ugly.
Upstairs in the bridal room overlooking the sanctuary, my
bridesmaids and I were all dolled up and ready to go. Counting
various relatives, there were almost a dozen people in the
room, all of them with big mouths and big personalities to
match, but it was so uncharacteristically quiet, that the silence
shook me to my core.
No one knew what to say or do, given the circumstances.
"Call him again," I told Nadia, taking deep breaths in an
effort to keep from hyperventilating.
"Okay, I'll give it another shot ..." Nadia sighed, simultaneously
exchanging a worried look with Simone.
Nadia had been trying to reach Roland for me for hours,
which was inexcusable. The man has two cell phones, and our
calls kept going straight to voice mail on both of them.
Since there was nothing else to do but wait, I watched
through the one-way glass overlooking the sanctuary, hoping
that Roland would come dashing into the church at any minute,
apologizing profusely, and anxious to get the show on the road.
Instead, what I saw happening down below were three hundred
guests who were all starting to fidget, check their watches,
and whisper among themselves.
Daddy paced back and forth in the vestibule with a pissed-off
scowl on his face.
Roland's friends, and the rest of his family, were all in attendance,
some of them looking just as confused as I felt.
Sophie, my boss, was there, as were a great number of my
co-workers and business associates.
Seated on the front pew, my brother Junior kept repeatedly
cracking his knuckles, looking as if he were seriously contemplating
Roland's homicide. Seated right next to Junior, Aunt
Rita was trying her best to comfort my mother while she cried
and carried on as if she were at a funeral, instead of what was
supposed to be a wedding.
Roland's mother, on the other hand, was obviously thrilled
that things were turning out as they were. Mrs. Davis was smiling
from ear to ear, looking like she was enjoying herself so
much that the only thing missing was the popcorn.
Old, nappy-wig-wearing hussy.
Always up in the middle of our business, giving her opinion
whether anyone asked for it or not. I knew going in that Roland
was a mama's boy to the tenth power, but I didn't appreciate the
fact that this woman knew intimate details about me that no
man's mother should ever know. Like how often we had sex
versus how many more times a week Roland would prefer to
have sex.
You know, stuff he should be discussing with me instead of
his mama.
At that point, I was starting to get a clear vision of what the
society section in the
Kansas City Tribune would say the following
week:
You really should have been there. It was all so
beautiful and fairytale-like ... Well, up until the runaway
groom texted the anxious bride to say, "Oh,
by the way, I won't be showing up for that little
shindig you had planned for today. See ya when I
see ya, peace!"
Those weren't Roland's exact words, but it was pretty much
the gist of it. Actually, his text message read:
I love you, but I am in love with Veronica. The
two of us have been involved off-and-on since long
before you even entered the picture. You should
also know that Imani is my daughter. Sorry to let
you know this way. I'll come over to pack my things
once we get back from Aruba. Good luck with
everything ... And Tori, I really am sorry.
Yeah, you're a sorry sonofabitch, all right.
You see, the Veronica that Roland referred to in his text, is
his so-called "platonic friend."
The one who was supposedly like a sister to him.
The very same Jiminy Cricket-looking heifer that has had
her bony behind up in my home on many occasions. Always
smiling in my face, eating my food, and taking full advantage
of my kindness and hospitality.
Women who are secure within themselves and their relationship
are not intimidated by their man having female friends.
That is the line of bullshit Roland spoon-fed me every time
I voiced a concern about the undeniably strong bond he shared
with Veronica.
Of course, I was skeptical at first. What woman wouldn't be?
But over time, I bought into it. I drank the Kool-Aid. I eventually
stopped asking questions and let the issue slide, because I
wanted to impress my man by doing the evolved-grownup thing.
What a damned fool. Especially when I think of the numerous
double dates and vacations all of us went on together over
the years. And on top of all of that, Imani is Roland's daughter?
Wow. How far in the sand did I have my head buried, not
to have realized on my own, that that cute little chocolate-drop
had Roland's DNA stamped all over her? Same dark eyes,
same complexion, and the same lopsided, mischievous smile.
Oh God ...
My cell phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the
floor, as the room suddenly started spinning out of control. I
got so nauseous, I just knew I was going to hurl right down
the front of my wedding gown.
It didn't help that Yvette had practically taken a bath in
Sand & Sable perfume, and with her hovering over me the way
she was, the sickeningly sweet smell hit me right in the stomach.
That's when my body went numb; like all the blood was
draining right out of me.
I have never fainted before in my life, but I'm here to tell
you, there's a first time for everything. When I came to, my
head was in Mama's lap, and she was patting my face with a
cold, damp handkerchief.
"You okay, baby?" my mother asked softly, concern etched
into her usually wrinkle-free face.
My mouth was so dry all I could do was nod dumbly like
some kind of shell-shocked mute. Still a little groggy, I managed
to stand up, make it over to that little one-way window,
and I swear, I almost passed out again when I saw all the destruction
down in the sanctuary.
Apparently, there had been the equivalent of a full-blown
riot while I was unconscious, because the canopy of red roses and
sweet-pea blossoms had been knocked over, and was in complete
ruins. Ripped clothing, wigs, torn gardenias, earrings, weave
tracks, and even broken musical instruments were scattered all
over the place. I was to find out later what that was all about,
but in the meantime, Aunt Vera offered me a sip of Crown Royal
from her flask, and said, "It's alright, sugar. Better to happen now,
than to have to drag his monkey-ass into divorce court later on."
Chapter Two
By the time I left the church, the storm had passed, and the sun
had the nerve to be shining as if a high-voltage storm had
never even occurred that day.
The parking lot outside of Mount Zion looked like a ghost
town. The only person left was the limo driver, who looked
genuinely sympathetic, and nodded solemnly when I told him
to take me back to my condo, alone.
"Being alone is the last thing you need right now," Simone,
Nadia, Yvette, and my parents insisted all at once.
"Just give me a couple of hours to think, okay?" I said.
"After that, I'll be fine, and you guys can come over and whatever-But
for right now, I need solitude."
I climbed into the back of the Maybach, which was decorated
with gold streamers and had
Just Married written across the
back window. Everyone stepped back and watched the limo
take me in the opposite direction of where we all should have
been going, which was to the Roseville Country Club Mansion.
"I should have known ... I should have known ... I
should have fucking known!" I screamed aloud in frustration,
not giving a damn that the limo driver was staring at me via
the rearview mirror.
The truth is, I did know. Not all the sordid details of who,
what, when, and where, but I knew for sure that something,
somewhere, was not one-hundred-percent right. I knew, because
my woman's intuition pointed out months ago that the
closer the wedding date drew near, the more distant Roland
became. At the time, I confided in Simone, who suggested that
Roland and I attend couples counseling with her life coach,
Fatima.
I decided against it. Instead, I chalked Roland's behavior up
to pre-wedding jitters, and reminded myself that the wedding
express had left the station a long time ago. Honest, open discussions
at that point might have led down a road I didn't want
to travel.
No. We were fine. Everything was already in place. Dozens
of guests were flying in from all over the country, and vast
sums of money had already been spent.
Of course, now I realize that it would have saved me a
whole lot of time, money, and embarrassment if I had had the
courage to dig deeper, ask questions, and call the damn wedding
off if I didn't like the answers I was getting.
In retrospect, there were dozens of red flags begging me to
notice them, but there were four in particular I really should
have paid attention to.
Red Flag #1
Roland took no interest whatsoever in planning the wedding.
Whenever I would ask his opinion on anything, his response was
always the same:
You're used to making those types of decisions, so
you make the call. Or,
I don't care, baby. Whatever you want. It's your
day. Just tell me when and where.
Red Flag #2
It seemed like Roland was always on-call for Veronica. He would
drop everything to rush over and comfort her whenever she
was going through some personal crisis. That happened a lot.
Red Flag #3
Marriage is a lifetime commitment, are you sure you're ready? Is this
what you really want? That was Veronica. Every time I turned
around she was all up in my face trying to talk me out of marrying
Roland. Plus, I had asked her to be one of my bridesmaids
but she declined, giving me flimsy excuses about her
finances, and work schedule, and a bunch of other bullshit.
Red Flag #4
The prenup.
Under the impression that Roland and I were meeting
with his attorney in order to create wills and living trusts, I was
instead presented by Mr. Mahoney with a meticulously detailed
prenuptial agreement that was eighteen pages long. At
least.
I was completely baffled. Here we were, less than a month
before the big day, and instead of focusing on our wedding
Roland was more interested in planning our divorce.
This is not being done to hurt you, Ms. Carter, Mahoney had said,
reading my expression and sensing my hesitation.
Mr. Davis
only wants to protect his assets.
My blood was boiling, and the devil kept urging me to step
out of my snakeskin Sergio Rossi pumps and kick Roland's
assets
all over the offices of Jackson, Mahoney, and Brown.
But I remained calm, reminding myself once again that too
much had been invested and it was too late to back out now. I
swallowed my pride, signed by all the Xs, then headed off for
an appointment with the florist.
Knowing what I know now, it clearly was all a ploy. Roland
was relying on me being so upset about the prenup that I would
call everything off, giving him the out that he wanted. When
that didn't happen, he took the coward's way out, and just
failed to show up. Either way, he never intended to marry me.
Back at home, the first thing I did was remove my veil and
tiara. I took off my wedding dress, placed it back into its garment
bag, and hung it in the back of my bedroom closet.
Jackie, my stylist, had put in a lot of time and effort to make
sure my wedding hair was beautiful, and that it would last all
day, but I went into the bathroom and snatched out every one
of those damn bobby pins that had been digging mercilessly
into my scalp. I brushed my hair into a neat chignon and changed
into a comfortable pair of yellow Baby Phat sweats.
I was removing the pearls from around my neck, when I
caught a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror.
Inwardly I was devastated, but on the outside, it was still the
same old Tori. Same dark brown skin as my daddy, same light
brown, almond shaped eyes as my mama. Still a size twelve with
shoulder-length sandy-brown hair.
However, the smile. Now
that was different. Some might
even call it peculiar, considering the circumstances.
What the mirror reflected back to me was a huge, showing-all-thirty-two-teeth
smile that I didn't even realize I was wearing.
Try as I might, I could not wipe that thing off to save my life.
Probably because I knew subconsciously that the smile was
the coat of armor I needed in order to keep everyone from
knowing what I was really feeling.
Company was on its way-lots of it. So even though it felt
like my heart had been ripped out and stomped on with cleats,
the smile stayed put.
It had to.
I dialed Roland's cell-phone number, and when the call
went straight to voice mail yet again, I went ahead and left a
message using my most cheerful, upbeat voice.
"Roland, this is Tori. I sincerely hope you and that cockeyed
heifer die in a plane crash and roast in hell, which is where
you both belong. There is no need for you to ever come back
to the condo, because UPS will be delivering all of your shit to
your mother's house, just as soon as I can get them over here to
pick it up. Good-bye."
I hung up the phone, rolled my sleeves up and went out
into the living room, where I opened up the towering cherry-oak
entertainment cabinet filled with all the state-of-the-art
electronics that Roland just had to have.
His ass may be getting up out of here, but this bad-boy is
definitely staying. Hell, it's the least that I deserve.
I loaded up the fifty-disc CD player with all of the usual
suspects, including Aretha, Chaka, India, Anita, Luther, Sade,
Maxwell, Mary J., Floetry, and Jill.
Leela James came on first, singing "My Joy," and my smile
automatically got even wider because that song suited the situation
so perfectly.
"Sing, girl!" I shouted at Leela, feeling a sense of empowerment.
Never again will I blindly put all of my faith and trust in
another individual. I believed in everything that man said, and
everything he stood for. So much so, that I often found myself
deferring to him on even the smallest of decisions. What to
eat, what to wear, and how I should feel about myself on any
given day. That part is not Roland's fault. I take full responsibility
for my stupidity in that area, but from here on out, no man
will ever have that much power and input.
Not only that, but there is no man on earth who will ever
be able to convince me that his friendship with another female
is strictly platonic. Nope. Never again will a man have that much
control over "My Joy."
I called Colin, my caterer, and instructed him to shuttle all
the food from the reception site, over to my home.
There might not have been a marriage to celebrate, but damn
it, nothing could stop me from having a good, old-fashioned
packing party! I called my mother and told her to put the word
out for everyone to come on over, then I started in the bedroom.
It was surprisingly cathartic to rake my arm across the dresser,
sending all of Roland's cologne, jewelry, and other miscellaneous
bullshit crashing into a cardboard box. What I did not expect
to find among the miscellaneous items was the bridal ring set
that Roland had bought me. It was still encased in its little black
velvet box. And seeing that he had left them here, spoke volumes.
It was all so crystal clear now. The only part I had no answer
for was why Roland even asked me to marry him in the
first place. After all, he had been doing a good job of having his
cake and eating it too for all these years.
I placed the ring box with the rest of my jewelry, and then
got down to the business of exorcising Roland's personal belongings
out of my condo. Socks, drawers, designer suits, sketches,
blueprints, awards, college diplomas-everything had to go.
It was a monumental task, but three hours after leaving the
church my place was crammed with family, who had come to
help me with the packing; and none of us was being careful with
the items that were just as fragile as they were valuable.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Next Best Thing
by Deidre Berry
Copyright © 2009 by Deidre Berry.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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