CHAPTER ONE
Everything Costs Something
Tracey’s cell phone rang continuously on the nightstand until Tracey slapped at it, hoping to stop the annoying chimes. As soon as her eyes closed, the phone started up again. She stretched and yawned before raising it against her ear. “Damn Meek, what time is it?”
“Well, good morning to you too,” Temeka smarted off with sarcasm. “It’s seven thirty-nine. I know it’s early on a Saturday, but I have great news that couldn’t wait.”
Tracey peeped over her shoulder at Paul, lying beside her and soundly sleeping. “It had better be great ‘cause you know good and damn well not to call me before nine o’clock. Okay, Girl. Make it quick,” she answered in a hushed tone. “Mr. Possible is still out cold. ‘Had him up half the night doing what it do.”
“Oooh, y’all nasty. When we meet for brunch today, I want all the details,” Temeka answered.
“Brunch? No, ma’am, I’m staying in bed with this fine ass man of mine and feeding him more of what he ate last night.” “Maybe this will change your mind, and please try to control yourself so you don’t wake Mr. Possible.”
Tracey Flemming was sitting on top of the world. The relationship podcast, which started on a wing and a prayer after sharing her idea with her closest friends and them convincing her to launch it, had blossomed into a national phenomenon. She started recording on her phone at home and had no clue what she was doing. But through some savvy social media advertising, the podcast caught steam and she was now sharing space at a local radio station to host her weekly show. Tracey found herself with a dream career that she cherished and a very handsome man awaiting her answer on a marriage proposal. Having been divorced for almost a decade, Tracey approached single life with purpose and reckless abandon. She truly loved every moment and for her, single life had been a blast. She also knew all the fun would be a waste if she didn’t spend the necessary time working on her own shit, so she did just that.
Paul Culbertson was fondly dubbed Mr. Possible after he had consistently done everything possible to make Tracey feel like the luckiest woman alive. Eight months into a whirlwind romance, he increased his chances of moving from Mr. Possible to Husband. Tracey wasn’t looking for marriage when Mr. Possible came along, which is why he was still awaiting her answer to his proposal. She wasn’t quite sure she was ready to be anyone’s ‘Mrs’ because being Tracey Flemming was wonderful. She was in an amazing place and firing on all cylinders. She’d finally reached the summit of euphoria and then…she peeked over the edge.
“Hold on a sec.” Tracey sat up on the edge of the bed and then walked into the bathroom. “Might as well pee since I’m up. Tell me what’s got you calling me this early and thinking I’ll choose brunch with you over leaving this warm bed with a hard dick in it?”
“Guess who’s podcast just eclipsed one million listeners when the latest Podtrac ratings hit an hour ago?”
“Bitch, what?” Tracey whispered, into the phone. “My show hit a MILLION. FUCKING. LISTENERS?!” she asked, her voice rising with each word. “Meek, I know you lyin’! Are you serious?”
Temeka Black, one of Tracey’s best friends, and personal attorney, stood in her oversized walk-in shoe closet sipping herbal tea in a plush bathrobe. “Yes, I’m serious! Told you when you finally decided to step out on faith and start your podcast, the universe was going to reward you. I told you! Fortune favors the brave.”
“Damn Meek. You did say that. From the very beginning, you believed in me. You’re the best attorney and the baddest bitch a woman could ever call a friend. I could never say thank you enough.”
“Then you will meet the girls and me for brunch to celebrate?” Temeka asked knowingly.
“Yes, indeed! That’s definitely worth leaving this warm bed…,” Tracey admitted, somewhat reluctantly.
“… with a hard dick in it,” Temeka said in unison with Tracey. “Okay, send me a pic of Mr. Possible’s junk before he leaves.” “Ewww. Now, you know that’s breaking the girl code!”
“I know. I know. Just kidding. Unless you’re going to do it,” said Temeka, more hopeful than she should have.
Tracey flushed the toilet, went back into the bedroom, and sat on her side of the bed to continue the phone call. She arched her back and purred like a kitten when she felt a gentle hand caressing the small of her back. Tracey smiled and softly bit into her bottom lip. “Bye, Girl. Mr. Possible woke up. All of him. Gotta go,” Tracey answered before ending the call.
“Hello. Hello. Tee? Damn, that heffa hung up on me.” Temeka cuddled her ivory-colored ceramic mug as she surveyed her extensive shoe collection, numbering more than two hundred pairs. Despite having a great law practice and a custom home with all the trappings, not one man came to mind as a prime candidate to warm her bed and spend half the night doing what it do.
◆ ◆ ◆
Later that morning, Tracey stood in front of her bathroom mirror, picking at her curly hair with her fingertips while Renee, her oldest and dearest friend, watched from a plush black velvet vanity chair. “Girl! Guess what? My podcast just hit one million listeners,” Tracey squealed,
much like she did when they shared a middle-school locker. “Nae, shit just got real.”
“Sis, WHAT!”, Renee squealed, matching Tracey’s excitement. “I’m not surprised, Tee. You are built for greatness. Even in our school plays, you always won the starring roles. Mrs. Hobbs never got over you being the first Black Cinderella in the history of Warrensville High,” Renee joked. “When the cheerleaders you beat out had to play your two evil white stepsisters, I knew you were special.”
“Remember I got to kiss that cute ass Shane Benton, the blonde star quarterback? The whole audience damn near fainted.”
“Because he stuck his tongue down your throat on center stage. I was like, dayyyyum. I’M NEXT, SHANE!” Renee hollered.
“That white boy had me so moist I forgot my next line.”
“I wonder if Shane is on social media,” Renee cackled lightly. “Those were the best times.”
“Correction. Those were good times. These are the best times. ”Suddenly there was a pregnant pause in their conversation. Tracey turned to face her friend. “Nae, you good?”
“Yeah, I’m… just reminiscing. It always makes me think about how things could have turned out differently with Jimmy and me but hey. It is what it is, right?”
Tracey measured her words before offering a response. “Renee. Your divorce was inevitable. Being the perfect wife wasn’t ever going to change Jimmy’s behavior. Your ex-husband was a serial cheater who had the nerve to brag about it when he had too much to drink. Fathering that third outside child was simply the last goddamned straw. You’re too good for that asshole.”
“I know. You’re right. It’s not like I want Jimmy back or anything. It’s just that carrying the stigma of being a divorced woman raising two kids on my own is messing with me.”
“Stigma? I’m sorry, did we all of a sudden get transported back to 1920? Stop it. The stigma is only in your mind. Do you know how many amazing single moms are out there today doing the damn thing?”
“I know but…”
“…but nothing. Girl, repeat after me. I’m Renee Diana Green.”
“Ugh. Is this one of your corny homegirl affirmations from the show?” Renee mused, rolling her eyes.
“Yes, it is one of my affirmations, and don’t call it corny. Now please repeat after me,” Tracey chided. “I’m Renee Diana Green.”
“This feels silly, but okay fine. I’m Renee Diana Green,” she answered with a chuckle.
“I am a queen. Dope and deserving.”
“I am a queen. Dope and deserving,” Renee repeated, more assuredly.
“My past does not define me, and everything I need is already inside me.”
“My past does not define me, and everything I need is already inside me.”
“I am uniquely qualified to handle right now and whatever comes next,” Tracey proclaimed with an extra dose of dignity.
“I am uniquely qualified to handle right now and whatever comes next.”
Tracey smiled softly, knowing her best friend was going through it emotionally. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Renee answered.
“I cannot, will not, let my queendom down,” Tracey said, believing every word of the affirmation herself.
“I cannot, will not, let my queendom down,” Renee replied with a deep sigh. “Tee, I really appreciate you. I thought that was gonna be corny – I mean, it was low key corny, but it also felt good”, she said with a chuckle. “I remember how hard it was for you to get over the ending of your marriage.”
“These self-talking daily affirmations may seem silly at first, but they really made all the difference for me then, and it can work for you now. Of course, there is a lot of work you have to do on yourself. Affirmations can’t be the only thing you do, but there’s something about looking at yourself in the mirror and saying them out loud. Believe me, it changes things. I had to put in some hard work to find myself. ‘Didn’t know who I was as a forty-something suddenly single mother of two who’d been married most of her adult life. I figured if it helped other successful people think their way into shaking off their insecurities, it might work for me. And, it damn sure did.”
“I know this isn’t why you called me over. We. Are. Supposed. To. Be. Celebrating. YOU!” Renee said in syncopated beats to make a point. “Where are we kicking it today?”
“Well, I was thinking of that awesome new brunch place in Midtown. You know, with the live deejay. That place stays lit.”
Renee scoffed at the thought. “Where they play that trap music and be twerking on the tables?”
“Yeah, but we couldn’t get a reservation. They’re booked up for the next six weeks.”
“Good! Miss me with all that foolishness. I get enough of it from my students trying to act grown at school. At least I get paid to put up with six-graders acting a fool.”
“Well you can relax ma’am. I got us a booth at Babineaux’s Cajun Café. Their mimosas are the best and they are not stingy with the good champagne. Kym, Meek, and Shell are meeting us there in an hour.”
Renee watched her good friend glowing in the mirror. Despite dealing with the aftershocks of divorce, Renee was very excited about Tracey’s successful show and healthy relationship with Mr. Possible. Tracey had it going on. Living vicariously through her dearest friend would have to suffice for the time being; at least, that is what Renee kept telling herself.
◆ ◆ ◆
It was a perfect Saturday morning. The sun was shining brightly, and Tracey was on cloud nine driving up to Babineaux’s with her favorite Nipsey Hussle station blaring on her car stereo, and her best friend jamming in the car with her. A pleasant seventy-six-degree breeze greeted her as she stepped out of her pearl-white Mercedes SUV. She strutted towards the restaurant entrance in a pair of banging jeans, strappy heels, and a super cute top she’d recently picked up at Zara. Tracey was feeling herself. In a word, she felt invincible. Meeting the girls was one of her favorite things to do. Outings with her sister tribe always had three staples they could count on – fantastic conversation, great food, and even better cocktails. Being Tracey Flemming was unbelievable. A team of intelligent and dedicated friends made it all the more special. Saturday brunch had all the makings of an epic celebration.
When Tracey and Renee walked in, the spot was popping. A vast cultural mix enjoyed the R&B beats bumping from the speakers. Chatter and laughter hovered just above the lyrics while patrons sampled menu items and mingled to the music. Tracey spotted her group sitting in a booth on the left side of the café, divided by rows of enormously tall ivy planters.
She was excited to see her circle of friends, thicker than thieves and more than likely willing to help one another hide a body if it came to that. As she drew nearer to their table, Kym noticed Tracey before the others. Kym wiggled excitedly in her seat. “Wow, Sis. You look amazing!”
Renee offered an approving nod. “I told y’all. Our girl is doing the damn thing.”
When other members of the tribe joined in to greet the woman of the hour, Tracey pranced and twirled with spirited exuberance. “Y’all gonna have me showing out in here,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“Ooh, Tee, I like that top,” Shelly added with a sly smile. “Is it my size?”
“Chile, sit your butt down so we can order,” Temeka demanded. “We hungry.”
Tracey sat her Fendi bag on the padded seat. Then, as usual upon her arrival anywhere, she had to use the restroom. Tracey picked up her purse and raised an index finger to excuse herself from the formalities. “Y’all know me. I always gotta go pee,” she said plainly.
Renee knew this was coming, so she didn’t blink while perusing the brunch menu. “I’ll order the French toast for you, Tracey. You want eggs?”
“Yes, scrambled with cheese please,” Tracey answered quickly.
“Thanks, Nae. I’ll be right back.”
Temeka was halfway down the menu when her phone rang for the third time. She sneered at it irritably. “Hey, y’all. I’m sorry. I gotta take this.”
Kym rolled her eyes. “We said no phone calls this time. Temeka is the one who mandated that shit.”
“Hey, Myron. Yes, I saw the missed calls, but I thought it could wait. I’m at brunch.” Temeka was feverishly swiping through her digital calendar; then she closed her eyes regrettably. “Dammit, that’s today? My bad, I thought it was next Saturday. I must have entered it wrong in my calendar. I’m on my way, bye.” As soon as she hung up, Temeka apologized again, something she hated doing. “Ladies, I’m sorry. I have to go. My client meeting starts in 15 minutes. I thought it was next Saturday.”
Shelly let her off the hook before the others made matters worse than they had to be. “Go on and handle your business Meek,” she said with a warm smile. “We’ll tell Tracey that duty called.” “Thank you, Shell. I wanted a mimosa so freaking baaad,” Temeka whined dramatically. “Kym, could you please order me some of those strawberry crepes to go? I’ll come by your place this afternoon to pick them up. And, don’t let your greedy boyfriend eat my food like last time. Write my name on the box or something,” she pleaded hurriedly, then left.
Not a word was uttered until Temeka walked out of earshot, then Kym smirked before going in. “Temeka’s the only woman I ever met who is happily married to her career. She’s crazy paid, but do you think I’ll see a dime for her crepes?”
“Girl, please,” Renee replied. “Temeka still has the first dime she ever made.”
“Hell, I see why,” Kym huffed.
There wasn’t a traffic jam in the ladies’ room, so Tracey took a minute to check her lipstick and hair. She pulled out her cell phone when something came to mind that bothered her. Several hours had passed since Mr. Possible left her townhome, but there wasn’t a single message, text, or emoji from him. Checking in every three to four hours was their usual routine. She almost texted to see why he hadn’t at least sent her an ‘I Love You’ emoji, but she thought better of it. She thought, give the man some space and enough time to miss you. An easy smile danced across her lips while exiting the restroom like she owned the place.
Tracey continued smiling as heads turned in her direction. Her smile suddenly faded when she recognized someone sitting on the opposite side of the ivy towers which divided the seating areas. Mr. Possible was cuddled up to a younger woman in a booth that backed up to the table where her tribe was seated. Tracey was riddled with emotion when she eased into the booth next
to Renee. “I-don’t feel-so-good,” she said in short breaths.
Kym leaned in cautiously. “What’s wrong, Tee?”
“You need some air?” Renee asked hurriedly.
“Shhh-shhh,” Tracey said, in an attempt to quiet their voices. She was shocked and tremendously embarrassed, but she knew it had to be shared with the table. A stream of silence trailed by before she found the right words. “That muthafucka is here on a date,” Tracey hissed.
“Where is he?” Renee said, hoping Tracey was wrong.
“Who?” Shelly asked, peering around their side of the restaurant.
Tracey shot a stinging glance at the thick ivy covering the ledge separating the seating areas. Shelly pulled the leaves back slightly, exposing Mr. Possible sitting dangerously close to a woman half his age. When everyone saw what had startled Tracey, Shelly shuffled the vines back into place. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“That’s definitely Mr. Possible,” Kym whispered with heavy disappointment.
“But wait a minute. Maybe she’s his niece. It could be innocent y’all.”
Renee stared at Tracey, who was silently contemplating her next move. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but she knew better in her heart.
“Be quiet. Please! I need y’all to shut up so I can hear,”Tracey said, softy. She raised her outstretched hand as if steadying herself to deal with the potentially volatile situation. Then, she moved into position to hear their conversation better, hoping for an outside chance that Kym was right. It was one thing to confront the man she wanted to marry about cheating out in the open. It was another one altogether to go barreling in like a tornado, hurling accusations in public, only to discover she was wrong.
Tracey cast her eyes toward the floor and concentrated to listen intently. The others watched as she slid even closer to the plant dividers with bated breaths.
“You so silly,” the date giggled.
“Why? I’m not playing games. I really like you,” Mr. Possible replied.
“Oh, you really like me? What am I supposed to do with that?” Tracey’s heart sunk into the pit of her stomach. How could she have spent the past eight months being exclusively devoted to Mr. Possible only for him to be out in the open, risking their relationship with some playmate who was younger than both of her children. Tracey shushed the ladies at her table when they began asking about what the couple was saying on the other side of the potted plants. “Y’all please shut the fuck up,” she mouthed.
Fearing the inevitable, Renee put her head in her hands. Kym and Shelly looked on peculiarly as Tracey returned to her stakeout, listening as if her life depended on it. She sipped on a mimosa nervously when Mr. Possible recited words that sounded unnervingly familiar. Tracey clenched her teeth tightly, then took a deep breath when she overheard him carrying on like a single guy trying to get laid.
“Baby, I’m a grown-ass man who knows what he wants, and you are what I want,” he declared in the same charming way that made Tracey swoon when he said it to her a few hours earlier. Tracey gulped another mouthful of mimosa, realizing that Mr. Possible was awfully good at selling fantasies. His words were worthless, and she’d fallen for them. Being played so quickly made her feel quite the fool. What she overheard next made her spitting mad.
“You have to believe in me, like I believe in us. If you do, the future I see in your eyes …”
“… will be ours,” Tracey said, in unison with Mr. Possible. She heard him clearly but still couldn’t believe her ears. “YOU DIRTY BASTARD!” she shouted above the music and busy café chatter. Anger was in the air when Tracey pounced from the booth. “What is this bullshit?!”
Kym frantically slapped at the leaves to divide them. Tracey’s girls sneered when they saw her boyfriend with his arm wrapped around the other woman who was clearly young enough to be his daughter. “He is on a damn date. What in the entire fuck?”
Tracey’s heart pounded like a bass drum as she darted around the corner towards Mr. Possible’s table. Heads turned, and patrons watched as she stormed past them with alarmingly deliberate strides. Tracey was seething through clenched teeth, but her angry stare warned that something serious was about to go down.
Renee climbed to her knees in the booth to see over the planters. “Oh shit! Here we go.”
“You must be out your damned mind,” Tracey grunted angrily.
“Traaacey?” Mr. Possible said, behind a nervous smile. He quickly lifted his hand that rested on the date’s thigh but kept his eyes on Tracey’s.
“Heyyy Babe. How-how are you?” he added when nothing else seemed appropriate.
“HOW COULD YOU CHEAT ON ME, PAUL?” Tracey questioned, much louder than she intended. “And with this young piece of ass?” she asked, finally making eye contact with his date. “No offense, Girl. Paul got me fucked up right about now.”
“Clearly,” the woman responded evenly. She seemed somewhat amused by the turn of events, like a child watching a magic act. “You’re Tracey Flem. I listen to your show.”
“Gee, thanks”, Tracey replied with a fake smile. She was too thrown off by the date’s reaction to notice people at the next table pulling out their cell phones to record the midday showdown.
“Please… let me explain,” Mr. Possible pleaded.
“Explain what?” Tracey huffed. “Why you’re playing around on me after we fucked all night and morning? You left my bed literally just a few hours ago!” She caught her breath and measured her words as she continued. “When I heard you over here telling this chick the exact same shit you told me this morning, I was stunned. Like, really? This is the bullshit you’re on?”
Mr. Possible held up both hands, hoping to calm his girlfriend’s demeanor. “Come on now, Tracey. This isn’t the time or place to put our business out in the streets,” he debated gently, while more onlookers in the restaurant had their cell phones trained on the turmoil still building steam. “It damn sure looks like the right place to me since this is where you decided to bring her and say the same bullshit you said in my bed this morning with your mouth between my legs.”
“Dayyyyyum,” someone heckled from a nearby booth. A waiter approached Tracey with a fresh cocktail on his tray and words of concern on his lips. “Uh, Ma’am, some of our other guests are complaining about the noise,” he said uneasily. “If you could keep it down a little.”
Tracey snatched the cocktail from the waiter’s tray. “Noise? You haven’t heard anything yet.” She hurriedly tossed back the drink and then returned the empty glass to his tray. “You can go now,” she said dismissively. Tracey was ready to tear into Mr. Possible again when she saw a manager headed her way. She raised her hand abruptly to stifle hisinterference. “One moment. I’m not done with him!” She pointed at Mr. Possible, who was embarrassed and trapped in a hell of his own making.
“You know what’s really funny, Paul? How you can have your face all up in hers with the smell of my pussy still on yours!”
Women at Tracey’s booth were rifled with emotion. “CHECK, PLEASE!” Shelly hollered toward the waitress, who was also taping the confrontation.
People from surrounding tables hooted and howled after Tracey’s mic-drop moment. Some applauded their approval, and others were in utter awe of the revealing situation. Renee watched pensively from the other side of the ivy. She was so proud of her best friend but shocked at the naked aggression Tracey flung at Mr. Possible, in pubic, no less. Tracey cut her eyes at the manager when all was about said and done. “Now, I’m finished.” Mr. Possible’s date lowered her eyes when Tracey considered torching her too for good measure. “You can have his lying ass,” Tracey offered instead. The younger woman looked at Mr. Possible like damaged goods, unsure if he was worth carrying on with further.
Renee gathered her things to leave as Tracey headed back to their table, shaken and severely stirred. Renee tossed a disapproving I-don’t believe-
you glare at Kym, still filming the aftermath. “Really, Kym? Turn that damn camera off.”
Kym put her phone away halfheartedly. “What? Everybody else was recording too. That was video gold.”
“I’ll get Tracey’s purse and meet y’all outside,” Renee said to move Shelly and Kym along. Renee felt sorry for Tracey, knowing that nothing prepares a woman for discovering the ugly truth about her man’s infidelity. Nothing at all.
“I’ve got to get out of here, Renee,” Tracey said in a defeated tone.
Renee fully understood that bearing the weight of a relationship ending abruptly was a lot to carry. “Of course, Babe. Let’s use the side exit. You’ve given the Babineaux’s Brunch Bunch enough to talk about for today.”
