Careful of the Company You Keep

by Angie Daniels

Genres: African American; African American Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

From the acclaimed author of Trouble Loves Company comes a smart, sexy, heartfelt new novel about friendship, love, lust--and a whole lot of trouble in between. After finding her husband in a compromising position, romance author Renee Moore goes back to her hometown, hoping to start over. But once again, she finds herself looking for love in all the wrong places. To make matters worse, just as she decides a healthy relationship may not be her destiny, her ex delivers shocking news that could change her life forever. Practical nurse Danielle Brooks' professional life is picture perfect, but her personal life is a mess. Her daughter is about to give birth to a baby believed to have been fathered by Danielle's ex. In an attempt to mend her shattered heart, Danielle has been dating Calvin Cambridge, a truly nice guy. But when Calvin proposes, Danielle wants to be sure she is ready to commit. She enlists Renee to test his fidelity, but when the seduction goes too far, all their relationships may be in jeopardy. Meanwhile, their best friend is getting married, and she is counting on Renee and Danielle to help her plan the wedding--whether they are speaking to each other or not. But with Renee now being threatened by a mystery woman, and Danielle facing her most serious crisis yet, they can not help wondering if it is all going to get worse before it gets better. As things come to a head in each woman's life, there is a whole lot of praying going on--and Renee and Danielle soon realize they are blessed in spite of it all--with faith, second chances--and each other.

Release date: April 1, 2011

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 417

Sample

There are a lot of things I expected to face in my life. Walking in on my husband with his dick stuck in another man’s ass was not one of them.

Shock was an understatement. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe and damn near choked. All I could do was stand there and watch John and another man racing to the finish line in my bed. They were so busy fucking neither of them heard the bedroom door open or noticed me standing there.

Think, bitch, think!

Inhale. Exhale. I knew I had to do something quick, fast, and in a hurry because any second now and the moment would be lost. I reached down to my waist, removed the cell phone from my hip, and aimed it in their direction.

“Cheese, mothafuckas!”

As soon as both of them fags looked my way, I pressed the camera button on my phone.

Priceless.

John jumped back so fast, he tripped over a shoe and fell flat on his ass. “Renee! What the hell?”

“My words exactly. You should have taken that booty bandit shit to a hotel.” I moved in for a close-up and pressed the button again.

John held up his hands in a panic. “Hold up, baby! I can explain.”

I glared at his fat ass. “Save it for someone who cares, because I don’t give a fuck.”

At a loss for words, John just sat there breathing heavily while Shemar scrambled for his pants. I looked at him and rolled my eyes in disgust. To think, I’ve been fucking his faggot ass for the last couple of weeks. Angrily, I snatched the first thing I could get my hands on—a bottle of scented lotion—and tossed it across the room and got pretty boy on the side of his head.

“What’s wrong with you?” Shemar shouted, then ducked out of the way before my hairbrush got him in the forearm.

“What’s wrong with me?” Oh no, he didn’t just ask me that. “What’s wrong is finding you . . . bent over . . . like some bitch . . . with my husband fucking you!” I tossed John’s aftershave, and it hit the wall and shattered. “What’s wrong is knowing my husband . . . my husband . . . fucked you in the bed that I bought!” I kept on screaming and throwing shit at the two of them.

John’s eyes grew wide with guilt. “Renee, please, let’s talk about this,” he pleaded.

“We ain’t got shit to talk about!” I screamed. Was he smoking crack? What could he possibly have to explain? I moved over to my dresser and started throwing everything in reach. I snatched up a bottle of Diamonds perfume and was about to toss it when I remembered how much I paid for it. I put it down and grabbed the cheap shit instead. By now I was throwing anything I could get my hands on in their direction, including a pair of three-pound dumbbells I kept on the floor in the corner. Both of those bitches were bobbing and weaving and trying to cover their heads. “As soon as you get dressed, get the fuck outta here!”

“We ain’t going nowhere!” Shemar screamed like a little bitch. “Tell her, John. Tell her you’re my man now and this is . . . this is your house!”

John looked over at Shemar and cut his eyes. “Shemar, this is not the time.”

Shemar propped a hand at his waist. “The hell it ain’t. What have we been talking about for the last several months? You promised we’d be together, and I’m tired of waiting. Dammit, John, you belong to me!”

What the fuck? I couldn’t believe this gay shit. The longer I looked and listened, the angrier I got. I reached for a pair of scissors and lunged at Shemar, who saw me coming and hurried into the adjoining bathroom and slammed the door. I was moving so fast the blades stabbed the wood. I yanked the scissors free and headed toward John, who ducked, then grabbed my wrist and wrestled the scissors out of my hand.

“Let me go!” I screamed. I balled up my fist and started beating him across his face and chest. And just like a bitch, he let me tear his ass up.

“Go ahead, Renee. Do what you have to do, but it’s not going to change anything.”

“Fuck you!” I shouted, then swung hard and got him in the nose. Finally he grabbed my hands and I jerked away from him. I was breathing so hard I was hyperventilating. Leaning over, I placed my hands on my knees and tried counting to ten to catch my breath. “How . . . could . . . you . . . do this to me?”

John moved and took a seat on the end of the bed, holding a T-shirt up to his nose. It was bleeding. Good.

“As soon as you calm down, we can sit down like two adults and talk.” I could tell by the tone of his voice that he never expected me to find out this way.

“I said we ain’t got shit to talk about! I’ve been tolerating your itty-bitty limp-dick ass for the last five years, and this is how you treat me?” No wonder his dick half worked when we made love. Part of me felt like laughing—and probably would later, because this was the excuse I’d been waiting for to finally get out of my marriage—but right now, it was too humiliating for words.

“I can no longer hide how I feel.”

“You sick bastard.” I was so mad I didn’t realize until I saw John holding the side of his head that I had hurled my wooden jewelry box at him.

“Quit it, Renee!” he ordered and tried to reach for me, but I jumped out of the way.

“Fuck you, John!”

I was too through. I had to bite my tongue to stop from telling him how I really felt about the last five years of our marriage. Big Mama taught me a long time ago not to bite the hand that feeds you, and I needed John to keep supporting me until I could figure out a plan. The best way was to play on his sympathy by making him think I was hurt to discover our marriage was over. No, I wasn’t hurt. I was pissed the fuck off. “How could you do this to me?” I forced myself not to blink so my eyes would become misty, and tears eventually appeared.

“I . . . I never expected you to find out this way. I’m really sorry. How—”

I cut him off before he could finish.

“Sorry, my ass!” I screeched. “Both of y’all get out of my house!”

“Bitch, this is my man’s house!” Shemar screamed from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Faggot, shut the hell up!” I ran over and kicked the door and hurt my damn toe. I screamed at the top of my lungs, then started pacing the length of the room.

John just continued to sit there holding his head with one hand and applying pressure to his nose with the other. I removed my cell phone from my hip and went ahead and sent those pictures to my e-mail address just in case one of those gay mothafuckas decided to get bold and try to snatch the phone. My hands were trembling with anger.

“What’re you planning to do with those pictures?”

I rolled my eyes in John’s direction. “Nothing just yet, but if you fuck with me, I’m going to send them to everybody, including your uppity-ass mama.”

I expected him to lunge from the bed and snatch the phone from my hands, because the last thing John wanted was to tarnish his image. Lenore never did think I was good enough for her son. Shit, if she only knew.

However, instead of wrestling me to the floor, John just sat there like a bitch with his hands on his lap, looking at me like what I saw happening never really happened. As if it had been my imagination. “Quit trippin’,” he finally said.

“Trippin’? Trippin’!”

He gave me a dismissive laugh. “Yes, Renee, trippin’. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Oh, it’s not? Okay, then let me show you how big a deal it is!” I ran across the room to the large walk-in closet we shared and started fumbling on the top shelf. John must have heard me loading his gun because he hurried into the bathroom with Shemar and shut and locked the door just in time. I aimed, and a bullet pierced the wall only inches from the door.

“Renee, what the hell are you doing?” John screamed. “Put that gun down!”

“Shut the hell up!” I yelled and shot at the door again. Shemar was screaming at John to “control that crazy bitch.” I pulled the trigger again and screamed, “Shut up, punk, before I give you something to cry about.” He must have realized I was serious because everything got quiet. “That’s more like it. Now listen and listen good. I want both of you gay mothafuckas out of my house by the time I get back. Otherwise, I’m shooting y’all fags for real!” I decided it was time for me to bounce before one of the neighbors called the police.

I couldn’t get out of that house fast enough. I took the stairs two at a time and grabbed my purse from the table. A retired couple who lived across the street was standing on the porch. As soon as they saw me coming out the door with a gun in my hand, they raced back in the house.

I climbed into my Lexus and peeled down the driveway and onto the street. A mile up the road, the tears began to fall and I angrily wiped them away. “Don’t you dare cry over that gay bastard.”

I was driving, thinking over everything that had happened, and trying to figure out how in the hell I missed the warning signs. I hear women all the time talking about how they had no idea their man was on the DL, and I always say to myself, “what the fuck ever.” The signs were there. Hell, most of the time I could spend five minutes with a man and could tell he was gay. Yet I had no idea about my own husband. But then ours was a weird relationship from the start.

Our marriage was a one-night stand that turned into a five-year commitment. We’d barely dated a month before he proposed. My ass was unemployed and about to be homeless. With two little kids, that was not an option. So when John proposed, “marry me now and love me later,” I jumped at the opportunity.

And that’s what your stupid ass gets.

Yep, I should have left him years ago. Quit talking about it and be about it, that’s the shit I say to my friends all the time, yet I didn’t follow my own advice.

I was ten miles from home, speeding down the highway, when my cell phone rang. I looked down and saw I had a private call. I bet you five dollars and a Long Island iced tea it’s John’s gay ass.

“What?”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d not share those pictures.” He said the words so slowly that it gave me an eerie feeling.

“That depends,” I stated calmly.

“Depends on what?”

“On how much you plan to pay, mothafucka!” Even with the windows down and the wind whipping across my face, I could hear Shemar yelling something in the background. “Tell that fag to shut the hell up!”

John covered the mouthpiece and mumbled something, then came back. “Sorry, he’s upset, too.”

“Who give a fuck how that fag feels?” I screamed. This was some straight-up soap opera shit.

“Don’t be like that,” he scolded.

“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do before I come back over, shoot both y’all gay asses, and then plead temporary insanity.”

“Listen, Renee, we can work this out if you’d give us a chance. I love you, Renee, but I’m not going to lie to you, I love Shemar as well. You didn’t mind sharing me before, so what’s different about now?”

“It was your idea to start swinging with other couples, and it was you who thought you weren’t satisfying me sexually, so you invited Shemar to fuck me while you were in the room watching. Nowhere in that conversation did you say you would be fucking him as well. Huh? Tell me, John, because not once in the five years that we’ve been married did you mention anything about being gay.”

“I’m not gay,” he barked defensively.

“Then what the fuck would you call it?”

There was a brief pause before he answered, “I would call it . . . liking variety.”

“And I call it liking dick!” I was screaming so hard the lady in the next car was staring nervously at me. I flipped her off for not minding her own business. “I’m divorcing yo gay ass. And according to our prenuptial agreement, if either of us catches the other in a compromising position, the other gets paid. And I’m getting ready to milk yo ass!”

“And what about the men you’ve been with? Remember, I have home videos,” he reminded me.

“Yeah, and your bitch ass is in every one!” I was no fool. From the first day we started trying to add a little flavor to our marriage, I made sure every time John pulled out the camcorder, he was in that home movie as well. All the things that we had done with Shemar and the others started racing through my head. Hell, I even sucked Shemar’s dick. Oh my goodness! I’m going to be sick. I was so nauseous my dinner tried to come up. I choked, then pushed that shit back down.

“Are you okay?”

“Hell nah! What the fuck? I just walked in on you fucking another mothafucka in his ass and you have the nerve to ask me if I’m okay?”

My response was met by a wave of silence.

“Renee, I don’t know what else to say other than I’m sorry and hope we can work this out.”

“What the hell is there left to work out?” This shit was so unbelievable I didn’t know what to think or how to react, and that’s rare for me. Never in a million years would I have expected to walk in on my husband, or any man for that matter, banging another one in his ass. I don’t even watch boy/boy adult videos. I got sick watching Brokeback Mountain. “I want my monthly allotment doubled and don’t even think about canceling my insurance benefits. You got one hour to pack yo shit and get the fuck out of my house. Oh yeah . . . and take them sheets with you!” I screamed, then ended the call.

Tears were running down my face. I don’t know why I was crying over that fool.

John had never been good in bed. His thing is too little and he spends more time tweaking my damn nipples like they were knobs to a transistor radio than anything else. Nevertheless, he was rich and I told myself it was a small consequence for everything he had given me. Big-ass house. New ride. Private schools for the kids, and money in my own personal bank account. In exchange, all I had to do was give him some pussy three times a week. It was easier in the beginning, but the last three years, I started feeling like it was too much damn work. Hell, if I wanted a job, I would have gone out and applied for one. So to escape, I started writing and was now a published best-selling author of erotic romance. What I wasn’t getting in my bed, I was getting in my books, and plenty of it. And when that was no longer enough, I started fucking around with every Tom, Dick, and Jerry I came in contact with. But after a while, I still wasn’t happy.

Somehow, John sensed my misery, and two months ago, he invited Shemar to our bed for a ménage à trois. I thought cha-ching, I had hit the jackpot. Shemar and I would fuck while John sat back, beating his meat and watching. Then John and I started swinging with other couples. The husband was banging me while John was poking the man’s wife. I thought I was getting the best of both worlds. Only the joke was on my black ass.

I guess I can’t blame anyone but myself. I should have known that it was too good to be true. That’s what I get for thinking I was getting something for nothing. I’d been talking about leaving John for years, and now that the time had come I had to quit talking about it and be about it. Starting right now, my life was beginning anew. A tear streamed down my cheek because I wasn’t sure if I even knew where to begin.

I turned the burner down low on the stove, then moved up to my daughter’s room to tell her it was time for dinner. After knocking on her door and not getting an answer, I stepped in and found the room empty. Hearing water running in the bathroom at the end of the hall, I realized Portia was taking a shower.

Seeing dirty towels on the floor, I reached over and grabbed them. No wonder I can’t find half my damn towels. They are here, buried in Portia’s room.

I reached for a large gold bath towel and something dropped. Looking down, I spotted a small leather-bound book. I reached for it, flipped it over, and realized it was Portia’s journal. Staring at it, I was tempted to open it, but I try to respect my daughter’s privacy . . . most of the time. But curiosity got the better of me and after several seconds I had convinced myself that I’m the mother and had a right to know what my teenage daughter was up to, because the majority of the time she was up to no good.

“I’ll look at just one entry, then I’ll put it down,” I murmured to myself and flipped to the center of the book.

I saw Ron’s dick today. He wasn’t too happy that I walked in on him, so I played it off and stepped out of the bathroom. I’ve never seen a thing with the skin still on it. But dang, it was big! I promise you I’m going to get some of that before the school year’s over.

Hell to the no.

Stunned, I flipped forward several more pages.

Tomorrow my mother is working evenings and I plan to finally make my move on her boyfriend. The plan is to come running out of my room butt naked, pretending I saw a spider.

Fingers shaking, I turned the page.

I can’t believe Ron rejected me. Even after I told him I loved him he tossed it back in my face and said he loved my mom, not me, and that I needed to find a boy my own age. I hate him! I hate him! Just wait, I’m going to get him back.

My hands were shaking as I flipped to an entry dated the day after I broke up with Ron.

Well, my plan worked. Mama believed me over Ron and put his butt out. Hee-hee! You should have seen his face. That’s what he gets for treating me that way. Now Mama thinks I’m pregnant by Ron when I’m really carrying Demetrius’s baby. Yuck! That was the worst sex I’ve ever had. I sure hope my baby comes out looking like me.

I didn’t even know the journal had slipped from between my fingers until I heard it hit the floor. For the longest time I just stood there, stunned, knowing good and well what I was reading better not be true. But it was.

My daughter had lied.

Everything went still as my world started spinning. Slowly I lowered onto the bed and took several deep breaths to calm my nerves because what I wanted to do was to run down the hall to the bathroom and snatch Portia’s wide ass out of that shower. The only thing stopping me was the fact that she was pregnant and I didn’t want to be responsible for two dead bodies.

Ain’t this a bitch? I believed her. Even when something in the back of my mind kept telling me something wasn’t right about my daughter’s story, I believed her anyway because she’s my daughter and that’s what mothers are supposed to do, stick by their children.

How was I to know that when she described my man’s uncircumcised dick, the reason she knew what it looked like was that her hot ass had barged into the bathroom and seen it? Not because Ron had been sleeping with her.

It was like a sick joke.

For the first time in my life I could understand how a woman could murder her own child, because that’s exactly what I wanted to do. The only thing stopping me was that I didn’t own a gun and that Portia was pregnant. Dear God, Ron isn’t even the father of her child. She lied to me! Ron never touched her. He tried to tell me she was lying, yet I refused to listen.

The pipes grew quiet, which meant Portia had turned the water off. I returned the journal to where I had found it underneath a towel and quickly exited her room before I did something crazy. I then moved down the hall to my bedroom and made two calls and simply said, “Get over here or I’m killing her ass,” then went downstairs to wait.

Fifteen minutes later, I was down in the kitchen walking laps around the table with a butcher knife in my hand, still contemplating murder. Portia came bouncing down the stairs in shorts and a T-shirt, looking like any typical sixteen-year-old. “Mmmm, Mama, that smells good! Is it time to eat yet?”

I glanced over at her lying ass, wanting so badly to take that pot of hot spaghetti sauce and fling it at her head and burn the shit out of her. Hummph! And then we would be even, because Portia had burned me good with all her lies.

“Why don’t you set the table?” I suggested between gritted teeth.

She nodded obediently, then moved over to the counter and reached inside the cabinets. I watched her work, wondering how someone who looked so innocent could be so slick. A beautiful full-figured girl built like a woman since fifth grade. I had no idea until recently she knew how to use every last curve to get what she wanted.

“Set an extra plate. Your grandmother is coming over.” And she better hurry, because I don’t know how much longer before I snap.

“Mama, I’m so glad Ron doesn’t live here anymore. I really enjoy having you all to myself again.”

That’s because I kicked his ass out. Breathe, girl, breathe! She ain’t worth it. Ten, nine, eight, seven . . . I was seconds away from flinging that knife across the room when thank goodness the doorbell rang.

Portia dashed off to answer it. I took another deep breath, then pulled the garlic bread out of the oven. My mama entered wearing a worried look on her face. I placed a finger to my lips, halting any questions. “Let’s eat.”

We all took a seat, Mama to my right, Portia directly across from me. I waited until we were all eating before I broke the silence. “I decided to call the police.”

Portia’s eyes grew wide.

“For what?” Mama asked with concern.

I continued eating and didn’t even bother looking her way. My eyes were glued to my daughter’s face. “I’m filing charges against Ron for rape.”

Mama nodded in agreement. “About time! I told you you should have done that the second you found out. Hopefully it’s not too late.”

Portia reached for her Kool-Aid and took a sip.

Uh-uh, she wasn’t getting off that easy. “We probably won’t be able to go to court until the baby is born because they’re going to need DNA evidence. Once they have that and are able to prove the baby is Ron’s, it’s off to prison for the next twenty years.” My eyes got small and never left hers.

Portia squirmed uncomfortably on the seat. “Can’t we just leave it alone?”

“Why? I should have pressed charges against him the minute I found out, but instead I wanted to protect you.”

She lowered her head, trying to avoid eye contact.

Mama pointed her fork at her granddaughter. “Listen to your mama. What that man did was against the law.” She started shaking her head. “Lord knows I had a bad feeling about that thug living in this house. I just knew something bad would come out of this.”

“B-But I . . . I don’t want to have to face him in court,” Portia stuttered nervously.

I just bet you don’t. “You don’t have to. The lawyers can put a case together without you if they need to. As soon as we get done eating, we’re going down and file charges.”

Portia dropped her fork and started frantically shaking her head. “Mama, they won’t believe me . . . I know they won’t,” she insisted.

“Why is that?” I asked quickly.

“Because . . . Ron isn’t the only one I’ve slept with. There’s a chance this might be someone else’s baby.”

I couldn’t believe she was admitting what I had said all along—she was a slut. I wanted so badly to scratch her eyes out for lying. “Well, I guess that’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

“I don’t want to.” Portia sat back in her chair, arms crossed and lips poked out.

I raised my voice to ensure she knew who’s boss. “Since when do you have a choice? This is my house, and that was a grown man . . . my man you were sleeping with. I’m going to make him pay!” Damn, I should earn an Oscar for my performance.

“Why does it always have to be about you? What about me?”

I wanted so badly to knock her upside her head. “I’m not even about to get into it with you. We’re pressing charges as soon as your daddy gets here.”

Her face dropped. “My daddy? I’m not doing it!”

“Why is that?” Mama asked, clearly confused by what was going on. “Don’t you want to get the man who did this to you?”

A single tear ran down Portia’s face as she tried to appear innocent. “I’m scared of what he might do to me.”

“Since when? You weren’t scared before,” I replied with a rude snort. I was already sick of playing this charade.

Portia just pursed her lips together and looked away.

“Be nice, Danny,” Mama warned under her breath.

I don’t know what I was thinking when I asked her to come over, because no matter what I said, Mama was going to side with Portia. “I think the reason she doesn’t want to press charges is she’s lying and she knows that once we start the proceedings, the court is going to find out.”

“I’m not lying!” Portia insisted but didn’t bother to look up from the table.

“Oh really?” I said. “Hold that thought.” I quickly moved up the stairs and came back a few moments later with the journal in my hand. As soon as I stepped inside the kitchen, I tossed the book onto the table. “Now try again. Tell your grandmother why you don’t want to press charges.”

Mama looked from Portia to me and back to Portia. “Baby, what’s she talking about?”

Portia looked increasingly nervous. “I-I don’t know.”

“She’s lying, Mama! Ron didn’t rape her. It’s right there in that book. She had a crush on a twenty-two-year-old man and he wasn’t thinking about her hot ass so she lied to break us up.”

Mama couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Is that true?”

“No.” She finally looked up at me.

I could no longer hold back. I sprang from the chair, jumped across the table, and tried to grab my daughter by her neck, but Mama rose out of her seat in time to keep me back. “You better be glad you’re pregnant, because otherwise I would beat your mothafuckin’ ass!” I screamed.

Portia jumped from her chair and was in the corner, shaking and crying like someone had died. Tears weren’t going to save her this time.

“You need to pack yo shit and go home with your grandmother. You’re not welcome back in this house. As far as I’m concerned, you’re no longer my daughter.”

Mama gave me a light shove, then shook her head at my rude behavior. “Sweetheart. That is not the way to react to a situation like this. We can work this out, I know we can.”

“Mama, there is nothing to work out!”

“Young lady, don’t you take that tone with me.” Mama gave me that look that told me I wasn’t too big for her to still whup my ass. I pursed my lips and moved over near the sink.

She then started jumping in my shit about how I shouldn’t have been messing with a man twelve years younger than me in the first place and that I needed to try and be a better mother. God, I could feel a migraine . . .