Child Support

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Ever felt like someone was trying to keep you away from something that was rightfully yours? They played you for a fool and thought they would get the last laugh? Well, not in Angel's world. Meet Angel Jacobs, a chick who will get what's hers at all costs, even if it might cost someone else's life.
The State of Illinois is trying to label her as a serial killer, but will her previous diagnosis of mental illness save Angel from living the remainder of her life in a six by six jail cell? In Angel's eyes, whether she wins or loses the case, she's still going to come out on top. Become entangled in the web Angel weaves, where it's not always easy to know what's real and what's a product of her twisted mind. It's unlike any other urban tale. Don't be surprised if, just like some of Angel's victims, you get caught up!

Release date: October 1, 2012

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 240

Sample

As my phone danced on my cherrywood nightstand, I sat up in bed and looked over to see who was calling me. It was my mother. Every time she called, I was instantly annoyed. The bad part about it was she barely called me to begin with. I hesitated before answering.

“Yes, Mom?”

“Don’t start with me, Angel. I just called to see if you took your medicine.”

I rolled my eyes. I hated taking that medicine, and she knew it. What I hated most was her treating me as if I were a child.

“Yes, I took it,” I answered, knowing I was lying.

She hung up right after that.

My mother and I had drifted apart many years ago due to her feeling as though I had ruined her life. I didn’t exactly know how I could have done that, but from the time I hit fifteen to the time I moved out of her house, she reminded me daily.

I hadn’t taken my pills, so I decided to get up and do so. I went downstairs to get some ice water, and then I headed upstairs to my bathroom. I opened the cabinet and pulled out the two bottles of pills. I stared at them for a moment. I decided that I was going to take only one prescription, popping one of the bottles open.

I read, “Lithium is for manic depression. Use as prescribed by physician,” as I did every time I decided to take my meds. I took the directed number of pills, guzzling them down.

My phone made a loud buzzing noise on my nightstand. I walked out of my bathroom and went to get it. I picked it up and saw that it was Pat.

I had met Pat at my daytime job. I was a secretary at a prestigious law firm in Chicago. After he’d done a lot of begging and pleading, I decided to go out with him.

“Miss Jacobs, why don’t you l-l-let a nigga take y-y-you out tonight?” he’d asked.

I’d screwed my face up and replied, “No thanks.” I tried my best to be polite and not tell him what I really thought, which was he was too damn big and I could not stand all that stuttering.

“Why n-n-not? Y-y-you’ll love it. I pr-pr-promise to treat you right,” he’d replied, trying to convince me.

I shook my head.

He just would not take no for an answer. He was leaning his heavyset body on the counter above my desk.

I stared at my computer screen and continued setting appointments, which was what I was doing before he approached me. I decided that I wouldn’t respond to his repetitive questions.

“Ex-ex-excuse me,” he said while patting the counter loudly.

“What?” I gave him my attention. I didn’t want my boss, Mr. Bennifeld, to hear any of this.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Okay, I’ll go,” I said, giving in. I wrote my number down for him, and then he left, satisfied. In disgust, I watched him walk out the door.

A whole hour hadn’t passed, and he was already calling my phone. I was annoyed when I answered and heard his voice on the line. He said we were going out to eat, and that was it. I was absolutely sure that was all we would do, because he wasn’t cute enough to do anything else with . . . at least not with me.

I told him I was about to jump in the shower and that I would call him once I was finished. As soon as I hung up with him, I went into the bathroom to do as I’d said. After twenty minutes had passed, I stepped out of the shower and found myself standing in front of my full-body mirror, admiring my dripping wet body. I stared at my small frame. My flawless face and deep dimples simply made me a beauty. I touched my hair, which I had just gotten done. There was something about my healthy black hair that kept me feeling stunning. Although my shoulder-length hair had lost a few curls from the steam of the shower, it still looked good.

I grabbed my towel off the toilet seat and began to dry off. After I was completely dry, I lathered lotion all over my body, thinking of what I could possibly wear. I didn’t want to appear too sexy, because I didn’t want to tease him too much. I decided to wear a pair of blue jeans, neutral-colored heels, and a hunter-green vest. It was plain, but it would do. I wasn’t really the flashy type, anyway. I thought being a plain Jane was a good thing.

I heard my BlackBerry going off in my room, so I ran to get it. As expected, it was Pat.

“Yes?” I said with irritation. He had called me all of twenty minutes ago.

“You ’b-b-bout ready?” he stuttered.

I told him that I needed at least fifteen more minutes.

He said, “Okay.” And then we hung up.

“So damn annoying,” I said aloud. I went to my closet to get the items that I had mentally put together, and then I began to put them on. I searched my jewelry drawer for the appropriate gold accessories to put on. After I accomplished that, I retrieved my tan handbag and sprayed on my body mist. Then my phone began to ring, again.

I already knew it was Pat, so I just picked up. “I’m coming out the door,” I said and hung up. I knew at that moment that this would be our first and last date.

I entered my little sister’s room to check on her. She wasn’t in there. I had totally forgotten that I had sent her off with my childhood best friend, Tiffany. I figured it was my meds that had made me forget; temporary memory loss was one of the side effects.

I shut her bedroom door and headed down the steps.

Pat was all smiles when I slid inside of his car. His 350-pound frame was overpowering his seat. His missing tooth almost made me throw up in my own mouth. He resembled a beat-down Bruce Bruce, but with none of the style that Bruce had. I turned my head and looked out the window on my side of the car.

He put his hand on my thigh and rubbed it. I shot him an evil look, and he quickly removed it. This fool has lost his mind. We pulled off and headed to our destination. The car ride was pretty silent at first, until Pat decided to speak.

“So you gl-gl-glad you decided to come ch-ch-chill with a nigga?”

I turned to look at him and smiled. In my head I said, Hell no, but out of my mouth I said, “Yeah. So far, so good.”

“Yeah, I’m happy y-y-you came too. I’m gon’ t-t-take you to a five-st-star restaurant since you a five-st-st-star bitch,” he said with a smile.

I didn’t know why he felt that that statement was okay to say. I didn’t care what word you put before bitch; in my world it was still inappropriate.

“Please don’t call me out my name,” I said politely. I turned my attention back to the scene out my window.

“Wh-wh-why you tripping?”

Is he serious? This man was working my nerves already. I turned back to him.

“Tripping?”

“Yeah,” he answered.

I guess he really felt I had no reason to be upset. “Why can’t you respect the fact I don’t like being called any kind of bitch?” I asked.

He just shook his head and focused on the road. I could tell this date would be sour, and I was impatiently waiting for it to be over.

We ended up at Keefer’s, a five-star steak house. As I stepped out of the car, I hoped and prayed that I wouldn’t see anyone I knew. Outside the car, Pat was a huge disaster. His beard needed a trimming, and he needed his hair braided. His outfit and shoes were the only things that let one know he had some kind of money. Too bad money couldn’t make up for his weight, looks, or that nasty-ass attitude.

“Y-y-you first, my l-l-lady,” he said as he held the door open.

I silently chuckled as I walked into the restaurant. He was trying to get back on good terms with me. The Keefer’s staff looked at us in astonishment. I knew they were wondering how he had pulled this one off . . . with me, that is.

“Table for two?” the host asked us.

Pat shook his head yes as a young, perky Hispanic girl grabbed two menus and told us to follow her. She stopped in front of a table that had a chair on each side. She set the menus down in front of us and told us the day’s special as we took our seats. We told her what we were drinking, and she was on her way.

“Angel, why you acting l-l-like you ain’t feeling a n-n-nigga?” Pat decided to ask.

You think, I thought.

“Pat, why you bugging? Can we just enjoy this date, or what?” I responded. It was a good thing that he knew I wasn’t interested in him, though. I thought maybe he’d just give up after trying over and over again and never getting anywhere with me.

“I—I—I mean, yeah, but you on th-th-that fake sh-sh-shit,” he answered.

I told him, “If I didn’t like you, Pat, you would know.”

As he continued to run his stuttering mouth, I noticed something far more interesting. He made his way into the restaurant and sat two tables behind ours. He was wearing an expensive black suit and reading the Chicago Tribune. In my eyes, that said “Money” loud enough for me to hear.

I watched his every move and didn’t pay Pat any kind of attention. When the server came back to take our order, I could hardly order, because I was focused on Mr. Expensive in the back. I wanted so badly to go fuck the lights out of him.

“Angel!” Pat yelled while hitting the table to get my attention.

I snapped out of my trance. “What? Damn!”

“If yo’ sl-sl-slut ass wasn’t all in th-th-that nigga face, you would’ve heard m-m-me say we ’bout to order,” he stuttered.

We placed our orders, and the waitress went on her way. I continued to gaze at Mr. Expensive, but I tried to be discreet about it. We sat there in total silence until the waitress brought us our meals.

When we finished, I said, “Well, Pat, we’re going to need to bring this little date to an end soon. I have to be at work in an hour.”

“All . . . all . . . all right. Let me g-g-get you some desser-ser-sert first,” he insisted.

He flagged the waitress down, and she sashayed over to our table. I guess he was asking me what I wanted, but I was too caught up in Mr. Expensive chewing his steak so perfectly that I didn’t hear a word he said. He started pounding on the table again. I snapped out of my trance and gave him an evil look. I almost started to curse his big ass out, but I decided to let him pass this time.

When the server brought out our bill for the drinks and meals, Pat paid for them, and we left. During the walk to the car, I wondered if running back into the restaurant to give Mr. Expensive my number would be rude. I changed my mind after I looked at how mad Pat was. He struggled getting in his way too small Lincoln MKZ.

“Y-y-you one disrespectful-ass b-b-bitch,” he spat as soon as he managed to get in.

“Excuse me,” was all I could say.

“Ex-ex-excuse you? No, bitch, excuse me,” he yelled as he drove away from the restaurant. He had called me one too many bitches, and that was where I drew the line. I started cursing back at him. After a lot of screaming and too much miscommunication, he stopped the car.

“Bitch, get out,” he said loud and clear.

I twisted my face up. There was no way in hell I was getting out and walking anywhere. I sat there. He threw his door open and climbed out of the car. He speedily came over to my side of the car. I had no time to think of locking the doors. He opened my door and tightly grabbed my arm. I was sure he left a mark.

“Get yo’ muthafucking hands off of me!” I yelled.

He yanked me out of the car and lifted me in the air. He then placed me on the ground. After I landed on my ass, he headed back to the driver’s side of his car. Cars slowly rolled past as they watched him embarrass the hell out of me.

I jumped up. “You stuttering bitch,” I yelled at him. I was pissed and humiliated.

“Fuck you,” he yelled back. He got in his car faster than he got out and sped off.

I looked down at my grass-stained jeans. My vest and the back of my pants were muddy. It had rained the day before, and unfortunately, the grass was still very wet. A tear fell from my eyes as I picked my purse up from the ground. I opened it and retrieved my phone. It read 8:55 P.M. I had to hurry and get home. I had to be at my night job no later than 9:50. I had to make this forty-five-minute walk a thirty-minute one.

It wasn’t that I needed two jobs. I just enjoyed the money. I loved being independent and getting the things that I wanted. I rarely worked at my second job. In fact, I probably worked two weekends out of the month there, if that.

I began my long journey home with my head held low. I was beyond annoyed at the hooting and the hollering by the thirsty men that drove past, not to mention the eye-problem-having females that stared and glared as they sped past too. Already I could tell that this was going to be a long night.

A horn beeped behind me, so I cautiously turned around to see what car it had come from. It was a smoky-gray Bentley with tinted windows. I became skeptical as it pulled over to the side of the road. I was almost certain that it wasn’t a serial killer or a rapist, being that they were riding in a 150,000-dollar car.

The car lights shone in my eyes. I covered the glare with my hand. Reluctantly, I walked to the car. As much as I didn’t want to get in the car, I really didn’t want to walk all the way home. When I got to the driver’s side window, I wondered who could be sitting on the other side of it. The window rolled down slowly. The smell of Black Ice car freshener escaped the car. To my surprise, it was Mr. Expensive pushing this whip. Something told me that the brother was paid . . . but damn!

“Now, I know I just seen you with a guy. What happened?”

I stood there wondering if I should tell him the truth or make up something. What I did know was that he was very attractive, and I was glad that he was the driver of this whip.

“Well, my date saw how I was looking at you, and he got all upset,” I said in all honesty. Mr. Expensive smiled, revealing his perfect pearly whites.

“I can’t understand how a beautiful lady like you would be walking all alone. If you don’t mind, I’d like to give you a ride home.”

I didn’t hesitate as I walked over to the passenger side to hop in. Once I was in, I started checking the luxurious car out. I had never been in anything with so much worth as this, and I was feeling like royalty.

I gave him the directions to where I lived, and then we were off. When we pulled up to my two-story home, I thanked him.

“Before you go, would it be asking too much for a name and maybe a number?” he asked.

I smiled and said, “No, it wouldn’t. My name is Angel,” and then I gave him my number.

He quickly typed my name and number into his iPhone. “I’m Mitch. . . . I want to see you again, sooner than later,” he proclaimed.

“Well, you can see me tonight. That’s if you don’t mind coming to a nightclub,” I said, believing he would decline. I assumed a nightclub in Chicago would be too much for him.

“Cool. Which one? You ain’t no stripper, are you?” he asked.

“No, I’m a bartender at Vision Nightclub. Come. I’ll hook you up with the drinks.” I ended our conversation there as I stepped out of his car. I was hoping he would come, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high. I waved to him as I opened my front door.

He blew the horn, and then he pulled off.

Normally, I didn’t get swept off my feet that easily, but Mitch was another breed. At this point, I was somewhat glad that Pat had yanked me out of his car. I knew I had to be extra sexy tonight, especially if Mitch was going to be present.

I stood behind the bar making the drinks, which people consistently ordered. I always studied the many different people who ordered drinks or worked the dance floor. Everyone had a story, and some people’s facial expressions told it all.

A muscular, chocolate-coated man slid in the seat that was directly in front of mine. He was looking down at something, but in my mind, I knew he had money on top of money, because his Armani suit said that he did.

“What you drinking?” I asked as I leaned over the counter so that he could hear my voice over the loud music. I wanted him to look up so that I could see his face.

“Two shots of Hennessy and bottled water,” he replied. I was shocked he was drinking dark liquor. He looked to me like a Cîroc or Goose drinker, but I went to work, anyway, as I got his shot glass and the Hennessy off the shelf. I poured the cups and slid them to him. Then I went to the cooler and retrieved his bottled water.

“Twelve,” I said as I sat the water on the counter. He pulled out a Gucci wallet and took a twenty-dollar bill out. He handed it to me.

“Keep the change.”

I smiled. As long as I had been working there, no one had ever tipped me over two dollars. I wasn’t fazed by the eight dollars. He fazed me. He defined the term sexy, and I could tell that wifey was not doing her job, obviously. As he looked up and smiled, I couldn’t help but smile back at him. It was Mitch, and I knew God was giving me a sign.

I could feel my juices sliding down my inner thighs. I was hoping they wouldn’t go through my tight blue jean shorts. I wanted more, so I decided to spark up a conversation.

“You seem out of your element,” I said, leaning in so he could hear me. His eyes zoomed in on my breasts. After all, they were poking out of my low-cut shirt.

He finally found my eyes. “Yeah, just a little, but I’ll be fine.” He cracked a small smile.

He left the bar shortly after our conversation. The remainder of the night, my eyes searched the room for him every so often, but I didn’t see him.

“Girl, he got you open,” said my drunken coworker Brittany. She laughed.

I turned toward her with a smile on my face, handing her another Sex on the Beach. I shook my head no, because I wasn’t open at all. I just had my mind set on him.

When the night ended, I gathered my things and headed out the door. To my surprise, there was Mitch, leaning up against his Bentley. He was parked in front of the club, and I couldn’t help but blush, knowing that he was waiting on me.

“Thought I left without you, huh?” He smiled.

I shook my head no, knowing damn well I was lying. “Follow me,” I said as I seductively walked to my car, three cars behind. I could feel his eyes on me, and I liked every minute of it.

After we pulled up to my two-story house, I parked and hopped out of the car. He followed suit, trailing me to my door. When we got inside, I turned on the living room lamp and the TV. We both sat on the plush love seat. There was a lull in the conversation, so I decided to revive it.

“Any kids?” I questioned.

“No, ma’am. You?”

“Well, I have a daughter, but her dad is keeping her from me.”

“Really. . .