Too Close for Comfort

by La Jill Hunt

Genres: Historical Fiction; Mystery

Synopsis

Picking up where Essence best-selling author La Jill Hunt’s Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda left off, Too Close for Comfort follows Paige Michaels and her no-nonsense friends as they search for love. Paige finally broke loose from her no-good man, and she’s loving the single life—until Quincy Westbrooke shows up.

Release date: March 1, 2015

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

I’m going to jail, Paige thought. Quincy pulled into the driveway of what used to be her home. He hadn’t even put the car into park before Paige was out of the car and headed to the doorway. She reached into her purse and pulled out her keys, praying that the locks hadn’t been changed.

As she slid the key into the brass knob and it turned, her heart skipped a beat. She opened the door wide and stepped inside. She looked around and noticed that nothing really looked different. But there was a different smell. It smelled like Ms. Lucille’s house, a stale mixture of cheap perfume and liquor. She had rarely been to Marlon’s mother’s home, but the odor was distinct those times she had been inside.

She set off through the house to find her daughter Myla, and Myla’s sister, Savannah. “Myla, go get me a beer out the ’frigerator!” Ms. Lucille’s voice came from the den.

“Okay,” Myla answered from upstairs.

Paige waited as she heard footsteps travel from Myla’s room down the steps.

“Mama!” Myla squealed and ran over to her mother, hugging her tight.

“Hey, sweetie. You and Savannah, go get your stuff so we can leave. Hurry up.”

Both girls looked relieved.

“Myla! I know your ass heard me! What’s taking so damn long?” Ms. Lucille yelled.

Myla looked at her mother, not knowing what to do.

“And bring me a Pepsi while you’re at it, and that bag of Doritos off the counter!” This time it was Kasey’s voice.

“Just go get your stuff,” Paige told Myla and Savannah.

The girls took off up the stairs.

Paige walked into the den.

Ms. Lucille was kicked back on the sofa, and Kasey, Marlon’s new wife, was plopped in her usual spot on the chaise lounge. They were so caught up in the Lifetime movie they were watching that they didn’t see Paige enter.

She loathed the sight of both women, each of whom she wanted to kill. She contemplated taking both girls without saying anything, but there was no way she was about to leave without confronting them.

“I know that both of you are lazy as hell, but number one, neither one of you pay for maid service, and two, neither one of those girls are your maid,” she snapped, startling both women.

“What the hell are doing here?” Ms. Lucille sat up.

Paige could tell that she was drunk, as usual. Her flowered housedress hung open, revealing her sagging breasts; she seemed an older, more pathetic version of herself.

“I came to get my daughter and her sister, and I also came to ask what the hell possessed you to think you could give my child a damn paternity test behind my back, without my consent!” Paige screamed, her anger rising.

Kasey grunted as she raised her large, flabby body off the chair. “This is my damn house and I can do what the hell I want to do in it!”

Ms. Lucille wobbled as she took a step toward Paige. “Damn right! Don’t let this heifer come in here and disrespect your house. I whooped her ass before, and I can whoop it again!”

Paige could feel herself getting warmer and warmer with each breath. “Your son ain’t here to hold me down while you swing on me today, old woman.”

“But I’m here and I ain’t ’bout to stand here and let you disrespect my mother-in-law. I’m Mrs. Marlon Davis!” Kasey screamed.

“‘Mrs. Marlon Davis’! Girl, please . . . Truth be told, it’s your ass I really want to hit, but I know you’re supposedly knocked up and I don’t wanna risk catching a charge.” She faced both women, prepared to rumble and hoping one of them would make the first move.

“I don’t see what you’re so upset about . . . unless you’re afraid the test may prove something Ms. Lucille and Marlon have known all along.” Kasey stared at her intensely.

“What? That Myla is Marlon’s child?”

“Ha! I don’t think so!” Ms. Lucille replied.

“Mama?” Myla’s voice called out.

Paige turned her head and saw Myla and Savannah standing in the doorway, holding their overnight bags. “Go ahead and get in the car. I’ll be right out!”

The two girls wasted no time running out of the house. The door slammed behind them.

Kasey told Paige, “Just get the hell outta here before I call the cops on you for unlawful entry and harassment.”

“Call them.” Paige laughed at the woman whose lips were so thick and teeth so big, she instantly made her think of a horse. I can’t believe Marlon can even look at this ugly woman, let alone marry her. “The number is nine-one-one.”

In a flash, Kasey’s arm flew back, her fist headed for Paige.

Paige moved her body at an angle and caught her by the elbow before she could connect to her body then twisted her arm behind her back and pinned her against the wall.

Kasey struggled to break free. “Ahhhhhhhhhh! You bitch!”

Ms. Lucille tried to grab Paige. “Let her go! Let her go!”

Paige tightened her grip and pinned her against the nearby wall, placing her other hand around Kasey’s throat. “That may be true, but let me let you in on a little secret—that’s my child you’re messing with and if you ever, ever touch her again, I will kill you.”

Her grip became so tight that Kasey’s eyes began to water.

“And another thing, this is my house, quiet as it’s kept, my name is on the deed and it ain’t coming off. So, since you think I’m a bitch, I’m about to show you. You got thirty days to get the hell outta here, and I mean that. Now, call Mr. Marlon Davis and let him know that!” Paige released her.

Kasey began coughing and gagging.

Knowing she had gotten her point across to Ms. Lucille and Kasey, she calmly walked out, slamming the door behind her.

As she opened the car door and got in, she heard Quincy saying on his cell phone, “Yaya, I can’t come right now. I’m handling a situation with Paige. Look, just take the man his stuff back, apologize, and be done with it. If you don’t, you’re gonna wind up in jail. Hell, from what you’re telling me you did to his place, you may just go to jail anyway. I don’t understand you—that was so stupid.”

“Mama, what happened?” Myla asked from the back seat.

She turned to her daughter. “Nothing, baby. Everything is fine.”

“Do what I told you, Yaya—I ain’t got no money to bail you out behind no stupid stuff.” Quincy closed his phone. He looked over at Paige. “You good?”

“Yeah, let’s roll.” Paige wanted to be gone before the police or Marlon showed up. As they were pulling out of the driveway, she had no doubt that Kasey and Ms. Lucille were calling.

“You sure? You’re sweating and your shirt is kinda opened.” Quincy pointed to her shirt, which had obviously come undone during the scuffle.

She wiped her moist brow, fastened her shirt, and smiled like nothing had even happened. “Everything all right with you?”

“Yeah, that was my little sister Qianna. She’s going through some drama with her boyfriend.” Quincy sighed.

“Man, your sister got drama, your girlfriend got drama—you just can’t get enough, huh?”

“I swear.”

She could see the worry in his face and was mad that she had added to his stress.

He turned the radio up to drown out their conversation. “My sister just gets so crazy sometimes. She has this temper, you know.”

“Well, she’s young.”

“Twenty-three ain’t all that young.”

“I thought she was out of town working for a couple of weeks?” Paige asked.

“Apparently, she came back early to surprise him and found another woman driving her car. She went off and tore his house up.”

“I don’t blame her.” Paige laughed.

“I figured you could relate. I can imagine you went off back there, huh?”

“Do you blame me? What on God’s green earth would make them think they could do that and I would be fine with it?” Paige glanced at the two girls sitting in the back seat, singing along with the radio. “I tried to choke the mess outta Kasey.”

“I know you didn’t.” Quincy shook his head. “Do you think that was wise? I’m going to have to tell you like I told Qianna—I ain’t got no money to bail you out.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to jail.”

It didn’t take long for Marlon to start calling Paige’s cell phone. She ignored his calls knowing she wanted to be alone when she spoke to him.

The opportunity presented itself, when Quincy took the girls to the store to rent some movies and video games.

“Paige, I can’t believe you came over here acting crazy. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Marlon, I’m telling you right now, the only thing I have to talk to you about is Myla. If you’re not calling to discuss her, then I’m hanging this phone up.”

“I am calling to talk about Myla and the fact that you stormed into my house, assaulted my wife, cursed my mother out, and just took Myla and Savannah, like it was all good.”

“Is that what they told you, Marlon? Did they tell you why? Did the fact that they gave those girls a DNA test without permission come up, while they were giving out false details?” She yelled into the phone.

“‘DNA test’?”

“You heard me—DNA test. They told the girls they were giving them a thrush test, swabbed their mouths, and told them, if it came back positive, they couldn’t come back to their house anymore.”

“Damn,” Marlon said, quietly.

Paige knew there was no way he knew about the test. “And where the hell were you when all this went down? Why would you leave those children alone with that horse of a wife and that drunk of a mother of yours? I bet it won’t happen again. Believe that!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that neither one of them will ever get the opportunity to set eyes on those girls again, let alone be in the same room with them.”

“Paige, look, I didn’t know anything about the DNA test. I’ll take care of that. I’m sorry.”

“I know that, Marlon—that’s why we’re not together anymore!”

“You know I love my daughters, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt them—”

“Believe me, you won’t ever have the chance to. Don’t worry about handling it, I already did—your wife got thirty days.”

“Thirty days to what?”

“Get the hell outta my house.”

“Your house?”

“That’s right, my house. That house is in both our names, remember?”

“But I pay the mortgage every month. You haven’t even lived here in over a year.”

“So? There were some months I paid the mortgage when I did live there, and my name is on the deed—That makes it my house, and I want her to get the hell out.”

“And what am I supposed to do?”

“Not my problem. I didn’t say you had to get out. I said she had to go. Why should you leave? After all, you pay the mortgage.”

“I can’t believe you’re acting like this, Paige. I thought you were better than that.”

“And I thought you were too, Marlon but, I guess it’s like you told me a long time ago—‘Sometimes, people change.’”

“Oooooooh.” Yaya threw her phone down and flopped across the bed. She could not believe her brother. “I’m handling a situation with Paige.” She didn’t know who the hell Paige was, and she didn’t care. What she did care about was the fact that she needed him, and he was too busy to help her. Her plan was to call Quincy and get him to take Jason’s shoes over to the house. Now she didn’t know what to do.

Checking her watch, she saw that she only had ten minutes to get to Jason’s condo. The sound of the doorbell startled her, and she ran to see if Jason was standing on her doorstep. Luckily, it wasn’t him; it was Monya.

“Girl, thank God you’re here!”

“What’s wrong? I tried calling you last night. Your cell and your house phone both kept going to voice mail.” Monya walked into the living room.

“I know. I turned them off because Jason kept calling.”

“What did he say?—Who was the chick driving your car?”

“I don’t know, girl.” Yaya grabbed her purse. “Come on, we gotta go.”

“Go where?—Wait, what do you mean, you don’t know. Didn’t you talk to him?”

“Yeah.” She checked her reflection in the mirror as they headed out the door. “But he didn’t tell me who the girl was. He was too mad about his shoes.”

“‘His shoes’?” Monya looked confused.

Yaya popped the trunk and told her what happened after she got to Jason’s house.

“I can’t believe you, Yaya. I told you not to do anything crazy. Now what are you gonna do?”

“You’re gonna take his shoes to him so I don’t go to jail.”

“Me? I don’t think so.” Monya folded her arms and shook her head.

“Monya, please?” Yaya hoisted the bag out of the trunk. “You gotta help me out. I called Q but he won’t do it.”

“Why can’t you just take the shoes over there?”

“Because . . . just do it, please.” Her cell began ringing, and Jason’s number flashed on the screen. “I’m on my way, dammit,” she screamed into the phone.

“Thanks, ma’am. I’ll let Mr. Taylor know,” Officer Crandle said in her nasal voice. “I appreciate your cooperation in this, Ms. Westbrooke.”

“Whatever.” She ended the call.

Monya was staring at her, giggling.

“I don’t see anything funny.”

“You are.” She laughed harder, pointing at the large garbage sack.

“Monya, please do this for me—just take the shoes over to Jason’s and give them to him.”

“You owe me big time, Yaya.” Monya reluctantly grabbed the bag.

“I know, I do. I promise; I got your brows for the next month.”

“Oh, no, you got my brows for the next two months, trick, and my mani’s and pedi’s!”

“Deal. Call me as soon as you leave. Thanks so much, girl!” Yaya smiled. She didn’t know what she would do without Monya. They had only been friends for a couple of years, but she felt like she had known her forever. Next to Taryn, she was her best friend.

“Oh, goodness, Taryn!”

“What about her?” Monya put the bag in the back of her truck.

“I was supposed to pick her up from the airport thirty minutes ago.” She checked her cell phone. “I’m surprised she hasn’t called.”

“A’ight, I’ll call you when I leave Jason’s,” Monya told her.

Yaya made it to the airport in record time. She parked in the short-term lot and damn near ran to the arrival gate. She scanned the brightly lit sign, searching for Taryn’s flight.

This is all Jason’s fault. If he hadn’t had some trash driving my car, I would’ve been here on time to pick Taryn up.

She located the gate number and sprinted as fast as her high-heeled sandals would let her. She searched the crowd of people but didn’t see her. She paused and thought for a moment. Luggage—she’s probably gone to get it already.

Just as she took off in that direction, she heard someone calling her name, “Yaya!”

“Hey, girl, I ain’t even see you.” She walked over and gave Taryn a hug.

“Okay, what the hell happened to you?” Taryn frowned, looking Yaya up and down. “What is up with the wife-beater? And what the hell is wrong with your face?”

Yaya rolled her eyes. “It’s not a wife-beater; it’s a tank top, you jerk. And there’s nothing wrong with my face.”

“Yes, it is. It’s totally void of any make-up.”

“I didn’t have time for that this morning,” Yaya told her as they got on the moving sidewalk.

At five foot nine, Taryn was slightly taller than Yaya, but much larger. Yaya easily fit into a size eight; Taryn, on the other hand, easily fit into an eighteen. Yet, even though she was what most people considered a big girl, she was the flyest person Yaya had ever known. It was Taryn who taught her about fashion and style, when they befriended each other in the seventh grade. Each day after school, while their friends would rush home to watch Rap City on BET, Yaya and Taryn would hop off the bus and rush to Yaya’s house to study Elle and Vogue magazines and try the latest hair and makeup techniques on each other.

Even today, Taryn looked as if she had stepped out of the pages of Essence magazine, rather than a red-eye flight from Las Vegas. Dressed in a hunter-green pantsuit with matching snakeskin stiletto pumps, and her Chanel shades covering most of her face, Taryn’s short hair was curled perfectly, and the diamond hoops she wore added the perfect touch.

“Wow! Jason must’ve really worn you out last night, Ms. Thang. I guess your coming back yesterday was a good idea.” Taryn laughed.

Yaya acted as if she didn’t hear the comment. “Which luggage track is it?”

“I think they said four.” Taryn lifted her Chanel shades on top of her head. “I don’t have that much stuff anyway.”

“Liar! You mean to tell me you went to Bermuda on a shoot and you don’t have that many bags?”

“Only three.” She laughed.

“So, how was the shoot?”

“It was good. Tony was kinda upset when I told him I would be cutting back because I was opening my own business, but I assured him we would still be available for the big projects.”

Tony Gordon was a well-known photographer who both Yaya and Taryn worked with quite frequently. He was a lot of fun and allowed them to be creative with their work. Hearing his name almost made Yaya think twice about the decision both girls were making. They were in high demand, known as the top make-up artists in the bus. . .