Darius Jones by Mary B. Morrison Page A

than he’d hurt me. I deserved somebody to love me the way he loved Honey. My Wellington was my soul mate. He loved me like no other man but I couldn’t bring him back. I had womanly needs that I wanted Grant to continue fulfilling.
    Wellington and I had lots of great days but over time they were always interrupted by that no good Melanie Marie Thompson. There was always a woman lurking in search of destroying my good relationship. When Wellington and I were engaged, Melanie had lied and said she was pregnant with his triplets. She knew damn well her babies weren’t for him. But like a fool (or a good man), Wellington believed her and did what he thought was right. He married her. So I left them in the Bay area and moved from Oakland to Los Angeles. After Wellington found out the truth we reunited and eventually married. Years later, when he was in the hospital dying, I wished I’d never found out that he’d never stopped seeing Melanie.
    Why do men lie so damn much? Why do I keep falling in love with the same type of man? Maybe I should just let Grant go. He’s already telling me he’s never going to give up Honey. What was more important was for me not to take him back when he finds out those babies aren’t his.
    I was glad the driver was on La Cienega Boulevard in front of Bloomingdale’s at the Beverly Center. “Go down Beverly and drop me off at the Emergency entrance.” I needed to get away from Grant and inhale fresh air before I passed out or knocked him out.
    â€œHey, I’m sorry,” he said, holding my hand. “I never meant for this to come out, not this way. I have too much respect for you. It’s just seeing her and not knowing, you know?”
    I wasn’t about to accept his indirect apology. He’d known she was pregnant. When was he going to tell me? That was the question. In his heart, he knew he wanted her and not me. That hurt.
    I removed his engagement ring from my finger, placed it in his hand, and said, “You owe my son a million dollars. Take your ring and save your apology for Honey. We’re done. No, make that, I’m done with you and your lies. And one more thing. Don’t ever call me again. And another thing, I hate you! And…and…” Wow. In less than five minutes after giving back his ring, I’d run out of negative things to say to Grant.
    But I wasn’t done with him yet. Oh, no. I was just getting started.

CHAPTER 14
Bambi
    â€œG et out the goddamn car, tricks.” What on earth were Jada and Grant doing? Women. Damn. She was probably tripping because those babies might be his. Not like his sperm could crack her mother hen eggs. “Get out of the damn car!”
    â€œStop here at this street meter,” I told the driver. Didn’t want us to create a Coming to America scene with multiple luxury cars in front of Emergency, thinking we were lost shopaholics who were supposed to be across the street at the Beverly Center.
    En route to the hospital I’d done a quick wardrobe change in the car. Wasn’t much I could do in the short t ime frame to alter my blond hair and brows so I gathered my hair on top of my head and covered it with a charcoal Yankee baseball cap. Each time I wore this cap it reminded me of Jay-Z’s and Alicia Keys’s “Empire State of Mind.”
    Yanked out my silicone pads, kept on my butt pads. I threw on my plain gray sweats and a matching T-shirt. Now I resembled a fair-complexioned black woman with itty-bitty titties and big booty.
    I’d replaced my blue contacts with gray, removed my eyelashes, changed my makeup to a fresh clean earth tone. Slipped on my socks and gray tennis shoes. At times, I preferred gray because unlike wearing all black or white, not many people noticed the color gray or the person wearing it.
    â€œDamn. It’s about time.” Tossing my binoculars on the seat, I got out of my Town Car. I eased on my sunglasses,