Can I Get a Witness? Read online

  Praise for the uplifting novels of

  ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  The heartwarming sequel to her #1 Essence bestseller

  Let the Church Say Amen

  Everybody Say Amen

  A USA Today Top Ten Summer Sizzler!

  “Packed with colorful characters, drama, and scandal…. A fun, redemptive book.”

  —Romantic Times

  I Know I’ve Been Changed

  #1 Dallas Morning News bestseller

  “Grabs you from the first page and never lets go…. Bravo!”

  —Victoria Christopher Murray

  “An excellent novel with a moral lesson to boot.”

  —Zane, New York Times bestselling author

  “Emotionally charged…will not easily be forgotten.”

  —Romantic Times (4½ stars, Gold Medal, Top Pick)

  Let the Church Say Amen

  One of Library Journal’s Best Christian Books for 2004

  “Will appeal to fans of Michele Andrea Bowen’s Second Sunday and Pat G’Orge-Walker’s Sister Betty! God’s Calling You, Again!”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “Amen to Let the Church Say Amen.…[A] well-written novel.”

  —Indianapolis Recorder

  “Emotionally compelling…. Full of palpable joy, grief, and soulful characters.”

  —The Jacksonville Free Press (FL)

  Also by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  The Pastor’s Wife

  Everybody Say Amen

  I Know I’ve Been Changed

  Let the Church Say Amen

  My Brother’s Keeper

  Have a Little Faith

  (with Jacquelin Thomas, J. D. Mason, and Sandra Kitt)

  And check out ReShonda’s Young Adult titles:

  Getting Even

  With Friends Like These

  Blessings in Disguise

  Nothing But Drama

  Pocket Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2008 by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Billingsley, ReShonda Tate.

  Can I get a witness? / ReShonda Tate Billingsley.—1st Pocket Books trade

  paperback ed.

  p. cm.

  1. Women judges—Fiction. 2. Divorce—Fiction. 3. African American

  families—Fiction. 4. Houston (Tex.)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3602.I445C36 2008

  813'.6—dc22

  2008008787

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-7928-1

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-7928-1

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  To Tanisha

  (now please stop harassing me to dedicate a book to you)

  Acknowledgments

  ac·knowl·edg·mentnoun

  1. an act of acknowledging.

  2. an expression of appreciation.

  3. a thing done or given in appreciation or gratitude.

  —from www.dictionary.reference.com

  Here I am…embarking on another literary endeavor and facing the hardest part of penning the book—writing the acknowledgments. I felt the need to clarify just what an acknowledgment was for those who called me everything but a child of God for leaving their name off. (Yes, that really happened. I try to tell people it’s not that serious, but to some folks, obviously it is.)

  As much as I would love to include everyone who has crossed my path in life—my stepbrother’s third cousin on my great-granddaddy’s side…I simply can’t. (My editor only gives me so much room.) So, I have to reserve my acknowledgments for those individuals to whom I want to show appreciation for their assistance in THIS PARTICULAR BOOK. I am so grateful if you gave me a comment on my first book, but this is thirteen books later…so, please don’t hold it against me if you’re not included here.

  Okay…coming down off my soapbox….

  I am eternally grateful to God that I’m even able to write acknowledgments once again for He has blessed me with the ability to tell stories people want to read. I kid about it, but I’m actually so thankful that I have family, friends, coworkers, classmates, and people who sat next to me on the bus in 1984, who want to be included in my works.

  I have to, of course, give my next biggest thanks to my husband, Dr. Miron Billingsley, who pushed me to reach for the stars from the very first moment we met. You supported me, encouraged me, and even carried me when I didn’t have the strength to keep going. Thank you for everything.

  I would never be able to churn out books the way I do were it not for my wonderful support system. My mother, Nancy Blacknell, who told me for years, “I’m not your friend, I’m your mama.” I’m glad to count you now as a friend as well. I know that I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me (I know you’re saying I can at least try). You don’t always understand my writing process, but thank you for just patting me on the back and saying, “If you like it, I love it.”

  My sister, Tanisha Tate. I heard someone tell you that you were lucky to have a sister who is doing all the stuff I do. I want them to know, I’m the lucky one. Thank you for all that you do.

  To LaWonda “LaShay” Smith, you will never know what a blessing you have been in my life. I can never say it enough—I so appreciate all that you do to keep my life running smoothly. You make me shine; now go do you.

  To the woman who proves God does answer prayers, Fay Square. You are a lifesaver. You allow me to do what I do, work like I work, and know that my children are in good hands. Thank you for going above and beyond the call of duty and allowing me to travel and work with peace of mind.

  To my self-appointed personal stylist, spiritual advisor, and dear friend, Jaimi Canady (I know I’m a challenge, but thanks for hanging in there with me anyway).

  To my friend/therapist/motivator/sister friend and partner in crime, Pat Tucker Wilson, a talented slept-on writer. Shake the haters off and keep doing your thang!

  Of course, as always, I show much, much love to my agent, Sara Camilli; my editor, Brigitte Smith; my publicist, Melissa Gramstad; and my publisher, Louise Burke, for giving me the opportunity to shine.

  To my good friend, Nina Foxx, who is helping me “elevate myself”…thanks for the inspiration. To the other women of the Femme Fantastik—Lori Bryant Woolridge, Carmen Green, Trisha Thomas, Berta Platas, and Wendy Coakley-Thompson—you are absolutely fantastic and I’m honored to be in your ranks.

  To Dr. Juanita Bynum, Holly Davis Carter, and Jeff Clanagan at Codeblack Entertainment, thank you soooooo much for making my wildest dreams come true!

  Special thanks also goes to Sonny Messiah Jiles, Raquelle Lewis, Cale Carter, Candace K., Keith “D-Mars” Davis, Pam Walker, Saki Indakwa, Tamara Davidson, Curtis Bunn, Ken Smickle, and Angela Dotson at Black Issues Book Review.

  You know, I’ve lost count of all the book clubs I’ve visited with, but I have to tell you I have no doubt that I am where I am in my career because of their support. Thanks to each and every one of you for showing me nothing but love. This go-round I ha
ve to give a special shout-out to: Pages Between Sistahs, Go On Girl, Pageturners Too, Cush City (Thanks for continuing to support me despite my hectic schedule!), Supremes, SOW, Cover 2 Cover, MochaReaders, Sistahs (Fayetteville, NC), BSURE, WOW, Black Women Who Read, Conversations (Thanks, Cyrus!), Black Pearls, Keepin’ It Real, and all the other book clubs who read my latest two titles and told me you already had this one on the schedule!

  Much love to my literary colleagues who provide encouragement and support and are struggling to do this book thing with me: Jihad, Victoria Christopher Murray, Zane, Eric Jerome Dickey, Norma Jarrett, Jacquelin Thomas, Tiffany Warren, and Eric Pete.

  As always, much love goes to my wonderful, illustrious sorors, especially Mu Kappa Omega, Chi Omicron Omega, and the Houston Metropolitan Chapters. To all the other Greeks (especially the men of Omega Psi Phi), thanks for showing a sistah mad love and proving we really are all about Unity.

  And finally to my family…thanks for the inspiration. Let’s plan some more family get-togethers…I need some new material….

  Saving the best for last…. The biggest thanks of all goes to you, the readers who bought my books, passed the word, and continued to show me support. I am what I am because of you.

  Until the next book—thanks for the love.

  ReShonda

  Chapter 1

  “Ain’t nothing open at two in the morning but legs and liquor stores!” LaShawanna Jenkins wiggled her neck as she thrust a finger up in the air. Her golden braids swung from side to side like they were doing a sultry salsa dance. “And since he didn’t come home drunk, you know where he was!”

  Darius Jenkins’s lip turned up as he fought back a smile.

  “See, he thinks it’s funny!” LaShawanna snapped. She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Your Honor, he got me messed up ’cuz I ain’t the one.” She cut her eyes at her husband of six years. “I told him, one mo’ time. Just one mo’ time and it was over. I guess he don’t believe fat meat is greasy.”

  Judge Vanessa Colton-Kirk sighed as she gazed at the file in front of her. Every day, it was the same thing. Some couple who was once madly in love could no longer stand the sight of each other and came before her seeking a divorce.

  Vanessa flipped through the stack of papers. Five kids. No assets. LaShawanna worked at a grocery store. Darius worked as an auto mechanic. Same story, different couple. Vanessa looked up from her papers. “So, Mrs. Jenkins, what is it that you are requesting?”

  “I want out. And I want you to make him pay child support and alimony,” LaShawanna barked. “And I want him to pay for my statue, which he broke when I put him out. That was my grandma’s statue.”

  “It was a freakin’ rooster, Your Honor,” Darius said with a smirk.

  “So? It was my rooster!” LaShawanna screamed.

  Vanessa slammed down her gavel. “Please! Both of you, just be quiet.” She turned toward LaShawanna. “Mrs. Jenkins, Texas is a non-alimony state, so I can’t award your request for alimony. I will, however, order that Mr. Jenkins pay fourteen hundred dollars a month in child support.”

  “Fourteen hundred dollars!” Darius cried. “I ain’t got that kind of money!”

  Vanessa looked down at the folder again. “It says here that you bring home roughly twenty-four hundred dollars a month.”

  “I do, but how am I supposed to live?” he huffed.

  Vanessa struggled to maintain her composure. She got so tired of these men who came through her courtroom and didn’t want to pay child support. “Mr. Jenkins, if you don’t pay to support your five children, who do you suppose will?” she asked, putting her hands underneath her chin.

  The smirk was definitely gone from his face now. “Man, this is messed up.” He groaned, running his hand over his immaculately braided hair. “I don’t even know if Darianna and Demarcus are mine.”

  “No, you didn’t!” LaShawanna shouted. “You know doggone well them your kids!”

  Darius folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know nothing.”

  Vanessa took a deep breath and reminded herself that she had to endure this divorce court craziness in order to climb the ladder of her political career. “Mr. Jenkins, how old are Darianna and Demarcus?”

  “Seven and nine.”

  “And did you not sign the birth certificate?”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not.” Vanessa began signing the necessary paperwork to close out this case. “You have taken care of Darianna and Demarcus, along with your other three children, since their births. You have maintained that you were their father since birth.” She set her pen down and looked up. “So as far as the courts are concerned, you are the father of each and every one of them. My order stands at fourteen hundred dollars a month.”

  “Yeah!” LaShawanna sang as she did a victory dance. “That’s what you get. Tell your little bimbo that y’all gon’ have to make do on a thousand dollars a month. ’Cuz the minute you’re late, I’ma have your sorry butt thrown in jail!”

  “Mrs. Jenkins!” Vanessa snapped.

  LaShawanna covered her mouth, though she was still delighted. “I’m sorry, Your Honor.”

  Vanessa shook her head. “Whatever,” she mumbled. “Divorce is granted.”

  She pounded her gavel one more time as she stood, grabbed her folders, and headed back to her chambers.

  Her secretary, Nicole, was waiting right outside her office. She had a folded-up newspaper clutched in her hand. “Judge Colton-Kirk, here’s the article I was telling you about.” She held the paper out toward Vanessa. “It’s an awesome article. Everyone around the courthouse is talking about it.”

  Vanessa smiled as she took the Houston Defender. She had done the interview with the Defender reporter two weeks ago, but she had no idea it was going to be an entire five-column profile. “‘Houston Judge Is Heading Places,’” she recited, reading the headline.

  “And it even has a quote in there from Judge Malveaux, talking about what a great judge you are and how you have such a promising future,” Nicole excitedly said.

  Vanessa was shocked. She and Judge Malveaux didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, so she was surprised that he would go on record as saying something positive about her. She tucked the paper under her arm. “Thanks, Nicole. I’ll read it when I get a moment.”

  Nicole smiled in admiration before making her way back to her desk.

  As much as Vanessa loved her job as the judge of Houston’s infamous Divorce Court Number Three, these people could work her nerves. Before the Jenkinses, she’d fielded a couple who had tried a ménage à trois and the wife had ended up falling for the other woman her husband brought in. Yesterday, it was an Anna Nicole wannabe who’d married a man old enough to be her grandfather and divorced him a year later, taking half his money. His family had been furious, but the law was the law, and the law said she was entitled to half.

  “Well, I see you’ve destroyed yet another marriage.”

  Vanessa walked into her office and threw the folders on her desk, which was covered with a stack of files that all needed her immediate attention. “Hello to you, too, Aunt Ida.”

  Ida was sitting in the chair in front of Vanessa’s large mahogany desk. She wore her usual conservative lace-collared dress and pearls, and her small-framed black glasses were perched on the edge of her nose. Her curly gray hair poked out from under her Sunday-best hat, which she wore proudly even though it was just Thursday. Her Bible, which she never went anywhere without, sat prominently on her lap.

  “Don’t hello me. You should’ve made them children go to counseling or something. That’s what’s wrong with young folks these days, don’t want to work at nothing. Just want to throw in the towel at the first sign of trouble.” She sighed heavily.

  Sweeping the hem of her black robe to one side, Vanessa sat down behind her desk and smiled at her great-aunt. Ida Mae Colton had been like a mother to Vanessa since her own parents died in a fire when she was six y
ears old. Her grandparents had died years before, and Aunt Ida—her grandmother’s youngest sister—was the only one who could take in Vanessa and her two sisters, Rosolyn and Dionne.

  “Auntie, I’ve told you before, I don’t destroy marriages.” Vanessa opened up a drawer and pulled out a small mirror. She gazed at her reflection, taking note of a gray hair that was sprouting at the top of her hairline. Her flawless caramel-colored skin made people think she was a lot younger than her thirty-five years. “I simply preside over their breakups,” she continued, plucking the offending hair out.

  “Umphh. You the one with all the power. Seems like to me you can make them stay together,” Ida grumbled.

  “That’s absurd.” Satisfied, Vanessa placed the mirror back in the drawer. “I can’t make anyone stay together.”

  “I know you can’t make them, but you can encourage them. They need Jesus.” Aunt Ida reached over and picked up one of the folders to fan her robust frame.

  Vanessa laughed as she stuck her hand out for her aunt to give her the folder. “That’s your answer to everything, Aunt Ida.”

  Ida, ignoring the outstretched hand, kept fanning. “It sure is. There ain’t no other answer. That’s why these marriages today ain’t working, ’cuz folks ain’t got Jesus at the center of their marriage.”

  Aunt Ida was the most religious person Vanessa had ever met. But all her years of forcing Vanessa to go to church—not to mention the shady things that went on at some of these churches—had only turned Vanessa off. Now she didn’t go unless she was making a personal appearance or it was an election year.

  “So, are you ready to go?” Vanessa asked.

  Ida stood, finally setting the folder back on the desk. “You can try to shush me all you want, but you know I’m telling you the truth.”