Secrets of a Kept Woman (Volume 1) Read online

  Disclaimer: This manuscript is a work of fiction. It is not meant to depict, portray, or represent any particular persons, living or dead, actual events, establishments, or organizations. Other characters, places, and events are products of the authors’ imagination and are used fictitiously to give the novel a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblances of fictionalized events or incidents that involve real persons are purely coincidental.

  Books purchased with a dull or missing cover are most likely stolen and unauthorized by the publisher. Please notify the publisher immediately of whereand when you purchased the illegal copy.

  Published by Nayberry Publications | 334-787-0733

  www.nayberrypublications.com | [email protected]

  Edited by Naiomi Pitre | Imoian Press | www.imoianpress.com

  ISBN: 978-0981584331

  Cover Design Front: Chanel Smith, Web Presence Designs

  Cover Design Back: Shani Greene-Dowdell, Nayberry Publications

  Copyright 2009, Shani Greene-Dowdell. All rights reserved. The reproduction, transmission, utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by an electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission. For permission, please contact Nayberry Publications at [email protected]

  Part 1: The Beginning

  Chapter 1

  Sisters From Another Mother

  Tuskegee, Alabama: a southern region of the United States, where the scorching heat of 103 degrees is a common occurrence. This is the land that has been labeled by anyone who has lived or traveled through the area as “da blazing durty south.” The summer of 1999 was no different. As the Channel 4 noonday weatherman gave his updates, he had just one thing to say about the characteristically hot conditions. “It is hot like fire on this side of the equator!”

  The warm and muggy weather adequately reflected the mood of the students in Coach Ballard’s biology class, because when the three o’clock bell rang releasing the Booker T. Washington High School students from their seven-hour prison the homework instructions that he shouted out fell on deaf ears. The students had quickly dispersed from their fourth period classes, eager to head home.

  “Hey, sit back in your seats until I dismiss you!” Coach yelled out behind the students, but no one took heed to his instructions except for one shining star, Shayla Thomas.

  Being the astute pupil that she was, she took the time and care to write all of the homework notes into her organizer before meticulously collecting her belongings and placing them into her book bag. The first one to arrive and the last one to leave, Shayla’s grades reflected her attentive attitude. She slowly arose from her seat and walked toward the door.

  Coach Ballard placed an arm on her shoulder and said, “Hey, Shayla. I appreciate your hard work in my classroom this year, young lady. Don’t think I don’t notice that each and every assignment and test answer is well thought out, calculated, and perfected. Also, thank you for staying seated long enough to get the homework instructions today.”

  “Thanks Coach. I like science a lot, so getting the answers correct is just what comes natural to me,” Shayla smiled inwardly, happy that her favorite teacher had noticed her dedication.

  “Young lady, you are going places,” he said, before closing his planner and zipping up his brief case.

  Nodding and smiling, Shayla exited the classroom. The sincerity in her teacher’s voice was encouraging, echoing sentiments that, even at her young age, she knew to be true. She strived for just that – to go places and do big things in her life. She knew that as long as she kept her G.P.A high enough, she was taking one step in the right direction. Making her way to her locker, she took a mental note to get all of the books that she would need for a long night of studying. The next day was going to be filled with semester exams and quizzes. She collected her text books one at a time.

  Microbiology, check.

  Literature, check.

  Pre-Calculus, check.

  Surveying the stack of books in her hand, she thought about the fact that she only had half a year’s worth of gruesome high school work to do, and then she would be off to enroll in Auburn University’s psychology program as an undergrad. Happy would be too simple a word to express how she felt about being accepted into the psychology department’s “Student Choice” program. She was beginning to feel more and more like the young woman that she was blossoming into with every thought of leaving the drudgery of teenage life behind and finally entering into college. Having collected all of the materials that she would need to complete her night’s studies, she quickened her pace. Walking briskly toward the bus stop, her mind on catching the yellow limousine ride home.

  “Hey, sistah girl!” It was her best friend Gladys, one-third of the trio of group dubbed “Sisters from Another Mother.”

  “Hey, girl,” Shayla slowed down to let Gladys catch up with her.

  Gesturing toward Shayla’s heavy load, Gladys asked incredulously, “Did all of your teachers assign you a stack of homework or what?”

  About that time, Ronnie, the final third of the trio, strolled up. She had caught Gladys’ last words and chimed in. “I told her not to take all of those hard classes, but she’s hard headed. We are supposed to be chillaxin’ in our senior year,” Ronnie chastised with a smirk.

  The two always teased Shayla about the excessive amount of time she spent studying each night. Even on Fridays when it was time to hang out, Shayla stayed glued to her books, determined to keep up her four-point-zero GPA.

  “I take the same honors classes as you do, but my teachers don’t give me half as much work as yours. Aye, Dios mio! Coach Ballard takes his little science class too serious,” Gladys added two more unsolicited cents to the pot.

  “I know! He does give me a lot of work, but lucky for me science is one of my faves, plus I like my honors classes. They’re preparing me for college, and I need all the preparation I can get.”

  Being the brightest apple in the bunch, when it came to making the grades, Shayla cut took pride in cutting no corners when it came to being number one in her class, even if it meant studying all night. Gladys wasn’t too far behind in the intelligence department. Now, Rhonda a.k.a. Ronnie the Gangsta Grezille, on the other hand, well… Suffice it to say – not so much!

  Hoping to encourage her friend, Shayla said, “Ronnie, on everything, I’m getting that master’s degree in psychology, pushing that Benz, and building my three-story house, all before I turn thirty. And I am going to do it all with brainpower. You should join the bandwagon, and start working on your master plan of success.”

  Ronnie stated matter-of-factly, snapping her fingers for added effect, “I’m going to find a man that will do all of the above for me before I turn 25. Please believe me.” She rolled her neck as if what she had spoken was written in the bible of truth.

  “Good luck with that, chica,” Gladys added, patting Ronnie on the shoulder sarcastically. “But as your friend, I have to tell you to have a plan B while you’re at it. Not saying you won’t land that fly papi to lace you with the finest things in life, mija, but just in case you don’t, have your own plan.”

  “I got this, snitches,” was Ronnie’s response, so they dropped the subject.

  Walking through the dimly lit school hallway, the three girls chit-chatted about school and their other number one topic of interest – boys. When they walked outside of the building, the strokes of the hot summer heat waves quickly struck them off guard.

  Shayla’s soft set brown eyes and tender high-yellow face turned i
nto a frown as she quickly threw her hand up to protect her eyes from the sunlight. Rhonda scrunched her nose up as if the heat was causing a stench too strong for her to bear. Gladys simply walked ahead of the pack as if the heat had not bothered her in the least bit. Despite the scorching heat, the friends walked onto the schoolyard in a confident strut. They were the perfect trio – one smart, one fiery, and one salsa.

  A million rays of sunlight couldn't blare out the image that caught their attention next. Damn, that ride is tight, Shayla thought.

  “Nice ride,” Gladys was the first to acknowledge the approaching vehicle aloud. A freshly painted, speckled-gray Cutlass Supreme with limo tint rolling on eighteen-inch McLean wheels. Clean. The car swooped around the corner in slow motion, riding slow enough for the friends to get a nice glimpse of the ride. Music thudded so loud from the speakers that the noise sent vibrations through the schools’ glass windows.

  Shayla said, “I wonder if he can even hear himself think in that car.”

  Ronnie ignored Shayla’s statement and said, “Forget if they can hear. Riding clean like that I bet his money is good. What I want to know is, who is up in there?”

  When the car finally came to a stop and the driver’s window slowly slid down, Shayla locked eyes with the caramel brown-skinned driver, and a millisecond of eye contact seemed like hours. The brother was rocking an LL Cool J hat to the back and could have been the rapper’s twin. Skin smooth like butter, luscious lips, and thick eye lashes to boot. His right brow had a slit down the middle like he had some kind of war wound. At that precise instant, he licked his lips, and they turned up into a nice, smooth LL Cool J-style smile. All eyes were on him.

  When he looked in the direction of the three friends, the full effect of his handsomeness was overbearing. All they could talk about was how fine he was. Their raging teenage hormones completely took over their minds like a hypnotists spell. It was a good thing that he couldn’t hear anything due to the wicked bass line blasting from his vehicle. His gaze could easily pierce a hole through willing skin. It was Titus Wilson.

  Ronnie spoke up first, sounding like Smokey and Craig from the movie, Friday, “Daaaammmn, he is fine! I’m about to get the 411…” She started sprucing herself up, but slowed her roll when she saw Mr. Jackson walking in the car’s direction.

  Gladys couldn’t help herself. “Go on and get it, Ronnie. Study long and study wrong, and papi will be my boyfriend. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Caliente!”

  “All I can say is what a sistah wouldn’t give! What a sistah wouldn’t give. Umph, umph, umph!” Ronnie said as she freshened her lip gloss.

  Fighting back the dreamy look that threatened to take over her face, Shayla simply said under her breath, “A brother like that could take me anywhere, but I’m sure a man that fine is taken.”

  Ronnie tossed an irritated look in Shayla’s direction. “There you go trying to couple up with a nigga, Shayla. You have to get to know a dude first, and then have a little fun. You don’t have to ‘boyfriend’ every guy that you think you might like, so to me it doesn’t matter if he has a girlfriend. Let’s leave that marriage and baby carriage for the next chick.”

  “Whatever, Rhonda, I don’t do the casual dating scene and screwing around, and you know that. It’s just not my thing.”

  “Well, he won’t be your thing, either,” she laughed and pushed Shayla teasingly.

  The bass from the Cutlass’ trunk continued to vibrate the school windows with the deafening decibels damn near cracking the glass. For that reason, the gruff assistant principal, Mr. Jackson, fumed as he walked briskly toward the car. As evidenced by his finger pointing and constant yapping, it appeared as though he was scolding the object of the girl’s affection for having his music too loud on school property.

  Once the music was at a satisfactory volume, Mr. Jackson walked away from the car, but not without a final warning. “Don’t let me have to tell you about your music again, Mr. Wilson. Understand?”

  “Okay, Mr. Jackson,” the young man said before he appeared to zero back in on Shayla.

  After Mr. Jackson walked away, it was Michael Hightower, better known as ‘Street Justice’ because of his reputation of running the streets, who trotted up to the car next. The three friends had continued to talk about Titus and how sexy he was, not realizing that Michael had been eavesdropping on the entire interaction. Some people called him ‘Street’ for short. He got the name Street Justice, because he had a reputation of righting all wrongs when it came to matters of the street. You couldn’t break a street rule and let Michael find out about it. He even had a strong following. He practically created the code of ethics for Tuskegee’s projects. Mind you, he had done all of this while maintaining decent grades in high school.

  Having gotten an earful by standing next to Gladys the entire time the girls were talking about Titus, he said something to the driver and pointed in the direction of the three girls’. Shayla looked at Ronnie and then to Gladys, shocked. She was even more dumbfounded when Michael jogged back over and addressed her directly.

  What are you up to Michael? She thought, but before she could say anything, Michael filled her in.

  He said, “My cousin wants you to come over and holler at him, Shay.”

  “Street, what does he want with me?” Shayla played it off like she was uninterested and irritated, but all the while on the inside, she was happier than a little bit. Is my hair in place? Do I need a piece of gum? The Thousand Island dressing from my salad at lunch has probably got my breath kicking. She questioned herself frantically. A laundry list of nagging thoughts crossed her mind as she thought about approaching Titus. Rubbing her fingers over her form-fitting shirt to iron out any crinkles, the only thing she could think about was her appearance. Shayla stood taut, visibly nervous, and wished she had a mirror to do a quick check.

  Finally, Street said, “I told him you said that ‘He could take you anywhere, and that you’d do anything for his lovin,’. Ain’t that what you said, shorty?” He mocked Shayla’s earlier words and laughed heartily at his embellishment of the truth.

  “You can’t be serious!” Shayla wished she could enter into the Twilight Zone instead of having to go talk to the dude for real. Checking and admiring from the sidelines was her modus operandi, but to actually walk up to him and start a conversation was an entirely different story. School work was her expertise. Boys were more complicated.

  Picking up on Shayla’s ambivalence, Michael’s voice got serious, saying, “On the real, just holler at my boy, Shayla. He’s good people.”

  Shayla cut Michael an eye of disapproval for repeating her conversation with his sexy cousin, but on the cool, she was happy. Nervous, but happy to be introduced and chosen by his cousin.

  “Woman up, Shayla, and go handle that,” Ronnie gave her approval and the quick sister pep talk Shayla needed to get her confidence level up. Knowing how girls could be when it came to a fine brother that everyone wanted to talk to addressing specific girl, Shayla held her head high and let her long black hair blow in the wind as she strutted to the car. As expected, eye darts from other girls in the schoolyard flew left and right in her direction. The whispers were audible, but her game face was on.

  “Hey. You said you wanted me to come speak to you. What’s up?”

  “Really? I thought it was you that was speaking of me,” the driver said, jokingly raising his sexy left eyebrow. A full set of pearly white teeth flashed brightly, causing her to smile.

  “Well, yeah. Actually, I was talking about you when you drove up,” she admitted. “But that was between me and my girls, not for Michael to run off and tell you.”

  “Is that right?” he said, sliding his pink tongue across his luscious lips once more.

  Suddenly, she found the confidence that earlier was tucked away so nice and neat. “Yeah, and you must have liked what you heard and saw, because you requested my presence. Now that you have my undivided attention, I’m gonna ask you again. What’s up?” Shayla
stated cockily.

  He simply answered, “You.” Game over. She was done for. Seeing her blush, he continued, “Since you’re holding conversations about me and all, without including me, that means you have to give me those digits so you can include me in the next conversation. But next time, the headliners will be just me and you.”

  Right about that time, he fidgeted with his CD changer, and Tony Toni Tone’s Just Me And You played softly through the speakers. “You feel me? Just me and you…”

  Oh, he was a smooth one, Shayla thought. Feeling a little heated and ready to cool down, Shayla decided to change the subject by teasing him, “I see you’ve turned your music down now. You don’t want Mr. Jackson to kick you off the campus.”

  He flashed a cinematic grin and said, “Yeah, Mr. Jackson be tripping, but it’s all good.”

  Just me and you, huh? She thought, as she reached into her purse and tore off a piece of paper from her note pad. She wrote her number down and started to hand it to him, but snatched the paper back before it was secure in his hands. “Wait a minute. Before I give you my number, at least tell me your name?”

  “Titus, but call me Tee.”

  “Okay, Tee.” She put her hand on her hip, poising herself to tell him what type of girl she was. “There are a few other things I need you to know off the top, before I even think about talking to you on the phone. One, you have to treat me like a lady at all times, because I’m nobody’s bitch or ho, and if you don’t know the difference it’s probably best…”

  Titus cut her off saying, “Whoooaaa…. ! Wait a minute, babygirl. Pump your brakes. I’m just going to give you a phone call. Let’s start with that. From there, you will have plenty of time to see how well I’m going to treat you as my lady.”

  Shayla’s father, Rich Thomas, taught her four valuable lessons. One, she was nobody’s bitch or ho. Two, never let a man disrespect you in any way. Three, to always think more of herself than anyone else could ever imagine. And four, trust in a higher power, and the rest will fall into place. Those lessons started when she was only knee-high and were engraved in her psyche.