The Other Side of Goodness Read online

  “I do not.” Paris gave him a disapproving look to emphasize her words. “You’re not here so you don’t know what I do all day. And I assure you, I do a lot more than watch television.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. She divides her time between the computer and her precious little CrackBerry, oh I’m sorry; I meant to say BlackBerry. No, no, wrong again. She has an iPhone now, her new play-toy. And what’s that hot new thing on the Internet this cycle? Facebook! Yeah, that’s right . . . Facebook. Her big thing used to be MySpace, but it’s been replaced by another lover. And let’s not forget about her have-to-have, much-needed therapy,” Andrew said.

  “Therapy?” There was clear alarm in Lawrence’s voice. “What therapy? What’s wrong? Now, Paris, you know if the media gets wind of this—”

  “Retail therapy,” Andrew said. “I’m talking about her retail therapy. Isn’t that what you call it?” Andrew looked at Paris, who didn’t respond, before turning back to his father-in-law. “She has to go shopping to take her mind off all the depressing things she sees and hears on television and that comes across on the Internet. You know, all of those ‘devastating, distressing things that are happening all around the world,’ like poverty, all of those poor and starving folks in the world, the daily reported civil unrest around the globe, and let’s not forget those poor animals they show on TV in need of a good home. According to my dear wife, the only way she can feel better about all of these things after witnessing them is to go shopping.”

  “I’m sure this can’t be true,” Lawrence said. “I certainly hope it’s not. Paris’s mother and I raised her to be a productive member of society . . . to serve others. Paris, you could be spending time at a church or shelter, helping to feed the hungry, showing just how much our family truly cares about others.”

  “Daddy, I’m twenty-seven years old, twenty-eight in another eight months. I’m not a child anymore that you can mold into what you want me to be. I have a husband; we have our own home. I get to decide what’s best and right for me.”

  “In other words: I can’t tell you what to do anymore?” Lawrence said with a slight frown.

  “Now, Daddy, I respect you. You just need to learn to respect me. I’m all grown up now. I’m not your little girl anymore.” Paris bit down on her bottom lip.

  “Oh, now, you’ll always be my little girl.” Lawrence grinned. “And I’ll always be your daddy. And speaking of family and little girls, exactly when do the two of you plan on having children? Your mother is ready to be a grandmother. And being a grandfather would certainly look good on my political brochures. There’s nothing that says to the voters how much you care than letting them know you’re not only a parent but a grandparent. And a child or two would definitely give you more than enough to do to keep you busy around the house, Paris.”

  “Daddy, is that all you ever care about? How something might benefit your political aspirations?” Paris asked.

  “For now it is. That’s why it’s important for your mother to put on the right face for the public.” Lawrence leaned forward. “That’s why you, your brother, Malachi, and little sister, Courtney, must be on your p’s and q’s at all times, representing our family with the highest level of degree. Proverbs 22:1 tells us that ‘a good name is rather to be chosen than great riches.’ Our name is a brand now. And we have to protect it. So I don’t need any of you doing anything that could embarrass or derail me, and especially not during this campaign cycle. I plan on winning my upcoming reelection. And I don’t need any problems popping up. That’s why I made sure I got that large ballroom last week for that campaign rally I had.”

  “We know, Daddy. Stay on our p’s and q’s. You’ve drilled that point home to each of us enough. Oh, yeah, and I heard all about that underhanded ballroom acquisition,” Paris said. “That was so wrong of you on so many levels.”

  “Says who?” Lawrence pulled his body back as though he was shocked by her words.

  “Mom, for one.”

  Lawrence waved her words off. “Your mother is such a softie. She’d give away everything if I’d let her.”

  “Well, to be fair,” Andrew said, chiming in. “From what I heard, you did manage to somehow finagle that ballroom away from an elderly man’s one hundredth birthday celebration after his family clearly had it reserved months before you ever thought about having anything there. That’s the way I heard it, anyway.”

  Lawrence stared hard at Andrew, then released a quick smile. “All’s fair in love and politics. If you can do it and get away with it, and it doesn’t physically hurt anybody, what’s the harm in the end? I happen to know folks who can make things happen. What is it the young ballers say? Don’t hate the player; hate the game.”

  Lawrence then looked at Paris. “And your mother talks too much, as do you. Some things aren’t meant to be repeated. With that being said, now get on in the kitchen and fix me and your husband something to eat. As I said, we have some business we need to attend to, and I am starving.”

  Paris smiled slightly, the way she did when she was completely under his rule and didn’t care for what he was saying but knew it was best to just go along with him to get along, until the right opportunity presented itself. “Sure, Daddy. Whatever you say.”

  She went into the kitchen, opened the drawer where she kept a stack of various restaurant menus, pulled out the menu to the Italian place she used whenever she wanted Italian food, and called in an order.

  She hung up the phone and grinned. “Sure, Daddy. Whatever you say.”

  Chapter 2

  For though I be free from all men, yet have I made

  myself servant unto all, that I might gain the more.

  —1 Corinthians 9:19

  Paris’s father’s words about her having children had stung more than he knew. Her mother would have known, because the two of them had just talked about it two days ago. But her father was always too busy to care about anything that had to do with his family unless it was something that somehow fit with his political ambitions. She’d been trying to get pregnant for a little over four years now, desperately trying for the past two years, with no results.

  Andrew really wanted children. He really wanted them. And he was good with them. He’d become more insistent about it lately, making comments about how they weren’t getting any younger. Early in the year, he’d expressed how he was thirty-three, and before he knew it, he’d be forty.

  “I don’t want to be an old man trying to keep up with our children,” he’d said. “I’d like to enjoy them while I’m able, and not in my forties, or worse, fifties when they begin elementary school and close to seventy when they graduate high school.”

  When he’d first conveyed his desire for them to start their family, it had come because Paris had been putting off getting pregnant until they’d been married for a year or two. She hadn’t wanted to be like many she’d seen who’d gotten married and found all of their time as a couple lost in the demands of raising children. After two years, she’d discontinued doing anything that would keep her from getting pregnant—fully expecting she’d be like those who immediately got pregnant. Boy was she wrong! And since she hadn’t told Andrew she wasn’t doing anything to keep from getting pregnant, he’d merely thought she just still didn’t want children yet.

  So he’d ramped up his rhetoric, kept up his petition for them to get started.

  Paris knew she should tell him that she wanted to have a baby just as much as he did, but seeing that there was now possibly a problem (and believing she might be the one with the problem), she didn’t let on. She decided she would just let it be a surprise when she did finally conceive. It had been only in the past two years that she’d told Andrew she wanted to start a family, and only this year had she suggested they both see the doctor to find out why they hadn’t made a baby yet.

  Andrew went to the doctor, and just as Paris had suspected, there didn’t seem to be any reason coming from him as to why she hadn’t gotten pregnant. Andrew was so great ab
out it. He played it down when he saw how devastated hearing this affected her. He told her things like, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We just started really trying about a year ago.” And, “You know half of the fun of getting there is getting there.” He, of all people, knew how Paris could be and how much she liked to get what she wanted when she wanted it. He also knew she was spoiled.

  But since Andrew hadn’t known she’d been trying for four years instead of the one he was aware of, he didn’t know there was a really bad problem and everything pointed in her direction.

  The delivery guy showed up forty minutes after she placed her order. He’d come to the back door and knocked as instructed. Normally, Paris would have told Andrew the food was there so he could come in and fix his own plate. But she knew her father didn’t play that at all. Her father believed women should fix a man’s plate. Since she didn’t cook (that often anyway) and her father had turned up his nose about that, she decided it was best to just fix their plates and take it to them to keep her father from even knowing that she’d ordered in.

  She went into the den to see if they were ready. William Threadgill, her father’s forty-nine-year-old best friend and chief of staff, was there now.

  “Hi, Paris,” William said as soon as she entered and he’d looked up and seen her.

  “Hi,” Paris said, looking at him only briefly before directing her attention to her father. “The food is ready.”

  “Well, that was fast,” Lawrence said. “I hope it’s real food and not some sandwich or somebody’s helper you threw together.”

  Andrew snickered. Paris threw a hard look his way. She knew that he knew she’d merely ordered in. Andrew cut off his snickering, then smiled as he winked at her. She couldn’t help but smile, no matter how much she hadn’t wanted to.

  “You can bring it in here,” Lawrence said. “There’s no need in you going to the trouble of setting up the dining room table just for the three of us. We can eat in here while we finish up.”

  Paris nodded, then grinned. “No problem.” She was glad he’d said that, since she’d had no intentions of setting up the dining room table. It was enough to have to put the food on a plate, deciding what was too much or not enough for each man. But to have to set plates and utensils as well as dirty up extra bowls just to put it on the table? No way.

  She turned to William. “Would you like something to eat as well?”

  William smiled. “Why, yes. Thank you, Paris.”

  Paris wanted to roll her eyes at William but held back. William was always so polite and respectful to her when he was in her father’s and husband’s presence. Nothing like he could be when it was just the two of them. She even hated how he said her name: Pa-ris. Dirty old man. She went back to the kitchen to fix three plates.

  William and her father had been friends since before she was born. He was truly her father’s best friend, his right-hand man, and now his chief of staff in the world of politics. Most folks knew that before they could ever get to her father, they had to get past William. And William was a silvery sly fox. He didn’t care about how he looked to others or what they thought about him. So much so that Paris was convinced that was why he was allowing his hair to go gray while her daddy dyed his, which caused William to look older than her father even though he was a year younger than him.

  On the other side, her father claimed he dyed his hair because he had to maintain his image, being that he was a politician and always in the public’s eye and all. He argued that people judged public figures harshly on their looks. They liked their male politicians to be tall, with deep manly voices, and good looks were always a plus. Politicians needed to have firm handshakes and know how to work a crowd, yet still be effective when it came to being one-on-one.

  But Paris also knew that Andrew was right when he’d said she and her father were like two peas in a pod. She, of all people, hated to admit that at times, because her father had some nasty (some might even call them downright borderline narcissist) qualities about him. However, she considered that she—like her father—was merely confident in who she was, what she wanted out of life, and that somehow in the end, she would find a way to get it.

  She decided it was best to put the three plates on a tray to carry into the den. Doing that would save her a trip. She just had to be careful not to drop the tray with all of its contents or pour the plates onto the floor if she somehow tilted the tray the wrong way. I could definitely not be a waitress or a maid, she thought as she maneuvered her way out of the kitchen into the den with the tray of full plates. She was practically holding her breath as she walked. No way!

  “That looks good,” Lawrence said as she methodically made her way over to the coffee table, trying to figure out how to set the tray down around their stuff.

  Paris couldn’t believe how little help she was actually getting from the men (including Andrew) as she tried to situate the tray, finding she first had to move some of their things lying on the table out of the way. Managing to do it without any assistance, Paris stood up straight and waited on someone to acknowledge what she’d just accomplished.

  “Are you planning on bringing us something to drink?” Lawrence asked Paris. “I’d like some cola if you have any.”

  “I’ll get it,” Andrew said, immediately jumping to his feet.

  “It’s okay,” Lawrence said. “Paris can get it. She doesn’t mind.” He looked up at Paris. “Do you?”

  Paris forced a smile. “Of course not. That’s what I’m here for. Right, Daddy? To serve.”

  “No,” Lawrence said in a tone lower and more serious. “It’s not what you’re here for. I just thought you appreciated the fact that we’re all in here working hard on something important and you wouldn’t mind helping out the best way you could.”

  Andrew went over to Paris and placed his hand in the small of her back. Paris nodded, then smiled. She received the message from both men. Her father was telling her that she didn’t have a job outside of the house and that she really didn’t do all that much to help out around the house (having someone who came and cleaned for them), so the least she could do was the least she could do. And Andrew was telling her to let this go and not to pay her father much attention. That he loved and appreciated her, and that their guests (mainly her father) would be out of their house soon enough, so just chill out for a little while longer.

  Paris went to the kitchen and returned with three glasses of cola. The three men were eating now and didn’t even notice she’d returned with their drinks. Noting this, Paris was careful not to disturb their conversation.

  “That woman called again,” William said. “She’s persistent, that’s for sure.”

  “Again?” Lawrence asked. “Well, does she have money she wants to donate to my campaign?”

  “It doesn’t appear to be the reason that she’s calling,” William said. “Mattie told me that she’s called every single day, a few times twice a day even, for the past week. Mattie is positive that it’s the same woman, and for some reason, she insists on speaking to you and only you. She won’t leave her name or a message. Just asks when you’re expected to be there and that she’ll just call again later. Mattie said she showed up at the office yesterday still refusing to give her name. After about forty minutes of sitting there, she told Mattie that she couldn’t wait any longer and left.”

  “Mattie is good at protecting me,” Lawrence said. “She knows how to keep folks away from me.” Lawrence began to chuckle. “She’s almost as good at it as you are. And she’s so convincing. . . so believable sounding.”

  “Well, I spoke to that woman today myself on the phone. I’d told Mattie if she called again to transfer her to me, if I was available. I was trying to make her think I was you so I could find out why she was trying to get in touch with you. She didn’t fall for it. The mystery woman maintains it’s imperative that she speaks with you; she claims it’s a matter of life and death. She let me know, in no uncertain terms, she doesn’t plan on divulging why s
he needs to see you, except to you, and only to your face. I have to give it to her; she’s a bold one, that’s for sure.”

  “Well, most folks believe their minute problems are a matter of life and death.” Lawrence shook his head slowly. “But you say she’s called for an entire week? And from what you and Mattie have gathered, she doesn’t sound like she’s interested in contributing financially to my campaign? Because you know now that I need some large donations.”

  “When I asked if I could be of assistance, going as far as to tell her that I was the person who had your ear, she wouldn’t tell me a thing. Just that she had to speak with you, she was running out of time, and that it was a matter of life and death and asked if someone could tell her when she could meet with you.” William picked up his drink and took a swallow, then set his glass back down.

  “She said she will only say what she has to say to you,” William continued. “Man, I’m going to be honest: It looks like she’s not going to give up what she wants with you to anybody except you. At this point, she even has me curious as to what this is about. You know that I’m generally pretty good at breaking down even the best of them. But this woman is a tough nut to crack; she’s not budging.”

  “Yeah, and you also know there are a lot of crazies out there who would love nothing more than to do me harm,” Lawrence said. “We have to stay on guard.”

  “I know that. But honestly, she doesn’t sound crazy at all. In fact, she has this really sweet, pleasant voice . . . really silky. But then, the women with the sweet, sexy voices are usually nothing like what they sound on the phone when you finally get to see them in person.” William shuddered, then happened to glance at Paris, who was quietly standing in a corner out of the way.

  Paris knew he’d realized they were talking about things he, at least, would prefer she not be privy to. Her father must have picked up on it as well, since he, too, was now looking at her. That conversation officially came to a screeching halt.