Maverick sauntered out of the workout room and I was left with an awful feeling of doom. Not knowing what to do or whom to call, I gave a strangled, hopeless cry. My husband and I were represented by the same PR firm, and with him being the bigger star and the person responsible for paying their exorbitant fee, it was pointless for me to turn to our PR team for support.
That stupid prenup I’d signed when I was young and dumb would prevent me from getting half his money or any spousal support. I wouldn’t get child support either if he won custody of our child. Oh, Lord…my life sucked!
But I couldn’t give up. Maybe I could convince Josh not to go public with the video. I’d offer to bow out gracefully from the show if that’s what he wanted. My finger was poised to press Josh’s number when my phone suddenly rang.
I noticed that the call was from a private number, and I swallowed in fear. Josh was about to make his demands, but I found it weird that he would bother to block his number. With a bad feeling swelling in the pit of my stomach, I swiped the screen, and accepted the call.
“Hello?” My voice came out in a tiny, frightened tone.
“Hi, Cori,” said a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t accurately identify.
“Who is this?”
“You forgot me, already? Aw, my feelings are hurt.”
Trying to make out the voice, I wrinkled my brow. “Who the fuck is this?” I shouted insistently.
“No reason to get ghetto on me. I thought you were too polished and dignified to go there. Oops, that’s right, there’s nothing dignified about you. You get down and dirty, with your pants down and your leg hitched up, fucking in public, for all eyes to see. Good thing I had my phone camera handy. Your adoring fans need to know about your fraudulent, fake-ass self.”
Suddenly, I became aware of who was behind the attempt to destroy my image and my good name…and it wasn’t Josh. “What do you want from me, you malicious little viper,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Temper, temper,” Ralphie said mockingly.
“How dare you try to blackmail me after all I did for you and your family—”
“You didn’t do anything out of the kindness of your heart. You bought my mom some dentures and tried to give her a makeover because you didn’t want to be embarrassed by her. You considered her a hood rat and a disgrace to the race. But you fucked up when you played me. My food was perfect and you and those judges conspired together and got me kicked off the show.”
“That’s not true, Ralphie. I didn’t have anything to do with your elimination.”
“I heard the words ‘goodbye, Ralphie,’ come straight out of your mouth.”
“I don’t pick the winners—”
“That’s a lie,” he hissed, cutting me off. “I saw Preacher Yancy’s name printed on the card you left behind in your dressing room the night of the finale, but you didn’t announce it that way. You gave the win to your boyfriend. Obviously, your show isn’t about the best cook. It’s about who’s laying the best pipe in you.”
“Michelangelo is not my boyfriend,” I said, but didn’t sound convincing.
“You could have fooled me. Why did I catch the two of you about to smash on the couch several weeks before the finale? I was the only cook who could beat Michelangelo, and I bet you planned to get rid of me way back then.”
“What happened between Michelangelo and me was wrong…it was a mistake. But there was no conspiracy against you, Ralphie. I swear.”
“Why don’t we let the public be the judge of that after they see the tape? I’m not going to release it until after the finale airs. Then, while Michelangelo is making his rounds and doing TV appearances, I’ll be doing the same thing—going on talk shows and discussing what I filmed.”
Never in a million years would I have believed that such a seemingly sweet and harmless soul like Ralphie would have the power to blow up my life. His capacity for vengeance was chilling. But I couldn’t let a little nobody punk like him publicly humiliate me. I was shrewder than he was. I could outthink him. Despite how upset and shaken I was, I had to pull myself together and outmaneuver that lowlife, orphaned, motherfucking black-acting, white-ass, street urchin.
“Ralphie,” I said in the soothing tone of a negotiator speaking to a terrorist in the midst of a hostage situation. “Listen, I can help you with your career.”
“What career? Oh, do you mean you can help me get a promotion from the stockroom at Target to a cashier’s position? No, thanks, I don’t enjoy dealing with the public.”
“I’m serious, Ralphie. I know lots of influential people and I can help get you started in the culinary field. I have ways to get you an apprenticeship with some of the most prestigious chefs in the industry. In fact, I’m tight with the owner of one of the top soul food restaurants in Harlem. A place called Bay Leaf that I used to own. I could get you a job as a sous chef. You don’t have to worry about housing; I’ll set you up in a nice apartment near the restaurant.”
“Hmm.”
“What do you think?” I asked, feeling hopeful.
“I think you’re kissing my butt so hard, my lips are starting to hurt.”
His insult infuriated me. But being at his mercy, I couldn’t curse him out the way I wanted to.
Ralphie cleared his throat. “The way you did me was wrong, but I’m not comfortable being a vindictive person—it’s not my style. So, you don’t have to worry about me exposing you. Well, not to the whole world, but I already sent your husband a copy. From what I could tell after meeting Maverick when he was a guest-judge on your show, he seems like a good man, and he deserved to know what was going on behind his back.”
Maverick was a good man, my ass. Ralphie had no idea of the kind of man-slut I was married to.
“Anyway,” Ralphie continued, “as far as the public goes, it’s not my place to blow your cover.”
Oh, thank God!
“I used to look up to you, Cori. You were my idol. In my mind, you were the most decent person in the world. It’s such a letdown to discover how you really are—the kind of person who’s so hungry for fame, money, and power, you’d probably throw your own mother under the bus to get what you want.”
Ralphie was really going in on me, and I felt like shit. It was hard to listen to what he was saying. Until now, I’d never realized how badly the truth hurt.
“I’m going to take you up on your offer,” Ralphie said. “Go ahead and set something up for me at the restaurant in Harlem. Tell the owner I’m willing to start at the bottom—as a dishwasher or whatever. I’ll work hard and earn that sous chef position in no time.”
Realizing my secret was safe, and that I wouldn’t have to live in disgrace, relief washed over me. I would have kissed Ralphie if he’d been within my reach. “You’re right, Ralphie,” I said, feeling elated. “You’ll be a sous chef before you know it. With determination, you’ll become a restaurateur one day.”
“Nah, I don’t have a head for business. Being able to cook for a living will make me happy.”
“Whatever your aspirations, I hope you achieve them. I also want to say thank you for giving me the opportunity to redeem myself.”
“You’re welcome.”
I told Ralphie I’d be in touch with him in a day or two. Considering the circumstances, I felt we’d ended the conversation on fairly decent terms.
But I had a lot to think about. It had been as if Ralphie had held a giant magnifying glass in front of me, forcing me to take a hard look at myself, and I didn’t like what I’d seen.
• • •
I should have been packing for my trip, but I sat on the edge of the bed instead, contemplating cancelling. As badly as I wanted to be with Michelangelo, it would be foolish to leave New York while Maverick was assembling a team of attorneys to help him end our marriage and ruin my life. He had access to the video, and I wouldn’t put it past him to release the damning footage himself.
I needed a pit-bull-type lawyer. Someone who was clever enough to find loopholes that would invalidate the prenup I’d signed. But I was between a rock and a hard place, fearing that putting up a fight against Maverick would provoke him into releasing the tape.
My phone pinged with a text message from Sophia, informing me that her lower back had started bothering her. She further stated that she’d heard that prenatal yoga was helpful for back pain and wondered if I’d be willing to foot the bill for yoga classes. Dear Lord, would this woman ever stop pestering me?
While grumbling to myself, I was struck by an idea. I quickly called her. She seemed surprised that I’d personally called and was delighted when I told her I’d be more than happy to pay for the classes.
Then, stealthily, I steered the conversation in a different direction.
“I need to talk about a sensitive subject.”
“Is something wrong, Cori?”
“Yes, I’d like to apologize for what my husband did to you. I don’t believe I was as compassionate as I could have been when you told me about those bite marks he put on your thighs.”
Sophia sighed. “Yeah, that was pretty shocking.”
“I bet it was. I should have been there for you—on an emotional level. But I was so busy with the show at the time. But now that we’ve finished taping, I’d like to make it up to you, if I can.” I cleared my throat. “I bet you were in a lot of pain afterwards,” I said, encouraging her to talk about the unfortunate incident.
I was still scheming, and I wasn’t proud of myself. But a leopard couldn’t change its spots overnight, I reasoned, and then promised to become a better version of myself after the legal battle with Maverick was behind me. In the meantime, my dire circumstances required me to fight fire with fire.
“It was extremely painful. My inner thighs were black and blue with visible teeth indentations for over a week. I don’t know how I would have explained those bites to my husband if he were home. Having the doctor at the fertility clinic notice the bites was mortifying.”
“I bet it was. Do you think the doctor documented what he saw in your medical record?” I asked, hoping there was a legitimate paper trail that proved Maverick was a sadistic pervert.
“Yes, the doctor insisted on giving me a tetanus shot. He suspected I had been abused by someone, and so he also took photos. I have no doubt that he mentioned his treatment and his suspicions of abuse in his notes.”
I smiled. You want to fuck with me, Maverick? Well, I’ve got something for your ass: photos of your handiwork and suspicions of physical abuse, documented by a physician!
“The doctor believed that I was in an abusive situation, and suggested I take photos myself in case I ever needed evidence of domestic abuse for the police.”
“Did you take pictures?” I was growing excited.
“Yes, but I would never show them to anyone. I’m your biggest fan, Cori. I would never do anything to create bad publicity for the Mavcor brand. All I ever wanted was for us to be friends. The way you’ve ignored me has been terribly hurtful.”
“I’m sorry, Sophia. Like I said, filming the show was all-consuming. Now that I’m free, I can spend more time with you.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. Would you like to get together today? Maybe do some shopping?”
“I’d love to.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in an hour.”