Chapter Nine

Zuri

The next morning, I was greeted by the smell of breakfast as well as the sound of running bathwater. Part of Jason’s ritual was to provide me with ladies-in-waiting, gifts, and a personal masseuse the day after he roughed me up. There was a total of three women contracted to run my bath, cook, and pamper me. I didn’t have to lift a finger if I didn’t want to.

“Mrs. Armstrong, your bath awaits you,” Karen, one of the ladies-in-waiting, spoke from the doorway.

“I’ll be there in a second,” I replied with a groan. My body felt like shit, and I was certain it looked the same. I didn’t have to see the bruises near my stomach to know they were there.

“I took the liberty of adding in your favorite lavender scent,” Karen declared with a smile.

“Thank you,” I stated before standing my nude self from the bed and heading toward the 400-square-foot master en suite equipped with a vanity area, four-head shower, and two-person steam room.

“Hopefully, the water is to your liking.”

“It’s perfect,” I replied after dipping my finger into the oversized oval tub sitting in the center of the floor.

With Karen’s assistance, I stepped into the tub and practically melted into the warm water. Bubbles were filled to the brim just the way I liked it. “I’ll leave you to rest, Mrs. Armstrong, but I’m just outside the door if you need me.” With a bow, Karen backed out of the bathroom and left me to my thoughts.

Slowly, I lifted my head toward the mirror on the ceiling to assess the damage done to my body. As I suspected, Jason’s handprint was still slightly visible around my neck, and my face was swollen. However, it wasn’t too bad, nothing a little makeup wouldn’t conceal.

“Thank God,” I mumbled to myself before leaning back into the bathtub. Things could’ve been much worse. I was thankful they weren’t. I remembered one time Jason had broken my nose and dislocated my shoulder. That was, by far, the worse beatdown I had received at the hands of my husband.

“Zuri.” I heard Syl before she entered the bathroom. “What the hell is going on around here? Who are all of these people?” The look on her face was pure confusion.

“It’s your son’s way of apologizing,” I replied before closing my eyes, laying my head back, then slipping down farther into the tub. The water practically covered my ears.

“Fuck that. He needs to be taking his sorry ass to anger management,” she yelled.

“It doesn’t happen that often,” I conveyed with my eyes still closed. However, I could imagine Syl pacing back and forth in need of a cigarette although she had quit almost two years ago.

“One time is too many, Zuri. What in the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Let it go.” I was trying my best to remain polite. I knew she was only trying to help me, but it was what it was. If I had learned to accept it, she should too.

“What about Jelly?” Syl asked.

My eyes popped open with the quickness. Her question caught me off guard. “What about her?”

“Is this the kind of example you want to set for your daughter? Believe it or not, you’re telling her it’s okay to let a man put his hands on you as long as his pockets are deep.”

“Sylvia, Jelly has nothing to do with my choices. As long as she is well-fed and taken care of, it shouldn’t matter what’s going on in my personal life.” Unintentionally, my voice had risen an octave, but I was furious with my mother-in-law for mentioning my daughter.

“Right now, Jelly is a baby, totally oblivious to the goings-on around here. Eventually, she’ll grow up. What do you think will happen when she begins to see the violence for herself? What do you think will happen when she’s the one picking you up off the floor time and time again?”

I didn’t respond, so Syl continued. “Jelly is going to go right out and find a man just like her father! Oh, just forget it.” Visibly upset, Syl smacked her lips and left the room. I was glad, too, because I was tired of talking. Deep down inside, I knew Syl was right, but what could I do? My hands were tied.

“Are you ready for me to wash your back?”

I nodded. Smiling, Karen reentered the bathroom, holding all the things needed for my bath.

Twenty minutes later, I was in my bedroom standing before the massive walk-in closet with eight-foot doors and its own security camera. Everything inside was a name brand and considerably expensive. Some of the pieces were custom made, one of a kind. Some items I had only worn once or never worn at all. As my eyes scanned the room, I was immediately drawn in by a yellow ensemble with a feathery train. I was wearing it the night I walked in Roberto Cavalli’s fashion show in Paris.

It was a big night for both me and Jason. His sports representation agency had just secured the next king of the NBA. We were on cloud nine until Jason’s former best friend, Forty Shades, went on a rampage calling him out about not being smart enough to graduate from high school. It was a secret that Jason never wanted to get out. He was mortified by the betrayal of his boy, but he took it out on me.

After the show, we went back to the hotel to change for the after-party. One thing led to another, and Jason began beating me like I had stolen something. As usual, I said nothing. Not because I didn’t want to, but because his massive hand covered my mouth. When the brutality was over, he grabbed my shoes and purse, then tossed them at me. When my purse hit the floor, a pregnancy stick spilled out. Silently, Jason grabbed it and read the positive results. Immediately, he tried to apologize, but it was too late. We both knew the damage had been done as we watched the blood flow from between my legs.

Lulu, my second lady-in-waiting, called from the door, “Mrs. Armstrong, your food is waiting.”

“Give me a second.” I sniffled before grabbing a YSL sweat suit off the shelf and slamming the closet door.

On the way downstairs, I checked in on my daughter, who was still asleep in her pink princess toddler bed. Looking down at her precious face caused tears to pour down my face for two reasons. The first was that I was so grateful I hadn’t endured any violence while I carried her, because I would’ve lost her too. The second reason was due to what Syl expressed. The thought of someone putting their hands on my baby girl nearly drove me crazy. They say history repeats itself. I would never want Jelly to be a man’s punching bag.

“Mrs. Armstrong, your breakfast is getting cold.” Lulu popped her head in the door.

“I’m coming.” I dabbed the corner of my eyes, then headed for the kitchen.

As soon as I descended the spiral staircase, I noticed several boxes lining the edge of each stair, twenty in total. They were arranged from smallest to largest and were all wrapped in Tiffany blue wrapping paper.

“Someone must love you very much!” Lulu commented while stopping to hand me the first box.

“I guess,” I replied while tearing into the gift. It was a pair of sapphire earrings trimmed with diamonds. The second box was the matching necklace, the third a matching ring, and the fourth was, of course, the matching bracelet. The next set of boxes contained clothing, shoes, and purses. Toward the end of the staircase, I unwrapped two boxes with mink coats. The very last gift was the largest. It really had my attention. The boy had practically given me everything except another car.

“I wonder what it is.” Lulu was more excited than I was.

“I don’t have a clue.” With a jolt of excitement, I bent down and shook the box. A few weeks ago, I mentioned getting a puppy. Maybe this was it. However, nothing moved in the box, and I didn’t hear any noise coming from it. Quickly, I pulled the ribbon, then tore into the paper with the nail of my index finger. Curiosity was killing both me and Lulu. Her eyes were as big as saucers.

“Oh, my God,” I screamed. Resting inside the box were several neat stacks of cash. Atop the large pile of money was an envelope. “This has to be at least sixty thousand dollars,” I said to no one in particular.

“Open the letter,” Lulu urged. Inside was a note, which I read aloud.

 

Zuri,

Grab a few friends and take them on a trip on me, all expenses paid.

Jay

 

It was just like my husband not to even apologize. Sure, the gesture was nice, and the gifts were excellent, but not once had he said he was sorry for hurting me.

“You’re so lucky, Mrs. Armstrong.” Lulu shook her head in admiration.

I wanted to remind Lulu about all the bruises she’d help me nurse over the years and tell her that luck had nothing to do with this. I had earned every fucking thing he gave me plus more. Nevertheless, I smiled as I always did and remained silent.