Almost Doesn't Count Read online

  Sherise felt like a loser. The few times she tried to contribute, she could talk of only her past accomplishments and it made her seem sad. She pretended to tend to Cady to avoid the conversation, but she felt sick to her stomach inside. Life was passing her by while she was feeding her baby overcooked eggs.

  She hadn’t intended to take her anger out on Justin, but every time he tried to talk to her after they’d gotten home, she just snapped at him in return. He didn’t even tell her he was going out. She just heard the door slam. She tried to call him. He didn’t answer, only texted her back, saying he was going into the office for a few hours and would be back by dinner.

  And now, she’d even ruined that.

  When the phone rang, she quickly turned the water off and grabbed it with her dry hand. She recognized the name on caller ID. LaKeisha Wilson was an old coworker of hers when she was a legislative assistant on Capitol Hill. She hadn’t spoken to her in a few years.

  “Hello?” Sherise cradled the phone in her neck as she dried her hand.

  “Sherise Robinson?” LaKeisha, born and raised by a middle-class family in Texas, had a strong southern-belle accent.

  “Yes,” she responded flatly. Calls from the past always made Sherise suspicious.

  “Sherise! Girl, it’s me, LaKeisha Wilson. You remember me, don’t you?”

  Sherise faked the most excited voice she could, given her current mood. “LaKeisha? Of course I do. How you doing, girl? What’s up?”

  “Is it true, what I hear? Are you doing the real housewives gig? Stay-at-home mom and all that?”

  “Actually I am. How did you hear?”

  “Believe it or not, your name came up in a conversation I had last night with some women at an FCBA event.”

  FCBA stood for Federal Communications Bar Association, an organization for people involved in federal regulation of the communications industry.

  “So you’re working in regulation now?” Sherise asked.

  She didn’t really care what LaKeisha was up to, but thought she’d be nice before she found out which bitch was talking about her. Sherise tried to catch herself, realizing how malicious her thinking was without even knowing what had gone on.

  “I was at the FCC for a year and a half,” she answered. “I’m with the Northman campaign now.”

  Jerry Northman, former chairman of the FCC, the Federal Communications Commission, had recently quit his position at the agency and announced he was considering a run for president in the next election just under two years from now.

  “How nice for you,” Sherise said. “Who were you talking to?”

  “What?” LaKeisha sounded disappointed that Sherise wasn’t more interested in what she was doing. “Oh, well, yeah . . . it was . . . I can’t remember all their names. It was just a group of women. I think her name was something Ross. Jessica or some Jacquelyn, something that started with a J.”

  Sherise picked her brain, thinking of all the Jessicas and Jacquelyns she knew. “What did she look like?”

  “She was pretty, black, and . . . that’s really all I can remember. I didn’t really talk to her. I was talking to Lucy Adams, who was with her. Anyway, your name came up because I was talking about people that were really good at communications.”

  Sherise was at least happy to hear she was still being talked about in relation to her professional skills. So maybe she wasn’t that much of a has-been after all.

  “What for?”

  “For the Northman campaign,” LaKeisha said. “I mentioned how I’d heard a while ago that you were doing good things at the White House, and this woman . . . Jessica or whatever, said you were a stay-at-home mom now.”

  “It was my decision,” Sherise said strongly. “They were very upset that I left, but I needed to make the right choice for myself. I’m thinking about—”

  “Who are you fooling, girl?” LaKeisha asked. “I remember Sherise Lynn was all about the game.”

  “Well, of course, I’m planning to go back soon.”

  “You might want to consider a little sooner than soon,” LaKeisha suggested. “Sherise, we’re really looking for someone to head Northman’s communications on the campaign. You know how great his chances are.”

  The latest poll had him leading among Democrats, but Sherise knew all these polls changed every month. He was the newest candidate, so of course he would be at the top.

  “Are you asking me to join the campaign?”

  “I’m giving you the opportunity to join the campaign and be in charge of all his communications. Do you know what this could mean for you, Sherise, when he wins?”

  “If he wins,” Sherise said, but she was already getting that pull in the pit of her stomach that came only when a great opportunity presented itself.

  If Northman won the election, she could be White House press secretary.

  “Even if he lost,” LaKeisha said, “which he won’t, you could write your ticket for what job you wanted next.”

  “Does Northman know about this?” Sherise asked, already imagining herself in this position.

  “Yes. He’s left the decision to me. He trusts me completely and he already told me he wanted a person of color in his communications role. You’ll be the face of his campaign for the press. He knows that’s good for him.”

  Just then, Cady, seeming to sense that she was being ignored, yelled out loud and threw her tiny set of plastic keys in her mother’s direction. The set landed on the floor a few feet from Sherise. She looked at Cady, who was reaching her arms out to be picked up.

  It hit her like a brick what she was doing and sort of amazed her at how quickly she had forgotten about her reality.

  “You can meet with him next week if you—”

  “Wait,” Sherise said. “LaKeisha, this is a big deal. I have to talk to Justin about it and think about . . . I . . . We were planning on growing our family.”

  “You can’t pass this up, Sherise.” LaKeisha’s voice sounded disappointed. “The Sherise I knew would never pass this up. We’re talking about the White House here.”

  “I know, but . . .” Sherise no longer felt excitement. She was now anxious and upset, feeling resentment creeping in. “I just need time.”

  There was a pause as LaKeisha sighed before saying, “Let’s at least have lunch next week, okay?”

  Sherise hesitated for a second, but finally said, “Yes, let’s do that. How about the Blue Duck Tavern in West End at noon on Wednesday?”

  They set the date, and just as Sherise placed the phone down, it rang again. This time it was Justin. She wasn’t looking forward to having this conversation with him about a possible position on Northman’s campaign and didn’t intend to say a word until she knew exactly what she wanted.

  “When are you getting here?” she asked impatiently.

  “I’m gonna be here a little while longer,” he said, seeming to not notice or to be ignoring her tone. “Jason and Rhoda are here, too. We’re just gonna order dinner and try and knock out these talking points.”

  “So when are you getting back?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Baby, I don’t want to leave yet. We’re on a good groove.”

  “Fuck your groove,” she said. “I’m cooking dinner for us.”

  “You’re such a hypocrite, Sherise. Remember when you were working on that big U Street project? You called to cancel our date nights or called me to tell me you were coming home late all the time. This project is like that for me.”

  Sherise was struck with a pang of guilt when he mentioned the U Street project. That project was a lie. She had used it as an excuse to spend more time with the Chains, the ladies’ club she was trying to get into, and more time with Ryan Hodgkins.

  It suddenly struck her. Was Justin lying to her? He was calling her from work on a Sunday saying he’d be skipping dinner. Was he at work? Had he been golfing yesterday? She thought of all the excuses she’d made when she was spending time with Ryan, including that fateful afternoon when she�
��d met him in a hotel and made love to him that one time. That one time that she thought might have changed her life forever.

  Who was she kidding? This was Justin she was talking about. Cheaters always suspected everyone else was cheating, and that is what she was. She had cheated on her husband twice, and it was only natural that she believed he was cheating on her. But Justin wasn’t a cheater and he would never cheat on her. One of main reasons she married him was because he was reliable and trustworthy.

  “I’ll see you when you get home,” she said sweetly before hanging up.

  She rushed over to her baby, and to Cady’s great delight, picked her up and held her in her arms.

  “Mommy is being silly,” she said. “All kinds of crazy thoughts. She needs to calm down and you and I need to order Italian.”

  4

  Billie regretted a lot about having to leave the public defender’s office for big law, but things were getting better for her. With her new pro bono case, she was finding a way to love her new life. And she was finding a way to love her new shopping budget.

  Running her weekend errands, she couldn’t help but stop by the Bottega Veneta store. She was eyeing the Fire Opal Waxed Cervo bag and was falling in love. The little angel on her shoulder telling her she did not need an eighteen-hundred-dollar bag was on its last breath. The little devil telling her how much more fabulous she would look, and besides, she deserved it for working so hard, was clearly winning.

  The battle between common sense and fashion sense was interrupted by the tiny beeping sound her phone made, telling her there was a text message. Grabbing her phone out of her Burberry purse, which suddenly seemed old and worn now, she noticed the number on top of the text was unfamiliar. She read the text.

  Otis Redding tribute concert at the 9:30 Club tonight. Remember getting your groove on?

  Billie smiled, remembering the short moment she shared with Ricky during their meeting earlier that week. The 9:30 Club was a local club on U Street where mostly R&B bands performed. She wasn’t sure if it was the lawyer in her or the woman in her, but her overanalyzing gene kicked in. Was he just trying to ingratiate himself with his new lawyer or was he flirting with her? Was he asking her out or was he just mentioning it for friendly purposes? He couldn’t possibly be asking her out. That was silly. She would have loved to have gone though.

  She pressed the button to reply, trying to think of something witty to say, but as her fingers typed the first few letters, she stopped herself. She was giggling like a schoolgirl and this was wrong. This was her client, and if it was true he was flirting with her, these were not the conversations they should be having. She knew this and wondered what had made her temporarily forget it. This was her first pro bono case and she had to be perfect. She couldn’t make stupid mistakes.

  She canceled the reply and put her phone back in her purse. Just as she let it go, she heard the beep again. Grabbing it again, she read the text.

  Wanna meet up there?

  Oh, no. Billie realized this could be dangerous. Not because he asked her out. She had defended more than a few men, and one woman, who asked her out during or after their professional relationship. The problem was, for the first time, she wanted to go. She wanted to see the concert, and she had been looking forward to meeting with him again anyway. She was telling herself it was to update him on the case, but she was lying. She liked him. They had clicked during their short meeting, and she had thought of him a few times since.

  She wasn’t going to reply. It wasn’t his fault. He had no idea what the rules of their professional relationship were. She would explain it to him at their next meeting at the office.

  She placed the phone back in her purse and paused for a second before letting the beauty of her new bright summer purse get her back on track. After all, she deserved it.

  “You better not let them see you like this.”

  Billie looked up at Richard sitting at his desk across from her in their shared office. “What do you mean?”

  “That smile on your face,” he said, laughing. “You’re practically giddy. You’re working on your pro bono case, aren’t you?”

  “Just doing a few checks.” She placed her finger to her mouth in a hushing gesture. The door to their office was open. She didn’t want anyone to know she was working on this right now.

  “You never smile when you’re working,” Richard said. “If they see you smile now and find out that you only do it when you’re working for free . . . well, it’s not going to impress.”

  Billie couldn’t hide her excitement. “There is something here, Richard.”

  “There probably isn’t.” He leaned back in his chair, joining his hands behind his head. His smile was charming. “You’re an idealistic lawyer. You want there to be a government slash corporate conspiracy behind every little guy’s bad luck.”

  “You mark my words,” Billie said as she bit on the cap of her pen. “There is something going on. Ricky is a good brother. If he says his building is up to code, then—”

  “He would have no idea,” Richard interrupted. “His word means nothing. You would be wise to wait until you have the shelter professionally coded to find out the truth.”

  “Something is up,” Billie said. “I can smell it.”

  “You mean you want to smell it. This is your daughterly justice syndrome. Don’t let it cloud your judgment, Billie.”

  Billie’s father died in prison, serving time for a crime he didn’t commit. He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time after a tourist from Germany had been robbed and stabbed in an alley behind the restaurant where he worked as a cook. Tony Carter was not well educated, but he had never had trouble with the law. He was a good husband and a good father. He was caught in the alley by the police only minutes after the crime and identified by the victim.

  Of course he never confessed to the crime, but an apathetic public defender and a system set up to usher him into prison without a second thought were both more than he could fight. He was making progress on an appeal when a fellow inmate stabbed him after Tony refused to help him keep some contraband in his cell. He died from his wounds. Billie, only fourteen at the time, decided then that she would become a lawyer and try to prevent what happened to her father from happening to anyone else.

  There was a knock on the door and Billie looked up to see Charles Eckley. Charles was a thirtysomething man who emigrated to the U.S. from Bulgaria when he was eighteen. He was extremely kind and very bright. He was an associate in the real estate practice of the firm and had contacts in every state or federal housing division on the East Coast. Billie liked him very much. He was just one of those incredibly pleasant people who got along with everyone and had the best manners.

  “Charlie!” She waved for him to enter.

  “You busy?” he asked in that nervous, unsure way he always did.

  He looked over to Richard for approval, but Richard reached for the ringing phone on his desk.

  She shook her head. “Don’t tell me you have some info for me already. I just asked you Monday morning.”

  He remained at the edge of the door. “You seemed to have an urgency about you.”

  “Sorry if you felt rushed.”

  “I’m not finished,” he said, “but I have some news for you. I called my contact at DC Housing and asked him about the guy who inspected the shelter. Nic Wyle has been reprimanded twice for bogus reports. He’s not known for his attention to detail.”

  “Could you find any evidence that he was influenced into giving my client a bad report?” Billie asked.

  Charlie shook his head. “No, but the issue with housing is that usually it’s the homeowner that does the influencing to make the inspector overlook the bad stuff.”

  Billie wasn’t satisfied. It was possible that Nic’s report of the shelter was due to laziness on his part, but that would more likely work in Ricky’s favor, not against him.

  “I’ll keep looking,” Charlie said. “If there is more, my contact w
ill be able to find out.”

  “Thanks for everything,” Billie called out as Charlie waved and headed out.

  “A lazy government employee,” Richard said, hanging up his phone. “There’s your lead.”

  Billie grabbed a Post-it note, crumpled it up, and threw it across the room. It hit the edge of his desk and fell to the ground. “Nine-one-one is giving me the runaround for those calls that were made about suspicious activity at the shelter, too.”

  As Richard shrugged his shoulders, Billie turned her attention to her ringing phone.

  It was Sierra, the afternoon receptionist. “There’s a Robert Frask on the line for you.”

  “Who?” Billie quickly tried to think of whom she knew named Robert, but before she could respond to Sierra, the line beeped and she knew Robert was on the line.

  “Hello?” she asked.

  “Billie?” The deep voice sounded uncertain over the line.

  “This is Billie Carter.”

  “It’s me,” he said. “Robert Frask. We met at the club last week and danced.”

  She remembered immediately. She had agreed to dance with him only to get away from Sherise and Erica and their endless squabbling, but she actually found him cute. They spoke briefly and she didn’t give him her number, but did tell him where she worked. Sherise pulled her away from him in the middle of their conversation to dance with her and Erica.

  “Oh, hi,” she said cautiously. “Robert. I remember you.”

  “I was, um . . . I enjoyed talking to you even though it was very brief.”

  There was a pause as she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say.