Searching for Tina Turner - By Jacqueline E. Luckett Page 0,31
flaunts the hell out of it and everything else. Lena married well.”
“And what the hell does that mean?” Lena’s voice is hard, her enunciation perfect. She knows that Randall can take down a company, make managers tremble with a simple request, control millions of dollars; he reeks of power—apparently, she is just the woman attached to the powerful man. “If this is what you say when you think I’m not around, what do you say when I’m not?”
The bimbette slinks through the side door. Lena gives the young woman credit for having more smarts than she thought. Unlike Sharon, who approaches Lena, arms extended, with concern that her face does not show.
“And you. I have no idea why you’re here.” Lena sways—from wine or words, it makes no difference to her—the wineglass slips from her hand, sending teardrops of red wine onto the now wrinkled sabuk and across the tiled floor.
“I’m here because Randall asked me, Lena. I had no idea you’d object.”
“You need to leave. Now.” Lena points to the door through which Lynne and the bimbette exited seconds before and watches Sharon take her time to collect her purse and pashmina and strut out of the room.
“Don’t mind her,” Candace says. Lena is unsure which her she refers to. “And don’t be a fool. Follow her, and I mean Sharon, and act like nothing happened. I’m telling you.” Candace pushes a lacy handkerchief into Lena’s balled fist. “She’ll tell Randall that you asked her to leave. If you stay here, she wins.”
f f f
The “everything is okay” smile disappears from Lena’s lips after she pays the housekeeper and turns off the lights. Within five minutes of closing the door on their last guest, Randall lounges on the cushy chaise beyond their bed. He takes up the entire space wide and deep enough for two. One leg stretches onto the dark hardwood floor and the Persian rug with a provenance. He pokes between the cushions for the remote control while Lena paces, full of the energy she needed earlier.
“I told you I didn’t want to have a stupid party.”
“Lynne is too dense to have been serious. She’s jealous. More importantly, you embarrassed me in front of our friends and my colleague.”
“I embarrassed you, Randall? You invite that… woman to my home. You don’t bother to tell me. She shows up looking like she’s ready to eat you while I’m dressed in this”—Lena waves her hands up and down her body—“this clown suit, and you’re embarrassed?”
“You were crude. You told Sharon to leave. You owe her an apology.” Randall’s expression is somber and without a hint of sympathy. He curls his fingers beneath his chin and looks at her in a way that says no further discussion is necessary.
“You get Charles drunk. I have to put up with his lechery. You toast someone I suspect you’re having an affair with, and you want me to apologize?” Lena stands in front of Randall, looking at him looking at her like she is crazy. His eyes say he doesn’t get it, doesn’t get her.
The only way Lena had been able to fend off her tears was with the handkerchief Candace thrust into her hand. Now, Lena twists that handkerchief into a tight, skinny spiral and marches into the walk-in closet big enough to be another bedroom. Gucci, Vuitton, Prada, Armani, and more surround her. She grabs on to the built-in dresser to balance herself and gasps for air. Left foot then right, she kicks off her high heels and slips into her fuzzy slippers. Eyes blurry, she feels for the corner shelf full of carry-on totes and yanks at a black travel bag. She needs panties; one pair goes in. She needs a bra; five go in. The charger for her cell phone, a candle, jogging bra, sweats, jasmine perfume, a sweater, a cocktail dress Randall gave her two years ago.
Lena emerges from the closet wrapped in a wool coat better suited to a winter freeze than this spring night. Her lipstick is smeared, her face wrenched as tightly as the handkerchief she still holds on to. “I would expect that my husband would side with me, not with his colleague.” She avoids Randall’s eyes, his seeming nonchalance when she crosses in front of him and snatches Tina’s book from the nightstand drawer. “How can I sleep beside someone who won’t stand up for me? Who gives me an ultimatum that could change my life but doesn’t even bother to ask what