DUPED! (Letta Storm) Read online

  "Wonderful." Letta rose and we hugged.

  Letta nodded and walked me to the door.

  I wanted to get the information Letta wanted to her, so I booted up my HP and noticed I had an email that had Important! In the subject line. I clicked on the email.

  Max had written me. I opened the missive and began to read.

  Dearest Jamilla,

  I tried calling you but couldn't get through again. Aspen must be a bad place for cell phones. Anyway, I wanted to apprise you of my good news. I closed the deal with one of the investors I met with and now I can pay you back the twenty-five thou I borrowed. Expect a cashier's check for twenty-seven grand Monday, before noon. Thank you very much. The extra two thousand is for interest.

  I love you and think of you every waking moment.

  Max

  I shook my head. Dammed, if Letta wasn't right.

  The promise of getting my twenty-five grand back woke me up, so I picked up my cell phone and called Tony.

  My heart skipped a beat when he answered, "Hello?"

  I couldn't help the sultry that crept into my voice, "Hi Tony, this is Jamilla."

  "Oh, hi. Are you ready to go out to dinner, yet?"

  "Not yet, how about we start with lunch on Tuesday?"

  "Are you sure?"

  "Ah-huh. When we go to dinner, I want you all to myself."

  "I don't understand."

  "I know you don't. I'm bringing someone along to lunch who wants to meet you."

  "Who?"

  "My lawyer. I'll explain everything to you then."

  Chapter Six – Letta Shows Her Claws

  After I hung up with Tony, I called Letta.

  "Hello."

  "Letta guess what?"

  She laughed. "I'm not a bad lawyer, but mind reading isn't one of my strong suits."

  "Don't be so sure. Max wrote me and said he sent the twenty-five grand back, just like you said."

  "That's super. Let's hope he really sent it and didn't just tell you that to keep you guessing for a few days."

  "I don't think so. He said I should have a cashier's check tomorrow before noon. I also called Tony."

  "Oh?"

  "Tony will meet us at Houston's on Santa Monica Boulevard, Tuesday at noon."

  "Good. I'll meet you there."

  "Why don't you meet me at my shop at eleven and we'll ride over together?"

  "You got it."

  * * * *

  Jamilla didn't know it, but Monday night I returned to my Van Nuys townhouse and began working on her case in earnest, retiring sometime after midnight.

  When I awoke at seven-thirty, I made a call to Bel Air.

  "Hello?"

  "I'm looking for Jeanette Randle."

  "This is she, did you call about the nanny position."

  Hmm. Nanny position. "Yes, ma'am, where do I apply?"

  "At the job location, 11212 N. Siena Place. It's in Bel Air." Haughtily, she continued, "Do you know where that is?"

  "I think so. In the hills North of Beverly Hills, right?"

  "Yes. You do have references?"

  "Of course."

  I heard a sigh, "I have to leave at eleven and I'll be gone until five. I don't suppose you could come right now?"

  Perfect. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

  After hanging up, I placed another call.

  "Stratmore Bank. How may I direct your call?"

  "Yes, is Dean Wilson in?"

  "I'll check. Who's calling please?"

  "My name is Letta Storm. I represent Jamilla Turner Randle."

  A man answered and spoke with a mild, but insistent voice. "This is Wilson. In what way do you represent Mrs. Randle?"

  "I'm her attorney."

  There was a ten-second pause. "What can I do for you, Ms Storm?"

  "I'd like to make an appointment to see you."

  "What about?"

  "Your loan with the Randles."

  Another pause. "When would you like to meet?"

  "After three, this afternoon?"

  "Hmm. That could be problematic. I have appointments all afternoon."

  "How about tomorrow?"

  "I'll be tied up all morning and most of the afternoon in loan committee." He seemed to be thumbing through his daily calendar. "I do have an opening from eleven 'til noon this morning."

  "I'll do my best to get there."

  * * * *

  The home was one of those magnificent estate sized homes with forever views including a glimpse of Griffith Park and the famous Hollywood sign. I rang the door chime, which proceeded to play a short version of Beethoven's, Für Elise. Seconds later, the door opened and a small, middle-aged Hispanic woman asked with a mild accent. "Can I help you?"

  "Yes, I spoke with Mrs. Randle on the phone about the nanny position."

  "Come in." She led me to a drawing room and suggested I take a seat before leaving.

  A short time later an attractive, dark haired lady walked in carrying what looked to be a one year old baby. "Hi, thank you so much for coming. This is Michelle the younger of two children you would be taking care of."

  I handed her a card. "My name is Letta Storm. I'm an attorney for Mrs. Jamilla Turner Randle."

  At first, she appeared confused then anger flashed across her face. "You didn't come for the nanny position?"

  I shook my head and smiled. "No, I love kids, but I'm terrible with 'em." I waggled my brow. "Michele is a cutie though."

  Her angry façade faded slightly. "I don't know how I can help your client.

  "I do."

  * * * *

  I walked into Stratford Bank and was ushered straight into a small conference room.

  An average, middle-aged, bank type individual strode in holding a pad of lined paper in his left hand and offered his right hand to shake. "Dean Wilson."

  I shook his hand and gave him my card. "Letta Storm."

  He sat across the table from me, a curious look on his face. "What can I do for you, Ms Storm?"

  "I'm here to negotiate with your bank for my client."

  "I don't understand."

  "You made a government backed, small business loan to Maximilian Randle for three-quarters of a million dollars. Is that correct?"

  "Yes, to him and his wife."

  I handed him a copy of the note, Jamilla had handed to me. "Is this a copy of the note?"

  He picked up the copy and examined it. "Yes. See your client signed right here."

  "What would you say if I told you, Jamilla Turner Randle, wasn't married to Max."

  "That's impossible. We have a copy of the marriage certificate."

  I whipped out my copy of Jeanette and Max's marriage certificate and handed it to Mr. Wilson.

  "What's this?"

  "That's who Maximilian Randle is legally married to, which means Jamilla Turner couldn't sign as Mrs. Jamilla Randle. Sir you have no loan and if you're not willing to work with my client, I'm going to advise her to walk."

  Mr. Wilson rose and spoke with as much emotion as I've ever heard from a banker, "You can't do that! This is fraud!"

  "Yes it is, but my client wasn't part of it. If you come after her, you will have to deal with me."

  He snickered.

  "I may not look like much, but your bank doesn't want to tangle with me. Check around." I stood, all imposing five three of me. "I have a luncheon engagement to go to now, so I must leave. If you work with me, you may get some of your money back. If not, you get nothing. I understand Mr. Randle keeps the proceeds from this loan in one of your accounts. For starters, suspecting fraud, I'd freeze his account." I pointed to my card in front of him. "You have my card."

  * * * *

  Letta waltzed up to my beauty station at eleven. "Nice, this is very nice."

  "Thanks. I just had the place redecorated four months ago after you know what. Have a seat. I'll be done with this comb out in a minute."

  Two minutes later, I removed my smock. "I hope you don't mind waiting another te
n minutes, I brought a change of clothes with me."

  She smiled. "No, go ahead."

  As I headed to the restroom, I realized my stomach was jumpy. I suppose it had gotten that way at the idea of meeting Tony again.

  I didn't feel the slightest bit guilty about going out on my husband, Max, because I knew our marriage was a sham and it wouldn't be hard to get it erased and get my name back.

  I didn't want to give Tony the impression I was coming on, but I did want to show the good stuff—my legs and breasts—while de-emphasizing the bad stuff—my thirty-two inch waist and oversized butt. That's why I decided to wear a short, beltless, low cut, salmon colored shift, which showed off my legs, breasts and coffee with light cream skin to maximum effect. To that I added a pair of, white, open toed, three-inch Manolo, heels, and my favorite set of pearl jewelry.

  I'd already fixed my hair between appointments. Though I keep it straightened, I'd curled it and didn't comb it out. Instead, I used my fingers to rake and organize my ringlets into a random look, which looked as wild as I felt meeting a white man.

  Make-up was another matter. Standing at the restroom vanity, I stared at my roundish oval face, wondering what to do. I shadowed the lids above my sienna eyes with a warm gray eye shadow matching the color of my jewelry. Next, I blended in coral shadow, which complimented my dress. I liked it. Then, I searched for and applied the salmon lipstick and added a warm blush to my cheeks.

  I studied my reflection and smiled. I look good for an overweight hairdresser. Then I thought of Tony and my stomach turned over. My palms grew sweaty and even in my light summery dress, I felt stifled. I trogged to the refrigerator in the lunch room and poured an iced tea. It was time to face the music. Why did I feel so nervous? I never felt this nervous with Max.

  That's because you never thought your unlikely romance with Mr. Wonderful would go anywhere.

  I guess that's right. Even before he proposed, when he said he had something important to talk about, I thought he was going to dump me. I never had any confidence in our relationship, until I said 'I do.' Then I gave myself to the mother-effer entirely. And the s.o.b. was already married!

  I gritted my teeth. Calm down girl. You have a luncheon to go to.

  How odd. Thinking of Tony made me nervous before, now it calmed me down. I grabbed my purse and went back to the reception area where the other half of my luncheon date read a copy of Essence.

  I stood before Letta and turned a circle. "I'm ready. How do I look?"

  She smiled. "Very nice. Now, I look like a frump next to you."

  "No you don't. You look the way an attorney should look.

  In five-minutes, we were on our way to Houston's and our luncheon date with Tony.

  "Nice car."

  I glanced over. "Oh thanks. I love it. I'm curious, what made you want to become a lawyer?"

  She snickered. "I didn't at first. Before I became an attorney, I worked as a policewoman."

  I shifted my gaze momentarily to Letta. "Is that right?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "How interesting. Tell me more."

  "I'd been fortunate to land a full scholarship at Cal State University, but when I graduated, jobs were so scarce, I went to work where I had an in at the Los Angeles Police Department."

  "Really? What kind of in?"

  Letta shifted around in her seat so she partially faced me. "My aunt was secretary to a precinct captain."

  "Lucky you. How did you make the jump from cop to attorney?"

  "Umm. I worked patrol for four years. Most of that time, my partner was a white guy. A veteran of twelve years named Dave Miller who took me under his wing and treated me like a kid sister. I love Dave, not romantically, more like…well like the kid sister he treated me like.

  "Anyway, one night, working the night shift, we answered a domestic violence complaint and I almost got shot. Poor Dave, the rest of the night his hands shook. I almost got shot and he was more upset than I was. That night when we got off, he insisted on buying me a drink."

  I glanced over once more as Letta paused. "Yeah, is there more?"

  "Ah-huh. Sorry, I was just reminiscing about some of the shit we went through together. Anyway, he said I was too bright to waste my time as a cop. He made me promise I would do something else—something less dangerous, where I could make a bigger impact on people's lives."

  "And did you go to law school?"

  "Not at first. Thinking I could make myself more useful to the LAPD, and working nights, I took some criminal justice courses during the day, but after a short time I changed my mind."

  I sensed my brows dip. "Why."

  After a short pause, she answered emotionally, "Oh Jamilla, you have no idea. So many of the victims of crime are women, it's disgusting. White, black, brown, it doesn't matter. Women are equal opportunity punching bags and prey. Mostly domestic violence, but other crimes too, assault, larceny, rape, etc. That's when I decided, as a woman, it was my job to help women. So after I finished that semester, I switched to law, then two years later I graduated, and passed the bar. So far I've only taken women clients."

  Letta told me about some of her more interesting cases until I pulled into a slot in Houston's parking lot and turned off my engine. "Here we are."

  Letta unbuckled her seatbelt. "Before we go in, how much of your marriage and financial predicament are you willing to tell Tony?"

  I opened my door partially. "The marriage everything. The financial problems, I won't know until they come up. I'll let you know if we start to go too far."

  She smiled. "Okay fine. Let's go meet your new love interest, He sounds delicious."

  "He is."

  Tony made sure we saw him by standing and waving. Once again, a zillion butterflies took flight in my stomach when he smiled at me. I tapped Letta on the shoulder. "C'mon, I see him over there."

  When we got to the table, I was about to introduce Letta, but he grabbed and hugged me, then kissed my cheek before I could say a word.

  "I've been thinking of you." He whispered in my ear. Then he turned to my lawyer and took her hand. "And you must be Letta. I'm so pleased to meet you." Shaking her hand effusively, he pulled her close with his other arm and cheek kissed her. Then, holding our chairs out, he offered, "Please be seated."

  Letta sighed. "Well you sure know how to make an impression."

  Tony's brows rose. "I'm sorry, did I overdo it? I'm just so glad to see Jamilla again."

  Letta smiled and waved her right hand. "No, no, you were fine. I wanted to meet you for a couple reasons."

  She paused while the waitress, a young woman, probably a college student, deposited water glasses. "My name is Heidi and I'll be serving you today. What can I get you to drink?"

  Everyone ordered iced tea and began to study their menus as Letta continued, "Jamilla tells me you asked her out for a night of dinner and dancing."

  He nodded. "Yes, I like Jamilla and want to get to know her." His sea-green eyes narrowed. "It is all right, isn't it?"

  Letta raised a solo eyebrow. "Probably. From the look of things, it sounds like you're interested in starting a relationship."

  "Yes, but obviously that depends on Jamilla."

  Letta cupped her chin between her thumb and forefinger. "Just so you're aware, I'm just beginning the process of getting Jamilla's bogus marriage wiped out. That will be easy. Unfortunately, there are complications."

  Tony smiled. "Aren't there always? What do you mean bogus marriage?"

  Before Letta could answer, Heidi was back. "Have you decided yet or do you need more time?"

  Letta folded her menu up and handed it to Heidi. "I'm not ready, but I'll just have a dinner salad with the Roquefort dressing on the side."

  I closed my menu. "I'll have the same, with creamy Italian on the side."

  Skinny Tony handed the menu back to Heidi and looked up at her. "I'll have a Philly steak sandwich with fries." Then he reminded Letta. "You were about to tell me why you called her marriage bogus?"
>
  Letta glanced at me, and I nodded. "He had no right to propose or marry her because he's already married. Mind you, I don't think you are, but, I wanted to meet you to make sure you're not another Max Randle. Once in a lifetime is enough."

  Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I assure you my intentions are honorable and I've never been married."

  "Good."

  Tony's eyebrows dipped. "What are the other problems?"

  Again, I nodded when Letta glanced my way. "I must extricate Jamilla from an obligation connected to the bogus marriage, which will not be easy. Since the two issues are interconnected, it would not be wise to expunge the marriage until the other issue can be resolved. Therefore, I hope you won't mind if your dinner date is put off until I have these problems resolved."

  Tony's bushy eyebrows dipped low. "How long might that be?"

  "Hopefully, only a couple of weeks."

  Leaning forward, Tony shook his head slowly. "That'll never do."

  I didn't like it either, but Letta and I asked simultaneously, "Why?"