Ila is a beautiful, intelligent African American woman working with the FBI. She has been strong and brave her entire life, working hard to earn a place in a career field mostly run by men. However, her love life is in shambles. No matter what she does, she can't seem to get it right, going up against cheaters, liars, and jerks.
She seeks fulfillment in more than her career; she wants a fulfilling romance, as well. Ila also enjoys sex-which is what has gotten her into trouble in the past. Once she finally meets the perfect man, they get engaged, but he is hiding a big secret that borders on betrayal. What happens when sexual gratification becomes more important than love? Ila is about to find out through emotional exploitation and heartbreak while still seeking the real thing.
|Publisher:||Author Solutions Inc|
|Product dimensions:||5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 1.04(d)|
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The music stopped, and the door opened slowly. Eugenia was the first to leave the room. She came out in wearing a red leather pantsuit with, red stacked heels. She was, and carrying a leather purse. She stepped over Ila as if like she was a homeless person on the grate outside a subway station stop. As she got to the front door, she turned, looked at Ila, and smiled. She opened the door and left. Maurice was next. With his duffle bag on his back, he came through the door, looked down on Ila, and said, "You need to clean that shit up. I . I kept telling you, you could not turn shit into sunshine, Ila. Hunter is a faggot and a whore. Has been ever since I have known him. But now he is your faggot and whore. Don't forget to send me an invitation to the wedding." He walked briskly down the hall, opened the door, and slammed it after he left.
* * *
Ila could not believe she was coming down this yellow brick road again. Here she was with a ring on her finger, but her man's ass had a dick in it, and his dick was in another woman. There was the entire story. Maurice was fucking Hunter, and Hunter was fucking Eugenia — to "Flash Light" by Funkadelic. As Ila opened the door, all eyes turned on her. Eugenia smiled, Maurice mouthed, "I told you so," and Hunter looked like he had seen a ghost. Ila slowly closed the door to the safe house apartment and slumped to the hallway floor. She thought, How? Why does this kind of thing keep happening to me? Her stomach bubbled, and suddenly, she threw up all over herself. She could not move. It was as if she was having a mini nervous breakdown. The hallway went black, and for a moment, she had no idea where she was.
The music stopped, and the door opened slowly. Eugenia was the first to leave the room. She came out wearing a red leather pantsuit with red stacked heels. She was carrying a leather purse. She stepped over Ila as if she was a homeless person on the grate outside a subway station. As she got to the front door, she turned, looked at Ila, and smiled. She opened the door and left. Maurice was next. With his duffle bag on his back, he came through the door, looked down on Ila, and said, "You need to clean that shit up. I kept telling you, you could not turn shit into sunshine, Ila. Hunter is a faggot and a whore. Has been ever since I have known him. But now he is your faggot and whore. Don't forget to send me an invitation to the wedding." He walked briskly down the hall, opened the door, and slammed it after he left.
It appeared that Hunter did not want to come out of the bedroom. Ila took off her coat and used it to clean up some of the vomit from her pants and the floor. She stood up slowly and walked to the kitchen. Sitting at the table, she cried so hard she did not hear Hunter exit the bedroom. Ila looked up. He was standing over her. "Ila, when will you understand that I'm the gift and you are just the wrapping?" She looked up from the table, gathered as much saliva as she could muster up, and spit into his eye. He grabbed her by the neck and choked her. He said, "This changes nothing. The plan is for us to get married so that we can both advance our positions. You know I can make you happy sexually. You know I know how to treat you. Maurice was just something to do. I'm no faggot. Now go wash yourself off, and let's get out of here. I'll take you home. I don't know why you came back in the first place. I could have gotten a ride to your house to get my car."
Ila could have cut his throat. She noticed that the envelope was still on the table. No one had been by to pick up the details of their undercover work. She wondered who was supposed to pick it up. She pushed the chair back and stood up. There was a knock at the door, and they heard the key in the lock. Hunter ran to the bedroom to retrieve his .38, and Ila stood there frozen. As the door opened, she heard a familiar voice. "It's friend not foe! Don't shoot!" Brock Covington entered the room. What the hell is he doing here? This shit just gets worse and worse. The last thing Ila remembered was hitting her head on the side of the table before she passed out.
When she came to, she could hear them shouting at each other. "Pick her up!" Hunter shouted.
"No. You get her legs. I'll put my hands under her shoulders, and we'll take her into the bedroom," Brock said.
Ila heard Hunter say, "I have a plane to catch. I don't have time for this bullshit. And why the fuck are you here? And why do you have a key?"
"We can talk about all that later. Let's just get her into the bedroom," Brock replied. They carried her down the corridor to the bedroom she occupied during their TDY (temporary duty yonder) and laid her across the bed. Ila could hear muffled voices but could not make out what they were saying. She did hear the door slam as they both left the room.
Hunter and Brock walked to the kitchen. Hunter turned to Brock with his .38 in his hand and said, "Okay, motherfucker, I'll ask you again. Why the fuck are you here? And why do you have a key?"
Brock said, "Bitch, you better put that .38 away before I make you eat it or stick it up your pussy ass. But, oh, you might like that, so I won't give you that pleasure. Uncock the gun and put it in the holster on your shoulder like a good faggot."
Hunter was fuming, but he knew there was more to this story, and he should hear Brock out. Hunter slowly sat down at the kitchen table, placing his gun on the table — aimed at Brock.
"Hunter, Ila is in great danger. She is the only person besides me who witnessed the love tryst between the chief and his protégé. The pictures, of course, are worth a thousand words, but she will have to testify in court. She needs — we need — to go back to her apartment, get as many things as possible, and bring them back to this safe house."
Hunter replied, "Where do you fit into this entire mix?"
Brock explained that he worked for the FBI and had been assigned as the chief 's right-hand man. "The bureau, district, and state are ready to put the chief under arrest, but the case has to be ironclad. And it cannot be without Ila. She will have to stay out of sight until the chief goes to trial or resigns and leaves town — whatever comes first."
Hunter looked at Brock and said, "How is this my problem? I'm supposed to be on my way to my next assignment. If Ila is in a jam, I'm sorry about that, but I can't stick around to make it better or help in any way. I'll help you get her to the hospital, and then I'm on my way to National Airport."
Brock replied, "Push the envelope this way. Pick up your gun, put it in your holster, and take everything you need out of here right now, because once you walk through the door, you cannot come back."
Hunter rose slowly, placed his gun in the holster, walked backward down the hall into the bedroom, and retrieved his suitcase. He walked back down the hall, picked up his other suitcase, and headed toward the door. He stopped, turned to Brock, and said, "That woman in there is my ticket to White House detail. I need to know how to get in contact with her when this is all over. We plan to be married next year, and neither you nor your trial is going to stop that. Together, we can make it happen. She can be assigned to the first lady, and I can be assigned to the president. The blueprint has already been mapped out. So, when you get tired of playing detective, babysitter, and protector, call the Company. They can locate me. I'll come and get Ila so that we can go on with our lives. I'm sure you know the number." With that, Hunter opened the door, turned, and tossed the keys onto the table in front of Brock. Brock turned quickly and took the gun out of his holster. Hunter raised his hands and said, "Man, it's all yours for now." He then slowly walked out and closed the door.
Brock sat at the table until he heard Ila moving around in the bedroom.
All Ila could think about was leaving this condo and getting back to her apartment and back to a semi normal life. She looked around the room and decided that she might miss this kind of living, but at what cost? There was a stench in the air, and she could not figure out what it was until she looked at the coat beside her and the stains on her pants. "Shit!" she screamed. She had no more clothes at the condo and was not about to wash the clothes she'd vomited on. Ila sat up, but she got dizzy and lay back down. She could hear footsteps coming up the hallway. Oh, here we go, she thought. The knock at the door was slight and friendly. She knew immediately that it was not Hunter because he would have just walked in. "Come in!" she shouted.
Brock opened the door, only to hold his nose. "Ila! My God! I forgot you vomited on yourself. Is there anything left in the apartment that you can wear?"
Ila looked at Brock and shook her head as she began to cry. This was not the condition that she wanted Brock Covington to see her in. This was not the Ila she wanted Brock to remember.
Brock stood at the door and said, "My suitcase is downstairs. Let me go retrieve it and get you something to wear." With that, he slowly closed the door. Ila stood up and took off all her clothes. Then she went to the closet and found a plastic garment bag from the cleaners. She removed the plastic from the hanger, tied the end to close the small hole, and stuffed all the vomit-covered clothes into the bag. She tightly tied the other end of the bag and placed it by the door. She would take them out to the garbage can in the parking lot when she left. It seemed that Brock was taking an awful long time. Ila decided to take a shower with what little soap was left. It seemed she had packed exactly enough toiletries to last until the day she would be leaving. She reached into the shower and turned the water to hot. All she wanted was to feel the heat on her back. She looked in the mirror and could not believe the sight. It seemed she had aged years in one day, all in the name of lust, longing, and love. Her world was once again turned upside down. She walked back to the shower and remembered she did not have a shower cap. Necessity being the mother of invention, she took a Giant Food plastic bag out of the small trash can and used it as a shower cap. Thank God, she could feel a laugh coming on. Only she would think of using a plastic bag from a grocery store for a shower cap.
When she entered the shower, the water felt like beads of hot lava sliding down her back. At one point, a long scream came out of her throat, and tears streamed down her face. Minutes went by. The water was turning cold. She seemed to have experienced a time lapse and had no idea how long she had been in the shower. As she returned to semi consciousness, she looked for a washcloth and saw one on the sink. Rather than getting out of the shower to get the washcloth, she just rubbed the bar of soap over her skin while she let the water caress her body. She closed her eyes, and there he was ... Rodney standing at her front door with coffee and bagels, smiling that Colgate smile and looking like a Gentleman's Quarterly model. What a vision! It was wonderful that she could call him up in her mind, even after all these years. Just thinking of him made all this palatable. Ila open her eyes, and of course, the vision was gone. She rinsed the soap off her body and exited the shower. She had forgotten to get a towel, so she had to wet the floor to get to the closet. Once there she wrapped herself in fluff. These towels were so fluffy, they didn't even absorb the water. That was the wonderful thing about being TDY. Her own towels were rough, and they cut her skin when she rubbed too hard. That made her laugh. Slowly she walked back into the bedroom. Brock had laid out clothes on the bed — a big, brown, button-down shirt; black sweatpants; and a pair of flip-flops. Well, beggars can't be choosey. She got dressed, crawled up on the bed, wrapped herself in the covers, and fell into a deep sleep.
Brock was sitting at the table reviewing the contents of the envelope. He was very surprised at how well the report was put together. There was so much detail. The FBI director on this case will be very happy with this report. It leaves little to chance. The only chance is getting Ila to the trial date. Brock believed this apartment had been compromised by Eugenia, so he and Ila would have to leave first thing in the morning. But where would they go? Ila can't go back to her apartment. It's surely being watched, and I'm undercover, so being seen together would not be a great idea. Where would they not look for us?
Brock decided that they would stay on or near Georgetown University. It would be the best place to hide for the three to seven months that it would take to bring the police chief up on charges of lewd and lascivious behavior along with drug distribution. Even though there were pictures and Brock and Ila were witnesses, it would not be an easy trial. Brock was still undercover, and no one knew that he would be testifying against Chief Warren Chambers. He was hoping that there was enough evidence to make him resign. But until that evidence was presented, Ila would have to be placed in protective custody. There was nothing left to do this night but secure the condo and make plans in the morning.
He was about to place a chair up under the door handle of the condo when there was a not at the door. "Who is it?" Brock called out.
"Housekeeping", the woman replied.
Brock called through the door "We'll not be leaving until tomorrow."
The housekeeper replied, "Okay," and she pushed an envelope under the door.
"Shit!" Brock said. There is no way we can stay here tonight. He left the envelope on the floor, retrieved the tea kettle from the kitchen area, filled it, and put it on the burner of the stove. While he waited for the water to boil, he walked over to his suitcase and got out a pair of gloves. This was so 007, but he wanted to be very careful. He pulled the gloves onto his hands, picked up the envelop, and carried it to the stove. He steamed the seal until it was loose enough to just flip open. It did not take long. Brock turned off the stove and walked over to the table. He slowly opened the envelop and pulled out a picture. There, sitting on a bench on Constitution Avenue at a bus stop, were Chief Warren and Eugenia Sumpter. Their names were written at the bottom of picture. Brock just shook his head. He knew there was something about that women. She was way too cool under fire to be just an ordinary young lady. Also in the envelope was a brief bio of Eugenia. She had been born in Warrenton, Virginia, raised in DC, and attended private schools. She attended George Mason Community College before entering the army. She became an intelligence officer in the army, did eight years, and then joined the DC police force as an undercover street officer. "Shit, shit, shit," was all Brock could say. He took one last look into the envelope. There was a hotel key. A note was attached. Someone had written "Room 394, Hyatt at Dulles Airport." Wow, could they put us up any further out of town? But I'm sure no one will think of Dulles Airport. Inside the envelope was also another door key and another note. "Take the stairs to the basement of this building and open the east wing door with this key. Take the stairs to the first floor and take the first exit to the right. Outside there will be a white Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera."
He ran to the bedroom and knocked hard on the door. "Ila! Ila, wake up," Brock hollered. He did not wait for her to reply. He entered the bedroom and found her like a broken doll, curled up the fetal position.
She slowly turned over and said, "Brock, what is the matter?"
"Ila, we must leave right away.
She could see that he meant business. As she rose quickly, she could remember her father saying to her as he shot craps in the alley, "Ila, when I say run, you'd better run your ass off. Always meet me on Tioga at the Tioga Café. Never go inside. Wait in the alley, and Daddy will be right there. You understand?" I remember just standing there and saying, "Yes, sir, I understand. But this is not my dad. It's Brock, and this is serious. Ila got up, found the flip-flops on the floor, grabbed her plastic bag full of dirty clothes, along with her purse, and was ready to go.
Brock slowly walked Ila into the kitchen. He placed all the information back in the envelope, picked up his suitcase, and left the keys to the condo on the table. They opened the door and looked both ways down the hallway. A woman stood next to a cleaning cart at the far end of the hall away from the staircase. Ila and Brock walked in the opposite direction to the staircase. Was this a never-ending Spike Lee movie scene?(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Ila's Diamonds III"
Copyright © 2019 Donna M. Gray-Banks.
Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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