Mr. Right for the Moment

By Jewl Franklin

Tiffany Lynn Scott was a devoted, loving wife for 26 years who helped establish her husbands impressive military career. Through his infidelities, betrayals, and deceit, she continued to stay with him until she realized she had three choices remain in the destructive marriage, kill her husband, or move on. Deciding to move on, she began to search for Mr. Right in all the wrong places. She became a character, a con, and a woman she herself didnt even respect. While on her perilous quest for true love, Tiffany looked up one day and realized Mr. Right was sitting in front of her all along.

But unfortunately, Mr. Right quickly became Mr. Con Artist. Tiffany remained determined to find her shining knight, and just when she thought she found him once again, she soon realized he too had deceptive motives. He was simply Mr. Opportunistall wrong for her. But through all the heartbreaks and roller-coaster-ride relationships, Tiffany kept the faith that one day, she would fi nd Mr. Right and not settle for Mr. Right for the Moment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 26, 2008
• ISBN: 9781514459508

Jewl Franklin

Author’s Cover Biography: John Michael Hurt has traveled widely as an international marketing coordinator, electronics system consultant and musician. He now lives in Tennessee where he works as a teacher, musician and martial arts instructor. He has published short stories and poetry in several periodicals. He edited and wrote comments for the autobiography of renowned martial arts master Tatsuo Suzuki. This is his first novel.

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Mr. Right For The Moment

Jewl Franklin

Copyright © 2008 by Jewl Franklin.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Acknowledgments

I want to thank my family and friends for their unwavering support. My special thanks to the one who didn’t want me to wait to get this project going—so Chub, thank you for believing in this book and financially moving the project forward months earlier. Meatball for telling me I could do this but I had to step outside the box. SuzieQ for being a perfectionist with her books, guiding me in the right direction, and introducing me to my very first book club. Thanks to some of the ladies of the (Sistas In Strength) book club for their support and Pearl for coming—it helped me to see a familiar face. My mother for believing that my word was my bond.

Craig for your support and insight on how to better play the game. Big Man for his amazing vision and insight into this project; you are a genius. Ms. Yap for her hard work editing my book. Madge for her continuing expertise and editorial guidance. Mo-Mo for getting me into schemes, some bad, but most importantly good. Sir (T) for replacing the tool to keep me flowing. And again, to my family for their support and love; without you guys, what would be the purpose!!!

A special thanks to the photographer, coordinator, and most importantly, the models for their patience and professionalism; without you I wouldn’t have a cover. And most importantly, I thank GOD; without him nothing is possible!

In Loving Memory to Ali, Isiah and Mandela.

Chapter 1

The granddaddy of them all in the rules of engagement…

Good morning, sweetheart, good morning, he said with his seductive voice. My GOD, I thought. This isn’t Lizaaad. Hell, this isn’t even Big Country. I knew it wasn’t the two of them because they both have that country grammar going on. Shit, who the hell is this? Well damn, it’s time I grab a mint by the bed, wipe my eyes, and swing my hair back as sexy as possible. I raised my eye slightly as if to say Hey, big boy, and I rolled over to see just who the hell this was. Oh, good morning, I said as if I never said it. Okay, for all of you who are judging me right about now—PAHLEASE! I’m sure you’ve gone to bed one time or another and have forgotten just who you went to bed with. If you haven’t, then it’s obvious you’ve found your Mr. Right or Mr. Right for the Moment. Well, let me help you with the strategies of the game. Never speak specifics, and always keep it generic. For instance, What did you say you wanted for breakfast this morning, baby? That way, you aren’t committing yourself to specifics. The rule of thumb is that all of them are special while you’re with them, everyone is number one in the moment, and all of them are treated like a king in that BOT (block of time). Since most of my gentlemen were military, I will do my best to break down the terminology when I can. I hope I don’t forget. In other words, keep tracking. Now where was I? Oh, the strategies of the game. Most importantly, never let them see you sweat by mixing up the names always, call them sweetie, sweetheart, or baby. And the granddaddy of them all in the rules of engagement is to always, and I do mean always, STICK to your story even if you’re caught with your panties around a dude’s head. That’s when you say, Ah, I can’t breathe. I’m dying, somebody help me. I’m dying. The only reason, sweetheart, my panties are around a dude’s head is I felt like I was having a heart attack, and he was helping remove my clothes so I could breathe better.

See, my story isn’t too hard or scandalous although I know what you’re thinking. But I’ve learned to never judge anyone until you get the facts. My story started with divorce, almost twenty-six years with that nigga; and BOOM, out of the blue, I’m single! Well, it wasn’t really out of the blue. We had problem after problem. The biggest was he couldn’t keep that dick in his pants. Problem solved—move on. If only it was that simple, right? Soon you will realize just how long it was before I could take that step and let go. And for the record, if you have timid ears, maybe this isn’t the book for you. My aunt, who is more like a sister, told me that I cuss like a sailor; and she was going to send me on the cuss bus to control my foul mouth if I didn’t stop cussing. Point taken; however, I keep missing the fucking bus! Need I say more?

Transition wasn’t easy. After a while, you just get tired of being mistreated and end up with nothing. I was literally left with nothing but the clothes on my back, a blessed family, a couple of good friends, my pills in one hand, depression in the other, and Reality, my alter ego, looking over my shoulder. Oh, and did I mention some of my ex’s retirement benefits? Damn, I fucking deserved it. As for Reality, you will see she has been a thorn in my side my entire life. She’s opinionated, too damn outspoken, and has no tolerance for nonsense. After I left my ex, I promised myself that Tiffany Scott would never, and I mean never, take shit off another man and be a victim.

I fell in love with a man whose vision at that time was to go into the military and pick up a military occupational specialty (MOS) trade. We were young and somewhat naïve, at least I was. Looking back on it, maybe I never truly knew this man. We were literally eighth-grade sweethearts. That in itself was pitiful. We met in eighth grade and were pretty much joined at the hip, except when we broke up for four months in our senior year so he could find himself. I should have left that slippery serpent’s ass then to find himself and should have never taken him back. Although I didn’t sit around waiting on him, nevertheless, I was brokenhearted. Two of my closest girlfriends wouldn’t allow it. So I started hanging out with them to try and see just what being single was all about. But my ex and I eventually got back together and resumed what we started—planning for our future.

Our dreams were simple—get married, and I would continue to go to the community college to take some secretarial classes so I could get a job on base and secure my future. Back in the day, jobs were plentiful. If you got on base, you were set for life. Most of the people in the area admired you if you worked on base, and I guess for a good reason. It meant you had stability, for the most part. And unless you slipped through the cracks or did something really shady, you didn’t have any major legal issues. You were pretty set.

That all changed after 9/11. You could find yourself one minute sitting around at lunch bullshitting with the girls about your weekend; and in the same hour, you were being escorted off base because you didn’t pay a bill back in 1975. Laugh if you want, but if you think I’m kidding, just ask someone who forgot to divulge that at the age of six; they walked out of a five-and-dime in 1968 without paying for a gumball. I guarantee that shit caught up with them years later. Now they are down at Ali’s Bar and Grill reminiscing about that fucking gumball. In other words, working on base could be good if you lived by the book. Now was not the time to bullshit the government about your past if you wanted to keep your job. Working on base meant security. (As for me, I guess now would be the opportune time to divulge my old issues of addiction to prescription drugs, my divorce, and my trips to the therapist.)

My ex and I realized that working for the government meant securing our future. So on weekends, we would go on base to the club. Although I was too enamored with my ex to enjoy these young soldiers, I admired their dedication to the military.

Needless to say, my ex was quite the go-getter. Even in high school, he was the jock, got great grades, and always strived for bigger and better things. He saw an opportunity with the military. That’s when we decided this was the way to go. He could be all he could be. So right out of high school, he joined the military. I knew the time apart would be difficult, but we were levelheaded and realized it was only temporary. He would go to basic training, and I would get a job on base. Hopefully, he would get stationed back home or at least at another one of the other neighboring installations in the area. We would buy our dream home—a little house with enough room to plant a garden and a garage so he could tinker with his 1976 Trans Am, and we would grow old together. Yeah right! Suddenly, everything changed.

What didn’t happen were those four short years of enlistment. That was twenty-six years ago. My ex went into the military as a private E-1, and he never looked back. Suddenly, that little house we talked about was a thing of the past. All he saw were stripes and medals in his future, but I didn’t know that at the time. It was nice in the beginning when our dreams were still the same. I wanted the best for the both of us, but the best for me became only for him. I stopped going to school because he wanted me to travel with him. I didn’t mind. After all, when he took that oath in the military, I became a soldier too. It was a small sacrifice, at least in the beginning. I loved and wanted a future with this man. Little did I know I was making a deal with the devil.

Our first tour of duty was Germany, and it was beautiful. Imagine being nineteen years old, in love, and living abroad. I started working on base at the finance department. Not long after that, my ex’s insecurities started flaring up. When a soldier asked, Do you know the girl at Finance? he would translate that to mean they were trying to get next to me. I will say that if everybody he accused had really tried to get next to me, I might have ended up with a man of substance. However, that just wasn’t the case. Truth be told, earlier in the week, I helped a soldier, his wife, and two kids when their Leave and Earnings Statement (paycheck) was screwed up. Once again, if all the men had looked at me the way my ex insinuated, I would have been one bad female. Hell, a girl can wish, can’t she? Unfortunately, for me, it just wasn’t true.

As the years moved on, the marriage was still strong. I spent quite a bit of time by myself because my husband’s unit went to the field a lot. With work, keeping the house spotless, and taking a couple of classes here and there, I was pretty busy. I did a great deal of volunteer work, so my days were pretty full. My ex realized that the four years he had initially signed up for were fast approaching their tenure. So he started talking about maybe, just maybe, staying in another four years and then getting out. There was something about that suggestion then that didn’t quite feel right to me. I told him if he was sure four more years would be it, I could deal with another reenlistment. I was missing my family and friends terribly, and we were still overseas. That soon became the pattern. After a while, he didn’t even ask but just reenlisted. I didn’t mind so much in the beginning because we did come back home after Germany, and I was elated. I got a job once again on base. I was DA BOMB, my future was tight, and life couldn’t get any better than this. My marriage was still strong, and I loved my job. That was soon to change once again.

One day, out of the blue, my ex came home and asked me who I went to lunch with. I couldn’t even remember because it was such a nonissue. Then I remembered a group of us decided to go to the Officers Club for lunch, I was sitting next to a guy who worked in my building who happened to be military—not a big deal, right? Wrong! Well, it just so happened it got back to my ex. That was it. He wanted me to quit immediately and go back to school full-time. The following day, I went in and turned in my letter of resignation. The signs were on the wall that day. Two weeks later, I was no longer employed. I will never ever forgive myself for not seeing this man as the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde he became or, should I say, was. The soldier I was sitting next to that day at lunch would eventually come back into my life unexpectedly. That story will be continued later.

I couldn’t understand my ex’s insecurity at the time. I wasn’t at all what you would call a pretty girl. I was okay. It’s funny how I always wanted my breasts larger, even back then. They were perky but small. Maybe that’s why I fell in love with this man many years ago. He was supportive of all my flaws. He seemed to have loved me unconditionally, and I loved him for it.

I was the girl who never had the big curly afro that everyone in 1977 wore. My hair never seemed to grow much. As a young black girl with short hair, you better believe there were many nights I would throw a towel on my head, close my eyes, and pray that GOD would turn the towel into hair. I had freckles that seemed to glow in the dark. I remember going home, taking a lemon, and scrubbing the hell out of my face because earlier that day, I heard you could scrub freckles off. Well, let’s just say that the only thing that got scrubbed off was some skin on my ass when my grandmother realized I had used up six of her big yellow lemons that she needed for lemonade. It was Sunday too. Never touch a black woman’s lemons on Sunday. Why did lemonade taste so damn good with Sunday dinner?

Back then, my ex didn’t mind my freckles. I wasn’t curvy either. I was just plain, but he loved it. And that was many, many years ago. Then one day, I just wasn’t enough. This didn’t explain his insecurities; eventually, it all became clear. Years later, I kept a weave because my EX no longer liked my short hair. Even though that shit itched like hell, I maintained it. After a while, I even forgot it wasn’t my hair. I had it for so long. Shit, I was so comfortable with my weave, I started criticizing other females who wore them. I would say, Girl, her shit is jacked up. Everybody knows that’s not her hair all long and pretty. Did I lose my mind? Did this fucking man have me so delusional that I don’t know fact from fiction anymore? Did I want to please him so bad that everything he wanted me to be I thought I was? I remember one instance when a new soldier’s wife asked me about hairdressers in the area, and I told her about mine. She kept telling me how pretty my hurh was, and she wanted to use the same shampoo and conditioner I used with the hopes of her hurh growing. First of all, I wanted to tell her it’s hair; but of course, I didn’t. However, I told her that I understood wanting to have healthy hair, and I had no problem whatsoever telling her my secret. My main secret was I always deep conditioned my hair once a week no matter how busy I was, so when the conditioner made the glue loose, I just glued more in! Not only didn’t I tell her the truth, but I started believing my own insanity. Shit, did I forget every two weeks I get my hair out of a bag?

Soon after my little white lie about my weave, Reality came along shaking her head. Eventually, I will explain Reality and my relationship with her; but for now, I just wished she would get her little ass away from me. Sometimes I just can’t stand her. She’s always there, she’s always critical, and she likes to fuck with me whenever the opportunity arises. In some sick way, I know she truly cares but has an attitude out of this world, literally. Hey, fool, did you not forget that’s a fucking weave you’re sporting? Did you bump your head and envision you have long natural hair? To add to your fucking insanity, you got nerve busting on someone else for wearing a weave. My GOD, you are a live wire. All I can say is UNBEWEAVEABLE. Then she’s gone. Sometimes I wished her ass would just stay away, but she never does. And no, there’s nothing wrong with a tight weave. But when you are being critical of someone else’s weave or you’ve lost fact from fiction that although you paid for it, it’s not real, then, yes, it’s a problem. But hell, it’s my story, and I’m sticking with it.

My ex also had a fascination with females with light eyes. I remember once he said he saw this female and her eyes were so stunning, it almost made his dick hard. Of course, by seeing look of disgust on my face, he countered, saying, Baby, you know I was playing. I wanted to see if you were listening. But no matter how disgusted and disrespectful his comment was, I still ran out to get hazel contacts in order to change my dark eyes to hazel. I remember looking at my eyes and thinking how dark my pupils were that I didn’t even find them attractive, so how could he? Years later, I realized it wasn’t the color of my eyes that was the problem. I no longer had a reflection because my soul had been taken long ago by Blackula himself. But no matter what, I still popped in my beautiful hazel contacts. Hell, I don’t even think he noticed when I got them. You can better believe I noticed because two weeks into the change, I contracted an eye infection. Just my luck.

Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t insecure to a point where if my ex saw an attractive female, I wouldn’t mind if he looked. After all, if there was something about her he liked, maybe I could emulate it or go buy it. Damn, I didn’t even hesitate. Yeah, I know I was pitiful. But how many of us do that very thing? We try to keep someone so bad that we sell our souls and who we really are.

There still had to be some boundaries in our relationship, but the only one that had boundaries was me. Although I had all of these insecurities, I still continued to put on a brave, confident face. I continued to work out to keep slim. I maintained my weight to the point of exhaustion. I gained four pounds once, and he made me do PT (physical training) with his soldiers. My GOD, he was good! Not only was his so-called effort helping me, he ended up helping himself with this PT tactic. He was admired by his soldiers for having his wife out there busting her ass staying in shape, admired by his superiors for being the stellar soldier motivating not only his soldiers, but also encouraging me, and commended by some of the wives for being such a support and example with the hopes of attending the next PT. A few of those wives did come, some of them kicking and screaming. But of course, the shit backfired on me. I was shunned by some of the wives for their exercise equipment never being used and taking up space in their homes. Here I came, Ms. All I Can Be. This pissed their husbands off even more because of my dedication. Hell, I understood. I wanted to take them all aside and tell them, I’m doing this because I gained four fucking pounds, and he didn’t like it. But of course, I couldn’t. Then there were the few who knew about my fucked-up, dysfunctional, pretend life with this man. Only GOD knows what they were thinking, probably Look at this stupid, pathetic bitch out here at 4:30 a.m. to lose four pounds—how pitiful.

It didn’t make any sense to me that my ex would freak out if I gained a few pounds because his attraction to curvy women was apparent. Nevertheless, I still tried my hardest to please this nigga. There were a few really sincere soldiers, male and female, that really appreciated me and were concerned. But we never talked much about my situation. After all, this man was their boss, and careers could be made or broken by a mere NCOER (Noncommissioned Officer Evaluation Report [appraisal]).

My ex had become very powerful and knew a lot of people. Once, one of his soldiers stopped past to pick up some paperwork, and he commented about how he admired the woman behind the man. I smiled and thought, I hope he’s not being fresh. He wasn’t. He was simply being sincere and thanking me for always bringing lunch to feed my husband and his coworkers and decorating the office for holidays. He just wanted to say thank you. That one gesture is something my ex hadn’t done in years. It was just expected, end of story. I became so defensive when men said things to me because in my dysfunctional relationship, I became paranoid about the little things. I guess over the years, I forgot how it was to have a man of substance admire who I was.

I didn’t mind doing things for my husband in the beginning because I loved this man, and I wanted to support his career. But as the marriage soured, people still expected lunches or hot soup on those cold, bitter days or a nice Christmas tree or cookies. I couldn’t tell anyone that I was doing it for them and not my husband. Yeah, my husband did appreciate it, but only because it made him shine.

I often think back to that one soldier and his kind words that day. But hell, he had his own issues. He was also married. The last I saw of that soldier was when he was on Maury trying to figure out the paternity of his kid, no joke. After seeing that, I realized he was just like me, wanting a good spouse to build with. He came to find out his wife was a trick to the fifth degree and scammed more soldiers. Unfortunately, he was one on the list. She must have seen the wonderful quality in this soldier because she married him. I’m sure to this day that she fucked my ex. She was pretty, with long hair, green eyes, and a shape that could rival the best in the business. Hmmmm, thinking back to Maury’s show, that kid had slope a head just like my ex’s.

Through it all, I tried to rationalize my ex’s behavior. Yes, he was disrespectful. Yes, he was a dictator. Yes, he was a cheater. But a part of him still loved me, and no matter how many women he fucked, he was never going to leave me. Hold up, I know what you’re thinking. I told you early in the book, Don’t judge me. That was the foolish me. The new me wished Leave me already, mothafucka. Do me the favor, and go on now, git!

I tried to believe my own hype at times; sometimes the truth hurts way too much to accept it. But don’t we all try and rationalize the obvious at times? Eventually, I went back to work on base for a while. I always had a job because I had spouse preference. In other words, it had its advantages being married to this sorry son of a bitch. Besides getting into the commissary, you were picked first for jobs. In some cases, even though someone off the street was more qualified, you still got the job if your spouse was military. So I didn’t complain. Even though sometimes your conscience would beat you up about the person you just cheated out of a job, in the end, that too passes. No matter where I worked, my ex refused to let me sink my teeth into anything that he wasn’t involved in. I won’t say he was insecure as far as loving me. I think he was insecure as far as (1) what if, just what if, I met someone else? How would he look if I left him for someone not even equal to his rank? He would have had a coronary not because I left, but because he never thought I could do better than him; (2) people liked me. (Taking a line from Sally Field’s Oscar speech, They like me, they really like me.) Part of my ex’s insecurity came when his superiors would ask him why I didn’t attend a function. Generally, I was always at whatever function was going on not because I wanted to attend, but because it was politically correct. This one time, in particular, I had the flu and couldn’t go to this ceremony. My ex went to the function and was bombarded with a million questions as to why I wasn’t there. When he came home that night, he didn’t ask, How are you? Do you need anything? but went right into, The next time you’re sick, you’re coming anyway because I got tired of answering people about your absence. He sounded like Ike Turner, Now, Anna Mae—now, dang it (sniff, sniff). I told you to come with me no matter how dang sick you were. Making me look bad cuz your ass damn near dead from the flu. Next time, yo azz goin’ no matter how dang sick you are, ya hear me?

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Hell, I shouldn’t have been surprised. But with each situation, my ex continued to show me just how little he thought of me. However, it felt good to have people truly care about me even if it was his coworkers. He damn sure didn’t. As he babbled on, ranting, I thought, Good, bitch, you’re not so damn important, are you? I definitely had something to offer his career. My contribution was sincerity. Besides, he forgot to take the bouquet of flowers I got for the general’s wife. The next day was her birthday, and he was pissed because he forgot to take the flowers, which would have made him look like a sincere person, the dumb ass!

I really believe in my heart that my ex was extremely jealous of me in a weird sort of way. Everybody knew I did the niceties. For the most part, I felt everyone really respected me. Hell, maybe no one was fooled, but this egotistical, arrogant, self-absorbed piss ant. People aren’t stupid—they recognize sincerity. Every once in a while, he would still do little things that surprised me. I would think for a moment that maybe, just maybe, he still had a little love for me deep inside. I remember going to the local park one evening to just walk and think. The park to me was solace. I could clear my head and think. Then my ex called. He told me to stay put and that he was headed over to my surprise. At first, it was nice, I have to admit. But it didn’t last. He asked me why I didn’t tell him I spoke to Warrant Officer Hayes. I looked puzzled and told him, Oh yeah, I forgot. He asked me about some good restaurants in the area. I thought, Why? All he could say was, Keep away from that bitch, or his fucking career will be over. I never understood his anger about Hayes. There was no point in asking why because it would have fallen on deaf ears. But you better believe I always went the other direction when I saw Chief Hayes.

With each accusation, more of my ex’s insecurities shined through. The funny thing is the people who fuck around the most have the most insecurities. I guess game recognizes game in some cases. Then it’s simple—sometimes it’s their conscience. What little they have just can’t rest because in the end, GOD does judge us all, one way or another. So he continued to grow more insecure, thinking that I was stealing his thunder. He wasn’t stupid either; he didn’t want me exposed to soldiers or people, in general, who could leak his indiscretions. But hell, he didn’t do too much to hide them from me. He was stupid and careless! Sometimes I would think he wanted to get caught.

My emotions varied from day to day. Some days I really didn’t give a fuck. Too much damage had already been done, and I was just biding my time. Then there were those days when I thought of my initial vision of getting married and the fairy tale of forever after. And then there were the days where I wanted him to fly off a fucking cliff during one of his airborne jumps. However, I still tried to please him and keep the peace, so I ended up totally devoting myself as a true military wife. Don’t misunderstand me; nothing was wrong with it, but I did it for all the wrong reasons, trying to reassure this pitiful fuckup.

I often wonder if my ex ever really thought I was attractive or if it was the mere fact we fell in love at an early age and just got used to the familiar. And he knew that no matter what, I was always going to be there as the dutiful wife who took that vow. I was a one-man woman, and I was faithful. I never denied that my husband loved me in the beginning. But in the end, I just can’t love someone who won’t respect me. My devotion was to a man who, with each passing day, seemed to want to destroy the woman I was. What