Free An Accidental Affair by Eric Jerome Dickey Page A

then came back.
    She said, “You have a lot of nice magazines. Were those your wife’s?”
    “Packed them accidentally.”
    “She must be a big Regina Baptiste fan.”
    I said, “She’s her number one fan. That’s who matters to her the most.”
    “People tell me that I look like her. Pisses me off. I don’t really care for her. Her singing is horrible and I can’t watch her movies. I can’t stand looking at her for some reason.”
    “I can’t stand looking at her either.”
    She fell asleep within a minute. I was wide awake and heard her heavy breathing.
    The timer on her watch went off and she jerked awake, yawned, and gathered her clothes. Above me, the neighbors started back to having sex, hard relentless sex.
    Patrice said, “Whoever is up there, they make love like they’re newlyweds.”
    Skirt and hoodie on, sandals in hand, she walked to the door, each step slow and heavy like she didn’t want to leave. Mrs. Patrice Evans bounced her sandals against her leg and waited for me. I went to the door and peeped out into the hallway. She was afraid to walk out without me checking first. I nodded that all was clear. She dropped the sandals then slipped them on.
    We kissed. She smiled like this wrongness gave her a thrill.
    I said, “Post-it Girl, use the Post-it plan.”
    “Okay, baby. Okay. I’ll stick to the Post-it system.”
    Then she left, her stroll casual, empowered, confident, very brazen, and dangerous.
    She was going to be a problem. I knew that. I just didn’t know to what extent.

Chapter 8
     
    I stripped, showered, and sat on my bed naked, covers pulled back, fan circulating Patrice’s scent as I went online. Obsessed with pain, I used my iPad, searched for more news.
    REGINA BAPTISTE went ballistic when a reporter from
Hollywood Scoops
and another reporter from
The Hollywood Daily News
asked her questions she didn’t like. Just after her meltdown at LAX, she was spotted near Manhattan Beach, where her publicist lives, her publicist and personal assistant at her side. The sweet, Christian-raised girl from Montana set free the bitch inside her and unleashed on both reporters and unsuspecting victims.
    “You know, as a woman, I really find your questions very fucked up and the way you’re assaulting me very fucking offensive. As a woman, I find it really embarrassing and terrifying when packs of pricks follow me all over the goddamn city…and get off on asking me bullshit like that without any regard for how my family feels at this fucking time. Do you have to ask that shit over and fucking over?”
    CLICK HERE FOR PHOTOS OF REGINA BAPTISTE ENRAGED
    In a phone interview from an undisclosed location, her costar Johnny Handsome told the reporters that in betweentakes, as he did with all of his stunning costars, he’d watch porn, masturbate, and talk about sex with Baptiste. When confronted, Baptiste denied all that Bergs said and then delivered a swift and brutal roundhouse kick to the reporter’s nose. Seems as if her six weeks of hardcore training with Bill “Superfoot” Wallace has made her take her ability to be an action heroine to her head.
     
    I sent Driver a text. Immediately he called and told me that the police had come back thrice. And late this evening, a representative from Johnny Bergs had come by the gates.
    I asked, “An attorney? Or a process server?”
    “Only said that they were there on behalf of Bergs.”
    We left it at that. That meant a storm was brewing. If there had been an attorney or a process server, that would mean that this was now a legal matter.
    He said, “Also, someone named Steve Martin has been sending messages.”
    “Where did he send the messages?”
    “They came to my phone. Somehow they got my personal cellular number.”
    “They’re going down my friends’ list.”
    “Short list.”
    “You’re the only one on it.”
    “I didn’t know it was that long.”
    I thanked Driver, apologized for waking him at four A.M. , then ended the