Feelin' the Vibe by Candice Dow Read Free Book Online Page A

wondered how he could be so cold, especially hours after I lost our baby. I folded my arms and stared out the window. Why
     would I want to have a baby by this fool?
    Ten minutes or so later, he said, “Maybe you should have had Devin’s baby and we wouldn’t be going through this.”
    I reached over and pushed the side of his head. His glasses popped off his nose and the car swerved while he adjusted them.
     I yelled, “I hate you! I can’t believe you said that.”
    He shrugged as if my anger didn’t faze him. He meant what he said; he blamed me for what we were going through. We rode in
     silence to our house.

7

DEVIN
    M y parents had already wired one million dollars into the campaign’s account. I’d designated Curtis as my campaign manager.
     He’d run Congressman Grayford’s campaign in 2004. He’d done a fairly good job, but Grayford was basically a household name.
     So Curtis would have to develop something new and fresh for me, and I trusted that he could. He was innovative and strategic
     and that was all I needed to make this thing happen. We were meeting nearly every day to discuss our plans. We had what it
     took; since we weren’t tainted with the old way of doing things, we brought young blood up into the mix. We were planning
     self-esteem seminars for the young people, because although they couldn’t vote we needed the ears of their caretakers, their
     teachers. We had bimonthly happy hours scheduled throughout the year at various venues. The happy hours would serve as a combination
     of town hall meetings, good times, and dancing, all while fund-raising for the campaign. Each one would have live entertainment
     targeting the twenty-five- to forty-year-old, up-and-coming African-American professional. We would call these happy hours
     The Vibe. There would be a light jazz set early in the evening, where people could discuss their issues, so we would be on
     the same wavelength. Which ultimately enhanced my campaign,
The Voice You Can Trust
. Everything was laid out; it was just a process of executing it. I rented a four-thousand-square-foot campaign office space
     in an office park in Greenbelt. We’d ordered the furniture and the phone lines were on. Curtis and I had pretty much settled
     in the place. We were ready to get this thing popping.
    Despite all the plans, I had yet to mention to Taylor that I already submitted my application. She was going about her day
     completely unaware that shit was about to change, drastically. We rarely argued, if ever, and I just didn’t want to confront
     the opposition until I completely had to.
    When I pulled up to the house, I didn’t press the garage door opener. Instead, I sat in the driveway with my car running,
     gathering my words, my thoughts. I needed her beside me, holding my hand, looking supportive when I made the announcement.
     Women handle all news better with dinner, flowers, and a gift. I bought her a new pair of diamond earrings, I had had three
     dozen flowers delivered to the house, and my personal chef was coming over to cook dinner. I’d gone over the speech twenty
     times in my head. After maybe five minutes, my cell phone rang.
    “Yes, TJ,” I said, assuming she was watching me from the window.
    “Devin.” Her voice quivered.
    I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
    “It’s my father. He’s in Prince Georges Hospital.”
    I hung my head, not that I’m not concerned about my father-in-law. But more important, that’s how life works. I get amped
     up to let her know that I have a press conference scheduled tomorrow and her father is in the hospital.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Toni said they think it’s a stroke.”
    “Do you want me to meet you there?”
    “Yes, Devin. Please hurry up,” she said, and she abruptly hung up the phone.
    “Damn!” I yelled, as if there were someone in my car who would hear me.
    Banging my fist into my palm, I prayed that whatever was going on with Bishop Jabowski wasn’t terminal, because I