On the Line

by Donna Hill

  “What could be so bad that you’d want to take yourself out?” I say, slightly rattled by this caller.

  “I’m twenty-nine years old and it’s been less than ten years since I graduated from Howard University. I left Howard swollen with hope and high expectations. Got accepted to Princeton. A whole ’nother other, as my mama said at the time. No handsome Greek brothas, but plenty of corn-fed white boys with a taste for chocolate. I graduated near the top of my class from both schools.”

  “So how did you get to such a dark place? Scissors and antidepressant medicine. That’s not a good look.” I chuckle lightly.

  “Mama’d say I always had this kind of meltdown in me. That my ‘constitution’ has always been weak, susceptible to fraying. I’d argue her on the point, but you don’t argue with my mother and actually win. She’s hyperintelligent. A professor of Western civilization at Georgetown University. Beautiful and apparently ageless. We look like sisters. We compete like sisters. She’s certainly the more accomplished sister. I never measure up to her. I bypassed Georgetown because I couldn’t stand to walk in her shadow for four more years. Some people are born gifted, have so many special capabilities. Mama is one of those people, full of great qualities. But her most admirable quality, the one that shines the brightest, is her toughness. She’s not one to play with and people gather that within minutes of being in her presence.”

  “Well, a lot of people wrestle with standing in their mother’s shadow. The best solution is to move away,” I reason.

  “Mama’s a character, like no one you’ll ever meet. She loves clove cigarettes. Djarums. And her pack-a-day habit has turned her voice into glass. Growing up, I hated many of her habits. Hated how she escaped to the back porch of our house at night to smoke something a bit stronger than the Djarums. Marijuana in the gut of a Phillies blunt cigar. But no matter how much I hated it, I was still drawn to my mother in ways I can’t naturally explain. I’m my mama’s daughter, through and through. All told, I’m a healthy mix of both of my parents. To deny that would be to deny something paramount about myself. I tried, for many years, and it came back to haunt me. I am a healthy mix of both of my parents.”

  “Honey, aren’t we all? For better or worse,” I interject, eager to keep her talking.

  “They’ve been married for close to thirty-five years, but never shared the same house. Daddy rents a room around the corner from the row house he always paid a mortgage on. Mama, of course, has the house. You see, the Djarums and marijuana aren’t Mama’s only vices. She has what she’s always called an ‘insatiable’ side. We’re like sisters, remember, and so she tells me things. Some things I wish she’d keep to herself. Like the Ben Wa balls. Little round balls, she explained to me that first time, hollowed out and with another smaller ball inside. You insert them in your vagina and rock. Rock and feel the vibration of that smaller ball clacking inside the bigger ball. Rock until orgasm. Does it work? I remember asking her that first off, shocked by her confession but still able to speak. Who’s to say? was her response. They did strengthen the PC muscles in her vagina, for certain. They turned her vagina into a fist around any penis lucky enough to gain entry inside it. Got to keep your pussy tight, she told me, if you want to hold any power over these men whatsoever. That’s my mama’s insatiable side, you see. Though married to Daddy all these years, Mama’s always been concerned about these men. Always had other lovers. Many, in fact. Younger men, always.”

  “Whoa, Mama is a piece of work.” I chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “And Daddy’s loved her so deep for so many years. Sometimes I don’t understand it. One of my father’s few faults is that he’s so judgmental, and yet he’s been more than willing to keep his eyes wide shut in that room big enough for a dresser and bed only, just around the corner from his ‘hungry’ wife.

  “I’ll get right to it because I know your audience has a short attention span. Daddy was right. I love too deep. And loving so deeply will leave you hurting. Make you want to end it all.”

  I scribble a note in large print and hold it up for Macy to see. CALL FUCKING 911. STAT. I continue listening.

  “I’ve got the scissors in my hand. I’ve also got enough Lexapro and Zoloft to do real damage. And that bottle of E & J in the kitchen. My death won’t be accidental. It’ll be well planned. Chasing the pills with E & J is the nice twist, as you’ll learn.

  “My husband, Nigel, went out for a ride on his motorcycle and never made it back home. His death left me cold, sad and lonely. Oh, how I miss my sweet Nigel. But there is a twist to this tale. A cruel, horrible twist.”

  “What happened?” I blurt out, anxious to hear the details, but nervous about the path we are headed to.

  “I ran across some e-mails on his computer. He was planning on leaving me for another woman. The life I thought I had was a farce. A waste. I’ve got the perfect ending for my miserable life.”

  The call disconnects. Panic doesn’t describe how I feel. This crazy broad was going to kill herself! Not on my watch.

  “Uh, listeners, we’re going to break.” Glad I deodorized.

  I’m generally not one to panic or to let the plight of others become my own. But my hands are shaking and a line of perspiration runs down the center of my back. Damn, what if she does off herself and I did nothing to stop her? Not even offer a kind word. How desperate do you have to be to want to take your own life? My throat tightens. Who am I kidding? I know about that kind of desperation, that feeling of doom and endless nothingness. Been there. That buried feeling of anxiety begins building inside me. I can’t catch my breath.

  I hear banging on the studio window. I turn to see Macy who has this stricken look on her face and she’s motioning for me to turn on my headset.

  In a daze, I do as she asks.

  “You all right, girl? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  More like my past. I draw in a deep breath and swallow over the dry knot in my throat and nod my head. “I’m cool.”

  That’s when I notice all the activity outside the glass walls of the sound booth.

  CHAPTER 6

  Every member on the studio floor is scurrying around like crazed rabbits. My heart is racing and sweat is running down my back. What the fuck, a suicide! Irving Bledsoe, the new uptight exec bursts into the booth and stops my pacing in mid-step.

  “Ms. Newhouse, this is…” he sputters and sputters, searching for a phrase that would define what had just taken place. I help him out.

  “Some fucked-up shit.”

  He turns blood red and draws himself up. “The police were able to trace the call. They got there in time.”

  I fall down in my seat, deflated and relieved. “Good thing I don’t do those two-minute calls, huh?” I chuckle and can feel my throat shaking.

  He glares at me. “We’re reviewing your show,” he says ominously, then abruptly turns and walks out.

  I roll my eyes. I really am happy though that nothing truly tragic happened. There is so much drama out in the world. The things folks are living through. I shake my head, spin my seat back in place and put on my headset. It’s showtime.

  “Hey, radio-land. For those who were listening with bated breath to our last call, I’m happy to report that we were able to trace the call and the police arrived in time. Guess we’re good for something, huh?” I try to make light of it, but the call really shook me more than I would admit. “Well, we have an hour left and I’m going to read an e-mail that came in a little earlier. I must warn you before I start to get all children and anyone under the age of consent out of the room and away from the sound of my voice. Not only is it hot, it’s a bit decadent. So, Macy, get ready with the bleeper. Here we go….”

  Dear Joy:

  I am listening to your show on scandalous marital affairs through my wireless connection on my laptop computer. Right now I am sitting upright in my hotel bed writing you this e-mail, because I don’t want to call with my confession, because my husband may be listening to
your show. My lover is resting comfortably next to me. He’s on his back and his curly-haired chest is a thing of pure beauty. I love the feel of his chest hair on my skin. His nipples are slightly erect and I swear to you that I can’t wait to flick on them with the tip of my tongue and feel them get even harder. The bed linen and the entire room, for that matter, are completely soaked with the scent of our passion. Right now I’m looking at his manhood, which is alive and awaiting more of my affections. He has a pretty and beautiful dick. He has one of those dicks that you just want to suck on. It calls me, it longs for me and I long for it. I’ve tried to ignore my yearning for him but my desire, cravings and needs were too much for my morality to battle alone. Last night was the first time we made love and I must tell you that he provided me with some of the most exquisite orgasms I’ve ever experienced in my life. My entire body and soul is still buzzing and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shut off the way I feel at this moment. Even as I write this message to you I’m having a difficult time resisting the temptation to toss back the covers, mount him and drain him of his essence. Before I do that I have to tell someone who I think will understand what I’ve done. I need to confess to someone who will not judge me or think that I’m a bad woman for having an affair as scandalous as the one I’ve just plunged into.

  Joy, I’ve committed an offensive, spiritually immoral and unforgivable violation of trust. I should be begging for mercy for my sin, but I’m not. I don’t really feel guilty or damned, I feel like I did what I’ve wanted to. And the last time I checked there was no crime against that. Before I get into the details about how I seduced my lover I need to start at the beginning. I’ve changed the names so that I can protect my husband and my love from each other.

  Last week I dropped Charles, my husband of nine months, off at the airport for a two-week business trip to Los Angeles, California. I would like to say he was sad about having to be away from me for so long, but that wouldn’t be the truth. He was looking forward to getting away from his son Vince. The two of them just aren’t seeing eye to eye these days. Vince is holding a grudge against Charles for leaving him and his mother when he was only twelve years old, as well as for not showing up at his mother’s funeral or his college graduation a few months ago. Vince attempted to get his own apartment after graduation but he just couldn’t afford one because of his limited income. His lack of funds, the loss of his mother and lack of a job forced him to come and live with his father and me. Vince only planned on staying for a short while until he was able to get on his feet. Charles offered Vince a position in his telecommunications company, but Vince didn’t take the offer because as he put it, “he’d rather work in hell before working with his father.” I felt sorry for both of them because there was so much unresolved pain between them. Vince enjoyed holding on to his anger and Charles was too stubborn to apologize for the heartache he caused his son. I suppose that, by being defiant, Vince was getting back at Charles. And I suppose Charles figured that by being a hard-ass he was showing Vince that he wasn’t going to apologize even if he knew he was wrong.

  Charles is a good man, but he’s hard to love and doesn’t like expressing his feelings unless of course he’s angry. Sometimes I think he’s holding his emotions hostage so that he doesn’t appear to be a weak man. Don’t ask me the logic behind his thinking, because I couldn’t tell you.

  I’ve only known Vince for about a year, which is almost as long as I’ve been married to his father. I met Vince briefly twice before Charles and I were married. Speaking of marriage, that’s another sore spot between Charles and Vince. Charles is still raw with Vince for not coming to our wedding, and by some measure I believe he decided to get back at his son by refusing to show up for his mother’s funeral. As you can see, the tension and animosity between them is as deep as it is ugly.

  After I’d returned home from dropping Charles off at the airport I noticed that Vince had taken the old pickup truck and gone somewhere. I was thankful for his absence because I just wanted to relax and spend my afternoon watching the Lifetime Channel. I figured there would be plenty of time to really get to know Vince since I was on vacation for two weeks. I planned to do some things around the house the first week, but the following week I was flying to Charlotte, North Carolina, for a convention.

  I dozed off to sleep watching a Lifetime original movie and was jolted awake by the ruckus the pickup truck made as it was being pulled into the garage. I glanced at my watch and noticed it was well past midnight. I stood up, moved over to the window and saw the light come on in the small apartment that was above the garage. Vince preferred to sleep there instead of the guest room in the house. I was tired, so I called it a night and went upstairs to my bedroom.

  The following morning I was awakened by the sound of a basketball pinging against the pavement below my bedroom window. I got out of bed, drew back the curtains and saw Vince shooting hoops. I have to admit, standing in my window watching him turned me on in a way I didn’t anticipate. Vince must have felt me watching, because he stopped bouncing his basketball, looked up at me and captured my gaze. I waved to him. He smiled and waved back before continuing his workout. Vince is extremely sexy. He’s tall, handsome and has incredible eyes. I watched him for a moment longer before I went into the master bathroom and freshened up. Afterward I headed to the kitchen for something to eat. As I entered the kitchen I was surprised to find that Vince had showered, changed clothes and was preparing breakfast for both of us.

  Vince behaved much differently than when Charles was around. He was much more charming and at ease and I liked that.

  “I enjoyed watching you this morning,” I admitted to him as he began to scramble a few eggs in a pan.

  “I felt you watching me,” he answered. “What do you like on your biscuits? Butter or jelly?” he asked as he opened the oven door and checked the status of the biscuits.

  “Jelly,” I said as I took a seat at the island counter. “You didn’t have to cook for me, you know,” I told him even though I thought it was very thoughtful of him.

  “I like to cook. Besides, you can’t start your day off on an empty stomach.”

  “How do you move so gracefully?” I asked, referring to the way he was shooting basketball hoops earlier.

  “I’ve never heard anyone call my movements graceful,” he chuckled.

  “Well, they are,” I quickly responded. He stopped cooking for a moment and then looked at me. Our eyes danced with each other for a moment before he said what he was thinking.

  “You sound as if you couldn’t pull your eyes off of me.” He had a mannish grin on his face. I suddenly found myself at a crossroads. It was clear his words had two meanings and I had the choice of either flirting back or explaining what I truly meant. I don’t know why I decided to flirt with him. Perhaps a deep part of me wanted to be daring, or my vanity wanted to know if I could still attract a younger man. Whatever the reason, I didn’t use my better judgment.

  “It was hard for me to take my eyes off of you,” I admitted.

  “If you keep on watching me like that you might start to get ideas.” He licked his lips like the rapper LL Cool J does. I was delightfully tickled by the sexual undertone that was floating beneath his words.

  “No harm ever came from having an idea.” I paused in thought. I didn’t want to go too far with my flirting. I only wanted to go far enough to satisfy my vanity. “If I were you I’d check those biscuits once again.” I motioned toward the oven door. “It doesn’t take much for them to burn.”

  “Oh, man,” he said, and quickly opened the oven door to remove the biscuits. “Whew, I got them just in time.” He placed the pan on top of the stove. “Damn, I burned my fingertips. The heat went right through the oven mitts.” He cringed as he placed his fingertips under some cold water to cool his skin.

  Vince finished preparing our breakfast and continued to flirt while we ate. I will admit that I flirted right along with him because it made me feel good. It made me feel desirable and
alive when he complimented me on how well I took care of myself and how attractive I was. Charles doesn’t express his feelings for me in that way. I tried not to let it all go to my head, but some of it did and that frightened me a little.

  The following morning I was again awakened by the sound of the basketball pinging against the pavement. I got out of bed, glanced out of my window and what I saw made me study Vince in a way that was dangerous. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I enjoyed looking at his chocolate skin, his long and strong legs as well as his mighty chest. I found myself wanting to kiss and lick his entire body. It was difficult for me not to fantasize about him. Part of me wanted to go lay down on my bed with the image of him on the walls of my mind and release my sexual tension. I closed the curtains and turned my back to the window. I was paralyzed by a dangerous fantasy. I daydreamed about him coming into the house for a cold drink. As he drank, I kissed his shoulders and chest. I pulled off shorts to expose his sexy dick. I imagined that his dick would be long, strong, and render me speechless at the sight of it. I imagined it hanging a certain way before I caressed it and put him inside of my mouth. The idea of having oral sex with him made me wet. He just doesn’t know how much I’d love to suck on him with passion and drink every drop of his essence, I thought to myself. I knew I’d savor the taste of him because he’d be as delicious and as sweet as he looked. Suddenly, against my wishes and will, my body started to ache for him in a way that it shouldn’t have. At that moment, I wanted him as badly as a desert flower wanted water, but couldn’t go there with Vince. I couldn’t cross a forbidden line just to satisfy my urge and curiosity. I knew that I shouldn’t act on my fantasy because it was just too damn crazy and hazardous. I got mad at myself for allowing my mind to take me someplace it shouldn’t have.