On the Line

by Donna Hill

  “But you haven’t told me yours yet.”

  “I’m boring.”

  Her dimple flashed at me again. “I doubt that. I’m a personal trainer,” she said. “I have a lot of clients and do all right. I’m not married and I have no children. I live in the moment and at this moment my story is all about you.”

  She was enchanting.

  I ended up at her place. We talked about the stuff I imagine girls talk about—clothes, hair, everything but men. She poured us wine and put on a Jill Scott album. She danced. Her moves were slow and sensuous. I wasn’t surprised when she kissed me, ’cause I knew that dance very well and where it leads.

  I’d never been kissed by a woman before, but it wasn’t unpleasant; it was soft, wet and sexy. Her body was clean and beautiful, both soft and hard. Her skin gleamed like a pearl in the stripes of afternoon sun through the blind slats.

  I was curious, okay?

  When I let her take me to bed, I thought it would just be another experience, no big deal. But, damn. She took me there, she really did. I’d never come like that in my life, nowhere near. Her tongue, her fingers, her fabulous body against mine worked a special magic I didn’t quite recognize, but the taste was sweet. Too sweet. Soft and quaking, full of sighs and whispered screams. And I didn’t mind touching her, either. In fact…I wanted to.

  “I canceled three appointments for you,” she whispered in my ear afterwards.

  “Was it worth it?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  We reached for each other. Oh yes, it was worth it.

  Being with Yolanda was like having the girlfriend I never had, but talk about friends with benefits. I could trust her, tell her anything, and she also played my body with the skill of a virtuoso and I learned to play hers, too.

  Something I thought I could only experience reliably alone with my vibrator became commonplace with her—shaking, quivering orgasms crashing through my body. I was becoming addicted to them, and worse, I was becoming addicted to her.

  I’d spent my life alone, despite the men who always wanted inside me. But nobody really wanted to know the real me the way Yolanda did. Nobody ever wanted to see the warts, or any imperfection or weakness that’s part of being a real woman. Yolanda and I were real with each other, best friends, sisters, lovers.

  I understood my role with men: they wanted Barbie. Sure they said they wanted to know all about me during the initial infatuation, but nothing would burn that infatuation off quicker than if I complied and ruined their illusions. With Yolanda, my guard came down, my defenses breached. There was vulnerability, but there was also a rare feeling. Was it happiness? I didn’t know because I wasn’t sure how it felt.

  It was a couple of months later and Yolanda and I were in bed together, naked. She was on top of me, just starting to roll when Bobby walked in.

  I started to scream, but the excited grin stopped me. “This is the best homecoming present any guy could want.” He almost choked himself getting out of his shirt.

  Yolanda started to open her mouth, but I pleaded silently with her. “Just this once,” I whispered.

  She snapped her mouth shut, and her eyes narrowed, glinting blue.

  “For me?” I added.

  When Bobby slipped into the bed, she moved aside to let him in. She allowed him to touch her, fondle her, his hands chocolate-brown against her creamy French-vanilla skin. He licked her like she was made of sugar. I didn’t resent, but sat back and watched, a too-familiar fatigue oozing from my bones.

  When he tried to enter her, she wouldn’t let him. I reached out and guided him to me instead. “Oh yeah, baby,” he said, panting and pumping. “I want to see your fingers in your pussy, girl,” he said to Yolanda. “Show me that pink pussy.”

  She hesitated, complied.

  I watched Yolanda’s eyes as he pounded away on me. She didn’t look happy. But she had to understand that Bobby was my meal ticket and a damned generous one. Bobby would be gone soon. I’d take her shopping, buy her some pretty things and things would be all right.

  But they weren’t.

  Bobby came home again, sooner than expected. “Where’s your friend?” he asked.

  “Which one?”

  “You only got one friend, as far as I’ve ever seen.”

  I pouted, making sure it was pretty. “Are you saying I’m unlikable?”

  “It was one of your best traits, baby. I have you all to myself. But this is even better. It’s the best present you’ve ever given me. Tell her to come by tonight.” His hand drifted to the big bulge in his pants. “You know what I want.”

  “What if she doesn’t want the same thing?”

  “C’mon. You not going to let me have a taste of the goodies and then pull them away, are you? Seemed like you two had a good time last week. Tell her I’ll make it worth her while.”

  “Bobby, I think she likes women.”

  His hand caressed the bulge between his legs. It was getting harder. “I like women, too. I’ll watch. Bring her over.”

  “Bobby…”

  “I’m not asking you,” he said, frowning.

  The fatigue washed over me again. Bobby wasn’t as sweet as he used to be. He was a lot more irritable. I wondered if it was stress or worse, possibly steroids or some crap like that. I knew he was under a lot of stress to succeed. A player is only as good as he plays.

  It was something I tried never to forget, but I was getting tired of the game. Whatever. I didn’t feel like fighting with him. A happy Bobby is a generous Bobby. I want him on the road again with my credit lines open and my woman alone with me in my bed.

  “Mrs. Benson, I want to ask you something,” Rosa said.

  Rosa is our housekeeper. She’s paid well, and since it’s just me at home most of the time, her work is light.

  I love having a housekeeper. I don’t have to put a glass in the dishwasher or a load of laundry into the dryer. Having a full-time housekeeper is better than shopping and using credit cards with unlimited spending limits. It’s the one perk I’d have a really hard time doing without. So I only frowned slightly at Rosa interrupting me while I was watching television. It wasn’t like I was watching a show or anything. I turned CNN down. “What do you want, Rosa?”

  “I want a raise.”

  “Oh?” Our accountant pays the bills, so I had no clue how Rosa was paid or how much she actually made. “Has it been a long time since you’ve had a raise?”

  “No, Mr. Benson just approved one three months ago.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “And you want another one?”

  “I do,” she said, crossing her arms and raising her chin.

  “Why is that?”

  “Considering what I put up with around here, I think I deserve one.”

  I blinked at her. The woman must have lost her mind. “Do tell me what you put up with.”

  “Changing the sheets so much. The fish smell around here is getting rather overpowering.”

  Oh no, she didn’t. My lips tightened as I contemplated kicking this Mexican bitch’s ass.

  “I’m sure now Mr. Benson is home, he would hate to hear about the increased laundry,” Rosa said.

  The bitch was blackmailing me.

  “Don’t worry your tiny mind,” I replied, my voice saccharine sweet. “Mr. Benson is well aware of the amount of laundry we all soil together.”

  “I need my raise.”

  “I don’t think so. Since laundry’s such a hardship for you, you best gather your things and leave my house. I’ll have Marty, the accountant, mail your last check.”

  Rosa flushed red, her fists clenching. I moved toward the phone and picked up the receiver. “Or do I need to call the police to escort you out?”

  “Sinful, adulterous, faggot whore! May you burn in hell!”

  Rosa’s time with us was clearly over.

  I clicked on the dial tone and a second later I heard the satisfying slam of the front door.

  Shit. Now I had to call an agency and replace her.
Fish, indeed. She must be thinking about her own nasty pussy.

  My cell rang. It was a text message from Bobby. I’m warming it up for you and that fine bitch, baby.

  It was going to be a long night. I had just clicked my cell closed when the doorbell rang. It was Yolanda.

  “No frickin’way,” she said, when I asked her about what I needed her to do tonight.

  I took her hand. “Please. It keeps him off my back, it keeps him happy.”

  She pulled her hand away. “I don’t give a damn if Bobby Benson’s happy or not.”

  “He’s been real testy lately. He closed my account at Bergdorf’s. He said I was wasting too much money.”

  “Maybe you were.”

  “Don’t joke with me. I work hard for every cent I get from that man.”

  She cocked her head. “No doubt you do work hard, but answer me this. Have you ever had a job?”

  “A job? Please. I married Bobby after my first year of college.”

  “Why didn’t you finish?”

  “For what? I have everything I want.”

  “But you’re dependent on a man.”

  “Humph. I say Bobby’s dependent on me.”

  “Don’t lie to yourself. You had it right when you said you work hard for your money.” She caressed the curve of my breast and my eyes closed as a wash of pleasure started through me. “Don’t you ever want to be free?”

  “I need you to do this for me.”

  She leaned into my kiss. Then she pulled back, looking into my eyes. “I can’t.”

  “Do you realize how hard this is going to make it for us?” I pulled away from her. “If you don’t want to work with me, maybe I can’t be there for you, either.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, it’s not like that. I’m asking you to do something for me. This relationship needs to go both ways. You don’t have to fuck him. He just wants to see us make love.” I caressed her face. “We can do that.” I leaned to her ear. “We can do that now.”

  “Okay,” she said, a long sigh at the end.

  I thought I could have all the goodies I wanted and eat them, too.

  After we made love, we relaxed in the Jacuzzi. I leaned my head back, feeling happy for…the first time in a while, I think.

  “This is the last time I’m doing this, Stephanie. You have to come clean with Bobby. You don’t love him. I know you don’t. You only love his money.”

  “How do you know I don’t love my husband?”

  “Please.” She chuckled. “He’s nothing but a meal ticket to you. I know who you love.”

  I blinked at her. She was right. I loved her perfect body, the way she made me feel. I loved the orgasms that a man could only give me occasionally, but crashed through me with excruciating sweetness every time I made love with her. I loved when we talked; she actually listened to what I said. I loved the way it felt that she cared about who I was, even my flaws. I loved how she saw all of me, my selfishness, my laziness, everything, and still she cared. I knew she’d still be there if I got fat, ugly, hurt. And I’d be there for her, too. This was real.

  “I love you, too,” she said. “But you gotta let him go, Steph. You gotta stand on your own two feet.”

  The water was getting cold. “There’s more to it, more than you think.”

  “What more than your addiction to credit cards with high spending limits and household help?”

  I had it all worked out in my mind, the way I wanted to tell her. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to play out. “I need you,” I whispered.

  “I need you, too.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Understand what, baby?”

  “I wanted you to help me, to keep everything going, to keep him happy.”

  “We don’t need him, baby. We only need each other. We’ll be fine.” She waved her hand. “All this never made you happy. I know it doesn’t. Only I make you happy.”

  “We do need him. It’s more complicated than you think. Way more complicated.” I bowed my head and my tears dropped into the fading bubbles.

  I felt her warm, wet, silk skin against mine, her lips on my cheek, tasting my tears. “Love is never that complicated,” she said. “We only make it that way. We need to get out of here.” I know she meant more than the tub.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “I can’t do this by myself.”

  “You can—”

  “I can’t! Don’t you understand? I don’t want to be like my mother and her mother before her, scrabbling and scrapping and raising my babies all alone. I want better. I worked for better—I deserve better!”

  “I thought you were on the Pill?”

  “I am.”

  “Where do you keep them?”

  I pointed to the medicine cabinet.

  “Are you sure you’re pregnant?” she asked.

  “I just saw the doctor. It’s a month.”

  “Then you can get rid of it.”

  I shot her a glance. “No, I can’t.”

  “It would be the easy thing to do. Then you would be free.”

  “This is my baby. I’m not getting rid of it. Besides, Bobby would probably fight me for custody.”

  She stood, water cascading off her glorious body. “Okay. That’s cool.” She wrapped a towel around her. “Maybe you should consider getting rid of him then.”

  I drew in a breath. It was crystal clear in front of me, as ice-blue as her eyes. With Bobby gone, so was his earning potential, but his money would be mine, including the generous insurance settlements I’d get.

  I shook my head. I was considering the unthinkable. “How could I?”

  “Does he have any allergies?”

  “No.”

  “Take any drugs?”

  “I suspect he takes steroids. But I never see him do it. We need to stop talking about this. I’m not allowing my baby to be raised by somebody else while I spend the rest of my life in prison.”

  “I’ll take care of everything. It’ll be on me, and it’s foolproof.”

  I stared at Yolanda, opened my mouth and then closed it.

  She laid a finger across my lips. “Shh. No details, no knowledge and you’ll be fine. Nobody knows about us.”

  I thought about Rosa. Somebody knew.

  “He’s going to be home soon,” I said, desperate to change the subject. “Are you staying? He only wants to watch.”

  A smile curved her lips. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  I was frightened by the look on her face. I didn’t love Bobby, but he was the father of my child-to-be. I didn’t know the Yolanda who talked casually about getting rid of people. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know her.

  Three hours later, a thundering orgasm from Yolanda’s tongue and fingers crashed through my body. The tremors caused my insides to quake and squeeze in painful pleasure. Bobby had his big, rock-hard dick out and was stroking it frantically, up and down with his fist. He grabbed Yolanda. I heard her protest, but I could hardly move, I was so drained.

  He flipped her on her back and drove long, deep strokes into her pussy, his ass moving like a well-oiled piston. She screamed and fought him, her nails leaving red gouges on his shoulder. I don’t think he heard her or felt anything but the feel of her pussy against his dick.

  I lifted myself up on my knees and tried to pull him off Yolanda, but there was no stopping him. He was like a freight train, bent on his one destination.

  He was doing her good and hard, and most women could have got into it, but not her. It was as if she deflated, and she looked at me, fury mixed with resignation in her eyes.

  He started to pound even harder, grinding against her clit, yelling deep-throated, “I’m fucking you good, bitch, tell me I’m fucking you good.”

  There was hatred in Yolanda’s eyes as she stared at him, tight-lipped.

  Then he gave a final roar and collapsed on her body. “Dam
n, that was good,” he muttered.

  She pushed him off her and scrambled away. I reached for her, but she backed away.

  She pulled on her clothes. “Never again,” she said, as she headed for the door. “Never again.” She looked at him with such venomous hatred, I felt I didn’t know her, couldn’t know her.

  I stared at Bobbie, lying on the bed, contented as a baby. He was a man, just a man. He lived up to my expectations of him, which had never been much. I had no idea of what he was capable of as far as love. I’d never loved him, or allowed his love to touch me. It was always a game, a front.

  How would Bobby be as a father? Would he rise to the challenge? Would he love and take pride in his child, or would he be absent and neglectful, on the road, screwing other women, spending his time anywhere and everywhere but with his family?

  Was a man capable of loving me like Yolanda did? Was it possible? I couldn’t imagine a man accepting me as is, unconditionally. Would I be able to live without the love I’d only just discovered with Yolanda?

  I looked at Bobby and remembered the hatred on Yolanda’s face. I was scared.

  What was I going to do? I knew she was going to kill him if I didn’t stop her. And for Yolanda, the one who hated as passionately as she loved, I knew there was no stopping with mere words and pleas.

  Never again.

  The only way to save Bobby without sacrificing Yolanda would be to leave him. But would that be sacrificing my baby and my hopes and dreams to be with a woman capable of…? I shuddered, remembering what I saw in Yolanda’s face.

  Bobby was asleep. What if I told him and became vulnerable with him for the first time? Could he, would he protect himself from Yolanda without hurting her? Could he, would he love me?

  Could I stay away from Yolanda? Would I?

  I buried my face in my arms and sobbed. When I finally pulled myself together enough, I sat down and wrote this letter. So, Joy, so fly yourself, so together, so know-it-all, what’s a girl to do?

  I blow out a breath. “There you have it, listeners. A sister playing both sides of the fence—for real. Like the old saying goes—hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. My advice is get away from the crazy bitch posthaste. Take your little savings, what’s left of your dignity and your life and get to stepping. All your good looks and good hair won’t mean jack if we have to look at you in a box. Like I tell all my listeners we want to hear from you not read about you. You get my drift? We’ll be taking calls right after this commercial break.”