Lust

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  Still, he was more than distracted, he was distant. Like he wanted to put as much space between us as possible. Maybe that was why he’d sent me home, why so many hours had passed and he was still not home.

  I raised my head again to glance at the clock; it was after three. Damon never stayed this late after an event. Usually he had his crew handle cleanup and closing. But I guessed tonight he wanted to take care of that himself.

  Why?

  I wondered . . .

  The beep of the alarm system brought me out of those thoughts. The front door had been opened, and that meant, if Damon wasn’t coming in through the garage, he was so tired he’d had Magic drive him home.

  Even though I was as exhausted as my husband had to be, I pushed myself up, wanting him to know that I’d been waiting. I’d give him a massage, if he wanted. That would help him wind down, fall asleep, and get the rest he needed. Maybe tomorrow he wouldn’t go in to his office. Maybe I would stay home, too, just to take care of him.

  When he walked into the bedroom, he stopped and stared, as if seeing me was the last thing he expected.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “I’m surprised you’re awake.”

  His words felt cold, surprised me. But I told him, “I waited up for you.”

  “I thought you were tired.”

  “I was, but never too tired for you.” I reached for him, but he didn’t return the gesture, and when he left my hand hanging in the air, I finally dropped my arm.

  Damon slipped out of his jacket, tossed it onto the chaise, then strolled into our bathroom. My eyes followed him the entire time he moved, and now, as I stared at the closed bathroom door, I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to catch my breath. Did my husband know? About me and Trey?

  The answer came back the same as when I asked that question earlier—no! If he did, the way he was acting now, as curious as it was, wouldn’t have been his reaction.

  I rolled over the evening in my head, wondering what else could have happened, but I came up with nothing. So I sat. And waited. I stared at the bathroom door. When he came out, I was still in the same position and my eyes followed his movements again, even when he went into his closet. My question was waiting for him, but then, when he came out wearing nothing but his briefs, I got a bit distracted. “Uh,” I began, raising my eyes to meet his, “are you upset about something?”

  Standing there, all muscles and bulges, he said, “Why would you ask me that?”

  I shrugged. “You seem different,” I said, repeating the words he’d said about me earlier. “Like something happened.”

  I thought his stare was hard, until I heard his question. “Did something happen that you want to tell me about?”

  I swallowed and again asked myself the question. But no! There was no way. “If you’re upset with me, I wish you would just say what’s wrong.”

  After a moment, he said, “It’s not you.” Then, another pause as if he was trying to figure out what to say next. “It’s Trey.”

  I blinked, though I didn’t breathe.

  He let Trey’s name hang in the air for way too long before he continued. “It’s just . . . I thought . . .” He paused like he wanted me to say something.

  That was the only reason why I asked, “What did he do?”

  He looked away from me as he shook his head. “I’d wanted him to go into business with me.”

  I didn’t mean to, but I sucked in air.

  “But he doesn’t want to; says he’s going back to Atlanta. And I guess I’m a little disappointed by that.”

  For the first time since my husband came home, I smiled. This was what had my husband off-kilter tonight. But while I never wanted him to feel bad, his pain was my salvation; still, I wanted to be thoughtful and careful. “I know you want to do right by him, Damon, but I really think his leaving is for the best.”

  He looked right at me. “You do?”

  I nodded. “I don’t want him pulling you back into anything.”

  “He could never do that.”

  “He might try.”

  A couple of beats, then, “There’re lots of things he might try, but trying to pull me into something wouldn’t be one of them.”

  That sent me right back to wondering . . .

  After a long moment, Damon turned his back and began walking toward the bedroom door.

  “Where are you going?”

  He paused and faced me. “I need to get a little bit of work done.”

  “Now? It’s after three. Aren’t you tired?”

  He nodded, though he didn’t have to do that. I could see the exhaustion all over him. Especially in his eyes—exhaustion and sadness. “I am,” he finally said. “But there are a few things I have to work out.”

  “Damon . . .” I said, even as he moved away from me.

  He stopped once again. “I know you’re tired,” he said. “With all that you’ve been doing. So you get some rest.”

  It was only because he crossed the bedroom, leaned over, and kissed my forehead that I accepted his explanation. And while I wanted more, while I wanted him to get between these sheets and hold me, I would be fine now. I could sleep knowing that he didn’t know anything about me and Trey.

  I slipped back down on the bed and he turned off the light on my nightstand. Then, in the darkness, I watched his form leave me alone in the room.

  I may have been tired, but my eyes stayed wide open. The conversation had me on high alert. I should have been ­rejoicing . . . Trey was leaving DC and Damon hadn’t found out!

  But my stomach was churning, even as I gave thanks and praise to God. After a while, the only thing I could do was close my eyes. Yet, while my flesh rested, I knew that all was not well with my soul.

  37

  Damon

  Even though I was desperate to know the truth, it had taken me four days to pull this together. But my success had always come from patience and planning, and this was a two-part plan for me. First was my mission to secure the truth. And the results of part one would determine what would happen in the second phase.

  But now that part one was in place and I was ready to roll, I was doing something that was foreign to me—I was hesitating. Did I really want to move forward with this? Because knowing for sure meant that I had to do something for sure. Knowing for sure meant that my life would never be the same.

  Since Thursday, I’d been working hard to steady my emotions, even though I was drowning in the suspicion that my boy had slept with my wife. It was hard to look at Tiffanie, even harder to talk to her—and sleeping next to her? Impossible! But because I wasn’t ready to show my cards, I’d had to fake not feeling well, and that was my answer to everything.

  When she asked, “What’s wrong, Damon?” my reply was “I’m not feeling well.”

  When she asked, “Why are you so quiet?” my reply was “I’m not feeling well.”

  And when she reached out and touched me in bed, my words were the same, accompanied with a move that took me to the edge of my side.

  We wouldn’t be able to live our lives this way much longer. I was bursting, ready to tell Tiffanie what I knew. The challenge was, I didn’t know enough. And that’s what this plan was about.

  So why was I hesitating?

  I guess I wasn’t really ready to lose Tiffanie forever.

  I stood at the window, staring out into the bleakness of the day and the gray sky that promised a coming storm. But finally, I turned and did what I’d always done—I made the decision. I was ready to make this move.

  Hitting the intercom, I said, “Hillary, send her in.”

  I’d never met the woman who was about to enter my office and my life. I’d called Hillary first thing Friday morning and she’d done the interviewing and then the hiring after I’d given her the two requirements. The first was that I wanted a pr
ofessional actor.

  There was a single knock, then, “Damon?” The blond, blue-eyed woman peeked into my office and the first thing I noticed was that she was the color of paste.

  That had been the second requirement. I wanted a white woman, making the bet that her voice would give what I was about to do some legitimacy.

  “I’m Liz,” she said, shaking my hand.

  I didn’t exchange any pleasantries; I didn’t say how nice it was to meet her or ask if her day was going well. This was all about business and I wanted to get down to it.

  “You read the script” were my first words to her.

  “I did.”

  I motioned toward one of the chairs in front of my desk and then sat beside her. “You don’t need to stick to those words,” I began, as she unbuttoned the jacket to her suit, which was the same color as this day. She opened the document I’d sent on her tablet. “I just wanted to give you an idea of what to say, how to proceed, how to get . . .” I paused; I was talking too much. “You know what I’m looking for.”

  She nodded.

  “You ready?”

  Another nod.

  The number to my office was always blocked, so all I had to do was turn the phone toward us and press the number that had been saved. My heart sped up, the way it did back in the day when a life-changing deal was about to go down. I guess this was the same.

  The phone rang only twice before my wife answered her cell phone.

  I nodded to Liz, then sat back down in the chair beside her.

  She began, “May I speak to Tiffanie King, please?”

  “This is Tiffanie speaking.”

  Liz gave a slight cough before she went into the script. “You don’t know me, but I know you . . . very well.” She paused. “I’m going to get right to the point. I know what you did.”

  “Who is this?” My wife sounded annoyed, like she didn’t have time for anyone who was playing on the phone.

  “I know about you and Trey.”

  The pause that followed made air catch in my throat. I had to stand to keep breathing because the truth was in her silence.

  Still, I hoped. I hoped as I paced.

  “Trey who?” my wife asked.

  Liz sighed. “We both know who I’m talking about, but if you want to play games . . . Trey Taylor. I know what you did with Trey Taylor.”

  In the next pause, my heart dropped to my knees and I stopped moving. I stared at the phone, wondering for a moment if Tiffanie had hung up. But then I heard her voice, her question, “Why are you calling me? What kind of game are you playing?”

  Liz chuckled all the way into her role. “I’m not playing any game,” she said. “And I’m calling you because if you don’t want your husband to find out what I know, then you’ll do what I ask.”

  Another pause and my heart continued its free fall, going all the way to my ankles. “Who is this?” she asked again.

  “My name’s not important,” Liz said, as if she made this kind of call all the time.

  “It is if you expect to get anything from me.”

  The tremble of Tiffanie’s voice was more evidence for me.

  “So, you’re saying you want me to give these pictures to your husband?”

  The sucking in of air made my own heart stop.

  “Pictures?” Tiffanie whispered.

  “Yeah. And I’m sure Damon King will pay a lot for what I have. He wouldn’t want these pictures to end up in one of the tabloid papers.” Then Liz dug the knife in deeper, for both of us. “With all that your husband has going on, he won’t want, and he can’t afford, any kind of scandal.” More guilt from my wife in the form of her pause. “So, like I said, money is what I want. Either I’ll get it from you or from Mr. King. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “What? What kind of pictures are you talking about?”

  “The pictures of you and Trey Taylor,” Liz said, as if Tiffanie should know. “Doing . . . what would you call it?”

  In our email exchange, I’d told the woman not to be specific in this part of the conversation because, of course, there were no pictures. I didn’t want her to claim that there were pictures at Tiffanie’s office or in a hotel lobby, since I didn’t know any details, and I didn’t know anything for sure . . . at least not until now.

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her protest was much softer, made weaker by the tears in her voice.

  I made a gesture for the actor to wrap it up. I had enough.

  Liz said, “I’m not going to play this back-and-forth with you. Do you want these pictures or not? You can have them all for fifty thousand dollars.”

  I’d given her the blackmail amount. Something that my wife would feel that she could afford to pay without having to come to me.

  Tiffanie said, “I’m not giving you any money.”

  Her words gave me a split second of hope. If Tiffanie wasn’t willing to pay . . .

  My wife said,“I need to see the pictures first.”

  My fingers curled into the tightest of fists, and if Liz hadn’t been in my office, if Tiffanie hadn’t been on the phone, I would have punched something—a wall, a window, anything. But I had to press my lips together so that I wouldn’t shout out and call my wife a lying whore.

  “All right. I’ll call you back with a time and a place where we can meet.” She leaned forward and disconnected the phone herself. As she leaned back and closed her tablet, she kept her eyes away from mine. But she couldn’t look away forever, and when she glanced up, her gaze held such sadness.

  I’d given Liz no information about my personal life, but she didn’t need to be a genius to figure this out.

  “Do you need me for anything else?” she asked, in a tone thick with pity.

  I shook my head as I reached across the desk for an envelope with the rest of the cash I owed her. She took it without even glancing inside.

  Standing, she said, “I’m . . .” She paused and held back her apology. “Thank you, Damon. If . . .” Then she turned and scurried out of the room.

  I waited until I was alone before I stumbled to my desk and fell into the chair. I’d been in all kinds of fights with all kinds of weapons. Though I’d come out the victor in most, I didn’t win them all. But there had never been a time when I felt more defeated.

  Tiffanie had given herself away, not only by keeping the conversation going but when she asked for proof of the pictures . . .

  I closed my eyes and massaged my temples, needing to get rid of all the mental pictures I now had of my wife and Trey.

  Trey.

  My boy.

  My brother.

  My fam.

  My fam who was bangin’ my wife!

  Pushing myself back, I kinda walked, kinda stumbled to the rain-streaked window. The storm had come, bringing puddles that covered the streets where my brother and I used to roam.

  “To my man, and his bride, may she bring you all that you deserve.”

  “I just hope you’ll be able to handle it . . . when she hurts you.”

  “I’ve never met one who wasn’t in it for herself . . . I would even doubt your wife.”

  Trey’s words were on a fast-forward reel in my mind, striking me in my gut the same way they had when he’d spoken them. I didn’t know what he’d meant then; I knew now.

  This is why I’d never wanted to be attached, especially not to a woman. I’d never wanted to let anyone get close enough to hurt me. To hurt me just like this.

  Tears tried to well up in my eyes, but I blinked them back. I wasn’t no punk. I wasn’t gonna cry. I’d let the sky do that for me. Maybe this was God crying, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I now had business to handle. Phase two.

  Trey had been sending me a message and I needed to let my boy know that his message had been received.

&nbs
p; Turning back to my desk, I reached for the bottom drawer with one hand and with the other, I pressed a single number on my cell phone and put it on speaker. I checked my Glock, and when Magic picked up, I said, “I need your help. The old-school kinda help.”

  There wasn’t a hint of hesitation. All Magic asked was, “Where? When?”

  And I told him.

  38

  Tiffanie

  Tiffanie, we need to handle . . .” When I looked up, Sonia stopped walking and stopped talking. She stared at me for a moment, then took a few slow steps toward me. “Chica,” she began, perching herself on my desk right next to where I sat. “¿Que pasa?”

  Even if I’d wanted to tell her that nothing was wrong, that I was okay, the tears streaking my face and my trembling hands would be signs that I was lying. And not only that, I wanted to talk, I had to tell somebody what had just happened.

  So I said, straight out, “I’m being blackmailed.”

  Sonia covered her mouth with her fist. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” she shrieked. But then my words must’ve started to make sense—or not—because she asked, “Wait. What? Blackmailed? By who? And for what? What could anyone have on you?”

  Shaking my head, I said, “I can’t answer the who.” The next part was going to be easier for me to say than it was going to be to hear Sonia’s disappointment. “I’m being blackmailed because of me and Trey.”

  “You and Trey?” Her face contorted in complete confusion. “How can anyone blackmail”—her cadence slowed—“you . . . about . . . Trey?” It was a question that she didn’t give me a chance to answer. “Oh my God, Tiffanie! You’re sleeping with Trey?” If the look on her face had been a word, it would’ve been Ewwww. But I couldn’t tell if her disgust was for me or Trey or the two of us together.

  “No! I’m not sleeping with him.” When Sonia tilted her head, I added, “I mean, not exactly. Not sex. Not really?”