After Hours

by Rochelle Alers

  Sybil’s arms remained at her sides when she wanted to hug Cory, tell him that he was forgiven. But something wouldn’t let her relent. “Why are you sending me double messages, Cory? You bitch and moan that we don’t take vacations together, that we’re like two ships passing in the night, and now when I decide to take two days off you interrogate me. Why can’t you just accept whatever I say without analyzing it?”

  Resting his chin on the top of Sybil’s head, Cory rocked her from side to side. “I am sorry, sweetheart. I’m just a little tense.”

  “What are you tense about?”

  “I’ve been sitting around the house doing nothing while I wait for the programmers to work out the kinks in the software for the spy plane.”

  Sybil’s arms came up and she placed her palms on Cory’s solid pectorals. “I thought you went out yesterday.”

  “I went for a drive to Red Bank, hung around a while and then came back.”

  What Cory Cumberland couldn’t tell his wife was that he’d gone to Atlantic City. He’d spent hours at the blackjack table trying to win back the money he’d lost. In the end he’d walked away with twenty dollars. A mere, shitty twenty dollars that wasn’t enough to pay for the gas it took to drive there and back.

  He was gambling—heavily. If it wasn’t the casino, then it was the horses or lottery tickets. He won some and lost some, but even when he broke even it was as if he couldn’t stop. The truth was he didn’t want to stop.

  Gambling was like a fever in his blood, the heat threatening to incinerate him whole. He’d begun gambling because he was bored. His wife worked long, erratic hours, and whenever they weren’t together he found himself at a loss.

  Before he’d met Sybil, he’d spent his spare time hanging out with his fraternity brothers. But one by one they married and the focus shifted to their wives and children. Now it was on a rare occasion when they got together, and if they did, it was always a family affair.

  “Well, today I’m going to make sure you’re not bored. I’m going to prepare brunch and later on tonight I’m taking you out.”

  Cory smiled. “Where are you taking me?”

  Pressing her naked body to his, Sybil kissed his throat. “It’s a surprise.”

  He knew enough not to pressure Sybil into disclosing her surprise. He would be patient and wait. Bending slightly, he picked her up and carried her into the bathroom. “I’ll wash your back if you wash mine.”

  Sybil looped her arms around Cory’s neck. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Cumberland.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Cory said when Sybil maneuvered into the parking lot behind Shaken Not Stirred. Her surprise was what he needed to relax and forget about his gambling losses.

  He’d met his future wife at the Plainfield café frequented by aging beatniks, hippies, bohemians and those disenchanted with the establishment. On any given night the patrons were treated to an art exhibit, jazz music or poetry readings. It was the poetry readings Cory liked best.

  The first time he saw Sybil, she was with another man. Two weeks later he saw her again, and this time she was alone. He approached her, offering to buy her a glass of wine. She’d refused the wine, saying she much preferred a cappuccino. He’d never drunk cappuccino or espresso, but after several dates with Sybil he’d come to enjoy coffee, tea and different cuts of steaks. Sybil Johnson had resigned her position as a high school guidance counselor to become a chef.

  “This place hasn’t changed in seven years.”

  They got out of the truck, Sybil moving closer to Cory when he put an arm around her waist. “It hasn’t changed in more than thirty years. Same owners, same ambience,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “I can’t remember the last time I came here.”

  “Remember when I catered the kiddie party in Philly this past April?” Cory nodded. “Before heading back home, I stopped for coffee. It was as if time had stopped. I saw some of the same people who came here when we were dating.”

  Lowering his head, he brushed a kiss over her parted lips. “Thanks, baby. You can surprise me anytime you want.” He’d stopped frequenting Shaken Not Stirred once he found another favorite hangout closer to Princeton, where he’d enrolled in a graduate engineering program. He and Sybil had dated for a year, lived together for another year before deciding to marry.

  “I’m glad you like it,” she whispered, deepening the kiss.

  They walked into the dimly lit café with a stage, a bar and dozens of small round tables. In the past, a cloud of smoke from cigarettes would have hung heavily in the air, but it was now the fragrant aroma of brewing coffee that greeted them.

  Sybil and Cory found seats not far from the stage, where a tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper dreadlocks rapped a passionate poem about finding and losing his Nubian princess as a prerecording of African drumming provided the musical backdrop for his sonorous chanting that ended amid thunderous applause.

  Cory stared at the enthralled expression on Sybil’s face. He knew she’d suggested coming to the café as much for herself as for him. She loved art, jazz and poetry, while he had no interest in art, read only technical magazines and was partial to hip-hop and R & B. However, poetry readings were the exception. There was something about the spoken word that held him transfixed.

  He leaned closer. “Good evening, my sister, may I buy you a glass of wine?”

  Sybil turned, gazing lovingly at her husband. Those were the exact words he’d said to her what now seemed aeons ago when in reality it’d only been seven years. “Good evening, my brother,” she said, playing along with him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d much prefer a cappuccino.”

  Cory leaned closer, staring intently at the woman with whom he’d fallen in love on sight. His gaze caressed her raven-black hair fashioned into a chignon, her small, straight nose and high cheekbones she’d inherited from her Asian-born mother.

  “Promise me you won’t run away,” he teased.

  “I promise.” Sybil watched Cory as he made his way to the coffee bar. For a fleeting moment she experienced guilt, guilt that she hadn’t spent much time with him

  She’d married Cory because he was the complete opposite of her father. He was sociable, peaceable and incredibly gentle. He wanted children, and Sybil knew he would make a wonderful father because he talked about raising their children differently from how they’d been raised.

  His father had abandoned his mother and their three children the year Cory turned fifteen. His younger brother, who’d joined a street gang, was now serving a life sentence for capital murder. And his sister, an unwed mother with three children from three different men, had sought counseling and had taken control of her life to turn it around.

  Sybil had promised Cory that they would start a family when they celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary. And she had six months before making good on her promise.

  She watched him make his way over to the coffee bar. A woman waiting on line in front of him turned and said something to Cory. He nodded, then turned and pointed in Sybil’s direction.

  “What was that all about?” Sybil asked when he returned with her coffee. He’d ordered a beer for himself.

  “She wanted to know if I was here with someone.”

  Sybil’s eyes narrowed. “Hell, yeah, you’re here with someone.”

  “She knows that now.”

  “How often do women hit on you?” she asked after taking a sip of the creamy coffee.

  “She wasn’t hitting on me.”

  “You think not?”

  Cory frowned. “I know not. And even if she was, I wasn’t biting.”

  “I hope not.”

  His frown deepened. “Where’s all of this jealousy coming from, Sybil?”

  She gave him a steady look. “You say I don’t spend enough time with you, so I thought maybe you were looking for attention from other women.”

  “I told you before that I don’t cheat. I didn’t cheat when I dated and I definitely won’t now that I’m marr
ied.”

  Sybil took another sip. “I was just checking.”

  There came a beat. “Is that why you decided to take a couple of days off? What’s up? Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course I trust you, Cory. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t stay with you.”

  Sybil schooled her expression to not reveal what she was feeling, had been feeling for a while. She knew she and Cory were growing apart, but that was because she was trying to grow her business. He claimed he understood, but did he really? Not when he complained of her not spending time with him.

  It was the first time since she’d married Cory Cumberland that she wondered whether her marriage would make the five-year mark.

  CHAPTER 45

  Dina stared at her reflection in a room of wall-to-wall mirrors. The dance instructor, who went by the single name of Carlos, stood behind her. Sybil had called to tell her that she didn’t have to come to work for the next two weeks because Carlos had rearranged his calendar to put her through an intense workout. As promised, Sybil paid her for her regular hours and the days when she would be in the studio.

  Carlos, only several inches taller than Dina, met her gaze in the mirror. When she’d walked into the studio he’d set up in a room in the rear of his house, his first impulse was to recommend that she become a music video backup dancer. She had what most video producers and directors wanted—the look. What he saw was a dancer’s body.

  His dark eyes met hers. “First we’re going to see how flexible you are. Hold on to the bar and lift your right leg.”

  Dina hesitated. He was asking her to lift her leg when today was the first day she was completely pain-free. Dr. Howe had examined her, saying she was healing nicely. He also said she could resume sexual intercourse in two weeks.

  “How high?” she asked.

  “See if you can rest your heel on the bar.”

  Slowly, as if testing how high she could raise her leg without experiencing some discomfort, Dina held on to the bar, leaned back slightly and rested the heel of the ballet slipper atop it. She felt a slight pulling between her legs but no pain. She shared a smile with the short, muscular man with a perfectly conditioned compact body in a black leotard and footless tights. When she’d walked into his studio, she’d had to force herself not to stare at the large bulge between his thighs. She’d known men who stuffed their briefs in order to look bigger, but she suspected Carlos’s package was all his.

  “Very good,” Carlos said. “Now try the other one.”

  Dina lost count of the number of times she raised and lowered her legs. She was put through a stretching routine that made her feel as if she’d been pulled in every direction. Her tendons and muscles in places she didn’t know she had figuratively and literally screamed. She ached—everywhere. Once back in her apartment, she took a hot shower and collapsed into bed.

  After more than a week of stretching exercises, Carlos put on a CD of dance music. He sat on a chair, watching as Dina danced freestyle. She was familiar with the latest steps, had a natural rhythm…but something was missing.

  Pushing a button on the portable CD player, he stopped the music while clapping his hands together. “Enough!”

  Dina complied, glaring at the man with a curly ponytail that was as long as hers. At first she’d thought him soft because of the stereotype that all male dancers were gay, but there was something in the way he stared at her breasts and legs that told her he was definitely straight.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Are you a nice girl or a naughty girl, Dina?”

  She blinked once. “Say what?”

  “Nice or naughty?” he repeated.

  “I’d like to think of myself as nice.”

  Carlos closed the distance between them. “I’m a man, Dina, and I wouldn’t give a dollar for that performance.”

  Hands on hips, Dina lifted her chin in a defiant gesture. “What’s wrong with it?”

  Resting his hands on her shoulders, Carlos pulled her close. “You’re a very sexy woman, but you don’t dance like a sexy woman. You’re going to have to learn to use what you’ve been given.”

  “And that is?”

  “Hair, tits, ass and legs.” He ignored her soft gasp. “You’ve good rhythm because you feel the music. Remember—when you’re up on stage you’re no long Dina Gordon but Sparkle. What you want is for every man in the room to think that you’re dancing solely for him. In other words, I want you to give them a lap dance without sitting on them. I want every dick in the room to be standing at attention when you bend over and shake your ass. Have you ever seen a booty clap?”

  Dina nodded rather than say she had. Not only did she know what it looked like, but she’d also done it.

  Carlos smiled at Dina. “I want you to do it again, this time putting your hair, tits and ass into it.”

  The driving, pumping bassline beat started up again, and Dina knew that if she didn’t dance the way Carlos wanted, then she could forget about entertaining at Sybil’s private parties. She’d do anything the relentless, overbearing dance instructor wanted her to do to get his approval. He’d told her that Carlos would discharge her only when she pleased Carlos.

  She’d lost weight she couldn’t afford to lose from the strenuous workouts and developed muscles in her legs and thighs that weren’t visible before. What she didn’t want to do is look as if she were lifting weights.

  If Carlos wanted freak, then she was going to give him freak personified. She was no longer Dina Gordon but Adina Jenkins, popping, locking and dropping her ass in order to get a man’s attention. She didn’t see the smirk stealing its way over Carlos’s face, but she heard his applause when the dance number ended. They shared a knowing smile.

  Carlos kissed her on both cheeks. “You’re ready.”

  CHAPTER 46

  The morning of the Fourth, Karla slipped out of bed, leaving Ronald snoring loudly. She couldn’t believe how loudly he snored until she woke before him. And it wasn’t that he snored all the time—just when he’d been drinking.

  He’d offered to act as bartender for the soiree and had mixed several new concoctions he wanted to try out on their guests. She’d been adamant about not getting anyone so drunk that they either passed out or ended up in a vehicular accident. It was the lawyer in Karla that had surfaced.

  She showered quickly and threw on a sundress to go outside to survey the area where a tent had been erected. Eight round tables, each with seating for four, were set up around the brick patio.

  All of her consternation as to whether the outdoor kitchen would be completed on time was alleviated when the contractor called to tell her he was finished and would send her a bill for the cost overruns. His crew had worked around the clock to put in the outdoor fireplace.

  She put up a pot of coffee, then began the task of taking out individually wrapped bouquets of red and white flowers that would serve as centerpieces for each table. In keeping with the holiday color scheme, Karla had decided on white tablecloths with the red and white flowers in blue glass vases.

  She’d taken several days off to prepare for the cookout because she wanted to put her personal signature on the gathering. Ronald had insisted she hire a party planner, but she told him she could easily handle a party of less than fifty invitees. The butcher had cut the differing meats to her specifications, and her favorite bakery had delivered a half a sheet cake made up of fresh strawberries atop shortcake.

  The night before, she’d made coleslaw and potato salad using her mother’s recipes; she’d also cooked a large dish of baked beans and marinated all of the meat. The only thing on her agenda was to make a fruit and tossed salads. The many ears of fresh, sweet bread-and-butter corn were shucked and in the refrigerator.

  What Karla wanted was a traditional menu. No professional bartender or servers, no foie gras, caviar or sushi. Those she usually offered for a small cocktail party. She wanted her guests to eat, drink and have fun while doing it.

  “Everything looks smashing
.”

  Karla turned around. Ronald had come out of the house completely naked. Her gaze went to his smiling face before lowering to the thick, heavy sex hanging between his muscled thighs.

  She returned his smile. “What are you trying to do? Make me horny?”

  He approached her, cradling his penis in one hand. “Bet you a dollar you’re wet.”

  Karla shook her head. “Now you know that I’m going to lose.”

  Pulling up the hem of her dress, his free hand went between her legs. “Damn, baby, you’re like Niagara Falls.” He withdrew his hand, the dress falling back around her knees; he rubbed his fingers together before putting them into his mouth and sucking loudly. Ronald winked at Karla. “Sweet,” he crooned.

  Karla felt as if she were on fire. Ronald had started something only she could finish. Slipping the straps of the dress off her shoulders, she stepped out of it. “I need a big, fat link before our guests arrive.”

  Ronald achieved a full erection within seconds. He and Karla had made love the night before like starving people pouncing on food. It was as if they couldn’t get enough of each other. His wife had complained of tenderness in her breasts, so he knew she was ovulating. It was during that time of the month that her sex drive kicked into an even higher gear. They always made certain to attend their swinger group whenever she ovulated because Karla always needed multiple partners. Even he had to get some sleep.

  “How do you want it, baby?”

  Karla moved over to the fireplace, bracing her hands against the solid stone structure. “Let’s break in this baby,” she crooned as she turned to present Ronald with her back.

  Looping an arm around her waist, Ronald eased her forward and pushed his blood-engorged sex inside his wife. He closed his eyes and groaned deep in his throat. This was his favorite position, taking her doggie-style. He was able to watch his dick slide in and out of her sweet pussy while it also permitted him deeper penetration.