Betrayal

by Dwayne S. Joseph

  He paused to ensure that his last statement made an impact. He stared at her intently. She stared back, speechless. She’d felt every word.

  Tre continued, “You’re flipping through those pages hoping that this book will be the one to help you save your marriage, because you can’t go on much longer. The depression and loneliness is becoming too much for you to bear.”

  Tre stopped talking again and looked at her. Quiet shock spread across her face. He’d described her to a T.

  Sapphire wanted to respond to him, but didn’t know what to say. She shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. She tried to find the right words, but remained silent. In a matter of seconds, this stranger had taken down her wall and left her completely naked. She cleared her throat again. She tried to keep it from happening, but couldn’t; her eyes welled with tears. She was emotionally beaten.

  His words.

  So true.

  Tears fell from the corners of her eyes.

  Tre said, “I know a lot of women like you. Too many.”

  Sapphire dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “Are you a therapist?”

  Tre shook his head. “Aspirin.”

  “Aspirin? What does that mean?”

  “Means I can’t cure what’s ailing you, but I can provide relief.”

  Sapphire looked at him curiously. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

  Tre looked at her. Then looked at the ring on her finger. He reached into the breast pocket of his blazer and pulled out a card. He held it out for Sapphire.

  She took it and looked it over. Black on both sides, with his name and number in gold on one side.

  “I can temporarily satisfy you. All you have to do is call me.” He stood up. “It was a pleasure,” he said, and then turned and walked off.

  Sapphire looked at the card and then at him as he walked out of the bookstore. She looked down at the card again. He was offering his services. She should have been angry, offended that he would even approach her, but for some reason, she wasn’t.

  There’d been something about him. Something intriguing. Something true.

  He’d offered temporary satisfaction.

  It should have repulsed her, but the fact of the matter was the offer seemed to call out to her.

  Temporary satisfaction.

  He was right. The depression and loneliness had been too much to bear.

  She slid the card into her purse and left the table, leaving the book there face down. She endured loneliness for two more months before she eventually called Tre.

  Now, Sapphire sighed. She had felt guilt initially for going to Tre, but the more Zeke ignored her, the more Tre’s temporary satisfaction became a necessity.

  Now she was addicted.

  The wind blew.

  She felt a gush between her legs.

  She’d be calling Tre again. Soon.

  She went to get her Japanese cuisine.

  Chapter 9

  Sitting in his car across the street, Zeke watched Sapphire as she walked off in the opposite direction of her car. She moved from the sidewalk to the edge of the curb at the end of the block to cross the busy street.

  Zeke’s fingers tightened around his steering wheel. He wanted to pull out of his space, gun the engine, and meet his wife in the middle of the street. He wanted to feel the impact of his car barreling into her body at ninety miles an hour. He wanted to hear her bones break, see her catapult into the air, and then he wanted to watch her lifeless body fade away in his rear view mirror as he sped off.

  He closed his eyes.

  Imagined the moment.

  Thought about the second before impact.

  Sapphire would see him through the glass. She would see the look in his eyes. The hatred he felt for her. He would see the fear, shock, and, just before he took her life, the regret in hers. In that moment, she would regret ever having betrayed him. In that moment, she would ask for forgiveness.

  That moment.

  Zeke could see it.

  He could hear it.

  He could feel it.

  He breathed in and out slowly. He savored the twisted, deranged image his heart’s desire conjured up in his mind.

  He breathed.

  In.

  Out.

  Deep breaths.

  In.

  Out.

  His fingers flexed and closed around the steering wheel even more. It groaned beneath his grasp. Zeke took another breath and held it in as though he were taking a toke, and then released it seconds later slowly through his nostrils.

  He opened his eyes and looked in Sapphire’s direction. She was crossing the street now. Almost halfway. Zeke strangled the steering wheel again, while the homicidal thoughts played in slow motion.

  All he had to do was pull out and press down on the gas pedal.

  He was no killer, but he wanted to be.

  Right then.

  Right there.

  All he had to do . . .

  He sighed as Sapphire made it safely to the other side and kept going. Zeke clenched his jaws. She’d be back for her car. He’d wait. Maybe he’d be ready to cross over to the dark side when she did.

  He looked away from her and looked up at the building she’d come out of. He didn’t know of any of her friends living there. Was this where the headless man lived? The headless man who’d made his wife cum . . . was he up there? Was this his home? Zeke grabbed his iPhone, found Sapphire’s name, and touched the screen to connect the call.

  “Zeke?”

  He heard the surprise and apprehension in her voice. She was shaken. He said, “Where are you?”

  A second of silence passed before she said, “I . . . I’m just getting to Marlene’s house.”

  Zeke gritted his teeth. Lying bitch. He knew Marlene didn’t live there. “Marlene’s? Is everything all right?”

  “She’s . . . having some issues with her ex. She just wants to talk.”

  “You never told me you were going anywhere.”

  “You were on the phone dealing with your situation. I didn’t want to bother you anymore. I’m surprised to hear from you. I didn’t think you’d notice my being gone.”

  “I had to go back to the office to take care of some things. I didn’t see your car when I left.”

  “Oh . . . OK. Is everything OK?”

  “It will be soon,” Zeke answered.

  “That’s good.”

  “How long before you get home?”

  “I’m not sure. Marlene sounded pretty upset. I think she really wants to vent. Hopefully I won’t be too long because I’m tired. How long do you think you’ll be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want me to wait up?”

  “No.”

  “OK.”

  “Tell Marlene I said hello.”

  “I will.”

  Zeke ended the call without saying good-bye, and slammed his phone down on the seat beside him.

  Lying bitch.

  His mind went to the past as his blood boiled. He thought back to the days when money had been tight, but the good times had been plentiful. He and Sapphire were different people then. Things that mattered actually meant something. Family, friends, time together—they were all savored. Through good times and bad, they had one another and they could rely on the notion that together was going to be forever, because they were meant to be that way.

  Bitch.

  Zeke sat still, his fingers clamped down hard around the steering wheel, looking up at the building. He was up there. Somewhere. With his wife’s scent on him.

  Zeke’s head throbbed.

  His heart ached.

  He looked away from the building to see Sapphire walking toward him. She was on the same side of the street, about forty feet away. He watched her through his windshield and steeled himself for a confrontation; surely she had seen him sitting there.

  Thirty-five feet away now, Sapphire walked with purpose in her step. It was dark, but Zeke could see the seriousness in
her eyes. Eyes he used to stare into and think how fortunate he was to be able to call a woman as beautiful as she, his wife.

  Twenty-five feet.

  Sam had said he’d do it, but he wouldn’t get that chance now, because Zeke would do it himself.

  He took a breath, held it, and tried to get himself centered. He’d imagined getting into it with Sapphire so many times since receiving the photographs. He’d screamed and cursed as different scenarios ran over and over in his mind. He was certain one of those scenarios were about to play out in real life, word for word right then and there. He breathed and watched his wife walk toward him.

  His wife.

  He loathed, hated, and despised her.

  He watched her, twenty feet away now, and felt his heart break into pieces.

  His wife.

  Below the surface of the hate, something burned. He didn’t want to feel it. He tried to ignore the rising temperature. He shook his head. Clenched his jaws.

  The burning wouldn’t go away.

  He began to breathe heavily. Hard, quick gasps. He clenched down harder. Felt as though he would shatter his teeth, he was clenching so hard. He knew what the burning was. He tried to make it stop. Tried to make it go away again.

  But he couldn’t.

  As hard as he tried, as hard as he fought against it, the burning couldn’t be soothed, because the burning wasn’t truly that at all, but something much worse. Something that he pleaded with himself to not feel.

  He shook his head again and stared at his wife, who, instead of coming straight to the car, turned and hurried across the busy street, and went back into the building.

  Zeke looked at the building’s entrance as his heart pounded in his chest. She hadn’t seen him. He looked at the entrance and contemplated running after her. His hands were shaking. He had been so sure the confrontation was going to happen.

  He gripped his steering wheel again and took several deep breaths. By now she would have reached whatever apartment she was going to. To find her, Zeke would have to go floor by floor, door to door.

  He choked the steering wheel and thought about doing just that. But he wouldn’t get far. After kicking the first door down, someone would surely call the police. He opened and closed his fingers, causing the leather of the wheel to groan again. He looked at the building for several long seconds and imagined himself barreling in and kicking down doors, kicking ass if he had to.

  His wife was in there.

  Somewhere.

  With the headless man.

  He clenched down again. Flared his nostrils and shook his head. She’d betrayed him. He hated her so much, yet at the same time, he still loved her, and admitting and accepting that was painful.

  He started the engine and pulled off slowly, as love burned beneath the pain.

  Chapter 10

  Slowly. Controlled. To the chest. Now . . . exhale. Push it up. Don’t think about the burn. Back down now. Controlled. Slowly. Inhale. To the middle of the chest. Down. Down.

  Now.

  Exhale. Push.

  All the way up. Don’t lock the arms. It has to come back down again.

  Sam did three more reps on the bench press and then set the bar down. He lay motionless on the bench, staring up at a stain in the ceiling tile above him, and breathed in and out slowly. He’d pressed two hundred and fifty pounds. It was the most he’d ever done without a spotter.

  He took a slow, deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. He’d been at the gym for over an hour, but unlike when he usually came to work out, the gym was empty. Save for the Top Forty eighties’ music playing from the speakers above, it was silent. Sam welcomed the silence. It was something he needed.

  He took another breath, released it, he then reached for his towel and wiped sweat from his face and neck. He laid the towel across his stomach and stared back up at the ceiling tile.

  He said he’d do it.

  He was still trying to come to grips with that. Still trying to deal with the fact that he had no choice.

  Twelve years ago it could have all been different. He could have been sitting in the back of a police car, waiting to be taken to jail, instead of sitting at a table at Sal’s Ristorante.

  Sam closed his eyes and breathed slowly. The Top Forty music above him changed and became an Italian serenade. The scent of sweat disappeared and was replaced by food.

  Sam opened his eyes. He was no longer at the gym, surrounded by equipment and emptiness. He was back in Sal’s, sitting across from Zeke. They’d just come from the hospital. Sam’s nose was bandaged, but not broken, and throbbing.

  Unlike Sal’s Pizzeria from Spike Lee’s classic, Do The Right Thing, this Sal’s had famous Blacks on the walls. They shook Sal’s hand, draped their arms over his shoulders, and even gave him kisses on the cheeks and lips. Sal was genuinely well-liked and respected by his patrons.

  Sam looked around at the décor. He’d never eaten in an establishment as fancy as Sal’s. The closest he’d ever thought he’d get to being in a place like Sal’s was by observing it through the glass as he stood outside on the city block, or seeing it on the television. Sal’s and other places like it weren’t for him. They were for the white, rich, and elite crowd. If black people were in there, it was only because they had “sold out” and lived life hating the color of their skin. That was the narrow view he’d grown up with.

  He was a nigga, and he would never be anything but that.

  Zeke was a nigga too. He just thought he was better than everyone with his fancy car, expensive clothes, and proper speech.

  Sam gave Zeke a scowl as Zeke looked at him. He’d never liked being stared at. It made him uncomfortable. Made him feel as though he were being judged and ridiculed at the same time. He shifted in his seat, grabbed his menu and opened it.

  “Pick anything you want,” Zeke said, opening his.

  Sam scoured the menu, looking at the prices listed beside each entrée. He looked up at Zeke.

  “Twenty-five dollars for some damn ravioli?”

  Zeke nodded.

  Sam shook his head. “That don’t even make sense.”

  Zeke laughed. “Just order.”

  Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Your dime,” he said.

  He looked back down at the menu. A few minutes later, the waitress, a heavy-set, clearly Italian female in her mid-twenties, came to take their orders. Sam settled on the rigatoni with meat sauce and a beer. Zeke, a frequent patron, was having his usual—fettuccine with shrimp, bathed in cream sauce with black olives and tomatoes. He ordered his favorite drink—Scotch—to go with it.

  Silence hung in the air for a few seconds after the waitress walked away, until Sam asked, “Why didn’t you call the cops?” It was a question he’d been wondering as he sat in Zeke’s car on the way to the hospital, and then again on the way to the restaurant.

  Zeke looked at him for a moment, and then reached for his cell phone. He said, “I can call now if you want me to?”

  Sam watched him. He could tell by the look in Zeke’s eyes that he was very serious. He shook his head. “Nah. It’s cool.”

  “You sure,” Zeke asked. “Because I can have them here in a few minutes.”

  Sam shook his head again. “It’s cool. I was just wondering, that’s all.”

  Zeke gave a nod and put his cell phone back down on the table. A second later, the waitress returned with their drinks. “Why didn’t I call the police?” he said as the waitress walked away.

  He wrapped his fingers around his glass. He loved Scotch. He loved its dry, bitter flavor. He loved the way it burned in the back of his throat and on its way down his chest. Were he an alcoholic, Scotch would be the drink he’d have to keep locked away in the cabinet, the whereabouts of the key unknown to him.

  He raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, letting the liquid stir around in his mouth, before caressing its way down. He let out a satisfied, “Ah,” and then focused back on Sam. “Don’t you think there are enough black men
in jail?” he asked.

  Sam raised his eyebrows and scoffed. “More than enough.”

  “Believe it or not, jail used to have a purpose. It wasn’t just about housing criminals. At one point, going to jail meant getting a second chance at life. An opportunity to not only do the time for the crime, but an opportunity to also reevaluate the path you were on. Guys went to jail and got informed. Informed about themselves and the system. Some guys got GEDs. Others, associate’s and even bachelor’s degrees. The ones who were fortunate enough to get out came out knowing that while life on the outside wasn’t going to be easy, it wasn’t over. It wasn’t hopeless.

  “Black men go to jail now, spend some time eating, working out, and watching cable, before they come out and go right back to doing what put them there in the first place. Let’s face it, the word ‘hardened’ is no longer associated with the word ‘criminal.’ Jail is a cakewalk now. It’s a badge of honor. You could even call it an aphrodisiac the way the ladies seem to flock to the guys who’ve done time. Why didn’t I call the police?”

  Zeke paused and grabbed his glass. He picked it up and swirled the liquid around, making the bits of ice clink.

  Sam watched him. His nose was throbbing, but he hardly felt the pain. Zeke had him entranced. He’d been dead on with what he’d said: he wasn’t scared of jail. That’s why he’d been a repeat offender. Jail was a roof overhead for some. Temporary chill time for others. To some extent, Sam preferred jail to being out in the real world, because there was an order and discipline behind prison walls that didn’t exist in the streets.

  Sam stared at Zeke.

  Zeke stared at Sam.

  Why hadn’t he called the police?

  “You thought taking my money and my car was going to be easy.” Zeke paused and took another sip of his Scotch.

  Sam remained silent.

  Zeke continued. “Obviously your nose and pride found out that it wasn’t.”