Other Men's Wives

by Freddie Lee Johnson III

  I hated to see Salome go, but she was determined to make her marriage work. It was rough going. She'd sometimes call and cry on my shoulder, and I'd wonder why she was bothering to keep a husband who, according to her, was “more boring than watching paint dry.”

  “All Norman does is sit in that recliner and watch the Weather Channel,” she'd complain.

  I figured that if the sucker could live with somebody as fine as Salome and not be excited, he was technically dead. During their brief separation, when Salome and I hooked up, we had a ball. Salome's absence shocked Norman into his old self, and he came on strong. She still loved him enough to give it a second shot and went home. She's still there, so either something went right or she's resigned herself to living out the rest of her life sitting next to him as they marvel at televised tornadoes.

  The two jokers nearby erupt with some hee-hawing laughter, distracting me from fine Salome. They settle down, and I check her out. She's dressed in the trademark black pants, gold blouse, and gold stiletto heels that are the uniform of the Ebony Crystal's servers, all female and all lovely.

  Salome's carrying a tray with a glass on it and a brand-new bottle of something that looks good and strong. She strides boldly into the dimness where I'm sitting, keeping her eyes locked with mine as she sets the glass and bottle down in front of me.

  “I've missed seeing you,” she says.

  “It's good seeing you also, Salome.”

  “Your timing's perfect. In another fifteen minutes my shift would've been over and I'd be on my way home.”

  Judging from her tone, going home doesn't sound like such a happy prospect.

  “How's Norman?” I ask.

  “Dry as sand and dull as toast. How's Sierra?”

  I purse my lips and cut my eyes at the bottle. “What's the occasion? I didn't place an order.”

  Salome gestures with her head over to the bar. “It's a gift from Reddy. Enjoy.”

  “Tell him I said thanks.”

  She nods, scans the empty booth, and arches an eyebrow. “You avoided my question, and you're sitting here alone. Are you flying solo, or should I leave before your wife walks up and reaches the wrong conclusion?”

  “It's solo, until further notice.”

  Her eyes soften. “I know that look, Denmark. What's the matter?” I look away toward the stage. Salome leans close and taps the bottle. “The answer's not in there, sugar. Believe me, I know.”

  “Have a nice night, Salome.”

  She sighs, turns away, then turns back. I look up at her. She places two fingers beneath my chin and leans over while lifting my face to meet hers.

  She kisses me tenderly and smiles. “Cheer up, sweetie. It'll get better.”

  “Has it for you?”

  She looks down and away. “It could be worse.”

  A husband who sits catatonic watching the Weather Channel, or a wife giving another guy a blow job? Salome's right. Things for her could be much worse.

  “Take care,” she says, gliding away and throwing much swing into her hips.

  I'd watch longer, but I'm already committed to the booze in this bottle. I pour myself a healthy slug and gulp it down. I want this drunk to come quick. I want oblivion to enslave me. I pour another couple of glasses, holding the bottle tight as the booze burns a path of forgetfulness down my throat.

  The sister playing the sax blows notes that swirl around me like a summer breeze. They smooth me into their flow, electrifying my senses as they ripple through my marrow.

  “Stop lying!” blurts one of the loudmouths sitting nearby. “You might be dumb, but that's downright stupid.”

  Several people shoot irritated glances at them then re-focus onto the sax-playing sister.

  “I'm serious, man,” answers his friend. “Single babes can't do squat for me. It's the married ones who got the best loving.”

  One couple gets up and moves. They're lucky it's the middle of the week, when they can find a table. From Thursday through Saturday, there's barely standing room in the Ebony Crystal.

  The sister on stage blows tunes that wrap me in the warmth of her musical passion. Her background musicians add their magic harmonies, filling the club with sounds too beautiful for mere mortal ears.

  “You're gonna get your silly self beat down,” Big-mouth One loudly warns. “How'd you like it if somebody was stroking your woman on the sly?”

  Bigmouth Two belts out a laugh that earns him more mean stares and angrily hissed shushes. “I'm too smart to get sucker-played like that,” he booms.

  That fool's lucky he's not within reach and that I'm floating off into a nice high. He's like the snake in that video with Sierra. When I find him I'm going to hurt him, bad! I pour another drink and slug it down.

  Reddy, who's sitting at the bar, calls a passing server I recognize as Nikki and whispers in her ear while gesturing at the two loud talkers. She nods, then eases over to their table and speaks softly to them. Bigmouth One scowls at her. Bigmouth Two waves her off. Reddy stands up and steps toward them, but they quiet down and he backs off.

  The musicians blow out some notes that lift me high into a pristine stratosphere of freewheeling goodness, miles above the confusion of life, love, and loss. It's just enough to get me across the horizon of the next moment. With a few more shots of liquor I might make it into the next day.

  The musicians wind down to a smooth, sultry end and are rewarded with steady applause and calls for more. They smile, bow, and wave, and the sax sister steps over to the mike.

  “Ya'll are wonderful,” she says, speaking low and cool. “Hang tight for a few minutes while we take a break and … ”

  “Don't worry, baby,” someone shouts from the back. “We ain't going nowhere.”

  Light laughter ripples through the club, and the sister smiles. “Stay tuned. Stay cool. Stay put. When we come back, we'll be doing some selections from our new CD entitled Finished at the Start.”

  “You've got that right,” I grumble, gulping down the rest of my drink.

  There's more applause. The musicians file off stage, laughing and talking with each other as they head over to the bar. Ramsey Lewis's excellent music starts pumping through the club's sound system. Everyone settles back into some nice conversation. Servers hustle, taking new drink orders. People who waited through the stage performance hurry off to the bathrooms.

  I sit back and relax deep into the booth's cushions. This is the escape I was hoping for. It's the …

  “Man, I'm Prince Charming to every married woman in Cleveland,” Bigmouth Two loudly asserts to his buddy. “When their husbands let them down, I'm there to pick them up.” He winks and nudges him like they're sharing an inside joke. “And believe you me, I do a lot of picking up. It's all just a matter of time.”

  I and several others look over at them. Those jerks are swilling more booze, and they've run off anyone who was seated near them. I push away my glass and bottle, pull out my wallet, throw some money onto the table, and stand to leave.

  “So much for the escape,” I grumble.

  But hold on. Reddy scowls, grabs a phone, and punches some numbers. He looks across the club for Sutton over at the door, but Sutton's not there.

  “It's a matter of time before what?” asks Bigmouth One.

  Two rolls his eyes in exasperation at his friend's ignorance. “Problems, man. Sooner or later one of those stupid suckers does something to piss off his wife. Once that happens, I'm there to help her through.”

  “Aren't you worried about getting caught?” Bigmouth One queries.

  “Hell no!” Two boasts. “Look, man. You've got to understand women, especially the married ones. They don't want to be alone, and they'll put up with their man as long as he's not doing something stupid like beating on them. But just because they stay doesn't mean they're happy. That's where I come in.”

  Reddy whispers emphatically to Nikki, pointing toward the back office. She dashes off. He punches more buttons.

  “So you're the
married wives’ happiness genie, is that it?” One inquires.

  “Exactly!” Two laughs, nodding. “And my magic wand”—wink, grin, elbow nudge—“leaves them with a smile on their lips and a twinkle in their eyes.”

  “You're just a public servant doing a good deed.”

  “You know it, baby. I'm doing a great deed, and those horny homemakers love every inch of it.”

  “Man, I hope you got some good medical insurance,” Bigmouth One advises.

  Nikki emerges from the back and gets Reddy's attention. He angles toward her, and they meet halfway. I ease closer and lean against the wall, waiting to follow his lead. Nikki gestures at the back, talking fast and shaking her head. Reddy balls his fists, glares at the bigmouths, and continues toward them. I follow.

  “And the best part,” says Two, “is that I don't have to deal with any attitude, argument, and expectation. That crap I leave for the husbands.”

  Reddy walks up on the two bigmouths and clears his throat. “Say cats, ya'll need to keep it down. Okay?”

  “How're you gonna tell us that?” demands Bigmouth One. “We're paying customers.”

  “Sure, you're right,” Reddy responds. “But ya'll still need to tone it down. Others are complaining.”

  “ ‘Others’ can blow me,” Two chuckles, dismissing Reddy with a wrist flick. “It's a free country, and we paid our money. Get lost!”

  The bigmouths laugh and slap each other five, then look at me, standing off to the side. Wife-tampering Bigmouth Two glares at me. “What're you looking at?” he challenges. “You don't like what I'm saying? I'll bang your woman too.”

  I explode and snatch Two from his chair, then hurl him across the room. He slams into a wall and crumples to the floor. He shakes his head, sees me flying toward him, and scrambles away. I pounce and smother him with an avalanche of punches, kicks, stomps, swats, and body blows.

  “Get ’im off me!” he wails. “Get ’im off me!”

  Shouting people grab at me. I fight them off. Two's face is a moonscape of welts, bumps, and cuts. More hands grab at me. Sutton and others drag me off. Bigmouth One flees the club. People clap and cheer. Men kick and punch as he races past.

  “Damn!” Sutton exclaims. “You were fixing to send that fool to Emergency.”

  I shake myself free from his iron grip. “Get off me!” I growl.

  Sutton lets go, lifts his hands in surrender, and backs off. “Take it easy, Denmark. I'm on your side.”

  “Where were you?” Reddy demands, his narrowed eyes fixed onto Sutton. “I called up front and in the back.”

  Sutton scowls. “I was out in the parking lot helping Salome with her car when Nikki came and got me.”

  Reddy's expression relaxes. “Oh, okay. Cool.”

  “Denmark, you should go,” Sutton worriedly suggests. “His friend might call the police.”

  “Don't worry about this scum,” Reddy counters, glancing at the whimpering waste on the floor. “He won't yap to the police once I tell him that I know four or five husbands who'd love to have a private talk with him in my storeroom.”

  “That's cold-blooded,” observes Sutton. Then he grins and says, “I love it.”

  Reddy squeezes my shoulder. “You gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  He nods gravely. “Let it go, Denmark. Whatever it is, just let it go.”

  Not yet, Reddy. Not until after I find out who's been screwing my wife. We slap five and hug, and I leave.

  FOURTEEN

  I'm halfway to my Corvette when I hear a car's cranking engine, turning over and over, straining to start. Whoever it belongs to had better be careful before they drain the battery.

  I keep striding across the well-lit parking lot but stop when a woman calls. “Excuse me!” she says loudly. “Could I get some help?”

  She's standing directly beneath a light, and I start toward her. After a short distance I can see by the slim, fine figure that it's Salome Stevens. She's always looked good, but out here in the soft night, with the breeze making her rippling blouse cling to her proudly standing breasts, Salome's spectacular.

  “What's the problem?” I ask, forcing a smile as I get close.

  She frowns at her Chevy Malibu. “It's this stupid car battery. This is the second time it's left me stranded. Norman said it was good, but he's obviously wrong.”

  “Let me take a look,” I say.

  “Denmark, thank you so much!” she gushes. “Sutton was helping, then he was called inside.” She peers at me oddly. “Are you okay? You seem … tense.”

  After bludgeoning Bigmouth Two, I'm relaxed and satisfied. “Pop the hood,” I gently command Salome. She releases the hood latch, and I quickly find the problem. “You've got a bad cable connection.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “Not in the least. I'll have you running in a heartbeat.”

  I drive my Corvette over to her car, get some tools, and tinker for a few minutes with her battery cables. “Okay. Try it now,” I say loudly.

  Salome in the driver's seat turns the ignition, and the Malibu's engine roars. “Wonderful!” she exclaims.

  Salome meets me as I close the hood and finish wiping my hands on a cloth. “After this, I'm doubly glad you came out tonight,” she says.

  I wink. “For someone as gorgeous as you, it was my pleasure.”

  Salome sighs. “It's so refreshing to know a man who still gives compliments.” She looks hard at me, her eyes deep and inviting. “I hope Sierra knows what she has in you.”

  “Trust me,” I growl. “She doesn't!”

  She steps close until we're only inches apart. “Well, I do. And I wish I could better express my appreciation, but this'll have to do.”

  She wraps her arms around my neck, pulls me close, and gives me a sweet kiss. I pull Salome close and hold her tight as the marital restraints that governed me for five years burst loose. In all that time I played by the rules, devoting myself to Sierra, always putting her first. I believed in our love and that doing right would get right results. I'd actually started believing elders like my aunt Phyllis, who'd always said that “What goes around, comes around,” guarding my actions so that the “Come around” would be good. That stupidity is over!

  “How thankful are you?” I ask, massaging the small of Salome's back.

  Her eyelids lower seductively. “How thankful should I be?”

  “Follow me home and we'll discuss it.”

  She arches an eyebrow, plants her palms firmly flat against my chest, and pushes me slightly away. “Won't it get a little crowded with your wife there?”

  “I told you that I'm flying solo. I'm home alone, for good!”

  She relaxes and strokes my cheek, her eyes sad. “Oh baby, I'm sorry.”

  “I'm not! With her out of the picture I can give you what you need.”

  Salome smirks smugly. “And what is it you think I need?”

  I kiss her with scorching passion, let her go, and briskly walk the few short steps to my Corvette, then look back at her. She's fanning herself.

  “That was an appetizer,” I say, opening the door. “The main course is at my house.”

  I start to get in, and Salome says, “It's a shame to eat alone.”

  “Then come join me?”

  “Will it be quick?”

  “No.”

  She checks her watch. “Drive ahead. I'll follow.”

  Forty minutes later, Salome parks in the space beside my Corvette in the garage and watches as the softly humming door closes.

  I unlock the door leading into the house through the kitchen, and gesture to Salome. “Ladies first,” I say.

  “Why thank you, sir knight,” she replies, laughing.

  Hold up! I can't let Salome see where Sierra and I fought. I take gentle hold of her arm. “Let's go downstairs,” I suggest. “The living room's not in the best shape right now.”

  Salome nods. “Okay. I'm a neat freak too, so I know how you feel.”

&nbs
p; I open the door and turn on the light, and Salome starts down the steps. “I'll be right there,” I say, stepping off to fill an ice bucket.

  “It's beautiful down here!” Salome happily observes.

  “Thanks. It cost a bundle for the interior decorator.”

  “It was money well spent.”

  “The hell it was,” I grumble.

  I find us two glasses and a bottle of Courvoisier, then join Salome downstairs. She's standing at the CD player, sorting through my CD library. She starts some music playing while I fix our drinks over at the bar.

  The speakers come alive with an old cut of Boyz II Men, singing their agonizingly appropriate “End of the Road.”

  I hand Salome her drink and hold my glass up to her for a toast. “To roads with new beginnings,” I say, and we clink our glasses together.

  I sip my drink. Salome throws hers back in a single gulp, grimacing as the booze drains down her throat. “I needed that,” she says, suppressing a cough.

  “What else do you need?” I ask, polishing off my drink.

  She sets her glass down on the bar counter. “More than what I've been getting at home.”

  “What are you missing?”

  “Everything, it seems.”

  I wrap Salome tight in my muscular arms and look deep into her eyes. “I can fix that too.”

  “What if I'm too far gone?” she coyly asks.

  I pull her into me and kiss her with naked passion. She grips the back of my head and sighs. A hunger, deep, relentless, and fierce, seizes me, and I need Salome more than air. I crave her sweet secret place. The fire in my loins roars.

  I kiss her neck and shoulders, open the top buttons of her blouse, and kiss along the bulge of her breasts. “Denmark,” she calls softly, panting. “What're you … doing? I'm … married.”

  I turn her back to me, pull her into my chest, and rasp into her ear. “That's right! You're married to a man who's blind to your beauty.”

  “But …”

  I kiss her earlobe. “He's more focused on his TV than you.”