Eye for an Eye

by Dwayne S. Joseph

  I press on my left eyeball and then dig into my temples with my index and middle fingers. My migraine is getting worse as I try not to remember how much I hated myself.

  I was a coward.

  Afraid to live. Afraid to be.

  So many times I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. I prayed for death at night, but my prayers were never answered. Eventually I got tired of praying, and attempted to take matters into my own hands by slicing my wrists, but just as I could feel death coming, I was found and taken to the hospital. My life became hell after that as I was forced to go to a psychiatrist.

  Dr. Elanore Livingston. Old and white with gray hair always worn in a bun, with small eyes I just didn’t trust hiding behind wire-rimmed glasses. She tried to get me to talk. Said opening up and expressing the things I was feeling inside would make me feel better. That my healing would begin when I released the pain I had. Stupid, dumb bitch. She didn’t know shit.

  I look down at the scars. If only I’d used a sharper blade. If only I hadn’t been a coward.

  But of course, if I hadn’t, I would have never been around to eventually find my happiness. My love. Love that that arrogant bitch took away from me.

  “I’m going to make her pay,” I say out loud. “I’m going to make her suffer.”

  Slowly but surely.

  I press on my eyeball and dig into my temples again. I hate being patient. Hate that I can’t just say to hell with the plans that I’ve been formulating and putting into place. But I have to wait. In order for the revenge to be sweet, I have to wait. I have to let everything systematically unfold.

  Slowly but surely.

  I look up and stare at my reflection in the spider-webbed mirror above my bathroom sink. It’s spider-webbed because I’ve pounded on it. Cold, dark eyes stare back at me.

  “Be patient,” I say. “It will happen. And when it does, it’s going to feel so, so fucking good.”

  I smile and then pick up a razor blade sitting on the sink just beside the hot water faucet. It’s never been used. I place it against the inside of my forearm and drag it across horizontally, being careful not to go too deep. I don’t want to die. Not anymore.

  I get the chills as blood starts to rise. I imagine that it’s her forearm I’ve sliced. I imagine that it’s her blood that’s flowing like a slow stream. I take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and give her another slice. The cold eyes distorted in the cracked glass watch me.

  Revenge. A dish best served when cold.

  Whoever said that must have killed someone.

  Her blood runs. It splatters into the sink.

  Soon. Very soon.

  But not yet.

  There are still things that need to be done.

  16

  Rebecca Stantin sat at the corner of the bar and watched. Her eyes were on a man sitting toward the middle of the bar, sipping on a bottle of Dos Equis. He looked like Maxwell without the unkempt Afro. Twenty minutes had gone by and he’d had no one join him.

  She was in the lounge at the Hilton hotel. She was there to prove to herself and to Lisette that she could trap a man.

  She’d been in the lounge for a half hour watching various men come and go. Her eyes went to their ring fingers right away. She’d seen numerous men without rings. This didn’t necessarily mean that they weren’t married, but she ignored them anyway. She’d seen others with rings, but they’d had female companions either with them or join them. Whether they were wives or not, Rebecca didn’t know.

  She’d chosen the hotel for her test because there was always a married man who traveled to be found, but after thirty minutes, she’d given up hope of finding one, and asked the bartender to close out her tab.

  That’s when Maxwell’s older twin walked in.

  He was dressed in a black pinstriped suit, his tie loosened, the top button of his white shirt undone. He’d come to the bar, sat down, and flagged the bartender with his left hand. A silver wedding band adorned his ring finger.

  Rebecca’s heart beat as she watched him. This was what she’d been waiting for. When the bartender handed her the check, she’d paid the bill and then told him to bring her another apple martini. With her drink in front of her, she watched as the gentleman sipped on his beer and watched the NBA basketball game being televised on a flat screen television in the upper corner of the bar. Lakers vs. Magic. Twenty minutes and two beers later, and not a single visitor, Rebecca was sure he was the one.

  She took a final sip of her drink, then rose from her stool sat down in an empty barstool beside him.

  He looked over at her as she sat down, his eyes lingering on her momentarily. The long gaze hadn’t surprised her, though. She was wearing a black, sleeveless, stretch-knit, body-hugging dress that was accented with a square neckline. She may have been a first lady for a few years, but she still knew what sexy was and how to pull it off.

  She smiled at him. He smiled back.

  “What’s the score of the game?” she asked. The way to get to a man was either through his stomach or by talking sports. Luckily for her, although she didn’t play, she was a basketball fanatic.

  The man said, “The Lakers are up by five.”

  Rebecca hmmedd and then looked back up at the TV screen. “I wonder if they’ll meet in the Finals again.”

  The man took a sip of his beer and shrugged. “The way both teams are playing, it’s a definite possibility.”

  “Well, hopefully Dwight Howard shows up this time if they do.”

  The man smiled and nodded in agreement. He turned to her. “Sounds like you know the game.”

  “I have to thank my father for that. He had me watching games with him ever since I was a child. I’m a big Bulls fan. You have to blame that on M.J. I’ve been following him ever since he went to U.N.C.”

  “Ahh . . . I thought I caught a southern accent. Is that where you’re from?”

  “Born, raised, and still a resident.”

  “Nice. So what brings you here to New York?”

  Rebecca let out a well-practiced sigh. “Business conference.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Mary Kay.”

  “OK.”

  “What about you? I see the shirt and tie, so I’m assuming this is a business trip for you too.”

  “You assume correctly. I flew in from California this morning.”

  “Yuck. The jet lag must have you exhausted.”

  The man looked at her and with a subtle dip in his tone said, “Traveling is second nature to me, so jet lag is never much of a problem. I was actually looking to get into something tonight.”

  “This is my first trip to New York. I was planning to make the most of it myself.”

  The man smiled and extended his hand. “I’m Cole.”

  Rebecca took his hand. “Destiny.” She’d chosen the name because she felt as though she’d discovered just that the day she realized what her mission in life was to be.

  “Nice to meet you, Destiny.”

  “Likewise, Cole.”

  Cole held her hand for a second or two longer than was necessary before he let it go. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Rebecca nodded. “I’ll have an apple martini.”

  Cole got the bartender’s attention and ordered her drink along with another beer. “So, if you don’t mind my asking,” Cole said, his attention back on her, “are you here alone?”

  Rebecca said, “I am.”

  “Husband couldn’t make it?”

  Rebecca laughed. It was a genuine one. “Husband? Ha. That’s definitely not something I plan on having again.”

  “Sounds like you’ve had a bad experience.”

  Rebecca thought about her ex-husband and the trauma he’d put her through. “You could say that,” she said, forcing him out of her mind. “And that was enough. I’m strictly all about being single now.”

  “That’s a shame,” Cole said. “I’m sure there are plenty of men out there who would love to have you on their arm.”r />
  Rebecca raised her eyebrows and turned her palms up toward the ceiling. “Well, they can have me on their arm, but only for one night. Two if they’re lucky.”

  Cole laughed as the bartender brought their drinks.

  Rebecca took hers and took a sip. “My turn to ask. What about yourself? I see the ring. Is the Mrs. upstairs or is she at home eagerly waiting for your return?”

  Cole shook his head. “The Mrs. is definitely not upstairs,” he said his eyes on her intensely. “And as far as being at home waiting for me goes . . . she’s probably laying out on the beach right about now.”

  Rebecca hmmedd. “After these meetings I’ve had today, I could go for some time on the beach right now. Maybe a nice long stroll at night.”

  Cole smiled. “I’ve had about as equally exciting a day as you have. I might have to join you on that stroll.”

  Rebecca looked at him with a slight smile. “I don’t know if your wife would like that.”

  “Well . . . I didn’t have any plans of telling her.”

  Rebecca took another sip of her martini and raised the corner of her mouth. “You’re bad,” she said.

  Cole laughed. “I’m not bad.”

  “Sure, you aren’t.”

  “Really. I’m not. I just believe in enjoying life. I mean, we only get one shot at it, right?”

  “That we do.”

  “Right. So why not make the most out of every opportunity that presents itself.”

  “Hmmm . . . I guess, since you put it that way, a little company might be nice.”

  She took another sip of her drink. For some reason, she’d had the notion that trapping a married man would have been, in some ways, harder than going after a single man. That their moral code, their promise to love and to hold through sickness and health, ’til death did they part, would have provided more of a challenge for getting them to dishonor their vows. Her thoughts went back to her ex-husband as she wondered if it had been this easy for Lisette to trap him. Had he fought the temptation at all, or had she simply walked up to him and said, “Fuck me now” to which he answered in the simplest of voices, “OK”?

  “So how long are you here for?” Cole asked.

  “Two days. I fly back to North Carolina on Saturday morning.”

  “Too bad you couldn’t stay through the weekend. There’s a lot of sightseeing you’ll be missing out on.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to make sure I stay longer next time.”

  “You should let me know when that next time comes up,” Cole said, his eyes on hers, unblinking.

  Rebecca smiled. “Maybe I should.”

  Cole’s eyes took in her body again, only this time his perusal wasn’t as subtle as when she’d first sat beside him.

  Goosebumps rose on her skin.

  Her last encounter with Lisette hadn’t discouraged her, but it had put a shred of doubt in her mind as to whether she really could do this. But now, sitting there with Cole in front of her, the doubt was gone. She could do this, and although she knew she still had things to learn, she was certain she could do it well. Before the weekend was through, she was definitely going to call and request a meeting with Lisette again.

  “So, Destiny, why don’t we go up to my room to finish off our drinks and watch the rest of the game?” As fluidly as he’d asked, it was obvious he was used to having these sorts of encounters.

  Rebecca’s heart thumped in the pit of her stomach. She’d hired Lisette to set up her husband. She’d wanted pictures of the good minister in a compromising position. She’d known on some level that the pictures were going to be bold, but she hadn’t expected them to have been as graphic as they were. Without question, she’d gotten what she’d paid for.

  She looked at Cole as his appearance morphed from attractive man to wolf.

  Lisette had sex with her husband and had everything captured on camera, because it had been what she, the client, had requested. The request hadn’t bothered Rebecca at all. She wasn’t the one taking part in the act with a man she’d just met, so morally, she really wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  Cole smiled.

  Somewhere in California, his wife was there waiting for him to get home. Where she was waiting didn’t matter. Only that she was.

  A second had passed since Cole’s invitation, but to Rebecca, that second felt like minutes stretching into hours as her mind processed the moment that had come.

  She wanted to be a home wrecker. That’s what she’d said. She wanted to do what Lisette had done for her. Lisette had given her freedom when she’d given her the photographs. She’d given her peace of mind that she couldn’t find before. She’d given her happiness. Some women may not have agreed with the tactics Rebecca had employed to attain that freedom, but those women could never truly understand what she’d been going through. The hell her life had been.

  But there were a lot of other women in the world who could identify with her, and those women were the ones Rebecca vowed she wanted to help. Women like Cole’s wife, who would never know about her husband’s casual stroll or meaningless fuck in a hotel room.

  Rebecca took a slow breath. She didn’t have to go upstairs, but if she was serious about realizing what her mission was to be, and if she’d meant what she’d told Lisette–that she could, in fact, do this–then she had to go all the way. The time had come. It was now or never. It would just be sex this time. But the next time it would be liberation for someone. It would be the ultimate payback.

  You vowed ’til death did you part, asshole, Rebecca thought. Then she said, “That sounds like a good idea.”

  Cole smiled, left two twenties for the bartender, and stood up.

  Rebecca rose from her stool a second later.

  Cole stepped to the side. “After you.”

  “Such a gentleman,” she said, moving past him. She made her way to the elevator, and as she did, she swore that the next time, somewhere a wife would be waiting for a set of photographs of her own.

  17

  “Lisette?”

  I turned around. It was Friday night. Nearly midnight. The witching hour. S.O.B.’s in SoHo. Wyclef Jean was performing. I was standing by the bar, moving to the rhythm with a cosmopolitan in my hand. People danced, jumped, and whined to the Caribbean fire Wyclef was spewing. Haitians were inside and frenetically waved bandanas with their country’s flag printed on them. Other islands were represented as well. Trinidad, Barbados, Jamaica, Puerto Rico, St. Thomas. The crowd was young, hip, dressed to impress, sweaty, drunk, and having a damn good time.

  I looked at Ryan Scott as though I’d never seen or talked to him before. I’d walked by him minutes ago, making sure to brush by him as I did. I’d given him five minutes. He approached me in three.

  Above Wyclef’s orders for the crowd to “Wave ya rag!” Ryan said, “Ryan . . .”

  I gave him another who-the-hell-are-you look.

  He said, “From Nordstrom’s. You rescued me with my slacks.”

  I gave a nod of recognition. “I remember now.”

  He took a step closer toward me. A few inches away now. I could smell the cologne he wore and the alcohol on his breath. “You never called.”

  I gave no apology as I looked at him. “My possibly turned into a no. There was no reason to call.”

  He frowned. “Wish you would have called to tell me that.”

  “Didn’t think you could handle the rejection.”

  “I’m a big boy.”

  I licked my lips suggestively. He was wearing a powder blue polo that fit tightly around the biceps, with black slacks, and black leather shoes. I said, “I’m sure you are.”

  Ryan clenched his jaw as his eyes traveled over me. I had on a white, button-down shirt with thin, black stripes that hugged my torso and accentuated my C cups. Black pants covered my legs. Black stilettos, with three-inch heels, were on my feet. I was all business and damn sexy.

  He said, “I guess it was good for you that you didn’t call.”

  “And
why is that?”

  “Because I have an uncanny ability to turn noes into yeses.” His tone was serious and thick with arrogance, as was the look he gave me.

  I said, “Is that right?”

  “Definitely.”

  “And you think your abilities would have worked on me?”

  He shrugged. “Women just seem to be powerless when I turn on the charm.”

  I cocked the right corner of my mouth upward. “You’re a cocky son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?”

  He shook his head. “Not cocky. Just confident.”

  I smiled. “Well, I’m not like most women.”

  His turn to smile. “That was obvious the first moment I laid my eyes on you.”

  I took a sip of my cosmo.

  His smile widened. “I can’t believe I ran into you again.”

  “It’s a small world.”

  “I think it’s fate.”

  “Fate? And what makes you say that?”

  “This is New York. Small world doesn’t apply here.”

  “I see.”

  “I think someone has it in for us.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Someone like who?”

  “Someone who knows we’d make beautiful music together.”

  I looked at him.

  He looked at me.

  Wyclef was insisting that everyone “Jump and wave!”

  I said, “And what about the music you make with your wife? Isn’t that beautiful?”

  The corners of his mouth dropped a notch. “Our notes have fallen flat,” he said.

  “So now you’re looking for a new instrument to make music with?”

  “I wasn’t looking for anything before. But now that fate has put us together again . . .”

  “You’re a bold man.”

  He shrugged. “You get nothing in life if you don’t go after it.”

  I nodded. Drank down the rest of my cosmo. Said, “True.”

  “Can I buy you another?”

  I thought about it for a moment, then said, “A Mojito.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He made a move to walk past me, but before he did, he stopped and without warning or hesitation, leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine.

  It was a smooth move and caught me completely off guard.