Unfaithful

by Devon Scott

  Instead, she decides to satiate her curiosity by going over.

  “Hey, Miles,” she says.

  Miles nods. “Hey, Carly.” He glances over at the gentleman and says, “Carly, let me introduce you to Aden. Aden, Carly.”

  He extends his hand, takes hers in his.

  “A pleasure,” he says, voice two octaves below normal.

  Carly smiles. “Likewise.” She is glancing between the two men. “Where do you two know each other from?”

  “The nonprofit,” Miles answers cheerfully. “Aden is a recent addition to our organization as lead psychotherapist.”

  “Oh? Nice. Where are you coming from?” she asks.

  Aden looks at her. “Detroit. I was with the city’s youth runaway unit, but after five years, the hours finally got to me. Being on call 24/7 and working emergencies every day just kind of wore me out.” Aden has sincere eyes. Carly likes that.

  “I can imagine,” she says. “Actually, I can’t. I tip my hat to folks like you and Miles who are out there on the front line, every day, dealing with the real urban drama—not the stuff you read about in some novel or see on TV.”

  “Well, thank you,” Aden says, flattered.

  “Miles, I was wondering if I could steal you away for a moment. Would that be okay, Aden?”

  “Of course.”

  Miles’ eyes shine with moisture and Carly accepts the fact that he is a bit wasted. His voice is up a notch in volume, too. He leads Carly out onto the deck where, surprisingly, no one is about. There is a free-standing clay fireplace in the corner, with an oval opening that emits a romantic glow. Carly places her hands in front of the fire and immediately feels warmth.

  “God, this is nice,” she says.

  Miles nods.

  “So?” he asks, glancing quickly back at the closed door leading to the house.

  “Miles,” she begins, without preamble, “this thing between Ryan and me really has me all messed up. I mean, I can’t for the life of me figure out what’s going on.”

  “I know. It must be driving you crazy,” he responds with reassuring eyes. “I’ve tried calling him, you know,” he adds as an afterthought.

  “Yeah, Olivia told me. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Well, partly what I wanted to ask you.”

  Miles is silent.

  “I’m at a loss here to explain what is happening. You were one of the last people to talk to him, face-to-face, so perhaps you can shed some light on all of this.”

  Miles holds his hands wide, grins in the semi-darkness, firelight bathing his face in orange hues.

  “Carly, we’ve been over this before. As I told you, we met for a drink; we were shooting the shit the way we always do, and then we went our separate ways. I assumed he was going home. I know I did.”

  “Yes, you’ve explained that before. But what doesn’t add up is this: he isn’t just shutting me out—he’s shutting you out, as well. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve overheard you tell Olivia that you’re getting pissed that he hasn’t returned your calls.”

  “Yeah, well…Ryan’s going through something. I assume when he’s ready to share it with me—”

  “Miles,” she says, interrupting him, “this is me you’re talking to. You two are best friends. Up until now, he’s told you everything. So what changed?”

  Miles is silent, considering her words. She is correct, he is angry—actually, beyond angry. The fact that Ryan hasn’t responded to his repeated calls has Miles considering a number of things. He refuses to let this one go…

  “I can’t answer that. Only your husband can.”

  “Well, is he cheating on me? Is there another woman?” she blurts out, unable to contain her rising frustration, anger, and emotion.

  Miles is silent for a moment.

  “Naw, Carly, no woman I know of.” He grins sheepishly, and Carly frowns.

  “Okay…” Hesitancy. Then, “I mean, did something go down between you two on Friday?” Her eyes are like lasers, boring into his skull.

  “Naw…” Miles emits a short grunt. Carly looks at him strangely. There is something not quite right here. Can’t quite place her finger on the pulse of it…

  “Miles?”

  He snaps his head around, frightening her with the suddenness of his actions.

  “I told you, Carly, nothing happened…damn!”

  Miles steps back, escaping the daunting firelight. Before he descends back down into darkness, Carly spies an evil grin adorning his face.

  “What is with you?” she whispers. “It’s as if you are getting pleasure out of my pain…” Her voice diminishes to nothing.

  “Perhaps you don’t know your husband very well,” he says suddenly, loud, face bursting back into orange light. He appears sinister, and Carly feels her heart race.

  “Meaning?” she asks cautiously, fingers shaking.

  “I don’t know…nothing…Corona talking,” he slurs, holding up the now-empty bottle, as if on display. “If it pleases the court, your honor…”

  He turns away, saunters back into the confines of his home. Carly watches him go. Aden is waiting patiently for him. Their heads tilt toward one another; Carly witnesses hushed conversations, more laughter, locs bouncing…something not quite right.

  Carly turns back toward the fire, extending her hands toward the red-hot divide.

  Not even this orange glow can warm her insides now.

  Chapter 23

  “Can I have a word with you?”

  Olivia’s stare burns into her husband’s. He glares back, eyes darting between hers and the small group of folks from the nonprofit. They are in the basement family room, sitting on the dark brown sectional, drinks in hand, watching a boxing match on HBO HD.

  It’s close to midnight.

  Olivia is beyond tired.

  Beyond irritated at what she’s just learned from Carly.

  Miles excuses himself, walks with her up the stairs, past the living room where people still congregate. The music permeates the air like a thick fog.

  He heads for the deck, but Olivia steers him into the kitchen and out into the garage where it is quiet.

  Just the two of them.

  After the door closes behind him, she turns and folds her arms over her chest.

  “Just what the hell have you been telling Carly?”

  “What are you talking about?” His eyes are animated, not able to remain in one place very long.

  “Miles—you and Carly had words tonight. You upset her with this bullshit talk about Ryan and her!”

  “What the hell did I say?!” he yells, then auto corrects his volume.

  “I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. But you said something that cut to the bone—’cause she is one upset puppy right now. And I don’t need to remind you of just how fragile she is. Do I?”

  Miles grins. Takes a step forward. “And I don’t need to remind you that we are all here because of you, Olivia.” He steps forward again, one hand gesturing with an empty Corona bottle. Volume cut down a notch. “You decided to flirt with my best friend and things got out of hand.” One further step until mere inches separate them. “So you watch what you say to me about it being my fault. Or should I go tell Carly the truth?”

  Olivia is aghast. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words emerge.

  “Yes, that’s what I thought. Better keep your philandering tendencies to yourself. Don’t want your best friend to find out what you are up to.”

  Olivia gulps.

  “Think I’m stupid, Olivia? Think I don’t know what happened that night after the party? Shit.”

  Olivia freezes. Stops breathing. Everything comes to a halt.

  Several moments pass as Miles and Olivia stare each other down.

  “Watch what you say to me. Hear me?”

  Silence.

  “I SAID, DO YOU HEAR ME???”

  His voice echoes in the tight space.

  Miles spins around, twisting on the balls of his
loafers. He loses balance; his locs stream out from his head and dance briefly in the air; the beer bottle leaves his fingers. It arcs up ever so briefly before dropping to the concrete ground where it shatters into a dozen fragments.

  Olivia’s body spasms at the sound, his words, his frenzied misstep, her rapidly deteriorating friendship and marriage….

  Hour and a half later.

  The party is over.

  Everyone’s left.

  Miles is upstairs asleep.

  Olivia and Carly are cleaning up, collecting empty beer bottles, paper plates, 16-ounce plastic cups. They work silently, both tired, both alone with their respective thoughts.

  As far as parties go, this one was an unqualified success.

  People will be talking about it next week. Great food, good drinking and conversation.

  Everyone pleased.

  Except for Olivia and Carly.

  Each alone in her own world.

  Alone…

  “Olivia,” Carly says, breaking the silence. Olivia is in the kitchen, just finished loading up the dishwasher. Carly is blowing out candles, shutting down the stereo, collecting a lone bottle that was missed in the corner of the large room.

  “Yes?”

  “Can we talk?”

  Olivia feels a spike of pain travel down her back. She stands straighter. Nods once. “Of course. I’m finished here.”

  Carly heads for the deck. Her hand touches the brass doorknob. “Let’s do this outside, okay?”

  Carly doesn’t wait for an answer from her best friend. Instead, she is through the door before Olivia can consider a response. Olivia turns off the lights to the kitchen and dims the ones in the living room. When she joins Carly on the deck, Carly is sequestered in a chair, pulled up close to the fire. She motions Olivia to sit. Olivia does so, rubbing her palms in front of the growing warmth.

  Carly has a handful of branches between her feet. She feeds them into the opening, witnessing the sparks and crackle as the flames come alive.

  “Ummm, that’s nice,” Olivia says, attempting to break the ice.

  Carly nods.

  “Sorry Ryan didn’t show,” Olivia says. Pauses a moment before saying, “I’ll track him down tomorrow—Rod asked me to—find out what’s going on—starting to affect his performance and all.”

  Carly nods silently, then turns to her best friend. Exhales slowly.

  “There’s something I need for you to answer, okay? No more bull, no more dancing around the edge, ’cause this is my marriage we’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, of course, Carly, but—”

  Carly waves her hand, cutting short any further discussion.

  “Here’s the thing, Olivia—I know something went down with Ryan. A person doesn’t just change overnight, like a switch being flipped. One second on, the next moment off, you know?”

  She doesn’t wait for a response.

  “I think Miles knows something and isn’t telling me. I think you do, too. Can’t put my finger on it, but I’m willing to bet money…”

  “Carly, listen—”

  Again, Olivia is shut down by a quick raise of Carly’s hand before she can begin.

  “Olivia,” she says softly, eyes locked on hers, “it’s late. I’m beyond tired, missing my husband more than you know, not knowing what tomorrow will bring.”

  Olivia glances down.

  “I ask you as my best friend and as a woman—as one who knows me and understands the way I tick better than most—I am asking you now to please tell me the truth…”

  The tears begin to well. For the moment, they are unnoticeable. But very soon, they will slide down her dark cheeks.

  “Tell me what in God’s name is going on. Something’s happened. Tell me what you know.”

  The tears have sprouted; they meander down her cheeks slowly. When Olivia glances up and into the face of her best friend, her eyes are wet. Her lips part, then come together.

  Carly’s face is bathed in firelight. Her features are stone-faced—not a single emotion visible.

  Olivia considers her best friend. Sighs heavily, knowing she’s about to cross a divide, do something she won’t be able to undo. Mind racing…like a snowball, a freight train out of control.

  Carly takes her best friend’s hand in hers. Olivia allows her, numb to all feeling. She sucks in a short breath, frowns for a moment as she wipes away her tears, and begins….

  “Remember our party?” she says softly.

  Chapter 24

  Ryan stares at his illuminated watch for the hundredth time that evening. Reese lays beside him, the covers tousled and pulled back to their knees, hand on her chest, her breath rising and falling in waves. Both are silent, bodies moist, heated after frenzied sex, an afterglow painting them.

  It is just past one in the morning.

  Ryan feels the buzz that is in his testicles, circulating through his lower extremities like boiling water. Reese feels it, too, her own post-orgasmic tide—the ebb and flow soothing her.

  Without opening her eyes or turning to face him, she senses him glancing at his watch again. In the near-darkness, Reese says softly, “Why don’t you go?”

  A moment passes.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “But you should.” It is a statement, not a question.

  Ryan doesn’t respond.

  He has been thinking about Carly all night. Knows the party was tonight, knows he needed to show—if not for his company, certainly for his wife. Yet…he is here…with Reese.

  Afterglow of lovemaking…

  A stronger intoxicant than that of his wife’s…

  Except…

  He thinks of her.

  Carly.

  Ryan knows he needs to leave. Go home. Find sleep in his own bed.

  Their bed.

  He’s married.

  His wife with child…

  Jesus!

  Reese can sense his discomfort in the way his body tenses. It is slight, almost imperceptible, but she is growing to know him, this man who brings her joy when the sun is down.

  So she reaches across to his belly, slides her finger down until she is cupping him, feels him beginning to rise. She then turns toward his form, eyeing Ryan as he lays there, eyes closed and breathing unhurriedly.

  Runs her palm against the length of his shaft. Feels him engorge. Moments later, he is rock hard, and she marvels at her power, this ability to make this stranger sprout in her hand. She smiles, feeling herself grow wet again.

  “Who are you?”

  The question comes from out of nowhere. Ryan has turned to face her, his hand cupped over hers.

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “Simple question. I don’t know you. I yearn to know more about the woman with whom I lay.”

  “Okay.” Reese turns onto her back. Her hand remains on him, fingers clasping the shaft as if it were a railing on a darkened stairway.

  “I’m just a regular woman. Not much beneath the surface.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  Reese exhales slowly.

  “I was born and raised in a small town in Ohio. Came East to go to school at Hampton—wanted to be closer to our people and get all cerebral—but after two years, I dropped out. Couldn’t find my groove, you know? So I hung out in Virginia Beach for a while, bartending at some of the Atlantic Avenue hot spots. That, too, got to be a drag, so I packed up my shit, and me and my hooptie headed here—to D.C. That was two years ago.”

  “Family?”

  “My mom still lives in Ohio. I go back every blue moon or so. Father’s been gone forever. One brother. Who the fuck knows what happened to him? Dead? Jail? AIDS? Don’t know. Don’t really care.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. That’s life; shit happens. Everyone I know has a dysfunctional family. So, to me, it’s normal.”

  “Okay.” Ryan pauses to consider her words. He runs a finger along the ridge of her navel, enjoying the feel of her sof
t, black skin. His hand descends, traveling over coarse pubic hair, experiencing her wetness.

  “Gonna finish school?” he asks, fingering her flesh.

  Reese’s eyes are closed. Her tongue emerges from her mouth; it touches her top lip, making it moist before disappearing.

  “Perhaps. I’ve learned that education doesn’t make one smarter. And it sure as hell doesn’t make one happier. Look at you!”

  Ryan plunges inside her using a finger. Reese moans.

  “Touché!”

  She grins, then cups his balls lightly in her palm as she rocks to his rhythm.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  Finger slows. “Shoot.”

  “What’s your fantasy?”

  Ryan eyes her.

  “Come again?”

  “Simple question—what do you yearn for? Everyone has a fantasy or two. What’s yours?”

  Ryan ponders a bit.

  “I guess it’s being with a woman who will do whatever I ask of her. Satisfy me in whatever way I choose.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “What?”

  “You want someone submissive.”

  “Not submissive.”

  “Then what?” she asks, squeezing the bulbous head of his cock between her fingers.

  “I want a woman to whom I can just say—do this—satisfy me in this way. And she’ll do it willingly. No questions asked. You know, sometimes it’s not about foreplay, not about loving. It’s about satiating one’s desires, getting rid of the tension that threatens to bind you up. Sometimes, I just want to cum hard without explaining the details of how and when.”

  “Understood.”

  “Do you?” he asks.

  “Yes. Most of us cannot ask our partners for what we truly want.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because we’re afraid they’ll look at us like we’re crazy—that they won’t understand our private passions; and that will drive a wedge between us and them. So we keep our fantasies to ourselves.”

  “True, true.”

  Reese jerks him measurably; Ryan slowly works her with his fingers. For a moment, they are lost in the actions of each other.

  “Tell me your fantasy, Reese,” Ryan finally utters.

  Her hand settles on his fingers—guiding him over her clit. She traces tiny circles with his hand until he is driving on his own.