Power Couple

by Allison Hobbs

  “What the hell?” I clicked on the bedside lamp.

  Maverick whirled around and I was stunned to see what he’d grasped from my drawer. Giving me the nastiest smile I’d ever seen on his face, he said, “If you want to get off, you better use this.” He returned to bed and thrust my favorite dildo in my hand.

  Speechless, I stared at the object in horror. It wasn’t a secret that I had adult toys—we sometimes played with them together—but the malicious manner in which he’d rebuffed my sexual advances was rather unnerving.

  “Maverick,” I said softly. “You made your point. I get it. But is it necessary to be so disrespectful?” I released the dildo and it hit the thick fabric of the duvet with a thud.

  Maverick flopped down on his side of the bed, picked up the pink dildo, and flung it at me. “Man, go fuck yourself!”

  I’ve never been the wimpy type. I would describe myself as being more like a tigress than a kitten. But I was so caught off guard by Maverick’s seething resentment, his unmitigated rage, I found myself apologizing. Profusely. Promising to rehire Tamara.

  He pointed to the mound of my undies that he’d thrown on the floor. “Man, just clean that shit up and let me get some sleep.”

  I hopped out of bed. Without uttering a word of protest or scoffing at the audacity of him ordering me to clean up the mess he’d made, I began picking up the scattered underwear. I shocked myself by behaving in such a weirdly submissive manner. It was fucking surreal, like I was in the midst of an out-of-body experience.

  Looking over my shoulder, I glimpsed Maverick settling back in bed. Getting comfortable, he gathered the covers around his body and then drew them up to his neck.

  After I’d returned all my lingerie to the drawer, I crawled back into bed and stared at my husband in dismay. Maybe if I gawked at him long enough, he’d feel compelled to offer an explanation for his reprehensible behavior. Feeling my gaze and apparently annoyed by it, he pulled the bedding completely over his head. “Turn off the light,” he demanded, his muffled voice, contemptuous.

  I turned off the light and placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. “Can we talk about this?”

  He uttered a sound of discontent and scooted as far away from me as possible, quietly informing me that there’d be no more talking tonight. No getting to the bottom of why he was so irate.

  What the hell is going on? My eyes darted around the room as if the darkness held the answer.

  I’d always considered it my prerogative to hire and fire the help as I saw fit, and although Maverick had complained, he’d never overreacted like this before. Dear God, it was bad enough that I was constantly worrying that my career was on the brink of collapse. Did I now need to be concerned that my marriage was headed for disaster?

  • • •

  I could feel Maverick leaning over me and stroking my face, and running his fingers through my hair. Believing that I was in the midst of a dream, and wanting to hold on to the good feeling for a little while longer, I kept my eyes closed. His hand moved away and I accepted that the sweet dream had ended.

  “Cori.”

  My lashes fluttered lazily. Dreading any form of condemnation or criticism, my lids lifted begrudgingly.

  “Cori, baby. I’m sorry,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and clenching my hand. “I don’t know what got into me last night. I was wrong to treat you like that. Being in negotiations for the new show is starting to mess with my head. I want that show so bad I can taste it.”

  “It’s all going to work out, Mav,” I said, sitting up in bed.

  “I don’t know. My agent flipped when he found out Tamara had been fired. He said she has a close friendship with Kevin Berenbaum’s wife.”

  “Really?” Kevin Berenbaum was one of the executives at Maverick’s network and Maverick had a lot of respect for the man. I couldn’t imagine how Tamara had developed a friendship with his wife.

  “Was Tamara the Berenbaums’ chef before she came to work for us?”

  “Kevin’s wife and Tamara went to the same culinary school. They’ve been close friends for a long time.”

  “Kevin Berenbaum is married to a chef?”

  “Actually, she was his chef until he married her. Now she’s also the mother of his only son. She’s about twenty-five years younger than him and he’s crazy about her and their kid. My agent’s so pissed about the timing of Tamara’s firing. He can’t understand why we didn’t wait until after the deal was done.”

  A wave of guilt washed over me. “Wow, I had no idea about any of this. I’m surprised you never mentioned that you and Kevin had something in common, with both of you having great cooks for wives.” I laughed a little, trying to bring some levity to the situation. But Maverick didn’t crack a smile.

  “Yeah, we married great cooks who never put on their aprons again once we put a ring on it.” He gave a bitter laugh.

  Feeling defensive, I said, “I don’t know about Kevin’s wife, but I’m not a kept woman. I work hard and wear my apron at the studio where I earn a living. I can’t believe we’re having a discussion about me cooking for—”

  “Look, I don’t want to put Kevin in a weird situation at home, so you need to fix this.”

  “All right.”

  “No games, this time, Cori.”

  “I don’t play games.”

  “Yeah, you do. Even after I called and told you that Tamara was referred by a head honcho at the network, you still didn’t give a damn about the position you were putting me in; you said you were going to hire a male chef.”

  I looked away in embarrassment because Maverick was right. “I had no idea that firing Tamara would cause this kind of trouble for you.”

  “Nor did you care. You can be really callous when you want to be. I’ve been thinking…maybe a trial separation would give us both an opportunity to reflect on the marriage.”

  Startled by his suggestion, I blinked rapidly. Then I laughed, although I was not amused. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  “If you want to fucking separate, why’d you wake me up with tender caresses and that meaningless apology?” Growing angry, I threw a pillow at him. He didn’t flinch as it collided and then bounced off of him. “Why, Mav?”

  “I am sorry that I lost my temper with you. And…” He paused and swallowed. “I love you, Cori.” He dropped his eyes briefly and then looked up and locked his gaze on mine. “But I don’t like you anymore. I can’t stand the coldhearted person you’ve become.”

  “Maverick, this is crazy. We can’t separate. It’ll ruin our brand and you know it.”

  “I don’t care about the brand. I’m sick to death of the whole Mavcor thing. I’m not happy, and I haven’t been for a long time.”

  His admission ripped through me like a serrated blade, cutting away at my self-worth and my womanhood. I winced and placed a hand on the nightstand to steady myself. “I had no idea you were unhappy.”

  “How would you know? After all, in this house, it’s the Cori show. All you think about is yourself.”

  There was a modicum of truth in Maverick’s words, but what he didn’t realize was that I had no choice but to put myself first. If I hadn’t, it would have been all about him, and I would have ended up without an identity. He was such a big presence, so beloved and revered, if I hadn’t placed myself front and center, I would have been swallowed up by his image. Throughout our marriage, I’d been fighting to stay afloat. Fighting to keep up with him. Doing everything in my power to be deemed worthy of being his wife.

  “If I only cared about myself, then why do I turn a blind eye every year when you go to Brazil?”

  “That’s part of our agreement.”

  “That stupid agreement doesn’t benefit me in any way, but I go along with it,” I yelled. “And what about your special birthday present that I get
you every year? A selfish wife wouldn’t go to the extremes that I go through to make sure her husband is happy. Listen, Mav,” I said, lowering my tone. “I don’t want to separate. We can work this out, together,” I said pleadingly with tears running down my face. I snatched a tissue out of the fancy holder on my nightstand and tried blotting my eyes, but the tears kept falling.

  “I’m so sorry, Cori, but this marriage is beginning to suffocate me,” he said in a gentle tone.

  “What about the baby?”

  “There is no baby.” The tenderness left his tone and was replaced with annoyance.

  “The process is already in motion. There’s a fetus that was created from my eggs and your sperm. I finally selected a surrogate the other day.” The surrogate part was a lie, but I was grasping at straws, trying to hold on to my marriage.

  “We haven’t signed any papers, yet…no harm, no foul. Whoever you spoke to can keep it moving and be an incubator for another couple.”

  “But it’ll look bad if you walk away, now.”

  “It’s better to leave now than to wait after a kid has been brought into the world. As far as I’m concerned, that kid is a weird lab experiment. Any child that’s chilling in a Petri dish and waiting for a womb doesn’t stand a chance at a normal life.”

  I had no idea that Maverick held such disdain for a surrogate birth. Obviously, his mother had forced her outdated viewpoints on him. “Using a surrogate doesn’t impact a child’s mental or physical health.”

  “It’s still weird as hell. Look, I’ve changed my mind. If we can’t have a child the traditional way, then I don’t want one.”

  My hands trembled and my voice came out shaky. “Okay, forget the surrogate for now. But for the sake of both our careers, we need to stick together.”

  “Are you saying we should stay together in name only?”

  I was horrified by his implication of an open marriage. I’d already thrown away enough of my pride by giving him permission to go to Brazil once a year where he fucked as many Brazilian beauties as he could. After he returned home and after getting a physical where he was tested for STDs and HIV, our marriage resumed as if the vows hadn’t been broken.

  “Mav, all I’m saying is that neither of us can afford bad publicity, and after putting in ten years, we shouldn’t simply give up.”

  Maverick folded his arms. “Ten years is long enough for me…I want out!”

  Though I was on the brink of erupting into more tears, I remained calm. Maverick was not thinking rationally and I had to control my emotions in order to fix this shit.

  “Mavcor is the brand of a wholesome and virtuous married couple,” I reminded him. “A big part of your attractiveness to the network is based on the brand that we’ve both worked so hard to build. I doubt if any network would be interested in you if you were a bachelor or a separate entity from the Mavcor package.”

  “If memory serves, Mavcor wasn’t out there on the football field winning back-to-back Super Bowl rings; I did that shit all by myself,” he bragged, poking himself in the chest.

  I brought up a few more reasons why separating would sabotage both our careers, but going back and forth with Maverick was getting tiring and I had to be on set in another hour.

  “I realize I put you in a vulnerable position with the network, and I don’t blame you for being upset, but I can fix it. I will fix it,” I promised. “Tamara will be back to work tonight—I’ll give her a raise. Everything is going to work out.” Giving him a reassuring pat, I got up and began getting dressed. I sighed as I mentally prepared for a long day.

  CHAPTER 6

  The filming of the competitors waking up in their hotel rooms hadn’t gone well. With cameras in their face, the group of nineteen had to repeatedly fake waking up. I had no pity for them. They wanted to be on television, and reshooting scenes was part of the game.

  According to Ellie, who was present during the disastrous early morning taping, one of the male contestants—the dwarf—repeatedly and vigorously scratched his crotch, like he had a bad case of crabs. When he wasn’t scratching his pubic area, he was clutching his dick as if holding onto a security blanket. He was asked to be mindful of keeping his hand out of his drawers, but it required about fifteen takes to get him to comply.

  The producers loved kooky characters, but vulgarity and outright gross behavior was frowned upon.

  Another contestant, fighting off sleep, had groggily insisted that she had to say her morning prayers before interacting with people, and of course, anything overtly religious was also a no-no. Her unwillingness to forgo her morning ritual had wasted an enormous amount of time, according to Ellie.

  With the show running behind schedule, there was no point in me rushing to the Chelsea studio. I called the surrogate agency and told them to set up an appointment for me with a candidate who lived fairly close to Manhattan. Instead of meeting with the individual at the agency or at a hotel, I said that I preferred to conduct the interview at her home. I deliberately gave the impression that I wanted a more personalized visit, when in all actuality, it was more convenient for my driver to take me to the surrogate than to sit around waiting for her to get to the city.

  With Maverick threatening to leave, I didn’t have time to be picky anymore. I needed to get that bun in the oven ASAP. It no longer mattered whether or not the surrogate ate meat—as long as she didn’t drink alcohol or use drugs during the pregnancy.

  Her name was Sophia Gainer, thirty-three years old and Caucasian. I knew she’d be the perfect gestational carrier the moment I entered her modest apartment in the Bronx and spotted a box set of my DVDs among her collection. There was a framed poster of me in her kitchen and she had copies of my three cookbooks displayed on the countertop.

  “I’m your number one fan, and I’m so delighted to meet you,” Sophia gushed. “I can’t believe that a big-time celebrity is standing in my humble abode.”

  “Your apartment is lovely,” I commented.

  “Thanks. I read about your inability to have a child on one of the blogs, but never in a million years did I think I’d be in the running to carry your child,” Sophia said, grinning and shaking her head in disbelief.

  So far, I liked Sophia, but I needed to dig a little deeper to find out if I trusted her to carry my child. “Aside from wanting to help women who are unable to bear kids, what’s the other reason for your interest in being a surrogate?”

  “Well, Cori, I’m a military wife. My husband, Paul, is overseas in Afghanistan. Our boy, Ryan, is twelve-years old and he wants to follow in his daddy’s footsteps, but he aspires to go even further. He wants to become a general one day, and as a parent, it’s my responsibility to help him achieve his goals. Ryan attends a prestigious military academy in Pennsylvania—on scholarship. He’ll be in the eighth grade in September. Even though his education is covered, we have to pay for his room and board and other miscellaneous expenses. And those miscellaneous expenses can really add up. He’s currently attending the academy’s summer program, taking advanced classes. We had to pay for summer school out of pocket.

  “I want my boy to have every opportunity in life, but the rising cost of education makes me concerned for Ryan’s future. He’s not guaranteed a full ride when he’s ready for college and we don’t have any money saved.”

  I nodded empathetically.

  “As you’re probably aware, the military doesn’t pay a lot,” Sophia continued. “With Ryan’s expenses and trying to buy a house in Pennsylvania, so we can be close to our son’s school, we can use all the financial support we can get.”

  Without a doubt, Sophia was a conscientious parent. I felt I could trust her to be as careful with my baby during gestation. But I had another question before making a decision. “How does your husband feel about your decision to become a surrogate—particularly for an African American couple?”

  “He’s all for it. He v
iews it as another way for our family to serve our great country. As far as race goes, Paul and I don’t see color.”

  Good answer!

  Sophia and I chatted for another thirty minutes and then I checked my watch and stood.

  “The agency will be in touch with you soon, Sophia.”

  “Will they let me know one way or another?”

  I’d already made up my mind that Sophia was the one, and it was difficult keeping that information to myself. “You’ll hear something by the end of the week,” I assured her.

  During the drive to Chelsea, I called Ellie and instructed her to rehire Tamara. “Tell her it was a huge misunderstanding and offer her ten thousand more a year. Let her know that Mav and I should both be home by eight tonight, and I’d like dinner served precisely at eight-fifteen. She can pick up a key from the concierge.”

  I was grateful that Ellie hadn’t asked why I’d changed my mind about Tamara. Not that it was any of her business, but I wasn’t in the mood to think about my marriage crisis, let alone discuss it.

  Next, I called the surrogate agency and told them I’d decided that Sophia Gainer was a good fit and asked that the paperwork be emailed right away. I’d have to forge Maverick’s signature, but that wouldn’t be difficult. In the course of our marriage, I’d signed his name hundreds of times. Whether Maverick liked it or not, we were going to have a baby with a surrogate. It was easy for him to insist upon a traditional birth when he didn’t have to worry about ruining his body.

  In a matter of minutes, Ellie called me back to let me know that Tamara had accepted my offer. “She was really happy and grateful,” Ellie said.

  She was happy now, but her days were numbered. She’d be on the unemployment line the moment Maverick inked his new deal with his network.

  “It’s been crazy here on the set. Josh is in rare form,” Ellie confided.

  “What’s going on, now?”

  “They’ve been giving the kids (“kids” was our nickname for the contestants) champagne to enliven them, but they’re all acting a bit too loopy to film. A lot of them aren’t following instructions, and it’s really slowing down production.”