Natalie looked down and realized that she had not pressed “release” to clear her line. “Just send him to my voice mail.” Natalie responded without emotion. Natalie wasn’t willing to endure another one of her brother’s animated apologies, complete with the emotional and much belabored “I’m gay and nobody loves me” hysterics that would accompany it.
Instead, she wiped her face with some Kleenex and refreshed her make-up. Her demons would not get the best of her today, she thought as she dialed Elise’s number and left her office and her past in the dark.
Chapter 8 Ilene
Two weeks passed since Ilene’s husband happened upon her secret bank account. She thought it wise to suspend all dealings with her male “friends” until her husband’s suspicion died down. She played the role of the consummate housewife to throw him off of her trail. She accounted for every second that she was not in his presence, and even went so far as to call from every location so that the number would show up on the caller ID display on his cell phone.
Still, she felt that he would always question her motives about the money. She wished that she hadn’t told him that she was going to use the money on him. Now he thought it was okay to purchase items that their previous household budget could not afford. She almost lost her lunch all over their family room when she learned that Mr. Frugal actually spent $5,000 on golf equipment.
His final insult to injury, Ilene reasoned, was that he asked her to accompany him to a golf event that Emory University was sponsoring for the faculty. He knew how much she hated being outside, but what she hated worse was mingling with a host of intellectuals hell bent on voicing their opinions on everything from reparations to grass roots politics. They all shared the same preoccupation with their educational legacies and tailored their conversations around it.
The women who accompanied them often boasted of their gardens and exchanged salacious gossip about those who were snubbed by their elitist sorority. She knew that this was her punishment and that her husband would never make such a request unless she was in the doghouse. Nevertheless, she faked excitement as they got dressed and pretended to be genuinely interested in the school’s upcoming Founder’s Day festivities, where her husband would be participating in a golfing event. As they exited the house, Charles wore a playful and blissful look on his face. He could not resist the oortunity to slap Ilene on her rear end. Instinctively, Ilene swirled around and smacked his hand in an exaggerated motion.
“Aw, come on. A brother can’t cop a free feel around here now?” Charles asked his wife jokingly.
“You can get all the feels you want if you let me ride in that big black caddy.”
Ilene was referring to her husband’s prized Cadillac El Dorado. He bought it cash with the money he received when he was named a fellow at the University of Georgia, five years ago. He had it detailed every two weeks and never let the gas drop below three quarters full. He loved that car.
Ilene felt that her husband thought that his ability to pay for a Cadillac meant that he arrived. Ilene knew far better. She believed that people who had to work for their money weren’t really rich. She quietly wished that her husband were a crooked politician or had some illegal extra activities that help augment their income.
Instead, he was a professor that gave up a tenure that guaranteed six figures to be the director of the African American Student Caucus at Emory University. She hated his indignant refusal to be ambitious in his career. He was satisfied with the fact
A PRICE TO PAY FOR EVERYTHING
that the few black kids that went to Emory thought that he was God. He sometimes invited the ones that lived far away for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. Ilene always played the gracious host, but was sure to scold him after the guests left.
On the ride to the golf course, Ilene noticed her husband watching her out of the corner of his eye. At first she ignored it, but decided that he was being too obvious for her not to comment. “What’s the matter, Chuck?” Ilene asked.
“Nothing baby. Why do you ask?” Charles responded with a big smile on his face.
Knowing that her husband wanted desperately to engage her in conversation, she half-heartedly played along. “Because I see you looking at me like you want to say something.” Ilene responded coyly while applying her MAC lipstick.
“Yeah, you got me. I do have something I need to say to you.” Charles responded, still smiling.
“Okay then?” Ilene responded quizzically. Her patience with him and their marriage was wearing thin, but she would end it on her terms. This was her show.
“I was trying to wait until our anniversary next month, but you know I can’t hold anything from you.” Charles responded, beaming with pride.
Unfortunately, Ilene was unmoved by the comment. “That’s real nice baby.” Ilene returned with no inflection or emotion in her voice to support her statement.
Her years of marriage taught her that Charles was up to something.
“I hope you like this babe, I heard you talking about it to Ms. Kelsey next door.” Charles said as he pulled out two airline tickets to St. Lucia and proudly presented them to his wife.
“Oh Chuck, a trip! When are we leaving? How did you…” Ilene asked her husband while feigning excitement. Inside, she railed with anger that he was presumptuous enough to assume that she wanted to invest two weeks of her time with HIM.
“Uh-Uh, money is no object, remember? It’s time that we start enjoying the fruit’s of our labor. We can go whenever you want. The tickets are open and are first class, too.” Charles offered proudly.
Secretly annoyed that her husband had blown about two thousand dollars of her otherwise non-existent inheritance, Ilene continued to fake excitement as she walked hand in hand with her husband on the golf course.
As Charles registered for the golf challenge, Ilene spotted and nervously eyed Paul Cummings who seemed visibly uncomfortable by her presence, though she was over 70 yards away. She almost choked when Charles gave him a familiar wave and grabbed his wife’s hand. Ilene searched her mind for ways that the two might have similar affiliations or clubs. She drew a blank.
Noticing the troubled look on his wife’s face, Charles asked her what was wrong. Prompted by her husband’s question, Ilene smiled and said to her husband, “lets take that trip sooner rather than later.”
“No arguments here.” Charles responded to his wife’s request and hoped within himself that the trip would restore the marriage that he once recognized.
Chapter 9 Marc
After a week of continuous hang-ups on his answering machine and countless urgent messages left at work, Marc decided that he had to confront Sherise about their situation for the sake of his own sanity. His approach would be subtle and unassuming, careful not send her into another one of her tirades. He intended to call her the day after her performance at McCormick and Schmicks, but got tied up at work.
His work as a project manager often made him the point of contact for company financial officers, anxious about their projects coming in under budget and offering tantalizing incentives to ensure it. His high six-figure salary was hardly touched because of his tedious work schedule and inability to truly invest time for his personal life. This made it easy for him to accept the convenience of one night stands with beautiful, sometimes nameless women. Rationalizing that he would be cheating them out the time that they truly deserved because of his demanding work habits, they settled for the occasional tryst and late night quickie calls. He was, if nothing else, a salesman at heart.
But Sherise was an altogether different beast. Too slow to respond to his quick wit and dry humor, she provided little mental stimulation and even less intellectual exchange, though she struggled gallantly to conceal it. She was at best, an around the way girl, using what she had to get what she wanted. In an ironic way, Marc respected her for that, but found it impossible to ever consider her as a potential mate.
As he dialed the number to Sherise’s government subsidized apartment
that she shared with her mother, Marc’s pulse quickened, and he cowardly hung up the phone before anyone answered. Though he knew that his time was becoming dangerously close, he chaffed at the barrage of insults that Sherise would launch at him when he broached the subject of an abortion.
It baffled him that she was so overwhelming willing to indulge in casual sex with a total stranger, but suddenly got a dose of religion when he suggested that they terminate the pregnancy.
He decided to bite the bullet and dial the number quickly before he lost heart. He closed his eyes tightly as the phone rang for what seemed like hours. He was about to hang up when a lofty voice that sounded like Sherise answered the phone.
“Hello, may I speak with…”
CLICK.
Dial tone. The person hung up the phone at the sound of his
voice. Marc was certain that it was Sherise because he couldn’t imagine anyone else in the household that even knew him. Angered, he decided he would try again and this time he was going to be addressed. As the phone rang, he corrected his posture and decided that he would use his asshole tone to discourage any more stupidity. This time the person picked up on the first ring and did not say anything. Marc decided that he would break the awkward moment and speak first.
“Sherise, listen, we need to talk. I know that you have been calling and hanging up. This shit has got to…” Before he finished his statement Marc was interrupted by a soulful older woman with a warm voice that sounded like Lena Horne and Patti Labelle mixed in one.
“Hey honey, YOU listen, Sherise aint here and I wish yall would have some guddamned respect when you call folks house.” Marc was dumbfounded and sat silently at the women’s comment.
The woman, unmoved by his silence, decided that she had more to say to the rude caller. She paused to take a drag of her cigarette and then proceeded after exhaling a mouthful of smoke. Her voice took on a slightly raspier tone.
“And who the hell is this anyway?” She asked, daring Marc toanswer.
“This is Marc Campbell, your daughter and I are acquaintances, and we really need to talk, maam.” Marc said trying to show the woman that he had some semblance of respect for her seniority.
“Marc, huh? I aint never heard bout no Marc. But chile, that aint my bizness’. Sherise aint’ here baby. You need to call back after seven when she gets home from work, or call the shop.” The woman said with a distinctively southern twang in her voice.
“Thank you”, Marc said as he hurried off of the phone to answer his other line.
It was his personal line blinking and he knew that only a few people had it.
“This is Marc Campbell…” Marc started.
“What’s going on man?” Reggie, Marc’s college buddy and closest line brother in their fraternity enthusiastically answered.
“Aint nothing, sand. Just holdin’ it down.” Marc answered trying to be a little more Ebonic that he typically was. His life was a balancing act.
“Brah, I haven’t heard from you in a minute. We were lookin’ for you at the spot, but a niggah was missin’ in action. You know it was Howard homecoming, right?” Reggie asked.
“Ah, yeah that’s right, how was it?” Marc asked already anticipating his friend’s answer.
“Come on, dawg! You KNOW a niggah held it down for the brothas on lock down. Friday night Marc Barnes shut down Love cause hoes were everywhere. The fire marshal had to shut that shit down there was so much ass in that spot. Man, wall-to-wall ass.” Reggie said excitedly.
Marc knew his friend well enough to know that he went for the snooty women that on an ordinary day would not give him the time of day, the type of women who were typically one shade away from white and ten income brackets away from him.
Reggie was a marginally handsome chocolate skinned brother with perfectly white teeth. He had slanted chestnut brown eyes that drove women crazy and quickly out of their panties. He was an interesting cross between Malik Yoba and Tyrese, and regularly used his devilishly attractive looks to his advantage. He was never satisfied with the women that eyed him all night or sent him drinks. Instead, he preferred the women who glanced at him once and dismissed him immediately. He loved the challenge and savored the look of defeat in their eyes after he left them $20 bill on the nightstand after conquering their sex after only a few hours of flattery. His reasoning was that pretty girls know that they’re pretty and it was the way of game to make them think that they were not worthy of his time. When he destroyed their defenses, he had sex with them and refused to call them back. Reggie believed that day old pussy was worthless and stuck to his no-call back rule religiously.
Consequently, he was the constant victim of slashed tires and broken windshields. He didn’t even have his phone number listed and always blocked his number when he made phone calls. According to him, this was a player’s dream, but all of his friends knew better.
Marc was jolted back into the conversation when Reggie’s voice raised an octave.
“Man, this broad let me hit her and her friend, dawg! Then the freaks starting doing each other. They must have been on ecstasy or some shit!” Reggie screamed into the phone receiver.
“What? Are you serious? How did you? What did you…?” Marc asked dumbfounded and amused by his friend’s good fortune.
“Look dawg, all I know is these broads were off da’ hook. And one more thing dawg’…the shit was outside in the parking lot!” Reggie’s voice lowered as he recounted this part of the story.
“Niggah, quit bullshittin’. Come on man!” Marc answered, mimicking his friend’s hushed tones.
“No lie, dawg. Ask Buddah, this niggah saw the whole thing. Bitches were lickin my brand and shit. We only stopped because a crowd was starting to form and the girls said some shit about getting back to their dorm.” Reggie answered, still amused by the events of that night.
“They were in college man?” Marc asked wondering why Reggie still dealt with women ten years younger than he was.
“Hell yeah, they were in college, and they were fine as hell, too. I think they go to Howard. And you know how those uppity bitches are really the biggest freaks on the low.” Reggie said proudly.
Marc felt his amusement slowly growing into disgust. He knew that Reggie had a little sister in college and would kill any man his age that looked at her too hard.
“I hear you man” was all that Marc could manage to get out.
Reggie was too proud of his accomplishment to let his friend’s self-righteous undertone destroy his jubilance. He decided that this was a good time to change the subject.
“So what’s been going on with you, man? Business must be boomin’ like a muthafucka’ cause you been missing all of the good shit. That firm got you working like that?” Reggie asked wondering why one of his closest friends hadn’t called him in over 3 weeks.
Marc explored the thought of telling Reggie about his dilemma with Sherise. He knew that his friend would not judge him, but forever loose the esteem he took years to attain among his friends. Marc was notoriously known for dating the “granola girls”, or all natural women with long curly hair, light eyes and a complexion that defied the fact that they were black. Their bank accounts usually rivaled his. The only characteristic that usually suggested that they were African American was an occasional curvaceous ass or ample hips. Marc reasoned that there was no need to mention Sherise because she would soon be a bad memory in his history of ill-gotten and discarded pussy, so Marc rejected the impulse to tell his friend.
“You know a brother got the lead assignment for the new executive complex Pratt is building in Southeast. It’s a part of some community rejuvenation project that the mayor started this year. That shit has kept me here damn near every night. But the payoff is like that.” Marc stated. He immediately regretted the last statement. His father warned him long ago about sharing the details of his wealth with close friends. Familiarity breeds contempt.
“Word, how much this time man?” Reggie asked anticipating his friend’s
answer.
“Let’s just say, if all goes right, that Benz is as good as paid off and I will be taking a trip to San Tropez to pick up a little something to go in it. Either way, in 5 months it will be completed and I can get back to my normal life.” Marc said, trying to believe his own statement.
“Man, you know those island bitches know voodoo and shit. But I hear you, though. Just put a niggah on with one of the cousins that don’t speak English. One of those ‘ci, papi’ broads. I heard they give some sick head. Something about all the fruits they eat and shit. Catchin’ all that juice in their mouth.” Reggie said laughing at his own statement.
“Whatever man. I gotta run, you know a brother got appointments.” Marc said adding a wide mouth emphasis to the end of his statement, a habit typical of many men in their notoriously rambunctious fraternity.
“Okay then dawg…Oh yeah, I almost forgot why I called you. Are you going to participate in the charity auction next month? You know how much money you raise and I already told the president of chapter that you would do it.” Reggie said assuredly to his friend.
Marc regretted his friend’s presumption. “I am going to try, but I can’t make any promises.” Marc said annoyed by his friend’s actions on his behalf.
“Bet. I’ll see you Sunday on the Springlawn course.” Reggie said.
Marc agreed and hung up the phone. He entered his 7:00 am tee time into his palm pilot and decided he would play a full 18 holes on Sunday.
Marc began to work on the final phase of his project management proposal for a new sports and fitness center coming to the Maryland area. It was owned by two former NFL players and an entertainment attorney and had been making a klling in Atlanta. Called “The Pro Source”, it was going to be a 15,000 - 25,000 square foot facility that had two indoor regulation basketball courts, full 100 yard indoor astro-turf football field, general exercise areas, sauna, private bathrooms, and fully staffed massage and exercise therapists.
A Price to Pay for Everything Page 6