He smirked and then rose to his feet. After shooting Ilene a menacing look, he ceremoniously straightened his tie and smoothed the wrinkles in his suit. He gave the political smile that he had been trained to give and exited the room, carefully closing the heavy wooden door behind him.
Ilene sat with her make up running and whimpering, still shaken by what Paul said to her. She wondered how he knew about her children and who he had been talking to. She needed control. She needed to be back on top. She refused to let Paul ruin everything that she had worked so hard for. She reached for her bag and grabbed her compact so that she could mask the bruise on her face.
After applying her MAC Honeynut Concealer, she smoothed her hair and got up from the cold hardwood floor. She was determined to make Paul pay, at any cost.
As she exited the room, she noticed that Paul had returned to the table and his company. He looked up at her with a smirk on his face and then resumed his conversation.
This infuriated Ilene as she stormed out of the parlor. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she emerged into the cool Atlanta air. It shocked her into the reality of her situation and reminded her that she decided to follow Paul to the parlor where she had such a horrible experience.
She regretted her decision, but refused to indulge in self pity. She felt that pity was for the weak, and she was anything but weak. After finding her keys in the bottom of her Marc Jacobs bag, she pressed the remote to unlock her doors.
She began to walk towards her Mercedes and noticed Paul’s shiny BMW. Without missing a beat, she reached for the metal fingernail file and stabbed a jagged hole into the front tire. She then dragged the key against the finish of the car, making sure that she applied enough pressure to penetrate several layers. To add final insult to injury, she spat on the door handle.
Ilene eyed the environment to see if there were any witnesses. Everyone seemed preoccupied with their own dealings and paid little attention to Ilene’s mischief. She quickly entered her car and sped off.
On the way home, Ilene searched her mind for ways that Paul could know of the secret that she had managed to keep from her husband and the rest of the world for over 27 years. She wondered what else he was able to uncover. Now worried for her marriage, she decided that she would push her travel date up to give her some time to think of her next move, safely away from the danger of Atlanta and Paul Cummings.
She also made a decision to inform her husband of the skeletons in her closet before anyone else had a less savory version for him to consider. She pondered his possible reactions and thought it would be wise to tell him in a public place, perhaps over a dinner. She knew that he was far too reserved a man to make a scene, and would not dare striking her in the presence of others. It was decided. She would tell her husband of the two children that she left in Trinidad for him. She hoped that his judgment would not be too harsh, as she knew that he would never lack the moral fiber that she did. Never allowing herself to believe that she “abandoned” her children, she reasoned that her departure was for their benefit and quietly financed their education with questionable funds. This way, she would ensure them of the life of private education and privilege that they should have and the rest of her world would never be disturbed. So she thought.
Chapter 12 Marc
It had been five days since Marc last spoke to Sherise. He knew that her decision to abort the pregnancy was not one she willingly arrived at, but was pleased nonetheless that she finally came to her senses.
He now regularly questioned if the pregnancy was planned, but reminded himself repeatedly that it was his own drunkenness that made him neglect the condoms on his night stand.
Marc was the picture of nervousness as he sat at his desk, impatiently counting the minutes before he could meet Sherise at the clinic. He hated the idea of going to a clinic for anything, but thought that Sherise would be offended if he offered her the card of a private Georgetown educated gynecologist that he knew, and at one point, briefly dated.
He had talked at length with the doctor about the physical and emotional side effects of termination of a pregnancy. Marc decided that he would finance sessions with a psychiatrist he heard about for Sherise to help her deal with the termination of their pregnancy.
It was closely approaching 10:00 am, and Marc cleared the rest of his day so that he could be with Sherise for support. He didn’t think of himself as heartless and thought this would be a good way for the two to mend their fences. More importantly, he needed proof of the act. He was all too aware of stories his frat brothers told about women lying about abortions and using the money to finance shopping sprees and spring break vacations, only to come back needing more money for a now more costly procedure after three months had passed. Some of the more brazen females mockingly teased the men that they were never pregnant in the first place. Marc often held his breath in the hopes that Sherise would be so cunning, but knew she wasn’t sophisticated enough to tailor a tale that elaborate.
He decided that he would catch the train so that he would have a little walk to the metro station to clear his head. It proved to be an eventless voyage as he found himself staring mindlessly at the orange carpet that lined the trains. As he approached the clinic, his heart raced with nervous anticipation they way that it did just before his father learned of his terrible behavior in school when he was a rebellious teenager.
He reached for one of the metal bars that covered the doors and windows and pulled the door open with one thrust. The waiting room was starkly lit by fluorescent lights with stained covers. It gave the room a distorted color that suggested filth and uncleanliness. It lent the office an aura of shame and secrecy that Mark hated.
The receptionist was housed in a tiny office that had a glass cut out just large enough for her face and an even smaller opening for the charts and paperwork clipped to the clipboards that patients were given to complete. The pen was chained to the desk, compelling Marc to assume that the persons who frequented the establishment had questionable ethics and had to be treated in that manner.
He resented the fact that Sherise was so unapologetically ghetto and willing to wear it as her own badge of honor. Nevertheless, their joint actions brought them to this point and he was not about to leave his future in the hands of this otherwise irrelevant person.
“Hi, I am waiting for my…friend. Has Sherise Jenkins signed in?” Marc asked in a polite, but professional tone.
The receptionist looked up from reading one of the charts as if Marc had disturbed her from completing a masterpiece. Clearly annoyed, she blurted, “Is her name on the sign in sheet?”
Marc glanced down at the long list while mouthing “this bitch” in a tone inaudible to even the well trained ear.
“I actually don’t see it up here”, he replied and smiled. As soon as the words left his mouth he was answered with more venom.
“Well then I guess she aint here, sir.”
Marc was insulted that the poorly trained and visibly unprofessional person that sat before him felt that adding sir to a rude comment somehow endorsed it. He glanced at the clock and it was 10:15.
He figured it was in Sherise’s character to arrive late and blame it on the poor public transit system. She would then implore Marc to co-sign for a vehicle on her behalf. He would refuse and the argument of the hour would ensue. He weakly sighed as he considered the possibility of her absence.
He sat in one of the uncomfortable resin chairs and waited for Sherise. Staring intently at the door, Marc attempted to will her arrival. The clock marched past ten thirty and then eleven o’clock. Marc boiled in his seat as he saw dazed teens come in and leave the questionable clinic. None of them were Sherise.
At eleven forty five, Marc angrily got up from the chair and stood at the door. In his mind, this was symbolic of his last stand and he mentally vowed that he would no longer tolerate Sherise’s antics.
He didn’t know where she was, but he was damned sure of what she was up to. He immediately thought of yesterday
when he reviewed his bank statement online and saw that Sherise cashed the check the very day that he wrote it to her.
“Little conniving bitch. Who the fuck…!” Marc started yelling as he walked away from the clinic. There was no audience but Marc continued.
“I should fucking kill that bitch. I know one guddamned thing...” Marc screamed as people started to stare at him curiously.
He walked wildly and flailing his arms like he was preparing for a heavy weight bid for the championship. He shook his head in disbelief as he often did when he was angered by something.
Just as he entered a cab to head back to his office, his cell phone rang. The caller I.D. had a number that he didn’t recognize, so he ignored it, knowing that he did not have the patience to deal with a new person, let alone anyone wanting him to do work at his office.
After mumbling his home address to the cab driver, Marc closed his eyes. He covered his mouth with his right hand and then exhaled deeply as he sorted through the maze of emotions in his mind. He wanted desperately to cry, but was taught by his father that men suffer quietly and use their pain as strength. A man’s strength is his worth and respect, if challenged can never be restored.
It pained Marc to think about sharing a child with the woman who was nothing more than a one night stand. He knew that he did not want to father a child with Sherise, no matter what. He could not see any good result from it and refused to let himself fantasize about the son he secretly longed for, only not with Sherise. Illegal and violent actions to rid himself of Sherise drifted through his mind, but he convinced himself to neglect them.
As the taxi driver pulled near his doorstep, Marc pulled out a crisp twenty dollar bill and gave it to him. “Thanks, my man.” Marc said to him as he stepped out of the car. “Thanks, brah”, the cab driver returned and pulled away from the curb.
Marc walked slowly up the stairs that led to his brownstone as if he were hesitant about going home. The space was expansive and nicely appointed, but he just never felt that it was lived in. It was the place that he brought the occasional date to for the night. It was the place where he entertained and impressed his boys with his expensive furniture and pricey art work. It wasn’t home. It didn’t tell loving stories about togetherness. It did not have women’s toiletries sprinkled here and there. As much as Marc declared that he wanted to avoid serious commitments, he loathed the idea of waking up alone in his bed every morning.
As he turned the key into the house, he felt his feelings of anger towards Sherise resurface when he saw a note taped to the door. He cursed himself for falling prey to her generic games. Marc entered the foyer of the brownstone where they shared their first sexual interlude while staring at the small envelope with his name written neatly on it. He opened it immediately, not surprised that it was a letter from Sherise that attempted to normalize what she had done. It read:
Marc,
I know that if you are reading this, you didn’t find me at the clinic. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I just couldn’t do it. I know I owe you your money back, and I will pay you back. As for me and this baby, we gonna be alright. I don’t want nothing from you. I decided that it would be best if I left for a while to get things sorted out. Don’t worry, I will be fine. I am sorry that things couldn’t work out for us, but I think you’re a nice guy. Please don’t be mad.
-Sherise Marc was incensed. “Who the hell does this broad think she is?” Marc asked to an empty room.
He was not going to let Sherise force him into having this kid. He knew the game. She would say she didn’t want anything and then disappear, only to come back years later wanting her to stake her claim.
His father had warned him of how cunning women could be and he often suspected that his father’s collective knowledge on the matter derived directly from experiences with the woman that insisted she become his wife after he got her pregnant. Twenty seven years later, and he was still paying for the same mistake. Marc would not be like his father. He had a say in the matter, and he was going to find Sherise to make her hear it.
He grabbed his cell phone to call her, only find the message indicator light blinking on it. He put in his code to check his messages and found that it was Reggie reminding him of the fraternity’s Annual Bachelor’s Auction. He deleted the message before he heard the end of it and called Sherise’s house. After two rings, someone answered and informed him that Sherise was not there.
Undaunted, Marc grabbed his coat and headed out the door. He was lucky enough to hail a cab on his first attempt, a veritably rare phenomenon for black men in Washington, DC. He instructed the cab driver to take him to the Hair Affair Salon in Southeast. The cab driver turned and looked at him questionably. When Marc returned his look with a stern and unwavering stare, the driver then told him that it would be fifteen dollars. Internally humored at the driver’s feeble attempt to discourage him from staying in the cab, thereby forcu. ravel to southeast, Marc smirked. “Sounds good to me man. In fact, here is twenty if you can get me there in a hurry.” Marc said to the visibly nervous Indian cab driver. After snatching the money from Marc’s hand and mumbling something in Arabic, the cab driver pulled away from the curb violently and began his trip to the notoriously criminal and predominantly black southeast borough of DC.
Marc recited the letter in his mind over and over again, attempting to gather additional meaning from the words that Sherise wrote. He drew a blink. He was certain that Sherise was not going to just fade away quietly. She wanted something, but she had underestimated him.
As the cab driver entered the tip of southeast, Marc noticed him glance backwards to make sure that the doors were locked. Marc assumed that the driver probably had a weapon stored somewhere nearby for situations like this. He only slowed at stop signs and eyed everyone suspiciously when he was forced to remain stopped because of the traffic lights. The streets of southeast were littered with fast food bags and miscellaneous discarded items of residents ill concerned with the aesthetics of their neighborhood. The people there defied their surroundings. Little girls with brightly colored barrettes in their hair jumped rope carelessly in a way that mocked their dismal surroundings. Proud business owners still kept their storefronts clean, though the effort paled in comparison to the amounts of litter that accumulated along the streets. It moved Marc that the neighborhood he scoffed at was more authentic than the contrived urban utopia that was created in his neighborhood as a result of extensive gentrification and random policing.
The cab driver slowed near the hair salon and prepared to stop. There were a group of teenagers standing where he needed to stop. The driver’s apprehension was apparent, so Marc took him out of his misery. “Right here is good man. I can get out and walk.” Marc said as he prepared to get out. The driver simply nodded and pulled the cab to the curb. As Marc exited the cab, he waited for the driver to say thank you. Annoyed by the gesture, Marc extended an aggravated “thank you” and slammed the door.
The group of teenagers glanced over him once and dismissed him, more enthused with the freestyle battle that they were engaged in. Marc walked up to the hair salon and exhaled deeply in preparation for the scrutiny he was about to subject himself to. The door swung open as he approached it. A very attractive woman pranced out with a closely cropped hair style that seemed to frame her face perfectly. Marc found that he savored her look, though he traditionally chose women with long hair. The woman with the freshly styled hair noticed his attraction and lingered just long enough to make eye contact, smile, and walk away. The hair had a stench that resembled raw eggs and Marc covered his nose instinctively, but later moved his hand in fear of offending the otherwise hostile women in the salon.
Marc moved confidently towards the receptionist after a quick scan of the salon for Sherise. “Hi, I’m looking for Sherise. Is she working today?” Marc asked making sure that he smiled through his question.
He hoped that his charm might win over the receptionist. This was not the same woman that he encountered on
his first visit to the salon. “And you are?” The receptionist asked more for personal reasons than Marc’s inquiry.
“Oh, I am a personal friend of hers. My name is Marc. She still works here, right?” Marc asked, trying to gather clues about Sherise’s whereabouts.
The receptionist was less than receptive to his charm. “Yeah, she works here but she won’t be back until next week.
I think she went down south to visit somebody. You said your name was Marc? Oh, that’s right. I know who you are...you her baby’s daddy, right? She said that you would be coming around this week.”
Marc’s grimace announced his irritation with the term “baby daddy and he merely nodded his head to continue the flow of the conversation.
“Actually, she told me that you and her didn’t have anything to discuss and not to give you the number to where she is. I mean, she ‘aint bothering you. She don’t want none of yo’ money. Isn’t that what you wanted?” The receptionist said.
This infuriated Marc, but he wasn’t about to let it show. “Really, this is between Sherise and I. I don’t know you, and you can safely assume that you don’t know me. I just want to talk to her to make sure that everything is okay.”
“So now you care about how she’s doing? Puh-lease! It’s niggahs like you that mess it up for us black women now. She told me about you, and no, I aint givin’ you her number so you can stress her out some more. Just leave her alone.” The receptionist said angrily as she moved her head in a circular motion.
Marc was overcome by anger. He lunged forward violently, stopping just short of the receptionist, and slammed his hand on the wooden counter.
The receptionist instinctively flinched and then stretched her eyes in a manner that suggested that she dared Marc to touch her.
Marc was unmoved by this. Obviously, Sherise gave this woman the impression that he would go for this kind of disrespect.
A Price to Pay for Everything Page 9