Chapter 14 Ilene
Ilene had allowed some of the island girls to braid her hair for a few dollars. She grew tired of sweating out her curls in the Caribbean heat. The cornrows made her face look radiant, but Ilene hated the implications that such hairstyles usually carried with them.
Ilene begrudgingly admitted that she had rediscovered the bond that she and her husband shared years ago before all of the lies and deception, on her part, of course. They even managed several nights of love making without the usual precursor that inved hours of coercion and pleading, and in some cases threatening.
The island rejuvenated Ilene and made her forget her aged face told stories of betrayal. Instead, she saw a jubilant young woman with long flowing braids and bright eyes. A woman with the world safely in the palm of her hand.
Charles saw her in the same way, and could not help but question why his wife wasn’t in such good humor during their normal day to day dealings at home. He noticed her checking her messages and the look of stress that immediately shrouded her face. She dismissed it as credit card debtors doing their usual rounds of annoying calls. His knowledge of his wife told him otherwise. He hoped that whatever she was up to was ending soon. He was growing tired of looking the other way when men eyed his wife accusingly. Charles always managed to look distracted to protect his wife from explaining the menacing stares. He loved her with the fullness that a man loved his wife.
She was the one that he had sacrificed so much for. She was beautiful and vulnerable, in so many ways. He came to realize after years of grief and elevated blood pressure that he fell in love with her because of her flaws. Over time, he learned to live with the fact that she would never be the pristine and moral woman that he had once been married to. Could he blame her? He was a married man when he impregnated her and left her to fend for herself. She was giving him the best she would ever offer to any man. Who could ask for anything more?
Ilene managed to sneak away from Charles to return a few phone calls left by her “friends”. She ducked into an open air bar on the water called “Castaway Bay”. She had heard that they had the best mixed drinks in the area and was conveniently on the other side of the island, far away from where her husband golfed carelessly. She knew he would be tied up for at least a couple of hours.
As Ilene settled into one of the many rattan chairs that lined the patio, she retrieved her cell phone from her purse and browsed through the many missed calls. It appeared that Paul Cummings had called several times, but chose not to leave a message. There was a message from her son that was pretty rudimentary. She did sense something else in his voice, and made a mental note to call him as soon as she returned to the states.
She decided that she would check her newly acquired account in Grand Cayman to see if Mr. Cummings had come to his senses and paid his monthly stipend. There was no change in the balance. Immediately enraged, Ilene dialed the numbers to Paul’s office. Remembering the difference in time zones, she hung up and decided that she would deal with him in person when she returned to the states. This time he would clearly understand why he shouldn’t fuck with her.
As she simmered with anger, she hardly noticed that the waitress stood before her, placed a bowl of mixed nuts on the rattan table, and requested her order. After ordering a passion fruit martini, Ilene leaned back in her rickety and unbalanced chair. She exhaled deeply and then closed her eyes as she took in the salty ocean air.
“Nothing’s that bad”, a booming voice said from behind her with a familiar, but distant tone.
Ilene opened her eyes slowly and focused on a tall dark skinned man in his late thirties. She searched her mind for where she once knew his face and why it was so familiar, but drew a blank. He obviously knew who she was, and seemed to quietly enjoy the fact that she did not share the same knowledge.
“No worries here darling.” Ilene returned, mocking the island colloquialism of the natives. Her smile tempted the visitor to move forward but the seriousness in her eyes suggested that he should tread cautiously. He decided to ignore the latter threat.
“Do you mind if I have a seat?” the gentleman asked as he pulled the mis-matched chair from the table.
“Well, since you have invited yourself, I don’t see how I can object.” Ilene said with a slight t of irritation.
“I mean, I don’t want to trouble you, but when I see a beautiful woman sitting alone, I can’t help but intervene.” The stranger said confidently to Ilene. She was almost tickled by the fact that the man thought that such a lack luster comment would hold her interest for more than a passing moment.
She rolled her eyes in a manner that suggested that his visit should be short lived. As her drink arrived, she nervously eyed the stranger who seemed perfectly at home seated with her. After watching her take a long throaty sip of the drink that the waitress returned with, he took the opportunity to speak.
“A strong drink for a strong woman. I like that. We’re going to get about just fine.” He said as he leaned forward.
This statement annoyed Ilene and she could not prevent herself from responding.
“Listen, you little jiggalo wanna be. I am not some lonely widower that came here to have a fling with one of you little island montells. So no, I don’t want you to make passionate love to me and no, I am not searching for a little young honey to come sniffing behind my dirty drawers. I aint Stella and you sure as hell aint Winston, so keep it moving. Thanks, but no thanks.” Ilene said dismissively and hoped that the venom in her words hid the fact that the young stranger made her very uncomfortable.
The stranger, amused by her speech, was tickled and seemed to enjoy Ilene’s comments. He placed one hand under his chin and leaned in as she spoke. When she was done, he clapped his hands together as if he had just witnessed a Broadway show.
“Very nice. Do you speak to everyone so rudely? Lucky for you, I am not easily swayed. I didn’t take you for the mourning widower type, at least not with those ghetto dooky braids anyway. And do believe me…If I wanted to have you, I would.” He paused to reveal a pearlescent smile. “But no Ilene, I am here for quite a different reason.” The stranger said with a beguiling smirk on his face.
Alarms went off in Ilene’s head.
“Who the hell are you and how do you know my name?” Ilene asked defensively.
“Oh no, don’t be alarmed. I am kind of like your guardian angel of sorts. I am here to make sure that you don’t get into any more trouble. You are quite a ways from Atlanta you know,” he returned with a devilish smile.
Ilene’s throat burned from the heat of vodka she had just gulped down.
“Who the fuck are you and what do you want? If it’s money, you can just kiss my ass because I am not the type of woman that scares easily.” Ilene snapped.
“Whoa there, easy now. I don’t have a need for your money. I have been well compensated. I do have a message for you though.” Another teethy smile.
“I just bet you do. Who the hell has you following me anyway, you do know that shit is illegal, right?”
“Fancy you talking about legalities…I wonder if you were quite that interested in the law when you did the detail job on Paul Cummings’ car in Buckhead. You have been a naughty little girl Ilene. A friend just wants you to know that when you play with fire, sometimes you get burned.” The stranger said as he rose from the table.
Ilene caught the wrist of her visitor and dug her nails into it, with more force than she actually intended.
“Listen, you little prick. You and your gay assed boss Paul do not scare me. You don’t know who you are fucking with, and I would suggest that you stay the fuck away from me if you value your life.” Ilene mouthed in a dastardly tone.
Again, the stranger was undaunted. He snatched his hand away from Ilene and smiled. “He said that you would be a little feisty, but this takes the cake. Don’t threaten me. You’ll just piss me off. Why don’t you get your drunken ass back to your hubby at the hotel? Good ole’ faithful Charles is probably w
orried that you have hooked up with some island local. He knows how you are. Hell, if he had some sense, he would get himself a piece of ass all of Atlant hasn’t had.” The stranger said while chuckling at his off colored humor.
“You don’t know shit about my husband, so keep his name out of your mouth. More importantly you little twit, if I even think that I see your black ass again, I swear I will bring harm to you. You might be Cummings’ flunky, but to me, you are nothing more than a little bitch that needs to be put in his proper place. I wont give you a warning again. Don’t fuck with me.” Ilene said as she pointed her index finger directly in the face of her opponent.
Irritated, the stranger batted her hand away and backed off chuckling. He threw both his hands up as if to surrender. “You’re right. Your husband has nothing to do with this. This is business. The payments from our mutual friend have ended. You will never contact him again. You will destroy anything that might be damaging to his career. If not, well, you just might have some of your skeletons revealed. It’s your choice, I’m just a messenger.” The stranger gave a celebratory smirk to Ilene after his speech and disappeared into the humid atmosphere of St. Lucia.
Ilene was incensed as she snatched up her belongings and left cash on the table for her bill. She was slightly dizzy as she charged towards the main street and waived for a gypsy car to take her back to the hotel.
“Hotel Madeira on the waterfront, please.” Ilene said to the driver as she collapsed in the back of the musky vehicle. Then, within seconds, everything went black. She was drugged. She struggled to make sense of the formless blurs around her. Her arms and legs felt heavy. The driver looked back and seemed to dismiss her state for a drunken stupor.
He dutifully took her to the hotel and alerted the doorman. The doorman then gave the driver some folded bills and retrieved Ilene from the vehicle. Ilene felt her limp body being moved and lifted but was powerless to act. Everything went black again. This time Ilene didn’t try to make out the blurred objects. She instead allowed herself to fall into the abyss of her unconsciousness preferring the numb darkness to the stark pain of reality.
When Ilene came to, she was lying in her hotel suite. Charles stood over her carefully gauging her face for lucid consciousness.
“Baby, are you alright? How are you feeling?” Paul asked his wife worriedly.
As Ilene spoke, she felt a sharp pain slash through her head. She rubbed her head instinctively to calm the throbbing that overwhelmed her temples.
“I think so, what happened? I need an aspirin or something. My head is killing me.”
Ilene’s weakened voice responded.
“The hotel physician said that you might have a headache because of the cocktail you were given.” Paul said.
“Cocktail? What are you talking about? Was the alcohol rancid or something? I just had a martini, maybe with a little grenadine in it. What happened to me?” Ilene returned not fully understanding what her husband was alluding to.
“It looks like someone slipped something in your drink. Apparently, that happens a lot to the tourists around there. They usually pass out and then they are robbed by passers by pretending to help them. Your wallet is missing your driver’s license and a few credit cards. Did anyone speak to you? The police want you to make a report.” Paul said.
“I don’t remember anyone speaking to me.” Ilene lied. “I just wanted to try that place on the other side of the island that people have been recommending. I guess the proof was too strong on the vodka or something. I haven’t eaten all day, too. Mix all of that with this unbearable sun and it’s a wonder that I didn’t zonk out right there at the table.” Ilene remarked to her husband. Her attempt to laugh off the incident did not convince her husband.
“Listen, we have another week here, and I am not going to let you out of my sight. Those braids are a little too tight if you think that you can just run off alone on an island that you have never been on. Baby, you are a ready prey for these bums on this island looking to snatch a few bucks. I would feel a lot better if we were together for the rest of the trip”. Charles said as wrinkles formed in his forehead.
Ilene grimaced at her husband’s request, but decided to humor him and remain his constant companion for the week.
When the couple returned home there was more than two weeks of mail waiting for them. Someone, Charles described as teenage vandals, had knocked over their mailbox and broken two of the windows in the front of the house. Ilene knew better.
When the couple cautiously entered their home, they were relieved to find that nothing was disturbed, so they ruled out robbery. Charles asked their neighbors if they had spied anything peculiar. The universal answer was “no”.
This annoyed Charles as his neighbors’ very watchful eyes never missed an opportunity to contact the homeowners association when his car wasn’t parked inside of the driveway or if his lawn had surpassed the 2 ¼ inch limit. Nevertheless, Charles attempted to settle into his home life, despite this disruption. He hated to admit that this shook his sense of security in his otherwise quiet and unassuming suburban Alpharetta subdivision of million dollar homes. He hid this from his wife, not wanting her to loose the respect he had fought tirelessly to secure. He could not help but notice that Ilene was particularly distracted. The look on her face suggested that she understood that this was more than some kids vandalizing. She seemed to internalize the incident by shaking her head and closing her eyes as they pulled up to their home. Charles could see a look of vengeance forming in her eyes. He knew the look was reserved for enemies that had crossed her. He knew his wife had secrets and wondered if they were connected to the damage to their home.
He pretended not to hear the conversation that his wife snuck into the guest bedroom to have. She told the listener that he or she had crossed the line. Her anger was one that he had not recognized, it was foreign and primal. It danced on desperation and suggested that Ilene had a lot on the line.
Charles reasoned that a lover had a problem with her when she tried to break off the affair. He had figured out a long time ago that his wife wasn’t faithful when he noticed a change in her body odor and constant need to douche. He decided that he would watch his wife a little more closely, as he couldn’t trust her to be honest and forthcoming. He was willing to face the truth about his marriage, even if it meant that Ilene’s secrets would destroy it.
The next day, Charles hired a private investigator and visited an attorney. He lovingly told his wife that he was spending the day working on her upcoming fiftieth birthday bash.
She smiled and seemed genuinely warmed by his loving deed. “You are too good to me.” Ilene said as she wrapped herself in her husband’s arms.
“I know I am.” Charles said to his wife as they lie in bed and pretended that their marriage was secure.
Chapter 15 Marc
“I can’t believe that you’re really going to have the baby.” Marc said to Sherise’s voice mail after she delivered her news and promptly ended their call. Her decision was eminent and despite Marc’s heartfelt pleas, there was no escaping it. Marc had finally spoken with Sherise and she made the final decision to keep the child that resulted from a night of recklessness.
He first tried to reason with her, informing her that it would be logical to end the pregnancy and develop her career before trying to do anything else. When that didn’t work, he thought it effective to trample on any hopes of the two uniting. He knew that Sherise’s hope for a union was the underlying motivation for maintaining the pregnancy.
He explained to her that he never really respected her and couldn’t ever imagine marrying her. He added salt to the wound by saying that his parents wanted him to marry an educated woman to br saw the defeat in Sherise’s eyes as the words were released from his lips. Sherise, steel in her resolve, would not abandon her hopes.
They sat on the plush butter colored leather sofa in Marc’s den for hours, with momentary breaks for Sherise to relieve herself in the restroom. With every reaso
n Marc offered, Sherise countered. When she had no more energy to counter, she simply folded her arms and rolled her eyes to the back of her head.
As Marc grew angrier, Sherise became more insolent and decided she would defend her decision.
“Look Marc, I aint’ askin’ you for nothin’. If you don’t want to be a part of our lives, then it’s fine.” Sherise stuttered as she offered more deception. “I, I know you think I am tryin’ to trap you, but I aint.’ So what, I don’t have a degree, do that mean I can’t be a mother?” Sherise asked. Marc mentally corrected her broken English.
“You are missing the point, it’s not about that. It’s about you having a kid for the wrong reasons. What can you possibly offer a child? Nothing! You are not thinking about the baby, you’re thinking about yourself and your dumb assed plan won’t work.” Marc said as he stood and began to pace the bamboo hardwoods of his den.
He peered out of the floor to ceiling windows onto the deck as he considered the implications of Sherise’s decision. Would his child grow up on the projects and learn to speak the broken English of his mother? How could he adjust to this when it seemed so illfated? Sherise was not the woman that he wanted to present to his mother, and more importantly, his father.
He wanted to be proud of his wife and the mother of his children. He wanted her to come from a family with a notable name that made contributions to society. He wanted her to belong to a sorority, and to have affiliations with groups like The Links or Jack and Jill. He simply wanted…more.
His gaze then turned to Sherise sitting on his couch rubbing her belly as if it held the magic genie that would grant all of her wishes. He knew that he was as good as it got for her and hated her for forcing herself into his life. Struggling with himself not to reveal his disgust, he compelled himself to look away from her, as he did not want her to witness the growing contempt that was making it’s way from his stomach to his face. He turned back to the window and cursed his situation…again. “That time made thirty two”, he thought.
A Price to Pay for Everything Page 12