A Price to Pay for Everything

by Kameisha Jenkins

  The woman, unaware of the small rented Dodge Neon across the street, briskly walked to the edge of her lawn, collected the mail and returned to her home. Ilene almost thought the woman had identified her, as she glanced up from her mail and quickly returned to the entrance where she immediately slammed the front door.

  Determined that she would somehow avenge this woman’s trespass on her marriage, Ilene threw the car in reverse. She then turned the car in the direction of the woman’s house, shifted gears and pressed the gas. The small compact car was able to completely dislodge the mail box from it’s post and send it flying four feet and then to the ground. After backing over the newly planted begonias in the front yard, Ilene rolled the window down and spat on the woman’s delicate tulips and sped off. Ilene trained herself long ago to act only when there were no witnesses to validate the crime. She was sure that the woman who ONCE slept with her husband would never again revisit the idea.

  Ilene sped off and after about ten miles, she was able to stop screaming obscenities and cursing her plight. She finally stopped at a gas station to survey the damage to the vehicle. Surprisingly, there were only minor scratches to the front end of the car. She was relieved that the rental insurance would likely cover it.

  While she stood continued to review the car, she brushed past the side mirror and saw blue lights coming towards the parking lot. Terror ripped through her body as she stiffened from fear of what she knew would make her the target of the ridicule of her friend-foes in the small Alpharetta enclave. Ilene held her breath as police cruisers approached the gas station and drove right past it en route to another crime scene.

  As she exhaled, she felt the color return to her face. She quickly opened the car door and sat down. She closed her eyes and tried to process what was going on in her life.

  “What the hell am I doing?” Ilene asked herself as she watched her own reflection in the car’s driver side vanity. Without make up, Ilene looked worn and tired and tried her best not to accept the mirror’s truth. She closed her eyes and quietly recounted the last few weeks of her life. Everything from Paul’s disregard of her threats to Charles’ affair weighed heavily on her as she considered buying a oe way ticket to somewhere else and starting over. “Karma is one vindictive bitch.” Ilene said to no one as she buckled her seatbelt and started out of the gas station.

  The loud buzz that resonated against the cup holder reminded Ilene that she had turned down the volume of her cell phone to prevent her tone from being identified when she was in the midst of her mischief. She retrieved the phone only to see her former home phone number flash against the screen. Charles was definitely there. But was he calling because his lover alerted him of her little stunt? The thought irritated her melancholy mood as she snatched the flip phone open.

  “Yes?” Ilene asked with pronounced contempt for the caller she once loved as her faithful husband.

  “Ilene, what the hell is your problem?” Charles asked with anger Ilene had only seen him display in their most recent exchanges.

  “I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ilene was not about to incriminate herself over the phone like so many embittered and scorned lovers bent on revenge had done on Court TV, her newest obsession.

  Charles’ anger escalated. “Don’t give me that dumb shit. You know exactly what I am talking about. Who, but you, has the security code and a key? I come home and find things tossed around and broken in my house…”

  Though she was relieved that he hadn’t connected her with the unfortunate incident in Marietta, Ilene’s malevolence spiked.

  “YOUR house? Let me tell you something Charles. Despite what you told your broke down ass ex-wife, we are still married. That’s as much my house as it is yours. You had the nerve to have a bitch in our bed and you’re talking about me? What about you, Mr. Self Righteous? Couldn’t wait to get me out of there so you could bring your little tramps in there. You’re full of shit and you’re a fake.”

  Charles’ chuckle was laced with cynicism as he listened and responded to Ilene’s last comment.

  “Ilene, just what the hell gives you the right to say anything about what I do? Hell, you’ve been stepping out on me for years. I finally got wise. We are separated. Our marriage is over. We are getting a divorce, rather you like it or not.” Charles’ statement shocked and pained Ilene to her core. Its finality forced her into silence. Charles seized the opportunity to finish his tirade.

  “You are crazy if you think you have any rights to anything after the shit you pulled with Paul. I guess you thought you could use that ass of yours to get back in here. Sorry Ilene. That won’t do it anymore.” Charles’ venom pierced Ilene as struggled to fight back tears. She used her most trusty tool, vengeance.

  “Charles, if I were you, I would enjoy the house while I can. Because you can best believe that I will meet my death before I allow you to traipse your little tramp around it like she belongs there. I tried to work things out with you, but since you want to act like a jackass…fine. We can settle this in court, but you’re not going to like the side of me you will see.”

  “Ilene, as usual, you’re too caught up in your own shit to see what’s staring you in the face. I have been seeing that side of you for the last twenty five years. Divorcing you will be a cakewalk compared to our marriage.”

  “I guess I’ll see you in court, then.” It was all Ilene could manage to get out. Charles was prepared for her.

  “I’ll be looking forward to the day.”

  Without any further words, he hung up and Ilene was greeted by a quick busy tone. She lamented quietly as her tears fell. Each time she replayed the conversation in her mind, Charles’ words seemed more ominous. She regretted that her bluff was transparent and seemed to encourage Charles to seriously pursue the divorce she had tried to delay.

  As she pulled into the parking lot to return the rental car she held her breath and said a small prayer that the plan that she had implemented with her partner in crime would work. It was r last hope to save her reputation, finances, and family. “In that order, please.” Ilene added as she quickly ended her prayer and began to apply her makeup before someone recognized her looking as wrecked as her life was.

  Chapter 33 Marc

  Marc sat sipping a caramel macchiato at the Starbucks in Dupont Circle that Sherise asked him to meet her at. His conversation with Reggie gave him a new resolve to reclaim his freedom and the life that Sherise’s decision threatened to take from him. After waiting for about ten minutes and enjoying the soothing and clean British sound of Carinne Bailey Rae, Marc eyed Sherise walking through the door. Her face defied the urgency that her voice delivered when she asked Marc to meet her. In fact, she appeared amiable and receptive, which strangely made Marc nervous.

  “What’s up Marc?” Sherise said as she slid into the booth where he sat. Marc decided to go with the flow.

  “Nothing. I got over here as soon as I could. I thought something was wrong.” Marc searched her face for a sign of what she might be up to.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything you were doing. I guess with my hormones so haywire because of our baby, I can’t tell when I am going through one of my moments.” Sherise said as she rubbed her very round belly. Marc was noting not only the change in her demeanor, but also the absence of her ghetto dialect. Could it be that she really was growing?

  “Naw, I wasn’t busy. I was just hanging out with Reggie. Kinda catching up on what I have been missing.” Sherise was annoyed by Marc’s last statement but decided not to address it. She would use the opportunity to gently nudge Marc on his knee with hers.

  “So, am I gonna ever meet any of your friends?” Sherise was careful to ask in her sweetest voice. The request caught Marc off guard and he responded without thinking.

  “Why would I do that?” Marc knew that his comment would likely send Sherise off the deep end and readied himself for the battle. Sherise’s reaction was one that not even she was prepared for.

&nbs
p; “You’re right. I understand. I just wanted to know the people who love you as much as I do.” She was cautious not to ever use that word, as she understood that it would destroy any plan she ever had of manipulating Marc into marrying her. He needed to believe that he controlled the pulse of their situation.

  “Sherise, I am not trying to hear this shit today, really. Why don t you get something to eat and I will put you in a cab.”

  “See, that’s what I mean. We’re living in two different places and our baby is growing inside of me. I just don’t see why we can’t just stay together. I mean, you’re missing all the stuff the baby is doing. I think I can feel her kick now. Do you really want to miss all that?”

  Sherise was hoping that her strategy was effective in wearing Marc down. She knew that it was a long shot.

  “Look, I am not trying to hurt your feelings, you know that. But we aren’t going to live together just because you are having the baby. We’re not together, and I don’t think it will make a difference if you and I aren’t in the same house.”

  Sherise was growing weary of Marc’s resistance.

  “Come on Marc, you said yourself that your parents were married for like twenty something years. You know that made a difference in your life…”

  Marc froze as he listened to Sherise casually introduce marriage to their complicated situation.

  “Sherise, we are not my parents. You are acting like this baby was planned or something and we were together. I mean, I know I didn’t plan it.”

  Marc’s last comment sent Sherise’s temper soaring, but she refused to let him see a crack in her cool demeanor when she was so close to her goal. She decided to take her plan up another notch. The fact that she could shed tears at will would serve her well. It was one of many reasons she was thankful for the pregnancy. She began to speak, only stopping briefly to allow her tears to punctuate her statements.

  “Look Marc, you know I don’t want to fight you anymore. I love it when we get along. The other day, we made love and it just felt right. I know you felt something too. I think we should just try to make it work for our baby. If it doesn’t work out, then I’ll walk away. But I just really need you right now.”

  Marc struggled to disguise his resentment that he allowed Sherise to talk him into sleeping with her in the first place, and had only done so to keep her from going to Child Support Enforcement like she threatened. He knew that for the next few months, he would have to go along with Sherise’s manipulative whims until he could secure the paternity test and custody order. She was using every trick in the book to get into his townhouse.

  “Sherise, you know that I will support you in any way that I can. But us living together is just not a good idea.”

  Sherise released her façade of calm and rolled her eyes to signal her disgust.

  “And just why not Marc? Is it because I would get in the way of the women that you are still sleeping with? Or are you just too ashamed that you got me pregnant and I’m not some lightskinned long haired chick from Georgetown?”

  Marc realized that his good fortune with Sherise was about to run out.

  “Okay Sherise, this is what I wanted to avoid. I’m not about to act ghetto and have this dumb conversation again. It’s a waste of time. I already told you that if I wanted to sleep with one woman or ten women, it’s my right. Stop trying to act like the baby is going to magically make me want to be with you. You know that if it weren’t for this pregnancy, we wouldn’t even be talking to each other.”

  Sherise quickly adjusted her game plan.

  “First of all, you’re acting like my life hasn’t changed. I was not trying to get pregnant. You’re the one who didn’t put on the condom. I got jammed up, too. You know I had plans to go to school and get my degree. Now …”

  “Sherise, please. I just told you that I am not going to argue with you in public. It’s ghetto, and I aint trying to do this with you.”

  Sherise instantly resented that he regularly used the term “ghetto” whenever they had an argument.

  “No Marc, GHETTO is getting a woman pregnant and trying to act like nothing ever happened. GHETTO is knowing that a part of you is growing and you can’t even tell your family because you are too scared of what they would say. GHETTO is acting like you’re so much better than me, but when you get horny, you don’t mind screwing me.”

  As Sherise spoke, Marc was putting on his coat and preparing to make his departure. He waited for her to finish speaking before he spoke.

  “I never called you ghetto. I said that I am not arguing with you in public because no one here needs to be in my business.”

  “And you feel that way because you don’t want anyone to know that you got me pregnant.”

  Marc eyed Sherise with evident contempt.

  “Whatever Sherise. I ‘m leaving.”

  “Of course you are. You always leave when I don’t do what you want me to do. I guess you are gonna do the same thing when the baby gets here, just like all of these other trifling niggahs.”

  Sherise’s comment incensed Marc.

  “Are you serious? Since day one, I have been dealing with your shit because I didn’t want you to feel like I would leave you hangin. I’ve been dealing with your dumb ass mood swings and nasty attitude because I’m a good brother. But now I understand why there are so many brothers not dealing with their kids. It’s not the brothers, it’s the sheisty females like you that use the kid to try to get what you want. Just because you are having this kid doesn’t mean I have to deal with this shit. I’m out.”

  Marc grabbed the closing documents that he planned on giving her for the condo he bought for her and the baby to live in. He threw the papers and a set of keys across the table wth so much force, they struck Sherise’s chest and made her wince. Sherise, afraid that she had said too much and alienated Marc for good, looked down at the items.

  “What is this?” She asked with caution as Marc stood to leave.

  He was in no mood for cordial sentiment.

  “You can read, right? You got what you wanted. You came up. You just got your own place in less than five months. Now you can go and brag to your trick assed friends that your dumb assed plan worked. Maybe they can go out and fuck someone they meet at the club, trap him, and wait for the checks to start rolling in.”

  “Marc, I never asked you to buy this place. I never ever saw it…”

  “But I’m willing to bet dollars to doughnuts that you are going have your ass up in it. Sherise, we don’t have anything else to say to each other until the baby comes. If you need to communicate with me, send me a damned text.”

  Marc turned to leave.

  Sherise, desperate to save her dream of becoming Mrs. Marc Campbell, grabbed his arm.

  “Marc, I don’t want any of this, for real. I just want us to be okay for the baby.” Sherise lied. Marc openly laughed at her comment’s transparency.

  “Sherise, as far as I am concerned, we are okay. I just don’t want to deal with you. You don’t have to worry. I’ll keep paying for your doctor bills and the mortgage for the condo. Talk to you later.”

  Marc retrieved his arm from her grip. He felt empowered as he walked away from Sherise and her manipulation. He ignored her calling his name and was able to hail a cab back to his place. By the time he arrived home six minutes later, he had twenty two missed calls from Sherise.

  He decided to take a shower and contemplated heading right back out. He was going to Tyson’s Corner to his favorite haberdashery. He needed to pick out something that would announce his eligibility at tomorrow night’s auction. As he showered, he thought about calling Sherise to apologize but thought better of it. She needed to get used to him not being available at her beck and call. He had his life back and was thankful that it only cost him an investment property to get it. As he scrubbed his face with the soap soaked loofah sponge, Marc scrubbed away the layers of grief that Sherise’s behavior had ushered. He thought of his favorite comedian Dave Chappelle and couldn’t f
ight the urge to yell one of his favorite lines from one of the humorous skits. “I’m back bitch!!” Marc chuckled as he closed his eyes and prepared himself for the new horizon of opportunity that the setting sun offered. Going to bed and catching up on some much needed rest seemed more appealing to him.

  Saturday morning proved promising and full of potential. Marc selected a charcoal micro pin-striped Ozwald Boateng suit that set him back about $2000, but he felt sure that it was worth every dime. He loved the way the European designer made Jamie Foxx look suave and sophisticated at the 2005 Oscars. His suits appealed to Marc as their urban flair stood out among the racks of British designers in the small haberdashery. The attendant selected a celadon green open necked shirt with French cuffs to complete the look, and Marc left feeling like he could conquer the world. He picked up a set of cufflinks from Tiffany that set him back $1500. After grabbing a quick bite to eat at Panera, he was on his way to L Street in downtown DC to the Men’s Grooming Lounge where he would have a diamond cream facial, silk manicure and precision shave. Though he would never admit it to his fraternity brothers, he allowed his eyebrows to be plucked a time or two. The stylist there usually shampooed his short curly hair and let it air dry with a polisher on it that made Marc look like he was Dominican. Such lavish pampering was a habit Marc inherited from his mother who regularly dragged him down to the Atlanta area spas for her regiment of exfoliating and waxing.

  Over the course of the morning, Sherise had called sixteen times and left five irate ages on his voice mail. Marc erased them all before listening to her verbose rants. As he sat in the salon chair, waiting for his stylist to finish his look, again he felt his cell phone vibrate. He was almost sure that it was Sherise but decided to double check the caller ID to be sure. It was his father. Marc answered the phone quickly, as he had been waiting to hear back from his dad.

  “Pop, what’s going on with you?” Marc asked as reclined in the stylist’s chair.