by Julia Blues
That makes her laugh. “I’m serious. I had a prior commitment.”
I say, “That is what marriage is, right?”
She lets those words marinate for a moment.
The women she walked in with walk over to our table with my brother, drinks in all of their hands. Andrew introduces one of them as his former student’s mother, Katrina.
Sydney says, “This is Rachel, my best friend. Also, her husband works with mine.”
I catch the hint. Either this town is getting too small or the world is shrinking. I shake their hands. “Nice to meet you both.”
The tallest woman of the bunch says, “I would hate to have been your mother. Wouldn’t be able to tell you two apart if I stood before God and spending eternity in heaven was on the line.”
I say, “You’d be able to if you changed our diapers.”
Laughter blends in with the music. Everyone’s humored, but curiosity lies in Sydney’s eyes.
Folks on the dance floor are sweating like they just finished two marathons. The DJ senses the need for a slow down. A song about a dude referencing his manhood to a lollipop brings a friskier crowd to the hardwood. Women are grinding dudes’ laps like they’re trying to start forest fires.
One of the mothers at our table puts her drink down, grabs Andrew’s hand and drags him to the floor. Don’t know why, but her actions catch me off-guard. My brother’s inverted eyebrows tells me he’s caught off guard as well. I guess neither one of us were expecting the mother of his previous student to be so aggressive. He doesn’t hesitate being her sandpaper, though.
“Katrina’s so mannish,” Rachel says to Sydney as they watch their friend grind the life out of the identical version of me.
“To be single again,” Sydney confesses.
I add my two cents. “Who says you have to be single to have a good time?” Feel her eyes on me when I say that.
“Nobody says you have to be single to have fun, but what that girl is out there doing, men might start throwing dollars her way. And with her son’s teacher at that.” Rachel says, shaking her head.
I interject, “Well, she’s single. She can do that.”
Rachel sucks her teeth. “You’re right, so let me mind my married-self’s business.”
All the women in the club go wild when an ex-Floetry member starts chanting, “I hope she cheats on you with a basketball player,” through the speakers.
“You play basketball?” That’s Sydney, a little too close to my ear.
Answer I do not. Fall into that trap I will not.
Reggae is the next circuit of music on the DJ’s turntables.
“Aw, what the hell?” the let-me-mind-my-married-business woman says while pulling me toward the dance floor.
“Murder she wrote. Nah nah nah nah, murder sheeee wrote.”
I swear this woman is trying to ruin any chance of me ever having another child as she murders my pelvis with hers. She gyrates like she’s trying to make her single friend know that her married-self can get down too. Whatever get down is. Something tells me the two took the same dance class.
Sydney’s laughing her butt off at the table. Must be a sight we’re creating.
My eyes beg for her to stop laughing and rescue me, to resuscitate what’s left of my baby-maker. She’s too busy laughing. Looks like she needs resuscitation herself from laughing too hard. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I’d laugh myself.
Three songs later, I’m numb. If I don’t get off this dance floor right now, I’ll never see my penis get hard again.
On cue, rescue comes. “Mr. Carter got us another round of drinks,” Sydney tells Rachel.
The woman reaches for the non-sipped on glass in her hand.
Sydney pulls her hand away. “Yours is on the table.” She hands the glass to me.
I blink twice for “thank you” while grabbing the glass and heading toward the table myself.
Her hand is in mine, holds me back. “Not so fast.”
I tell her, “As much as I want to dance with you, I need to ice down my groin.”
She cracks up laughing, guffaws louder than the music. The situation tickles her so much I can’t hold back my laughter any longer.
“Damn, so it actually hurt worse than it looked?”
“You knew what I was up against. Saw you laughing before we even got on the floor.”
She slaps a hand against my shoulder. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“Oh, you owe me. First, for standing me up this morning and now this. You owe me big.”
“Don’t tell her I told you. Some years ago, before she got married, she put it on a guy so bad he had to be rushed out in an ambulance.”
My eyes almost pop out of my head. “Again. You. Owe. Me.”
The crowd pushes us together. A little too close for both of our comfort zones.
She looks at me the way a woman looks at her husband on their wedding night.
All of a sudden, I feel life returning to areas I thought were long gone. Every time I try to put some distance between us, another dancer seals us back together.
“What are we doing?” she asks with too much depth in her voice.
“Right now, dancing.”
She lightly tosses her hand against my shoulder. “Don’t play. I’m being serious.”
“I am too.”
“I feel like I barely know you, but lately you’re all I think about.”
“Somebody’s getting deep in the middle of the dance floor.”
She moves away. “Forget I said that.”
“I’m flattered, actually.”
Again, we’re pushed back together by bumpers and grinders.
I say in her ear, “Look, let’s go somewhere else and talk.”
Her head shakes. “Can’t. Came with my girls and Rachel’s husband works with mine. Can’t risk anything suspect getting back home.”
“Yeah, you said that.”
“Let’s go back to the table and I’ll think of something.”
Back at the table, my brother says, “Mel’s been texting me like crazy. You look like you’re having a good time, so I texted her the address to come get me.”
“Man, I could’ve taken you home.”
“Not a problem, but,” he leans in closer, “be careful with Mrs. Holmes. Her husband’s a cop, and you know how they have eyes all over the place. Wouldn’t want the wrong thing to get back home.”
I nod.
We hug and he says his goodbyes to the ladies.
Rachel says, “Wait up, I’ll walk out with you. I need to get back home to my husband.”
Both Sydney and Katrina roll their eyes at each other.
“Don’t hate,” Rachel says, flinging her blonde hair over her shoulders. “Toodles.”
It’s just me, the single lady, and the lady who wants to be single. “And then there were three.”
“It’s about to be two,” Katrina says. “I think I see somebody I want to go home with tonight.”
Sydney grabs her friend. “Umm, too much Patrón for you tonight, my dear.”
“I’m perfectly sober, thank you very much. I’m the single one of this bunch, remember?” she says and looks us both in the eyes.
“It’s not what you think,” Sydney insists.
Katrina grabs her friend, hugs her, whispers something in her ear, and dances her way to a man waiting for her on the dance floor.
I ask, “What did she say?”
Her eyes are downcast when her lips part. “I know the smell of infidelity.”
All of a sudden, an unfamiliar stench tap dances across my nose.
16
SYDNEY
I’m in Brandon’s car.
Neither of us are talking. Think we’re both trying to Febreze the funk we’ve created in our lives.
Yes, I’m an unhappy wife, but I never imagined I’d be here, in a car, with another woman’s husband. What if he has kids? Oh gosh, EJ and Kennedy. What would this do to them? I grew up without a fa
ther in the home because my dad didn’t know how to keep his pants up when he wasn’t around my mom. What if Eric leaves me? What if he takes the kids with him?
Brandon summons me from my thoughts. “Maybe we should bow out before things go too far.”
I think about all I have to lose. “But we haven’t done anything, right?”
He shakes his head. “If we keep this up, might be a different story.”
I sigh.
“You have more at stake than I do,” Brandon says. “Let me get you to your car.”
My head hits the headrest. “How did we get here?” The question is more for me than him.
“You’re easy to talk to. The moment I walked in the gym, you were all in my ear like a Chihuahua.”
I don’t let him see my smile. “I thought you were someone else.”
He bites down on his lip. Finger taps the steering wheel. Actions of a man with serious thoughts.
My hand reaches for the door. It’s not worth it, not worth it, not worth it. Is it?
“Things that bad at home?” Brandon summons me from crazy thoughts.
“What makes you say that?”
“A happily married woman wouldn’t be in the car with a happily married man.”
“You’re giving me a ride.”
“So that story’s working for you, huh?”
I look out the window. Try to put my life in perspective without staring in the face of a man who’s brought me so much joy in such a short time. I mean, literally. All it took was a five-minute case of mistaken identity and I drive home with a newfound crush. I’m too old for a crush. I catch a glimpse of Katrina getting in a car with a man who looks like he’s out for one thing. What’s sad is I know she’s going to give it to him. She’s been running around with all kinds of subpar men since her husband left. Am I staring in the mirror of what my life would be like if I keep entertaining my unhappiness with an illusion of happiness?
“Was he wearing satin pajamas?” Brandon asks.
“She has a type,” I say. “You’d think after being dogged by every man she’s ever dated, including her ex-husband, that she’d wisen up and try a different approach.”
“Can’t be good for her kid to see.”
“Luckily, he doesn’t see much. She puts her hoeish ways on pause during the week and his dad keeps him on the weekends.”
They say if you hang around people long enough, you begin to take on some of their tendencies. Yep, I’ve been hanging around Katrina a little too long.
I turn to Brandon. “Do you have any kids?”
He shakes his head and watches the car Katrina got into drift away into the night.
My clutch purse vibrates in my lap. An incoming text from Eric.
Again, Brandon says, “Let me get you to your car.”
I give him directions to Katrina’s place, since we carpooled to the lounge. He parks behind my car and waits for me to get in and start the ignition. I roll down my window. “Meet me at the park Monday morning.”
“Six a.m. sharp.”
And with that, he drives off.
• • •
“Every time you go out lately, you stay out later and later,” Eric says as soon as I push open the bedroom door. He’s sitting up in the bed with the lamp on his nightstand on, a turned down book in his lap.
“Now, now, I haven’t said anything about all those extra shifts you’ve been pulling lately.”
He tosses the book on his nightstand. “That’s because it’s putting extra money in our pockets, ma’am.”
I walk into the closet, put my shoes back in their box. Yell out, “Well, sir, according to your buddies at work, what I’m doing is putting money in our pockets as well.”
“Not funny,” I hear him say.
I snicker to myself, then peep my head out of the closet. “Aw, babe. Look, I had to make sure Katrina got home okay. She had quite a bit to drink.” At least half of it is true.
“Don’t make me have to put an APB out on you.”
I roll my eyes as I slide out of my dress, hang it up and walk back in the room in bra and panties. Give him a longer than usual kiss on the lips. “Now why would you have to do a thing like that?”
He nibbles on my bottom lip. “Y’all have a good time?”
“Yeah, it was good, all three of us hanging out together again. It’s only been Katrina and me for a while. Rachel’s still acting like a newlywed.”
“Everyone in the unit always has jokes about the leftovers he brings in for lunch. One of the guys tries to get to it when Michael’s not looking, so he can read the note Rachel left to the rest of us. Or toss around his gold-wrapped chocolate treats.”
“Leave the man alone. I’m sure y’all would love a woman to do that for you.”
Eric sticks his finger down the back of my panties and pulls me back to him and nuzzles me down to the bed. “You used to do that way back when.”
I lightly bite at his nose. “We both used to do a lot way back when.”
He releases his hold on me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Aw, nothing, babe.” I push him back against the pillow, spread my legs across his lap. “Come shower with me?”
He firmly grips my backside. “Thought you’d never ask.”
My back is thrust against cold tile. Legs shake as Eric pumps his girth in and out of me like a jealous lover.
I claw at his back. “What has gotten into you tonight?” I pant in his ear.
He flicks his tongue against my neck, sucks hard enough to draw blood.
I moan. Yell out his name loud enough for the neighbors to have wet dreams about Eric Thomas Holmes, Sr.
There’s so much steam in the shower, it now feels like my back is up against the sun.
Hands are on my breasts, lips on my nipples.
I suck on his earlobe, stick my tongue deep in his ear. He loves when I do that. My hands glide down his back, round the firmness of his rear end, usher him deeper inside me.
Staying out past my curfew seems to have worked in my favor. Brings out the lover in this husband of mine.
Eric raises my hips, slides out of me. “Turn around,” he says.
Tonight, I’m at his will.
He slips back inside me from behind. Puts one palm up on the wall, the other one guiding my hips into him.
I’m no longer in this shower. I’m somewhere far away from here. A place where this feeling is everlasting, where I don’t have to do something to set my husband’s hormones off the Richter Scale. I’m somewhere feeling deadened places in me come back to life. I’m in an open field chasing butterflies, laughing.
I’m in a place where, when my husband calls out my name in ecstasy, I almost call out for someone else.
17
BRANDON
A white sedan pulls up next to my ride. I hit end on my cell phone without leaving a message. Toss it in the back seat.
Sydney doesn’t greet me. She wraps a timer around her neck, says, “How long can you run without stopping?” while lacing up her sneakers.
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know, maybe ten minutes or so.”
“We’ll run for five minutes at my pace, then intervals for thirty.”
“Cool.” I take a swig of my blue-colored drink. “Wait, what’s your pace?”
“You’re worried about the wrong thing,” she says and starts jogging off.
I set my drink in the cup holder, set the alarm, and do my best to catch up.
As my feet hit the pavement, my mind drifts to the phone call I just made. I’ve been calling my wife for weeks now, and not once has she picked up or responded to any of the voicemails I’ve left. Same thing when I call the job. The receptionist takes a message, but I never get a call back. Thought things between us would’ve changed after my visit to her business, but she’s left me hanging since. I should be used to it by now.
“Your head’s bobbing. Steady your pace, Brandon.”
Don’t even know why I keep trying.
Moved out, but I’m still trying. And here I am with a woman who’s allowed me to be me again, a woman who’s allowed me to not feel so guarded and off balance. Yet and still, my mind is on my wife.
“Use your arms. You’re working your legs too hard.”
Sydney’s voice breaks my trance. I do as she says and start pumping my arms.
I hadn’t realized I had lost control of my run, but now that I’m pumping my arms, I feel like I’m in control. Wish I could get control of my marriage as easy as changing a simple movement. Then again, I’ve changed quite a few things, and at the same time, nothing’s changed. I don’t know what’s happened to my wife. Seems like the more I try, the farther away she moves.
“You’re. Going. Too. Fast,” a voice yells out in slow motion.
I let thoughts of Rene drift with the wind. Look up and look for Sydney. Don’t see her. Look behind me and realize not only have I caught up with Sydney, I’ve left her in the wind as well. She’s not running behind me. She’s chasing me.
All of a sudden, I’m aware of my heart, feel it racing faster than Usain Bolt breaking another world record. My lungs struggle to expand to their full potential. Can’t catch my breath, feel myself falling.
“Don’t stop moving,” Sydney says once she’s caught up to me. Her huffing and puffing is hard from the unexpected sprint. “Give me your hands.”
I reach my hands out to her. She walks backward pulling me in her direction.
“You’ve got to keep moving. Your heart’s probably on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”
My legs feel like Jell-O. I want to sit, want to lie in the grass and close my eyes until the next lifetime.
“No. Keep your eyes open.” Sydney continues walking backward. “Don’t hold your head down, keep it up. Look at me.”
I do as told, wait for the dizziness to wane.
Everything fades to black.
• • •
She holds my wrist with three fingers. Counts as blood pulsates through my veins. “What were you trying to pull?” she asks once she’s assured I’m going to live. “You men and your egos.”
“This has nothing to do with ego.”
“So, you mean to tell me you had no problem with a woman outrunning you, that you found some sprint you didn’t even know you had?”