EX-Terminator Life After Marriage
ALSO BYSUZETTAPERKINS
A Love So Deep
Behind the Veil
Strebor Books
P.O. Box 6505
Largo, MD 20792
http://www.streborbooks.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2008 by Suzetta Perkins
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-6557-4
ISBN-10: 1-4165-6557-4
LCCN 2007943469
Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonSays.com
“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.”
—HELENKELLER
“Love is a feeling, marriage is a contract, and relationships are work.”
—LORIGORDON,
American marriage therapist, family therapist, relationship coach and entrepreneur founder of PAIRS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I give honor to God from whom all my blessings flow. I am nothing without Him. I marvel at what a literary journey this has been. As a dreamer, this journey has taken me beyond my wildest imagination.
I’d like to thank my family, who has been so supportive of me, not only in my writing but in every aspect of my life. To my dad, Calvin G. Goward, Sr., your constant encouragement has made me what I am today, and it certainly boosts my ego when I call and you say that you’re reading my novel over again. I love you.
To my daughter, Teliza, and son, JR, thank you for always being by my side and singing my praises. JR, you’ve been a constant companion while on the road, so much so that when I’m at a Strebor affair and you’re not there, the authors ask about you.
To my son-in-law, Will, I’m praying for your safe return home from Iraq. In the meantime, there’s nothing like a good book that has your mother-in-law’s name on it to keep you going. I love you.
To my sisters, Jennifer and Gloria, and my brothers, Mark and Calvin, thanks for being part of my experience. Jennifer, thanks for making my book popular in the friendly skies of American Airlines. Your co-workers are the bomb—buying my book like it was cotton candy at the fair. Mark, tell my nephew, Ezekiel, that he can’t write any more book reports about his auntie’s novels that are not geared for nine-year-olds. He will write his own someday that are sure to become bestsellers.
To my cousin, Doris, thanks for the wonderful brunch you had for me in California to celebrate my work. To be in the company of family is a great feeling. Having my dad, Uncle James, Dorothy, Virginia, and Stacey to celebrate before going to Underground Books with the illustrious Mother Rose to share my literary work was priceless.
To my sisters-in-law, Celeste, Dolly, and Gwen, I thank you for being so supportive—Celeste for telling the world about me and making me proud when I saw you walk through the door of the Underground Book Store, and Gwen and Dolly for the wonderful dinner on the wharf and the opportunity to sign my book. That was a moment captured in time.
I’d like to especially thank Dr. Shirish Devasthali, who gave of his time to share with me the nature of breast cancer—its progression in stages and a patient’s treatment/outcomes as part of my research for this book. A special thanks also goes to Dr. Ed Dickerson aka/Coconut Shrimp of Cape Fear Aesthetics Day Spa in Fayetteville, North Carolina, whose day spa provided the model for the one in this novel. And to Dr. Saundra Shorter, one of my biggest fans, I love you.
To my publisher, Strebor Books/Simon and Schuster, you are the reason I’ve been able to succeed on my journey. Zane, you’re at the top of your game. Thank you for believing in me. Charmaine, you are the best of the best. You have meant so much to me, and I appreciate you being part of my journey. A special thank you goes to Keith of Marion Designs for my beautiful cover. You’re the bomb.
To my agent, Maxine Thompson, you make me smile. You and I have grown together and without you my journey would not have taken flight. Thanks for your love, understanding and the opportunity to soar.
To my publicist Donna Hill of Donna Hill Promotions, thank you for helping to put me on the map.
A special thank you to all the book clubs: Sistahs Book Club, Mary Farmer and the Sister Circle Book Club, Deborah Burton and Turning Pages Book Club, Deisdy Paige and the ladies of Alpha Kappa Alpha and others for letting me share my novels with them. A special thanks to Angela Reid, president of Imani Book Club, for always being there.
Last but not least, I appreciate the bookstores, especially Denise Skeels at Waldenbooks in Fayetteville; Mother Rose at the Underground Books in Sacramento; Bernard Henderson at Alexander Book Co. in San Francisco and for the spot on TV’s ACCESSF’sThe Bernard and Winifred Show ; Jason Rosenberg, Donna Walton, and Trudy Holden of the Army and Air Force Exchange System (AAFES) at Fort Bragg, N.C., Ft. Jackson, S.C., and Ft. Gordon, GA for being so supportive; and Sheri Brooks, CEO of Dynasty Publications, for the opportunity to promote my book with Detroit’s listening audience on your television showWordz in Motion.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Day of Reckoning
D-Day
Meeting in the Ladies Room
Sylvia St. James
Rachel Washington
EX-cuses don’t count
Ashley Jordan-Lewis
Claudette Beasley
Jacqueline Monique Baptiste
Marvin Thomas
EX-hale
The Road to Recovery
Glitches in the Road
Feast Your Eyes on This
EX-cept This
EX-citement
EX-ample?
EX-cuse Me
EX-amine This
EX-treme Makeover
EX-foliate
Escargot
EX-cedrin Headache 101
EX-tenuating Circumstances
EX-planation, Please
Escape
EX-posed
The EX-clusive at Three
Blame it on the Rain
Claudette Beasley
One for the Road
A Friend in Need
The Prodigal EX
Anything for my Man
EX-plain this to Me
Ashley Jordan-Lewis
EX-Files
Nothing Like an EX
Don’t Look Now
Sylvia St. James
Rachel Washington
EX-tra Curricular Activity
Guilty
Ashley Jordan-Lewis
Isn’t This What a Support Group is For?
Life Ain’t Fair
Life Support
EX-travagance at its Best
Jacqueline Monique Baptiste
EX in the Middle
Bottoms Up
Conference Call
Let’s Get Together
EX-pired
EX-Files
All Alone
Up, Up, and Away
A Special Lady
EX-quisite
Jacqueline Monique Baptiste
Going Home
An EX-page out of History
A Time of Healing
Something’s Wrong at this House
Hurricane Katrina
An EX Crisis
Hoping for the Best
Make My Day
EX-Files
Concerne
d
Sylvia St. James
Return from the Brink
It’s All in the Family
Girls’ Conversation
EX-Files
No He Didn’t
No They Didn’t
About the Author
Discussion Guide
Day of Reckoning
The clock sat quiet on the nightstand, its green fluorescent numbers shouting out three a.m. Heavy breathing was muffled under the layers of bed linen draping the large mass that lay in the middle of the bed. Every now and then the large formation would shift and a new pattern would occur.
In an instant, the still formation erupted—the mass tossing and turning under the bedcovers that rustled as the silk fibers rubbed against each other.
“No, don’t go, please don’t go,” a voice cried out in the darkness. Then quiet.
The dreams were coming again, and Sylvia St. James let them play in her subconscious.
“What did you say, Adonis? I know I didn’t hear what I thought I heard.”
“I want a divorce, Sylvia. I can’t say it any plainer than that.”
“But why, Adonis? When did you decide this? I didn’t know that our marriage was in trouble.”
“That’s the problem with you. You’re always too busy to notice what’s going on right under your nose. Too busy trying to kiss the boss’ behind. Too busy trying to be something you’re not. Think you’re better than everybody else, and—if you remember before we got married, I told you I didn’t like fat women.”
“I’ll get on the treadmill tomorrow, I promise, but can we talk about this…try to work it out? We have invested so much of our lives into this marriage. Our daughter, what is she going to think?”
“Sylvia, I’m unhappy. I’ve been unhappy a long time, and now it’smy time. I’ve got to go.”
“But…but what about me?”
“What about you? Look, Sylvia, the love slipped out of our marriage a while ago. Of course, you were too busy to notice. I don’t have a lot of time left on this earth, and I’d like to enjoy a little happiness before I go.”
“Time left on earth?” Sylvia muttered. “What are you talking about? Where are you going? No one will ever love you like I do, Adonis.”
“Sylvia, please don’t sound so desperate. You’ll do fine. You always do.”
“Don’t go, Adonis. Don’t leave me like this. Nooooooooooooo!” Sylvia screamed.
The cream-colored silk comforter slid to the floor as Sylvia rolled from side to side, caught up in her dream-memory.
“Nooooooooooo!” she screamed once more into the early morning. “No. No.”
Pulling her hand from underneath her, Sylvia began to beat the pillow on which her head rested. She pounded the soft down until her arm tired. She peeled her eyes open then sat up slowly, sweat pouring from her brow. She scanned the dark room, her eyes out of focus. After a moment, she was able to make out the outline of the “T”-iron that Adonis had left behind: his winning golf club that he had nicknamed “Tiger.”
Sylvia slowly brought her hands to her face to catch the stream of water that ran from her eyes and threatened to soak her nightgown. Her breathing was labored as her sobs, soft at first, became loud wails. She sobbed and sobbed, then grabbed her throat to keep from choking. She wrapped her arms around her chest and shook herself from side to side.
“Why, Adonis, why? Why did you leave me? I loved you with all my heart and soul. Why, why?”
Finally, there was quiet…an occasional sniff. Sylvia unfolded her arms, drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She laid her head on the bend of her knees and began to rock back and forth, willing her dream to recede. She sniffed again.
Sylvia lifted her head and turned toward the nightstand that held the clock. It was three fifty-five a.m. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, almost slipping on the comforter that had fallen to the floor. She moved to the bathroom and relieved herself, washed her hands, then looked into the mirror.
Almond-shaped eyes, which were framed by high-arched brows, stared back at Sylvia. She circled her eyes with her fingers. Even in the dim light, her skin seemed blotchier than it’d been the day before. Her face was discolored something awful, and the older she got the more defined the blotches became.
Sylvia’s reflection stared back at her, daring her to speak.
“You don’t need him.”
Sylvia put her hand to her mouth, not sure whether it was she or the reflection that had spoken.
“Yeah, I don’t need him. Get ahold of yourself, girl, and grab the world by its axis. It’s time to take my life back and leave this pity party at the doorstep.”
Sylvia was sure this time that the reflection in the mirror wasn’t talking, but the face that stared back meant serious business.
D-Day
“Where’s my purse?” Sylvia shouted to no one, moving from room to room, looking in corners and closets, pulling on her too-short linen dress every two seconds. “I’ve got lots to do and I want everything perfect before the ladies come. Ouch, darn! Not my stockings. This is not the time to get a run. Now I’ve got to stop and change them.
“Here’s my purse,” Sylvia continued to ramble out loud, her nylon-clad legs making a swishing sound as they rubbed together when she trotted back to her room to put on new hose. “Hiding from me again. I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to get to the beauty shop by ten and I still have to stop and get gas before I go.”
Brrng…brrng.
“Damn! Whoever it is, I don’t have time to talk.” Sylvia let out a sigh when she saw the name on the caller ID.
“Hello, Mother. I’m in a hurry right now. Getting ready to go to the shrink.”
“The shrink? I thought you were having a men-hating party today? And hello to you, too.”
“I’m sorry. Just got a lot to do and I’m running behind time. Our first meeting is tonight, and I’ve got to look good for the occasion. Arial, my shrink, is going to give me a touch-up. And I can’t wait to get to the shampoo bowl to partake in the divine five-minute head scrub that causes you to have the most wonderful multiple orgasms.”
“Sylvia St. James! I know you didn’t just say what I thought you said.”
“Mom, I’m a forty-five-year-old, good-looking woman—although lately my attention-grabbing curves have become a series of bumps on a line, hidden under my extra layer of fat.”
“Stop beating yourself up. You just need to lay off some of those carbs and get some exercise.”
“You’re right. And today is the first day of my real healing. I’ve got a reasonable portion of my health and strength and I know that there is a world of somebodies out there waiting on me.”
“Be careful what you ask for.”
“A baby and twenty years of my life, Ma, and he had to go and—”
“Let’s not talk about it.”
“That’s the problem. I need to talk about it.” Sylvia paused. “I had one of my dreams last night.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I wish I could be there for you. He’s messin’ up your mind and he ain’t even thinking about you,” her mother said.
“Thanks for the support, Mom. That’s why I’m having this meeting. Now, I’ve gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” And the line was dead.
Sylvia stood in the middle of the room with hands on her voluptuous hips—gold bangles dangling from one arm—and surveyed her surroundings. In one corner stood a wooden African fertility statue that looked as lonely as she did. Six months had passed since the judge declared that the marriage of Adonis and Sylvia St. James was dissolved, but today, Sylvia made her own declaration that she was ready to live again.
Sylvia looked down at her watch. It was almost ten o’clock on a beautiful summer day in June, and she had to get going. Her adrenaline was high, excited about the prospect of sitting with other women who were divorced and sharing ideas about how to move on. She grabbed her belongings an
d rushed out the door. As she yanked open the door of her silver BMW 530i sedan, her hand slipped. “Aw hell,” she muttered, surveying her broken nail, trying to will away the pain. After a couple of seconds she put the key in the ignition and headed for the gas station two blocks down.
Five minutes away, Sylvia thought. She would still be on time. At the corner, she looked in her purse for her gas card, then remembered she had taken it out and put it on the nightstand. Sylvia shook her head in disbelief. Her road to healing had some major obstacles.
She rummaged through her wallet, which was crammed with receipts. Adonis was always telling her that her purse was going to get stolen one day, and the robber would know her life story. She sifted through the papers until her fingers pulled up a folded twenty-dollar bill. “Thank You, God. You’re so good. And I promise to pay careful attention to what I’m doing from now on.”
Arial’s mouth was moving a mile a minute when Sylvia walked into the beauty shop. Her petite frame was dressed to the nines: starched white linen slacks and a white short-sleeved blouse with lacy scallops running around the collar; hair piled high into a ponytail revealing the two-carat diamond studs that dotted each earlobe; and her immaculately manicured feet were stuffed in a pair of Dr. Scholl’s comfort sandals made for standing long hours—her strappy gold stilettos sitting off to the side. Although Arial was in her late forties, she could easily pass for thirty. But more than that, the girl could hook up some hair. Arial had the gift.
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