“Oh, the blessed day arrived seven years later when we had a beautiful baby boy. We named him Kwame after T’s uncle he liked a lot. Reebe was T’s angel, but Kwame was his heart. He doted on Kwame day and night—couldn’t wait for him to grow up so they could play ball together. And me and Reebe—soul mates.
“Then me and T began to argue again. We argued about my weight. We argued about what Kwame should eat. As he grew, we argued about what he watched on TV. When he grew into a bigger baby (you know they never grow up), we argued about what friends he could see. We argued about the violence that was on the video game T’s uncle Kwame gave little Kwame.
“We were arguing so bad that day, the video game came to life. I tried to throw a karate chop on Tyrone, but he pushed me hard and I fell and hit my head on our kitchen table. And that’s how I got the scar on my forehead. Tyrone felt bad and tried to help me up but not before saying, ‘If your ass wasn’t so big you might of kept your balance.’ And one day after picking my children up from school, I didn’t return home.
“Oh, he was still arguing. I just had enough. He complained about everything and wasn’t happy about nothing, but he didn’t do anything to make it better.
“Before we were divorced, I did open my beauty shop. That was a great day. I believe Tyrone was a little jealous about that. I was independent, didn’t need him if push came to shove. Believe me it came to that. It took awhile, but I was able to get a good clientele—that’s how I met Ms. Jacqueline Monique Baptiste—and her head needed me.”
Mona rolled her eyes. “Nobody asked you to divulge my personal information, sugar.”
Claudette shooed Mona with her hand and continued her story while the others giggled.
“And who says a full-figured woman can’t have herself a man?” Claudette’s braids swung wildly about her face as she became even more animated. Her curved, sculptured nails looked like a set of knives dancing in the air.
“Not a day goes by that some good-looking man who’s had the pleasure of my hands massaging his head doesn’t make me an offer for dinner and conversation.”
Claudette didn’t miss the looks that passed between Rachel and Sylvia.
“Oh yes, I take them up on their offer. Sorry, Mona, but your beautician don’t tell all her business. I smother Kwame, but occasionally I get smothered, too.
“I call them my disposable men—one exposure at a time. Dinner and a movie, dancing and drinking, even small trips to Birmingham for a hot, romantic interlude—lip smacking, hands pawing all over me. And it be’s so good that in the key of G, I sing ‘do, re, me, fa, so, la, tee, dooooooooooooooooooooe.’”
Marvin let out a mouth full of air. Eyes rolled around the room until they had nowhere else to go except back to Claudette, who had not missed a beat.
“I’d like to add that when I get up the next morning, only one egg, two slices of toast and two pieces of bacon will be on my breakfast table for me along with cereal for the children. I use them and lose them—disposable. Just so you don’t go and misinterpret anything, I didn’t say I didn’t like men, because I love me some man, but the only clothes I’ll be washing and the only food I’ll be cooking will be for me, Reebe, and Kwame.
“Maybe I’m in denial; I don’t know. I just don’t want no one telling me what to do, how to do it and when to do it. I can do it all by myself when I want to. I guess I can close my Ex-Files because I’m doing all right, all by myself.”
Claudette took a bow and looked at each member of the group. “If you have questions, I’ll be glad to answer them. If not, I’m finished.”
No one said a word except for an occasional giggle that seeped through someone’s lips. Then a lone voice spoke up.
“So, why are you here?” Marvin asked, his eyebrows contorted as if trying to understand her purpose.
“Same as you, I’m sure. There are days when it’s hard coping with all your household stuff, the children, the finances, an irate client and so on. For me, I was used to sharing those things with my husband and I valued his opinion, in between the arguing that is. And when T and me were together, I was a one-man woman. Can’t trust all those diseases out there; I hate the feel of condoms. I won’t risk my life, though. I’ve got Reebe and Kwame to think about. I can bounce things off of you all, and while I may not have been the most pleasant person here tonight, and I’ve apologized to Ashley already, I do feel like family.”
Everyone got up from their seat and gave Claudette a sister hug.
“I hope you’ve accepted me into the family,” Ashley said to Claudette.
“Oh yeah, you my white-skinned pregnant sister. And I’ve got my eye on you and that baby. I’ll even baby-sit on Mondays since the shop is closed on that day if you need me.”
“I’m going to hold you to it.” Ashley smiled.
“Look, I’m ready to expose my files,” Mona said. “Get back in your seats because Mona Baptiste is ready!”
Jacqueline Monique Baptiste
“I’ve got my own successful catering business, I ride around in a bad Jag, and I have a forty-two-hundred-square-foot home overlooking a beautiful lake. Does it look like I need a man?”
“You go, girl,” Claudette said, while Ashley and Rachel traded glances.
“So the question becomes, what am I doing here? The answer is simple. I am here to help you divas—and this one pitiful man—move on with your lives.”
The group erupted in laughter.
“If you don’t need a man,” Sylvia interjected, “why is it that every time I look around, you’ve got one either strapped to your bosom or sniffing around you like bees to honey?”
“You answered the question, honey. It’s the nectar, and you can interpret that any way you like.”
“That’s not a hard one to figure out,” Claudette said.
“Don’t hate, Claudette.”
Mona paused, blinked her eyes and shifted her body several times. She began to rock back and forth on her heels, as if contemplating what was to come next.
“When I was with Timothy, we were so young. Well, I was nineteen and Timothy was twenty-three. Anyway, I grew up in a wealthy family, sheltered by two older brothers and two older sisters. They treated me like a porcelain doll—too fragile to be touched. I had to be protected from all the elements—and that included the boys who tried to date me. So when I met Timothy that first year in college, I fell hard because I had been forbidden all my life to experience what it was like to have real male friendship.
“Timothy was from Trinidad-Tobago. He was a little dark for my liking, but his speech was smooth as butter. I spent a lot of time watching those lips and listening to the tone of his voice without ever really paying attention to what he was saying. I’m sure I fell in love with his rich, sexy voice that played out in Dolby stereo with lots and lots of bass that pulsated through every vein in my body. Oh yeah, I had died and gone to Heaven because he was definitely the man of my dreams.
“I wanted to take Timothy home to meet my family, but being from an old Creole family, I knew they would have issues with his color and possibly his age. Plus, Papa wasn’t about to let anybody into the family that didn’t bring a fortune with them.”
Mona lifted a handful of her dreads off her back and let them fall before continuing.
“My sisters and brothers all have lucrative careers and married money. That suited Mommy and Papa both. When I told them that I was interested in the culinary arts they frowned at me. Papa said he wasn’t wasting any money on me going to school to learn how to cook. He told me to take a good look at my siblings and what their lives had become because they understood honor among family.
“I was not like them. Papa could never understand that. They didn’t like Timothy either. Papa swore up and down that Timothy crossed the gulf in a banana boat, got a free ride to Xavier and preyed on rich girls so that he wouldn’t have to go back to live in a thatched-roof mud hut. Papa never gave me the opportunity to tell him that Timothy came from class and had a good
upbringing; he judged the outward appearance. That’s when I made up my mind that I was not going to be ruled by Jean Claude DePaul Baptiste’s iron hand. After I received my business degree, Timothy and I eloped to the chagrin of my fine, upstanding family.
“Timothy and I left New Orleans for Atlanta. Atlanta was a thriving city for blacks when we came here in the late eighties. My husband was going to medical school to become a surgeon specializing in obstetrics and I was studying at the Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts. Visions of becoming a renowned chef pulsated through me. Life seemed new and fresh for both of us. I didn’t need Papa’s money. My man and I were going to make it on our own.
“I remember the day that turned out to be a turning point in our lives. I was still in culinary school, and I became very ill. At first I thought I might have inhaled too much of the five or ten spices that I was using to marinate a pork shoulder. It could have been the smell of the fresh meat. At any rate, it felt like someone was dancing on my stomach muscles, twisting them every which way until I was unable to contain the contents inside of me. I sought refuge and comfort at the porcelain bowl in a back restroom used by all the students. A friend of mine named Suzette found me in a heap on the bathroom floor and tried to pull me out of the stall so I could get some air. Sweat poured down my face, and when I opened my eyes, Suzette was staring at me with a strange look on her face.
“‘Mona, are you pregnant?’” she asked.
“I gasped. Children were the farthest thing from my mind at the time. I was in the middle of my first year in culinary school, and whether I spoke to my family or not, I wanted to show them that I would not be just some ordinary cook, holding down the eggs and bacon in a greasy spoon. No, I would be a chef in the most prestigious restaurant in Atlanta.
“A baby. What was I going to do with a baby? Timothy was not overjoyed but didn’t quite dismiss the fact that a baby would be a part of our lives; after all, babies would soon be his world day in and day out. A baby would disrupt our time together, especially since we would be in very demanding professions once our careers began to take off. What little time we would have had for ourselves would now have to be shared three ways.
“I began to daydream about the growing embryo inside me. Somehow, the idea of bringing a new life into the world struck me as my greatest invention. It would be better than a crepe Suzette or chicken Florentine. This new formation, flesh of my flesh, would take on the likeness of Timothy and me.
“As the weeks went by, I would rub my tummy every hour on the hour, fantasizing how labor would be and what my baby would look like. Although there was no visible sign on the outside that a baby was growing inside of me, I knew. I could feel my breasts preparing for the glorious day. I would cup them and rub my nipples as I stared into the room that would soon be turned into a nursery.”
Marvin fidgeted in his seat.
“After awhile, Timothy seemed to take to the idea, often replacing my hands with his as I rubbed my stomach. We would talk about who the baby would look like—him or me. Then Timothy began to distance himself. I knew that Atlanta hadn’t grown on him in the way it seemed to embrace me, but I figured in time everything would be all right.
“Timothy spent more time away from home. We were still newlyweds, and I hoped that we could spend as much quality time together as possible before the baby came. Morning sickness was almost nonexistent in my pregnancy except for the day I puked in the toilet and nearly fainted. I always felt like a million dollars.
“Culinary school was going well, but my marriage was another matter. Timothy stopped coming home, stating that he needed some quiet time to study. Our home was modest, but there was enough space that privacy was his for the asking.
“I was still in my first trimester, and one night—it was a Friday—I began to have some minor cramping. I needed my husband. I couldn’t call my parents, since we were estranged. I called Timothy’s cell phone and couldn’t get him, so I called the school. They told me that he had gone to New Orleans—and I was supposed to be with him! I couldn’t believe my ears. I dropped the phone and began to cry. Somehow what was supposed to be my little miracle also disappeared. I lost the baby. You may call me cold, but I stripped that life off, strutted my stuff and never looked back.
“No, I never looked for him or tried to call him until he received a piece of mail at the house from Immigration. I felt I had every right to know what was in the envelope. My eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. He had applied for a green card because of his marriage to me. Can you believe that?
“I was pissing mad and for the first time in a month I called my nonexistent husband on his cell. A woman answered the phone. She had a distinct Caribbean accent. It could have been his mother. My breathing stopped for only a second, and when I got up enough nerve, I spoke.
“‘May I speak to Timothy?’
“‘Who may I ask is calling?’ the woman asked.
“‘It’s his wife,’ I replied briskly.
“There was silence; then the voice, now shaky, spoke. ‘I don’t know who you are or what kind of trick you’re trying to play. I’m his wife. Timothy and I have been married for ten years.’
“In my best Caribbean accent I told her, ‘Tell Timothy that his other wife lost their baby and he has papers here from Immigration.’
“The woman hung up the phone. I didn’t blame her…in fact I had no beef with her at all. Timothy did her a disservice, but he was my husband, too, and I was going to get to the bottom of this. I didn’t turn my back on my mother and father’s advice about marrying Timothy for it to come to this so soon after we were married.
“Oh, Timothy called, hot as molten lava from an active volcano. There was nothing that man could say to me. Not once did he say he was sorry. I turned him in to Immigration and if they deported his ass, I don’t know because that life was over. I began to live life for me, Jacqueline Monique Baptiste. I loved Atlanta, and I made it home. Men have come and gone, but I’m happy with Mona just the way she is. I didn’t spend time crying about spilled milk. I took a rag, wiped it up, threw it in the trash can and moved on to greener pastures. I haven’t looked back since. And life has been good.
“So, sister Mona is here to help you get over the hurdles and pass on some survival skills. These little meetings are fine, but I say don’t take no stuff and get whatever is coming to you. I’m finished and I don’t need a group hug.
“Whew!” Mona sighed as she looked around at the group. “Glad I got that off my chest. Didn’t intend to go there, but there’s something about purging your soul…Ex-Files, if that’s what you like to call it.”
Marvin Thomas
Marvin looked around at the ladies. Everyone was still caught up in Mona’s Academy Award-winning performance. Her little act didn’t get past him. Deep inside that exterior was a woman who wanted to be loved and had something to give in return. Mona painted over her loneliness with coats of self-confidence and expensive things to show the world that she had arrived and couldn’t be touched. Marvin remembered how she’d thrown herself at him at one of the events she’d catered for his company, even though she knew he was married. Mona was very attractive but not the kind of woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
He coughed into his hands.
“It’s time for our fine brother to share his files.” Mona laughed.
Marvin felt like daggers were penetrating his whole body as the ladies stared back at him. It might have been easy for Mona to stand up there and rattle on about the demise of her marriage, but Marvin truly loved his wife.
“Ladies, this is more difficult than I imagined. I didn’t know I would be put on the spot and have to divulge my pain.”
“You don’t have to,” Sylvia cut in. “Share what you want us to know. You may only want to tell us why you chose to come here tonight.”
“I appreciate that, Sylvia, but I think I want to share with someone how I’ve been feeling these last few months. I know we men are supposed to
be macho, but I’m a real man with real feelings, and I’ve been hurt badly.”
Marvin looked out and latched onto Rachel’s eyes. She looked away fast as if she had been caught spying into his soul and was afraid of the repercussion. Marvin panned among the other ladies, wrung his hands, and dropped his head slowly without uttering a word. He looked up again and saw as much pain on the ladies’ faces as he felt in his heart.
“If you don’t feel like saying anything…,” Sylvia said.
“No, I do. It’s just hard getting started.”
“Just pick a place in your life that was good and start there,” Sylvia suggested.
His lips and mustache moved, but nothing came forth. Marvin beat his hand with his fist and sighed.
“Maybe if I take my coat off I’ll be able to breathe.” Marvin laughed uneasily. He took off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. His muscles appeared to bulge through the soft fibers of his blue shirt.
“Take it off, take it all off,” Claudette screamed.
There were short bouts of laughter.
“I’m a simple brother. What you see is what you get.”
“I like,” Claudette hollered out. Rachel rolled her eyes at her.
“So uncouth,” Mona said, shaking her head.
“I had a good upbringing—wonderful parents and three sisters who doted on their brother. My cousin, Harold, was my best friend and business partner,” Marvin said.
“I had three aspirations in life. They were to go to college, own my own business, and find the one woman in the world that would love me as much as I loved her, who would share my dreams and visions for the future while I acknowledged hers, and have a family.
Ex-Terminator Life After Marriage Page 5