Ex-Terminator Life After Marriage

by Suzetta Perkins

  “Turn around and go back to where you came from,” Marvin snapped.

  “Come on. Let’s not act like a spoiled child. We were married once.”

  “Were. Remember that.”

  “You are so hostile, Marvin. It doesn’t become you.”

  “A lot of things about me have changed, Denise, and you are the major cause of it.”

  “Ouch. So, where is your girlfriend?” Denise asked as she sauntered over to peer into the kitchen, oblivious to Marvin still standing guard at the front door.

  “She’s at a meeting.”

  “So…you’re by yourself. Ummmm.”

  “Not for long.”

  “You’re expecting her later? This might be fun,” she said, smiling seductively as she came back toward him.

  “Denise, I’m telling you only once. Go home.”

  Denise suddenly lunged at him, catching him unaware. Smothering his mouth with hers was the easy part. Holding on to Marvin proved to be a little more difficult.

  “Don’t fight me, Marvin,” she whispered against his lips.

  “No…uhhh…no, Denise. Stop. Please stop,” Marvin muttered.

  Fingerprints left evidence around Marvin’s neck and on his arms like a kindergartener’s artwork. Denise squeezed and kissed Marvin as if her life depended upon it. Marvin held up the wall like a sergeant at arms—defiant yet accommodating as Denise continued her assault on his lips and neck, holding tight. This was the kind of moment Marvin relished—complete spontaneity—and Denise’s aggressiveness drove him mad with pleasure. She slipped out of the dress and stood before him in nothing but heels, push-up bra and thong.

  Marvin suddenly relaxed and enjoyed Denise’s playfulness and her deceitful attempt to try and arouse him. He thought about Rachel sharing their ugly moment at the restaurant with the group. She’d probably ridiculed him in front of the ladies, made him look like a common street thug with no class or style even though he’d brought her to one of the finest restaurants in town. He looked at Denise and kissed her passionately on the lips. He grabbed her buttocks with both hands and squeezed hard, pulling her close to him until she could feel what she thought she wanted.

  “Whoa, baby,” Denise said as she pushed away. “I’ve got all night. Let’s take our time. I like this, Marvin.”

  Marvin looked at Denise with contempt. He would have been all right if she had kept her mouth closed. The wine had warmed him inside and Denise had warmed him outside, but now Rachel’s image floated in front of him once more. There was no way he could give in to Denise’s sexual badgering.

  Denise blew Marvin a kiss, then licked the tip of her index finger with her tongue, beckoning him to come closer.

  She was beautiful, but he didn’t love her anymore, he realized. Marvin looked at his left hand and pulled his wedding ring off. He went to Denise and placed the ring in her hand.

  “Put your clothes back on, Denise. I remember the woman I fell in love with…the woman who completed me…the woman who crept into all of my dreams…the woman I would have died for. I don’t see her anymore. I see a woman who would use her body to get what she wants…how she wants it. I would be lying if I said you didn’t look good to me, but the truth of the matter is you don’t look good enough. I’m sorry.”

  Denise’s eyes shot daggers at him, but her voice was calm. “I’ll leave, but just know that the little tramp you were hanging out with yesterday ain’t half the woman I am. Remember that.” She put a little extra shimmy into putting her dress back on.

  “Let me be the judge.” But Marvin was speaking to a closed door.

  Claudette Beasley

  The champagne-colored Nissan Altima swerved in and out of traffic as Claudette headed toward the beauty shop. Rain fell in buckets and visibility was low, but she plowed on unconscious of the blaring horns that warned her not to cross the line again. Pink fingernails gripped the steering wheel with one hand and a lighted cigarette hung from the other. Bleach-blonde dreads moved each time Claudette shook her head at the thought of what she would find.

  She continued to drive in silence, whimpering softly as she tried to remain calm. She was within blocks of her shop and now could see the fire engine as it sat quietly against a street full of colorful umbrellas, whose owners had come hell or high water to view what the rain had failed to put out.

  A policeman blocked the road as Claudette neared and motioned for her to detour. She waved the policeman down, and he approached her car.

  “Ma’am, you need to turn and go the other way. We’ve got us a mess here.”

  “Is it bad?” Claudette asked, fighting back the tears.

  “It’s a total. The owner is probably glad it burned down, sitting in this run-down neighborhood. Probably got no insurance, either. Now ma’am, you need to move on. You’re obstructing traffic. You need to move before I give you a ticket.”

  “I’m the owner of the building that just burned down in this raggedy neighborhood. I worked hard to build my business, and when I collect on my insurance, I’m going to rebuild in the very same spot. And your hair needs washing; smells like old grease. Now move away from my car.”

  The officer moved back and stared at Claudette as she prepared to drive away. “We’ll need some information from you—if youare the owner,” he said.

  “When I get back. I’ve got to check on my son.” Claudette looked in her rearview mirror as she sped away. “I’ll be back sooner than you think.”

  Rachel had some regrets about baring her soul to the ladies about her night with Marvin. She couldn’t take it back, but she felt she needed her sisters at the time. But it was no longer about her.

  She picked up the phone and dialed Mona’s number. Mona wouldn’t forgive her or the group if they neglected to tell her about Claudette’s shop catching on fire.

  “Mona,” Rachel said when she heard Mona’s voice at the other end.

  “Rachel, how was the meeting? Did you get the candy and wine Marvin brought you for your make-up session?”

  “What are you talking about, Mona?”

  “I ran into Marvin just before…oh, I think I’ve messed up. Can I call you back?”

  “Not so fast.”

  “Look, Rachel. I’m out on a date. It’s very rude of me to be talking on my cell phone when I have a handsome gentleman feeding me caviar.”

  “Yuck.”

  “Look, I saw Marvin when he was on his way to your house, and I tried to warn him about the meeting. I guess it didn’t do any good.”

  “No, it didn’t. You could have givenus a call to warnus that Marvin was on his way. But, no, that was too much for you to do. Selfish you.”

  “Yes, selfish me. Now I’ve got to go. Why did you call in the first place?”

  “It’s Claudette.”

  “Claudette? What about Claudette?” Mona asked with sincerity.

  “Her shop burned down.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, and Kwame might have done it.”

  “Thanks, Rachel. I’ve got to get to Claudette.”

  “Okay, I thought you’d want to know.”

  Her knees felt wobbly as Claudette proceeded to the information desk to inquire about Kwame. There was little activity aside from the occasional guard who walked by and flipped a “what’s going on” sign to the sergeant behind the information desk. Before Claudette could ask about Kwame’s whereabouts the outer door to the police station opened and in walked Tyrone, looking like the young serviceman she’d married so many years before.

  Tyrone moved swiftly toward Claudette dressed in an olive dress shirt, off-white slacks and blazer and a tie that tied it all together. A diamond earring sat in the lobe of his left ear, and his hair was trimmed close to his scalp. Kwame looked so much like his father, she thought.

  Claudette stood in the middle of the room, not knowing what to say. Tyrone met her and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Hey, girl. We’ll get through this together,” Tyrone said. “Let’s go find our son.�
�

  “Thank you, T. I appreciate you coming down.”

  “Claudette, Kwame is my son, too. I would have been here even if you hadn’t called.”

  One for the Road

  “Michael, I really hate to leave.”

  “Then don’t. I don’t think I could stand to have you out of my sight for even a second.”

  “Flattery usually works but my friend Claudette needs me. Her beauty shop caught on fire, and I know she’s at her wit’s end.”

  Michael sat the glass of wine on the table. “If you must, I do understand. The night is young, and there’s yet so much to enjoy.”

  Mona smiled. She liked Michael Broussard’s style. He was smooth as silk and he wasted no time in telling her what he wanted.

  “I want you, Mona. Ever since I laid eyes on you at the Gordons’ party, it became my mission to pursue you for this moment. Timing, I say, and it has been well worth the wait. I don’t want to sound selfish, but…no, you do what is best.”

  “What if I come back? I need to know that Claudette is okay.”

  “Why don’t I drive you? You can leave your car at the restaurant and we’ll pick it up later.”

  “Really? I don’t want you to go out of your way. I’ve already spoiled our evening.”

  “Not a problem. We can check on your friend and continue where we left off once we know she’s all right.”

  “I’d like that, Michael. I feel lucky to be in your company.”

  “Mona, it’s just the beginning.”

  Mona gazed into Michael’s eyes and wouldn’t let go. This man could not be real. It had been a long time since someone who was worthy of the society page crossed the threshold into her life. She blinked.

  “Let me get my umbrella. It’s still raining outside.”

  A scared Kwame sat in a room with two chairs and a table. Claudette and Tyrone rushed in when the officer gave them access.

  “Baby,” Claudette wailed, “tell Momma what happened!”

  Kwame looked at Claudette, then Tyrone, and dropped his head.

  “Kwame,” Claudette pressed, “what happened? Where is your sister? Why were you at the shop?”

  “Take it easy, Claudette. Can’t you see that he’s traumatized?” Tyrone said.

  “I just want to understand what happened, Tyrone. Why did they pick you up, Kwame?”

  “Because they panicked and left me at the shop, and I was the only one there when the fire truck got there.”

  “Who is ‘they,’ Kwame?”

  “I…I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Some guys and Reebe.”

  “Where is your sister?”

  “She’s with the guys.”

  Ohhhhhhhh,Claudette sighed out loud.

  “Kwame,” Tyrone began, “what happened today?”

  “It was an accident, Daddy.”

  “What was an accident?”

  “The fire.”

  “What happened?” Tyrone pushed.

  “I lit a cigarette like I see Momma do. Reebe was kissing—I mean, talking to this guy, and when she smelled the smoke she screamed at me to put the cigarette out. I threw the cigarette in the trash can. Then it caught on fire.”

  Tyrone took charge. “Where was Reebe when the police picked you up?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see her anywhere after I ran outside. I guess she was scared and ran away with that guy she was with.”

  Claudette popped her knuckles and got up from the chair. There was fire in her eyes, but she didn’t say a word. There were so many “what ifs” to be answered. What if she had stayed home and not gone to the meeting? What if she had been more responsible…had not left the cigarettes lying around? What if she had paid more attention to the company her daughter was keeping instead of making sure her own needs were at the top of her priority list? What if?

  “Sit down, Claudette. Don’t go blaming yourself for what happened,” Tyrone said. “Kwame didn’t do it on purpose. We have to make sure the law understands that.”

  “Oh, it’s not that. You get a second chance at life T, and things are going fine. There’s never a thought that things could go wrong again…ruin your life.”

  “You can rebuild the shop, Claudette.”

  “I keep thinking about how hard I worked to get to where I am today. What am I going to do? No income means I won’t be able to pay the mortgage, the car note, the light bill, the phone bill…”

  “Enough. It’s not all about you. We have Kwame to consider, also. We can rebuild the shop, and I’ll help you until you get on your feet.”

  “No handouts. I can make it on my own,” Claudette stated.

  “Have it your way.”

  “Momma, Daddy, I can’t take it. I didn’t mean to burn the shop down.” Kwame placed his head down on the table and cried.

  “Son,” Tyrone said, “we believe you. We’re going to talk with the police and see what we can do.”

  “I’m scared,” Kwame cried. “Daddy, I’m scared.”

  Claudette and Tyrone went to their son and hugged him. “We’re going to get you out of here,” they assured him.

  “I’m grateful for the neighbor who saw the building on fire as she passed by. Kwame could have been killed. Thank God for cell phones.”

  The door to the interrogation room opened.

  “Is everything all right in here?” the officer asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Tyrone said. “I need to talk to someone about my son. He told his mother and me that it was an accident, and we believe him.”

  A Friend in Need

  Anderson Cooper concluded another interview on CNN. An ad for Allstate began to play on the screen.

  Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaww. Caaaaaaaaaaawww. Caaaaaaaaawwwww.Marvin jerked his head up, then down.Caaaaaaaaaaawwww. Caaaaaaaaawwwww. His eyes popped open at the sound of the phone ringing. Groggy, he sat staring into space as the phone continued to ring. In slow motion, Marvin reached for the mobile that sat on the table.

  “Hello,” he mumbled.

  “Marvin?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Rachel. Is this a bad time?”

  “Rachel. No…oh no, this is not a bad time. I’m sorry, I fell asleep on the couch—a deep sleep—and I’m still a little out of it.”

  Marvin was happy to hear Rachel’s voice. The incident earlier was childish, and he was going to make it up to her. He understood how she must have felt seeing Denise at the restaurant hovering over him, and she did what most women do: confide in a friend.

  “I want to apologize for this evening, Marvin.”

  “No need, Rachel. I’m the one who needs to apologize. I want you to know that I had no idea Denise was going to be at that restaurant. In fact, I didn’t know she was in town. I do hope we can start over…get a fresh start, because I do enjoy your company.”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  “If you’re not busy, maybe I can drop by. I know tomorrow is Monday, but I won’t stay long.”

  “Why don’t you pick me up? Claudette’s shop burned down tonight,” Rachel told him.

  “Oh my God.”

  “She got the call while she was at the meeting. Maybe we can check on her—she was not doing well and I’m concerned about her state.”

  “I’m on my way, Rachel. We have to help Claudette. That’s what the group is all about—supporting one another during a crisis.”

  “You’re right. I’m lucky to have you, Mr. Thomas.”

  “I’m the lucky one. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Beasley?” the judge asked.

  “Yes,” both Claudette and Tyrone said.

  “Do you have an attorney for Kwame?”

  “No, sir,” Tyrone replied. “Our son has said the fire was an accident and his mother and I would like to take him home given this information.”

  “Sir, your son is being charged with a serious crime. Arson is a felony, and he was found at the sce
ne of the crime. I recommend that you obtain a lawyer. Bail is set at fifteen-thousand dollars.”

  “Jesus,” Claudette spat out. “Fifteen-thousand dollars. My baby can’t stay the night.”

  “Ma’am, you and your husband are going to be asked about your whereabouts while your son was at the shop.”

  “Don’t say anything else, Claudette. Let’s get an attorney.”

  “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!” Claudette wailed. “I’m going to kill Reebe.”

  “You can’t talk about killing anybody,” Tyrone tried to whisper.

  “I’m going to—”

  “Excuse my wife…”

  “Ex-wife,” Claudette corrected.

  “Ex-wife, sir. Excuse my ex-wife. She’s a little distraught.”

  “I need a cigarette,” Claudette said.

  “Not now, Claudette. Have you forgotten that cigarettes are the root of this whole problem?”

  “I need a cigarette and I need to see Kwame.”

  “Okay. Then I’m taking you home and I’ll try to work the other out.”

  Claudette was unable to move. She shivered at the thought of Kwame being left alone at the juvenile detention center. How she wished she could control fate and erase the moment that now caused her so much pain and frustration. She was a tigress when it came to standing up to Ashley’s ex, William. Now here she was at the detention center, unable to save her own son.

  She let Tyrone lead her from the room.

  “What a nasty night. I would hate to see you out here in all this mess. I’m glad you agreed to let me take you,” Michael said.

  “I’m glad, too. Hopefully, the rain will have stopped by the time I’m ready to go home,” Mona replied.

  “We can remedy that, too.”

  Mona smiled. She wasn’t quite ready to expose herself to Mr. Broussard just yet, but she’d keep the offer in the back of her mind.

  “Where to?” Michael asked.

  “The south end of Stone Mountain. Claudette should be home. I’ll call her cell.”

  Michael stole glances at Mona as she chatted briefly with Claudette. He held the steering wheel with his left hand and allowed the other to gently graze Mona’s other hand which hung over the console. Mona flinched, then turned in Michael’s direction, finally ending her phone call with Claudette.