I was in a much better mood when the entire family sat down to that table for prayer and breakfast. A better mood than the one I was in the previous night at dinner. We laughed. We joked. We did all of the family things we had been doing since we became a family. The familiar kept me sane even if only for a little while.
It saddened me when breakfast was over and every one headed off to their separate days. The kids to school, and Ashton to his architectural firm. It made me a bit nervous to be alone again, to be faced with the prospect of dealing with my present and, even worse, my future. So I chose to avoid rather than deal. I chose to escape rather than face. I chose housework over thought. And after drowning myself in some much needed chores and blasting my stereo speakers as it pumped out my favorite Motown oldies, I was feeling pretty good in no time at all.
When I was done with all of the cleaning, and my mind tried to take me there, to Washington, to Asanti, I directed myself to prayer. I needed prayer, needed to get back to God. But with everything I had done, would God even hear my prayers? Would he even find me worthy to talk to him while I was married to two men at the same time? The sanctity of marriage was sacred and I had violated it in the worst way. Could I go to God and ask for help with something so heinous? Could I confess to being a whore and partly loving it?
I shook my head at those thoughts. I knew I needed to pray, to talk to God, to ask Him to make things right within me so I could make things right within my life. But my conscience wouldn’t allow me to ask for forgiveness for something I knew I would continue to do, even if it was just for a little while. So rather than pray and get my mind together, get my life together, I turned my thoughts to my office and decided to get some work done. Even If I was home a day early and could rest easy and relax for a minute, my mind had already shown me that it wouldn’t let me, so I chose to keep busy. I needed to keep busy.
“Hey Marilyn,” I spoke into the phone after dialing the number to my editor and very good friend.
“Hey yourself, London,” she sang back into the receiver. “Whatcha doing back so early?”
I was just about to question how she knew I was home when the answer dawned on me. I seemed often to forget that we were in the day and age of technology and that her caller id gave my whereabouts away.
“I missed the family, couldn’t wait to see them and now I can’t wait to see you either.”
“Oh, I’m so touched,” Marilyn feigned mushy gratitude.
I laughed out loud. It felt good. “But seriously,” I continued, “can we move our meeting from tomorrow to today? I really need to knock out a few things this week and I may as well start with what’s most important.”
“Actually I’m glad you called because the in-laws are coming in tomorrow from Maine and I was going to have to reschedule anyway. So you’re doing me a big favor,” she rushed into the phone. Marilyn usually rushed with everything. Being the mother of three sets of twins did that to a person. “I have a busy week ahead of me.”
“Why are they coming here?” I wanted to know.
“Because they really like being a pain in my ass, and leaving that for the holidays only is pure torture for them.”
I laughed again. Marilyn was nothing if not blunt.
And honest.
“So how about we meet at Greedy’s in about an hour?” I asked her. “Or is that too soon?”
“Not soon enough,” she informed me “The nanny’s here, I’m famished and I’m walking out of the door right now.” Before I could respond, I heard a series of clicks and quickly realized that I was hanging on the line alone. I laughed as I hung up the phone and less than an hour later, I was face to face with my editor and best friend since childhood as we ordered lunch.
“So, do you think you can handle it?” I asked her after going into great detail about my project.
“Can I handle it? Sure,” she answered with no pause. She was certain of her answer. “But do I want to handle it? That’s another question, another issue altogether.”
I stared at her, fully understanding her plight. I wanted her to edit a book I was writing about Hurricane Katrina. A storm that killed her brother, his wife, and their two kids. That was a lot for anyone to deal with and only a few years after the fact.
I hadn’t faced or dealt with how I chose to stay to get the story and wound up trapped in the city, fearing greatly for my life. I’d lost two fellow Journalists and that had stung like hell. But Marilyn, Marilyn had lost her only brother, her best friend in this world, and his family. That had to still be devastating.
“Trust me, I understand. I really do,” I reached out and grabbed her hand across the table.
Something in her eyes told me that she appreciated that move and I could visibly see her working her way through a decision.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said after removing her hand from mine and forking Caesar salad into her mouth, “I’ll do the book for you. But only if you tell my brothers’ story in it.”
Now I was the one who wasn’t sure if I could do it. I was there when her brother and his family drowned. I was there when their house went under. I knew firsthand what happened to them. I was the one that had to deliver the news to her.
Could I write so openly about it? Could I rip out her heart with my words as I described in detail what happened her to family? All Marilyn knew was that they were dead. Drowned in the storm. A few sketchy details. Nothing more, nothing less. And now she wanted me to tell the entire world, her included, in detail what happened. Wow. Although I was capable of doing it, did I want to?
“It would really mean a lot to me,” she said with eyes that told me she was telling the truth.
I sighed. Then smiled a little. “Of course I’ll do it. But you have to know that it will—”
“I’m a big girl, London. I can handle it,” she cut me off with a wave of her hand. “I need to handle it.” She shoved another forkful of salad into her mouth. “It’s time for me to handle it.” It was then that I knew I could and would do it. “Now that that’s settled, tell me about your trip,” she pressed just as lunch was placed on the table.
I blanched. She wasted no time diving into her hot wings.
Having pushed everything onto the back burners of my mind, I had completely forgotten. That’s why I could hardly catch my breath when it all came rushing back to me. God! I was married to two men. Ashton and Asanti. As if on cue, the moment I thought of him he called.
“Speak of the devil…” I mumbled to myself as the phone vibrated in my purse.
“You can get that if you want to,” she mumbled through bites of flaming hot wings.
I could only look down at my plate of stuffed bell pepper and baked macaroni. My appetite, which was okay moments ago, was now gone. “No, that’s okay. I’ll deal with that later.”
And then I forced myself to eat.
Even if it was only a little.
Even if it was through the vibrations of the phone I loathed answering.
Another hour and eleven phone calls from Asanti later, Marilyn stood to leave the restaurant. “I hate to eat and run as we say, but I have a house slash construction zone to get together before the enemies arrive,” she said as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “And you have a phone call to take.”
I blushed a little, knew she was right. It was now time to deal with Asanti. Time to come back to the present, and the future. “I understand,” I smiled at her, then waved her off as she dug into her purse to retrieve money for lunch. “I’ve got it, you get out of here.”
“You sure?” She asked as she tried to lay the money on the table.
The bullets in my eyes told her more than enough. And with a heartfelt goodbye, Marilyn Zimmerman put her money back in her purse and was gone.
Chapter 7
“Hello,” I answered the phone, annoyed to no end the second Marilyn was out of hearing distance.
“Where the hell have you been?” Asanti asked me quietly. Coldly.
“Hello to
you too.” I said slowly, deliberately. I needed to ease back into this carefully.
“Forget the pleasantries, Legaci,” he dismissed my greeting. “Where the hell have you been?”
“I’ve been working, Asanti.”
“Since two o’clock yesterday afternoon? Do you realize that I haven’t heard from my wife since two o’clock yesterday and it’s two o’clock the next damn day?” He was pissed.
“I realize that, yes.” I remained calm.
“Then why? I’ve called you repeatedly since ten o’clock last night. Could you not answer the phone once? Just once to say baby I’m alright.”
“Baby, I’m alright.”
The moment those words escaped my lips I knew they were the wrong ones. So much for easing back carefully.
Asanti was silent for a long time before he spoke. “Am I a joke to you, Legaci? Someone you think is okay to toy with?” he spoke quietly, his rage simmering just below the surface.
I sighed deeply, preparing for the battle that I knew was to come. “You’re not a joke. I was just—” I was just cut off by an angry husband.
“I didn’t sleep, Legaci. I never closed my eyes. I worried about you all night and I sat by the phone like an idiot waiting for you, my loving wife, to call.” He inhaled deeply before going on. “I waited and worried. All night.”
“Baby, I’m fine. The jet lag got the best of me and I went to bed really early. I didn’t know the phone was ringing because I slept like a log all night and when I woke early this morning I went straight to work.” That lie came easily.
“You didn’t think to call me and tell me that when you got up? You didn’t think I would be worried about my wife?”
That was why I didn’t want to deal with him just yet.
I was annoyed. Very annoyed.
“What I think is that you’re over reacting. What I thought was that you’d realize I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. I’m not a little girl, Asanti. I’m grown.” I started to speak a little too loud for the restaurant and hurried to leave the facility, quickly dropping a fifty dollar bill on the table, more than enough to cover both meals and the tip, before rushing out.
“I understand that you’re grown, Legaci, but do you understand that you’re married?”
The question got under my skin. Deep under my skin. I understood that I was married a hell of a lot more than he knew.
“I understand that fact, yes.”
“Then when are you going to act like it? I’m not some kid to be toyed with one minute and tossed aside the next minute. I’m not a pillow to fall back on whenever it’s convenient for you. I’m your husband.”
“I know that,” my nerves were on edge.
“Based on your actions last night, today, and right this minute, I can’t tell that you know much of anything.” His delivery was cold, calculated, and callous.
And his words were the straw that broke the cranky camel’s back.
“Hold up, hubby, “I began, seething with rage at his insult to my intelligence. “You are absolutely insane! You didn’t wait, Asanti, what you did was call me repeatedly since ten o’clock last night. In fact you called me forty seven times altogether. You never gave me the chance to call you back. To make contact with you. You never gave me a moment to breathe or even dial your number. You called and called and called but you did not, in fact, wait!
“And for your information, I’m not stupid. I know I’m married.” I went off on a wild tangent after I’d navigated my way through the restaurant and had finally made it outside. “I’m well aware of the fact that I’m married. But I’m also a big girl who can take care of herself. I’m sorry that I didn’t call you last night. Hell,” I said gesturing frantically with my hands, “I’m sorry that I didn’t call you the minute my eyes flickered open this morning. But I do have a life. A life that I had before you!” I practically screamed at him. “A busy life filled with work and friends among other things. A life that I plan on continuing to live if that’s okay with you, Daddy!” I spit out.
People on the street looked at me as though I was a crazed maniac yelling into an earpiece. Had I not been in the heart of the French Quarter, where everyone was a little weird or crazed, I was sure someone would have come along and hauled me away in a strait jacket.
“Now you wait just one damn minute!” He started in again. Quietly, but still filled with rage. “You will show me more respect than that. You will lower your voice when you’re speaking to me.” Asanti growled into my ear through his phone. “If I want to know if my wife is okay, then damnit I’m going to know. If I want to know her whereabouts twenty-four-seven there is nothing you can or will do to stop me. You are my wife. My wife is my business. Always will be! And damnit you’d better start dealing with that.”
“Well in that case let me give you a full report right now, Sir.” I spoke smartly. Angrily. “I am currently standing outside of Greedy’s in the heart of the French Quarter in New Orleans Louisiana, where I just had lunch and a business meeting with my editor. I am also currently on the phone with my husband,” I made extra sure to say the word with as much disdain as possible, “defending myself because he can’t handle being alone for a few hours,” I taunted relentlessly, I was furious.
“In about five minutes I’ll be on my way back home where I will work like a maniac to get my story in before deadline. At around six p.m. I’ll have dinner after which I’ll wash dishes. About an hour later, I’ll probably have a nice bath followed by a good book and possibly a late night Tv movie. Immediately following that, I’ll be off to bed,” I spoke sarcastically. “But not before I call my husband and fill him in on every detail of every second of my day. A chore which I must do because he’s too insane to believe I can handle myself alone for a few—”
“Shut up!” I heard a voice say angrily as I felt hands grab me from behind.
My first instinct was to fight for my life as I felt myself being carried down Bourbon Street. But the touch, the—oh—so—angry touch, let me know that the man gripping me in such an agonizing manner was none other than Asanti. My husband.
My other husband.
How the hell did he get here? I was just on the phone arguing with him. What was he doing in New Orleans with me, tearing down the street with me in his arms? My heart thundered, then stopped. I felt dizzy. I thought I was going to pass out. The world around me spun out of control.
Before I could get my bearings, Asanti made a sharp right between shops and rushed us through a gate. The entry took us into an alleyway that led to one of the famous French Quarter Gardens. The gate slammed angrily behind us as if it too was affected by Asanti’s rage. I jumped. Asanti grinned evilly. I was no more angry, but suddenly terrified.
Who the hell was this man that I’d married?
Quickly he backed me into the brick alley wall. He turned my body so that I was now facing him. He lifted me high, was holding me roughly using the weight of himself to keep me braced against the wall. We were eye to eye. Pissed, he spread my legs and wrapped them around him. He was close to me. So close to me that we were actually breathing the same air.
I shook with fear.
He shook with rage.
“You want to talk shit, Legaci? He bared his teeth then ripped my blouse and exposed my breasts. “Talk shit now!”
The words that were so eager to escape my mouth when he was on the phone, suddenly died in my throat. My voice was silenced by fear. I said nothing.
“Tell me how grown you are now,” he demanded as I looked up at him wide eyed and astonished. I heard him quickly unzip his pants. Felt him hastily rip the crotch of mine. “Tell me how insane I am now,” he commanded as he stared angrily into my eyes. “I dare you to tell me how I’m overreacting!” He challenged me as he held my gaze and entered me.
“Aaaaahhhhhh,” I screamed out.
Scared.
Petrified.
Then I went into Asanti mode.
I couldn’t help it.
M
y legs tightened around him. My arms wrapped desperately around his neck. I crushed his mouth with mine. And raised and lowered my hips as I gave in to his anger with heat of my own.
He thrust powerfully into me. Held me against the wall as if punishing me for being a bad girl.
“Damn it, Legaci,” he said when he ended the searing kiss. “I love you!” He was furious. “You’re mine,” he spoke as he thrust wildly. “You belong to me!” The look in his eyes was deadly mixed with passion and possession. At that moment I knew my place. His actions made me know my place when his words couldn’t. I accepted it. He pounded me. The anger coursing through him had his body shaking. Teetering on the edge of madness. He gripped me tighter. Thrust harder.
I loved it.
“You’re my wife!” He practically yelled as he thrust. Harder. Faster. Almost viciously. “Wife. Do you understand me?”
“Yes!” I shouted, shook my head weakly.
I surrendered.
“Tell me you love me, Legaci,” he commanded as he plunged into me with anger and force.
“I love you,” the words tumbled out of my mouth.
I meant them.
That seemed to calm him down tremendously. But nowhere near enough. “Damnit, I love you so much,” he said to me as he searched my eyes desperately.
In them he must have found what he so feverishly sought.
He pumped deeper into me.
“Aaaaaaaahhhhh,” I screamed again.
“That’s the only shit I ever want to hear you talking,” he instructed. “Say it again!”
“Aaaaahhhhhh,” he made me moan.
“That’s it, baby,” he soothed, “let that rage out.” Something in his words took me to a new fullness. I closed my eyes. His furious thrusts rocking me toward the heavens. My legs suddenly locked around him. My muscles seized. I screamed again. “There you go,” he pacified, “tell me just how pissed you are,” he ordered as he plowed through my core.
Lying Lips Page 6