Sinful Too

by Victor McGlothin

  “You have to stop blowing up my cell, Richard. You know I got to work. These clothes don’t sell themselves,” she cackled playfully. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

  “Of course not,” Richard replied quickly. “I wouldn’t think of coming between you and your independence. Every woman needs to have her own.”

  “Good, then let up off the phone calls and meet me on my lunch break in twenty minutes.” Dior agreed on an out-of-the-way place to meet where he felt at ease and not likely to run into members from his congregation. She told him about Casa Blanca, a Mexican restaurant south of the freeway. It was a small place, converted from a family residence by immigrants. Dior appreciated the owners’ ingenuity and their authentic chicken enchiladas even more.

  Richard parked in front of the tiny white house then laughed at the sign with CASA BLANCA stenciled on it, remembering that white house was the Spanish translation. A clever name for a hole-in-the-wall, he thought. I’d better not catch anything in there. Leery of the old neighborhood, Richard locked his car manually then armed the alarm as a secondary measure. Surely none of his esteemed church members would be caught dead in a hovel on the wrong side of the tracks. Unfortunately, he underestimated Casa Blanca’s reputation for outstanding service and famous fajitas. No sooner had he opened the door to enter, a familiar face caught his attention. His secretary was seated at a table with another woman he didn’t recognize. When he tried to duck out before she saw him, Dior strutted in through the entrance.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked with a suspicious expression. “I’m hungry and only get forty-five minutes.” Richard leaned in toward her, purposely shielding his face.

  “Let’s find another place. My secretary is in there.”

  “And what, ministers can’t break bread?” she argued, without moving an inch. “Look, Richard, you seem to be really twisted over seeing your friend in there. Maybe we should make other arrangements.”

  “Cool, I’m glad you understand. There are plenty of other spots up the road. I’ll hop in the car and call you on the way.”

  Dior was visibly irritated despite trying to conceal it. “Uh-uh, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Really, it’s no bother,” he answered, after glancing over his shoulder.

  “No, it won’t be necessary because I’m not leaving,” she informed him. “I love the food here. And I don’t go jumping behind bushes for nobody.” Dior read her watch while Richard deliberated sorely. “Maybe this was a mistake. You can’t be out with me, ducking and dodging like this. I told you I was hungry and I can hear some chicken enchiladas calling my name. Excuse me.” Dior stepped inside the restaurant alone.

  Richard realized it wouldn’t be as easy as he predicted, operating from the fringes. Dior left him standing on the sidewalk, stuck in a tough position. He’d planned his morning around the slim opportunity of being in her space. He’d called her repeatedly until she conceded. With his back against the wall, Richard held fast to his reservations. Overwhelming distress in regard to explaining who Dior was and why they were together in the middle of the afternoon needled him. Richard disarmed his car alarm then jetted down the street before potentially being hit with leering eyes questioning his integrity. He couldn’t have known the secretary witnessed his entire interaction with the attractive lady through the restaurant window. Subsequently, there were two women wondering what the pastor was doing there — Dior was the other one.

  Anxious to overcome the lunch date debacle, Richard employed a personal shopper at Nordstrom to assist with a shopping spree for Dior. He imagined how it must’ve looked, his neglecting to follow through after insisting she see him. It made him feel inadequate and weak. He couldn’t blame Dior if she thought less of him. His second mistake was using the credit card tied to his church expense account to charge over eleven hundred dollars in trendy designer jeans and fashion accessories to save face. Getting out of trouble was a lot like filling a deep hole: There would always be dirt left over afterward. Buying his way into a deep hole was just plain dumb.

  Dior refused Richard’s phone calls for two days so he’d get the message. She had gotten over his gutlessness by the time she returned to work that day but there was no benefit in telling him. She was resigned to keep him scratching at her back door until he made it worth her while to open up and let him in. When Dior received a special delivery from the department store, time had come to unlock that door.

  On the way home from work on Thursday night, she called Richard knowing he’d be standing by the phone. “Hey,” she said cordially. “I got the package from Nordstrom’s this morning. You didn’t have to do that.” Yes you did, she thought to herself. Next time stop by the Prada store while you’re at it. “You have a good eye for fashion. Thank you.”

  “I didn’t think I would hear from you again after bailing on lunch. It was the least I could do.” Richard listened for signs of forgiveness in her voice.

  “About that,” she answered with a lengthy pause, “I was really disappointed. Maybe I shouldn’t have been but I expected better from you.” Richard sat in his home office with the door closed, holding the phone to his ear. If she planned on resolving her feelings toward him, he couldn’t tell. “I’m almost at the house. We need to talk, in person.” Again, Dior pulled his strings like a veteran puppeteer. She didn’t ask if he was available or if he happened to be in for the night. He’d find a way to meet even if it meant cooking up an excuse to sneak out. How he managed it was not her issue; that would fall solely on him.

  Richard weighed his options briefly then settled on the one response that would allow him to get some sleep later that night. “I’m on my way,” he replied quietly. “Give me twenty minutes.”

  Dior hung up the phone then put her game face on. He must be at the house, she reasoned. Huh, probably has to tell a string of lies to get loose. That’s what he gets for punking out on me. Spending on a shopping spree was good for him, when he could’ve gotten by with a twenty-dollar lunch. Weakness — it’s so disappointing and yet so rewarding.

  Richard rang the doorbell, wearing his heart on his sleeve. Dior greeted him indifferently, wearing her sheer negligee with nothing underneath. “Well, I guess you’d better come in before we give the nosy neighbors something to talk about.” They’re just getting used to seeing Giorgio come and go at all times of the night, she thought.

  “Hey, you,” said Richard, straight-faced and hopeful. There weren’t any guarantees she would accept his apology and then agree to continue moving forward with their tryst. Answering the door nearly nude was no clear indication. Dior was an exhibitionist, after all, who admittedly peeled off her outside clothes the moment she made it inside. Richard was a bit surprised she didn’t have on a pair of three-inch pumps, which seemed to be her house shoes of choice. “Thanks for calling me,” he added, once he’d come in and locked the door. Richard didn’t know where to go from there. Not willing to jinx things, he followed Dior into the living room with his mouth aptly shut. There was no point in acting as if he had a say in the matter. She held all the cards.

  During their quiet stroll past the drawn shades, Dior began to limp gingerly. She took a seat on the far end of the sofa, on the other side of three fluffy white towels and a tray filled with assorted salts and gels. It was apparent that Richard was welcome to sit anywhere, outside of the makeshift boundary she’d created. He took the hint then sat on the love seat positioned perpendicular to her. “Do you mind getting me a bottle of water from the fridge?” she asked indifferently. Richard leaped off his perch, at the ready to fetch. “You can have one too, if you want,” she added plainly. “Thanks and oh, could you plug that in over there? I mean, since you’re already up.”

  Richard tugged on a white extension cord attached to a salon size foot spa then searched for a wall socket. “I saw you limping when I came in. You hurt?”

  Dior poured a small measure of cuticle remover into the bubbling water before commenting on his questio
n. “If you saw that, then what took you so long to ask about it?” She didn’t expect an answer. The one she got in return threw her for a loop.

  “I thought of sweeping you off your feet and carrying you to wherever you wanted to go. I didn’t know if you felt like being touched by me, so I backed off.” He offered a labored smile, like a man trying to sway the jury with remorse.

  “How much time you got?” she asked, looking into his eyes with grave anticipation. “We need to get some things straight.”

  “I’ve got as much time as it takes,” he replied, oozing with a renewed zeal.

  “If we’re going to keep this up, there are two rules we need to agree on. If you can’t deal, I’ll understand.” Richard shrugged and nodded that he was up to hearing her stipulations. “One, don’t ever come to my house without calling first. I need my privacy, even when I’m alone. Next, do not allow your married life to set foot into mine. I’ll get back to you on the remedies, if it becomes an issue.” She made sure he was still on board before continuing. “Now, I’ll tell you what to expect from me. I won’t ask too many questions about what doesn’t concern me. I will never talk to you about your wife unless needs be because I won’t carry another woman’s baggage. That ain’t my way. I’ll cook for you, care for you, and create a comfortable environment for you to lay your head. And if you’re interested, I’ll provide some of the things you probably can’t get anywhere else and feel good about it.” Richard raised his hand slightly, to get Dior’s attention. He wanted her to elaborate on the last item but didn’t want to wreck her flow.

  “Uh, you mentioned providing things I wouldn’t be comfortable doing elsewhere. What kinds of things?”

  Without batting an eye Dior reeled off a list of no-no’s most preachers denounced. “Cigars, cognac, strip shows, pornos, whip cream, hot wax, weed, Viagra, or whatever you might need to take the edge off.”

  Richard was stunned. Although he hadn’t given thought to using a number of the items on her list, the mere discussion was enticing. “Okay, I’m down with that. Yeah, I’m good with it.”

  “A few more things,” she said. Resolve covered her words like sackcloth. “I do for you, you do for me. I will not ask for money. You can contribute what pleases you. However, this is a play-as-you-go arrangement. Start talking to me crazy, it’s done. Put your hands on me, you’re done.” Dior’s twin brother, Dooney, put an ex-boyfriend in a mile of stitches for beating on her. That information was on a need-to-know basis so she kept it to herself for the time being.

  “Anything else I should know going in?” he uttered hesitantly.

  “Funny you should mention that. My vagina has a constant need for entertainment. If I really dig you, I’ll show out every time you show up. I keep hot, naughty sex on the menu. I like it rough but respectful. I suck and yes, I swallow.” Frozen on the love seat, Richard coughed to clear his throat. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. “Is there anything you want me to know about you, Richard? Because I don’t do boy-girl-boy and I don’t roll with boys who get down with other boys. I’m up for an occasional girl-on-girl tag team, if I get to choose the girl.” Richard was so excited he almost erupted on Dior’s leather furniture. “If you’re in, say alright then.”

  “Amen. I mean, alright then.”

  “Good, come over here, sugar, and seal it with a kiss.” Ever so eager, Richard popped off the sofa. He took one step then clutched at his shoe. “Ohhh, it’s a cramp,” he yelped, landing butt-first on the floor. Dior stood over him. She eased off his shoes then began massaging his calf.

  “Be still and let me work this kink out. You should probably increase your water and potassium intake. Don’t be looking at me like that. Just ’cause I’ve been stocking inventory all day don’t mean alls I know is pimpin’ clothes.”

  “Ooh, that feels good. Uh-huh, you can say that again,” he seconded. “I’ll be okay. Why don’t you go ahead and put your feet in there.” When Richard went to put on his shoe, Dior frowned.

  “You could stand some attention on those claws of yours. I think you stabbed me the other day.”

  “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “I know it won’t. Put those in this Soft Soaker 5000.” She moved the bubbling spa closer to him then slid over so he could get at it easier. Richard rolled his pant legs above the water level then lifted his feet over the spa. Suddenly, he squinted apprehensively.

  “I’m kind of picky. How many other feet have been in there?”

  “How is that important if yours are the only ones in there now? I didn’t stop to ask how many other places your feet have been, did I?” Dior waggled her finger in his face then pressed her point further. “As long as your feet and my tub are both clean, it should not be an issue.”

  Richard felt a lump in his throat, somewhat smaller than the one in his pants. “Are we still talking about soaking my feet?”

  “Don’t trip, Richard. This discussion was never about your feet.”

  Thirteen

  Hoochies and Hot Wings

  During yet another drive home, Richard replayed the entire evening with Dior several times. The edicts she laid down concerning rules of engagement and the penalties for breaking them paled in comparison to the hot loving she poured on. After massaging, manipulating, and introducing his body to a debilitating brand of sexual discovery, Richard awoke two hours later. His tired eyes found the digital clock. Panic-stricken, he stumbled over an armchair while wrestling on his underwear. Dior grinned sheepishly despite his petrified expression.

  At eleven forty-five, Richard jaunted through Dior’s love lair, collecting articles of clothing he’d carelessly flung off when the action started. Dior, nestled beneath wrinkled bedsheets, offered to help find his things but Richard declined. He wanted to remember her the way she was, relaxed and relishing in his affections. Regretfully, he stormed out to the car without locating his expensive timepiece. There’d be other watches if his anniversary gift from Nadeen failed to show up, he reasoned. Since there was no duplicating his initial earth-shattering bout of sensual elation with Dior, he still came out on top. On top, he thought, hmm-hmm-hmm, it ought to be against the law what that woman did to me when she was on top. I know there’s got to be a law against that trick she did upside down. Oh, and the way she arched her back against the headboard, I thought I heard a bone crack. As long as it wasn’t mine, I’m down for doing it again, and again and again.

  It wasn’t until Richard rounded the turn onto his street that his mind hinged on the business at hand instead of the work he’d put in across town. What would he tell Nadeen, if she asked where he’d been? Why hadn’t she called his cell phone to investigate? Questions paraded in his head like a high school drill team. So enthralled with finally getting between Dior’s legs, Richard hadn’t prepared an adequate lie or an alibi to get him out of potential trouble with his wife. He took a deep breath then slapped at his pants pockets relentlessly. A loud growl flew from his mouth when realizing he wasn’t only short on principles and plans to conceal his devious behavior. Richard had dashed out of his other woman’s house while his cell phone vibrated relentlessly beneath her bed. Like a condemned man facing the moment of judgment for his crimes, Richard slinked from the garage dragging the weight of his shame and remorse behind him.

  Richard feared a knockdown drag-out fight if Nadeen challenged the excuse he was still stitching together, so he tiptoed inside warily. Most of the lights on the first floor were off. Two of the recessed lights in the kitchen dimly illuminated his plight. Nadeen had left his dinner plate covered in aluminum foil on the counter. Richard didn’t pay it any mind. He scouted around in the muted light for a note or something to clue him in on Nadeen’s disposition. He thought it odd when there wasn’t one. Richard began to pray, then he caught himself. God already knew what he’d been involved in and wouldn’t be interested in helping him out of it. Instead, he shut off the recessed lights then climbed the back staircase with a heavy heart.

  The
bedroom door was wide open. Richard felt like a desperate man prowling in another man’s house. In a disturbing way, he was exactly that. That man — the husband and the father responsible for raising his children, seeing to his wife’s needs, and seeing to the general benefit of the family — had gone out into the night on a personal mission that in no way profited them. Richard, now the stranger in his own home, stared into the faintly lit master bedroom, where Nadeen was fast asleep. She’d awaited his return for hours before calling it a night.

  In times past, Richard had been known to work late while seeing to the welfare of the congregation. He spent hours counseling young girls and their parents on abortion and adoption issues when their families were torn apart by an unplanned pregnancy. Richard also prayed all night with the parents of young men who had been locked up by the police or, worse, shot down in the streets. In either case, he always came home afterward, showered and then told Nadeen all about it the following morning. It was difficult to trust him when her phone calls went unanswered for hours on end. Although sharing Richard with others during their time of need came with the territory of being the pastor’s wife, Nadeen didn’t treasure that part of it. The only validation she received was that he’d done the Lord’s work. She went to bed on numerous occasions with that in mind. As far as she knew, she’d been wrong about him only once.

  When morning came, Richard looked for the clothes he’d worn the night before to hide them in the bottom of the laundry basket in their roomy walk-in his-and-hers closet. Nadeen must’ve taken them. Richard freaked when he couldn’t remember showering before sharing the bed with Nadeen, after what he did with Dior. His eyes darted back and forth then a thought flashed across his mind. Richard rolled his top lip then sniffed it. His shoulders drooped dramatically when remnants of Dior’s scent filled his nostrils. He had outdone himself.