by Pamela Yaye
“I’m for real this time,” he insisted. “I’ll clear my schedule for next Saturday and we’ll spend all day in bed. It’ll be like we were back in Manchester, except without the butler!”
“Will Angela be planning it, too?” Simone blurted. The second the words left her mouth, she wished she could reel them back in. It was hard, but she had to stop throwing Marcus’s mistakes back in his face. That’s something she’d learned from the little pink book, and Gladys, and for the last few weeks she’d made a concerted effort not to argue with him about every small, trivial thing. From now on she wasn’t going to depend on Marcus for her happiness, or expect him to be a perfect husband or father. She was going to concentrate on all the great things in her life and quit stressing about the problems in her marriage.
An awkward silence settled over the line, and when Marcus finally spoke, she could hear the sadness in his tone, and that made her feel petty and immature.
“I didn’t ask Angela to help me because I was being lazy, Simone. I just wanted everything to be perfect for you.”
“I know.” Simone felt her eyes tear up, and she cleared her throat. “I better go. I have tons of paperwork to do, and you have that bodybuilding thing.”
“Thanks for being so understanding, baby.”
“Have fun tonight, Marcus. I’ll see you later!”
Marcus didn’t realize she’d hung up the phone until he heard the dial tone buzzing in his ear. Dumbfounded, he stared down at the phone receiver. Simone sounded happy, excited even, but Marcus had a feeling he’d just bought himself a one-way ticket to the couch.
Chapter 16
“I won!” Marcus shouted, raising his hands in triumph as he powered past the finish line of Samson’s four-hundred-meter indoor track. “I told you I could still whoop your ass in a race!”
Doubled over, his hands propped on his knees, L. J. Saunders huffed and puffed like the Little Engine that Could. He was panting so loudly, the muscle men in the weight area were pointing and laughing. “I—I just need a minute to catch my breath.”
After a prolonged moment of silence, L.J. straightened his bent shoulders and stood to his full height. “I want a rematch.”
“Forget it. I beat you fair and square!”
“Sure you did,” he scoffed, wiping the sweat spilling down his bald head with the bottom of his T-shirt. “You cutting me off at that last corner had absolutely nothing to do with it.”
Marcus clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Let’s go grab a drink, because you look like you’re about to kick the bucket, and I don’t want your wife to kill me!”
Located across the street from Samson’s Gym, Della’s Joint was the place to go for finger-lickin’-good down-home cooking. The food at the family-owned restaurant was outstanding, the waiters were friendly and the simple decor was rich in color. Marcus and L.J. sat on round swivel stools facing the front window, eating out of wicker baskets filled with ribs, sweet potato fries and cornbread. It was Friday evening, around the time the dinner rush usually started, but aside from the trio of bikers playing pool, and the teenage couple squabbling a few tables over, the restaurant was quiet.
“I wasn’t kidding about that rematch,” L.J. said, pointing his fork at his longtime friend. “If I wasn’t flying out later tonight, I’d race you first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Living in D.C. has made you soft. Quit whining and toughen up.”
“Taking that position with the Wizards turned out to be the best decision I’ve ever made.” Pride filled his eyes and his tone. “Next to marrying Autumn, of course.”
Marcus licked the barbecue sauce off his fingers. “You sound like a typical newlywed. Head over heels in love and willing to move heaven and earth to make your woman happy.”
“We’re hardly newlyweds. We got married before you and Simone did, remember?”
Nodding, Marcus raised the oversize mason jar to his lips and took a long swig of his root beer. “So, how are you guys doing? Thinking about starting a family yet?”
“I’m working on it, man, and having a helluva time trying, too!”
His laughter bounced off the walls, lightened the mood in the air.
“We’re having so much fun traveling and enjoying being a twosome that we haven’t given parenthood much thought.”
“I’m not surprised. Every time I talk to you you’re jetting off somewhere.”
“I know, cool, huh?” L.J. looked proud, like a golfer who’d struck a hole in one.
Marcus glanced at his watch. “We better hurry up or we’re going to miss the fight.”
“I’m not going to Champions tonight.”
“Why not? The Bishop-Lipenski rematch is the most anticipated match of the year!”
“I’m taking Autumn out on a date.”
“Can’t you wine and dine her tomorrow?”
“I can, but I don’t want to,” he answered, leaning back in his seat. “Rashawn ‘The Glove’ Bishop is one bad dude in the ring, but I’d rather hang out with my wife.”
Marcus closed his mouth before it hit the table. He couldn’t believe that L.J., an executive for the Washington Wizards who watched every sporting event known to man, was going to miss the biggest fight of the year. “So, what are you two doing this weekend?”
“You mean besides each other?” L.J. wore a sly grin. “Autumn’s addicted to that reality show So You Think You Can Cook, so I booked the chef for a private cooking lesson.”
“Why go to a class when you can just cook at home?”
“Because I want my woman to feel special.”
Marcus didn’t know why, but listening to L.J. gush about his wife made him feel low, guilty, like the day he’d foolishly left his wife in Manchester. “I wish I could take Simone out every weekend, too, but my new business ventures are eating up all of my free time.”
“I don’t have that problem anymore. When I get home from work, I turn off my cell and drop it in my briefcase. No excuses. No exceptions.”
“My staff would have a heart attack if I ever did that.”
“Trust me, they’ll survive.” L.J. popped a fry into his mouth and chewed furiously. “I was engaged briefly back in the day, and that chick dogged me out so bad, I thought I’d never recover. Then I met Autumn. She means everything to me, so I put her first. Period.”
“Don’t start crying.” Marcus wore a stern voice, but his tone was alive with humor. “If you do, I’ll never be able to show my face in here again!”
The men chuckled, bumped elbows in jest.
“Take it from someone who’s been happily married for years. The secret to a successful marriage is making time to connect with your spouse every day.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. And do all the little things you did in the beginning to catch her eye. Serve her breakfast in bed, shower her with compliments, post love notes on the bathroom mirror...”
Marcus wished he had a pen so he could take notes. What L.J. said made perfect sense and didn’t cost a thing, but where was he going to find the time to romance his wife? He had to prep for his meeting with the Chicago Bears, write another article for Bodybuilders Magazine and hold a second round of interviews for the assistant manager position.
“You know what my aunt Ruthie told me on my wedding day?”
“I don’t have the faintest idea,” Marcus teased, assuming a Southern accent. “Do tell.”
“She said, ‘Love your wife like you’ve known her for years, but romance her like you’ve known her for days.’”
“Wow, that’s deep.”
“I know, huh?”
“Loving Simone is easy—it’s finding time to do the romance stuff that’s hard as hell.”
“You’re like me, a classic type A perfectionist who gets so caug
ht up in your work you lose sight of what’s important in life. But to have a healthy marriage you have make your spouse a priority.” L.J. raised his jar and tipped it in his friend’s direction. “The challenge is to find balance. A happy medium that you and your wife can live with.”
“I wasn’t always this way, but my business took off at warp speed, and—”
L.J. cut him off. “Man, please. You’ve been like this since college. Driven, intense, ridiculously focused. You managed the hell out of that burger joint near campus, and, as I recall, you were named employee of the month like five times in one year!”
“It was nine, but who’s counting?”
The men chuckled. The conversation turned to sports, then a heated discussion about politics. Time flew by. The sun faded, leaving the sky a maelstrom of deep blues and somber grays. The clouds looked like thick puffs of smoke and seemed to stretch from one end of the heavens to the next. A distinct chill filled the restaurant, and the scent of apple pie sweetened the air.
“Oh, there goes my phone.” Marcus pulled out his cell and read his newest text message. “I better run. It’s going to take me about an hour to drive across town, and Nate said the last one at Champions has to pick up the tab!”
“You’re still going to watch the fight?”
“I might as well. I have nothing else going on tonight.”
“Maybe instead of going to Champions, you should go home and plan a romantic evening for your wife,” he proposed. “After a long, tiring day at the office that’s exactly what she needs, and if you go all out tonight, you’ll be in her good books for weeks to come.”
Marcus gave it some thought. These days, Simone was spending more time away from home, which meant less time with him. If she wasn’t at Friendship House or driving around the city collecting donations on behalf of her clients, she was hanging out at Angela’s house or taking the boys someplace or the other. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d went out, and it had been weeks since they’d had an honest, open talk. Ever since the whole bodybuilding tournament fiasco he hadn’t been able to get close to her. That’s all the more reason to go home.
Stroking his jaw, he considered the advice L.J. had given him. Maybe on the way home, he’d stop at Discreet Boutiques and have a quick look around. He thought about their trip to Manchester, smiled when he remembered how much fun they’d had making out in one of the lingerie fitting rooms. But what stuck out most in his mind was the time they’d spent talking and cuddling in bed. He loved that he could open up to Simone, loved that he could share his feelings and thoughts freely with her.
Marcus felt a jolt of adrenaline, of excitement. He didn’t know if it was the thought of surprising Simone that thrilled him or spending the rest of the night holding the woman he loved in his arms, but he couldn’t wait to execute his plan. Tonight wasn’t about sex. It was about reconnecting with Simone, about showing her how much he cared and adored her. That’s why instead of going to Discreet Boutiques to buy his wife lingerie, he was going to stop by her favorite florist shop and buy Simone the biggest, most lavish flower bouquet she’d ever seen.
“You know what, L.J.?” Marcus said, tossing down his napkin and jumping to his feet. “You’re a sore loser, and so badly out of shape my five-year-old sons could beat you in a race, but that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night!”
Chapter 17
“Open up, already,” Simone grumbled, jabbing the buzzer of her mother-in-law’s brown brick home for the third time. It was freezing, well below the thirty degrees forecasters had predicted, and Simone feared if Gladys didn’t open up soon, she’d have frostbite from ear to toe.
What is she doing? Simone wondered, rubbing her gloved hands together. She could hear the TV blaring and blasts of raucous laughter, and every light in the house was on. Simone considered calling Gladys, but that would require returning to the car for her cell phone, and she was feeling lazy. And cold.
Banging on the kitchen window, like a member of the police S.W.A.T. team, produced immediate results. The door creaked open, one ridiculously slow inch at a time, and when Simone saw her brother-in-law standing against the frame, in a black tank top, skull cap and gray sweats hanging precariously off his waist, she swallowed a groan. He had a beer bottle in one hand and the remote control in the other.
“Hey, Derek,” she said, stepping inside the foyer and shutting the door behind her. “Can you let the boys know that I’m here?”
“Mom took the boys grocery shopping with her,” he explained, his worlds slightly slurred. “They went to that new place on Ninth.”
On any other day, Simone would have walked over to the supermarket to meet the boys and do some grocery shopping of her own, but after meeting Angela for lunch and eating three slices of deep-dish pizza, she felt like an overstuffed piñata. All she wanted to do was pick up Jayden and Jordan and go home. “Any idea when they’ll be back?”
“Shouldn’t be long. Come inside and chill for a minute.”
Pretending not to hear his suggestion, she asked if Gladys had her cell phone with her. Her mother-in-law routinely forgot her phone at home and would tell anyone who listened that cell phones were corrupting today’s youth, one salacious text message at a time.
“Yeah, she has it on her. Hang tight. I’ll go hit her up.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll phone her from the car.” Simone unlocked the screen door, buried her face in her wool jacket and prepared to face the bitter cold. “Bye, Derek, have a good night.”
“Hey, hold up! Do you have a fifty I can hold until payday?”
Simone shook her head. Even if she had it, she wouldn’t have given it to Derek, but since she was making a concerted effort to be nicer to her brother-in-law, she spoke in her softest, kindest voice. “Sorry, I wish I did, but I don’t.”
“Sure you don’t.” He rasped a laugh. “I bet you have all kinds of money now that you up and found yourself a job. My brother doesn’t make enough for you, huh, college girl?”
Simone glared at him. “Some people prefer to work, instead of lying around all day watching TV and drinking beer.”
“Have you always been this stuck-up, or did your head swell after you sunk your claws into my kid brother?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he snapped, raising the beer bottle to his lips and gulping some down. “You think you’re better than me because you have a degree, but you’re not. You got lucky. Remember that. You. Got. Lucky.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it. I worked two minimum-wage jobs to put myself through school, and busted my butt to graduate with honors.”
“Don’t front, college girl. The only reason you’re pushing a Benz and living in that expensive community up in the boondocks is because you married my brother.”
“Are you high?” Simone winced when she heard the question tumble out of her mouth, but she didn’t apologize. Derek was talking crazy, and she wasn’t going to put up with his mess. Not after the long, stressful afternoon she’d had at Friendship House. “I’m out of here.”
Unlocking the screen door, she pushed it open and stomped back down the steps. Snow blew into her face, and the wind whipped her hair around, lashing her cheeks and neck.
“You should be thanking your lucky stars that Marcus is a responsible, stand-up guy,” Derek continued. “Because if you had showed up at my house sobbing hysterically about being pregnant I would have slammed the door in your face.”
Simone wheeled around and stared down the belligerent fool. She imagined wrestling that beer bottle out of Derek’s hand and whacking him in the head with it. Was he out of his mind? How dare he speak to her like that! He wouldn’t dream of insulting her if Marcus or Gladys was around, but because they were alone he was freely running his mouth.
“Face it, toots,” he jeered. “My brother only m
arried you because you got knocked up.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yeah, it is. You threatened to put his babies up for adoption, so he popped the question.”
Shame filled Simone. “Is that what Marcus told you?”
“Don’t worry about it, college girl. You just go on living in your perfect world, and looking down on everybody else. I’m going to make something of myself—” he jabbed a finger at his chest “—and it won’t be because I rode somebody’s coattails, either. I’m...”
Tears blinded her eyes, made it impossible for Simone to see, but she fled the house and rushed down the snow-covered walkway. She wasn’t going to give Derek the satisfaction of seeing her cry. He was lying, making up stories to hurt her, trying to ruin her already bad day. But if all that was true, how did he know that she’d shown up on Marcus’s doorstep the night she had learned she was pregnant? And sobbing, no less?
Simone refused to cry, she just wasn’t going to do it, wasn’t going to dissolve into tears like she had that afternoon her doctor confirmed that she was pregnant with twins. But once Simone slid into the front seat of her car and sped off down the block, far away from Derek and his cruel, baseless accusations, the tears fell so fast and furious, she had to pull over.
* * *
Sprinkle or toss? Marcus stared down at the package of rose petals in his hands, unsure of what to do with it. How come it doesn’t come with directions? He thought of calling L.J., but knew he’d lose major cool points with the fellas if word ever got out. Marcus could hear them laughing now, see them pointing and pelting him in the face with beer nuts.
Deciding it didn’t matter, he scattered large handfuls across the bedroom floor, making a trail from the door to the candlelit table he’d set with china and around the bed. “Shoot, I forget to grab the wine,” he said, noticing the empty, ice-filled bucket. Once the package of red rose petals was empty and the master bedroom looked exotic, Marcus headed downstairs.
On the bottom shelf in kitchen pantry, he perused the rows of vintage bottles. He hated creamy flavors that tasted sweeter than ice cream, but he selected the brand that Simone liked. Had to. Two glasses of it, and his wife became more amorous than the character in She’s Gotta Have It. And tonight, he had to have her.