Cafe Romance

by Curtis Bennett

  “Yeah, we’re talking major problem,” added Nola.

  “And the other problem?” Juanita continued, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

  “It’s been nearly two weeks since we’ve gone out.”

  “Don’t tell me, he’s too busy,” said Juanita, a half-smile tugging one corner of her mouth.

  “Yes, basically,” Yvette admitted. “At least that’s what he’s been telling me.”

  “You think he’s messing around on you?” asked Nola.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know,” Yvette answered, biting her lower lip.

  There was another pause.

  “Heard from Kurt lately?” Juanita weighed in.

  “Not in a while. I don’t think I’m his favorite person anymore, Juanita.” she replied, her fingers drumming the table softly.

  “Now aren’t we being just a little hard on ourselves?” Juanita asked.

  “I don’t know. I believe in him, Juanita,” Yvette said, peering off into the distance, then back at her friend. “I think I should have let him explained things. But I never calmed down long enough to get his version of what happened that night at the club with Roxanne.”

  “Who’s Roxanne?” Nola queried.

  “The woman we saw him with at that club downtown, that night. She’s his ex-fiancée,” Yvette answered. “Juanita and I saw them having a great time together at Neptune’s Reef.”

  “You know what I think? I think you’re in love, if you ask me,” Juanita said, chewing on another fondue-dipped berry.

  “Of course, I never denied that I love Antwan.”

  “Honey, you may love Antwan, but believe me, it’s Kurt you’re in love with,” Juanita said poignantly.

  “Sounds like it,” Nola added. “But don’t listen to us girl. Just listen to your heart. If you stop and take notice, you will see that you talk far more about Kurt than you do about Antwan.”

  “Is that so?” Yvette chuckled lightly, sporting an incredulous grin.

  “Yes,” Juanita teased. “And more affectionately, might I add.”

  “Well, whatever I feel, or felt for Kurt, it’s over. I am involved with Antwan now.”

  “Tell that to someone you don’t know, girl.” Juanita boldly injected.

  “Yeah,” Nola added. “Besides, check out what you just said…that you love Antwan. You didn’t say that you were in love with him, as any woman in love would have said.”

  “You two are too much,” Yvette mused.

  “No, girlfriend, you’re too much,” Juanita returned with a cheerful laugh.

  Though it was against Kurt’s strong objections, Roxanne decided to return to her place the day before Don’s return so that she could tell him it was all over between them. She felt she owed him that much.

  She was pleasantly surprised to find Don at their bungalow and in a rare sober state, upon her return from the local mall. She was not expecting him until later that evening but knew right away he would be hungry. He was always hungry after a long flight back from the Gulf. Without hesitation she headed for the kitchen, pausing only to utter hello. Though she was not at all fond of him, she could at least tolerate being around him when he was sober.

  The two ate dinner, a hastily put together meal, consisting of spaghetti and savory tomato and meat sauce, toss salad, and garlic toasted bread. Though quite tasty a meal, Don ate in utter silence. It was as though she was not even there. To her credit, she did not hold her breath waiting for any compliments to come flowing from his direction as she downed her meal in silence too. The relationship was as dead as dinosaurs were. Theirs was poster board material. If there was a local group entitled Unhappy Couples Anonymous somewhere out there, these two former lovebirds were prime candidates for admission.

  Being that he was civil, for the moment, she decided that this was the perfect time to tell him it was over between them. If he had been his usual drunken self she would not have entertained such a thought. He would certainly have lashed out at her for thinking such thoughts of treason. With a swallow, she bravely told him.

  Don Middlebrook could not believe his ears, the look of surprise a dead giveaway on his face. No wife of a Middlebrook ever decides she’s tired of her marriage and wants to leave the nest. Middlebrook women are divorced, not self-liberated.

  “Listen,” he said menacingly, cutting a glance her way, “I don’t know whom yah been talking to but this nonsense, this talk about yah leaving is just that…nonsense! Woman, I made yah who yah are, the clothes yah wear, the jewelry, the car yah drive, and the breast reduction. All of that is Middlebrook money, honey! No, yah don’t leave me. Yah leave when I tell ya’r ass to leave. Understood!”

  Nervous and afraid, and not wanting to induce him into one of his violent Irish rages, she placed her fork on the tabletop and stood up in frustration. Giving him a long hard stare she turned and rushed into the bedroom, slamming the door in her wake. After a few seconds had expired, she heard hi toss his dessert spoon halfway across the table in anger. Gripped with fear, she found herself shaking uncontrollably as his heavy boots pounded the wooden floor, signaling his angry approach.

  “Don’t yah ever look at me that way again, woman!” he yelled, entering the room, and pimped smacked her across the face. With his hand imprint freshly etched on her face in a bluish-red, tears flowed downward in a rapid stream. Dizzy from the impact of his assault she tried to crawl away to the far side of the bed but he quickly grabbed her by the legs and pulled her back towards him.

  “Why do you hate me so much, Don?” she cried out in desperation. “Please tell me why? I don’t deserve to be treated this way.”

  “I don’t hate yah, Roxanne,” he replied, releasing his grip, after a moment. “I just luv someone else, that’s all. I realize this was all a mistake some time ago, our marriage, that is. I guess it’s no surprise to yah that I’ve been seeing Lynn the past three years of our marriage.”

  “I’m not surprised Don. It doesn’t take much to figure out why she has accompanied you on most of your assignments away from the home office. I could not figure out why you refused to let me go, at first. Then it all became clear. Hell, you’ve got your lily white whore, so what do you need with me?” she shot back in defiance. “You never loved me, anyway.”

  “Who yah calling a whore, bitch?” he snapped, his voice cold and exact. “Lynn is an exceptional and fine secretary. And for yah information, I did luv yah in the beginning, although I was warned against it. However, I turned a deaf ear to all the talk and whispering and married ya’r sorry ass, anyway. I thought we could make it work out. Boy was I wrong.

  “Dammit, we weren’t even married eight months when I found out yah had bedded that Mandingo looking obstetrician-gynecologist of ya’r,” he revealed, still fuming and breathing heavily. “Yes, I heard all about it and from a very reliable source. Couldn’t understand, at first, why it was necessary for yah to visit him twice a week for the entire month I was away on assignment. But yah didn’t know that I had a friend whose wife was on the medical staff there. Now you tell me who’s the whore?”

  “Don, you’re drunk. That relationship was over long before we got married,” Roxanne injected, tensely.

  “Yah’r lying!”

  “Okay, whatever,” she tossed at him, leaning back against the headboard, resentful.

  “Then there’s the mail courier. Yah didn’t think I knew about that one, either. Did yah? I always wondered why yah suddenly stopped going out to the malls and started shopping heavily by mail order. Woman, yah were getting more than packages, I’d say.”

  “Okay, so I made a few mistakes,” she admitted, shamelessly. “Perhaps I needed a real man, someone who knew how to treat me and make me feel like a woman.”

  Furious, Don raged on, “Woman, a real man! I got ya’r real man…right here!” With that he squeezed his groin area. “How do yah like me now?”

  “Look, why don’t you just leave me the hell alone you bastard and divorce me?”

&nbs
p; “I’ll tell yah why,” he said, drawing near to her, his long arms supporting his upper torso as he leaned over the bed. “Pops is not expected to live much longer. Now Pops, being such a family oriented man, made it known in his will that the son who has been married at least ten years, and is still married at the time of his death, and has a son to past on the name, gets to inherit his 80 million dollar investment firm. Might I add, I only learned of this recently.”

  “What are you trying to say, Don,” she pleaded.

  “So far, I am the only son still married over ten years with not one but two sons. As yah know my elder brother Pat and his wife Rose lost their only son a year ago to cystic fibrosis. And Ira, he divorced his wife two years ago. Neither had any children. So now that I am the front-runner to inherit my father’s millions I am not going to do anything to jeopardize things. And neither are yah! That’s why I tolerate yah ass. Besides, ya’r still good for a roll in the hay every once in a while. I guess that’s why most men luv tramps. Me, I had to go and marry one.”

  “I’m not a tramp and never has anyone treated me like one, except you,” she countered icily, arms crossed, eyes averted.

  Rising up from the bed Don began to unfasten his belt. Watching her breast rise and fall under her labored breathing excited him. And to hear her admit from her own mouth to having slept with other men stirred up a subtle and perverse longing and rage inside that told him he had to punish her for her transgressions. As always Don would find a way to punish Roxanne and please himself, simultaneously.

  Stepping out of his trousers and briefs, his hairy potbelly and his manly pride now fully exposed, he reached for her saying, “I says yah a tramp and I am going to show yah how a real man beds a tramp. Yah ever heard of sodomy? Come here, I say! Get your black ass back here, right now!”

  She darted off but he caught up to her and they wrestled hard and exhaustingly. In the end, she was no match for his two hundred plus pounds and strength. Like a madman possessed, he ripped clothing article after clothing article off her body until she was semi-nude. Anxious to join with her, he flipped her over faced-down, grabbed a nearby jar of lubricating gel, then proceeded to do the unthinkable to her.

  As he violated her mercilessly from behind, she closed her eyes in an effort to block out the physical and emotional pain that now gripped her body. Oh God, please deliver me from this madman, she prayed.

  After it was over and The Beast had fallen fast asleep, she quietly washed up and dressed. Although she was sore she collected herself, and a few of her belongings, then headed out to her rental and drove off into the night. This last scene had been the final straw.

  It was just after ten o’clock p.m. when Kurt felt the pangs of hunger and decided to find relief in the kitchen. As he was making himself a two-layer crunchy peanut butter and jelly sandwich, there came a knock at the door. Wondering who it could be, this time of night, he headed to the front of the motorhome and peered out. It was Roxanne. Quickly opening the door wide, he greeted her but none was given in return. She just stood there, vulnerable looking, sad and in tears. “What happened?” he asked, stepping down to her.

  “Kurt!” she balled, collapsing into his arms.

  “Come on inside,” he insisted, assisting her up into his house on wheels. He led her to the sofa and guided her gently down onto it. He immediately dropped down beside her, facing her. “It’s Don, isn’t it?” He asked, wondering what that asshole of a husband had done now.

  “He violated me, Kurt. And in the worst kind of way,” she stammered over and over, her voice rising in pitch with each phrase, her eyes still wet with tears.

  Kurt’s mouth tightened from anger, his vexation quite evident to her. She had never seen him so distraught and in such rage in all of her years knowing him. Rising suddenly, and with a snarl, he said, “I knew it was a bad idea for you to return there. Look, I’m going over there. Right now! That no good, lousy bastard!”

  “Kurt, please don’t!” She begged and pleaded, latching onto his arm in an effort to restrain him.

  “Sonavabitch! I’m going to kick his Irish ass all of the way back to Ireland,” he fumed, still trying to make it to the door. But Roxanne held on and urged him to calm down. “Please, Kurt! I can’t take any more of this tonight. I just can’t!” she cried, collapsing onto a nearby recliner in tears.

  Coming to his senses, he apologized and comforted her. She was right. She had had enough excitement for one evening. There was no sense in giving her a nervous breakdown. He would not confront Don tonight. But soon, he promised himself.

  Walking into the kitchen area he fixed her some fresh coffee, ironically Irish coffee, as requested by her. Fortunately, he just happened to have a bottle of brandy on hand. After she seemed relaxed he showed her his bedroom and gave her free run of it. He assured her he’d be fine sleeping up front on the pullout.

  As he lay there in the dark trying to fall asleep, he contemplated his next move. First, he had to get her into her own dwelling. She could not stay here with him for any length of time, beyond a few days. More importantly, he had to persuade her to divorce this mad husband of hers before things really got out of hand.

  Checking on her before finally turning in he found her asleep comfortably on his wide bed. She was still wearing her low cut gold colored blouse and short black skirt. Her crème colored thighs appeared as youthful and as shapely as he remembered them being. Even in her sleep she was an ageless goddess.

  Walking over to her unsuspecting form, Kurt unzipped her skirt and helped her slide out of it. She stirred gently from her sleep. She was wearing black lacy panties, he observed. With a sigh, he unfastened her blouse. Beneath this she was wearing a black lacy push up bra, not that she needed any help in that department. With the air on, it was rather cool.

  Reaching for the quilted blanket he pulled it gently over her soft and sensuous looking form, then leaned down and kissed her on her cheek. Looking up into his eyes, she smiled. “Get some sleep,” he urged her, then turned the lights off and headed out the room. Unable to sleep at first, he watched a late night talk show until he finally dozed off.

  Back at their waterfront bungalow, The Beast woke up only to find Roxanne gone from their bedroom. Rubbing the crud out of his eyes, he rose up and stumbled towards the bathroom. He looked inside of the bathroom closet. But she wasn’t in there either. He called out to her but silence permeated the air about him. Befuddled, he searched the remainder of the house, frantically at first, and then called it off. Heading over to the counter he retrieve his Vodka and poured himself a glass.

  Walking over to the recliner he sank into it, glass in hand. After another swallow, he sat the glass aside and searched for his cigarettes in his pockets and shook one loose. Lighting it, he puffed furiously at it for a moment, and then began to cough uncontrollably. It was a deep and raw type of cough. If he did not have lung cancer when he first took up smoking, he definitely had it now, whether he was aware of it or not. After regaining his composure, he grabbed the drink and took another swallow. She’ll be back, he assured himself. Probably got a hotel room for the night. Hell, she had no one to run to here in Tampa, as far as he knew. No family, no friends…no one. Yes, she’ll be back and begging for more. If not his sexual prowess, then his money, he reasoned.

  Chapter 19

  Yvette tossed the cordless phone forcefully onto her bed and glared into the distance. This was her third attempt in as many hours to contact Antwan at home and at the job. She was even more frustrated because it was well pass 11:00PM. Though she wanted to give Antwan the benefit of the doubt, she was growing increasingly tired of their cat and mouse, hide and seek, never see relationship. Sure, it was possible he had stayed late at the job, leaving just before her call, but why had he not called her, she pondered? He had a cell phone.

  Matter-of-fact, she had not heard a peep out of him the past three days. And she refused to call him anymore, after this attempt. An intuitive voice, inside, kept telling her that something
was not quite on the level. Reaching for the phone, she called Juanita to discuss the matter. Juanita would surely know what course she should take.

  The idea that Roxanne might be in imminent danger prompted Kurt to go into action the very next day. Rising up early, he showered, dressed, and then cooked breakfast. There was much to be accomplished before sunset. And it was better to accomplish all of these things on a full stomach, he reasoned rather wisely.

  As she lifted her head up, she smiled appreciatively when she saw Kurt entering the room holding a hot tray with breakfast on it. With a little effort, she raised up on the bed as Kurt sat the serving tray aside. Thoughtfully, he propped a few pillows behind her back for support, then gently placed the serving tray squarely over her blanket-covered thighs.

  “Thank you, Kurt for everything,” she uttered, just above a whisper.

  “You’re more than welcomed,” he replied, benevolently, seating himself at the foot of the bed. As she quietly consumed her breakfast, he ran down a list of things he wanted to accomplish before the day was over. And true to his word, before the sun had set, he had moved her into her own three room luxury suite in downtown Tampa, along with room service and two thousand dollars’ worth of clothing and shoes to last her until she could reclaim some of her belongings from the bungalow she once shared with The Beast.

  Juanita shook her hair slightly, then finally, with her fingers, removed a strand of hair from in front of her eye. A gust of wind had blown in from the east as she sat, along with Yvette, on a wide concrete bench overlooking the vast picturesque bay. Below them the restless blue-gray waters appeared unusually choppy. The sky above was slightly overcast.

  The two friends had gotten together for a day of shopping. Because it was such a mild and beautiful day, they decided to add a promenade by the waterfront to their itinerary. It was a warm conversation on a warm peaceful day, until a harbor tug passed by tooting its loud horn. After it distanced itself from them the two returned to their discussion.