Hey
Payton fell back onto the couch, contemplating the three little letters, which in most cases were harmless; but if she responded, she would end up facedown, ass up, with another woman’s husband stroking her into submission.
She’d tried PerfectChemistry.com; those boring fucks weren’t worth her time. Tony had been filling her sexual void, but now he’d vanished off the face of the earth. She ruminated over what she’d do next. The thought of a no-strings-attached tryst aroused her. No cuddling, talking, invasion of her personal space—just a good fuck and then get the fuck out. And his head game was on point. Her fingers involuntarily began typing.
Hey
What are you wearing?
Nothing . . . I’m painting my toes fire-engine red.
Sounds pretty. Can I suck them for you when you’re done?
Depends.
On what?
What else u r going to suck on after ur done with my toes?
Baby, you know me. I’ll suck your toes and a few other things.
Tell me more about those other things?
I follow directions really well. Send me a pic of what you want me to suck.
Payton rolled the strap of her tank top down her left arm and exposed one breast. She snapped a picture of her nipple, briefly inspected the image, then pressed Send and waited.
Ur nipple is hard . . . looks like u need some attention.
I’m getting wet just thinking about ur type of attention.
Her house phone rang. She ignored it.
Can I come over?
She typed in Yes, but before she could hit Send, Sydney’s voice sounded through the speakers of her message recorder.
“Payton, pick up,” she said, her voice sounding agitated. “I’m coming over. I need to talk.” Before Payton could react, she heard a dial tone.
“Damn,” Payton said, sinking back into the couch and backspacing three spaces. She erased the word and began to type.
R u going to b out 4 a while.
I hope not.
I need a rain check.
A rain check? C’mon, baby, let me put us both out of our misery.
Nothin I’d love to do more right now... but can’t tonight.
Can I take you to dinner tomorrow?
Ooo you want to play outside? Where’s the head bitch in charge?
How about Picán . . . say 8?
I’ll call u in the a.m.
Without waiting for his response, she put her phone on the charger and headed to the kitchen to refresh her drink. She didn’t know what Donathan had done, but he had cost her a much-needed orgasm. And from the sound of Sydney’s voice, Payton knew another drink was in order to calm her nerves before the storm.
Two more Hennessey brambles and thirty minutes later, Payton was sitting next to Sydney, consoling her.
“What happened, Syd?” she asked, feeling relaxed from her drinks but not so much so that she had forgotten about her mother or Tony. She was trying to feign interest in what was really going on with Sydney and Donathan when the fact of the matter was, she had way too much on her own plate to muster up genuine concern for her friend.
“I just don’t understand why he would do this to me,” Sydney said, rubbing her temples like she was trying to ward off a headache.
“Do what?” Payton questioned, and Sydney scowled at the response. “Look, Syd, you know I’m challenged in the listening department. You need to come out with it so we can get to the bottom of why you’re sitting on my couch talking but not really saying anything.”
Sydney leaned forward, avoiding eye contact with Payton. She took a deep breath and exhaled her next words.
“Donathan is cheating on me.”
“Girl, is that it?” Payton responded, sucking her teeth and rolling her eyes upward. “All men cheat on their wives. . . . Here you had me thinking somebody was dead or about to die.”
“Payton, this is my marriage we’re talking about here.”
“Everyone’s not perfect like you, and I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, a man is going to be a man, and that includes your man. Shit, these days a petty sexual indiscretion is nothing to march down to divorce court over. Whatever he can do, you can do.”
“Petty?” Payton’s response clarified why Sydney was reluctant to talk about this with her. She knew how Payton would react, but right now she’d had nowhere else to go. “Give me your damn laptop and let me show you petty.”
“It’s on the desk in my office. You go get the laptop and I’m going to go get me another sidecar and you a glass of wine. You need to relax,” she mumbled as she retreated to the bar. She couldn’t believe Sydney was this upset over Donathan’s shenanigans. Frankly, she didn’t know what reality her friend lived in. If she ever listened to her husband and those sexual exchanges on the radio, she would have seen this coming a mile away. Sydney needed to face the facts: Her man was fine, a local celebrity, and he didn’t have to work too hard to attract the attention of women . . . and it was paying off for him.
* * *
Sydney returned with the laptop, typed in karma.com, and waited for the images to populate the screen. The guest intercom system, chimed. Payton yelled to her from the other room.
“Can you get that? Do you want red or white? How about a Hennessey bramble, like me?”
“I’ll try a Hennessey bramble,” she said, pressing the remote that was sitting on the table in front of her.
“Yes?”
“Ma’am, I have an Anthony Barnes down here, requesting entrance to your residence.”
Sydney was silent, her anger fighting its way to the surface. What did Donathan hope to gain by sending Tony over to talk with her? She wasn’t a child and refused to listen to another grown man plead Donathan’s case, and as soon as he got up there she planned to tell him just that.
“Ma’am, is it okay to send the gentleman up?”
“That’s fine.”
Sydney placed the laptop on the table and went into the bathroom. She wanted this day to rewind, but she knew there was no such thing as a do-over. Her eyes were puffy, and the last thing she wanted was for Tony to report back to Donathan that she’d been crying. She gently splashed cold water onto her face repeatedly until it made her eyes sting. Through squinting eyes, she grabbed a paper towel and blotted her skin dry. Her reflection came into focus. No amount of cold water was going to fix her bloodshot eyes.
* * *
Payton sauntered out of the kitchen, two drinks in hand, and heard a light tapping at her front door. “Oh great,” she practically shouted. Just what she needed—another uninvited visitor stopping by to put another wrinkle in her perfectly orgasmic plans. She hoped it was Donathan coming to collect his wife and leave her to her vices.
“I’m coming.” She placed the drinks down on the table and headed for the front door. She opened the door, half-expecting Donathan, but saw a smiling Tony instead.
“You?” She turned on her heels and walked away from him.
He stepped inside, closed the door, and trapped her body between him and the foyer entrance wall; he kissed her neck and nibbled on her ear.
“Didn’t you miss me?”
“Ooo,” she cooed. “That shit feels good.”
Sydney marched back into the room, ready to do battle, but was confused by the scene that was playing out in front of her. “What the fuck is going on here?” she screamed, startling both Payton and Tony, who stepped back like he had touched hot fire. “I can’t believe this shit. My life is falling apart and I’m surrounded by cheaters and fucking liars!”
“Sydney, it’s not what you think—”
“Oh, save that shit for somebody else, because that is the second time somebody has told me that bullshit tonight. What gets me is why this has to be a fucking secret. We’re all adults and have been friends for almost twenty years. The fact that you didn’t trust me enough to share what’s going on with you and your life speaks volumes. Two people who are supposed to love m
e are keeping secrets. . . I am so fucking naïve,” she said as she grabbed her purse and rushed past the twosome frozen in the entrance.
“I left the ‘petty indiscretion’ up on your laptop; please share it with Tony, but then again, who am I kidding, he probably already knew about that shit long before some photographer took those pictures,” she said and slammed the door behind her.
* * *
Payton rushed over to the table and picked up her laptop. She shook her head and sighed heavily. She clicked the link and saw the pictures of Donathan and some woman, kissing at Mimosa. Tony scowled and then positioned the screen so he could get a better view.
“Why the hell is he in a lip lock with the fucking stalker?”
CHAPTER 27
With Tyrese’s cell phone held tightly in her grasp, Joi tiptoed into the master bathroom and closed the door behind her. The family had been back from the camping trip at East Park Reservoir for less than twenty-four hours, and the humming of that damn phone had kept her awake for most of the night. After the incident at Eli’s Mile High Club, Tyrese came home with the story that his truck had been vandalized and towed to the shop for repair. Joi went along with the lies, all the while planning her next move.
She locked the door, engaged the overhead fan, and typed in the password Tyrese had no idea she knew. The screen came to life, and she tapped on the message envelope to view his text messages.
There were ten from a woman named Debbie. The first texts were single sentences, things like, Hey and Where are you? but they escalated, each one seeming more desperate than the last. You better not be trying to play me and Don’t make me show up at your house because I do know where you live. Joi’s jaw tightened. The bitch had better think twice before rolling up to her front door. She wondered if Holsey had collected enough information on this tramp yet.
After seeing Holsey at Eli’s, she’d felt confident that she was getting her money’s worth, though with all her snooping she’d practically done the job for him. The only thing she hadn’t known before today was the woman’s name, and now she knew that, too. It had taken everything in her not to disclose to Tyrese that she knew about his little fling, but that information was her trump card. She just needed to get the physical proof from Holsey. Later today she’d call and make arrangements to meet with him.
Next, Joi pressed the voice-mail icon on the screen; it populated with a list of voice-mail messages waiting to be heard. She scrolled down as far as she could and saw every message was from the same number—Debbie’s. She pressed Play and listened to the first message: “T, baby, where are you? I need you to—”
“Mommy, are you in there?” one of the twins asked, knocking on the door.
“Fuck,” Joi mumbled under her breath. She ended the call and locked the screen.
“Mommmmmmy,” he called out again.
“Um, yes, baby. Mommy is in here having private time. I need you to be really quiet and not wake up Daddy. Go downstairs and Mommy will be right down to make you some red velvet pancakes.”
“Yippee,” she heard him squeal as he scurried away.
She sat there on the toilet seat for a moment and then, holding her breath, eased back into the master suite. She exhaled when she saw that Tyrese was still snoring, showing no sign of waking up anytime soon. She approached his nightstand and reconnected the phone to the charger. He stirred, and she hurried over to the window, and pretended to be adjusting the curtains to let in a bit of morning sunlight.
She stood there a moment and stared out the window, reflecting on the past week and how she had found the inner strength to keep her emotions in check. Camping had given her an opportunity to bond with her family, away from the outside world and its distractions. Her thoughts were interrupted by Tyrese, who pulled her into bed on top of him. When he kissed the side of her neck, she tensed.
“Morning, baby,” he said, the extra bass still present in his voice. He slept in the raw and his morning wood was standing at attention.
“Why are you out of bed so early?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling his head against her curly mane. She put her game face on and turned to look at him.
“I was about to go downstairs to cook you some breakfast; then I thought we could hang out here in bed today and—”
He kissed her full on the lips. “Sweetheart, I can’t do that today. You know it’s my golf Saturday. I have to meet Donathan and Tony at eleven.”
Joi stiffened. “We haven’t even finished unpacking the truck. Can’t you cancel today?” she whined like one of her four-year-olds. Her words were muffled in the crease of his neck.
He cupped her face with both hands and rested his forehead on hers. “Why don’t you see if you can get your mother to keep the boys overnight, and when I get back from playing golf and running a few errands this afternoon, we can do whatever you like.” He kissed her on the lips again and playfully slapped her on her ass. “Now go on and fix me something to eat.”
* * *
Tyrese was a little perplexed as Joi scooted out of bed, grabbed her robe, and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Usually he had to work a little harder to settle her down, but she’d accepted his offer with little pushback. Maybe he was getting better at this. She’d barely left the room before he grabbed his phone off the nightstand and powered it on to listen to his voice mail. His body flushed as he listened to message after message from Debbie. He was tired of her little temper tantrums and he was going to put an end to this shit today. But it was the last message, the one from Curtis Holsey that really pissed him off. According to Curtis, Tyrese had until five o’clock today to take care of the arrangements they had discussed, and if Holsey didn’t hear from him, he would assume it was okay to share the information he had gathered with Joi. Tyrese couldn’t believe the frail motherfucker had the audacity to threaten him. And he planned to share with the little man just how much he hated threats when they met that afternoon.
* * *
When Joi got downstairs, she whipped up a batch of pancakes for the boys, and now they were happily seated at the table, enjoying their red pancakes. Next, she stirred the special batch for Tyrese. Lately, she’d learned to turn her emotions on and off like a faucet, pretending to be unaware of all the secrets and lies her husband was keeping from her, when the truth was, she couldn’t think of anything else. She folded the pecan pieces into the batter just the way he liked them and waited for the griddle to reach the necessary temperature.
Once she poured four circles onto the flat surface, she opened the kitchen cabinet and reached for the small bottle of ipecac she had stashed at the very back. She took out a small spouted ramekin and filled it with warm maple syrup. She smiled as she mixed in three heaping tablespoons of the sugary medicine and placed the syrup on the serving tray. This would keep his wandering ass at home.
After the pancakes were ready, she carried the full tray upstairs, making sure not to spill the juice. She entered the room to an empty bed and a running shower.
“Ty, I thought I was bringing you breakfast in bed,” she called out sweetly, feeling excited about her plan coming to fruition. After he got over the initial nausea, he would be fine and at home with her and the kids, where he belonged.
“Set the tray on the bed. I’ll get it when I get out of the shower,” he called out over the running water.
“But I cooked you red velvet pancakes with extra pecans, just the way you like them, and they’re going to be cold,” she said, balancing the tray on one arm, using the fork to stir the syrup inside the ramekin. “The least you could do is eat them, after I went to all the trouble—”
The shower turned off, and a few seconds later a wet Tyrese joined her in the bedroom with a white towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist. Joi smiled and held the tray. He kissed her, then sat down on the bed, and she placed the full tray on his lap. He picked up the knife and fork and sliced the stack of pancakes into six pieces. He drowned the perfect triangles in the maple syrup and
began eating.
“Umm,” he said, taking another huge bite. “Baby, these are always so good. What do you put in these?”
“Nothing but love.” She smiled. Joi watched him eat and realized she had plenty to think about before making any rash moves. She didn’t know who he thought he was fooling. She could feel it in her gut that those errands he thought he was going to run today included Debbie—and that was something she had to put a stop to.
* * *
Tyrese ate his breakfast, dressed, and left the house in a hurry to make the standing tee time. He had hardly merged his SUV onto I-80 E when the sudden urge to vomit overcame him. He pulled over on the shoulder, opened the car door, and spilled his breakfast on the pavement. He retched continuously for almost ten minutes before the nausea subsided.
When he pulled into the parking lot of the Richmond Country Club, his heart was pounding fast, as if it wanted to jump out of his chest. Another wave of nausea hit him and he found himself standing next to his truck, dry heaving, which was where Donathan found him.
“Are you all right?”
“Man, I’m o—erup . . . erup.”
Donathan stood helpless as he watched his friend retch. He looked at his watch. “I think we should cancel our game today.” They stood there a while longer, and when Tyrese stood erect, his breathing hadn’t slowed to normal. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I was fine when I left the house; then on my way here I had to pull over, and I’ve been upchucking ever since.”
“Was it something you ate?”
“I had red velvet pancakes . . . nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe a bug I picked up on the camping trip.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where’s Tony?”
“His mother isn’t doing well so he won’t be joining us today.” Tyrese walked back to his truck, his heart palpitations echoing in his ears. He reached inside his car door, grabbed a package of wet wipes from the door pocket, and wiped his face and hands.
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