Would I Lie to You?

by Trisha R. Thomas

  Venus shook her head no. That was the last time they’d met. Not now. Here she was a raw open wound, seething and leaking hopelessness. There was no energy for pretense, no will for it

  “Fine, I won’t talk to him.”

  “I didn’t say not to, I just feel like I can already trust him, without your recommendation.” Venus pushed the hair off her neck, feeling too warm and a little uncomfortable.

  “That’s a good thing. I’m glad to hear it.” He leaned forward on both elbows. His eyes softened, folding at the corners. “But if you need me, you know where I am.”

  “Not really,” Venus said, finding the center of his pupils, even with his hooded lids, there was a reflection of light “What are you doing here, in Los Angeles, slumming? I thought you were going to stay in Washington, D.C, forever, you and your new bride.”

  “I was wondering when it was going to come up, when you were going to bring her up again.”

  “Well, you did marry the woman.”

  “Yes, I did.” Clint leaned closer on the table. “So what about you, did you make it official?” He eyeballed her ring finger. Venus touched it, remembering that it was there, that she was indeed engaged to Airic. That she indeed loved him, though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d told him so.

  “Not yet Airic’s still in D.C. I’m here working on a project. We’ve both been busy, too busy for nuptial planning.”

  “Couldn’t squeeze it into your schedule, huh?” The mocking didn’t feel harmful. She understood what Clint was saying. After she’d put the gun to his head, marry me or else, he had a right to assume she was in a hurry to make the run down the aisle. “I never got the scoop on …”

  “Airic. He’s a software engineer by trade. He started his own company. Doing very well.”

  “I have no doubt about that.”

  “He’s a good guy.” She wouldn’t go any further. Men and their doggy traits, sniffing for imperfections, chinks in the armor. Not another word about Airic. “So, does Kandi like L.A.?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” His expression withered into the old Clint, sometimes sullen and menacing. There was a hardness about him that came from the streets of the D.C. neighborhood he grew up in. A crack-addicted father, and a mother who abandoned him at age ten. The hardness that was needed to overcome those obstacles also kept him at an arm’s distance.

  “As in, you haven’t asked?” Venus treaded lightly but could feel her bottom lip hanging in anticipation.

  “She’s still in D.C.”

  “So, she’s coming later?”

  “I doubt it.”

  She folded her arms over her chest to stop the chill bumps from rising with her curiosity. “You’re not together anymore?”

  “I don’t know what we are.” He shook his head. “The last straw was when I told her I got the job out here. She thought it was some kind of plan to get away from her. She’d just got on as an administrator for the Prince George County school district. We were having problems, some issues, already; this was just the final nail.”

  “Final as in the big D word? Why would she rather stay there and work? I thought she wanted to be married, babies, the whole nine. You can do that anywhere. L.A. is just as good a place as anywhere else.” Venus found herself way too excited. She drew in a long deep breath that made her head sway in warp speed, this new information swirling around her. “I’m sorry to hear it, Clint.”

  He blinked, and Venus thought she saw a twinkle of moisture.

  “I hope it works out. I really do.”

  “You know what, I believe you. Isn’t that a trip?” Clint looked around the cafeteria for a minute. “I’m sitting across from the only lady that’s truly ever wanted the best for me.”

  A lump built up and swelled in her throat making her unable to respond.

  “Ain’t that a trip? You tried to tell me, didn’t you? What’s that old saying—set it free, and if it comes back to you, it’s yours; if it doesn’t, it was never meant to be? And here I am sitting right before you, you before me. That’s a trip.” He shook his head again. “What do you think this means? You said yourself that God puts us right where we’re supposed to be.”

  “Something my mother used to always say,” she said carefully so not to disturb the dry ball lodged in her throat. “I don’t know if it’s true.” She stared into the empty Styrofoam bowl.

  What was she saying? Hadn’t she dreamed of this day? No, not dreamed, predicted it, like some clairvoyant. Played this moment out as if she’d written it herself, the day Clint would come groveling back in her life. Funny, though, she couldn’t remember her lines. She couldn’t remember if she’d said, “You and I belong together, always have. Our paths will continue to cross because we are connected.” Maybe she’d even reached out to touch the dark smooth plane of his cheek, whispering in soft words an angel would use, “We’re spiritual beings, drawn to one another but not in this lifetime. In this lifetime it’s too late for us,” then disappearing like a cloud of smoke.

  “Venus, you all right?” He was up and next to her in the booth before she could respond. He nudged her face to his. He looked into her eyes, more as a doctor than a missed lover. He flicked a miniature flashlight, shocking her into real time.

  “Ooooh.” She blinked, squeezing out the assaulting light. “Charming.” She shoved his hand away with the offending tool.

  “You looked like you were dazing out on me.”

  “Still a little shaken from everything going on with my mom. And now you show up. I could definitely crawl into a nice warm bed and space out for a couple of weeks just to sort it all out.”

  She felt his firm thigh against hers. Shoulder to shoulder. Friend to friend, she thought.

  “I know you’re going through hell with this, what’s happening with your mother. It’s got to be driving you crazy. I know. I know exactly how you are. But she’s going to be okay You got to believe that.” Clint licked his bottom lip, a nervous habit. She looked at him, studying his face, amazed that she still trusted everything he said to be true. Even after what he’d done to her in the past, his words were gold, sacred and valued.

  “You want to do something to get your mind off it? We could see a movie, go to dinner. I get tired of this place sometimes.”

  They both looked around the staid hospital cafeteria.

  “I don’t know how you can stand it,” she said, relaxing a bit already.

  “I get out of here around six. I can pick you up at seven, after a quick shower.”

  Her mind was screaming No, but the words “That’s fine” easily slipped from her lips.

  He pulled out a pen from his chest pocket. She wouldn’t tease. The same way he knew all her quirks, she knew it bothered him to be sitting here with his starched collar and bland tie, and good grief, a pocket protector.

  “Write your address, phone, any pertinent information that won’t get me stomped on by your boyfriend, or excuse me, fiancé.”

  She smiled. Just friends. Just dinner. Relax.

  “You can reach me on my cell phone.” She wrote everything but her name. “Same to you. The day when Kandi finally does come around, I don’t want any incriminating evidence found linking me to Your Greatness.” She handed the pen back. “Do you have a card, Doctor?”

  Clint pulled it out and wrote his home number on the back. He touched her arm, patting then squeezing before standing up. “So I’ll see you tonight.”

  “See you tonight,” she confirmed. He walked away He’d filled in around the edges, his body was still muscular and tight. He walked with the same loose swagger, kicking his pant legs out hard before each step. He stopped near the crowd he’d originated from, patting shoulders and waving good-byes, then left the cafeteria empty-handed. He’d forgotten to eat. He turned one last time to wave at Venus.

  She mouthed, “See ya,” calm, cool, and impossibly stupid. What was she doing? Going to dinner with Clint? Her list was stretching long with bad decision making. First Jake, now Clint.<
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  ATROCITIES

  THE main library in downtown Los Angeles felt like Grand Central Station. Large dome ceilings, people from every walk of life going in different directions. Venus wandered through the stacked bookshelves, looking for the numbered section in her hand. The librarian hadn’t needed to look up the area where the books on breast cancer were housed, as if she’d directed hundreds of worried women to this section every day. It was endless. Three rows, filled with books about women’s health. The majority concentrated on the breast cancer war. Venus grabbed as many as her arms would carry and found an empty seat at a large mahogany table.

  The slap of the book pages echoed through the high ceilings. It made sense to start with the history of breast cancer, to start from the beginning. The need to understand had always plagued Venus. Where there was no logical explanation, she applied her mother’s handy faith of preordination. But only after concentrated effort, fierce and steady dissection. This, she had to understand. She was a long time away from accepting what will be, will be. Even though Dr. Lamb had made it clear that after billions of dollars of research, uplifting fund-raisers, and an awareness movement unmatched by any other, there was still no definitive cause or solution.

  She still had to see for herself.

  The Cancer Journals by Audré Lorde, Breast Cancer by Anne Kasper, and two others by Susan Sontag. By the third book, Venus was convinced she was going to die, and soon. The constant nonaffirming causes were everywhere. From pesticides in the foods to the plastics of containers. All types of carcinogens that replicated estrogen in the body, causing the breast cells to grow rapidly out of control. The worst possible cause—Venus stopped breathing when she read this one—remaining childless past the age of twenty-five. “Early menstruation—along with late parenthood is considered a classic risk factor for breast cancer in women. Breast feeding for at least six months also proved to reduce the risk factor.” Yes, that was her, and millions of other career-driven women of the 1980s and 1990s who had made a choice. A woman who wanted to raise a child “with a man,” a father, in the home they’d created on equal ground. Was it her fault she hadn’t found him by the age of twenty-five? She slammed the book closed. But then how would that explain her mother, who had given birth to both she and Timothy before the age of twenty-five? Nursed them at her breast, a homemaker who didn’t have to breathe in high levels of carbon monoxide in the city streets when traveling to and from her job.

  Maybe it was the laundry soap, or the ammonia she’d cleaned the floors with, or the shampoo, or even the Lysol spray Pauletta lived and breathed. It killed germs.

  Life was unfair. That was the only conclusion. If women knew for sure that having a baby before the ripe old age of twenty-five was an effective risk reducer, would they have opted to forgo careers and settle on the first man who came knocking?

  She shoved the books randomly back on their shelves, realizing it may have been better to leave them on the table for a librarian to replace correctly for the next woman who needed to know the odds of her demise … and why. But she had no time. She needed to get ready for her meeting with Clint, the only other man besides Airic whom she’d ever considered having a baby with.

  SHE felt like such a fool. By the time she’d pulled the third change of clothes out of the closet, taking off the gold sleeveless cow neck in exchange for the black Lycra V-neck, she was sure. A certifiable fool. All this for the man who’d made it clear she was not worth having. Not worth caring about. Not worth marrying. She could have shaved off two years of risk and been with child if Clint would have gone along with the program.

  She slipped her pointed toes into the black slingbacks, standing in front of the mirror. The skirt too loose. The last time she’d had it on, it hugged and gripped her hips showing off two perfect cantaloupe halves. This time it looked like an ill-fitting slip. She pushed it down and kicked it off.

  Standing there in her black thong panties, she stopped to stare. Now this would knock Clint off his feet. Bastard. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He’d never get his wide dark palms around her body again.

  She pulled out the black dress that stopped high on her thighs. Sleeveless, with a draped neckline—the dress Airic had picked out for her for a dinner meeting with one of his potential investors. Seeing it in one of the mail-order catalogs she received daily in the mail, he’d stuck a folded piece of paper in it with a note, this one. When it arrived, it was lopsided and big. She didn’t have time to start shopping again, so she started chopping. Cutting the length, using safety pins on the shoulders. She took it to the dry cleaners and asked them to fix it. The seamstress wanted Venus to try it on so she could pin it correctly. No. It’s just how I want it, she’d told her. Please. Fix it. She hadn’t worn it since that night she walked into the restaurant, knowing she fulfilled the beauty quotient when Airic’s face lit up and his investor signed over the check.

  Now, in front of the mirror, Venus did a full model’s turn, the bottom flounced up, flashing the cusp of her ass. Perfect. She smoothed her hands down her flat stomach, sucking in even more. A victorious grin rising on her cheeks. “Someday … the one you gave away will be the only one you’re wishing for.” Mariah Carey’s song came out loud and off-rhythm. She kept singing anyway … “just think again ’cause I won’t need your love anymore. Someday, hey, hey.” Her anthem for Clint Fairchild fit perfectly the many nights she’d climbed into the shower, head held high to the pulsating water. Her voice never cracked in the insulated walls, the tears neither weighed nor acknowledged as they trickled down the drain.

  The phone rang. She ran toward it before realizing it could be Airic; Stopping in her tracks, she stared at the contraption. She peeked cautiously at the caller ID—unknown. She picked it up slowly, faking a groggy “Hello.”

  “Did I wake you?” Clint’s voice was still a reason to smile, still sounding of hope, and strength, the characteristics of the imaginary prince in Cinderella’s syndrome. All promise, all fantasy.

  “No. I was just sitting here, waiting for you.” Venus couldn’t help the girlish giddiness, even though being nonchalant had been her goal.

  “You sounded like you were napping. Guess I don’t create that much excitement these days.”

  Venus tapped her pounding heart Her nerves jangled from knowing what she was doing was wrong. “Do you want to come up, or I can come right down? I better just come down. I’ll be there in a minute. Oh, what kind of car are you driving?”

  “Come down and see.”

  She closed the phone and dropped it into her purse. She pulled it right back out and pushed the power button off. The last thing she needed was for Airic to call. In the two years they’d been together, she’d never committed as many atrocities as she had in the last few days. Kissing Jake, nearly making love to him. And now, singing and dancing in front of the mirror waiting for Clint, her long-lost prince, to arrive and take her away, at least away for the night. She was bad to the bone. Guilt without shame, or shame without guilt. Either way, she knew exactly what she was doing and it was flat-out wrong.

  “Well, look at you.” Venus leaned into the passenger window of the sporty-style Mercedes.

  “About time, right?” He flashed a smile. The triangle-cut diamond hanging off his earlobe caught her eye. She wondered if it came with the car, a package deal.

  She let herself inside, striking off points for him not opening her door. The leather felt good on her thighs. Cool, soft. She leaned back. “It is nice, Clint.”

  “Yeah, for a while I felt like I was only working for the student loan administration. Paying them back was a full-time gig. Thought it was about time I got something for myself.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “You look beautiful, V”

  She thanked him, taken aback by the coolness of his aftershave, comforting and familiar. “You look good, too.” Spoken only as the truth, not just a response.

  “So does be know where you’re at tonight, who you’re with?” Clint direc
ted the steering wheel with one hand, barely holding it but in full control.

  “That’s a strange question coming from you.” Venus turned back to the glittering boutique windows that for a while held her in a hypnotizing glare. She had been daydreaming before she heard Clint’s voice. How funny he should ask that, when she’d been thinking the exact same thing, wondering how all of this would play out. If she would go home and confess that she’d gone out with her ex-live-in lover, that they’d had a wonderful night laughing and talking about old times, but that was it. One glass of wine and then a polite good-bye kiss. Intentions were always for the best. No one ever woke up with a plan to be conniving and two-faced, a long-term plan to end up staring into the eyes of an old lover, claiming that now they could be just friends. No one ever predicted these things; they somehow just happened.

  “Why is that strange coming from me?” Clint leaned toward her a little.

  “I guess, I thought we had a clear understanding. This night wasn’t anything more than two friends catching up on old times. Getting together, as you put it, for dinner.”

  “No doubt. But dinner or no dinner, friends or no friends, my lady wouldn’t be out with another man wearing that dress. You get what I’m saying?” He eyed her crossed legs.

  “There lies the misunderstanding; I’m not your lady.” She pulled the length of her dress to cover her exposed thighs. Mariah’s song played in her head … Some-day-bey-bey …

  The ride was shorter than she’d liked. She wanted to savor the quietness, the mood. Her response about the dress had put a damper on any further conversation. Clint pulled in front of the restaurant and let the valet park the car. The Moustache Café was a small Italian restaurant decorated to look like a street café in Rome. Soft twinkling lights hung from the silk trees. The sounds of night, chirping frogs and humming cricket wings, played as a subtle backdrop. The table they were escorted to was in a dark corner with large burning candles surrounding the area.