by Mary Monroe
Joan’s jaw dropped. She looked at me like I had suddenly turned into a big pumpkin. “You think a truck driver is better than a casino big shot? Girl, please. Your ‘date’ with that truck driver last week was in a coffee shop. All you did with him was drink coffee and talk! For all you know he could be bankrupt, psychotic, and have a teeny-weenie. And you haven’t even heard from him since.”
“So what? Before I met Calvin in person, he and I had communicated online several times, so I know a lot about him. I really like him. He’s not like any of the other men I’ve dated or communicated with. Not even the ones I’ve been with who I didn’t meet on the Internet.” I paused and cleared my throat. Just thinking about the handsome truck driver—who was also a war hero—made me tingle. “I don’t want to rush into anything, but I think he might be the man I’ve been looking for all my life. If he is, I hope nothing happens to screw it up. . . .”
“Well, the most likely thing to ‘screw it up’ is your stepmother, Bertha. Just like she screwed up things between you and that marine who wanted to marry you that time.”
“Pffft! Maurice turned out to be a straight-up jackass anyway. I read in the newspaper a while back that he’s doing time in prison for beating the woman he married into a coma. And before that, he’d done time for dealing drugs and human trafficking. I’m glad Bertha busted up my relationship with him.” I sniffed and blinked hard before I spoke again. I didn’t like the amused expression that was on Joan’s face now. I gave her a threatening look just to make sure she knew I was still dead serious. “Besides, Calvin and I have something in common.”
“And what’s that?”
“His parents are deceased, too, and the few relatives he has, he’s not too close to. Just like me.”
“You really opened up to that truck driver, huh?”
“Joan, I wish you would stop downgrading his line of work. At least he’s not a drug dealer or a pimp. Every man can’t be a doctor or a lawyer or in some other big-time profession. Long-haul truck drivers deserve a lot of respect because they’re doing a job that somebody has to do. I’m sure the average man wouldn’t enjoy driving a big truck for hours on end and risking his life just to transport merchandise.”
“You’re right. Driving an eighteen-wheeler is just as respectable as any other profession. At least Calvin gets to travel from state to state, and he makes lots of money.”
“And to be honest with you, I’d still like Calvin if he drove a garbage truck and didn’t make a lot of money. It’s been years since I met a man who’s made me feel so relaxed in his presence.” I took my time making the next statement because I had a feeling it was going to ruffle Joan’s feathers even more. “I even told him about Bertha.”
“You have got to be kidding!” Joan clapped her hands together like a seal, threw her head back, and laughed so loud and long, everybody in the bar turned to look at her.
“Can you laugh a little louder so the people out on the street can hear you too?” I hissed.
She stopped laughing and gave me a look that was part incredulous, part angry.
“What’s wrong with you, Lola? Why would you waste your time telling a random sex partner—who you haven’t even had sex with yet and hardly know—about your crazy-ass stepmother?”
“Woman, you have no room to talk! Didn’t you tell me that you told some of your partners about your ‘crazy-ass’ husband?”
“Oh yeah, I did tell you that.” Joan giggled and looked embarrassed. “And each one I told felt so bad for me, they were extra nice. It helps for me to talk about the mess I’m in with whoever wants to listen. Other than my meddling family and you, that is. So, what all did you tell Calvin about Bertha and her useless, rotten-ass children?”
“I didn’t go into a lot of detail about Libby and Marshall. Talking about them takes a lot out of me, physically and mentally. Besides, there is so much to tell about them, it would have taken me a few hours just to scratch the surface. I focused on Bertha and how she’s using Daddy’s deathbed request to manipulate me. Calvin laughed when I told him how when I was a teenager she used to show up at the places my dates took me to. And, believe it or not, he actually said it was very noble of me to be so devoted to her. He feels sorry for her, and he told me that karma is going to reward me for my kindness someday. I swear, he’s the most sensitive man I’ve ever come across.”
“All that’s easy for him to say. I’m sure he wouldn’t say that if he knew Bertha,” Joan decided. “You said his screen name is ‘RamRod’? I think ‘DudleyDoRight’ would suit him better.”
“I wish you wouldn’t make fun of Calvin. There’s nothing wrong with his being sensitive,” I snapped. “I like that quality in a man. Family is real important to him too. He used to live with his elderly uncle in Chicago, who manipulated him left and right. But he said it never bothered him. And he even said that he is always eager to help out a family member or a friend in need.”
“You might be right, you know. Calvin could be just what you need.” Joan paused and gave me a thoughtful look. “When you first told me about him, I checked out his club profile. I admit, he’s no baboon in the looks department. I think he’s as hot as they come.”
“And he’s not a wimp. An ex-marine truck driver. How macho is that? He would never let an elderly woman like Bertha run him off the way Maurice did.”
“Humph. But no matter how hot, sensitive, and macho this Calvin is, I think you’re getting way ahead of yourself. You’re thinking about having babies and spending the rest of your life with a man you’ve seen in person only one time.”
I sighed. “I guess I should really be more patient. If Calvin’s not the one, and if I’m lucky, my ship will eventually come in. I hope it hasn’t already come in and I missed it.”
“I hope your ship wasn’t the Titanic. . . .”
I rolled my eyes and gave Joan an annoyed look. “I knew I could count on you to say something that’ll keep me from sleeping tonight. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Chapter 3
Joan
WITH THREE MARGARITAS IN MY BELLY WHEN WE LEFT JOCKO’S an hour later, I was feeling real good. My head was spinning and I couldn’t even feel the ground beneath my feet as we walked to the parking lot across the street. But I knew I would not be feeling the same way when I got home.
There was a three-car accident on the freeway, so it took twice as long for us to get back to South Bay City.
Lola parked her aging Jetta in front of the posh high-rise I lived in with my husband, Reed, and our fourteen-year-old son. I was horrified to see Reed staring out the front window of our eighth-floor condo with a tight look on his face. I sucked in some air and shook my head. Lola snickered.
“Uh-oh,” she said, giving me a hopeless look. “Reed doesn’t look too happy.”
“So what else is new?” I moaned. “Lola, will you please pray for me?”
“You don’t have to ask me to do that. I pray for you all the time,” she said gently as she patted my shoulder.
My buzz suddenly didn’t feel so strong anymore. I gave Lola a one-armed hug before I tumbled out of her car and sprinted toward the entrance of my building. Before I could even scan my security card to unlock the door to the lobby, Reed buzzed me in. When I reached our floor and got out of the elevator, he was standing in the hallway in front of our door with his hands on his hips.
“So you finally decided to come back home, huh?” he barked. He looked as slovenly as he always did when he was at home. His thick, gray-and-black hair was matted on both sides and sticking up on top like a Mohawk. It was almost four p.m. and Reed was still in his flannel bathrobe and house shoes. It was hard to believe that last year he’d been voted the “best dressed man” in the lodge he belonged to. He had not even shaved. A mask of stubble, half of it gray, covered the lowest part of his face. “Where the hell have you been this time, Joan?”
“Out! O-u-t!” I yelled as I brushed past him. As soon as I got inside, I kicked off
my shoes and headed toward the living-room couch. Reed headed in the same direction.
“I can see that!” He was so close behind me I could smell his hot, sour breath on the back of my neck. “I can tell that you’ve been drinking too!”
“And I’m going to drink some more,” I snarled, my eyes fixed on the liquor cabinet across the room. I whirled around to face Reed, looking him up and down. “You could have at least combed that crown of thorns on your head and shaved. You look like hell.”
“I feel like hell too,” he said in a weak voice and with a profound pout on his face. “I want to know where you’ve been for the past three hours.”
I sighed and brushed past him again, ignoring his question. He followed me down the hall to our huge bedroom.
“Joan, talk to me!” he ordered. “Where were you and who were you with?”
“I was with Lola,” I said casually as I dropped down onto the unmade bed with my purse still in my hand. “I told you when I left here that I was going to go hang out with Lola for a while.”
“You’ve been with Lola all this time?” Reed yelled. He stood in front of me with his arms folded and a scowl on his face.
“Yes, ‘all this time,’ ” I yelled back. I was glad that Reed Junior was spending the weekend with my in-laws. He had never witnessed one of our tirades, and I was going to make sure he never did. “You ought to know by now that I come and go as I please!”
Reed grunted, unfolded his arms, and scratched the side of his neck, then he plopped down next to me. “I was worried that something had happened to you, that’s all,” he whimpered with a puppy-dog look on his face. “You’re a beautiful woman, Joan. There are a lot of predators out there just waiting to grab a female like you.” I could understand him being concerned about criminal activity. However, when he said that he was “worried” about me, what he really meant was he was worried about me fooling around with another man. “If anything ever happened to you, like if I lost you, I wouldn’t want to go on. . . .”
I rolled my eyes and gave him a disgusted look. I was not in the mood to listen to another one of his veiled suicide threats. It was an extremely sensitive subject in our house, and I avoided it like the plague.
Reed had attempted to take his life a couple of years ago because I had threatened to divorce him. From that day on, the fear of his committing suicide hovered above my head like a black cloud every time we had a showdown.
“Why don’t you let me enjoy a little more freedom now and then?” I rose, still clutching my purse. I didn’t trust Reed, so I never let my purse out of my sight when he was in the house. I had caught him rooting through it more than once. He was the most suspicious man I had ever met. And other than me spending a lot of time away from home, he had no reason to be. For one thing, I was too sly (and lucky) to let him catch me up to no good.
I couldn’t wait to be alone so I could remove and hide the condoms in my purse, which I had forgotten to do after my last date a couple of days ago.
Chapter 4
Joan
REED WOBBLED UP OFF THE BED WITH A GROAN. NOT ONLY DID HE sound like he was in pain, he looked like it too. And so was I. My head was throbbing on both sides, and not because of all the alcohol I had drunk.
It was hard to decide which one of us was the most miserable.
If Reed ever found out about my affairs, he would probably kill me, and then himself. A chill ran up my spine every time I thought about that. But the chill was not cold enough for me to change my ways. I was not about to become the meek, stay-at-home little housewife my husband wanted.
He had known me well enough before we got married to realize that shrinking violet characteristics were not in my DNA. I had been a free spirit since the day I was born, and I was going to be one until the day I died. I figured that as long as I stayed under the radar and nobody knew about my Internet sex life, why the hell shouldn’t I enjoy myself while I still could?
I had never tried to control Reed, so I was not about to let him stop me from being myself. How did I know he wasn’t having affairs behind my back or involved in some other kind of shady activity? Even though I had no proof that he was anything but what he appeared to be, just the thought that he probably had a few deep, dark secrets himself was enough to justify my actions.
“Whatever you have to say, say it and get it over with and stop looking at me like I’m crazy,” I snapped.
“Were there any men drinking with you and Lola?” Reed looked me straight in the eye as he twiddled his thumbs and tapped his foot on the floor.
“There were no men drinking with us this time.”
He gulped and took a couple of steps backward. “What do you mean by ‘this time,’ Joan Riley? What about other times?”
I got so close up in his face, I could smell the onions he’d eaten with his lunch. I could tell from his wince that the tequila on my breath was twice as potent as the onions. “Look, I’m not your daughter; I’m your wife.”
“I wish you’d act more like my wife,” he said sharply. “I’m in a position that most black men can only dream about. It doesn’t look good for my wife to be out in public drinking like a sailor and spinning around town like a loose wheel.”
“I get the picture, Reed. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s change the subject,” I said with a heavy sigh.
We stared at each other for a few seconds. The inside of my mouth tasted stale and foul, the way it always did after I’d had a few drinks. I held my breath to keep from belching, but one flew out of my mouth anyway. I moaned and massaged the side of my head. “I . . . I don’t feel so good right now,” I whimpered.
“You want an aspirin?” Reed asked, giving me a sympathetic look. One good thing I could say about my husband was that no matter how angry I made him, he usually ended up purring like a kitten after our arguments, no matter which one of us had started it. “How about some green tea?”
I shook my head. “I’ll be okay after I use the bathroom.”
“Do you want to go out to dinner? I know you don’t like to cook on weekends.” He followed as I headed toward the bathroom adjacent to our bedroom.
“Uh, no, thanks. You can go pick up some Chinese takeout,” I suggested. Reed followed me all the way into the bathroom. “I’m going to take a bubble bath while you’re gone.”
“You want me to go now?” He glanced at the Rolex I’d given to him for his birthday last year.
“Uh-huh. We’re out of wine, so can you go by the liquor store too?” I didn’t even wait for him to answer before I turned on the water in the bathtub.
“Yes, baby,” he mumbled, backing out the door. I was pleased that he didn’t sound or look so pitiful now. “I’ll go as soon as I freshen up.”
I waited a couple of minutes and then I retrieved my purse off the bed. As soon as I heard the shower running in the guest bathroom across the hall, I went back into the bathroom and locked the door. I turned off the water in the bathtub and sat down on the commode, then crossed my legs.
I fished my cell phone out of my purse so I could check my messages. There were the usual mundane texts and voice mails from Mama and a few other members of my rowdy family. They all complained about something, asked for money, or both. Lola had left a voice mail message. She told me to call her back whenever I could. But only one name on my caller ID really made me smile: Dr. Ezra Spoor. His screen name was “DrFeelGood.” He had called me up at one p.m., shortly after Lola had picked me up. I had turned off my cell phone by then. The other callers could wait, but I decided to return the good doctor’s call right away. I was so anxious to talk to him, I punched in the wrong number twice before I got it right.
“It’s Joan,” I whispered as soon as the deep, cultured voice on the other end of the line answered. “How’s the sexiest plastic surgeon in Palm Beach doing?”
Chapter 5
Joan
“HELLO, PRECIOUS. I’M DOING JUST AWESOME. I’VE BEEN thinking about you almost every day since our last rendezvous
.”
“I’m happy to hear that. I’ve been thinking about you too. I’m surprised you called again so soon. But I’m glad you did,” I said in my sweetest tone of voice.
“I arrived in San Jose this morning to speak at another one of those damn boring medical conferences today. Thank God it’s over.”
“I wish I’d known you were coming this way.”
“So do I. My unpredictable bride had planned to accompany me, but she cancelled at the very last minute. I called and left you a message right after I checked into my hotel. I had hoped to hear from you before now. You see, I really need to see someone soon. A few seconds before you called, I was about to turn on my laptop and log into the club’s site to see if there was another woman in your area who’d be interested in having a good time with me tonight. . . .”
Because being in a sex club was all about casual sex, I had no right to get “jealous,” but I did from time to time. I got jealous when my dates talked about the “good times” they had enjoyed with other club members. I got jealous when one cancelled a date with me, and it didn’t matter what the reason was. I even got jealous when a man I wanted to hook up with chose another woman over me.
“I’m sorry I interrupted you. Would you rather see someone else?” I asked dryly.
“Oh, no! I was hoping you’d be available to see me. That’s why I called you up when I did. I would have called yesterday or even a few days ago, but I didn’t know I was going to have free time after my presentation. And I didn’t know that my wife was going to cancel on me just as we were about to leave for the airport. As luck would have it, the last session of the conference ended a lot sooner than I expected, so I have some time to kill before I return to Florida tomorrow night.”
“Well, I couldn’t get alone to call you back until now.”
“I see. So what’s-his-name is keeping tabs on you?”