by Tracy Brown
“Take a shower with me.”
Frankie didn’t need to be asked twice. He stripped out of his wifebeater and boxers and turned the shower on full steam. Stepping into the hot streaming water, he held Gillian’s hand as she stepped in after him. They slid the glass door shut, and Gillian reached for the soap. She lathered Frankie’s sexy brown body from head to toe, and when she was done, he reciprocated. He ran his fingers through her long, thick hair and kissed and sucked on her every hot spot. She moaned his name as he fingered her, and she felt her juices flowing like a river between her thighs. She pulled away and bent on her knees and slowly took all ten inches of Frankie into her mouth. He had to fight the urge to moan like a female. It felt so good! Not able to hold back any longer, he pulled her to her feet and scooped her up in his arms with her ass resting firmly in his big hands. Frankie pressed his back against the wall and, using his bulging arms, lifted her easily onto his rock-hard dick. Bouncing her up and down on his manhood, he watched her face twist into ecstasy and could feel her throbbing on his dick as she reached her climax. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and began to writhe on him, grinding her pussy onto him until finally he exploded.
They rinsed off and emerged from the shower, both of them light-headed from the sex. He followed her into the bedroom and pulled her down to lay beside him on the king-size mattress. Frankie looked into her eyes and realized that he was definitely in love with Gillian.
“You don’t love Sadiq,” he said.
“How do you know?” Gillian asked, smiling and noticing that Frankie had gotten her boyfriend’s name right for the first time ever.
“ ’Cuz I know you.” Frankie touched her nose, tracing the freckles that were now his favorite part of her face.
She didn’t deny it. “You’re right. I don’t love Sadiq.”
“So why do you stay with him?”
She hesitated. “Because he keeps my mind off of you.”
Frankie had suspected that. But hearing her say it was music to his ears.
“You don’t love Camille like you used to.” Gillian was turning the tables on him.
He sat in silence for a long time. He thought about their fight last night—how he’d been waiting for an excuse to leave Camille. She had finally given him a way out. “You’re right. I don’t.”
Gillian exhaled, pulled him toward her, and kissed him softly.
“So why do you stay with her?” she asked, meeting his gaze.
Frankie sighed. “Part of me feels obligated to her. Like I told you, in the early days, I didn’t have shit. I was making money, but I was spending just as much as I made. I needed to make more, but I didn’t have the cash to do it. Your pops helped me out a lot, but I was too proud to ask for more at that time. Camille was doing her modeling shit back then.” When Frankie had begun dating Camille, she had the face and figure of a top model. Long legs, slim waist, and big boobs, plus a chiseled face with beautiful warm brown skin. She was stunning. And Frankie had been smitten with her. “She handed me eight grand one time, which was all the money she made doing a shoot. She told me she could tell that I was struggling and she wanted to help me get on. We weren’t even married at the time.”
Gillian nodded. “That’s real.”
“It is.” Frankie cleared his throat. “And I did love her at first.” He remembered that their love was unparalleled in those days. It seemed so long ago. “Because she rode it out with me in the beginning, I stayed with her even though the love wasn’t the same. The thing is, it’s getting harder for me to pretend like I’m happy. And now . . . I think it’s safe to say it’s over. I don’t really enjoy being around her anymore. She’s so uptight all the time, always concerned about what people will think about her or about us. I want her to let loose sometimes and rock a Yankee fitted.”
Gillian laughed.
“It’s like everything she does gets on my nerves. And on top of that, she gained weight. And I don’t want to be an asshole about it, but I don’t like her looking like that. She used to take care of herself better than she does now.” He shook his head. “I do love Camille. There’s a lot of history between us. So I got love for her. But it’s not how it used to be. With you . . . it’s different.”
Gillian felt her heart two-step again. “What’s different?”
Frankie stared into her dancing eyes and grinned slightly. “The way I love you is different.”
Gillian wasn’t smiling. “You don’t really mean that, Frankie.” Her expression turned sad. “And I don’t need to be lied to right now.”
He kissed her hand and stared at her for a few moments before he responded. “Have I ever lied to you before?”
She shook her head no, felt herself getting choked up.
“I’m not gonna start lying now.” He kissed her lips. “I love you, Gigi. I’m dead serious about that.”
She smiled and touched his face gently. “I love you, too.”
Frankie kissed her deeply, and they both knew that things would never be the same again.
Misled
“Here he comes.” Toya nudged Camille and nodded toward her approaching husband.
Camille’s heart sank. She sat and watched Frankie and Gillian walking down the hospital corridor in her direction. She had been calling her husband all night and day, and he never picked up his phone. She had called every hospital in Manhattan in search of him. She had even called the medical examiner’s office, worrying and praying the whole time that he was safe. Now here he was, looking perfectly healthy, headed in her direction with the bitch she now despised for being the reason their marriage was imploding.
Thoughts raced through her head at lightning speed. She was heated that, by the looks of it, her husband had spent the night with Gillian. But what enraged her even more was the fact that Toya was present to witness Frankie’s brazen infidelity. Camille prayed silently that Frankie wouldn’t play her by ignoring her or disrespecting her in front of her friend.
“Hmmm!” Toya mumbled, seeing Frankie and Gillian striding down the long hallway. It was a cold December morning, and Gillian looked adorable in her curve-hugging Seven jeans, a fitted black and gray striped sweater, and black leather booties. A cropped black motorcycle jacket completed the look, and her long hair blew slightly from the swiftness of her stride. Frankie walked beside her wearing jeans and a black button up. To Toya, they looked like a sexy Hollywood supercouple with their coordinated outfits. She wondered if Camille was finally realizing that her husband was sleeping with his best friend.
Meanwhile, Frankie had spotted Camille sitting beside Toya almost immediately. “Shit,” he said under his breath. Gillian looked at him and slowed her pace.
“She’s been waiting here for you all night?” she asked.
Frankie shook his head. “She must’ve come after I called this morning, because if she had been here all night Tremaine would’ve told me.”
Gillian didn’t need a confrontation with Frankie’s wife after having just lost her father. With her only sibling’s life hanging in the balance, she was in no mood for Camille’s melodrama. As they got closer, she felt her adrenaline rushing. If Camille made a scene, Gillian would not hesitate to beat her prissy ass senseless.
They got to where Camille was now standing, and Gillian wasted no time making a hasty exit. “Hi, Camille,” she said, and greeted Toya politely as well. Toya responded, but couldn’t help noticing that her friend did not. Gillian didn’t seem to care. Instead, she moved past the ladies and walked over to Baron’s mother, who was seated nearby. Hugging her, Celia burst into tears, and Gillian consoled her. Celia was distraught. Not only was her only child comatose with a grim prognosis, but her ex-husband—whom she had never stopped loving—was gone. Gillian cried tears of her own as the two women headed to Baron’s room to hold vigil at his bedside.
Frankie was now standing with Camille and Toya, awkwardly silent.
“Hi, stranger,” Toya greeted Frankie. “I’m glad to see that you’re all
right. Your wife has been extremely worried about you.”
Frankie looked at Toya and nodded, his hands in his pockets. She noticed that he still hadn’t even greeted his wife. No hug, no kiss, not even a hello. Such a contrast from the man she’d seen at Camille’s birthday party rubbing her back and professing his love for her. She wondered what was really going on with the Binghams.
The awkward silence returned, and Toya figured that she was the odd one out. She turned to Camille. “I’m gonna go now,” she said. “Call me if you need me.”
Camille nodded, terribly embarrassed by how distant Frankie was acting toward her. “Thanks, Toya. I appreciate you coming down here to meet me.” She hugged her friend and watched as Toya sauntered off toward the elevators.
When her friend was out of earshot, Camille scowled at Frankie, fighting to keep her voice down. “First you walk out on me. Then you spend the night with Gillian. All night and all morning long your phone has been going straight to voice mail, and I’ve been thinking the worst. I have to pick up the newspaper to find out what’s going on in my own husband’s life, and now you stroll in here and you can’t even acknowledge me, Frankie? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He looked at his wife, and suddenly felt guilty. He had no regrets about what happened between him and Gillian the night before. But he did feel bad that Camille—who clearly loved him deeply—would inevitably be hurt because his heart just wasn’t in their marriage any longer.
“Listen,” he said, taking a deep breath. “You played yourself last night. Going through my voice mail, accusing me of fucking around on you . . . Camille . . .” Frankie’s voice trailed off as he struggled to find the words to say. “I’m tired of it. Tired of you always being jealous of my friendship with Gillian.” He looked at her seriously. “Nobles is dead.” Each time he said it, the reality of it hit him like a freight train. “And you know he was like a father to me.”
Camille nodded. As soon as she’d seen the Daily News headline that day and a picture of the bloody carnage that the anniversary party had erupted into, Camille had known that Frankie would be devastated by the loss of his mentor. “I don’t even know what happened. All I know is what I read in the paper, because you haven’t picked up your phone.”
Ignoring her subtle dig, he shook his head. “I got back to the party and it was chaos. Pops was dead, Baron was in emergency surgery, and the decision was made that Mayra and Gillian should be kept safe in case they were targets.”
“I see,” Camille said, folding her arms across her chest. “So you volunteered to protect Gillian, am I right?”
Frankie stared at her blankly, not bothering to answer her.
She was getting more and more angry. “Right, Frankie? You spent the whole night protecting Gillian instead of making sure that I was okay? It was so important for you to keep a good eye on her that you couldn’t answer a single one of my phone calls?” Hearing herself speak, Camille realized that she was fighting a losing battle. Frankie hadn’t called or come home to her because he didn’t want to be with her anymore. She shook her head and started to cry.
Frankie rolled his eyes. This shit was so unwelcome right now! “Camille, stop crying.”
“I’ve been trying so hard,” she said between gasps. “Trying to look good enough for you, and keep the house clean and cook like I’m the fucking black Rachael Ray! All this time I’ve been the perfect wife. I tried everything I could to keep you happy. And the first chance you get . . . the first mistake I make, you go running off with that bitch and you can’t even be bothered to call me. To check in and let me know that even though the guys you do business with were shot the fuck up, that you were okay. I sat up all night calling you, Frankie! Then you walk in here, you see me sitting here with my friend, waiting for someone to tell me where you are, if you’re okay. And your fake-ass friends won’t tell me anything because the whole time they knew that you were laying up with that bitch! And you can’t even say hello to me? Not even a hug or a fucking handshake? Why do you hate me all of a sudden, Frankie? What did I do wrong?”
Camille’s sobbing caught the attention of several passing hospital staff members. Frankie was embarrassed, both of Camille’s public outburst and of his own selfish behavior.
“It’s not even like that,” he lied.
Camille looked at him in disbelief. “You spent the night with her, Frankie!”
Frankie couldn’t take this. “Camille, the woman just lost her father. Her brother is in there fighting for his life, and your selfish ass is standing here acting like it’s all about you. Poor you! You sat up all night calling me. You called all over town looking for me. You tried so hard to be the perfect wife. How do you sound?” Frankie was so disgusted by his wife, who sat before him with tears in her eyes and snot in her nose. “Your friend came and sat with you all morning here at the hospital. She dropped everything for you, didn’t she? So my best friend just watched her father and brother get gunned down and I’m wrong for dropping everything for her?”
Camille didn’t have an immediate comeback.
“This is the type of shit I can’t take anymore, Camille. Gillian’s not the fucking problem. You are. And the only reason you keep talking shit about her is because you’re jealous of her. She’s more interesting than you. She’s more independent than you. And you feel like less of a woman because I enjoy being around her.” Camille looked wounded by his words, so he stopped. Maybe he was being mean because he was going through some serious emotional turmoil after the events of the last twenty-four hours. He tried to tone it down. “You keep talking about how hard you tried in this relationship. I’ve been trying, too, Camille. I try to ignore your nephew being at our house more than he’s ever at his own and I try to ignore you nagging me about a baby every few minutes. Your sister takes advantage, you spend money on her like she’s one of our dependents, and I keep my mouth shut about it. You’re not the only one trying.”
Camille looked in her husband’s eyes and wondered if they were at a point of no return. “So what now, Frankie? You seriously want to leave me now? Just like that? All these years and it’s over just like that?” She was trying not to cry again.
Frankie looked toward Baron’s room, thought about Gillian in there. He thought about the night he spent with her and the way he felt waking up beside her that morning. Then he looked at his wife and could see that she was falling apart right before his eyes. He loved her, but not the way he used to. Still, he couldn’t shake the sense of obligation he felt toward her. She had been a good and faithful wife to him over the years. Even in the early days, when he was far from rich, she’d been in his corner. Was it her fault that he was bored with her? He shook his head, frustrated by the fork in the road he was facing.
“I got a lot of shit going on right now. Now that Pops is gone and Baron’s out of commission, I have to help hold everything together.” He was tap-dancing around the truth. He wanted out of his marriage, but seeing his wife crying a river was making it hard for him to say that. “I’m gonna need some space, Camille. Seriously. We both need that.”
Camille didn’t respond. She stared at Frankie, wishing she could wave a magic wand and make everything all right. But she knew that it wouldn’t be that easy. Relieved that he hadn’t flat-out said that their marriage was over, she took a deep breath. “So now I’m supposed to turn around and go home alone?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I have to help make Pops’s funeral arrangements when I leave here.”
“And after that?”
He looked at her, wondering why she was pressing him to tell her what she didn’t want to hear.
Realizing that Frankie wasn’t going to deny that he would be with Gillian that night, Camille nodded slowly. She looked at the floor, then turned and picked up her clutch bag from the chair behind her. She turned back to her husband and said, “I’ll be waiting for you to come home, Frankie.”
He didn’t respond. Finally, Camille walked away, fighting back a flood of tears a
nd nursing her wounded pride.
Love Is a Losing Game
As soon as Misa found out what had happened to Baron, she rushed to the hospital and held vigil at his side. Celia was there each day, too, wondering why her son had never told her about the young lady who showed up each day when visiting hours began and stayed until they ended each night. Misa explained that she and Baron had only recently begun seeing each other, and that she had fallen in love with her son. Celia was, quite honestly, grateful for the company as she waited and prayed for her son to regain consciousness.
Meanwhile, Camille held out hope that her marriage wasn’t really over. Frankie hadn’t been home since the night of the shooting. She hadn’t spoken to him, either, since he wouldn’t answer her phone calls. Still, she wouldn’t give up. As the day of Nobles’s funeral neared, she continued to play the role of Mrs. Bingham, getting food ready to take over to Mayra’s house and purchasing a beautiful black Tahari suit to wear to the funeral service. She was in denial about the state of her marriage. She didn’t think about the fact that Frankie was avoiding her. Instead, she attributed his absence to the fact that he was stepping up in order to honor his mentor one last time. She understood Frankie’s love for Doug Nobles, and that love, she believed, was the only reason her husband was away from her for so long. What did bother her was the thought of Frankie being intimate with Gillian. Even after witnessing the two of them together at the hospital the day after the shooting, Camille refused to accept that there was anything serious going on between them.