“What the…” he shouted, before sliding both hands inside front pockets of his starched jeans. “Okay, hold on, y’all. I said I was gonna stop cussing.” The ladies observed as he counted backward from ten to five slowly per the instructions in the last anger management self-help book he read. “There…That’s much better, Dooney,” he said, speaking to himself. “Now then, Chandelle, your man is gone, agreed?” Reluctantly, she nodded her head. “Can I get a word up?” he asked, to elicit genuine emotion from Chandelle.
“Aghhh, Dooney, I hate when you do it this way,” she fussed. “Why can’t I just tell you what happened and you tell me what you think about it?”
“Because this is the ‘Dooney Show’,” he told her, “and I, like Oprah–Dr. Phil-and-’em, get to run things as I see fit. I could come right out and ask you what you did to the dude to make him bolt, but then I’d only get your side of the story. What has that gotten you so far?” He raised his brow to ward off any unwarranted comments from Dior, who despised this form of relationship interrogation more than Chandelle did.
“I’ll start by telling you what I know about the situation, and then you can lay your hands on it,” he finished.
“Why should you go first?” Chandelle complained.
“Cause this fool loves to hear himself philosophize, that’s why.” answered Dior.
“Okay, your first mistake, Chandelle, was eliciting the advice of a woman concerning how to keep a man, when she is chronically without one to call her own.”
Chandelle hadn’t thought of that.
“Next, I am certain that Marvin was chased away against his will because I have never, ever, met such a sappy brotha so in love with his woman,” Dooney continued. “Chandelle, Marvin is driving an old SUV that I wouldn’t be caught dead in so that he could save for a house that he doesn’t have keys to, he’s pulled double shifts so that y’all wouldn’t be broke and hungry when you moved in here, and he loves you so much that he went to work on time day after day. Now, if that ain’t love, you can cancel my program and pull my sponsorship.”
Chandelle smiled for the first time all day. “I’ll admit it, that makes me feel a smidge better,” she said, with her lips tightening after that. “But, what about Marvin letting another woman bail him out of jail? Huh? What about that?”
“Uh-huh! What about that?” Dior chimed in.
“Listen to my answer to that. So?” he blasted them. “If a three-ton transvestite wanted to spring for my freedom papers, I’d let him, depending on how it was dressed at the time, you understand. Marvin was in jail. Jail! His wife gave the cops the go-ahead to take him, although it was a mistake. And then, when his feet did hit the concrete, his woman done called the job and got him eliminated.”
“Terminated,” Chandelle corrected him.
“Yeah, just making sure you’re paying attention,” he joked, behind a straight face. “And now, for the coup de grâce with the cherry on top. From what I understand, Marvin came home after sleeping off his time in the clink to a house full of nothing. All that is very odd because I don’t see one thing I recognize but somebody sprinkling discontentment around somebody else’s back door.”
Dior leaped from the sofa in a heated fury. “You can’t be talking about me, Dooney. I only reported to Chandelle what I saw, Marvin and that Kim Hightower chick when she dropped him by the apartment in her fancy whip,” she explained before he interrupted her.
“Hightower, did you say Kim Hightower?”
“Yeah, why?” Dior hissed.
“See, ’cause she’s something special. I used to be sprung on her. She taught at the school when she finished college, and boy I can’t tell you what she used to do to me by just coming into the room.”
“Well, now she’s doing it to Marvin?” Chandelle heckled.
Dooney began pacing back and forth before resuming his role as a shade-tree swami. “Dior, you told Chandelle that Marvin was kicking it with Kim Hightower?”
“Yes!”
“How do you know that for a fact?” he challenged.
“I, saw her dropping him off at the apartment and then later at the grocery store,” she boasted proudly.
“You saw them doing what at the store, shopping for groceries?”
“Wait a minute, Dooney,” Chandelle spoke up. “Dior called me and I went into the store and caught them.”
“Hmm, this is interesting. You caught them doing what exactly?” he asked, preparing to start picking at the lie he was then certain had come from the dramatic stylings of Dior Wicker.
Chandelle wrinkled her nose as she played back the scenario in her head. “Since you think you know everything, Dr. Dooney, I shouldn’t tell you jack, but I will. They were in a close-faced discussion when I caught them,” she said, recounting the scene.
“Okay, let’s see, Kim’s baby was in the shopping basket and Marvin was behind it.”
“Was he kissing on Kim?”
“No, but…”
“Was he kissing on Kim’s baby like he’d been spending a lot of time around her?”
“No, but I got you there,” Chandelle hollered. “The little girl placed her hands over her ears and shoved her head into Marvin’s chest when I…went…smooth…off and probably scared the daylight out of her.” Suddenly, Chandelle didn’t feel so good. It occurred to her that she might have taken everything too far too fast.
“I’m amazed at you, Chandelle. I never would have expected to see you working so hard to prove Marvin doesn’t love you. If you ask me, he’s better off where he is. I’m not so sure you still deserve a man like him. Maybe you ought to go on over to the apartment and see for yourself. Oh, and a few words of wisdom, don’t take Dior with you.”
“Forget you, Dooney!” Dior groaned. “You make me sick.”
“I love you, too, Gemini,” he said, “and Billie would love to hear from you sometime. You can’t stay mad at her forever, and you’d better not try either. People make mistakes; you more than most. Don’t forget that while you’re sitting in judgment.” After touring the rest of the house and taking his bows, Dooney wished Chandelle good luck and better common sense going forward. As for Dior, he checked her on his way out. “Don’t leave here thinking I don’t know what’s going on with you running interference between Chandelle and Marvin. Keep it up and I’ll lay it all out on the table so everybody can read it, line for line.” Dior didn’t dare go up against him, instead, she pursed her lips and pouted.
“Next time you won’t find out what I’m up to,” she whispered after he was gone. “I’ll break out the slick kit on the next go around. This isn’t nearly over, not by a long shot.”
17
The Bed I Made
Chandelle sent Dior away so she could think. She put on her tightest jeans, the low-rise Apple Bottoms that Marvin bought for her last birthday. After she slipped into a fresh-out-the-box pair of black suede pumps to accentuate a long-haired jacket she saved three months to treat herself to, Chandelle walked a path in her thick eggshell-colored carpet. Rehearsing, she wrung her hands over and over trying to find the right words to make things right again. There had to be something she could tell Marvin to make him feel about her the way he had before the ill-fated Sunday when the love they shared quit on them like an old secondhand car along a stretch of bad road. Of all the speeches and practical one-liners she practiced repeatedly, “Baby, I’m sorry” wasn’t one of them. Still unable to woman-up and concede her part in the tragic scene playing out on the main stage of their lives, Chandelle was holding back. She had to learn how a halfhearted apology didn’t amount to much when her back was against the wall, just before it went tumbling down.
“All right, Chandelle, you’re ready for this,” she told herself on the drive over to Marvin’s place. “Just tell him how you feel and get him back. He loves you, girl; that’s gotta be worth something. Humph, I sure hope it’s enough.” As she pulled into the parking space next to his vehicle, Chandelle remembered what Dooney said about Marvin sacri
ficing for the greater good of their future when she had always assumed that he was being a cheapskate. She took a deep breath and knocked at the door, wondering what else she’d overlooked and misunderstood about her husband. Becoming nervous to the point of running away, Chandelle’s hands trembled when the doorknob twisted to open.
“What?” was Marvin’s cold salutation. Every light in the house was off because he hadn’t paid the electric bill, which was formally paid for via automatic draft. Since Chandelle took the money and broke camp, Marvin sat in the dark during the night and slept as much as he could in the daytime. His whole world had flipped on him.
“Hey,” she replied uneasily as she stared at the ground, expecting him to pull the door wider and let her inside. When he blocked the opening with his bare chest, Chandelle’s eyes filled with sadness. “You’re going to make me stay out here? I came to talk, not shout, accuse you of anything, or pick another fight, just talk.” It seemed like an eternity for Marvin to decide how he’d proceed. “I could just come back if you’re in the middle of something,” she said, hoping he didn’t have someone in his apartment, the love nest they shared for three years. A long train of moments crawled by until he answered.
“You can come on in, but it’s late,” he said, sounding more bothered than upset with her.
Perhaps he was genuinely too tired to make a fuss, she pondered, or maybe he’d simply given up on himself and on them. “Thank you,” Chandelle mouthed humbly. At least he hasn’t gotten on with his life without me yet, she thought. After seeing the bare walls of the apartment with the aid of the streetlights from the outside, Chandelle caught a telling glimpse of what she’d left Marvin to work with. There was a plastic lawn chair placed in the middle of the room, facing the window. On the other side of the room was a pile of clothes, more than likely dirty from the stale smell permeating the living room. Another whiff backed Chandelle up a step. “Do you mind if I open the blinds and crack a window?” she asked, praying he’d say yes.
“Oh, I got it,” he said, chuckling on the inside. “Too funky for your taste, huh?” Marvin grabbed the first shirt off the pile and slipped in on over his head. He pulled the cord to raise the blinds, then eased the window open an inch.
Come on, Marvin, I know you smell yourself, she wanted to say but thought better of it. This was the man’s home, after all. If he can stand it, so can I, she concluded with great difficulty.
“So,” he said, with both hands shoved deep down into his front pockets. “What’d you forget? That is why you came by? I’m sorry but the lady who used to live here gave away all that she couldn’t carry.”
Chandelle shifted her weight while gazing at Marvin. Through muted light, the apartment appeared abandoned. She could tell he hadn’t shaved in days, bathed either, and if she had to guess, he probably hadn’t left the apartment since his grocery store run the day before. “Marvin, I didn’t forget anything,” she said quietly. “That’s not why I’m here.” She kicked playfully with her boot at a candybar wrapper lying on the floor. “On second thought, that’s exactly why I came back. Somehow I forgot how much we’ve meant to each other, how much I love you. If I had remembered, there would have been no reason for me to leave and no place for me to go, not without you.” Wow, that came out better than I rehearsed it. “Believe it or not, I also came by to see about you. I’d like to know what you’ve been up to…what you’ve been thinking.”
“You really don’t want to go there because every place I’ve been, you’ve sent me,” he answered calmly. “Jail, you did that. The unemployment line, you. Me ending up dang near homeless…you again. You took me to another place I never expected to see, at a time when I’d be ashamed to have you as my wife.”
“Okay, I accept using poor judgment when the police came beating on the door, but you turned your back on me when inviting Kim into our marriage,” Chandelle countered. “Another woman had no place, no business getting involved. It’s always been me and you, Marvin, no matter how rough we had it, me and you,” she reiterated to make her point. “I didn’t know what to do after they took you away, but when I tried to figure something out to fix the mistake I’d made, your friend had beat me to it.” Chandelle hadn’t rehearsed that part. It came from the heart, unabridged and real.
“Is that it?” Marvin asked, looking past her.
“I don’t have anything else to say except that I still love you and hope you won’t throw that away. We can get past Kim, me calling your boss, and me letting my emotions get in the way of us. Can’t you see how torn up I am over this? I can’t focus at work and I can’t sleep a wink in that big house by myself.” Suddenly, Chandelle went to a place she hadn’t expected to find herself, groveling at his rusty feet. “Come on, Marvin,” she pleaded, while collecting his dirty clothing from the floor. “Baby, get your things and come home. They have ‘Connected Couples’ counseling at the church on Wednesday nights and…you know, for people like us. I’ve found other groups to help too.” Chandelle thought her idea to get assistance with their struggling marriage sounded like a great beginning to move from the rough spot in their relationship.
“Put those things down,” he ordered curtly.
“What, baby? We can come back tomorrow and get the rest if you want.”
“No, put it all back on the floor,” he said somberly. “This is home. This is where and how I live now. The only thing I’ll have time for is finding a job to pay for a lawyer. I don’t need some messed-up couples trying to get into my business. Besides, you’ve helped us enough already. Matter of fact, I can’t hardly stand to look at you. Get out of what’s left of my house before you jack up something else.”
“Marvin, no!” she objected. “I said I was sorry.”
“Oops, wrong again. Until now that’s never come out of your mouth. You’ve gotten me confused with the old Marvin, the one who put you ahead of him. That dude doesn’t live here anymore.” He began backing Chandelle toward the door. She pressed her hands against his chest and clenched her fists to hold on to him. “You need to bounce now. I’ve got things to do.”
“Marvin, honey. I understand why you’re upset but please don’t do this. I’ve never been good at apologies and you know that. It’s not an excuse but when I saw you at the store with that lady, that realtor, I lost it. It’s not going to last between y’all Marvin. It can’t.” Chandelle dug her heels into the carpet until one of them snapped in half. Marvin continually nudged her in the other direction until she was clearly through the door. “It’s that woman, Marvin,” Chandelle panted hysterically. “She’s got you treating me like this. You belong with me. Don’t push me away.”
“Get out!” he insisted.
Chandelle scuffled feverishly to get back inside as Marvin’s stiff arms prevailed. “I won’t let it end like this. What about us?”
“You must be crazy. I’m living with what you thought about us. You showed your tail enough for a lifetime. You wanted it, you got it. There is no us.”
“Marvin, please don’t. You’re gonna want me back!” she screamed from the parking lot, crying and waving her broken shoe at him like a vicious vendetta. “You’ll see, Marvin. You’re gonna want me back!”
Marvin hesitated a moment before slamming the door. His next five words hurt Chandelle more than she imagined mere words could have.
“I don’t want you now.”
Tears stained Chandelle’s cheeks as she hobbled on one heel to her car. She searched her purse for keys that seemed to be hiding from her. “You’ll see. I’m better for you,” she muttered pitifully. “I’m your wife, Marvin, and I came back on my hands and knees. Through all that, you couldn’t find it in your heart to call me by my name, not once.” Just then she slid into the car, wiped runny mascara on her coat sleeve, and pressed the power window button to lower it. “Chandelle Hutchins, that’s my name,” she belted, with her head sticking out. “Hutchins, and I ain’t about to give it up. You hear me? I’m not about to let you quit me. Not like this.” Chandell
e wiped at her face again to clear her eyes as she barreled out of the parking lot with several of Marvin’s neighbors sneering at her.
Unnoticed, Dior was hidden in a car across the street and had heard every word. She wanted to run to Marvin, offer comfort or whatever else he’d have been willing to accept from her, but duty called. Dior was scheduled to perform at a private birthday party for an exclusive client and she was running behind. “Don’t worry about that, Marvin,” she said, as if he could hear her voice. “I’ll be around to see about you. Don’t worry.”
18
No She Didn’t!
One week ago, Dior deemed it necessary to take her game to appalling new heights and all-time lows after spending several hours a day pleading with hiring managers to grant her interviews. But because her employment history read like a collection of unfinished short stories, not one of them complied. In a moment of desperation, she adorned herself in the most lascivious outfit she owned and hit the boulevards, visiting several topless clubs to exploit her best assets. She mingled with the exotic dancers, ran into some acquaintances she’d grown up with, and seriously contemplated a career change that involved deviant behavior and cash-paying customers. Although the thought of working in darkened smoke-filled rooms with men who’d most certainly drink too much didn’t appeal to her, lonely men dishing out twenty dollars per lap dance to ogle and grope her shapely curves gave her an idea she couldn’t pass up.
After spotting the very same woman who’d replaced her at Kevlin’s apartment, she quickly resolved that the occurrence was water under the bridge. Isis was the professional name Dior’s newest friend had been given when entering the realm of dirty dancing eighteen months ago. Since she obviously didn’t mind taking her clothes off for perfect strangers, Dior decided to share her latest brainchild. In a matter of minutes, a scandalous partnership called Ladies DI 4 Rent was formed. Isis thought the company moniker was catchy, encompassing both of their initials in a promising joint venture. Dior almost laughed at the woman’s gullibility, because to her it stood for “Ladies Doing It for the Rent.” She wasn’t sure if Isis was down for “doing it” as easily as she appeared eager to act it out on the main stage, but all of Kevlin’s girls were super freaky so she didn’t doubt it. Determined to hire themselves out as late-night entertainment for high-powered men who had everything including money to burn, Dior and Isis placed a provocative ad in the leading swinger rags about town. From the time the periodicals hit the shelves, their phone line was ringing off the hook.
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