Home Wrecker

by Dwayne S. Joseph

  Fat Jim was speechless at first, and then eventually said that he didn’t help me to get any type of reward. Then he tried to turn down my gift. I told him that turning it down was equivalent to leaving me out in the rain. Fat Jim nodded, asked for a pen and signed the contract right then and there.

  A few more minutes after that, I left to take care of the other business on my agenda. But before I walked away, I did something that actually surprised me: I gave Fat Jim a hug. Then I told him not to lose too much weight. Fat Jim laughed, gave me another hug, thanked me for the gift, and called me a beautiful woman. I surprised myself again by giving him a kiss on the cheek. Then I left the gym. Fat Jim was a genuine, real, good man. Maybe one of the last ones left.

  Unlike Steve, who I went to see next.

  27

  This time I visited his office. He was on his phone, his back to the door, staring out the window, talking to some woman, flirting.

  I leaned against the inner doorframe and watched him and listened to him tell the female that he was skilled in a lot of areas. And how she wouldn’t be disappointed and may even become hooked. I watched him without saying a word for a few minutes, until he swiveled around in his chair, made eye contact with me, and nearly gagged on his words. He told the female that he would call her back, and then hung up quickly without waiting for her response, and then stood up.

  “Lisette! Wh . . . what are you doing here?”

  I stepped into his office and closed the door behind me. I also locked it. I said, “That woman you were just talking to . . . does she know that you’re a rapist?”

  Steve’s eyes grew wide. “Wh-what?”

  The night Marlene helped bring me back from the nearly-dead, I dreamt about the night with the man in black. The rain, the thunder, the lightning. They were all present in Technicolor and surround sound. Like the other dreams I’d had, I relived the kicks, the punches, the pushes, the pulls. I slipped in the puddle, fell back, and cracked my skull on the ground. As the rain beat down on me, the man in black climbed on top of me and began to force my pants down. The nightmares were all the same. Building slowly to that awful climactic moment.

  Only this time . . .

  This night . . .

  The dream was different. In all of the other dreams, I’d ignored the fact that I’d noticed something when the man in black was on top of me. A fragrance. Men’s cologne. Contradiction for Men by Calvin Klein. I’d smelled it a few times before that night.

  At Marlene’s house during the dinner party.

  In my office with a tongue inside of my pussy.

  Back at Marlene’s house, on the couch.

  Steve’s cologne.

  I inhaled it when he was ramming himself into me. Despite the mask and the whispered regards, I knew who he was. I was just so caught up in being the victim again that I’d blocked away that moment and that smell from my mind.

  I said, “Next time wear a different cologne, asshole.”

  Steve did a horrible job of feigning ignorance again. “What are you talking about? A rapist?”

  “Cut the bullshit,” I said, my skin getting warm.

  Steve took a step back. He’d tried to make it subtle, but it had been awkward, shaky. “I don’t know what you’re . . . what you’re talking about.”

  I took a step forward. My legs were wobbly too, but unlike Steve, it wasn’t my nerves. They were shaking because they were itching to spring and pounce, but I was holding them back. “I know it was you, you son of a bitch! I smelled your fucking cologne.”

  Steve took another step back. A few more and he’d be pressing up against the window.

  I stared at him. Fear was encompassing his body. Did I have a gun? A knife? Wire to wrap around his throat? His eyes wanted to know. I took another step toward him. Made him take another one back.

  “You better leave. Now!”

  I shook my head. “You fucking coward,” I said, my tone sharper, my volume rising. “You don’t have your mask to hide behind now, you fucking pussy!”

  “You better leave, Lisette. I’m warning you.”

  I took another step forward. Caused him to stumble a little as he backed up again. His next step would put his back against the window. “You’re warning me? Let me give you a warning, you cowardly piece of shit! You better listen and do what I tell you to do right now, or I will fuck up your life forever! Are you hearing me?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t know—”

  “I said are you fucking hearing me!” I yelled out.

  I didn’t give a shit that it was midday. I didn’t care that there were employees who had undoubtedly heard my outburst. The bastard had raped me. Nothing and no one was going to stop me from returning the favor.

  “Do not say another fucking word, or I swear to God you will regret it.”

  There was a sudden knock on his office door. Then a female voice saying, “Steve? Is everything all right?”

  Steve looked toward the door. Had salvation in his eyes.

  I shook my head, lowered my voice, and said, “Tell her to leave.”

  Steve looked from me to the door. The door to me. My stare back at him was filled with malice, with promised intent.

  He cleared his throat, kept his eyes on me, and said, “Everything’s fine, Nancy.”

  Nancy said, “Are you sure?”

  I shook my head in disgust and went to the door and opened it. “He’s sure,” I said, glaring at a twenty-something blond female.

  Nancy looked at me as I stared at her. I looked at her. Dared her to give me lip. Was practically on the verge of begging her to. I was holding back on Steve, but I had no reason to for her. All she had to do was say something.

  Behind me, Steve said, “Everything’s fine, Nancy. We’re just discussing some things.”

  Nancy looked over my shoulder at Steve. I kept my eyes locked on her. When she fixed her sights back on me, I said, “Goodbye, Nancy,” and then I slammed the door shut in her face.

  I locked the door again and went back to the desk. “You’re a joke,” I said. “Where’s your fight now, you son of a bitch? You pathetic piece of shit. You should have killed me, asshole. You shouldn’t have left me there. Now your ass is going to pay.”

  Steve’s shoulders slouched down. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone riddled with defeat.

  “What do I want?” I chuckled. “Do you mean besides wanting to ram something up your ass? Do you mean besides wanting to take a switchblade and slice your dick off and then feed it to you? Is that what you mean?”

  Steve remained silent and continued to look at me.

  I moved forward and slammed my hand down on the top of his desk.

  “Answer me, motherfucker! Is that what you mean?” I wanted to flip the desk out of my way, charge him, and do everything I’d just said. And more. But as hard as it was, I held back. I was there to pay him back, and hurting him physically, though tempting, wasn’t good enough.

  Steve nodded and said in a low, stressed-filled voice, “Y—yes.”

  I clenched my jaws and then grabbed a seat and sat down. Steve remained standing, afraid and unsure as to what I would do. At that moment, I wished I smoked. I would have lit a cigarette, taken a long drag on it, held the smoke deep in my lungs for a few seconds, and then blown it out slowly as my eyes remained locked on his.

  I said, “So was it fun, Steve? Fucking me against my will. Fucking me while I was half conscious. Did you get a thrill? Did you feel better after you came inside of me? Did you feel like you’d gotten me back? Answer me, Steve. Did it make you feel powerful?”

  Steve shook his head, then took his hand, put it over his forehead and squeezed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. He breathed out heavily. “I . . . I . . . I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely audible.

  I passed my tongue over the front of my top teeth. “Fuck you and your apology,” I said.

  “I never meant for that to . . . to happen. I was only going to rough you up. I never planned
on . . .” He paused. Looked up at the ceiling. Said, “Christ,” and then squeezed his temples again. “I’m not a rapist.” He shook his head and struggled with the truth. “I’m not a rapist,” he said again.

  “I just wanted to get you back for what you helped Marlene do to me.”

  I laughed. “For what we did to you? Asshole. How many times did you fuck around on Marlene? You say you’re not a rapist, but you raped Marlene every time you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.” I laughed again. “You’re a fool, Steve. You got off easy with the divorce. A couple thousand a month, that’s all you had to deal with. But now . . .”

  I paused and sat forward.

  “Now, you’re fucked. I don’t know whose plan it was, but you should have never gotten into bed with that bitch, because now you’re going to be paying a hell of a lot more.”

  “Lisette—”

  I put up my hand. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

  He did.

  “The police have a sperm sample on file, but guess what they don’t have.” I stopped talking and watched him intently. “They don’t have a suspect to go with the sperm because I haven’t given them any information. I wonder what would happen if I went to them and told them about how you had threatened to hurt me. What do you think would happen, Steve? Do you think they’d come and pay you a visit? Maybe start asking you questions? I guess you’d have an air-tight alibi, huh? Someone or some people that could put you at another place at the same time.”

  “Maybe that could get you off the hook. Or maybe not. Maybe to get you off of their radar completely, they would ask you to submit a sperm sample. What then, Steve? Do you decline to give it, thereby staying high on their radar, forcing them to get a court order making you give one? Do you voluntarily give it and then pray for the mother of all miracles that somehow your sample ends up getting lost? Or maybe you just leave town and go into hiding somewhere, hoping they’ll just forget about you someday. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

  Steve watched me for several long, tense seconds. Stress had his shoulders lower than before. Fear and anxiety had his forehead knotted up.

  “The worst thing you can go to jail for is pedophilia or rape. Even criminals, as immoral as they can be, have morals, and they consider those crimes to be two of the most cowardly that a man can do. You really don’t want to be locked up for either of those crimes, because you can be sure someone will be out to get you.”

  I stopped talking and sat back in the chair. I watched him. Watched him breathe. Watched him think. Watched him digest everything I’d just said. I held his life in my hands. Like I’d told him, he would have been better off killing me and dumping my body somewhere.

  “What will it take?” he asked.

  “How valuable is your freedom, you piece of shit? How valuable is your reputation?”

  “What will it take, Lisette?”

  I looked at him. Thought about going Lorena Bobbitt on him with the box cutter I had in my purse.

  What would it take?

  I said, “Fifty thousand dollars a month.”

  His mouth fell open. “Fifty thous . . . that’s six hundred thousand dollars a year.”

  “You’re good at math.”

  “That’s . . . that’s insane.”

  “No. That’s what it would take for you to not spend the next fifty years of your life in jail.”

  “Six hundred thousand dollars a year,” he repeated.

  “You’re an investment banker. You can afford it.”

  He squeezed his temples again and collapsed into his chair. He stretched his hands out on the top of his desk, his palms open and facing upward. “Is there anything else? Can we make another arrangement?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, Lisette. You’ve got to believe me. That night . . . that wasn’t really me.”

  I said, “In prison, if they don’t kill you, they’ll end up making you somebody’s bitch. How would you like that? How would you like to be forced to suck on another man’s dick? How would you like to be the one taking it up the ass?”

  “There’s got to be something else,” he said, shaking his head.

  I stood up. “No. There isn’t.”

  I turned to leave. Before I’d taken three steps, Steve said, “Okay.”

  I turned back around. “Okay, what?”

  “I . . . I can’t go to jail. I just can’t.”

  “Okay, what?” I said again.

  “I hate you, Lisette. I fucking hate you, bitch.”

  I said again, “Okay, what?”

  “Fifty thousand a month. But I want it in writing that the figure won’t change.”

  I gave him a look that said nigga, please. “You get nothing,” I said.

  “Bitch!” Steve spat, his hands balled into fists.

  I looked down at him and laughed. Then said, “I want a check now.”

  28

  Starbucks.

  Seven-thirty in the morning.

  The routine remained the same.

  I sipped on a vanilla latte, grande size, and watched Myles walk into the café, his laptop in hand. I was sitting toward the back. Not by choice. That morning, everyone decided to get their caffeine fix at the exact same time. One lone table in the back had been my only option. I didn’t mind. It gave me some time to sip and observe.

  Myles looked left and then right, searching for an open table. He never looked in my direction. On his left, a young couple with book bags in their hands and sandals on their feet stood up and offered Myles their table. He thanked them and when they walked away, he set his laptop and his keys down and went to the line to get his own fix. For a brief moment, I thought about going and grabbing his laptop and leaving just to fuck up his routine. But I didn’t.

  I sipped.

  I stared.

  I scowled.

  A few minutes later, Myles came back with his java, sat down and opened his laptop and began typing. I scowled as I looked at him and thought about walking over to him and spilling my latte all over the laptop. Steve was a piece of shit, but Myles was worse, because he was a poor excuse for a man.

  I sipped my latte. Squeezed the sides of the cheap cup designed to let the liquid go cool within minutes. Thought again about short circuiting his laptop and then pouring some in his crotch.

  I sipped.

  I stared.

  I scowled.

  And then I stood up.

  I walked over to him and stood off to his right side. My latte was in my hand, itching to be set free. What a waste. Aside from the fucking, he was useless. Any man without a backbone was.

  I cleared my throat and said, “You’re a pussy.”

  Myles looked up and saw me. “Lisette?”

  I said, “You’re a pussy,” again.

  His eyeballs darted from left to right to see who else had heard me. I didn’t care about other eyes or ears.

  He cleared his throat, closed his laptop, which had been a good thing to do considering the fact that I was seconds away from drowning his keyboard, and said, “Would you mind lowering your voice?”

  I stared at him. He disgusted me. Steve had disgusted me too, but unlike Myles, Steve was allowing things in his life to be dictated because he had no choice. The judge decreed the amount he had to pay Marlene in child support each month. I decreed how much he had to pay me to stay out of jail. No choice. No other options. His back wasn’t against the wall; it was being pressed through it. He was a pussy too, but he was a pussy because he was an ass. Myles was a pussy because, unlike Steve, he’d had a choice.

  “You’re pathetic,” I said.

  Myles cleared his throat again. Gave a smile to an older woman sitting at a table across from him reading a Jackie Collins novel. Then looked up at me. “Can you sit down, please?” he said, his voice low, tight with irritation.

  I looked at him for a few seconds. He was so uncomfortable with me standing there. So conscious of others around him. I sat down, but not because he asked, and not be
cause I cared.

  He asked, “I haven’t seen or spoken to you since the hotel. Is there a particular reason for the hostility?”

  I stared at him but didn’t respond right away. He had no clue about what had happened to me. No idea that that bitch was capable of much more than selling him on a lie. Part of my anger toward him was because I knew what she had been capable of. It didn’t matter that he was in the dark. After our last conversation, he should have known better.

  “You’re staying with her because she helped get you into bed with Charles Goodell.”

  His head snapped back a little. “How did you know about that?”

  “You’re a waste of a man,” I said, ignoring his question. “You don’t deserve the dick you have.”

  His eyes darted from right to left again, and then he looked past me. Behind me, the woman cleared her throat, and said softly, “My word.”

  Myles didn’t flash a smile this time. “So what else did she tell you?”

  “Enough to know how much of a pussy you are.”

  Myles clenched his jaws. My words, my tone, my volume . . . they were pissing him off. I cut my eyes at him. Dared him to try to be a man with me.

  He said, “You haven’t heard my side of this.”

  “I don’t need to hear your side. You sacrificed your manhood for a few dollars.”

  “Being partners with Charles is going to give me just a little more than a few dollars,” he said.

  “Fuck you and fuck Charles Goodell, or Chuckie, as she likes to call him when she’s sucking his withered dick.”

  Myles’ pupils widened as the woman behind me cleared her throat again.

  I shook my head. “You didn’t really believe that bullshit story she and Chuckie gave you about her convincing him over coffee that partnering with you was what was best for him, did you? You didn’t really buy into believing that a man who’s been a bigot all of his life, a man who’d turned you down numerous times before, had suddenly seen the light because of anything that bitch had to say, right? You’re not that stupid to think that she wasn’t fucking him, are you?”