by Shelly Ellis
Paulette walked past the tiled shower stalls toward the line of metal lockers along the back wall. She opened one of the lockers and tossed her gym bag inside after removing her MP3 player and a towel. She then headed to the cardio equipment on the far side of the gym, near the wall-to-ceiling mirrors, taking her place on a treadmill between an elderly man in a sweatband who was doing a slow shuffle and a muscular type who sprinted like he was training for the Olympics. She decided to select a pace that was somewhere in between the two. As she pressed a few buttons and started jogging, her mind drifted back to her argument with Antonio.
Had she been too hard on him? Maybe. He had a right to invite his mother to his home. But when were she and Antonio going to get the chance to live like a real married couple instead of a real married couple plus one?
“You knew what you were getting into when you married him,” a voice in her head admonished. “You knew he was a mama’s boy!”
Yes, this was true. But she had hoped that with time he would cut the apron strings, that her desire for more independence would inspire him to be equally independent. So far, though, that didn’t seem to be the case. Antonio seemed happy and content nestled against his mother’s bosom and Reina seemed loath to open her arms and let him pull away.
“But you agreed to love Tony for better or for worse,” the voice insisted. “Try to remember why you fell in love with him in the first place.”
As Paulette shifted from a jog to a cool-down walk on the treadmill, she thought back to their first date. Antonio had been suave and hilarious. There hadn’t been one awkward pause. She had laughed throughout their date, but her laughter had died when he’d swept her into his arms in front of the door of her apartment, and kissed her for the first time. It had been one of those kisses that made your toes curl and your lips tingle, that made your nipples hard and sent an electric current and up and down your spine.
How could she give up on a man like that, who made her laugh and made her tingle?
“For better or for worse,” the voice in her head reiterated.
I’ve got to give it another try, she thought. Maybe I can ask him to only let his mama visit once a week. . . . at least until we settle in completely.
With that, she pressed a few buttons on the treadmill’s digital screen and stepped off the belt as it slowed. She walked toward the weights on the other side of the gym, resolving that after she did a few arm curls, she’d run home and try to make up with her husband. She grabbed two ten-pound barbells and sat down on one of the benches.
“One . . . two . . .” she quietly counted off with each lift.
“What’s up, cutie? Long time no see, baby!”
At the sound of the booming baritone voice behind her, Paulette almost dropped the barbells. She whipped around, pivoting slightly on the workout bench, to make sure she had indeed heard what she thought she heard. Maybe it was her mind playing tricks on her because she was so upset, so frazzled. Yes, maybe that was it!
But when she did turn and look up, she saw a familiar face grinning down at her. He wiped the sweat from his brow and from along the collar of the red muscle T-shirt that showed his glistening brown pecs.
“What you been up to, girl?” he asked, taking another step toward her.
Oh, God, she thought, now staring at him, aghast.
It wasn’t a trick of the ear or mind. He really was standing there!
“Marques?” she whispered. “Is that you?”
It had been almost a decade since she had last seen him. Now his cornrows were gone. He looked like he had put on about twenty pounds of muscle and he sported a beard, but he still looked the same for the most part.
The last time Paulette had spoken to Marques, she had been weeping quietly as they sat in the booth at a local pizza joint just outside of Chesterton—their secret meeting place. She had told him that she was pregnant and scared. Instead of him climbing out of his seat to go to the other side of the booth to sit beside her and reassure her, instead of him reaching across the table and squeezing her hand, he had dropped his half-eaten pepperoni pizza back to his plate and sneered at her in disgust.
“I know you ain’t trying to say that baby is mine! Cuz I always pulled out! I handled my shit!”
She lowered her tissue from her nose and narrowed her reddened eyes at him. “Of course, it’s yours! Pulling out doesn’t mean anything!”
He drank the rest of his soda until a slurping sound emanated from his straw, making her cringe. He then shoved his empty glass aside. “It always worked before. I’ve never gotten a chick pregnant! Never!”
“You mean you’ve never gotten someone pregnant until now,” she insisted, making him shake his head in denial.
“Nope, it ain’t mine! I ain’t hearing that shit!”
“Then who else would it be? I’ve never been with another guy! You’re the only one, Marques!”
He slouched back against the pleather cushion and shrugged. “Hell if I know! When you find the dude, let me know.”
He then stood up and walked off, leaving her with the lunch bill and the prospect of a baby she had no idea how to raise on her own.
She had tried calling Marques a few times after that, hoping that maybe he was just as scared as she was and that was the reason why he had behaved so coldly toward her. But he had never returned her messages. Finally, she’d just stopped calling. After a few crying jags, she’d realized that Marques didn’t love her and probably never had. Oh, he had loved the gifts she had given him: the gold chains, the new expensive sneakers, the video game console, and every other thing her rich-girl allowance could buy for him. And he had loved the sex, even if she was inexperienced. At least she had been eager to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. But he didn’t love her. He had used her and now she was no longer useful. She was deadweight.
Paulette had booked the appointment at the women’s clinic. Leila had driven her there and taken her home after the abortion, vowing to keep her secret.
Paulette had never expected to see Marques again. She guessed she was wrong.
“Yeah, it’s me, girl!” he said, reaching down to her as if he was going to embrace her in a hug. When she shied away from his touch, he stepped back. “Oh, it’s like that?”
“I-I have to go,” she murmured while rising from the bench, feeling shaky on her feet. She lowered the barbells to the floor.
“So you’re married now?” Marques said as she started to walk away.
Paulette paused and turned to face him. “What?”
He pointed at her left hand. “I see that big-ass rock on your finger. Your dude got bank, huh?” He chuckled. “Yeah, I figured a rich girl like you wouldn’t settle for less. Not Paulette Murdoch.”
She didn’t respond, but instead continued on her path through the maze of weights and workout equipment. She accidentally bumped into another woman, who was striding to one of the treadmills.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” she mumbled, then raced to the women’s locker room.
“I’ll see you around, baby!” Marques called after her.
She certainly hoped not.
Paulette returned home soon after. As she set her gym bag on the foyer floor and removed her hoodie, she could feel her hands trembling. She was that shaken up. What had Marques been doing there? Why had he suddenly shown up now? She hadn’t seen him in years, and now he suddenly—
“Baby?” Antonio called out, making her jump in surprise.
She turned to find a shadowy figure standing in the alcove leading to their living room. Her husband stepped forward into the dim light coming through the windows of their French doors. His hands were tucked in his jean pockets. Concern marred his face.
“Baby, can we talk?” he asked softly, taking a hesitant step toward her.
Paulette assumed his mother had left already. She couldn’t hear Reina banging and clanging her way around their kitchen. But even though Paulette and Antonio were finally home alone, she wasn’t equipped to have
any deep discussions with him now. Not with the horrendous day she had been having. Her mind was lurching and bumping along like it was on a failing battery.
“I’m really tired, Tony,” she said as she hung her hoodie on the coat rack behind her. “Can we do this some other day?”
He took another step toward her. “But we need to—” He paused, then eyed her. “Are you all right, baby? You look like . . . like you’ve seen a ghost or somethin’.”
The worst ghost imaginable, she thought.
“I’m fine,” she said tightly. “I told you, I’m just . . . I’m just tired, that’s all! I don’t want to talk about it right now!”
She hadn’t meant to shout that last part, but the emotional fatigue of the day really was getting to her. She watched as her husband sucked his teeth, then nodded.
“Yeah, sure. All right,” he muttered as he walked past her.
She sighed and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Tony, I—”
He shoved her hand off and kept walking to the door that led to their basement, seeking the solace of his man cave, she could only assume. She heard the door to the entertainment room slam shut behind him less than a minute later.
Chapter 9
DANTE
It looked like the seventh annual Wilson Medical Center fundraiser was off to a running start. The throng of rich, drunk suburbanites was bidding on the luxury items up for auction tonight and enjoying themselves mightily while doing it. They danced, laughed, and shouted to one another across the crowded ballroom where everything from a ten-carat diamond pendant necklace to certificates for a private charter jet was on display.
The chatter around Dante was loud, almost to the point of deafening. He winced as a man at the banquet table next to his barked out a laugh that was so hard the man started coughing.
“Enjoying yourself?” Charisse asked as she leaned toward Dante, snapping him out of his malaise.
Dante lowered his champagne glass. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“Do you really have to ask?” she murmured dryly before rolling her eyes at her husband, who was taking a business call on his BlackBerry.
Charisse wasn’t the only one of the Murdochs who seemed to be in a less than jovial mood. In fact, Dante would venture to say that the atmosphere at their family table was a bit strained. Evan and Charisse sat together but ignored each other, which wasn’t unusual. But it also seemed like Evan and Paulette were making an effort to pretend like the other wasn’t sitting only a few feet away.
Paulette’s husband, Antonio, had come to the fundraiser with her. Considering that couple had only been married a little more than a month ago, Dante had expected them to be still firmly in the honeymoon phase and all over each other. But they weren’t kissing or holding hands. Instead, Paulette sat stoically in her chair, looking like a little black Barbie doll in her blue sequined gown—and just as plastic. Antonio kept his eyes focused on his dinner plate like it was the most important meal he had ever had.
The Yukon potatoes are good, Dante thought as he watched him, but they ain’t that damn good!
The only person who seemed to be in a talkative mood was Terrence, who would not shut up about some basketball game he watched last night. If Terrence could come down with whatever voice box illness that seemed to have struck the rest of the family, that would suit Dante just fine.
Dante needed to concentrate. He could sense an opportunity here. There was dissension among the ranks and he had to use this to his advantage.
“So how’s married life, you two?” Dante suddenly piped up, cutting into Terrence’s retelling of an epic four-point shot. “Enjoying your days as man and wife?”
Antonio finally looked up from his plate. He set down his fork and knife, stopped chewing, and glanced at Paulette. “Sure, it’s . . . uh . . . it’s fine.”
“Uh-huh, perfectly fine,” Paulette concurred, then sipped from her champagne glass. She looked away.
Fine, my ass, Dante thought with a saccharine smile as he gazed at the couple. He wondered what drama was going on between them behind closed doors. He wondered who would file for divorce first and when he or she would do it.
“You remember those days, Ev?” Dante shouted to Evan over the ballroom revelry. Evan had just ended his call and was back to scanning emails on his BlackBerry.
As Dante spoke, Charisse, who was sitting in between the two brothers, began rubbing her hand up and down Dante’s inner thigh underneath the linen tablecloth. Dante wasn’t sure if he should be amused or pissed that she was being so blatant. Anyone could look down at any moment and see what she was doing, but thankfully, everyone else at the table was too preoccupied.
Evan looked up from his phone after typing a few more buttons. He tucked his BlackBerry into the inside pocket of his tuxedo and then gazed at Dante quizzically. “Remember what days?”
“When you and Charisse were newlyweds,” Dante elaborated. “I bet those were some crazy days, huh? I bet you two were . . .”
He paused. Charisse had shifted her hand even higher, so that she was practically cupping his balls. He could feel her fiddling with his pants zipper.
Evan raised his brows expectantly. “You bet I was what?”
Dante’s smile tightened just as Charisse’s slender hand slipped inside the now lowered zipper. She wrapped around his dick and gently squeezed, making him emit a barely audible grunt.
“Yes, what were you saying, Dante?” she asked, gazing at him with mock innocence. Her blue eyes twinkled merrily.
Dante set down his glass and swallowed as she began to massage him through the fabric of his boxers. What the hell was this drunken bitch doing? Giving him a hand job in the middle of the damn ballroom?
“I bet you two were all over each other,” he said as he reached under the table, grabbed Charisse’s wrist midstroke, and shoved her hand away. He gave himself points for keeping his smile locked in place the entire time. “You’ve been married for what? Five years now, Ev? Any advice for the newlyweds?”
“Never lose your sense of spontaneity,” Charisse interjected over the lip of her wineglass, then winked.
Paulette suddenly rose from the table. “Excuse me, everyone. I’ll . . . I’ll be back in a sec,” she mumbled.
Dante viewed the young woman with fascination as she grabbed her pearl clutch and nearly fled through the crowded ballroom to the entrance.
Terrence frowned as he watched his sister’s retreating back. “Is Sweet Pea all right?”
“It’s Paulette now,” Evan said dryly. “She doesn’t want us to call her Sweet Pea anymore.”
“She doesn’t want a lot of things lately,” Antonio mumbled as he pushed his chair back from the table. He removed his napkin from his lap and slapped it near his plate, looking aggravated. “I’ll go check on her.”
“No,” Dante said as he quickly raised his zipper, “finish your meal. I’ll check on her. I’m sure she’s fine though. Probably just had to go the ladies’ room.”
“Aww, you’re always so helpful, Dante,” Charisse said as he stood from his chair. He paused and glanced down at her. He found her smirking up at him.
No worries, Dante thought as he turned to follow Paulette. He’d knock that smug expression off Charisse’s face later in the bedroom.
She won’t be talking so much shit then!
After pushing his way through the ballroom throng, Dante entered an adjacent salon only to find Paulette fleeing that room too. He grumbled to himself. There were a lot of rooms at Glen Dale, the recently restored antebellum mansion on the outskirts of Chesterton where the fundraising banquet was taking place. He certainly hoped he wouldn’t be chasing her around this damn place all night.
At least the crowd was lighter in the salon. It didn’t take him long to make his way across the room and find Paulette in the central gallery, where she pushed open a French door and stepped onto a brick terrace that led to the lush gardens at the back of Glen Dale. He found her standing at one
of the railings, partially hidden in the shadows of the terrace. The smell of roses and gardenias was heavy in the humid air. A few couples strolled along the moss-covered brick pathways of the gardens below.
“Paulette?” he called out, making her jump in surprise and turn to him.
He could see even in the dim light of the half moon that there were tears in her eyes. She sniffed and quickly dabbed at them with a tissue before tucking the now makeup-stained tissue back into her purse.
“Oh, h-hi, Dante. What . . . what are you doing out here?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said as he drew closer. “Are you all right? We were worried about you.”
“Oh, I’m . . . I’m fine.” She sniffed again and tucked a lock of hair of hair behind her ear that had escaped from her artfully coifed updo. “It was getting hot in there. I-I just needed some air. That’s . . . that’s all.” She didn’t meet his gaze. Instead she looked down at her fidgeting hands.
“You know, if anything’s wrong, you can talk to me.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’re family now. I’m here to listen.”
“Nothing’s wrong! Nothing’s wrong at all! It’s just . . .”
“Just what?”
She closed her eyes. “Well, there . . . there’s a lot going on right now. Antonio and I just moved into our new home, but . . .”
She hesitated and began to gnaw her bottom lip. Dante continued to gaze at her, his facial expression now conveying his best impression of kindness and empathy. He knew from experience, as a lawyer who had conducted many cross-examinations, that sometimes silence was the best way to get a witness to talk. People hated the long pauses and felt the need to fill them with words. He just had to sit back and let them hang themselves with a verbal slip or two.
“But we’re still getting used to one another, I guess,” she continued predictably over the sound of music from inside and whirring of crickets in a pond near the gardens. “It’s an adjustment for any married couple. I want to make things right with him. I just want for us to be happy, for us to have our happily ever after. You know? It’s not his fault that his mom is so domineering.” She laughed, but the laugh was a little too loud. It sounded almost shrill with nervousness. “I knew what I was getting into when I married him. He and his mama are a package deal.”