Don't Ask My Neighbor

by Clarke, Kristofer

  “Hi, Mommy,” Alexis yelled when I opened the door.

  She rushed past, heading up the stairs toward her room on the second floor.

  “Alexis,” I yelled back. “Dinner will be on the table in ten minutes.”

  I turned back around to face Gage, who was still standing outside.

  “We already ate, Mom,” Cody said, hugging me around my waist.

  I wrapped my arms around him, cradling his head in my right arm. At 14, he was already almost taller than me. He was growing to look more and more like his father, but since he was my son, I didn’t hold that against him.

  “Okay, honey. You can start getting yourself together for bed. And make sure your sister isn’t up there playing around. I’ll be up in a few to check homework.”

  “Niya already helped us, Mom,” Cody said as he removed himself from my cuddle and began his walk upstairs.

  I didn’t respond to Cody’s disclosure. I stared at Gage. He stood looking up at Cody as if he had shared information he was warned not to mention.

  “It was just dinner, Kenna,” Gage admitted.

  “Dinner that lasted long enough for her to help my children with their homework?”

  “Kenna, they’re our children,” he said, standing with his hands in his pockets. “She’s not doing anything to hurt them.”

  “I don’t care if she were teaching them how to appropriately bow or curtsey to the Queen. I’ve told you I don’t want them around her. She’s not family. She shouldn’t be helping them with shit. First it was Samantha who helped herself to their father, now you have this Niya woman wanting to play mother, too. You’re doing everything I don’t want my son or my daughter learning from you.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Is that what I’m being, Gage, ridiculous? I’m sorry. I thought I was being a mother. Set an example for your son,” I said turning from him. “I don’t want you sharing your instability with him.”

  This is the most I’ve said to Gage since the divorce was final. During the divorce, we communicated through our lawyers. After that, I had no interest in discussing anything with him. My kids were old enough to ask him for what they wanted. I didn’t even ask him for money to support Cody and Alexis, but he kept their tuitions paid, and their allowance showed up in my account like clockwork. He didn’t know it at the time—though I’m sure it didn’t take him too long to figure it out—but if he had not given my children exactly what I thought they deserved, I would have taken his ass to the cleaners.

  “You don’t need to concern yourself with what I teach my son. I’m the man.”

  I laughed.

  “And when did that happen? Perhaps you found it between Samantha’s legs. Or maybe this new chick who’s been licking the wounds Samantha left you with is still helping you with that?”

  I made my way to the kitchen and began clearing the table. I hated Gage less, but I still hated him. Of all the good times we had, the night he came home after spending our anniversary with his bitch was a permanent imprint on my mind. Gage had given me a hurt I didn’t deserve. I tried to forgive him, but so far, forgiving him was turning out to be one long-ass process. My mother was right about one thing: the only thing different between Gage and all the men education was supposed to make me avoid was his damn color. I don’t know what she saw that hinted at his impending adultery, but the one time I chose to defy my mother’s warning had me at a Calvary Church exchanging vows with a man who had no intentions of keeping his. Though, I must admit, he convincingly repeated each promise. Isn’t that what he was supposed to do, stare into my eyes, and lie? Well, he did just that.

  “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this,” Gage said, turning toward the door.

  “Especially since I didn’t invite you in my house, you’re right. You don’t.”

  I paused to look at him.

  I knew I was getting under his skin. Talking about Samantha usually did that to him. I could have warned him about the woman I had known since I was nine years old. I could have told him love was just a game to her, but I didn’t think I needed to warn my husband about the woman I considered my best friend. He entered at his own risk, and every burn and hurt he got as a result of his greed, he damn well deserved.

  “I mean, the least you could have done was make a life with the woman who helped you break up your home. I guess your infidelity was for naught.”

  “You know what I don’t understand?”

  Gage stopped in the middle of the doorway. He placed his hands in his pockets and turned around. He stared at me intently before he spoke.

  “Why haven’t you gotten over it? I find it hard to believe that, after all these years, you still have this disdain for Samantha. I might be barking up wrong tree, but…”

  “Isn’t that what most dogs do?” I interrupted.

  He continued with disregard.

  “Did it hurt you more that I cheated with Samantha, or that I cheated period? I can see it. It killed you that she had something you thought belonged only to you.”

  “That I thought belonged only to me?” I repeated in question. “Are you kidding me?! Marrying you meant you belonged only to me, just like I belonged only to you. If there were some confusion about that, or if you needed some clarification, you had ample time to ask.”

  “So I didn’t resist her temptation. But I realized she wasn’t anything like you and I…”

  “And you came expecting me to take you back, pick up right where we left off. After she was done adding your name to her growing list of dumb-ass men who fell for her tricks and games, we were supposed to just pick up with our lives just where you left it?”

  “Right. You had your opportunity to give me a second chance. But I’ve moved on, and so should you.”

  “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” I said, finally walking into the living room. “You may get to break your vows, lie, cheat, or even act like you’re sorry for any of the things you’ve put me through. But, what you don’t get to do is tell me when I should move on. That is not your decision to make.”

  “Fine, but do me a favor, Kenna, and stay the hell out of my business, just like I’ve made it a point to stay out of yours. I will not be answering any more of your questions. Who I share my bed with is no longer your concern. Just like you, everything I do is classified.”

  “My feelings and my job are two different things,” I said, walking toward the door. “You know what, it’s time for you to go. Keep your whores away from my children and I won’t have to question you about them.”

  Sometimes I wished Gage would drop the kids off at the gate and just watch them walk, just so I wouldn’t have to see him. I slammed the door behind him. When I turned to walk toward the kitchen, Cody stood at the balcony, leaning on the rails, staring down at me. I wasn’t sure how long he had been listening, and I felt the need to apologize for the words my son may or may not have heard.

  “I’m sorry, Cody.”

  I stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding on to the rail.

  “Are you and Dad ever going to get along?” he asked with disappointment in his voice.

  He walked and sat on the steps. I’ve never lied to my son, and I wasn’t going to start tonight.

  “One day, I’m sure.”

  Actually, I wasn’t sure, but I hoped Cody was satisfied with my response. I didn’t give him an opportunity to ask any follow-up questions.

  In the kitchen, I poured another glass of Merlot to settle nerves I allowed Gage to rattle. In times like these, wine was always my best friend. I was looking forward to dinner with the two people I loved the most. They had eaten, and my appetite walked out the door behind Gage. I grabbed my cell phone, accessed my contacts, and settled on his name. As if he were sitting there waiting for his phone to ring, he answered in haste.

  “Where have you been?”

  “I need to see you,” I demanded when I heard his voice. “Meet me at Degrees Bar and Lounge at the Georgetown Ritz tomorrow. I’l
l be there by 7:30.”

  After hanging up, I leaned on the counter, draining the wine from the glass and then filling it again. This time I sipped slowly, organizing my thoughts in my head. I still had homework to check, and two kids to tuck in bed. I needed to get my mind right for them.

  Seven

  _____

  Even Though I Hurt You, I Smile

  Samantha

  I SAT BACK IN THE BURGUNDY leather office chair, reminiscing on a plan I had skillfully executed. I stared at the bouquet of white peonies—he remembered they were my favorite—that sat in the center of the solid oak desk. I read the attached card with the same smile I sported when I first lay my eyes on my new office; the same smile I wore when I finally laid eyes on this man I had been studying for so long. His message was simple:

  Thank you for making my heart smile this weekend.

  Although his message was typed, he signed his name in his own writing. J.B. Graybrourne.

  Jelani Brennon Graybourne had already graced the cover of The American Lawyer Magazine. That’s where I first came face to face with his rich, confident smile, two years before my second run-in with Ryle. It was love at first sight, even though, then, the only love that was evident was mine for him. That’s when I took my second vow: J. B. Graybourne would love me in return.

  Jelani wore his thirty years well. His brown eyes radiated with innocence. Sporting a well-groomed five o’clock shadow, he looked like he would be good till the very last drop. All I needed was my opportunity to taste him. He sported a yellow Beaufort bow tie and a navy blue suit, leaning against a building’s granite exterior. He was America’s number one bachelor, at least in my book, someone I knew I had to have. He was old and new money, educated, and already a partner at Emanuel, Sullivan and Graybourne, thanks in part to the position his father once held with the firm. Still, he was making a name for himself, even though he didn’t have to. The Graybourne name had already secured his place in the firm and in the mouths of other lawyers who argued against him. They walked with their A-game in their back pockets, knowing J.B. Graybourne was always armed and very dangerous. His opening statements and closing arguments packed a few punches. He had a few tricks up his sleeves, and though he’s exposed them many times, no one has mastered their execution as well as he did.

  “What do you think?” his thunderous voice interrupted my trance.

  I stood with my eyes closed and a single flower from the bouquet close to my nose. I looked at him from the side of my eyes and smiled. How long had he been standing there, I thought. I had no intention of sharing my thoughts with him.

  “They’re beautiful,” I said, breaking my silence.

  I sat the flower on the desk beside the vase. I stood from behind the desk and began a suggestive walk toward him, which made him lick his lips and smile. He stared at me from head to toe, and I wondered what he could be thinking that very moment. I leaned against the wall next to him, inhaling his smell of lemon and cool lavender. His scent was an immediate attraction. He stared at me with lustful eyes, and I waited for him to finish undressing me. If I could have assisted him, I would have, but I allowed him to relish in his x-ray view of my nude figure. I enjoyed this seductive play that always happened between us. I was surprised when he kissed me.

  “Have dinner with me tonight?”

  He held my face in his hand and traced my mouth with his right thumb.

  Had he uttered a question or a command? I had a hard time deciding, but my response was without hesitation, since I was too busy enjoy the tingling sensation in my lips.

  “Of course,” I said, grabbing his hand and then bringing my lips to meet his.

  I held his bottom lip between mine, before finally letting go. His kisses left me wanting more of him.

  “How about 7:30?”

  “Do I have to wait that long?”

  He turned and smiled, never answering my question. I stood on the outside of the door, watching him walk away; something else I liked to do. His walk was confident and equally stimulating, and I smiled, thinking about the days he took me to the moon and back. I felt my heart beating rapidly as I walked back toward my desk. I could still taste him, and for a long moment, his lingering scent kept him a constant presence in my office. I stood with my hands pressed against the immense office window, admiring the view of Washington, D.C. that sat on the other side of the Potomac.

  After a fast-paced weekend with J.B. and a Monday that found my mind unable to focus on anything that didn’t involve him, Tuesday morning I was running a race with a sea snail, and was losing badly. I hadn’t had my morning cup of coffee. I’m usually on my second cup by 9 a.m., both prepared by Felicia just like I liked it: black, with a teaspoon of cinnamon. I did have my morning dose of J.B.; that was the pick me up I needed. I had been savoring my new position as lead attorney at Emanuel, Sullivan and Graybourne and my role as J.B. Graybourne’s interest—a two-year high I had no plans of coming down from. With a little persuasion, J.B. was finally ready to mix business with pleasure, and as I would have it, I was there, ready to be pleased. I had just wrapped up my fourth small criminal case and was heading to court with another high profile case with attorneys Libby Pinder and Rodrigo Dooms.

  “Ms. Wells, do you need anything?” Felicia’s girlish voice sounded over the intercom.

  “No thanks, Felicia. I’m just going to get settled in here.”

  Truth is, what I needed Felicia couldn’t give me. As long as she kept my coffee mug filled, stayed her ass behind that desk and away from my man, she was giving me exactly what I wanted. I had nothing to worry about. She’s never gotten as much as half of J.B.’s attention. Why would he even waste time to look in her direction, when he had been busy looking in mine?

  I loved that Felicia was at my beck and call, but sometimes it was at the most inopportune time. She was still sitting at her desk, but I was sure she had an ear in the direction of my office, hoping to hear fragments of my conversation with J.B. I think she lived vicariously through me. I wish I knew better, but there was nothing to prove otherwise. There were no pictures of kids or a husband strategically placed on her desk for anyone to inquire about. Valentine Days came and went, but the only flowers to come across her desk were the ones J.B. sent me, or the ones I used to send myself to make him notice me. She’s never even talked of an ex-husband, and by the looks of her, I was certain she had one or two, driven away by the woman she presented them, thinking she was presenting her best self. Believe me, I’ve seen her best self.

  Felicia Hailey was a concoction of confusion. She was a month removed from her late twenties, but she looked like she was five years into her membership with the forty-and-over club, though I knew some in their forties that didn’t look like she did. Her black-rimmed glasses dominated her small face, and she was in need of a cut and curl, since even I was bored with the long, flat look she wore day in and day out. Thus far, the only other thing I liked about her was her smile, which had a familiarity about it.

  I sat back in my chair, allowing my body to sink into the soft burgundy leather. A few years ago, I was sitting in that same chair now occupied by Felicia, asking that same do-you-need-anything question to a lawyer who was often thinking with the wrong head. He thought because he laid the right pipe, and I was stroking his ego with cries of passion and expletives whenever he hit my spot, I wasn’t going to get what I thought I deserved. I figured I had to give something to get something back, and that’s exactly how I played the game. He was a pawn in my chess game, though he played like we were playing checkers.

  I always had a blueprint, a plan I began to set into motion the moment I shook hands with Parker Chandler. While other women relied on their degrees and letters behind their names to climb up this “ladder of success”, and those same letters and degrees to fall back on, I relied on the sweet honey between my legs. I didn’t care who I met, or whose toes or head I stepped on going up, I didn’t plan on meeting them coming down—coming down wasn’t part of my plan.r />
  Parker fell for everything I had to offer, and I dangled whatever I needed to get what I wanted. As smart as he was, I certainly didn’t expect him to fall for the last scheme I had up my sleeve. When he did, I knew I had him right where I wanted him. I had played my cards right. I had winked and batted my eyes when I needed to. I listened when I needed to, stroke his ego and anything else when I had to, and before he or I knew it, he was my right hand man.

  I had done my research. I compiled scouting reports like a pro basketball team preparing to draft a college standout, or a talented free agent, and as always, I presented myself as the one who could be trusted. I had studied and analyzed all I could about who I needed to. I knew who I was going to have in my corner from my first hello, and who was going to take much more finesse. Most importantly, I knew where I had to start.

  Eight

  _______

  This Is Serious

  Kennalyn

  IT WAS A COOL OCTOBER NIGHT in Washington, D.C. It seemed the season went from summer to winter, but this night reminded me why I loved fall nights in the District. The temperature had cooled from a mild seventy-five degrees to a comfortable sixty-six. It was good baseball weather, since the Washington Nationals were now into their third game of post-season play. I’m not a big baseball fan, but besides RGIII and the Redskins, the Nationals’ playoff birth had been the biggest news in sports since October began.

  I made my way down K Street and into the popular Georgetown area. I drove with the windows down slightly, enjoying the fresh autumn breeze. The barrage of patrons who usually busied the Georgetown streets on warm summer nights and weekends was absent on this Wednesday night. I drove swiftly, avoiding unsynchronized red lights and hidden speeding cameras. Parking was found with little effort, just a few feet from the front entrance of the Ritz Carlton, on South Street.