Nappily Married

by Trisha R. Thomas

  “Where you going?” Jake asked, as if the last couple of weeks had all been a bad dream.

  “I have to go to work,” I said. “Remember, I have a job.”

  He rose up on his elbows, his bare chest beckoning me to climb back into bed with him. I did just that. I straddled him then traced his firm sculpted lips with my finger before meeting them with a kiss. His hands worked diligently, positioning himself for entry and not bothering to test for clearance. From the urgency of my kiss, it was obvious the fire was already lit. He plunged inside, sending ripples of desire up the curve of my spine. His hands cupped my hips while he thrust deeper without warning. I tried to pull back to release some of the pressure.

  “Don’t,” he said, grasping me tighter.

  I gripped his shoulders, preparing for the bull ride. Each slow thrust moved deeper and more tantalizing than the first. Jake sustained the rhythm, making certain I knew who was in control. It didn’t matter that I was the one on top. He wanted it absolutely understood.

  “Look at me.” He grabbed my wrists and pulled me down chest to chest. I clutched the nape of his neck and wrapped my mouth against his, tasting the light salt from his perspiration. I controlled as much movement as I could with the muscles in my pelvis, but it was nothing compared to the dance Jake led.

  He flipped me over on my back, not missing a beat. I stared into the solid wall of his wide smooth chest, preparing myself for the strength and power of his passion. The total package, full, warm, strong, and graceful. He unleashed pulsating thrusts riveting through my body. I was in a dizzying state of arousal and then he suddenly stopped.

  “Have a nice day at work,” he whispered. He slipped out, wet and glistening.

  “But … wait a minute.” I was a babbling fool. “Honey?” I watched as he got up and went into the bathroom. The shower came on, and I was still in a state of disbelief.

  I got up and followed him. The frosted glass still revealed his perfect brown body. He soaped up his hair and stuck his head under the blast of water.

  “Jake, what was that about?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t want you to be late for work,” he said over the sound of water.

  I swallowed hard. “No, honey, really, what was that about?”

  The water shut off. The door slid open. I was a dizzy mess, staring at his hard body, dripping wet. Shame on me, but I was still ready to pick up where we’d left off.

  “Like I said, you’re a working girl now. You have priorities.” He wrapped himself with a towel and moved along as if I wasn’t standing there. And soon enough I wasn’t.

  * * *

  “Good morning.” Trina was fresh as the morning. Her usual loose-fitting jeans were replaced with a cute hoodie track suit. She stood in the middle of the kitchen watching the early-morning news. Every station started with the same story. Jackson Memorial was the subject of an emergency review by the county board of supervisors.

  “I thought you were turning things around over there.”

  “Getting there.” I was already dressed and ready to head out. My pantyhose felt itchy and my skirt hugged too tight. The day was going to be long.

  Jake walked in carrying Mya. “Look who I found awake.”

  “They keep showing you on the news. Look, there you go again.” Trina picked up the remote and punched the level of volume. It was the press conference the day after the picketers’ arrest. Me standing at the podium looking like I was playing dress-up in my mother’s clothes. It was difficult to hear and watch. I thought I looked nervous and unsure of myself. My words shook like small afterquakes. My eyes were wide with false confidence.

  “You look good up there. I’m proud to know you.” Trina moved around faster than usual. She quickly poured a fresh-squeezed glass of orange juice, then a cup of coffee.

  “Yep, you look like you know what you’re doing, sweets. A few more of those press conferences and you could run for mayor.” Jake was fast on his comebacks, always had been. Smart. A smart-ass now, it seemed.

  “Eggs coming up, Jay.”

  I switched the channel to cartoons. Wilma Flintstone was telling Fred she was going to work whether he liked it or not. Caveman days were over!

  Trina set the toasted bagel with an over-easy egg in front of Jay. She placed the glass of orange juice next to the plate, then disappeared with Mya, claiming she needed to get her cleaned up and dressed.

  The kitchen was immediately sapped of energy without Trina. I sat next to Jake but not too close. There was a serious barrier between us. “Tell me what you want me to do, and be honest. I just can’t believe you’re this angry about me getting arrested. It was serious. The girl couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds, and this policeman was going to use a stun gun on her.”

  His only response was to take a sip, letting the hot steam swirl around his blank eyes.

  “All this animosity is all about me, Jake. It doesn’t make any sense. You’re really scaring me.” I cautiously reached out and touched his shoulder. “I’m here for you. No matter where I work or what I do, I am one hundred percent your wife, your friend.”

  He bit into his bagel and chewed a moment before speaking. “I don’t need any more friends,” he said. “I just need my wife. Go to work, sweets. I want you to be happy and fulfilled.” He made a quick smile then continued chewing.

  There was a magic rabbit hiding underneath his statement. Use of the proper buzzwords, happy and fulfilled, scared me like I was walking close to a huge cliff while he waited patiently for me to fall off, landing on jagged rocks below.

  “I love you,” he said, this time with more sincerity. “That’s the bottom line. I don’t want you to feel inadequate in any way.” He drank his coffee, picked up the remote, and clicked the channel. Once again a fresh round of stations showing Jackson Memorial in various stages, my original press conference, followed by the arrests of innocent picketers, including myself. Right before the camera panned on Clint restraining me by my waist, I reached over Jake and clicked the power off. I gave a cautious glance to see if he’d noticed. He blankly stared straight ahead, unfazed.

  I, on the other hand, was fuming. “You want me to quit? I’ll quit,” I said, really meaning it. I was beat. Exhausted on the battlefield. All the work I was putting in seemed to be netting no results. The neonatal department still had a close date within two weeks. Where would the babies go? Which department was next … until it was nothing more than a clinic offering shots for STDs?

  “Nah, too late for all of that. I can see you’re needed. Do your thing, sweets.”

  The better part of me wanted to sit by his side, and I did, for an extra five wordless minutes. Then I checked my watch, a huge mistake.

  “Don’t let me keep you,” he snapped.

  I stood up, pulled my keys out of my purse, and took my happy, fulfilled self to work.

  Try Me

  The morning sun was still hiding behind the San Gabriel Mountains when I left the house. I cried all the way to the hospital, wondering how to fix the mess I’d made. Quitting wouldn’t solve the real problem.

  I’d asked for this life, begged and prayed for it. I’d wanted to be married with babies with the ideal man by my side. Then the universe and God collaborated and had given me the full picture, not one item missing from the list, and yet I couldn’t have felt more lifeless. Maybe it was the independence I was afraid of losing. Not once had I ever asked anyone to take care of me. Working at the sweet age of sixteen, I did clerical duty for an insurance company three days a week after school. On the weekends I babysat. Money earned I saved for nothing in particular, only the joy of not having to ask anyone for a dime. The joy of knowing my mother would have no say in my choice of back-to-school clothes. Proud I didn’t have to have a consulting war with Pauletta on the overpriced Bongo jeans with rips on the knee. “Why pay sixty dollars for tore-up jeans,” she’d asked, disgusted. “You can get those down at the thrift store for three dollars.” Straight out of high school, I even bo
ught my own car. A beat-up Honda painted with four different shades of blue. I bought the gas that went into it and even chipped in on the insurance costs. It felt good. Right. Decent.

  When I met Jake, I was an independent woman. At least financially. He respected the fact that I had a career, even admired the work I’d done as a marketing guru, seeking out my services specifically for JP Wear.

  The emotional landscape was a completely different story. I’d just found out my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Airic, my fiancé at the time, was charged with securities fraud by the SEC. I’d had a run-in with Clint that tossed me back in a black hole I’d worked diligently to climb out of. A wreck is what I was. An emotional glob of instability. Jake fixed me. Simple enough. He applied direct healing on every wound and he fixed me.

  The very reason I fell in love with him—he wasn’t afraid of anything. He had the strength and resolve, to make everything all better. It didn’t matter that he was younger than I. He was truly the most mature, loving man I’d ever known besides my own father. I pulled inside the hospital parking garage. I had the pick of the lot, right between a handicapped space no one ever used and the cinder block keeping people out of the loading zone. I dabbed my eyes, preparing to get out of the car and deal with the other problems I seemed to have wrought upon myself. The rest of the hospital staff would be along shortly. I walked a few quick steps then realized I hadn’t locked my car. I stopped and pointed my key ring in the direction of my car and pushed the button. The echo of the alarm being set twisted in my ear, much louder than usual from the emptiness of the concrete housing.

  Then the echo of another sound kicked in, punching, hitting. Sounds of someone getting a good old-fashioned ass-whuppin’. Moans with each connecting blow.

  “Next time … Ah, what am I saying, won’t be no next time.” The heavy voice barked, “Cash and carry, muthafucka. I want what I paid for.”

  One last slap for good measure. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I pushed myself against the thick concrete column to become invisible. Footsteps headed in my direction. I scrambled inside my purse for my cell phone. Before flipping it open, I stopped myself. The digital voice would ask loudly, “who would you like to call?” Instead I dropped the phone and felt for the leather case of pepper spray I’d never used. Bought so long ago, I wasn’t even sure if it worked. Did pepper spray have an expiration date?

  I felt spindly fingers climb around my shoulder, then a pinch of pain. “Lost?” the man said.

  “What?” My mouth was dry. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard what I said.” The man spoke too closely, spraying me ever so lightly with foul breath. We were face-to-face, eye-to-eye. My only assessment was that he had to have been beating on a woman. He was too small to be a real threat to another man. I gripped the tubular case, thumbing the safety shield off.

  “Get away from me,” I finally screamed. “Get the hell away!” I pulled out the pepper spray and pointed it at him like I meant business, and I did.

  “Just passing through,” he said, darting glances past me, to the sides, and back to me. “Have a nice day.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled as he casually walked into the overcast dawn.

  I ran in the direction of the moans. A pair of legs and feet squirmed from behind a car. I approached with caution.

  “Jasper! Oh my God, Jasper.”

  He rolled over, still scrunched in a ball, holding his ribs. His face was swollen. Blood smeared across his mouth and nose. His glasses were twisted, hanging on his badly bruised ear.

  “I’ll get help.”

  “No. Please. No, I’m okay.” Jasper’s thick fingers weakly grasped my sleeve. I knew someone this badly beaten up with possibly broken bones shouldn’t be moved by an amateur like myself. More important, all I could think of were the bloodstains he was about to leave on my cream-colored three-quarter-length jacket. I even had on the cream leather boots to match. Okay. This was serious.

  “Jasper, I have to go get help. Don’t move. Please, I’ll be right back.”

  I trotted inside the emergency entrance and straight through to the triage. I grabbed a young resident who looked like he should still be in high school. I’d seen him, Dr. Warner, a few times in the cafeteria and around the hospital. He in turn brought one of the nurses, and they hurried behind me back to the parking garage.

  “He’s over here. Wait. No. Maybe he was over…” The parking garage was empty enough to see in every direction.

  The car was gone, and so was Jasper.

  “We better tell someone.” Dr. Warner said, “At least the police can go to his house and check on him.”

  I stood dumbfounded. “Why would he leave? You should have seen him—he was a mess. He needed stitches. His ribs were cracked, the way he was holding himself.” I shook my head. “Doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You sure the guy didn’t come back and take the car? Usually carjackers just want the car. They only beat the person down when they’re in the way. Maybe Dr. J hobbled inside.” The nurse folded his thick arms over his chest. Each forearm was covered in a bevy of tattoos. He was built and athletic and looked like he’d seen his share of trouble in his former life.

  “No. No. It wasn’t about a carjacking. It wasn’t about the car. The guy walked off without it anyway. He was long gone by the time I went in for help. The guy acted like Jasper owed him money.” I pointed to the darkened spot on the concrete. “Look. See. There’s blood.”

  “Doctor, heal thyself,” the nurse said under his breath. He kneeled down to get a closer look. “Maybe the old doc rather get medical attention somewhere else. Don’t trust Jack the Ripper.”

  “I assume you don’t go around using that euphemism?” Dr. Warner let out an agitated sigh. “I’m sorry. I have to get back,” His professionalism superceded his youthfulness. “If you need me, you know where I’ll be.”

  I turned my attention back to the nurse. “You knew Jasper when he was practicing here?”

  “Oh yeah, wasn’t that long ago.”

  “Well, no one else seems to know. What happened? Why isn’t he practicing medicine anymore?”

  “They know. Everybody knows. Just uptight like the young Dr. Warner there. Another blemish they’d prefer to keep off the record. Got a image to maintain, but the image is pretty much shot right between the eyes.”

  “Okay.” I goaded, “Jasper Calloway?”

  “The good doctor was caught playing house with little boys.”

  “Patients?” I said, horrified, as if the crime could be made any worse.

  “Well, one patient they’re sure of. A boy, fourteen. He was hospitalized in pediatrics where Dr. J was in charge.”

  “Please don’t call him that,” I said, squinting from the association.

  “Okay, Dr. Jasper. People sure are sensitive to the name game around here.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt. Go on. The boy was a patient.”

  “Yep. Family had some serious dough. They had planned to donate a wing and everything, feeling like the care and facilities of this great establishment brought their son back to life. The kid had sickle-cell,” he said, putting a rough knuckle to his chin. “Sickle-cell. Yeah, I’m sure. Anyway, the kid ends up killing himself.”

  By this time the parking lot had begun to fill up with staff. “What? How? Why?”

  “Hey, Big C, whad up, dog?”

  “Nothing but you, man.” The nurse, Big C, gave a little nod.

  The morning staff was starting to arrive.

  “You mind if we go to the cafeteria and finish?”

  “Not much else to tell. The kid killed himself. The parents found some Internet diary on his computer about his undying love for the good doctor. The parents were furious, ready to shut the whole place down. Lawsuit. Prison for Dr. J—oh, my bad. Anyway, the hospital made a deal with the family that he’d never practice medicine again and would never be near children. Only way they could guarantee that is if they kept him right here where th
ey could keep an eye on him. He can’t leave and go work somewhere else, ever, or everybody will suffer, ya know what I mean. It’s like he’s chained here like some kind of yard dog. Can’t get off the playground.”

  “Why didn’t the family just crush him? Send him to prison? I would’ve, if it was my son.”

  “Pride. People like that don’t want the world knowing something like that about their boy. You know how we do. Pride,” he said again, extending one of his thick arms. The tattoos were more visible. A cross. Words, jesus saved my life. “By the way, I’m Calvin—or C, if you will.”

  “Venus. Or V, if you will. Thanks for talking to me.”

  “No problem. I’ve seen you on TV trying to look all hard and about business. But you a little cutie.”

  “Thank you, Calvin, C, Big C,” I corrected. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Anytime. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “I won’t.” I waved. He fell in step with a few nurses arriving for morning duty. He threw a satisfying arm around one woman as they walked. I thought about Jasper and what a despicable thing he did. A patient. A boy. Wrong. Disgusting. He deserved to get his ass beat. Maybe? All I knew for sure is that it made sense now. Jasper had to be the one sabotaging the hospital. He was angry enough to do it. Hell, I’d be angry, too, a prisoner with no hopes of ever getting out.

  Implicated

  Clint peeked inside. “You’re here. I heard about what happened this morning.” He kept his hands in his pockets and seemed to look over his shoulder before coming inside. “Must’ve really shaken you up.”

  “I’m fine. I don’t know whether to wish Jasper well or hope he’s laying dead somewhere. Knowing what he did, having a relationship with a child. Gives me the creeps that I had to share an office with him. I just hope he doesn’t come back. You know, this proves what I’ve been telling you all along. He’s been sabotaging this hospital.”

  Clint’s mind seemed to be drifting. “Yeah,” he said, peeking over his shoulder a couple of times.