Nappily Married

by Trisha R. Thomas

  “Well, my husband and your wife are in D.C. together.” The woman paused. She continued on after he said nothing for too long. “I didn’t know if you were aware or not. They’re alone on a business trip. I found it strange that only the two of them were going alone.” She emphasized the word alone one too many times. “I’ve already tried to reach him, Clint, my husband, several times and haven’t had any luck. I was hoping…” She paused. “I was wondering if you’d heard from Venus, your wife.”

  Jake was too busy spinning to be able to answer coherently. Maddening. The room had already shifted so many times, he didn’t know exactly where he was. Then it stopped, the rotating coming to an extreme halt. His eyes landed on the framed pictured of him and Venus on the dresser. The mirror hanging over it held a reflection of himself, though he had trouble focusing. It was he, Jacob Marcus Parson, JP, right? The man everybody thought they could walk over and get away with it. At every turn, he had to step it up. No chance to rest for the weary.

  It was him, all right. He recognized the boy when he was being teased for being a “pretty muthafucka.” Too soft and pretty, so he had to act hard. Always a heartbeat away from getting into a fight because someone thought he was beatable. The person who tried always lost—he made sure of that.

  “Why are you calling me?” he said, unsympathetic, finally getting a hold of himself.

  “Because … I thought you’d heard from Venus. If you had, I could stop worrying about them. I mean, you know with everything that happened not so long ago with the terrorist attacks on the East Coast, I was worried about them traveling to Washington, D.C., alone. Anything could have happened and Clint isn’t answering his cell phone. I have no idea what’s going on out there with them alone. I just wanted to know if you’d heard anything.”

  He grabbed his chest and then moved slowly to the drawer that held his inhaler. Bitch. He didn’t know if he was referring to the caller or his wife. Or possibly even Clint Fairchild himself, Dr. Ex-Lova, the kind of man who’d pull a stunt like this and expect no repercussions. He took another puff and held his breath, hoping the next exhale-inhale would be easier. Within seconds, the smothering cloak lifted off his chest and face.

  “That’s what your local news station is for,” he said with his first good breath. “If that doesn’t work out, try CNN. And a tip—the next time you think about calling here to ask where your husband is, you better be willing to live without him.” He hung up the phone. The oxygen so many took for granted was all his again.

  “Bitch.” This time he was able to say it out loud. He was definitely referring to the caller.

  He dialed and waited patiently for the voice mail to answer as he knew it would. He started talking. “Babe, give me a call. Just wanted to make sure you arrived and everything is cool. I miss you.” His voice shook in a tremble of fear he hoped could pass for exhaustion.

  Two hours went by before the phone rang. “Yeah, hey, how you doing? You made it in all right? Good.” He paced while he held the phone in a death grip against his ear, listening hard for any signal, any notice of alert.

  “So where’re you staying?” A nonchalant question that held his life in the balance. “Oh yeah. Is it nice?” He had to sit for a minute. His knees weak. “No. I’ve never heard of it. You’re going to dinner alone? I thought maybe you’d call Wendy.” He tried to sound lighthearted and steady.

  “I always hate to eat alone.” He paused, waiting for the statement to take effect, but no admission of a traveling companion. “I do. I miss you. Mya misses you, too—because I just know. Yeah. Ah-huh. I love you, too.”

  He slapped the phone closed and threw it as hard as he could, the second one he’d have to replace in the better part of a month. He hoped the other one would never be found. In fact, he did better than hope, he prayed.

  He yanked the towel from around his naked body and went to the closet. He dressed hurriedly. He went downstairs and grabbed another phone. He dialed Henry and Pauletta’s number. The machine picked up. He paced some more then decided he couldn’t waste time with phone tag. He dialed the other number that he knew by heart. She picked up after only the second ring.

  “Trina, I’m sorry to interrupt. Listen, I have an emergency. I need you to come back and watch Mya … all night. I have to leave town. I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t an emergency, you know that.” He had to strain to hear her whisper, something about this being her chance. She was having a good time, the first time in forever.

  “Please, please, I’m begging, Trina. I swear, I’ll make it up to you in a million different ways, but I need for you to get back here.”

  Let It Ride

  Waves of doubt moved under his feet while he stood in the long airport security line. Nervous and even a bit light-headed, he’d given himself ten reasons to go back home. One of which, he was exhausted. Seemed he was on a nonstop uphill battle. His company, his wife.

  He’d tried to calm down and let the whole thing ride. He knew in his heart of hearts it was all a big misunderstanding. He wanted to do the right thing, but the shroud of jealousy and anxiety surely would sneak in during the night, suffocating him to death and he would never have known the truth.

  Jake moved up to the security line, dropping his cell phone, pen, watch, and keys into a plastic tray. He stepped through the metal detector. The loud piercing alarm made everyone look in his direction. His tender wool sweater suddenly felt itchy and tight, a noose around his neck.

  “Sir, please step over here.” The bland man in a white shortsleeve shirt and gray pants waved a hand for assistance. Jake was used to it, but found it no less annoying. He wore diamond studs the size of quartz rocks in his ears, but no heavy gold bling around his neck. Nothing excessive—simply well-hung denims and an expensive camel suede jacket that was being scrutinized very closely on the X-ray screen on the security belt. He was a young black man of obvious means. He had money, which for everyone else equated to drug dealer, entertainer, or athlete. Drug dealer being the top of the list.

  He stood patiently while the wand surfed his body. “Sir, do you have any items on you that you’d like to volunteer?” The younger expressionless security guard held out a plastic basket, probably expecting Jake to toss in a Luger or a blade.

  “Nah,” Jake said in disgust. He spun around so the magic wand could surf his back and the rest of his body.

  “You’re going to have to take off your shoes.”

  This was a new one. “My shoes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jake looked to his watch, where it was no longer fastened around his wrist, then around the airport for the nearest clock. “What time is it?”

  “Sir, we’re trying to move everyone along as quickly as possible. Being in a hurry isn’t going to change the fact that we still need your shoes.”

  The flight he’d booked was the last one for the night. Both airport security guards waited with their colorless knuckles resting on their thick sides as if they had all the time in the world and wouldn’t mind a bit of excitement to make the night go faster. Jake sat down and took off his shoes. One took the shoes while the other used the wand around his sock-covered feet. He ground his teeth and felt his heart rate quicken. There wasn’t much left in the way of degradation. He looked to his wrist again out of habit. He felt naked without his watch and noticed his wedding band. The span of diamonds placed evenly around in the platinum setting gave him a moment of peace. He felt silly. Ridiculous, even. Rushing out to D.C., for what? What did he expect to find? His wife and her ex-lover, that’s what. Jake tried to appear calm, but his eyes darted to the large scale clock on the wall.

  “What time’s your flight?” the younger one asked quietly while he tickled the bottom of Jake’s feet with the wand.

  “Ten twenty.”

  “We’ll get you out as soon as possible—long as there’s no problem with the shoes.”

  The older guard came back holding the thick soles out like they were armed nuclear missles. He paused see
mingly to give alarm but then he said, “All clear.”

  Jake snatched them out of his hand. “Where’s my watch, my phone, the rest of my sh’?” Jake caught himself. All in a day’s work. He actually felt sorry for the little men who had to do this work. It was embarrassing. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said in a mock salute with his middle finger extended.

  Pushing past the throng of tired travelers, he moved swiftly to the gate. He panicked from the obvious emptiness of the waiting area, a bad first sign. The gate door being closed, the second.

  “Excuse me, this is my flight. I need to get on this plane.”

  A bushy-eyebrowed man at the counter looked at his computer screen. “Last boarding announcement for that plane was fifteen minutes ago.”

  “But it’s right there. The plane is right there. I’m looking at it.”

  “I know, yes, but once the doors are closed, that’s it.” The bushy-eyebrowed man put up a hand.

  Jake wished he were dealing with a woman. He’d have no problem getting those doors to open. “Look, this is the last flight to D.C. I have to be on this plane. It’s an emergency. My life depends on it,” he said believing his own words.

  “Sir, I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.” The more obstacles that slowed him down, the more resolute he became. He had to get to D.C. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet and did the only good and right thing. The thick wad of one hundreds accidentally fell from his billfold and onto the man’s shoes. Jake shoved them forward a bit more, kicking them. “Please, I have to get on that plane.”

  Cold Calls

  Kandi’s calls were persistent and could no longer be ignored. Clint pretended it was the hospital, but I could tell by the grimace on his face it was his wife.

  My feet were propped up on the edge of the seat next to me. I pulled out my flight schedule and counted the hours when I could get home and start everything over. I wanted the tension between Jake and me to subside, to go away completely, and I would do whatever it took to make it right.

  Clint came back to the table, unable to mask his strain. “Sorry about that, had to take the call.” He picked up the menu, flipping through it. “Is this all they have?”

  “Not a steak tartare man?” I asked, grossed out as well. Raw meat was just uncivilized. “What about the seared salmon?”

  “I don’t like raw fish either. We could go to the room and do room service. Order a nice steak, cooked, some wine.”

  The funnel of sound became loopy, mired in confusion. I squinted as if I didn’t understand correctly. “You just got grilled by your wife and you’re trying to be alone with me … in a hotel room?” I picked up the menu and studied it. “Not a smart man.”

  Clint clasped both hands and put them on top of his head. “Is everything a secret op with you, nothing anyone says is what they actually mean? Dinner, V, when will you understand, just plain food, not trying to get anything but a full stomach.” He looked around and flagged the waitress. She was already heading our way.

  Clint told the waitress we were leaving. Next thing I knew, we were at a bar up the street sucking on buffalo wings. We were both too hungry at that point to be picky. We ate silently until nothing was left but bones.

  The Lakers versus Miami basketball game was playing on a television stationed above the glass shelving filled with liquor bottles. I busied my hands in my lap, wiping the grease on my napkin. My fingers tingled with heated nerves. It was something I’d been dying to ask. Not until the last sip of beer did I have the gumption to let it pass my lips. “Do you know what you’re having … a boy or a girl?”

  “A boy,” Clint said.

  I had a quick flash of what the baby would look like—one part Clint, one part She-whore, and still totally adorable. “When’s he due?”

  “May.”

  Now it was his turn. “So are you and Jake having any more?” he said, picking up a carrot stick and dipping it into the ranch dressing.

  “We’ve talked about it. Maybe in a couple of years.”

  “So does Jake know Mya isn’t his?” Clint wouldn’t look up during his inquisition, busying himself with carrot sticks and doing last checks on the chicken bones for any undiscovered meat.

  I was speechless. No one had ever asked me such a thing. Not even Wendy had broached the subject, and keeping it real was her specialty.

  “I just assumed,” he said. “She looks like him, Airic. Remember, you brought him to my wedding.”

  “How could I forget? Lovely wedding, by the way. Now you’ve got me curious. Do you think the baby Kandi is carrying isn’t yours?”

  He found my eyes. “No, that’s not what I think.”

  “Well, it’s a funny subject to be talking about.”

  He took offense. “I know I’m the father.”

  “Good for you.” I’d hoped I shut the subject down for good. There was a sufficient pause, long enough for him to give it some justified thought. Fatherhood was a choice, biology not withstanding. He’d have to make his.

  “So what came between you and your ex, Airic?”

  “You’re just full of questions, Clint.”

  “I’m just curious.”

  I shook my head. “Differences, I don’t know.” Shaq had just dunked over everyone’s head. The bar crowd booed. “Do you want to go over our presentation for tomorrow? If not, I think I’ll head back to the hotel.” I began to get up.

  “No. Stay. Please.” There it was again, the new word he liked so much. “No more stupid questions. I’m sorry. I just figured we were friends, we could talk about anything.”

  “I don’t talk about just anything even with friends. So anything that has to do with my relationship with my husband is off-limits.”

  “Done.” He lifted up his hand to ask for another beer from the waitress.

  “Let’s talk about the plans for funding. I know the commission is going to ask what kind of programs their money will be paying for.” I tried to get comfortable again on the hard barstool.

  “First thing I want to do is put some funding into an education program. Get these women into a program to teach them about safe condom use. It starts with the mothers. Slow down the AIDS epidemic, less babies born to a death sentence.”

  “I think it starts with the men,” I said, grateful to talk about anything that wasn’t centered on my life.

  “It’s not the men who are having babies. The women’ve got to start standing up for themselves.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the men spreading the virus. Women are being infected seven-to-one faster than men. Which coincidentally is about the ratio of men to women. So you have this one man out there sleeping with about seven different women every year. That one man is the problem.”

  “What about the seven women who didn’t just say no? The bottom line rests with them. They’re the ones responsible to what happens to their bodies.”

  “For.”

  “What?”

  “They’re responsible for what happens to their bodies.”

  “Oh, yeah, here we go. Correcting me. You haven’t changed.”

  “No, I haven’t.” I gave him as much disdain as he’d just given me. “I’m not disagreeing about the responsibility,” I continued on the more important subject. “I just think the education should be centered on both parties. If a woman believes she’s in a monogamous relationship and believes she’s in love, the guard comes down. And we both know how believable men can be.” I took a sip of his beer.

  “That’s your way of saying men lie, that men are the ones always doing the lying.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Good, that’s good, ’cause we don’t want to go there,” he said, definitively.

  “We sure don’t,” I said, tipping the bottle to my lips.

  “’Cause if we went there, I’d have to point out the fact that women mess around about as much as men do. Equally disloyal.” He brought a carrot to his mouth and made a loud crunch.

&
nbsp; “And I’d have to mention that you’re right. And I can guarantee you’ll have your firsthand proof soon enough.”

  “Get off it, V!”

  “Get off what?”

  “When are you going to let it go?”

  “Let go of what?” I said, daring him to say it.

  “Let go of the fact that I chose her over you. When are you going to stop trying to make me pay for that? If I admit I was wrong right now, can we be friends? Okay, I was wrong. I chose the wrong woman. Is that what you want to hear? Like that’s going to change your whole life. Like every wrong will be made right again. What’s done is done. Stop hating me,” he added to my shock.

  “I guess that would be about as easy as to stop loving you.”

  “You never loved me. I was just the prize you wanted to win.”

  Well, that about did it, you see. I waited for the sky to split open and the thunderous applause of clouds but nothing came. It was exactly what I’d wanted to hear. I was finally exonerated. Here I’d lived a good portion of my life believing our breakup had been my fault. The truth was right there laid out on the table. He married Kandi only so I wouldn’t win. He hadn’t wanted me to be right about one more thing. He wanted to show me he was boss. And what a fine job he’d done. But there was no magical moment of relief. I didn’t feel happier or lighter knowing this.

  I reached out and touched his hand. “I did love you way back then. But you know what, I get it now. The whole relationship was just a figment of my imagination. You’re right, I wanted the prize. Having someone love you back with as much intensity as you love him or her … that’s the prize. And I did win after all. Trust me on that.” I stood up. “See you in the morning, Dr. Fairchild.”

  Pixie Dust

  Being with Clint had worn me out. Back in the hotel, I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. I heard a soft knock on my room door and thought it was Clint, ready to apologize. I looked through the peephole. The one-sided smile and slick side bangs framing a pixie face was the desk clerk who’d been flirting with Clint. I reared back in shock, realizing she thought she was knocking on his door. I put my hand over my mouth and thought for a moment what to do.