by Lolita Files
“She knows,” the woman said.
Rhiannon assumed she meant the Broadway stuff. She had no knowledge of Reesy’s exotic past.
Reesy fumbled around for the cordless phone. Now the game had changed.
She flicked the light on.
“I’m here,” she said after a moment. “Sorry. One of my dogs made me accidentally—”
“Ummmhmmm,” said Miss Flora.
Reesy was uncomfortable. This wasn’t funny anymore. She felt like the woman could see clear from Chicago into her Manhattan Beach bedroom. She was afraid to lie for fear of being called out.
“Acting has been good for you,” Miss Flora continued, “but you won’t do a lot. You’ve already had your time on the stage. That was really just something you needed to get out of your system.”
Reesy bit her nails. Harlem licked her ankles. She shook her foot to make the dog stop.
“Hmmm,” Miss Flora said, her voice sounding troubled.
“You’ve got issues with your parents. They’re very controlling people. Lots of money and power.”
Rhiannon wondered if this was true. Reesy seemed like the typical struggling Hollywood actress/dancer.
“There’s a lot of change going on with them right now,” Flora said. “Your father’s very tense. He’s picking up some old bad habits. And your mother’s doing interesting things.”
“Aah…” Reesy said with surprise, then stopped herself.
“You’ll marry soon,” said Flora. “It’s going to seem very sudden, very abrupt.” She cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said, sounding like she was taking a sip of water.
“For me to do that, it must be someone I’m sure about,” Reesy said.
“Oh yes,” Flora said in a conspiratorial tone. “You won’t have any doubt that this is the man you want to be with.”
Rhiannon made some sort of unidentifiable noise that Reesy knew was meant for her.
“And, oh,” Miss Flora said, “he is very sexual. He definitely knows how to come with it.”
She laughed, which surprised Reesy. She’d gone from being serious, somber, and spiritual to talking about throwing down in bed. Reesy was confused.
“Don’t get it twisted,” Miss Flora said, like she could see the look on her face. “I’m gonna be real when I talk to you. I’m not gonna dress anything up. I’m just telling you what I see.”
Reesy stared at the wall in front of her. This was all too bizarre. She still wasn’t quite sure if she believed.
“The two of you are good together, but you have a lot of unclear energy that you need to work through. You have a hard time trusting men.”
Reesy’s head was so light, she thought it was going to pop off. No one, not even Misty, knew how deep her trust issues went with men. She was always the tough, ballsy girl who manipulated men, but like her mother, she was really scared. Everybody assumed she was teeming with self-esteem in that area. While it was true she was confident, it was because she remained at arm’s length. One bad experience in college had made sure of that.
“There’s a film producer. Very sexual, very exciting. You and him have strong chemistry. You ever heard of instant attraction? That’s what the two of you have.”
Reesy’s mouth was open, but nothing came out. She assumed the woman had been speaking of Dandre, but now she was confused. The thought that her sudden marriage might be with someone else troubled her. She hadn’t fully let go of her love for Dandre. She wasn’t sure if she ever could.
Rhiannon was making noises again, this time a bunch of them.
“Is that your phone?” Flora asked.
“My bad,” said Rhiannon.
Flora was quiet, then laughed again.
Harlem had climbed onto Reesy’s lap and was licking her face. Reesy shoved her away. Harlem leapt back upon her and started licking again. Reesy got out of the bed and began to pace.
“He loves the water. He lives close to it. That’s where he likes to go to think.”
Reesy forced her phone to click.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Could you two hang on?”
“Sure,” Miss Flora said with what sounded like a smirk.
Reesy clicked over long enough to make it seem like she’d had a call come in. After a few seconds, she clicked back. Rhiannon and Flora were talking.
“This is a lot for her,” Flora was saying, “but she needs to pay attention or she’s gonna mess around and sink herself.”
“I’m back.”
“I know you heard what I said,” replied Flora. “Just be aware.”
Reesy was silent.
“You’ve got a little time,” Flora said. “You’ll see for yourself. You’ll be meeting a lot of new people, some of whom will be very loyal friends. Be careful of people claiming to be something they’re not. They won’t have your best interests at heart.”
“Thank you, Miss Flora. Thank you, Rhiannon. I’m gonna have to take this call on the other line. I really appreciate you talking to me tonight.”
“Sure,” Flora said in that tone again. “God loves you. Just remember that in the middle of everything else. He’s always with you through everything. You’re one of His own.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Reesy said.
“Pay attention to your parents. They’re going to be turning to you for a lot of emotional support real soon.”
“I gotta go. Thanks again.”
She clicked the phone off and jumped back into bed, bringing her knees up to her chest. The beating of her heart was relentless. Her brow was damp.
That was some crazy shit, she thought. Crazy, straight crazy.
Rhiannon must have told her some stuff about me, she decided. That had to be it. There was no way that woman could be that much on the money.
She looked at the cordless phone sitting on the edge of the bed. It felt like a spy. She stretched her leg toward it and kicked it off. The phone went flying into the hallway. Harlem and Peanut leapt off the bed and rushed after it.
Reesy looked at the time. 10:47 P.M.
Damn, she thought. It was too late to call Misty. Besides the three-hour time difference, she was pregnant and needed her sleep.
Sleep. Now she had to go back to sleep. Reesy grabbed a book from her bedside and began to read. Anything to avoid her dreams.
An hour later, the book was lying on her face and she and Dandre were Rollerblading on Venice Beach.
“Oh, I’m sure she was right,” Misty said the next morning. “A lot of those psychics are very accurate.”
“Shit,” Reesy muttered.
Misty was at her Manhattan office, looking over paperwork.
“I just don’t believe we were meant to hear that kind of stuff,” she said. “Every person isn’t capable of handling it. Take you, for instance. You think too much. All that information’s gonna drive you crazy. You’ll apply it to everything and it’s gonna end up disrupting your natural flow.”
“What natural flow?”
“You know what I mean. You won’t be able to go about your business for wondering if it’s a part of the bigger plan this woman talked about.”
Reesy nibbled at her fingers.
“Me and Dandre are over anyway, so it doesn’t matter what that psychic said.”
“I thought she was a prophet.”
“Whatever.”
Dante, Harlem, and Peanut scampered around between her legs as she walked into the kitchen.
“Hey, have you ever heard of Eric Jerome Dickey?” Reesy asked.
“Yeah. He’s good.”
“How come you never told me about him?”
“I didn’t think you liked reading that much.”
“Oh.”
She opened the fridge. The dogs sat on the kitchen floor, lined up in a perfect row, watching her.
“These creatures are nuts,” she said. “I think they’re little robots with cameras in them.”
“At least they keep you company.”
Misty signed a stack of paperw
ork. She made a strange noise.
“Did you just burp?” Reesy asked.
“Yeah, girl. That’s all I do, burp and fart. I hate everything, including my ob/gyn. It’s this African guy a friend at my salon referred me to. She said he was good. The first time I went to him, he asked me if I was experiencing any pain in my pussy.”
Reesy laughed.
“Stop it. He didn’t say ‘pussy.’”
“Just as sure as I’ve got one, I swear he said it.”
“And you’re still going to him?”
“Yeah,” Misty said. She belched again. “I really hate this. I was not trying to have any kids right now.
“Did Rick tie your legs open and force himself in?”
Misty heard the tone in Reesy’s voice. She’d forgotten about her friend’s recent loss.
“I’m sorry, Reesy. I don’t mean to sound so harsh. It’s not that I don’t feel blessed to be having this baby—”
“But you are and you don’t even realize it.”
Misty released a deep breath.
“I know, honey. I just wasn’t ready. The timing sucks.”
“Well, be grateful that you have the chance.”
The two women were silent. Reesy could hear Misty signing documents. She handed each dog a piece of cheese. They chewed in silence and waited for more.
“Things are gonna be okay, Reesy,” Misty said. “You’ll be pregnant again. That psychic lady said you were gonna have boys.”
“Oh, now you want to quote her. I thought you didn’t believe in them.”
“That’s not what I said. In fact, that’s the opposite of what I said.”
They were both quiet again. The dogs waited, watching as Reesy kept the cheese for herself.
“I just finished reading a really good book,” Misty said in a happier tone. “It’s about this couple that breaks up because the husband cheated with his wife’s best friend. But they get back together because they have really strong faith in God. It’s called Temptation. You should read it.”
“Why?” Reesy said with irritation. “You already told me the ending, so what’s the point?”
She hung up the phone. The dogs clamored over her for another hunk of cheese.
Men Overboard
Tyrone was in the family room of the Snowden mansion, sitting in his favorite leather chair. His feet, clad in supple leather slippers, were crossed at the ankles on an ottoman. He smoked a cigarette as he watched Dan Rather.
Tyrene was outside by the dock, staring off into the early evening. Twinkling yachts drifted by through the intracoastal waterway of Las Olas, an exclusive area of Fort Lauderdale sandwiched between downtown and the beach. Their own multimillion-dollar yacht was parked just to the left of her. They hadn’t taken it out since their return from New York, which was unusual for a couple known for their love of entertaining. Anushka, the cook, was inside preparing dinner, but Tyrene didn’t want to be anywhere near her husband’s smoke.
Tyrone could see her in his peripheral vision, but her self-imposed segregation didn’t bother him. He was going to have his cigarette. He only had a few a day, he reasoned. It wasn’t like the habit was full-blown.
The main line to the house rang once, just once. Tyrone glanced at the phone on the table beside him, waiting to see if it would ring again. It didn’t.
Within seconds, Tyrene sauntered in, past him, on her way upstairs.
“How long, Anushka?” she yelled toward the kitchen.
“Fifteen minutes, ma’am,” came the reply.
“Very well, then,” Tyrene said, and disappeared into her office on the second floor.
Tyrone sat in his chair, fuming. This ritual of the one ring and Tyrene disappearing upstairs had been happening since their return and, despite his apparent coolness, he was bothered by it. He looked over at the phone beside him. Line one was lit.
I don’t know what kind of game she’s up to, he thought, but whatever it is, if she thinks I’m stupid, she’s out of her mind.
Rick sat in the car in the Rite Aid parking lot.
He and Misty had run out of condoms and he needed to get more or there would be no sex happening in the Hodges household. She was adamant about no babies right away, but he wasn’t convinced that was a plan they were going to adhere to. He knew his wife. She was a nurturer by nature. There was no way, he thought, that she would be unhappy once she learned she was pregnant. Everything would change and it would be for the better. He didn’t want to be like Dandre, fighting for the chance at a future with the woman he loved.
Rick realized how blessed he was to have Misty. Now he wanted to cement the stability of his relationship with her and he knew having a child would do it. Misty would know it too, once she was pregnant. He knew what he was doing was deceptive, but it wasn’t malicious. He loved his wife and he wanted a family. It would be good for the both of them.
He opened the box of lubricated Ultra Pleasure Trojans and emptied the attached packets of condoms into his lap. He pulled out the car ashtray and removed the tiny safety pin he kept there. He looked around to his left and right. The parking lot was filled with people rushing into and out of the store. It was too cold for anyone to be lingering and looking around, trying to check out what he was doing.
He began puncturing the packets one by one. The holes weren’t conspicuous, just big enough to let the swimmers out. Misty would never see the outer packets to know they’d been pierced. He kept the condoms in the nightstand on his side of the bed. When it was time for loving, his ritual was to reach over at the opportune moment, grab one, and slip it on. Holes and all. He was always sure to pull out fast and rush off to the bathroom to discard the condom before she could notice any trace of a leak.
“Why do you do that?” she’d asked him one night. “You never used to run to the bathroom as soon as we finished.”
“Because I know how paranoid you are,” Rick had said. “I don’t want any chance of a mistake.”
He’d balled up the empty condom packet and thrown it in the bathroom wastebasket. He’d figured she’d never inspect them. Why would she? She was too busy for such foolishness, and there was nothing evident in his behavior to spark suspicion.
Rick had been doing this for more than three months. He was aware of all the nuances of Misty’s cycle. He had gone online to learn about menstrual flow and ovulation, initial signs of pregnancy, basal body temperatures, darkening areola, anything that would indicate his success in hitting his wife’s maternal bull’s-eye. He read message boards for expectant mothers and women trying to get pregnant. He knew the abbreviations—AF for “Aunt Flow,” ttc for “trying to conceive,” dpo for “days past ovulation,” and hcg for the hormone that increased once a woman was pregnant. He sometimes posted questions under a feminine name. He was deep into the world of babydom, often surfing the sites online at work.
Misty’s periods were always prompt—every twenty-eight days—and he believed he’d become masterful at charting her susceptibility to conception. He kept his eye on her, checking her body for change. Each month he saw her reach for a tampon, his heart sank.
He nailed her at every turn because he was a self-professed horndog to begin with, but he was careful to save the best of the best for that brief window of time when she was ovulating. He’d hold off for a few days before to ensure his seed was rich and plentiful and then—once he figured her eggs were dropping—he came at her three and four times a day. He did her in the office, in the foyer at home, in the car by the side of the road. It always seemed spontaneous, as though he was overwhelmed with an urge of love that couldn’t be denied. That was true. It was that very love that drove his zeal. Misty submitted each time, no matter how tired or harried.
It had been more than three weeks since she’d ovulated, but there were no tampon wrappers in the trash and there seemed to be no sign of Aunt Flow anywhere.
“It’s stress,” Misty said. “Sometimes my period gets thrown off when I’m too overwhelmed. All that stuff w
ith Reesy, everything at work…”
“Sure,” Rick replied.
There was still hope, he thought. The message boards said that when a cycle got thrown off, ovulation could happen at any time.
He kept poking holes in the packets.
He wanted to make sure he was ready when those little eggs fell.
“I’m coming there,” Hill said. “I want to see you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Tyrene. “You can’t come here.”
She was in her office wearing a headset, pacing in front of her picture window.
“No one will know I’m there. I can stay at a hotel downtown.”
Tyrene walked back and forth.
“You know you want me,” he said. “Imagine me spanking that old yellow ass.”
She grinned.
“You’re so nasty. You’re filthy.”
“You love it.”
“You can’t come here,” she said again.
“Then you’re coming to Washington.”
Tyrene stopped pacing and sat at her desk, both palms pressed flat against the leather pad.
“Can’t do that. I’ve got too many things to attend to here and I have no business that calls me that way.”
“Look, woman—I’m going to see you, one way or another. Either here or there. But I’m going to see you.”
Tyrone stepped into his wife’s office. She was looking down at her desk with a big, wide grin. Her voice was low and seductive. It wasn’t a voice appropriate for clients. It wasn’t a voice appropriate for anyone but him.
He didn’t alert her to his presence. He just stood in the doorway, his chest feeling tight and constricted as he watched her entertaining whomever it was.
She glanced up, as if she felt his presence. Tyrone thought he could see her pupils dilate.
“I’ll see about handling that,” she said into the headset in an abrupt and diplomatic tone. “Right now my calendar’s pretty full. Let me see what my husband thinks. Good day.”
She pressed a button, terminating the call.
“See what your husband thinks about what?” asked Tyrone.
“I don’t know,” she said, adjusting papers on her desk. “Another benefit. The mayor wants to know if we’ll host some affair or other on our boat to help somebody or other raise some money for something.”