That made my heart hurt again and I didn’t move from the bed. Jay had told me I wasn’t meeting his needs, so he’d found someone who did. Why couldn’t I do the same?
“If only for one night,” he said, “let me take away some of your pain.”
A tear trickled down my face as Ivan lifted my shirt and kissed my stomach. He eased me back on the bed and gently lifted my skirt.
The inner battle continued. “Wait, umm…” I moaned. But then my body told me to shut the hell up as his tongue ran along the string of my thong.
“Wait, I’m so sorry. I’m… so sorry,” I cried, squirming away from him. “I… I…”
He lifted his head from beneath my skirt. “So you want me to stop?”
“No… really. I mean, I…”
Where the hell were my words?
“It’s okay,” he said, pulling himself up. “If I could just give you a moment of pleasure, then I’m happy.”
“I—I don’t normally do stuff like this.” I adjusted my skirt as I scooted to the edge of the bed.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Ivan said. He stood, licked his lips, and smiled. “You’re a beautiful woman. But I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for.” He pointed to the wine on the minibar. “Why don’t we just open this bottle of wine?” he said. “And talk. It seems to me like you might need that as much as you need anything else.”
I managed a smile. “Wine would be good,” I said, even though the cosmos had taken their toll. I was willing to try anything that could distract me from the man in front of me.
Ivan grabbed the bottle and two glasses. “You want to talk about him?” he asked. “Your husband, who is foolish enough to cheat on a woman like you? You touched on it a little, but I’m all ears if you want to talk about it some more.”
I thought for a moment. I didn’t want to talk about Jay anymore, but I found myself saying, “I tried to be a good wife.”
“Yeah. Men are screwups,” Ivan said. “I don’t know if it’s genetics or what.” He paused and looked around the bar area. “Well, it looks like there’s no corkscrew here. Hang tight. I’ll run down to the bar to get one.”
I simply nodded as he made his way out the door. His words hung in the room. “Men are screwups.” That was something my mother used to always say about my father.
My parents. I hadn’t thought about them in years. Both of them were gone, but they were the reason I’d vowed not to become some weak, whiny woman.
* * *
“Come on here,” my mom said as we approached the family having dinner at Legal Sea Foods. I remembered the look on my father’s face as my mother stomped toward the table where he was eating with a bleached-blond woman and two perfectly poised–looking children.
“Debra, what are you doing?” my father asked in horror as he looked up and saw us.
I quivered next to my mother, who was wearing a blond wig the same color as that woman’s hair. Only my mother looked crazy in her wig.
“Hello, Lucas. Enjoying your little family outing?” my mother asked. “I sure would like to know why my baby can’t come and enjoy these fancy dinners.”
My father didn’t even look my way. He glared at my mother. “We’ve had this discussion,” he said, his tone stern. “Do not come here with your drama or messing with my family.”
My mother’s hands went to her hips and she did that wiggling thing with her neck that I despised. “Oh, but Shannon’s not your family, huh?” she asked.
My daddy finally looked over at me, and my twelve-year-old eyes bugged, but I remained silent.
“I take care of my daughter,” he said. “I have never missed a payment.”
“Shannon doesn’t need your money. She needs your time,” my mother yelled. “You’re over here with this white woman—”
Daddy cut her off. “What you’re not going to do is disrespect my wife with this ghetto foolishness.”
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time that I had been in this situation. In fact, this was a common occurrence. For Christmas the previous year, Mama had put me in a Santa dress and sat outside Daddy’s house with a sign that said WHY CAN’T YOUR DAUGHTER COME FOR CHRISTMAS? For my seventh birthday, she’d dropped me off at his job—and left.
It felt more and more like we were living in one of those soap operas that Mama loved to watch.
“Please don’t make me take out a restraining order,” he added.
“I told you that you should’ve done that a long time ago,” the blond woman muttered. I knew that she was my stepmother, but my mother had forbidden me to ever refer to her as such. And since I’d never spent any time with her, it didn’t bother me one bit. But this—my mother acting like a crazed woman and my father looking at her in disgust—did bother me. And I’d begged my mother to stop. By now, I was old enough to understand that he wanted nothing to do with us. I’d accepted it and just wished that my mother would too.
“I’ll give you something to restrain,” my mother said, taking a step toward her.
My father stood and grabbed her arm. “Debra, if you don’t…”
She snatched her arm away and I saw the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” And just like that, the tough-girl act was gone and Mama did what she always did—burst into tears. “Why are you doing this to us, Lucas? We need you too. I need you.”
Daddy huffed, rolled his eyes, then hissed, “What part of ‘you were a side chick’ do you not get?”
This time, Mama’s voice was weak as she said, “I’m a good-enough side chick for you to keep running back to.” I looked at my stepmother, who was now clutching her children’s hands. I wondered if these were my siblings whom my mother always complained about. I used to always wish I had a brother and sister, but from the scared looks on their faces, I imagined that they’d never be nice to me. One of them—the boy—looked older than me. Maybe fourteen. The girl, sitting poised in a fancy dress, looked to be about eight.
“Debra, you need to go,” Daddy said.
“No! You come to my bed over and over, including last month, and you think I’m just supposed to walk away?”
That made Daddy shift his weight from one foot to the other as an uncomfortable expression crossed his face. Daddy didn’t visit often, especially now. When he did used to visit, he always brought me gifts and he and Mama would go in the back to talk. They would send me to my room and tell me to turn the TV up. I guessed it was so I couldn’t hear their conversation. And every visit ended the same—with Mama in tears, begging for him not to leave.
Daddy’s wife, I think her name was Melissa, was trembling and struggling not to cry. “Lucas…” she said.
Daddy kept his eyes on Mama as he said, “I’m going to ask you to leave before I call the police.”
Just as he said that, a man in a suit walked over to them. “Good evening, I’m the manager here. Is everything okay?”
“Mama,” I whispered, as I pulled her arm. “Let’s just go.”
“No,” she replied, snatching her arm away from me and jabbing a finger in Daddy’s face. “I’m tired of you hurting me. We deserve you just like they do.”
“Lucas, this is unacceptable.”
Daddy’s wife stood up from the table. I didn’t know if she was about to leave or try to beat Mama up—though I was sure my mama would’ve beaten her to a pulp.
“Honey, just let me handle this.” Daddy turned to the manager. “Sir, can you please escort this woman out?”
“I don’t need to be escorted anywhere!” Mama screamed. “You love me. You say it every time we make love. So why are you doing this to me?”
The outburst made Daddy’s wife burst into tears. Mama was already crying, so it was only natural that I would cry, too, especially as two security guards appeared and dragged my mama out of the restaurant as she screamed, “Karma is coming, Lucas! Mark my words, karma is coming!”
* * *
That was the
day I lost respect for weak women. There were so many more days like that until eventually the visits from my father stopped, and my mother turned to drugs to numb the pain. Crack gave her the comfort Daddy wouldn’t. She became a drug addict all because a man didn’t want her.
As much as I loved my mother, by the time I was sixteen, I despised her too. Two months before my seventeenth birthday, my mother’s boyfriend at the time decided he wanted out. Mama begged him not to go. They got into a fight and he beat her so badly that her brain swelled. Two days later, she was dead.
That day, standing over my mother’s lifeless body at the county hospital, I vowed that I would never chase after a man. It’s why every relationship I had, the minute the guy messed up, I was out. I firmly believed that saying “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” I didn’t believe in second chances. And I wasn’t about to change that with Jay. I wasn’t foolish enough to believe in karma either. Though it might have appeared to have caught up with my daddy—he died when I was twenty-three—it was from a drunk driver and no sort of payback for wronging me and my mom.
The knock brought me back from those painful memories and I jumped up to open the door.
Ivan stood there with a big smile on his face. “Sorry, forgot my key. Got the bottle opener.” He walked into the room and pointed to the balcony. “Now, let’s just go sit out there and talk.”
Those words were music to my ears.
nine
MR. AND MRS. LOVEJOY.
I took the place card off the table and tossed it in the trash can. In about eight months (according to my research, that was how long this whole divorce would take), I’d never answer to that name again. Quincy was trying desperately to figure out how to salvage our professional careers. We’d built them on this seemingly perfect marriage and our ability to dispense advice about healing damaged relationships. Who would want to take advice from a couple who couldn’t fix their own problems?
I imagined that I’d have to open my practice back up. I’d closed it after Oprah because I simply hadn’t been able to keep up with the demand.
Sure, we’d made good money so far and I probably could even go a couple of years without having to work. But since I didn’t like worrying about money, I’d probably jump right back into the fray. As much as I used to love being a practicing therapist, the thought that I’d have to go back to it saddened me because it would mean I’d failed at something, and I didn’t do failure.
I ignored the stare of the banquet manager, who was looking at me like she was trying to figure out why I’d thrown the place card away. I just wanted to put on my mask, accept this award, and resume my day.
I’d sat up talking to Ivan until about 3 a.m. Of course, Nicole had called to check on me and hadn’t stopped calling until I’d caught a cab back to the hotel.
It was so ironic that the retreat would begin with this—Jay and me receiving the Spirit of Marriage Award from the Family First Foundation. I had wanted to decline the honor, but since the whole award presentation had been part of the organization’s sponsorship, Quincy had informed us that we didn’t have a choice.
Now, sitting here in the packed ballroom, I wished that I’d told Quincy we paid him to be a fixer, and that I needed him to fix this.
“Readjust the face,” Nicole said, leaning in to me.
“What? I’m fine,” I whispered, shifting in my seat.
“No, you’re really not fine,” Nicole replied.
We were sitting at the head table. Nicole, who was to give this glowing speech about the impenetrable love between the two of us, was on one side. Jay was on the other side, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. His door had been closed when I got in. He hadn’t even cared that I wasn’t there.
“Seriously, you are facing all of these people. It’s obvious something is wrong,” Nicole continued.
Something was wrong. I was being lauded for my sham of a marriage? Please.
“Maybe you shouldn’t stay out partying all night when we have work to do,” Jay leaned over and whispered.
I wanted to take my New England clam chowder and throw it in his face. Instead, I just glared at him.
He pulled back in a huff.
Though I didn’t reply, I was sure my eyes spoke a thousand words.
“Come on, sweetie. You can do this.” Nicole gently squeezed my hand underneath the table.
I took a deep breath and turned back to my friend. “The question is, can you do this?” I pointed to the manila folder in front of Nicole. “I mean, get up there and lie about how perfect this marriage is? Can you really deliver that introduction knowing it’s all a big lie?”
“I got this, okay?” Nicole patted the folder. “You just get that disgusted expression off your face.”
“Fine.” I faked a cheesy grin, then motioned for the waiter to bring me another mimosa. Both Nicole and Jay shot me warning looks, but I ignored them as the waiter filled the glass up. It was my third glass and they hadn’t even gotten to the main course of brunch, but after the hellish month I’d had, I felt entitled.
Just as the waiter finished pouring my mimosa, I reached for the glass. Nicole put her hand on my arm. “We’d like some coffee—black,” she said firmly to the waiter.
“What are you doing?” My voice rose an octave.
Nicole glanced around the room. Most people were enjoying their food and not paying us much attention, but a few people at the head table were looking our way, including the president of the Family First Foundation.
“Umm, I need you to come with me to the restroom to fix the back of my dress,” Nicole announced.
I leaned back and looked at Nicole’s dress. “There’s nothing wrong with your dress.”
“Come on,” Nicole said, standing up. She took my arm and helped me up.
I stumbled, then adjusted my skirt, giggling. “Dang, I guess I didn’t really need that third mimosa.”
Jay looked horrified. I was just about to ask him what the hell he was looking at, but Nicole snatched me away before I could get the words out.
“Excuse us, we’ll be right back,” Nicole told the emcee, who was looking at us in bewilderment.
Nicole opened the folder and used one hand to point to something inside as she kept her other hand gripped firmly around me. “So I need you to approve these last-minute speech changes,” she said, loud enough for others on the dais to hear.
We stepped off the stage and Nicole hissed to a different waiter standing by the kitchen door, “Bring a cup of black coffee to the ladies’ room right now.”
The waiter scurried off and Nicole pulled me through some double doors.
“Why are we in the kitchen?” I asked, still giggling.
Nicole had closed the folder and was now stomping through the kitchen, nearly knocking over waiters as we made our way toward the back.
“Where’s the staff restroom?” she demanded.
A petite waitress pointed down a narrow hall. “Right around that corner on the left.”
“Dang, it looks like that show Hell’s Kitchen back here. Where’s chef Gordon Ramsay?” I chuckled at my own joke as Nicole grabbed my arm again.
“Nic, where’s the fire?” I said as I struggled to keep up.
Nicole pushed me into the ladies’ room. “Have you lost your damn mind?” she said as soon as the door closed.
“Hey, you can’t talk to me like that. You work for me, remember?”
“Right now, I’m your friend. Not your employee.” Nicole jabbed a finger in my face. “And I’m about to tell you about yourself.”
“Tell me what?”
Nicole spun me around to face the mirror. “Look at yourself! Really? My friend is the consummate lady! She wouldn’t be caught dead drunk in public, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be drunk at an event where she’s being honored!”
I was about to protest and say that while I might have been a tad bit tipsy, I was nowhere near drunk. Then I saw my reflection. Although I
never saw my call-in guests, the woman staring back at me in the mirror was the image of those pathetic women I despised. I had just carelessly brushed my hair, so there were stray strands everywhere. While my outfit was nice, a pink floral belted St. John jacket and skirt, my shoes didn’t match. I’d been too out of it to even unpack my other bag and pull out the pair that went with that outfit. Even my mascara had started running. How was that possible? Had I been sitting at the head table, crying?
“Seriously, look at you!” Nicole continued. “You stayed out all night drinking. Then you wake up and drink some more. I know you’re hurting, but you’ve got to pull it together.”
I lowered my head in shame. “He’s just sitting there acting like nothing is wrong. He broke my heart and he’s acting like it’s no big deal. And I tried to pay him back last night, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” I finally sobbed. It was the first time I’d truly cried since I’d found out about the affair. “Why do I have a conscience about our vows but he doesn’t?”
Nicole pulled me to her and hugged me like she was trying to suck up some of the pain. “Trust me, Jay is hurting too. He just knows he has to get through this week.”
“He’s not hurting.” I sniffed as I pulled back. “This is what he wants or he would’ve never cheated in the first place.”
Nicole rubbed my arms. “Maybe once you make it through this, you can talk about that some more. But you’ve got to keep it together.”
I glanced at the mirror again. “Oh, my God. I look pathetic. I can’t do this, Nicole,” I cried, grabbing some paper towels off the wall and dabbing at my tear-streaked face.
“You can and you will,” Nicole said, her voice firm.
There was a light tapping on the door.
“Who is it?” Nicole snapped.
“I… I, um, have your coffee,” the voice on the other side said.
Nicole shook her head at me as she walked over and got the coffee.
I glanced back at my reflection. Nicole was right. Never in a million years had I thought I’d let any man—even my husband—leave me literally crumbled and doing things out of character. When Eddie had broken it off with me, I’d sworn off men, but I hadn’t shed one tear over him. But this was different. This was the man I’d sworn to love till death did us part.
A Little Bit of Karma Page 6