Don't Ask My Neighbor

by Kristofer Clarke

  Two

  __________

  Taste My Love

  Samantha

  “GOOD GIRLS DON’T HANG OUT IN bars.”

  I don’t know who whispered that jargon in my mother’s ear, but I wished like hell she had kept it to herself. I figured my grandmother—God rest her soul—probably ripped it out of her unwritten handbook on how to raise good girls, but her statistics weren’t looking so hot when it came to raising good girls. I guess I’ll assume the same mantra she and everyone else did: she did the best she could with what she had. My mother, Joyce, dated the bad and the God-awful ugly before she finally settled with the good doctor. My aunt, Olivia, I presumed, had a revolving door to her bedroom, and seemingly was born with an inability to close her damn legs. My guess is she spent a few nights netting her share of barflies, too. Maybe I was growing up to be just like my aunt. Unlike my mother, my aunt Olivia definitely spent her life living. I had no proof of an afterlife, so I damn sure wasn’t going to wait until I was dead to start living my own version of life, cause I was certain, in many ways, it would differ from the women around me. I wasn’t going to die with a laundry list of things I had denied myself. For the moment, he was at the very top of my list.

  Gage Delahunt, Attorney At Law. I’ve seen him here before. Usually he sat alone in the corner, with his files strewn about the table, carefully scrutinizing lines in a deposition, and analyzing photographs he held up to the light. He often sat with both hands massaging both sides of his head. He was usually very serious, with that there’s-something-I’m-just-not-seeing look on his face. There were two, usually three, empty glasses on the table, but he always looked sober, as if he had been throwing them back slowly. My conversations with him were always brief. I kept my distance, then, listening to Kennalyn’s voice echoing the “Golden Rule of Relationships” in the back of my head, reminding me that Gage was off limits. She’s been performing that song since she met him, and I’ve been the only one in the audience rocking to her tune. But she knew me, and she knew I didn’t live by any rules, and especially not by the ones I didn’t set for myself.

  I stood at a distance, observing his stance. I was always happy to see him. I was enthralled by everything about him, especially when he wasn’t with her. He made every organ in my body do things I sometimes forgot they could do. I watched as women passed him, giving him the flirtatious once-over, and then engaged in careless whispers as they met their equally mesmerized group of girlfriends. He stood with confidence, with his right arm resting against the bar, his left hand in his pocket. He stared out into the crowd with no intent to gain anyone’s attention. The jacket from his solid black three-piece suit was neatly folded and thrown over one of the curved brown and chrome barstools. I assumed his glasses, the ones he said he only wore in the courtroom, were left on the desk in his office, next to his Tiffany lamp, a pencil broken in frustration, and a few pieces of post-it with notes of things he needed to remember for an opening or closing argument.

  His lips pursed without effort. I allowed my eyes to enjoy every inch of him, even the inches I hadn’t seen, measured or tasted…yet. I wanted my opportunity to show him all about love. I had an undying obsession for him since the very first day my eyes met his. I knew I couldn’t be reckless, so I purposely sat on my hands, ignoring all that was happening inside of me, all because he belonged to her—not that him belonging to someone else was going to stop me. It only meant I had to change my approach, organize my tactic, and present myself as the woman I knew he wasn’t going to resist.

  “You look like you could use a drink,” I said, walking up to him with a grin on my face.

  Gage turned and looked at the bartender who was already walking back in his direction.

  “I’m way ahead of you,” he said.

  He kept focus on the bartender as he continued his approach. The bartender placed two napkins on the bar in front of Gage, and then sat the two sour glasses on top of each one. He looked at me and finally smiled. After his smile disappeared, he looked at me like I had never seen him look at me before. There was an obvious intention in his eyes, even if he wasn’t aware. I’ve seen him look at his wife that way many times before, and I watched as her heart melted. I’ve seen her shiver from instant moisture, when she thought I wasn’t looking.

  “Sobriety doesn’t look too good on you,” Gage said, bringing the first glass to his lips.

  I felt an eruption within me, watching his lips take shape around the glass. I would have given everything to have any part of me between those lips. He looked at me from the corners of his eyes, as if he were reading my filthy thoughts. I stared back at him with an inviting expression.

  “You’ve never seen me drunk?”

  He stood erect, crossed his legs one over the other, and then stared into me. His look became serious.

  “Can I?”

  The last word hadn’t fallen from my mouth before he responded. He surprised me.

  “Gage Delahunt, are you flirting with me? What would Kennalyn say if she knew you were playing dirty?”

  “I never said I was,” he said, speaking into his glass as he took another sip.

  His gray eyes pierced into me over his drink glass. He placed his drink back on the counter, folded the left half of his bottom lip between his gleaming white teeth, and then continued to look at me through squinted eyes.

  “You didn’t have to,” I countered, moving my head in a swift motion to break his penetrating gaze.

  “Would the lady like a drink?” the bartender broke in, leaning on the counter.

  He wore a fitted black dress shirt with both sleeves rolled up to exposed tight forearms.

  Contrary to the bartender’s presumption, there was nothing lady about the thoughts that dominated my mental space. He was a sexy, tall man with an impressive physique. Gage thanked him by name, Lorenzo, after he returned with the drinks Gage ordered. Lorenzo’s brown eyes gawked at me as if he wanted just a fragment of the attention I was giving to Gage, the same attention he sought earlier when I first stepped into the bar, but not even his sexiness could divert my response.

  “Surprise me,” I answered, still concentrating on Gage.

  I seductively positioned myself on the barstool next to him.

  “Actually,” I continued, “I’ll just have a margarita. If anything goes down tonight, I want to make sure I remember every minute of it.”

  I didn’t think I spoke loud enough for Gage to hear me, but he did. I slowly crossed my right leg over my left, and pulled my platinum black pencil skirt just above my knees. I watched his eyes glide over the contour of breasts that peaked from my sleeveless, low-cut, salmon pink bow-neck blouse. I had purposely left my suit jacket in the car, and was getting the attention I hoped; his attention. He drooled at the sight of my long, curvaceous legs, and, as his gaze passed my knees, I imagined he wondered how much longer before my thighs reached the gates of heaven. I was ready for him to find out exactly how pearly the gates of my heaven were.

  Friday, May 17, 2002 began with morning fog. It rained and drizzled all day, and the occasional thunder kept us on our toes. The temperature steadily fell through the sixties and hovered at fifty-one degrees. I’d grown accustomed to the two seasons I had been experiencing in this area—fall and summer—since winter rarely existed, and spring sometimes took a back seat to an early summer. I was prepared to make this a night to remember, and of course, I hoped Gage was ready to engage. I was ready to die in his arms. Kennalyn bragged about his sex so often that I was ready to stop living vicariously through her. She would have benefitted from at least one lesson my Aunt Olivia taught me: keep your personal sex life between you, your man, and your pussy. She called that real talk. I wanted…no, I needed to experience Gage’s sex for my damn self. I no longer wanted to take Kennalyn’s word for it. I was plotting the best way to betray my best friend’s trust, and everything about me said I didn’t give a damn. My dirty thoughts, a happily married husband—at least he pretended to be—a b
ar, and a few drinks: perfect timing.

  I woke the next day with a headache, my underwear at my left ankle, a beam on my face, and Gage Delahunt on the right side of my bed. I sat up in the bed, rested on my elbows, and stared out the window. Saturday morning had never looked so beautiful. I dropped my head back, swept my hair across the back of my neck, placed it over my right shoulder, then looked at him and smiled again. Gage’s performance was better than stellar. He made my heart sing. I took a moment to reminisce on dreams I had about having him the way I did that night, and then smiled inside at the reality of it all. With both feet firmly planted on the hardwood floor—and not wrapped around his waist like they were a few hours before—I slowly slid my lace string bikini panty up my leg and into place. I walked toward the bathroom door, wishing he were awake to watch me.

  “Hmmmm,” he moaned.

  A man’s moan had never sounded so sexy to me.

  I stood at the bathroom door in a seductive pose. With my back toward him and a pronounced arch in my lower back, I looked at him over my right shoulder. He slowly rolled onto his back and then opened his eyes. He extended his right arm toward me, circling his mouth with his tongue, tasting remnants of a love he made come down.

  “You’re welcome,” I offered and continued my entrance into the bathroom.

  My mother always said, “Where there is a will, there is a way”. My will was to have Gage Delahunt, even if the way to him was damped with alcohol.

  Years after that night, Gage was my guilty pleasure. The pleasure I got from my nights of passion with him overshadowed the guilt I felt whenever I saw my best friend, or when I saw my best friend with him. I had mastered the ability to suppress my feelings around them—I’ve had many opportunities to practice—and I wouldn’t be lying if I told you Gage had become a master at doing the same. Kennalyn always thought Gage was too in love with her to ever share his bed with another woman. She forgot about the other women who were willing to share their beds with him.

  Check mate.

  You’d be surprised how long you could keep an on-the-side relationship going, especially if the man had no desire for it to end. The fun was in the chase, and after the chase was over, I was ready to end this escapade.

  Three

  ________

  This is What You Get

  Kennalyn

  “HE IS CHEATING ON YOU,” SAMANTHA affirmed as if she were holding her breath.

  I ignored her, again, just like I had done the first time she hollered her accusation. I had prepared for this evening, just as I had done the two previous anniversaries we celebrated. I looked svelte in my trumpet strapless sleeveless evening dress. It was Gage’s favorite color—silver—the color he said looked best against my bronze-colored skin. My hair was pinned to the right, with tight curls falling over my right shoulder. I stood at the small dining room table, pouring two glasses of white wine half full. I was expecting him at any minute. I ignored Samantha’s heavy breathing, probably because I was concentrating on keeping my own under control. My heart was pounding, but I hid that from her, too. I didn’t think her accusation was untrue. Why would my best friend lie to me about the man I loved?

  “Kennalyn, are you going to stand there and pretend you didn’t hear me?” she asked.

  Samantha hadn’t moved from where I left her, standing just inside the front door. I stood in a temporary freeze, with the wine bottle tilted toward the second glass.

  “Your husband, Gage, is cheating on you,” she repeated, walking closer in my direction.

  “And what makes you such an expert on my husband’s infidelities?” I said, finally looking at her.

  “Because…”

  “Oh, that’s very convincing,” I said, interrupting her.

  She looked down as if the answer would rise up from the seams beneath the hickory-colored hardwood floor.

  “You didn’t let me finish.”

  Samantha walked over to the table and grabbed one of the half-filled champagne glasses. She raised a brow and shot an icy gaze in my direction as she brought the glass to her lips. The shimmering cocktail dress that playfully hugged her willowy frame did just what she intended—showcased long, slender legs that ended in two-strap heeled sandals that made her look even taller. She carried a small hard-case clutch in her left hand. After placing the empty glass back on the table, she turned and headed back toward the front door. She stopped in her departure.

  “Gage is cheating on you with me,” she spoke without hesitation. “I’m meeting him for dinner at 8.”

  She looked at her watch.

  “And I’m already late.”

  Samantha smiled with satisfaction.

  This time, my freeze seemed permanent. Samantha continued her leave. She stood at the unopened front door with her back toward me. I could only stare. Anything I wanted to say seemed trapped in the middle of my throat. The thought of my husband and my best friend sent a piercing pain through my body. It grabbed at my heart with an unyielding force. It wrapped tightly around my waist and refused to give into my silent cries. Samantha turned on the balls of her feet as if she had just reached the end of a runway.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t wait up. It’ll be late before he returns…if he returns.”

  I felt the burn of a single tear rolling down my face. I ignored it, allowing it to fall where it damn well pleased. Samantha turned and opened the door.

  “Oh, where are my manners?” she asked, smiling.

  She turned only her head, looking at me over her right shoulder.

  “The wine was excellent. Too bad…Gage would have loved it.”

  She slammed the door to punctuate her compliment.

  I fell back in one of the cherry antique dining room chairs. I sat in a daze, with thoughts swirling around in my head like the wind gusts from a category two hurricane. Three hours later, I was still sitting in the same place where Samantha left me. Tears fell at their will as vignettes of her exposé repeated in my mind. I tried as best I could to maintain composure, but after the shock wore off, hurt slowly crept in. I was alone with my thoughts and my fears until I heard Gage turning the key in the lock. I sat in a darkness that mirrored the feelings that overwhelmed my insides. He closed the door behind him and stood, looking in the direction of my silhouette. I was sure Samantha had already apprised him of our conversation. I remained seated, hesitant to even glance in the direction of the perpetrator who had initiated the sudden, unplanned despondency that covered my entire body.

  “I’m sorry, Kenna,” he said in a dispassionate tone.

  He might as well had told me to “keep icing it, the swelling will go down,” since he sounded as if he were apologizing for a bruised finger, and not the break he caused in my heart. After he spoke, he stood, soundless again, as if waiting for me to acknowledge his hard-hearted apology. I was surprised that he had so willingly admitted his wrongdoing. Usually he would dance around a confession as if even the thought of having to say “I’m sorry” sent unparalleled chills up and down his spine. I’ve seen Gage in action before, but I never thought that scene would ever play out between my husband and me. He waited for a breach in silence, and as if I had taken too long to receive his version of an apology, he turned and moved toward the stairs.

  “I guess you want me to think that’s the best imitation of an apology you can come up with? Come on, Gage. You’re a smart man. Try to sound as if you really mean it.”

  I kept my stare frontward.

  He paused in his ascent. He stood in a hush with both hands in his pockets. He hesitated before turning and walking back down the three steps he had taken. He walked in calm, as if he had already prepared himself for this moment, and Samantha had been my stand-in.

  “I’m curious. Did you, at least, enjoy our anniversary?”

  “I wanted to tell you,” he said, walking toward me. “But I was waiting for the right moment.”

  “If you could imagine the things that are going through my head, I would play it safe and s
top where you are.”

  I was surprised when he heeded my warning. I wasn’t too familiar with crazy, but I was ready to put on an Oscar-worthy performance of insanity if I needed to. He obviously didn’t know what was best for him. If he had, he would have done just what Samantha suggested and not show his face in my house. But I knew Gage. He’d already plotted out my reaction in his head. He already wrote my script, and expected me to follow it to a tee.

  “You were waiting for the right moment to tell me you were sleeping with my best friend.” I continued. “And exactly how long has this been going on?”

  I slid the empty wine glass to the center of the table and stood up. I walked, taking slow and calculating steps toward him. I passed him and began making my way up the stairs. Before the third step, I stopped and looked at the photograph of Gage and me, taken as the sun was setting on our wedding day. My eyes stung. I wanted the night, this nightmare, to be over, but not until I shared with Gage exactly what I was thinking. I was certain he was curious.

  “All this time I thought I had been sleeping beside my husband. Nights I thought I was falling asleep to your truths, I had actually been falling asleep to your lies. You promised to love me until death do us part. I guess your love died, and I didn’t even notice,” I said, laughing nervously. “You know what is the worst thing? Time spent loving you is time I can’t get back?”