War.

by Shannon Dianne

  “Did your wife find out?”

  “No. I, uh, ended up…handling matters. But I’d rather not get into it.”

  “Very well.”

  “The fourth woman was my actual ex.”

  “So, after having affairs with all of these other women who reminded you of your ex, you finally found the actual woman.”

  “I did.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I seduced her, in a way. It had been over a decade since I had been with her and I was looking forward to it. But about two weeks into the affair, she came to my condo when my wife was home.”

  “Ah, just like the other woman. The one who took her own life.”

  “Right.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Long story short, I decided that enough was enough. I had more than enough chances to get myself together. I had all these warnings and now I was just ready to move on with my life.”

  “Without obsessing over the thought of your ex.”

  “Yeah, I guess you can say I was obsessing over her. Father?”

  “Yes.”

  “The only way I can describe what I was doing is like this: cheating on my wife was like trying to rewind the hands of time. Trying to live out a life that’s already expired.”

  “I need you to explain that.”

  “Father, as a kid, did you have a favorite candy bar that they stopped selling?”

  “Actually, I did. As a child in the 50’s, I liked Mallow Cups.”

  “Ah, the ones with the marshmallow stuff inside.”

  “That’s it.”

  “You can’t find those just anywhere now-a-days.”

  “Oh , no. You have to go to a specialty shop or happen to get lucky at a candy store. I think they may sell them at Cracker Barrel. Haven’t been there in a while. But yes, Mallow Cups.”

  “Okay, so my ex was like a Mallow Cup. As a kid you really liked Mallow Cups but for some reason, as you grew up, you started to eat them less and less. You were on to another dessert: chocolate cake. It was sweeter, warmer, richer and more satisfying than Mallow Cups. But from time to time you thought about Mallow Cups and after not having them for so long, you don’t remember just liking them, now you remember loving them. You used to enjoy them during some of the most carefree moments of your life as a boy, and sooner or later, you begin to blend a great childhood and Mallow Cups together. You remember that life was so good as a child because of Mallow Cups. Sooner or later you don’t just remember loving Mallow Cups, you remember being addicted to them. Now you’ve got to find them. And so every time you happen to be out, you’re not particularly looking for Mallow Cups, but if you happen to see something that reminds you of them, you consider giving it a try. Then you find yourself buying a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup because they look like Mallow Cups on the outside. They come in a similar package. They look nearly identical inside their package. But when you bite into a Reese’s Cup…”

  “It doesn’t taste anything like it.”

  “Not at all. It’s not a Mallow Cup. That’s what I was doing with these women. Whenever I happened to come across someone who was comparable to my ex, I had to try her out. But the two were never comparable.

  But then, Father, the scrip flips on you. One day, you’re out and you happen to come across some Mallow Cups. And you just know they’re going to be perfect because the adult in you remembers the boy in you loving them. So you buy it, bite into it, eat it and…yeah, it’s good. You like it. But it just doesn’t taste like you remembered. Maybe it was just nostalgia. But right now, you can firmly say that these Mallow Cups aren’t better than the chocolate cake that you grew to love. The chocolate cake is more satisfying. Do you get me Father?”

  “Perfectly.” I close my eyes and finally take a long deep breath. There, everything’s out in the open. I can only just pray my mind won’t punish me for the rest of my life. “Jacob, do you love your wife?”

  “I have never loved another woman like I love my wife. I can say that now, I couldn’t say that before.”

  “Do you enjoy her company?”

  “More than any woman I’ve been with.”

  “Do you have enough humor, enjoyment and amusement in the marriage?”

  “She and I can laugh together for hours.”

  “Are you attracted to your wife?”

  “After four kids and fifteen years, she’s still the pretty girl that I met outside of the movie theater on Tremont Street.”

  “Then may I make a suggestion?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Keep your zipper closed.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  MARLA

  “Jon, I was worried sick!” I say to him as we get on the elevators. I had been riding up and down the elevator all night in our condo building, checking outside, seeing if Jon was there then going back to our condo, seeing if he was on the elevator going up as I was going down. I looked like a mad woman… Rusty told me so. Then about an hour ago, I headed to Roxbury and hunted every dive I know Jon loves. When I still didn’t find him, I headed to the jail to make sure he was released.

  “Jon St. James? As in the Jon St. James?” the cop at the desk asked while he looked at me as though I had gone insane.

  “Well, no, of course not,” I said with a smile.

  “Oh, I was about to say…what in the world could he have gotten arrested for?” He punched Jon’s name in the computer, squinting at it. “Unless he and that Blair were fighting over that redhead again.” He let out a smile. “Jon with an ‘h’?”

  “No. No ‘h’.” He typed again.

  “No record of him ever showing up, ma’am. Is this a nickname you’re giving me? Is his name Jonathan?”

  No record of Jon getting arrested? I said goodbye to the cop, ran back to the truck and headed home. Maybe Jon was there. Now, as I hand the keys to valet, guess who I see walking into the building? Jon!

  “Not now, Marla,” he says as he walks slowly down the hall, towards our front door, rubbing a hand over his face.

  “Why didn’t you call me when you got out of jail? What were you thinking? Why in God’s name would you start a fight at the hospital? The hospital, Jon! What were you thinking? Huh? Talk to me Jon!”

  He stops at our front door, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Just, please, open the door.” He leans against the doorframe. Can you believe him? First, he starts a fight at the hospital over Dan, and then he gets released from jail and acts like he doesn’t want to talk about it? Are you serious?

  “Jon, I am just, like, so hurt.” He takes another deep breath as I put the key in the lock and…

  “Marla, can you open the door, please?”

  “It won’t open.” I wiggle the key and Jon opens his eyes.

  “Is that the right key?” I slide the house key out of the lock.

  “Yeah, look?” He takes the key out of my hand, holds it an inch from his face and examines it, turning it this way and that.

  “You’re drunk,” I say as I snatch the key out of his hand. “It’s the right key.” I put the key in the lock again and try to open the door.

  “What the hell?” He tries the door handle and…it turns. “Did you lock the door before you left the condo?”

  “Of course! What kind of question is that?”

  “Well obviously you didn’t.” He opens the door and moves his head for me to go inside first.

  “Nice to see that you’re still a gentleman. Because after this morning-” Oh my God.

  “Listen. Don’t start with me tonight. I’ve had a long damn day.” He closes the door behind himself and then looks up. Standing there, next to the gong, dressed properly in a wool coat and black high-heeled boots is Dan. Rena’s on her right, Winnie’s on her left. She has no makeup on, but Dan is so pretty she doesn’t even need it. Her hair is down, which is strange because Dan usually keeps it pinned up. Her hands are in her coat pockets and she doesn’t look mad. It actually looks like she’s been here for a wh
ile, waiting for a meeting to begin and she’s relieved all of the attendees are here. She almost looks bored. Winnie, in her high-heeled leather boots, jeans and leather bomber jacket looks like she’s ready for a brawl, and Rena in her trench and black heels looks just as pissed off. Everyone’s eyes are on Jon. I drift my eyes over to him too and see his eyes are red but suddenly sober. They look Dan over.

  “The difference between Malcolm and me,” Dan says in a bored tone, her hands still in her coat pockets, “is that Malcolm will destroy your life. Me, I’ll take your life from you.” Huh? What in the world is going on? This can’t be about the fight earlier. Danielle wouldn’t come all the way here, after delivering Sunday just this morning, to tell Jon how mad she was about the fight. Would she? Should she even be out of the hospital? Did they let her leave? Should she be wearing heels so soon after the baby? I look at Jon again, waiting for him to say something. This scene doesn’t look good and I’m not about to say a word. I, in no way, want to be in the middle of a fight between my guy and my best friend. So I wait for Jon to reply.

  But Jon says nothing.

  “Dan,” I finally say, “if I may ask, what’s going on?” I look at her, waiting for an answer, but she’s eyeing Jon, barely blinking.

  “Jon,” Winnie says while still staring at him, “has decided to go for full custody of Nicky.”

  “What!” I shoot my head over to Jon, who has never looked so uncomfortable as he does right now. He takes a swallow. “No! No we’re not.” I turn and face the girls. “I can assure you that Jon and I have never discussed taking Nicky fulltime. We wouldn’t dream of taking Nicky away from his mom! Are you serious? And plus, why would we? We live a few floors down from him. We see him every day. We can get him whenever we want.” There must be some confusion. “Jon?” I look up at him and watch him drop his eyes. Guilty. “Are you serious?”

  “My son,” Jon says as he shifts his eyes back up to Dan, “will never call a white man daddy.” He stares at her. “Do you understand me?” Dan continues to look at Jon, still bored. “And if you and that white boy of yours keep fucking with me, I’ll take my boy and leave this goddamn city. You got that?” And my heart stops.

  But Dan still looks bored. Completely disinterested.

  She’s the first to start walking, placing one stiletto heel perfectly in front of the next. Winnie and Rena follow, all three of their heels clicking against the wood floors. A stiletto army. All three look prepared for what Jon just said. All three are unfazed by it. Dan stops in front of Jon and me, stares at him for a moment, slides her hand out of her pocket and then tosses a key up in the air. Jon catches it.

  “For your front door,” she says. He looks down at the key and then back up at her. And then she walks away, Winnie and Rena by her side. The sounds of their stilettos can be heard clicking down the hall. The echo drifts into an eerie muffle and fills our entire condo with the vibrations of clicking and snapping. Three women. Three fighters. Danielle. Rena. Winnie. Hell on heels.

  Jon walks towards the kitchen, saying nothing. Oh no! He’s not getting off that easily! I want answers. I head in after him.

  “Jon, what are you thinking?”

  “Not now, Marla,” he says as he looks over his shoulder. Bam! He crashes into the loveseat.

  “What the fuck!” he yells.

  “I just moved it!” I yell back. “Because of you, the room’s feng shui changed!”

  “Oh my fucking God!” He begins heading towards the kitchen.

  “So tell me, Jon, are you trying to go for all-out war here?” He says nothing as he walks into the kitchen and to a glass cabinet. “Answer me!” He turns around to face me, his eyes red. “I deserve an explanation.”

  “Marla, this is a family issue between Danielle, my son and me. The three of us. Neither you nor Malcolm have any place within this discussion.” He takes a water glass out of the cabinet and then walks towards the refrigerator.

  “How dare you? I’ve been with you for five years, Jon! All of a sudden, I have no say when it comes to matters that will affect this entire household?”

  “What are you talking about? This is my son we’re talking about here. Him coming to live with me full time isn’t a big deal.”

  “Coming to live with you? Are you forgetting that I live here too?”

  “So, what, you have a problem with Nicky?”

  “Don’t you dare, Jon! Nicky’s perfect, it’s his father who’s an asshole.”

  “Look, I’m not apologizing for wanting my son full time.” He opens the refrigerator and grabs a Pierre, his eyes still red, his movements slow. He’s still drunk.

  “I think you need to go lie down.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yes, but do you know what you’re saying?”

  “Marla, don’t tell me how to be a father.”

  “So, is this how you’re going to be when we have children? I’ll have no say in their lives if you happen to override me? Nothing will be up for discussion?” He says nothing. “Huh?” He opens the bottle of Pierre, letting the fizz leak out. “Jon, I’m talking to you.” He waits for the fizz to die down. “Answer me!” He walks his Pierre bottle and water glass over to the kitchen island. “Now!” He pours the water in his glass. “JON!”

  “I GOT A FUCKING VASTECTOMY!”

  The sound of ‘me’ echoes throughout the kitchen as he leans on the counter and drops his head. I’m not sure when it happened. I’m not sure which foot was placed down first. But before I know it, I’m in the master bedroom, opening up one of my suitcases and throwing every piece of clothing I have in them. My head is spinning with words. So many words I can’t even keep them in order. So much information that I can’t even process it all logically.

  I know Dan got off her hospital bed to come here. I know Jon is trying to take Nicky from her. I know that he and I will never have a child. I know that he’s lied to me this entire time. I know that I’ve loved Jon since we were in college. I know that I was sick when he left me for Danielle Rouge. I know that she was prettier than me. I know that she had better clothes than me. I know that she was a rich girl. I know that she carried Chanel bags and tossed them on the floor near her Jansport book bag as though they were nothing. She had an air about her, the same one she carried today. Jon, people, I, always seemed to bore her. We were all common and mundane. We were not a part of the East Coast aristocracy. They wore scarves all year round, like French people. They wore ballet flats and diamond studs. They wore pearls. Their hair was always shiny. They always smelled like something expensive and European. Their fingernails were always painted. Their skin was always smooth. They were always well read in the classics. They had the New York Times mailed to their dorm rooms. They ‘summered’ off the coast of New York, South Carolina, Vermont or Maine. They were the Danielles, the Lola Rossis and the Denas. Rich. Expensive. Perfect.

  Jon and I used to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He and I ate at Tommy’s Burgers in college where every burger was an even two dollars, every basket of fries was one, every milkshake was fifty cents. I tried to dress stylish, buying t-shirts and jeans from Forever 21. I started to wear store - bought extensions from a Chinese guy to add length to my hair. I wasn’t fooling anyone, but then again, I wasn’t trying to. I wore cheap but fashionable clothes while Jon, who was poorer than me, wore sweats and a white t-shirt every day. Sometimes he’d switch it up by putting a basketball t-shirt on. But that didn’t bother me. We both came from nothing. We had no money. We’d share a two-dollar cheeseburger, a one-dollar basket of fries and a fifty-cent chocolate shake because $3.50 was all we had between the two of us.

  At the table in Tommy’s, we’d talk about our families. His father was a bum. My father was my best friend. My parents were happily married. His were always breaking up to make up. I had five siblings . He had seven. Family was always first for us. He came to college on a basketball scholarship. I came
on an art scholarship funded by a cluster of well-off black families along the East Coast. The Aristocracy. Among the names of the families who added to the scholarship pot for hopeful and hopeless black girls like me was a family named the Rouges. It would be a while before that family had any significance to me. Jon and I lived off Pell Grants. We laughed at rich kids. They were so clueless, so unprepared for the world. He and I were survivors. We’d sit across the table at Tommy’s Burgers and give each other silly grins.

  “I like you,” he said to me one night.

  “Good,” I said back. He smiled a little. I smiled a lot.

  One month later, Jon dumped me for one of those East Coast girls. A Rouge. One of those people whose money was why I was in college. Without a second thought, this guy from the streets of LA saw this girl far beyond his league and left me for her. Not only did she want him, she chose him. She lowered her Jackie O shades, looked at Jon over the brim, batted her curly lashes, lifted a finger and beckoned him over to her. He went running. When Danielle notified Jon that his roommate w as a Kyles, as in the Philadelphia Kyles who once operated the Underground Railroad in the city and are big real estate tycoons, Jon’s entire attitude changed about his roommate, Marlon. Jon had no idea that Marlon Kyles was so important. He acted so normal. Soon Jon and Marlon became inseparable. Seems like Jon really didn’t hate those rich black kids after all. Seems like he was just annoyed he wasn’t a part of them.

  Jon fell in love with a Rouge. Hard. He wouldn’t look at another girl on campus. He sat at the bar at the club. He sat on couches during campus parties. I tried to be like Jon. I flirted with Marlon, slept with him a few times and then cried about Jon in the bathroom afterwards. Marlon was no Jon. He never would be. Jon was strong, stoic, smoldering, sexy. He spoke little but when he did, his words were packed with a punch. He was a star athlete who seemed impassive to his college fame. He was tall, toffee brown, chiseled and smart. He was a computer nerd. He was my dream guy.

  But Danielle was his dream girl. I know this because I overheard him and Marlon talking in their dorm room one day. I was about to knock and beg Jon to come back to me, thinking that Marlon was in study hall at that moment. But he wasn’t. He was in his dorm with Jon and they were talking about Danielle Rouge.