She walked through the apartment, needlessly arranging things, in the already perfectly arranged space and remembered suddenly something Shawn had told her about his life. A lot of it is made up, he’d said. Basically arranged for my convenience. Like their perfectly arranged apartment, where everything appeared to be in its place, but just beneath the surface things had gone horribly awry with its inhabitants.
Riley had spent countless hours thinking about where they had gone off the rails and couldn’t pinpoint it. All she knew was that now that he had her, Shawn seemed not to know what to do with her.
What did he mean when he said he’d wanted to hurt her? Why? And when he realized that he had, was he satisfied? Evidently not, because he was still keeping his distance.
Thinking about how that night unfolded, and her reaction to him flirting with that woman, Riley was unsettled. She didn’t know she could behave that way, or even feel that way. Had they stayed at the party, she may have become one of those women who make scenes, publicly fly off the handle while everyone else looks on, shocked and embarrassed. She flushed to think about it.
In the middle of moving a pile of magazines from the entryway to the living room, Riley stopped in her tracks.
Oh my god, that was it.
That was what Shawn felt at Cameron’s. It was different, she knew, because she definitely hadn’t been flirting with Cameron, but if what Shawn felt was even one fraction of her emotions on the night of the Sony party . . .
Riley put the magazines down and went into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and picking up the phone. Kicking off her shoes and folding her legs beneath her, she took a deep breath and dialed her husband’s number. She had to do this before she started to over think it, or lost her nerve.
Shawn answered after only one ring.
“It’s me,” she said.
“Hey,” he said. He sounded wary, unsure of himself.
Riley could hear voices in the background, and then movement, as though he was walking away from the noise.
“How are you?” she asked.
He gave a short laugh. “Been better,” he said.
“It’s good to hear your voice, Shawn.”
“Yours too. I’m . . . I should have called you. I’ve been . . .”
“Look, it doesn’t matter,” she said quickly. “It doesn’t matter why you didn’t call. It’s been difficult lately. For both of us. But I just wanted to say a couple things to you. If you have time to listen.”
“I have time,” he said, his voice low.
“I think I understand now,” she said. “Some of the stuff I’ve been giving you grief for, like Cameron’s and . . . I don’t know how to explain this very well. I don’t think it was okay what you did at his party.
“And I think you need to find a way to deal with situations like that; a way that doesn’t involve fighting and letting things get out of hand. But I understand the feelings. I think maybe you think . . . maybe you thought I didn’t have those same feelings. About you, I mean.” Riley sighed, frustrated. “I’m not explaining myself very well.”
“No,” Shawn said quickly. “I get what you’re saying.”
“You do?” she asked, relieved.
“Yeah.”
“Shawn, I get scared too,” she said. “And we’re so different I sometimes wonder if I give you what you need. . .”
“You do,” he said right away.
“I know you say that, but I still wonder. And at that party I guess seeing you with that woman, I started thinking about that. Wondering whether someone else . . .”
“No one else could ever give me what you give me, Riley,” Shawn said.
“I feel the same way,” she said. “So that’s why I called. I think it’s important for you to know that. Shawn, for me there is no one else who . . .”
“Look . . . I have to go, okay?” he said abruptly.
Riley’s brow furrowed in confusion. He sounded so strange. He wanted to go now? Just as they seemed to be opening up to each other? There were a couple beats of silence. He seemed to be waiting for her permission.
“Okay,” she said, finally.
But still he didn’t hang up.
“Riley?” he said after a moment.
“Yes?”she said, unable to keep the tears out of her voice.
“I’m glad you called me.”
And then he hung up.
g
Shawn was still holding the phone when Brendan came looking for him. He’d walked out on a business lunch without a word of explanation when he saw the number flash across the face of his phone. He hadn’t even considered how the conversation might go, why Riley might be calling, but knowing he would hear her voice was like seeing water after a drought. If she wanted to yell and curse and scream at him, he was prepared to take it.
“Are you crazy?” Brendan hissed at him, trying to keep his voice down. “You think those guys in there give a shit about talking to me? They want to talk to you! Why’d you walk out like that for?”
“It was Riley,” Shawn explained. He put his phone back into his pocket.
Brendan said nothing for a moment then shrugged, indicating the main dining room of the restaurant. Shawn knew better than to expect Brendan’s sympathy. He’d been warned, and chose not to heed it, and now he had to face the consequences of what he’d done.
To say he’d made a mistake with Keisha didn’t even begin to capture it. All of a sudden it seemed like he couldn’t get rid of her. But it wasn’t sudden—it had been a slow progression of stupid and reckless behavior which, had he been honest with himself, he should have foreseen would lead up to that night after the party.
It had been one of those encounters where everything seemed to pass in a blur of legs, thigh and naked ass. He didn’t even look at her face while he fucked her, but at a spot on the wall just above the headboard. She didn’t seem to notice, moving through multiple positions almost as though she was performing. And she probably was.
Afterwards, he did look at her face and she had this expression; a self-satisfied look, like she’d won something. It took Shawn a moment to realize that she had won. He’d been outplayed by a groupie. All this time he’d told himself he was the one playing her—that he was using her to pass the time until he worked things out with Riley—but in reality she was strumming him like a guitar.
She wanted to bag a rapper and she had. She wanted to be a professional dancer for hip-hop artists and now she was. And all he’d gotten out of it was a mediocre sexual performance and lump of guilt, sitting like a stone in his gut.
He’d never felt guilty after sex before. He’d never owed anyone anything before now. But sitting there at the foot of the bed, seeing Keisha’s reflection in the mirror all he could think about was Riley and the way she gave herself him to so completely. The way she loved him physically was the way she loved him emotionally—openly, freely and without fear or inhibition. It had taken his encounter with Keisha for him to realize in an instant that what he never believed was possible for him had actually happened. He didn’t want or need any other woman than his wife.
Great fucking time to make that discovery.
After he was done with Keisha, the next thing he knew, he was literally sick to his stomach, crouched in front of the toilet bowl and hugging porcelain. The nausea was so strong, he kept waiting for the vomiting, but it didn’t come, just waves and waves of a sick feeling, roiling in the pit of his stomach. Whether it was all the alcohol or the self-loathing, he wasn’t sure.
Keisha stood over him, naked with a towel in her hand, wiping the perspiration from his forehead and he shrugged her off. When she left him alone in the bathroom, he brushed his teeth and showered, now thoroughly sober, hoping she would be gone when he got out. But she wasn’t. She was under the covers, looking like she planned to stay for the duration, smiling at him.
“You okay?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, but asked her a question of his own. “You on the pill?”
She smirked and shook her head slowly, looking down at her long, scarlet nails.
“No?” Shawn asked, incredulous.
She laughed lightly. “I was shakin’ my head ‘cause I don’t believe you asked me something like that. After.”
“You think this shit is funny?” he said. “I asked if you on the fuckin’ pill. Now is you?” Something about her made him slip into what Riley liked to call his “street vernacular.”
She nodded slowly. “I don’t want no kids,” she said quietly.
“Yeah?” He pulled on his boxers. “Well good.”
She didn’t say anything, so he looked up at her. “You need to leave,” he said bluntly. “Tomorrow’s gon’ be a long day.”
“Go ahead, call your wife,” she said, her voice hard. “I’ll keep quiet.”
Shawn grabbed her arm. “I told you don’t talk about her.”
Keisha wrenched free and reached for her clothes. “Talk about her?” she sneered. “I did one better than that. I just fucked her man. And good.”
When she was gone he reached for the phone and called New York for the first time in what seemed like forever. The phone rang many more times than usual; so many times, he expected voicemail to pick up. Then he heard her voice, thick with sleep, or crying? Had she been on the other line with someone else?
“Hello?”
Shawn tried to make himself say something, but he couldn’t think what. Even after his shower, he could smell Keisha’s scent on him. On the other end of the line, Riley was still holding the phone. He hung up. And then he sat there until he could see the salmon-colored sky that told him it was dawn.
g
The mailbox was full. Shawn stood staring at it for a moment, not comprehending, and then tugged out all the mail, which took some doing. It looked like no one had checked for at least a week. Riley was always good about stuff like that. He opened his duffle and stuffed the mail inside and dragged it upstairs with the rest of his luggage. As he pushed the door open and kicked his bags across the threshold, Shawn felt the weight of the last few weeks dissolve as though he’d shed a heavy coat.
Chicago was going to be rough, so he was glad to be home, even though he had just one night. The thought of what he’d done to Riley and what he would have to do to keep it away from her made him sick but he needed to see her face, even if just for a little while.
The apartment was dark and silent. He turned on lights, walking through every room, but he already knew she wasn’t there. When he checked the closets he was relieved to see that all or most of her clothes were where they were supposed to be. Then he felt foolish. They were going through something right now, but it wasn’t as though she was about to leave him.
He had to keep reminding himself of that. Riley did not know anything about Keisha and she need never know because it wasn’t going to happen again. Nothing like that was ever going to happen again. Her weekend bag was missing. That was the one thing. Shawn checked her dressing room to confirm his suspicion. Yes, the weekend bag and her favorite boots weren’t there. He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out what to do, where she might be. Finally, he called Brendan and got Tracy’s number.
Tracy’s voice changed as soon as she realized it was him.
“You know where she’s at?” he asked her.
“Yes. I do.”
“You think you might want to tell me?” he asked, controlling his tone. If he pissed her off, she wouldn’t give up jack. And clearly she’d already gotten the rundown about . . . something. The Sony party would be Shawn’s guess.
“No. But what I am thinking is that if she wanted you to know, you already would.”
“Tracy,” he said, his voice measured and calm. “This is not your business. I just need to know where my wife is.”
“Like I said, I don’t know that your wife wants you to know where she is.”
The way she said ‘wife’—her voice dripping with sarcasm—made him want to reach through the phone and smack the tar out of her.
“If you’re that concerned,” she continued, “why don’t you just call her? You do remember the number don’t you?”
“Look. I’m in the city only till tomorrow night, okay? I’m going to Chicago. I’ll be there three nights then I’m coming back. When you see . . .”
“How nice for you,” Tracy said frostily.
“Tracy, cut me fucking break, okay?”
“Who the hell do you think you’re speaking to? I am not Riley.”
The line went dead.
Shawn held the receiver in his hand for a moment then walked through the apartment one last time, looking for a note. Anything. But she’d left no clues to where she might be. Tracy was probably right. If Riley wanted him to know where she was, she would have told him. And she knew he was due home today, so clearly she didn’t want to see him.
Not calling her for this long had been the wrong move. And not opening up to her when she called him had been even worse. But he just hadn’t been able to stand it, listening to her tell him how much she loved him, and that he was the only one she needed, all the while knowing that just 48 hours before he’d been pounding Keisha into the mattress.
He played their voicemail and at first there was nothing helpful there. A message from her job, one from building maintenance about window washers, and another about a book she had ordered at Barnes & Noble coming in, and finally one from Chris. Only he was calling for Riley, not for Shawn.
He played it twice: Yo Riley, this is Chris. I got your message . . . yeah, that’s cool. Maybe it’ll work out next time. Call me, so we could get together for drinks or whatever. Peace.
Get together for drinks? And what might work out next time? Shawn bit into his lower lip and grabbed the phone, punching out Chris’ phone number. He got no answer at his house, so he called the mobile. Chris answered right away.
“Yo playa, whassup?” Chris said. “I hear you tearin’ shit up coast to coast.”
“Yeah?” Shawn asked. “How ‘bout you? Holding down the home front?”
Chris laughed, obviously not detecting the tension in his voice. “You know. Doing my thing.”
“So what’s up with you calling my house?”
Chris said nothing for what seemed to Shawn like a suspiciously long time. “What you talking ‘bout? I ain’t called you. I knew you were in . . . oh! You mean when I called Riley about . . .”
“Yeah, what the fuck you calling her for?”
There was silence on the other end.
“What you got to say?” Shawn pressed.
“You need to calm down, first of all,” Chris said, all the mirth gone from his voice. “And then second, try to remember who the hell you talkin’ to.”
“You know who you talkin’ to?”
“Yeah. I know. A nigga who want to go on the road pimpin’ with dancers then come back scared his wife might left him for a better man. I tell you what, because I know your wife, and because if I was in your situation I might even be a little scared my damn self, I’ma tell you why I called,” Chris paused. “She called to tell me they reconsidered running the story on me but still wouldn’t be doing it. I hit her back.”
“Man, I . . .”
“Nah. Don’t try to backtrack. You fucked up. Everybody know ‘bout you and Keisha but let me tell you somethin’, kid. You ever come at me like that again, and I will bust a cap in your ass.”
Then he had the phone hung up on him for the second time that evening.
Shawn sighed. He wasn’t worried about Chris. That was just how he communicated his displeasure; but by tomorrow the whole thing would be squashed. What did worry him was that the news of his little fling with Keisha had reached New York even before he had. But he didn’t think Riley knew. If she did, Tracy would have given him more of an earful than she had. The most likely place Riley might be, he didn’t want to call. Lorna’s house upstate.
He ate leftover Chinese food out of the refrigerator while in the den, listen
ing to music with his headphones on but couldn’t relax. He’d just have to do it—bite the bullet and call Riley, tell her he wanted to see her, make up some story about why he’d cut their last conversation short. He pulled off the headphones and went in search of his phone.
Riley was standing there, in the middle of their living room, looking as startled to see him as he was to see her. She started to smile, but seemed to consciously stop herself.
“I didn’t know where you were,” he said.
“I’m driving up to see Lorna. I had everything packed this morning and took it to work with me, but then I realized I left the one thing I really need—my laptop, and I have this deadline, so I had to turn around on the parkway and . . .” She stopped as though realizing she was babbling.
“You need a new one anyway,” he said quietly.
“Yeah, I guess. At some point. Anyway, I’m taking the car,” she held up the keys. “In case you were planning to use it . . .”
He shook his head dismissively.
She adjusted the strap of her laptop carrying case on her shoulder. “How long are you here?”
“Just tonight.” Shawn bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from asking her to stay.
She used to jump all over him when he came home after one of his trips. She never used to be so controlled. He’d done this. He’d made her unsure of him.
Shawn took in the sight of her, memorizing everything. She was wearing a white dress topped by a denim jacket and in true Riley fashion, boots. Her super-short haircut was growing out, her hair beginning to curl again.
“So Chicago, huh?”she said, her voice falsely bright.
“Yeah.”
“So I’ll see you after that.”
Her hand was on the doorknob when he stopped her.
“Riley,” he said.
She looked over her shoulder, her face hopeful. They didn’t do this kind of thing—hide their feelings, not speak for weeks and greet each other like strangers across the room. She was waiting, wanting him to ask her to stay. She’d made her move when she called him, and now it was his turn. If he chose to make it.
Commitment Page 32
