“Shit, Jacqueline, shit.” Shit was a universal word.
“You like this?”
“Yes.”
I laid his cock flat against his belly. Then I licked the underside of it, followed the thick vein like it was a roadway. I traveled up and down that same road until he started to squirm. He did his best to run from me. I did my best to keep up. A lover’s tango.
I said, “Hold still, baby.”
“Shit. Shit.”
The head of his penis was a mushroom I could barely fit in my mouth.
But I kept at it until I did. I sucked it like a cough drop.
He gave up running and pushed at me, tried to force me away. I wouldn’t fade away, though. Persistence overcomes resistance.
“Oh shit. Stop, por favor.”
I eased away finally, said, “Inside me, now.”
I was screenwriter and director.
Manuel tossed me off of him roughly, saddled me, pinned my arms to the bed, pinned them above my head. His excitement excited me. He used the sweat that had pooled between my breasts as lubricant, made love to them, sliding his penis back and forth in a slow rhythm. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the smooth comfort of his skin. He had the best skin. It was like wallowing in silk sheets. He was so smooth to the touch.
Then he moved to make real love to me.
My body started to shake as the head of his penis broke the folds of my vagina. I let out a deep moan as I took him in. I could feel the length of him making its way inside of me. His penis seemed to get stronger and firmer the deeper it went.
One inch. Then two. Then three. Four. Five.
I wondered how much I could take, how much he could give.
Six. Seven.
I started coming. And coming. And coming. Three in a row.
Manuel had fucked me better than I’d ever been fucked before.
Then…
He growled, “King Kong ain’t got shit on me.”
Manuel. A man I couldn’t even communicate with effectively. I’d fucked him. Let him inside of me.
I closed my eyes and cried for minutes. I’d put it on the little brown man, probably better than he ever had it before. Platanos did go with collard greens.
I looked over at him, my eyes wet. Manuel snored quietly next to me.
CHAPTER 10
DAWN
Tasseography, an ancient Chinese practice that spread to Europe with nomadic gypsies in the mid-1800s, was more commonly known as reading tea leaves. I learned that from Terry. Anytime I was deep in thought, really studying something, he said that. Said I was reading tea leaves. I felt his presence always, still to that day. More than I wanted to. Even when I fought to chase it away.
I stood in the hall, outside the office that was my destination, imagined what was on the other side of that frosted glass. Smelled the oak moss and spice of Derek Jeter’s cologne, Driven. Pictured the pinstripe Burberry suit, the Michael Kors watch and Kenneth Cole footwear. I licked my lips, fantasized, considered, thought about my options, thought about the move I was about to make, told myself there was no turning back after this, this was the line of demarcation. This would separate me from Tanya, and she from me. This would separate us even more so than Jo Min’s and Clarence’s deaths. Believe it or not.
Even out in the hallway I could hear sounds from inside the office.
The ringing telephone was a constant. XM Satellite Radio played softly.
Corinne Bailey Rae. “Put Your Records On,” in a soulful British lilt.
I was dressed somewhat casual. A white button-down top, three buttons undone, mucho cleavage on display through my purple satin bra. Dressy jeans. Christian Louboutin high heels. Hair pulled back in a tight bun, traces of lavender and burgundy in my makeup. A stolen trail of Tanya’s Burberry perfume at all my pulse points. Somewhat casual, but I’d spent the better part of two hours preparing myself that morning.
And there I was.
It’d taken over an hour, two different buses and a cab ride, to get from Dr. Bhutani’s office to a different office, one that didn’t belong to my retinal specialist. One that housed everything from an insurance agency to an architectural firm. I was most concerned about the architectural firm.
I was trifling. But that’s the way love goes.
Ever since my vision problems were diagnosed, with that initial electroretinograph, I’d avoided crowds. Too many people made me claustrophobic, made me feel closed in, put me in a panic. I seldom left Tanya’s, usually only for Dr. Bhutani’s, which had been the case that day. Usually you could trace a straight line right back to my sister’s place. But not that day.
The buses had been packed. More people than I ever cared to be around, bumping up against me, invading my space. There was a mother actually breastfeeding her child on my left, a girl popping gum and listening to her iPod so loudly everyone else on the bus could sing along to Chris Brown with her on my right. But I hadn’t felt the slightest twinges of panic. I was on a mission.
My mission was almost complete. I wondered if anything would self-destruct.
I touched the office door’s knob, but didn’t turn it.
I had time to change my mind. I took a deep breath, went ahead and turned the knob.
I stepped inside. Corinne Bailey Rae had faded to a close. John Mayer was waiting on the world to change. Me, too. I was anxious for a change of pace.
I carried myself forward, settled at the main desk, and looked around for a receptionist. The lobby was empty.
Tanya’s stolen Burberry was in my nostrils. I smelled that more than anything. I smelled it more than the oak moss and spice of Derek Jeter’s Driven.
I was starting to wonder if coming there was a mistake. Guilt was already eating at me.
Then another door opened, one right behind the main desk.
Some things are fated, others aren’t.
“Dawn?”
This was fated.
He had the same rich baritone of my husband. I appreciated that and everything else about him. Tanya didn’t.
I said, “Hey.” That’s all I could manage.
“What are you doing here, Dawn? Is everything all right?”
I nodded.
There was a clipboard in his hand. He wore a pinstripe Burberry suit, a Michael Kors watch and Kenneth Cole footwear. He was working. A successful architect, a black man to be proud of. I was in his domain. I shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have gone through all that trouble—two different buses and a cab ride. I started easing backward.
“Dawn?”
I stopped moving. My heart skipped a couple beats. “Yes?”
He said, “Wassup?” in a down-to-earth tone that set me at ease.
He moved to me. His pleasant cologne was in my nostrils immediately. Derek Jeter’s Driven, oak moss and spice.
I blinked, said, “I was in the area. I was wondering if you’d like to go to lunch with me.”
He regarded me for a moment, and then a smile broke across his handsome face. “You’ve got great timing. I’m starved. Just give me a moment to finish up some things. Okay, Dawn?”
I said, “Take all the time you need, Corey.”
I meant it.
In Sol Mar, a restaurant Corey chose that was close to his firm, I sat facing the window that looked out on a bustling thoroughfare, my back to the main floor. A candle flickered in front of me. Behind me were the bellowing voices of happy couples and hopeful singles. I studied the menu and waited for Corey to return from the bathroom. He couldn’t return soon enough, as far as I was concerned. I counted the seconds he wasn’t in my presence. Three hundred and sixty-seven.
Then I heard soft footsteps come up behind me, and Corey’s shadow covered me like a shawl. I looked up and smiled. He smiled down on me. It was like lounging on the beach with a steady ray of sun warming my face.
His smile was warm like the sun and the color of honey.
I loved the color of honey.
Corey settled in the seat across fro
m me. “Hope I wasn’t too long. I had to make a phone call.”
I wondered if the call was to Tanya.
I said, “No. Everything’s fine. You weren’t long at all.”
I spied a glimmer in his eyes. At least I convinced myself it was a glimmer. There was so much to love about the man. The fullness of his lips, the scent of his cologne, his beautiful face, his calming voice. His tight and muscular body. It all added up to romance.
I said, “I love Portuguese food. Shrimp and garlic is a weakness. This was a nice choice, Corey.”
“I aim to please, Dawn.”
I looked at him, deep. “You’re a good man, Corey. You’re a very good man. I’m sorry things with Tanya are…” I let my thoughts drift.
He frowned briefly, and then put on a happy face. “Rough patches happen in every marriage. I’m sure you understand.” He paused, grimaced. “That wasn’t good. I’m sorry, Dawn. I didn’t mean…” He let his thoughts drift.
Set adrift on memory bliss, that was us.
I said, “It’s okay, Corey. I do understand. I don’t know how to describe my marriage, what to call it, but it definitely taught me the lesson that rough patches happen once you say ‘I do.’ Yep.”
He nodded.
He didn’t have to say a word. I understood the deep empathy that he felt for me, for my situation. I understood the concern he felt for me. It was a great comfort. I kept coming back to that word whenever I considered Corey: comfort. That’s what he was for me. My comforter.
He said, “Doctor’s appointment went okay?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
I shook my head. “Rather enjoy this great food. And great company.”
That honey smile graced his face again.
He said, “I was so surprised to come out and see you standing there. Thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.” He grimaced again. “I’m sorry.”
I said, “I’m a big girl, Corey. Not made of china. You don’t have to handle me with care.”
I said it seductively. Let the comment hang in the air.
Corey didn’t appear to want any part of my words. He said nothing.
After a while I said, “I appreciated you coming out the other night to help me. I made such a fool of myself out there in the dark.”
He sipped his pineapple Sumol, then, “I worry about you, Dawn. I care about you.”
I said, “You deserve to have the same.”
“I do love Tanya, Dawn. And she loves me, too. I’ve done things for her that I never believed I’d ever do for a woman. She’s done the same for me, I’m sure.” He stopped then, rolled his shirtsleeve up, extended his wrist for me to see.
I took the opportunity to touch him. I turned his wrist so I could examine it. What he was showing me made my heart ache. It was a heart tattoo, with Tanya’s name at its center. I’d never noticed it before.
He said, “She’s got one, too, with my name. It’s on her lower back.”
That was a revelation, as well. I couldn’t picture Tanya with a tattoo.
I said, “Very nice.”
“Totally out of character for us both,” he acknowledged. “But we went and got them on the same day. Something I never thought I’d ever do. I did it all because I had this wild, crazy love for her.”
“Had,” I said. “Somewhere along the way it changed?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Then he said, “At one time I thought Tanya was having an affair.”
I sat silent. Surprised by the revelation, but I kept quiet. I’d let him introduce all the ghosts of their marriage without prodding.
He continued, “Communication is the key to a marriage, Dawn.”
I took a sip of my pineapple Sumol. Let him continue to invite ghosts to our lunch.
He said, “I never discussed my suspicion with her. I wish I had. Wish I’d cleared the air between us. Maybe things wouldn’t be so strained at times if I’d have done that.”
“You still believe she did? That she had an affair?”
He frowned. “I stopped wondering a long time ago, Dawn. That doubt poisoned our relationship. It was a cancer that spread. But at the end of the day I don’t believe she did. No. No, I don’t believe my wife did.” His gaze fell away at that point. I held mine on him. He couldn’t or wouldn’t return my look.
I realized something. The realization came sudden like a flash rain.
I said, “Oh my God, Corey. You had an affair.”
He looked up suddenly. I can only describe the look he gave me as weary. “I’m not without sin,” he admitted after a beat.
I asked, “To get back at my sister?”
He smiled a smile that wasn’t really one. “It’s so much more complicated than that simple answer, Dawn. I will say that the best laid plans often go awry.”
My sister and brother-in-law’s marriage was more pitiful than he knew.
I said, “You feel guilty. That’s why you put up with her disregard and disrespect?”
“God said for husbands to love their wives as He loved the church. That’s my standard, Dawn.”
I took another sip of my pineapple Sumol, made a quick decision. I said, “Walter Barksdale.”
Corey frowned. “You mean Tanya’s high school sweetheart?”
Jo Min and Clarence would be so disappointed in me. And Tanya.
I said, “Yes. That’s right.”
“I haven’t heard his name in some time. What about him, Dawn?”
There were shades of red in his tone. Bloodred.
I said, “You should stop feeling guilty, Corey.”
He looked at me, hard. He tried to remain composed and calm.
He stammered, “What are you saying?”
I said, “Tanya’s my sister and I love her. I really do. It’s love-hate for sure, but there’s plenty of love, too. But she’s been wrong and done wrong and accepts no accountability for her actions. That’s something we’ve fought about since…” I let that thought go.
“What are you saying?” Corey repeated.
“Everyone has a drug, Corey.”
“What are you saying?”
He didn’t own another thought.
I said, “Walter Barksdale is Tanya’s drug.”
“Is?”
I said, “Is. As in present tense.”
Corey slumped back hard in his seat. His mouth hung open slightly. I felt terrible that our conversation had moved into that dark place. I hadn’t meant for that to happen. But it was inevitable that it would one day. I cared about Corey too much to never open my mouth regarding my sister’s deceptions. Her indiscretions. Her many, many indiscretions. Her ongoing betrayal.
Corey pulled himself together after a while, said, “I think we’d better go, Dawn. My keys please.”
He’d given me his car keys to hold when we came into the restaurant. I dug my hand in my pocketbook and came out with a key, handed it to him.
He reached forward in rote, took it, and then frowned as he regarded the credit card-shaped key I’d handed him. “What’s this, Dawn?”
I didn’t answer.
He flipped the card over, studied it like tea leaves, and then looked at me. “Hilton. A room key. What’s going on, Dawn?”
“You’re my drug, Corey. You’re my drug.”
CHAPTER 11
NIKKI
I wanted to know what it was like to eat pussy. What it tasted like and shit.
Sela seemed surprised by my questions, but not put off by them or embarrassed. I loved that about her. I could see myself running with homegirl. She could seriously be my bitch in the struggle, even though she wasn’t necessarily struggling for the same things as me. Even though she wasn’t struggling to find a big black dick with a good nigga attached to it.
I said, “I mean, I’ve had my shit eaten lovely by a few talented dudes. Being on the receiving end is the shit. I’m just trying to figure out how it would be on the giv
ing end.” Sela shook her head and clucked her tongue as I spoke. I added, “What do you get from giving? It can’t be as much as you get from receiving. It just can’t be.”
I was done with my little dissertation and shit.
Sela smiled, said, “No one will ever accuse you of being subtle, Nikki.”
“Nope,” I agreed. “If Nikki needs to know something, wants to know something, fuck it, bitch just asks. Nikki don’t pull no shorts and shit.”
Sela touched her neck, looked at me with something I can’t quite describe in her eyes. “Love how you refer to yourself in the third person. It’s so…”
“Original. I’m an original. There’s no one like me.”
She whispered, “No one like you,” and touched my leg.
I brushed her hand aside, told her, “Watch that shit, homegirl. Zelda will cut you and me both if she finds out you’re in here flirting with me.”
She sighed, “I could really get my head up right about now.”
I hunched my eyes in surprise. “You smoke weed?”
She said, “Do I. That sticky icky icky…”
“Learn something new every day.”
She touched my leg again. “This is between you and me, Nikki. Zelda would flip if she knew I was still getting down. You understand?”
“My lips are sealed.”
She said, “With a kiss?”
“Stop flirting, Sela.”
We were in the second bedroom, the bedroom Zelda had given me without question the night I showed up on her doorstep, distraught over James’s betrayal.
Sela didn’t deny she’d been flirting.
I said, “I’m not looking to switch teams. That’s not my thing at all. I need dick in my life, and lots of it if I can help it. I fucked James so much I think he got a yeast infection.”
Sela laughed.
I said, “You laugh…but it’s the truth.”
Sela said, “Such a poet.”
“See what I’m saying?”
She grabbed the fluffiest pillow off the bed, held it to her chest. She broke eye contact with me for the first time since she’d tiptoed into my room. There was a Gustave Courbet painting on one of the walls. Le Sommeil. Two naked women lying in bed in a comforting embrace. Sela’s gaze fell on the painting.
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