by Shana Burton
“Yes. What, because I don’t work, you assumed that meant that I was stupid or something? Vaughn, you’d be surprised to know how many housewives are smart and talented. We’re not all gold-diggers. You’re the one I’m shocked by. I can’t believe you’ve even heard of all these artists.”
“Really, Sullivan, who hasn’t?” he said as if it were required knowledge among the mechanic set.
Sullivan stopped at Eldzier Cortor’s elaborately painted depiction of a black woman in the nude. “This is beautiful.”
“I’m sure you’d be just as beautiful if I painted you that way.” With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, “You game?”
She smiled. “Sounds like fun, but I do insist on keeping my clothes on.”
“We’ll see about that.” Vaughn held the door open for her. “I’m starting to see that there’s a lot more to you than that gorgeous face and killer body, isn’t there?”
“I’m just a woman, Vaughn.”
He caressed her face. “Sullivan, I’m sure that you’re not just an anything.”
They walked back to his apartment, making conversation out of leaves turning for fall and everything else they passed. At no point did her husband or their marriage enter Sullivan’s mind, until Vaughn introduced the subject.
“I wonder what your husband would say if he knew you were over here,” he posed, unlocking the door.
Sullivan followed him inside. “What makes you think he doesn’t?”
He went into the kitchenette and put on a pot of water for tea. “Oh, you actually told him that you were coming to see me today?” He looked back over his shoulder, tossing a seductive grin in her direction.
Sullivan was definitely falling in love with that smile. “Not in those words,” she disclosed. “Not in any words, actually. Charles knows I have friends and a short attention span.”
“And he’s fine with that?”
“His philosophy is that as long as I come home to him every night, it’s all good. He’s very understanding.”
“I’m sure he is, but there’s a line between being understanding and being stupid.”
“You and I aren’t doing anything wrong, just looking at art and having tea.”
Vaughn poured the water into two mugs and dropped a tea bag in them. “Can’t you do that with him?” He handed her a cup.
“Charles and I just don’t click anymore. We don’t really have anything in common. Our personalities are so different.”
“You’re still there, so it can’t be all bad.”
“No, it’s not bad, it’s just . . . drab.” She sipped her tea. “But I made a commitment to him, and it’s not easy to just walk away from that.”
“Yet you’re here with me.”
“I never said I was perfect.”
“I bet you don’t even give him any,” joked Vaughn. “You know how y’all married women do—put a brother on rations with the booty after you get the ring.”
“I was rationing it out way before I met Charles! Our problems don’t stop and start with the bedroom, though. I just don’t feel fulfilled.”
“I think I understand,” he said, nodding. “And I wasn’t judging you.”
“Thank you.” Sullivan finished her tea and stood up. “Well, it’s getting late, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
He reached for her and wrapped his arms around her hips. “You aren’t.”
Vaughn leaned in as if he was going to kiss her, prompting her to jump back. Sullivan ended up grazing her hand against the still hot stove cap.
“Ouch!”
“Are you all right?”
She looked down at her hand. “It hurts, but I’ll live.”
“Let me see it.” Vaughn reached out and caressed the injured hand before planting a tender kiss on it. His lips were soft and warm. “It’s my mom’s remedy for everything that hurts.” He grinned. “That and telling me to lay down and take a nap.”
“Thank you.” She broke his stare and reclaimed her hand. “It feels better now.”
“No problem. I guess you better go on and get out of here.”
She nodded. “’I had a really nice time, Vaughn.”
“Me too. Hey, don’t forget your purse.” They both reached for her purse on the table at the same time. Their fingers touched, but neither of them made an effort to move. Sullivan closed her eyes as he gently stroked her hand.
She was short of breath. “What are we doing?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know.” Vaughn linked his fingers with hers. “I just know it feels good.”
“Then I guess a better question would be why are we doing it?”
“Because we both know that there’s more going on here than we want to admit.”
“What do you mean?”
Vaughn propped himself up against the stove. “Come on, Sullivan. You know exactly what I mean. You’re just afraid to let your mind, much less your body, go there.” Vaughn moved in on her.
Sullivan locked eyes with him, but pushed him away, not trusting herself enough to be enticed by those tantalizing lips a minute longer. “I should get out of here.”
“You nervous?”
“No, I’m married, and I still do have one or two scruples left.”
“Scruples and morals are just excuses people make up for not going after what they want.”
“Be that as it may,” she maintained, “I should still leave.” While I can, she thought.
“That’s probably best,” agreed Vaughn and walked her to the front door. He planted a kiss on her neck. “Until next time.”
“What makes you so sure that there’s going to be a next time?” she challenged, trying to recover from the thrill of having his lips on her again.
“Sweetheart, with me,” he promised, “there’s always a next time.”
Chapter 22
“I’ll think about heaven later.”
—Sullivan Webb
Angel laughed and adjusted the speed on her treadmill. “You have the goofiest look on your face right now. I wish you could see it.” Sullivan rolled her eyes and continued her jaunt on the treadmill next to Angel’s. “All right, what gives, Sully? You’ve been acting weird all week.”
Sullivan smirked impishly and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Stop lying and start spilling. Confession is good for the soul.”
Sullivan laughed to herself and divulged, “I have a crush.”
Angel came to a stop, “As in a dear-diary-guess-who-I’m-stalking crush?”
Sullivan winked an eye. “Something like that.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Who is he?”
Sullivan’s smile grew even wider. “Vaughn Lovett.”
“Vaughn . . . isn’t he the guy who was at Lawson’s cookout?”
“That’s him. We met when he fixed my car a few weeks ago.”
“When did you start crushing on the help? He’s cute, I guess, he didn’t really seem like your type. And by ‘your type’ I mean rich and anyone who isn’t Charles.”
Sullivan eyed the calorie count of her treadmill’s monitor. “He has a few edges that could be smoothed out,” she acknowledged. “And not being Charles is a plus.”
“And how does Charles feel about you having a crush on a man other than him?”
She flung her hand. “What my husband doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“Yeah, but when he finds out, he might hurt you.”
“This thing with Vaughn isn’t serious. We’re just, you know, hanging out.”
Angel cranked the treadmill back up. “It always starts out that way.”
“And that’s how it’ll end,” Sullivan insisted.
“Sully, your husband is running for office. The one thing his campaign doesn’t need is a scandal and the public finding out that the preacher’s wife has been having more than just her tires rotated with the family’s mechanic.”
Sullivan sulked. “I’m entitled to have a little fun, aren’t I?”
<
br /> “And isn’t Charles entitled to a wife who can keep it in her designer pants?” Angel saw Kina approaching them. “Kina, you and I both know that you did not put in half an hour on that StairMaster.”
“I’m tired,” whined Kina. “I’ve had enough exercise for today.”
“Running back and forth to the juice bar isn’t exercise,” noted Sullivan.
Kina groaned. “Let’s just come back tomorrow.”
“We can’t,” replied Angel. “Sullivan may be burning in hell by then.”
Reginell climbed off the Gazelle and joined them. “Did I hear something about Sullivan going to hell?”
Lawson toweled off her forehead and walked over to where her friends were. “Sully, what have you gone and gotten yourself into now?”
“Nothing,” answered Sullivan. She turned to Angel and snapped, “Has anyone ever told you that you have a big mouth?”
“You were going to tell us eventually anyway,” said Lawson. “All right, out with it, and we need details.”
“Especially the juicy ones,” added Reginell. Sullivan exhaled. “I was just telling Angel about this guy I know.”
Kina rolled her eyes. “Hmph!”
“Don’t look at me like that, Kina. All we’re doing is hanging out. He’s a mechanic, for God’s sake.”
“You’re talking about the guy from the cookout, aren’t you?” asked Lawson.
Reginell was amused. “You slummin’, Sully?”
“No, that’s what you do. I’m merely opening myself up to a new friendship.”
“And just what part of yourself have you been opening up?” ribbed Reginell.
Sullivan swatted at her with a towel. “Speak for yourself and for whichever man you crawled out from under this morning.”
“Don’t y’all get started in here,” warned Lawson. “I’ve been waiting for the Ab Cruncher to be free for an hour, and I can’t have you getting us kicked out before I’m sexy.”
Sullivan pinched an inch of flab from her exposed midriff. “You might be a little too far gone for the Ab Cruncher. You need to ask for the ab snap, crackle, and pop.”
“We’re getting off subject,” broke in Reginell. “Back to Sully burning in hell . . .”
“You’re playing with fire. You do know that, don’t you?” chided Lawson.
“I’m not playing with it, merely fanning it a bit. Nobody’s gotten burned yet.”
“The operative word is yet,” Kina reminded her.
“And I seriously doubt that argument will hold up on judgment day,” added Lawson.
“You just don’t know what it’s like being married to Charles,” protested Sullivan. “My marriage is so stifling and predictable. There’s no passion, no fireworks, and don’t even get me started on our sex life!”
“Yes, please spare us those particulars,” pleaded Lawson. “I need to be able to look at him in the pulpit without having that visual.”
Angel shook her head. “Pastor Webb is a good, spirit-filled, God-fearing man who loves you, Sullivan. He practically worships the ground you walk on.”
“He doesn’t—I don’t know—stimulate me. I hate being treated like his doll, I want to be treated like his woman.”
“He treats you with respect,” argued Kina. “He never puts you down or calls you fat or makes you feel like everything that goes wrong is all your fault.”
Sullivan eyed Kina, concerned. “Does E’Bell do that to you?”
Kina plastered a smile on her face and shook the question off. “You know E’Bell—he says the first thing that comes to mind whether he means it or not.”
“You’re still his wife, Kina. He’s supposed to treat you with the utmost respect,” reproved Angel.
“Love your wife as Christ loved the church,” cited Lawson.
“E’Bell does love me. He just doesn’t always know how to show it.”
“Maybe he needs to learn to,” said Angel.
“Or you should find you a man who can,” added Sullivan.
“I don’t know if I should listen to someone on Satan’s V.I.P. list,” muttered Kina.
Sullivan huffed. “Don’t be so dramatic, Kina.”
Lawson settled into the vacated Ab Cruncher. “Is fooling around with Vaughn the quickest way to get into heaven?”
Sullivan admired her reflection in the mirror. “Who’s worried about heaven? I’m having fun right now. I’ll think about heaven later.”
Chapter 23
“This could be the revenge I’ve been waiting the past eight years to serve up.”
—Angel King
Theresa panicked the next afternoon when Angel returned to her house unexpectedly after leaving an hour earlier. “What are you doing back here?” she demanded to know.
“I think I left my Blackberry in your living room,” Angel replied. “It’s silver, has a Mary Mary ring tone. Have you seen it?”
Theresa stopped short of letting her in. “Wait here.” Theresa disappeared into the house and returned with it. She thrust the device at Angel. “Is this it?”
“Yes, thank you.” Angel was put off by Theresa’s hostility. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, just tired. Have a great weekend.”
“You look flushed. I can hang around for a minute if you need me to.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll be all right once I take a nap.” Theresa looked past Angel into the driveway. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
Angel paused. “Theresa, I’m worried about you. You don’t seem like yourself.”
“My husband will be home any second now. If I start feeling worse, I’ll have him call you. Good-bye.” Theresa quickly closed and locked the door.
Angel shook her head and walked down the driveway to her car. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something amiss with Theresa. As she was about to turn back around to check on Theresa again, a burgundy SUV pulled up beside her.
The driver threw the car in park and jumped out. “Angel?”
She whirled around in shock, seeing but not believing. “Duke?”
Her ex-husband’s expression was a mixture of angst and anxiety. “What are you doing here?”
“Me? What about you?”
Duke crossed his arms in front of his chest in a defiant stance. “This is my house. I have every right to be here. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m here to look after my patient.”
He looked baffled. “What patient? Are you here to see Reese?”
“No, I’m here for my patient, Theresa McNair.”
“You mean Theresa McNair King, my wife.”
“Your wife?” Angel’s blood ran cold when it dawned on her that his wife, Reese, and her patient, Theresa, were the same woman. “What kind of sick joke is this?” she shrilled.
“That’s what I want to know!” cried Duke.
Angel was furious. “I received a call from Theresa McNair pleading with me to take her on as a patient. I had no idea that she was in any way connected to you, but I guess that was the whole point when the two of you concocted this vicious scheme!”
He slammed the car door shut. “Why would I scheme to try to see you?”
“I don’t know, Duke. It’s clear that both of you are very sick, twisted people. Wasn’t my pain and my sanity enough for you the first time around? Did you really need to see my humiliation up close? What kind of monsters would do something like this?”
“My wife would never knowingly reach out to you.” Duke’s eyes morphed into narrow slits. “Is this some kind of game to get revenge? She’s already sick. It wouldn’t be hard to stage it to look like an accident.”
“Excuse me?”
His voice was a sinister calm. “You wouldn’t be the first nurse to off a patient, now, would you?”
Angel hauled her hand back and slapped him with all the force she could muster. “How dare you! How dare you question my professionalism or my integrity when you are the one who broke every vow you made to me to jump in t
he bed with this tramp!”
“That ‘tramp’ is my wife, and you will respect her,” roared Duke.
“You mean like the two of you respected me and our marriage?”
“So, this is about revenge, isn’t it?” he inferred.
“Duke, I have a life, despite the fact that you and your whore did everything in your power to shatter what was sacred to me. Trying to get back at the two of you is the furthest thing from my mind. She called me, remember? Don’t try to flip it because you’ve been caught.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Tell me, Duke, what were you hoping to gain from all this? Exactly what are you trying to accomplish?”
“For the last time, I didn’t call you. No matter how sick my wife is, you are the absolute last person I would ever ask for help.”
“It was me, Angel,” confessed Theresa, who appeared behind them, startling both Angel and Duke. “I arranged the whole thing. I looked you up, I called you, and I set it all up. Duke had nothing to do with it.”
Duke was as stunned as Angel. “Honey, why would you do a thing like that?”
“I wanted to make amends,” she explained to both of them. “I’m the reason that your marriage fell apart, and I didn’t want to die without making things right.”
Angel wasn’t moved. “Where was all of this compassion when you were sleeping with my husband?”
Theresa lowered her head. “All I can say is that I was a different person back then. I was lost. Once I realized that I had to get my life together, I started making changes. The first thing I did is get right with God, and I asked Him to forgive me for what I’d done to you. Then I forgave myself, but I still want to earn your forgiveness too.”
Duke put his arm around Theresa. “Baby, why didn’t you just tell me what you wanted to do? Why all the secrecy?”
“This was something that I needed to do for me. I was afraid that if you knew, you’d try to stop me.”
“You had to have known that we’d find out eventually,” he pointed out.
“I knew I couldn’t go on deceiving the two of you forever, and I didn’t want to. I wanted to tell both of you, but I wanted to do it in my own way and in my own time.”
Angel shook her head. “Look, Theresa, Reese—whoever you are. This is sick, and I don’t want to be a part of any get-right-with-Jesus plan that you’ve hatched up. You’ll have to get your redemption without me.”
