Lies of Love

by Hannovah

  As we drove off, I found myself singing, softly and unconsciously, “Yes we’ll gather at the river . . . the beautiful, the beautiful river . . .” I had no idea that I was being heard until the rest of the passengers joined in. Then, after a few rounds, the hymn left my head for good.

  “I wonder if Ashley has permission to leave the state,” Brandon thought out loud.

  I wondered too.

  CHAPTER TEN

  My fun days were coming to a close.

  The Fall Semester was almost upon us with faculty reporting to work this fourth week in August, and students returning next week. DSU’s administrators kept us busy for these last few days by scheduling many counterproductive meetings. In addition, they also cramped in the annual convocation which was always held on Friday of that same week. I always attended the meetings (they were mandatory) but sometimes I opted out of the awards ceremony because it was generally much ado about nothing: a total waste of time. I will attend this year’s convocation because I had been notified that I was receiving two awards.

  Anticipating photographs, I french-braided my hair, applied light make-up, and dressed in a knee-length, beige-and-brown skirt suit for the occasion. This drawn-out, all-day affair was held in the oversized student activities hall of North Campus, and we, administration, faculty and staff, would sit around circular tables for the whole shebang. In the morning, I sat with fellow professors from the south campus, and after the choir sang and the city mayor spoke, a few of us received awards from our respective deans. I proudly accepted an esteemed plaque from Dr. Byam for Most Outstanding Science Faculty; it was my fourth time receiving such.

  After lunch, during our photo-shoot and mingle-time, Dr. Jamus Joseph approached me with, “Edna, you look lovely as usual.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He looked darn good too in his navy blue suit; clothes were made for his model, rock-hard body. But I didn’t return the compliment, fearing him mistaking my kind words for solicitation.

  “You should sit at my table, next to me,” he suggested. “It would be easy for me to introduce you when the time comes to present my new faculty. I have five of you.”

  He made a good point, and I couldn’t resist his charming face and his compelling ocean green eyes. “Okay,” I agreed.

  Walking with him, I met the other additions to the North family: three men and one other woman, Dr. Jennifer Alvarez, the young new Speech professor. She bubbled with excitement when she told me that she had just graduated and was elated to have found a job so quickly.

  We sat for the afternoon program: I to Dr. Joseph’s right, Jennifer to his left, and the three men filling up the other places at the table. Immediately the dean’s refreshing, sexy cologne graced my nostrils. He smelled divine. Wow! I could inhale him all day.

  The afternoon session began with entertainment from a group of African dancers and that was followed by the Introduction of New Faculty. Then, during the State of the University address by the president of DSU, Dean Joseph leaned to his left to whisper something to the new Speech professor and his right hand fell on my thigh. My heart double pumped. I was taken off guard, and before I could react, his warm hand slid down and cupped my knee. I promptly lifted his hand away and placed it on his lap, gawking at him with the most disgusting face that I could muster. But he never looked in my direction; he kept his eyes straight ahead, pretending to be absorbed with our president’s speech.

  Yes, Dr. Joseph was fine – like one of the finest men I knew, but he was totally out of line. Only two men on planet Earth were privileged to touch me this way: Brandon Rayburn and Michael Douglas. Oh yeah – and Brad Pitt.

  The afternoon awards from the Student Government Association commenced, and immediately after clapping for the first recipient, Dr. Joseph’s hand found my thigh again. But what the? I wanted to slap him. But it’s not my style to create a scene, so I did the next thing that entered my head: I pinched his hand as hard as I could. He withdrew it quickly without so much as a flinch, but I was certain that my fingernails had dug into his skin.

  He took a deep breath, and leaning over to me, he whispered, “Feisty. I like that.”

  Ignoring him, I held focus on the SGA president and the presentations. Note to self: Never sit next to this dean again. But I remained next to him until my name was called, and then I gladly walked up and received my Professor of The Year Award. Of course, I did not return to that seat. I stood in the back of the hall for a few minutes before heading over to the Arts and Science Office.

  Vickie Jean-Pierre, the dean’s secretary, was the only employee in the office at that time and I was fortunate to find her because she was closing up for the day. She generously remained to explain a few procedures to me. Then, handing me keys, she kindly escorted me to my new office and lab. Unlike the south campus where labs and their respective faculty offices were located adjacently, here I had to trek down two long hallways to get from the labs to the faculty offices area.

  I gulped when I unlocked my new office. My first alarming observation was that it was less than half the size of my old one at South, and there was no window. Then I took note of the furniture: the file cabinet and bookcase were from my grandmother’s time and they would never be featured on the Antiques Roadshow; the two desks in there were small and were definitely used and abused; and although the two chairs were cushioned, they were in desperate need of steam cleaning. The room looked more like a storage closet than a professor’s office. Be grateful for small mercies, I consoled myself. It’s now a much shorter commute to work.

  The following day, after Brandon and I did our usual grocery and flea market runs, we hauled the boxes of my school supplies to my new office.

  “I thought you were exaggerating,” Brandon commented on entering my room, “but it is really just a cubbyhole.” He placed a few boxes in a corner, turned a full circle and said, “Almost not worth christening.” Then a mischievous smile crept onto his face and he groped me.

  “Ray, we’re not christening anything.” I pretended to fight off his attack. Brandon Rayburn, at fifty, was just as vivacious as he was at twenty. I, on the other hand, had slowed down. Within a couple months of moving into our house, he had made us christen every room, including the laundry room, garage, and swimming pool. We also christened every apartment that we owned, and yes, we had christened my old office at the other campus too.

  Here we were, at it again. “Come on, Eddie.” He took my hand and placed it on his hard rod while boosting me up with kisses. “I don’t know when I’ll be here again.” It didn’t take much to get him going, and new places brought out his virility.

  We had the entire building to ourselves – no one else was around in the academic block on this Saturday afternoon. And Brandon knew just where to touch me and how, and what to say to get me going.

  We did it; we christened the little office.

  On Monday, the first official day of the semester, I woke up a little later than usual and, taking the back roads, I got to work in less than twenty minutes. I arrived unflustered, with time to spare. But I did not memorize the names of my students, and neither did I engage in assisting lost souls because I myself was in unfamiliar territory.

  While hiking back to my office after my second class, and struggling to carry a jumble of papers and teaching aids, and maneuvering around nomadic students, I spotted a familiar figure. He was dressed in jeans and the maintenance employees’ blue shirt with the pocket embroidery of a tomahawk. He was admiring the swaying of young female hips as they sauntered past him, distracting him from his task of shining the glass door that led to my office hallway.

  “Hi,” I said to the young man as I stopped briefly, hugging my paraphernalia onto my belly, “aren’t you Yvette’s brother?”

  “Yes.” He tried to place me while pulling on his dreadlocks. Then figuring it out, his dark brown cheeks jumped, and he smiled and said, “You’re her neighbor. How you do?”

  “Fine. And you?”

&
nbsp; “Irie.” He threw his damp, crunched-up paper towels into his nearby cleaning cart, and then extended his hand for a shake.

  I performed a balancing act with my boxes and papers, and give a weak shake with my partially free hand.

  Relieving me of some of my supplies, he asked, “You work here?”

  “Started today. I transferred from South Campus.”

  “Where yuh office be?”

  “Just a few yards away.”

  As we walked down the hallway, he commented, “It’s a small world after all. We working for the same institution and didn’t even know it.”

  “Please forgive me,” I said, “but I forgot your name.”

  “Trevor,” he answered, and squinting apologetically, he asked, “and you aaare?”

  “Edna.”

  While I unlocked my office door, he read the shiny new name plate affixed to it and said, “Here, me have to call you Dr. Rayburn.”

  “Whatever you’re comfortable with,” I said. We entered my ten-by-ten space and pointing to my cluttered desk in the corner, I said, “Dump them there. Thanks a million.”

  “So. South Campus, eh? Me know couple people working there. You know Gregory?”

  “Gregory who?”

  “Don’t know him last name, but he’s the one working in the cafeteria and get suspended for stealing the frozen chickens. He was taking one home every day . . . for months.”

  I chuckled, “I can’t say that I know him.”

  “Sure you do; him get married to a student from Haiti so she could get her green card, but as it turned out, she was already married to someone in her own country?”

  Stifling a laugh, I managed, “Oh yeah-yeah; I remember.” I really had no idea who these people were, but fearing a lowdown on everyone associated with DSU (comical as it may be), I fibbed.

  We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then he returned to his duties and so did I.

  After work, as I arrived home and pulled up in my driveway, I saw Yvette adjusting the sprinklers in her front yard. I went over to tell her that I had met her brother, but she already knew; Trevor had called her up earlier.

  Trevor was assigned to my floor, so although he was a janitor and I was a professor, we became friends, chatting multiple times per day, in the hallway or in my office. He always put a smile on my face by bringing me up to speed on the campus gossip, despite me not knowing most of the characters.

  Into my third day at North Campus, Dr. Joseph stopped by my office just after eight in the morning, and I stood up – not to greet him, but to decrease his height advantage. His stature could be intimidating, were it not for his rich smile and the gleam in his leafy green eyes; and oh yes, his tantalizing fragrance.

  He asked, “How are you settling in, Edna?”

  “Very well, thanks.”

  “Students treating you nicely?”

  “Yes-yes.”

  “And the faculty?”

  “Wonderful. Everything is just great, Dr. Joseph.”

  “Call me JJ,” he insisted as he leaned on my doorway and played with his clean-shaven chin.

  I was uncomfortable with that suggestion, but I nodded.

  “How do you like your schedule?”

  “It’s just perfect, thank you.”

  “Okay then, I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, feel free to call or stop by my office . . .” he winked, “any time.”

  “Sure.”

  He left, and I inhaled deeply, trying to catch the last of his intoxicating cologne.

  The next morning, Dean Joseph came by again. I stood up again, and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after eight: same time like yesterday.

  He began, “You look very nice. Well, you always look nice.”

  I had sewn myself a uniform: four simple pants suits, each a different color, and each for a different day of my work week. And my hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail and wore very little make-up. Personally, I found my work appearance rather dull and boring, but I blushed, “Thank you.”

  “How about joining me for breakfast?” he asked.

  “Thanks, but I already ate.”

  Then the man strode into the center of my office and turned his head from side to side, sizing up the place. “How about this office – is it too small?” With his head almost to the ceiling, he looked like a giant in a midget’s cage. “I can try to get you a bigger one.”

  If I had known how accommodating the north campus administration was, I would have transferred a long time ago. Or was this treatment just for me? From behind my desk, I answered, “No sir, this office is fine. Although it’s small, I’ve got lots of storage in the lab.”

  “Okay, but,” he locked his eyes with mine, “it’s JJ . . . remember?” I nodded, and he said, “You must stop by my office sometimes . . . for a chat.” He winked at me flirtatiously.

  “As soon as I find some time.”

  “Make time,” he suggested, and departed with yet another wink.

  During the next week the man showed up religiously at my office, and for sure, complimented me and pressed for a breakfast date. And for sure, I turned him down.

  But one day he took a seat and crossed his legs. “So Edna, how many times are you going to hurt my feelings?”

  “I’m sorry,” I snickered. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “Just a little bit . . . right here.” He tapped over his heart.

  I smiled. “It’s just that before I leave home, I eat breakfast with my husband.”

  He placed both his hands over his heart and squinted his emerald greens. “It hurts even more now.”

  I giggled as was expected of me.

  He smiled, got up and said, “Have a wonderful day.”

  “You too.”

  “Mine’s ruined now. Husband.”

  As he left, I sniffed the air like a bloodhound. I just could not get enough of his cool, refreshing fragrance. He was the total package; that was for sure. He was without his jacket these days, offering a full view of his trendy ties and his well-laundered long-sleeved shirts tucked into his designer slacks. At a glance on any given day, with his forever groomed face, he looked like a specimen in GQ magazine.

  I appreciate a clean-shaven man. Brandon knew that about me, but remained scruffy most days; he only tidied up if we were going out somewhere special. I also admired a man in formal attire. Brandon, who worked for himself, was always in shorts and T-shirt. On the weekend, if we went out, he wore jeans and causal shirts. The only time that my husband dressed up was for a wedding or a funeral or if the invitation read, Formal attire. Then he was a noticeably dashing white dude.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The newlyweds returned from New York on Sunday.

  And they came over to our backyard villa loaded to their ears with boxes upon boxes of their belongings. It was wise of them to forego the Labor Day Parade in Brooklyn and use the long weekend to get themselves situated. I seized the moment and presented them with our wedding gift: a microwave oven.

  “Thanks,” Joshua said, and began to unwrap it.

  “Josh and I were planning to buy one,” Ashley volunteered. “We put all our savings aside to fix up his place my mom and granddad gave us four hundred dollars and we were going to buy a few things for the pool-house and a microwave was one of them we were also thinking about getting a vacuum cleaner or a GPS I need a GPS to get around Miami honey now we can scratch the microwave off the list we might have enough for the other two items.”

  “Um-hmm. Yeah, babe.”

  The weather was so beautiful that the Brownings chose to socialize outside. They looked so joyful and relaxed, sitting on the apron of the pool with their feet dangling in the water that I decided to whip up a quick dinner and serve it poolside. Nothing fancy: baked chicken, yellow rice, green beans, and salad. Ashley cleared the table and a couple of chairs while her husband assisted me with fixing the food trays. On one trip to the kitchen, I caught Joshua stealing a piece of chicken
from the pan, but he pretended not to notice me notice him. After a moment, we exchanged smiles and took the trays outside. Brandon, who all the while had been on the telephone with an electrician, now joined us.

  During the meal, we inquired about Joshua’s folks, and especially about his mom’s recovery and he informed us that she was coming along well.

  “So, tell us, how do you like Harris?” Brandon asked Ashley as he served himself.

  “Oh he is almost as sweet as Josh he seems pretty easy going I might have messed up the day when I first met him but he didn’t scold me or anything,” she giggled.

  “What do you mean?”

  She put her hand over her mouth and chuckled.

  Joshua chimed in, “I forgot to tell her that Daddy is an extremely religious man with a degree in Theology.”

  Ashley reached for Joshua’s hand for support. “See I didn’t know that and I really wanted him to see me as cool so while music was playing I decided to wine for him I pushed out my behind and I went down to the ground and back up.”

  “Ha! What did he do?”

  “He didn’t say anything,” Joshua replied. “He just smiled and nodded.”

  “When we left the house and Josh told me that his dad was very churchy and would never approve of wining I was soooo embarrassed.”

  “Oh yeah, she turned red,” Joshua reminisced.

  “But each time we went over there to visit,” Ashley continued, “Harris was very nice to me so I don’t think that he was too disappointed or holds my wining against me Martha did not speak much I don’t know if it was her illness but if anyone of Josh’s parents disapprove of me it would be her I met some cousins and this is a big family when . . .”

  I unconsciously tuned out Ashley’s yapping and only came back when Brandon interrupted her with, “Josh, I heard Ashley say, ‘when we went over there to visit.’ Weren’t you guys staying with Harris?”