Lies of Love

by Hannovah

  Goshdarnit. I looked up. “Dr. Joseph. Hi.”

  Placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, he dipped his head and said, “Could I speak to you for a moment.” He led me a couple yards away from the queue and as we stopped, he faced me and said, “You look very nice.”

  “Thank you,” I replied to his compliment, “and so do you.” His freshly cut salt-and-pepper wavy hair matched his outfit perfectly. He looked like a star.

  With a hint of a smile, and looking over both of my shoulders, he asked, “So, where’s my rival?”

  My creased brow asked, what do you mean?

  “Mr. Rayburn?” he clarified for me.

  “Oh. He had an emergency and could –”

  “He’s not here???” He sounded dejected, like if he had just missed out on an opportunity.

  “No, he couldn’t make it.”

  “Shit. It would’ve been perfect,” he muttered, looking away disappointedly. “I shouldn’t have let her come.”

  I almost missed his last statement because he said it so quietly. But I did hear it. “Her who?” I asked.

  He touched his perfectly groomed hair, sighing. Then he locked eyes with me and said, “Barbara . . . Mrs. Joseph.”

  I felt my eyebrows arching higher than my beautician had intended.

  His large hand tried to wipe away the little embarrassment from his clean shaven face, but since I was gawking like a hawk, he had to say something. “We pose as man and wife, but there’s nothing there. I’ll explain it to you sometime.”

  My eyes grew like those of an owl. Too much information. I really didn’t know the man. Not like that.

  The next thing I knew, he was holding both my hands in his. “Come. Sit at my table. Maybe after the dinner, I’ll send her home so we could spend time together.”

  This dean was B.O.L.D. And Trevor was right: he was seriously interested in me and had no darn respect for his wife. One thing I knew for sure: it would take a tow-truck to drag me to his dinner table. The only way I was going to be seated next to this unscrupulous asshole, was if he knocked me unconscious and lifted me there himself.

  Not wanting to be rude, I needed an instant excuse. But what?

  He released my hands to place a gentle palm on my shoulder and guide me back into the line.

  I said, “I’ve got to go to the ladies’ room. I’ll join you in a moment.” He stood still to wait for me, so I added, “No, go on. I’ll find you.”

  “Okay.”

  I inched away from him, and made a slow three-sixty with my head high, looking for the restrooms. Locating the sign, I meandered in its direction, and through my peripheral vision, I saw him enter the banquet hall. Am I dreaming? I thought. Why me? There were many more attractive women than me – right here, right now. This is more than being friendly? I debated with myself. His come-ons were flattering and humorous at first, but now with his wife around, he was taking the joke too far.

  I entered the washroom to try and come up with a means of escaping this man and after closing the door, I went to the end of a marble counter, leaned up against a wall, and closed my eyes to think.

  I engaged in a long, deep breath, and then I heard, “Are you alright?”

  I opened my eyes and searched for the concerned voice. There were two black women at the opposite counter. One, dressed in a gray house-keeping uniform, was squirting lotion into the hands of the other, a well-dressed guest. I didn’t know who spoke, but I graciously nodded to both that I was okay. Then I left the wall and entered a cubicle.

  Sitting on the commode, I massaged my forehead, thinking about a plan of action.

  Then, from the stall beside me, a woman shouted, “Barbie?”

  No one answered, so she elevated her voice more, “Barbara! Are you still there?”

  I sat bolt upright.

  “Yeah,” one of the women from the counter replied.

  “Do you want to do the blessing of the food? I’m getting cold feet. I hate microphones.” Barbara (I guess it was) giggled, and the woman in the stall continued to implore, “See, you’re used to crowds, speaking in church and all. I’m not.” I heard her flush the toilet, unlock her stall door, and walk to the sinks. “Do it for me and I’ll owe you . . . big time. Please Baaarbs?”

  A cold chill ran down my spine and my eyes darted from left to right like windshield wipers. Barbara is out there. Right here in the ladies’ room. I figured that she was the one getting her hand lotioned. And she was black.

  “Alright. Stop begging . . . it’s pathetic,” Barbara said.

  “Oh, thank you so much.”

  I had to see her: see what she looked like. I think she was tall and slim. I really could not remember because at the time, I had not paid attention. I jumped to my feet, and opened my cubicle door. But they were gone. Without washing my hands, I bolted to the door and stood, only to see the backs of the two tall, slim, black women as they walked away briskly.

  Again, I reprimanded myself: What’s it to you, Edna? Then, just like that, the little social spirit that I had come with, evaporated from me.

  Turning around, the bathroom attendant was waiting, so I washed up and tipped her for her assistance. Then I strolled out the big glass doors of the hotel, hopped into my car and drove straight home.

  For the entire journey, I replayed my various conversations with Dr. Joseph, and by the time I pulled into my driveway, I was absolutely sure of his relentless intentions towards me. I sat there pondering a clever solution, because boss or no boss – this shit had to stop. I had to put an end to this blasted harassment – once and for all – one way or another.

  I realized that, first, I must change my attitude: this approachable-agreeable thing will have to take a hike. What else? At that moment, nothing else came to mind apart from telling Brandon or reporting the philanderer to the campus president. I didn’t think I needed to do that just yet. But anyway, I had three weeks of vacation to plan for just the right deterrent for that bastard. He was in for a rude awakening next semester.

  When I closed the door of my Volvo, I stood for a while watching Brandon’s old pick-up truck, and suddenly I just felt special to have landed such a sweet person for a husband. While others called him Ray because it was short for his last name, I called him that because he had always been my ray of sunshine and hope.

  I inhaled the cool night-air a few times and smiled at nothing, in an attempt to drape on a warm attitude before going in to meet my honey. I just wanted to forget about DSU for now – just relax and enjoy the next few weeks with Brandon, as always.

  “Eddie, you’re back already?” Brandon asked, just coming out of the shower when I walked in.

  I kissed his cheek and sat at the edge of the bed, still feeling depressed. I wanted to act all happy, but my shoulders and my head did not cooperate; they hung low.

  In his pajamas, he sat next to me, analyzing me. “You’re not feeling good?”

  I sighed, “I’m fine. The dinner’s still going on.” I looked at him. “It just wasn’t any fun without you.”

  A little conceit covered his handsome face, and placing a loving arm over my shoulders, he kissed my forehead. “I know just what you need,” he said, and got up, taking me by the hand and leading us to the kitchen.

  I asked, “How is the apartment?”

  “I fixed the broken pipe upstairs and cleaned up all the mess downstairs.” He cut two slices of cake, poured two glasses of milk, and we sat at the table. “Tomorrow I’ll take care of the ceiling downstairs.” He placed a glass in front of me and offered me a slice of the dessert.

  I drank the milk, but I had lost my appetite. I just wanted to cuddle up next to Brandon’s warm body and fall asleep. And that’s exactly what I did, minutes later.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Saturday evening.

  The weather was mild, so Brandon and I decided to go out into our backyard to tidy up the place. While he scooped out the leaves that littered our pool at this time of year, I checked on the chemistry
of the water. And as we worked, we heard Ashley’s voice ringing through the walls of the villa as she sang along to a reggae Christmas CD.

  Brandon loved it, and decided that when we were finished, we should go over to see how they were doing, and maybe get a copy of that album.

  I never visit anyone un-announced, not even our sons; I got that training from my mother. But Brandon thinks that true friends and family won’t mind a spontaneous visit now and then. Well . . . to each his own.

  Ashley greeted us at the front door with a black-and-white kitten cradled in her arms. She tickled its chin. “Say hi Mandu,” she prompted the timid feline. “C’mon say hi baby say hi-hi to our friends meoow.”

  I patted its head, and the poor thing seemed more scared than anything else.

  “She was a stray I picked up at the back of the club,” Ashley said.

  “Cute. Very cute,” I responded.

  Joshua was sitting fox-holed in the couch amid a mess of text books and sheets of paper. “Good time for a break,” he said, and began to transfer his books to a pile already on the center table and next to two opened cans of beer. When he cleared enough space, he got up and welcomed us, but our greetings were interrupted by a loud squawking and screeching. We turned our heads in the direction of the sound: the kitchen.

  “That’s Tweety,” Ashley announced, taking a seat in one corner of the couch and swiping up a beer simultaneously. “I got her from a friend in Orlando.”

  Joshua took a seat on the floor between Ashley’s legs while Brandon and I went in search of Tweety. We found her in a round metal cage that hung from a hook in the kitchen ceiling. She was a palm-sized bird, with red, green, and orange feathers, and she bobbed and weaved like a boxer in a fight. You’re so tiny, and creating such a ruckus. A drama queen just like your owner, I thought.

  “Skreeek! Skreeek! Squaaak!”

  We halted our approach, standing still to minimize any threat we may have posed to the small creature, but to no avail.

  “Skree – ”

  “Shut it Tweety!!” Ashley’s voice carried the authority of a Drill Sargeant. The bird backed down and sank humbly on her perch.

  “I’ll train her yet,” Ashley said after a sip of beer, “just like I got Mandu potty trained.”

  “Ha!” Joshua laughed, and curled his thin lips. “Potty trained? Last night that cat pissed all over me on the bed.”

  Brandon and I smiled and, turning to exit the kitchen, our eyes fell on an open trash can that contained a mountain of empty beer cans. We exchanged a quick glance and proceeded to the Brownings in the living room.

  “Joshua, I thought you all stopped drinking,” Brandon teased.

  “I’m not really drinking. I just had a couple of beers.”

  Ashley jumped in, “It was Josh who said that he was not drinking I never promised that I was going to stop.”

  Girl you have a short memory, I thought.

  “Can I get you all a drink or something?” she asked. “Or feel free to take whatever you want from the fridge.”

  Brandon replied, “We’ll pass on the offer for now. But what I really want is a copy of that CD.”

  “Sure.” Joshua went directly to dubbing it for us.

  I sat on the couch between Ashley and Brandon, and I noticed, partially hidden on the center table, what looked like a doily that was falling apart. Carefully, I extracted it from underneath Joshua’s books.

  “Who’s crocheting?” I asked, examining it closely.

  “Oh that’s my new hobby,” Ashley owned up.

  She put Mandu down next to Joshua’s feet, and reached over the arm of the couch for two unfinished pieces that lay on the floor. She held them up one by one, but I didn’t know what to make of them because they both looked like thick, white pieces of fishermen’s nets with many tails hanging from them.

  “I don’t know how to stop the yarn from raveling out,” she complained, leaving her mouth open.

  I had to hold back my laughter. “I don’t either, but didn’t the person who taught you how to crochet also teach you how to finish it off?”

  “Oh I taught myself I am very good with my hands.”

  “Well, I’m real proud of you. Real proud.”

  “Thank you.”

  Seemed to me she was just working on stuff that she would never be able to use. What’s the point? Then like a frying pan to the head, the answer hit me: to occupy herself and stay out of trouble.

  “So Josh, are you ready for all your classes for the coming semester?” Brandon asked.

  “Ah-hah.”

  The conversation about school made me ask, “How many classes did you sign up for, Ashley?”

  “Zero!”

  “I thought that you applied and registered.”

  “Yes but when I saw the printout for the cost of the tuition I was in shock I didn’t know I had to pay I thought since it was free for Josh it was free for me too.”

  “Well, you can get financial aid,” I advised.

  “Not if I never filed taxes.” Ashley and her short spacy teeth were a picture of pride as she made the statement and picked up the cat, Mandu. She seemed delighted to be a tax evader, as if it had put her right up there with the celebrities and politicians who did likewise.

  She placed the cat aside again and stood up. “Excuse me a bit,” she said. “I have to leave you all for a while.”

  “Sure,” I said. I expected her to grab her cigarettes and head outside, but she went into the bedroom instead and turned on the shower.

  It had been a few weeks since Ashley’s return to Miami, and to be candid, it appeared that she was consciously trying to cooperate with her husband. It looked like she finally understood his commitment to his studies, and he seemed more accepting of her restlessness. But I could not shake the feeling that the new Ashley would be short-lived.

  Brandon went to the fridge and helped himself to a soda and brought me a bottle of water, and the three of us talked about nothing in particular.

  Then after several minutes, Ashley came out.

  Oh mama! Her short, tight dress looked like it was painted onto her curvy body, while fishnet stockings and high heels invited everyone to come-eff-me-now. And not a freckle was visible on that cute face underneath her tasteful, redhead wig.

  Joshua Browning’s sleepy eyes did a triple take. “Where are you going???” He asked with pain in his voice.

  Ashley was about to answer, but held back because of us. But the cat was already out of the bag just from the way she was dressed. Eventually she had no choice but to confess, “I have to meet with a client.”

  “A client?” Joshua sprang to his feet, his nostrils opening and closing rapidly.

  My fingers raked nervously through my hair, and I glanced uncomfortably at Brandon whose eyebrows had become uneven.

  “Yeah he gave me a hundred dollar tip at the club last night so I’m obligated to go out with him.”

  “What???” Joshua ruffled his short dreads.

  “He’s a regular and he always tips me good.”

  Joshua placed both hands on his head like if he was going mad, and his mouth tried to say something, but could not. Then he extended an open palm to Ashley, his heart pleading can’t you see that this is wrong?

  Suddenly his voice returned, “But what the fuck is this??? We’re married! You can’t do that! You can’t go out on a date with some other man!”

  “Why are you so goddamned controlling?” she fired back.

  Brandon and I shot up from our seats like those members in the British House of Parliament. “I think we should go now,” I said to the Brownings.

  “It’s bad enough that you’re stripping,” Joshua continued, apparently not hearing me, “but you shouldn’t pick up a guy after stripping for him.”

  “That’s how I picked you up didn’t I?”

  “Hello-o,” I sing-songed. “We’re leee-ving.”

  “That was different, Ashley.”

  “No it’s not.”

>   “See? You are just like your mother.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You damn well know what I mean. When I was at your mom’s in Daytona, I saw her kiss her husband goodnight and go into the bedroom with her boyfriend. That ain’t happening here!”

  Ashley hurled her purse at him. He ducked, and it smacked the wall behind him and dropped near Mandu. The cat arched its back momentarily and scampered off to the bedroom. Then Ashley grabbed one of the textbooks on the center table.

  “Good-bye,” I announced sharply.

  Brandon and I decided to make our move before we became the next targets. I heard a thud as we slipped away. I hoped that no one got hurt.

  Heading over to the main house in silence, I was sure that my husband was as dumbfounded as I was.

  I kept peeking through the shutters to check on the Camry and Tracker which were parked in the street. And half-hour later, I saw Ashley (now dressed in shorts and T-shirt) fling a suitcase into the back of her SUV and drive off. But later that night, she returned. And surprisingly, the villa remained quiet.

  Then, a few days before Christmas, while Ashley was at work, Joshua came over. We sat in the den, snacking and drinking fruit punch and he told us that he had left his job at the Quickie Mart, claiming that his boss was too demanding. Then he got to talking about his wife.

  “Ray, I tell you, we’re back to square one . . . and it’s the same old routine: she packs her things and leaves, then comes back in a few hours.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve noticed a pattern. Most of these fights happen when she’s drunk. But when she sobers up, she has no idea of what she did.” He swirled the ice in his glass. “You know, with families – you sometimes say things in anger that you don’t really mean, but later on – you say that you’re sorry and ask forgiveness?”

  We nodded.

  “Well not this woman; she only apologizes when the marriage is threatened. Listen to this. One night we went to a club . . . not too far . . . just off of Biscayne. She started drinking and I don’t know what or who pissed her off, but she started cussing and acting a fool to everyone. So, I told her that we better go home. She started cussing at me, loud. People started looking at us. So, before the security should have cause to ask us to leave, I got a grip on her and headed for the car. She hit me a few slaps, but I ignored that. I’m getting used to that now. Anyway, when we got to the car she would not get in.” Shaking his head in awe, he exclaimed, “You know, she walked home!”