Other Men's Wives

by Freddie Lee Johnson III

  “Are you serious? He voluntarily took a demotion to floor sales staff?”

  “Not just a demotion, but a pay cut,” Vondie emphasizes. “You know that had to be love.”

  “No doubt,” I grouse, watching Keith and Nadine sway through a slow dance. Poor Nadine looks like she's the only reason her booze-bombed hubby is still standing. “They're a great couple,” I observe.

  “Yes, they are,” Vondie agrees.

  “You want another?” asks the bartender, glancing at my near-empty glass.

  I polish off the rest of my drink and hand him the glass. “Yes. Make it the same as before.”

  “You got it.”

  He fixes my drink and slides it over to me. I take a long sip as the DJ puts on an old cut by Lauryn Hill from her album The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.

  Vondie smiles and bops her head to the beat. “Baby girl could rock,” says Vondie, looking hard at me, “just like you and I were at one time.”

  Vondie finishes her drink and calls the bartender over. “Fix me another strawberry daiquiri,” she orders, thrusting the empty glass toward him. “And go heavy on the alcohol.”

  The bartender puts on his best smile. “Maybe you should slow down, pretty lady. You don't want to wind up later tonight with your face in … ”

  “Did I ask you to be my father?” she snaps. “Just fix my drink before I decide you're not worth the tip I was going to leave.”

  The bartender clamps his mouth shut and does as he's told. Vondie glances indignantly at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she demands. “Haven't you heard? We're here to celebrate the beginning of new life, for Nadine and Keith, their baby, me, and even you.”

  She laughs, and my skin crawls. “Okay, Vondie. I'm getting the same vibe I had at the restaurant the other day. What's your beef?”

  She answers with a casual dismissive wave. “Oh, Denmark, don't mind me. I'm just having fun.” I look hard at her for a long moment. She frowns and tenderly touches my forearm. “What's the matter?” she asks. “You seem bothered.”

  Vondie's eyes are pools of sincerity, so I relax. “Stop tripping,” I scoff. “You know that letting things bother me isn't my style.”

  She smiles and strokes my forearm. “Now that's the confident Denmark I remember.”

  I glance at her hand moving slowly back and forth along my arm. Her touch feels good. I glance at her legs, my gaze moving up her thighs to the gap at the top of her skirt.

  Vondie jerks her hand away. “Sorry about the physical contact,” she apologizes. “I know you're happily married, so … ”

  “It's cool. Don't worry about it.”

  She looks at me quizzically, then offers me a tentative smile. “Are you sure?”

  “I'm certain.” I lean close and say, “I'd forgotten how nice it was being touched by you.”

  Vondie smiles coyly and slowly wraps her lips around the daiquiri straw, exaggerating their pucker as she sucks. I finish the rest of my drink and order another. There's no point in Vondie being in a good mood all by herself. And since she's being so friendly, I might as well make my move.

  “Say Vondie, I wonder if you'd do me a favor.”

  She pulls the straw from her mouth, licks the tip of it, and pouts. “I'm insulted that you have to wonder.”

  The bartender slides me my drink, and I take a swallow. It feels good going down, and I feel a nice buzz coming on.

  “Just tell me what you need,” Vondie says, stroking my forearm again. “I'll help in any way I can.”

  It's been hard explaining my mess to other people, but compared to telling Vondie they were a cakewalk. Their hearts weren't broken like hers when I chopped our relationship after falling in love with Sierra. But I can't let regret paralyze my tongue, especially since Sierra's prepared to slander me in court.

  “Here's the deal,” I begin. “Sierra and I, well, we're getting …” The words logjam in my throat.

  “Just say it,” Vondie gently urges. “It'll be okay.”

  Her reassurance gives me strength. It's too bad that I wasted five years giving my best to Sierra when the better woman was right here in front of me the whole time. “Sierra and I are getting divorced,” I say quickly, shoving out the words.

  Vondie covers her mouth with her hands, muffling a gasp. “Oh, Denmark, I'm so sorry.”

  I purse my lips. “Thanks.”

  We gaze at our drinks for several awkward moments. “Do you mind if I ask why?” she asks.

  “She's been having an affair.”

  Vondie takes my hand. “You must be feeling horrible.”

  “Horrible was two days ago. Right now I'm just numb.”

  “Oh sweetie, tell me how can I help?”

  I answer with controlled calmness so that I don't appear too anxious or desperate. “Sierra's accusing me of adultery,” I explain slowly. “She's saying that I cheated with you on that business trip to Orlando.”

  “Me!” Vondie blurts, frowning. “She's crazy. We've never even come close …”

  “You know that, and I know that. But her liar-for-hire lawyer intends to prove otherwise.”

  Vondie glowers. “You must be angry enough to chew nails.”

  “Big, hard, rusty nails,” I confirm.

  Vondie smiles understandingly and squeezes my hand. “What did you need me to do?”

  I stare hard into her eyes. “Vondie, I need you to testify on my behalf. If you tell the court that nothing ever happened between us, Sierra's scheme won't stand a chance.”

  Vondie nods, but her eyes are worried. “Denmark, I want to help; believe me I do. But are you sure that I won't hurt your case more than help it?”

  “Hurt it? How could you possibly hurt it?”

  She shrugs. “I don't know. It just seems like you're in a pretty tight spot, and I'd hate to say or do something to make matters worse.”

  Right now the “spot” I'm in is more annoying than tight. If Blinker gets dragged into this mess, messing up his chances in the election, it'll be tight to the point of strangulation. He might even put Stinker and Thinker on my case with the legitimate power of the police backing them up.

  “I'm on the ropes,” I say, “but your testimony would stop Sierra in her tracks.”

  “My goodness,” Vondie says, blushing. “You're making me feel so important.”

  I take Vondie's hand and stare deep into her eyes. “That's because you are, baby. More than you know.”

  Her eyes swim with warmth and affection, and I kiss the back of her hand. “So will you help me?”

  “Are things really that bad?”

  “They're worse than ever.”

  She leans forward and pats my cheek. “Well, in that case—no, Denmark. I will not help you.”

  The stunned look on my face must be raw, genuine, and complete. It must be all that and more for Vondie to be laughing so hard and loud. “You should see yourself,” she cackles, holding her stomach. “You look so, so … ”

  Some people sitting nearby see her cutting up, and they shrug. Others succumb to the contagion of her comedy and start chuckling, their expressions amused but confused about what's so funny.

  “I've waited for years,” she chortles. “And now, oh my God, you should see your face.”

  “Shut up!” I snap.

  “Aw, don't be like that,” Vondie taunts. “Maybe if you'd contacted me before I talked with Sierra's lawyer …”

  “What! You've talked with him?”

  Vondie nods slowly, thoroughly enjoying herself. “He called asking if I'd testify for your little wife.”

  “What did you say?” I demand, struggling to keep my voice low.

  Vondie sips her drink then answers. “I told him yes! I'd love to help destroy you.”

  There's no humor in Vondie's eyes, voice, or expression. “How does it feel?” she hisses, leaning close. “It's like an acid eating out your insides, isn't it?”

  “Get away from me,” I rumble, staring at my drink.

&nbs
p; “It's like a billion tiny bombs going off inside your heart, isn't it?”

  I grab Vondie and jerk her close. “Shut up!”

  “Or what?” she challenges, tears spilling from her eyes. “What will you do that was worse than what you did to me five years ago?”

  The agony in Vondie's voice hits me with the awful cruelty of my past actions toward her. She wasn't the one I chose to marry, but she also didn't deserve the mean boot I gave her. Vondie had her faults, but she was nice, smart, and fun, and probably she would've stuck by me. Then a prettier face came along, and just like that she was history.

  The heat on the back of my neck from peoples’ disapproving stares grows hotter, and I release Vondie. She sits back on her bar stool, orders another drink, and glares at me. I get up and stalk off into the dance crowd.

  “Does this mean we can't be friends?” Vondie baits.

  I hurry, putting steps between me and her before she pushes me too far. “Like they say in the movies,” Vondie hollers, “I'll see you in court!”

  TWENTY-NINE

  I smooth-step into the dancers; see a curvy, built woman dancing with some high-yellow, wavy-haired pretty-boy; and cut in.

  “Hey!” protests Romeo.

  The woman laughs and starts dancing with me. She turns and shakes her big round butt like a killer earthquake's rippling through her African cheeks. The DJ scratches and mixes some old Sly and the Family Stone with Fifty Cents’ newest, switches to DMX, doubles back to an old Bone, Thugs'N Harmony classic, then throws on some rump-shaking tunes from Beyoncé. The music is pumping, I'm warming up, and the booze and rage has got me flying high.

  My partner's former Romeo taps me hard on the shoulder. “Hey, man!” he shouts. “This is my spot!”

  I keep dancing, riding high then low on my partner's quivering, joggling butt. I feel like giving it a quick, solid spank.

  “Hey!” shouts Romeo, tapping me again. “I said … ”

  I slam my palm into his chest. He staggers back into a knot of people. Women complain. Men shout and swat. Romeo crawls for safety.

  The DJ hollers into the microphone. “Are ya'll having a good time?”

  “Yeah!” we thunder.

  “I said is everybody having a good time?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Then put your hands in the air like you don't care and say paaar-taaay!”

  “Paaar-tay!”

  “I said paaar-tay!”

  “Paaar-tay!”

  “Now get down!”

  The hammering hip-hop beat is suddenly overridden by James Brown's powerful, gravel-scratched voice, booming his old classic “Poppa's Got a Brand New Bag.”

  “Dance, brothers and sisters!” the DJ shouts. “Give up that funk to the Godfather of Soul!”

  The floor goes wild, and we're partying back. The dimmed floor lights go off, leaving the room bathed in a myriad of colors, bouncing off the spinning silver balls. I've lost my big booty partner, but she's quickly replaced by a long, slim sister who's dancing with her hips thrust forward like she's saying, “Come and get it, daddy!”

  I go to “get it!” when sister girl is bumped out the way by … Desiree Easton? Sister girl narrows her eyes at Desiree, who's already shaking, sliding, and spinning with me.

  “Step off!” Desiree commands the woman.

  Sister girl looks at me and I shrug. She rolls her eyes and dismisses me and Desiree with an exaggerated “Up yours!” Z-snapping of her fingers. Then she shimmies off to shake her yummy elsewhere. Desiree's dressed in silver high heels, black leather pants, and a black leather jacket that's opened down to the third button, generously revealing her beautiful cleavage. Her soft, shining hair is feathered as it sweeps from front to back to just below her earlobes.

  We blend into each other's rhythm, connect with the beat, and control our piece of the floor, laying down moves that earn the nodding respect of lesser dancers.

  “Hey, cutie!” shouts Desiree. “I thought I recognized you.”

  I laugh. “You get around. What're you doing here?”

  “I do Nadine's hair.”

  “Is there anybody in this city whose hair you don't do?”

  “Just my white brothers and sisters, but give me some time and I'll be doing them too.”

  We laugh and get into the music, moving with each other like we're sharing the same body.

  “Are you here with any of the crew from the salon?” I ask loudly.

  Desiree shakes her head no. “No, baby. I'm flying solo tonight.”

  “Brice is special edition stupid for letting you party alone.”

  “Forget him. He got home and started acting foolish, so I left for the night.”

  “You're out for the whole night?”

  Desiree laughs, lifts her arms high, shakes her hips, and gives herself over to the power of the beat. “That's right!” she says. “When Keith invited me to this party I went ahead and got myself a room.”

  Desiree's raised arms have lifted her ample breasts, squeezing them together and making larger and more enticing the soft brown bulge of her jiggling cleavage.

  “You two must've had one serious blowout,” I say.

  “We sure did, babe. But—I—don't—care!”

  “That's cold-blooded,” I admonish, smirking. “You know Brice probably wanted some booty.”

  “He knows where the Vaseline is.”

  Desiree laughs, dips low, and moves her hips in slow, wide, sensual circles. The DJ slaps on a got-to-move tune from Snoop Dogg, and the crowd answers with a roar of approval. I spin Desiree around. She stops with her back to me, grabs her knees, and wiggles her booty around in ways that dare me not to stare. I thrust my hips forward and try to follow the whirling movements of her gyrating butt. She straightens up and spins around, shaking her shoulders and making her cleavage ripple and bounce.

  “You'd better stop moving like that,” I warn loudly. “Brice wouldn't like it.”

  “Brice can kiss my butt.”

  I take a long glance down into the lush valley of her bouncing breasts. “You'd better stop looking at me like that,” Desiree warns. “Sierra wouldn't like it.”

  “She can lick my balls.”

  Desiree laughs and moves so smooth and sexy that every man dancing near us is gawking at her.

  I waggle my finger admonishingly at her. “Look at all the trouble you're causing.”

  “And I'm going to cause a lot more,” she laughs, shaking her booty harder.

  “Desiree, you're one fine hot sister,” I say, speaking into her ear.

  “I know,” she giggles. “And you're one fine hot brother.”

  I take firm hold of her hips and pull her pelvis toward mine. “We ought to do something about all this heat.”

  She laughs and pulls my head close. “Denmark, you're not ready for this!” she says, grinding against me.

  “You're just afraid that I'll turn you out and leave you begging.”

  “Negro, please,” she laughs.

  “Is that a challenge or a request?”

  “You're a smart man. Guess.”

  I take Desiree's hand and lead her off the dance floor, out into the hallway, and down to the elevators.

  THIRTY

  Desiree and I are kissing and pulling at each other as I kick the door of her room closed. She rips open the top buttons of my shirt, then kisses my neck and shoulders. I pull her black leather jacket off. All she has on beneath it is a sexy black lace bra. My heart slams against my chest.

  I reach for Desiree, but she quickly steps away. “Just watch,” she says, speaking low and husky.

  She reaches behind her, undoes the clasp of her bra, and slowly pulls down the straps, revealing second by second and inch by inch her wonderful Ethiopian beauty. And finally her breasts are free and beckoning. I answer their call, then stand tall, circle my arms around her, and pull her close.

  “You're gorgeous,” I say softly, looking down into her eyes.

  We kiss, and her moist, wi
lling lips open to invite my tongue to come share space with hers. I undo Desiree's black leather pants and pull them down slowly, kneeling in front of her and helping her step out of them. Then I gently pull down her black lace panties, kissing every inch of her as I roll them past her beautiful hips and off past her soft, smooth feet.

  Her toenails are painted deep red. An elegant gold bracelet circles her right ankle, just below a tattoo of Cupid preparing to shoot an arrow. I caress and kiss her feet, leaving blooming flowers of passion up her calves and along her thighs until I'm standing again and facing her.

  She brushes her lips across mine. “Let's take a shower,” she whispers, softly biting my earlobe.

  We walk hand in hand into the bathroom and keep holding hands as I turn on the water and adjust the temperature. We get into the tub and kiss, holding each other tight beneath the warm splashing water. I lather up the soap sponge, then cover her with suds, moving the sponge smoothly across her soap-slicked body. I kiss her neck, suck her earlobes and turn her so that her back is to me, wrap my arms around her, and pull her into my chest. Her hands cover mine as I soap her breasts, our hands sliding together over their magnificent roundness.

  The water rinses away the soapsuds as I turn Desiree toward me and kiss her with the hunger that I had to suppress for so long with Sierra. The shower's warm water sprinkles over us like millions of tiny massaging fingers. Desiree reaches down between us and gives me a gentle squeeze.

  “My goodness!” she exclaims. “You must have cement in your blood.”

  “You're crazy!” I laugh, lifting my face into the spraying water.

  Desiree soaps up the sponge and washes me as I washed her, then we playfully splash water into each other's faces as we rinse. I cut off the shower, step out of the tub, and extend my hand to Desiree. She steps out behind me and stands regally as I dry her off. Like a queen being tended by her male servant, she lifts her arms, moves her head, and turns slowly so that I can wipe every part. I dry her back and rear cheeks, kneeling down to kiss her royal African behind.

  “Now I'll have to think of something else,” she says, looking back at me and smiling.