He nods with grim understanding, shakes my hand, and leaves.
THIRTY-NINE
It's the final race of the Greater Cleveland Community Sports Challenge. It's the money race, the one where the winning 4×100 relay team gets the glory, and each team member gets paid! For the last few days since that meeting with Sierra, my insides have been boiling with angry energy. I'm going to channel that energy into a performance that'll help me smoke the opposition in this race. That's what I've been doing during my workouts with Hilda.
A few days ago, I met her on the beach at dawn. Harry and Gordon were supposed to join us, but Gordon had a breakfast meeting with prospective guest Dr. Valencia Burton, who'd just returned from her heroics in Sudan. Harry wanted to keep remodeling the barbecue joint he'd just purchased from Skinny Bumpers so he could meet his target opening date. So it was just me and Hilda.
I got to the beach at Lake Erie just as the sun burst over the horizon. The wind was brisk. Waves lapped lazily ashore. And the steady breeze carried the invigorating scents of aquatic life and distant places. I watched as a seagull glided effortlessly on wind currents, dipped every few seconds from side to side, caught a new current, and floated steadily upward. A huge fish leaped out of the lake, flipped onto its side, and landed back in the water with a loud splash.
From behind me, Hilda said, “Good morning!”
I spun around and had to catch my breath. She was beautiful, standing there in the new day's light and soaking up the morning like it was her nourishment. Her eyes were closed, her face lifted toward the sun, and her arms outstretched.
She opened her eyes wide, inhaled deep, then focused on me. “So!” she exclaimed. “What do you think of this fantastic morning God's given us?”
I shrugged, ambled closer, and joined Hilda as she stretched. “I guess it's cute; nothing special, but definitely cute.”
She stood straight, and looked hard at me. “You don't have much faith, do you?”
“I've got faith in myself.! If God expects the same, He needs to earn it.”
Hilda pursed her lips. “Denmark, He's not some cosmic clown who needs to impress you.” She shook her head and said, “Describe everything you've done this morning.”
“I got up, got dressed, and came down here.”
“And in doing all of that, what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
She exhaled a huff like an exasperated teacher trying to reason with a determinedly dim student. “Did you feel the morning chill?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see and hear the waves?”
“Yes,” I answered, getting irritated.
“Did you see the sky fill with the sun's brightness?”
“Yes! What's this got to do with anything?”
Hilda stepped toward me. “Are you mentally sound?”
“Of course I am.”
“And are you physically healthy?”
“You can see that for yourself.”
“And did you just draw a breath?”
“C'mon, Hilda, why don't you just get to the point?” I snapped.
She sighed. “I'm happy and sad for you, Denmark.”
“Why?” I asked, annoyed at the pity in her tone.
“I'm happy that God showed Himself to you this morning, and sad that you chose not to see Him.”
Then she turned and jogged away. I caught up with her, and she broke into a full-striding run, staying ahead of the wind and leaving me behind. Angry energy pumped into my legs, and I surged past Hilda. Three hundred yards later I was resting and waiting for her at our designated finish line.
It's time to tap into that angry energy now. The 4×100 teams are all lined up in each of the track's eight lanes. Everyone's poised, primed, and ready. A pistol fires, and Harry blasts out of the starting blocks. He powers into the lead and hands off to Gordon. Gordon drops the baton. Runners blow past. He recovers, churns down the track, and hands off to Hilda. Runners blitz toward their anchormen, who wait anxiously with me. Hilda runs them down like a lioness chasing goats. She hands off to me. I blitz across the finish line in first place.
We're jubilant. I pick Hilda up, spin her around, and set her down in time for Harry to grab us both and squeeze us into a mighty group hug. “You two are the best!” he joyously yells.
Gordon finishes signing autographs for a flock of his fans and hurries to join us. It's like old times, and I feel good—until I remember: one of these bastards is screwing my wife
Twenty minutes later, the glad-handing and back-slapping is coming to an end. The official city representative, Deputy Mayor Vicente Valdez, gives his parting words.
“Now remember, everyone,” he booms into the microphone, “the victory banquet will be next Saturday evening, exactly one week from today, in the Perry Ballroom at the beautiful Lake Shore Gardens Hotel.”
A cheer erupts from the crowd. Deputy Mayor Valdez gestures for quiet and continues. “At that time we'll celebrate these marvelous athletes by handing out trophies and cash prizes. See you there!”
The crowd answers with another cheer. News crews pack up. The congested bleachers thin out. The sexily muscled captain of the first-place tug-of-war team jogs over. “Hey, you all,” she calls. “A bunch of us are going out for some food and drinks. How about joining us?”
“I'm for it!” Gordon quickly answers.
“Count me in!” Harry enthusiastically agrees. “We ain't gotta wait till next week to have a victory banquet.”
I look at Hilda. I'd planned on following her down to the beach to join Lucille at a family reunion.
“What about Harry and Gordon?” Hilda had asked. “They're part of the team. Won't they want to do something afterward?”
I still haven't told her of my suspicions regarding them, nor of Harry's suspicions regarding Gordon. We may be a 4×100 relay team, but we're less and less a crew.
“They're married,” I'd responded. “Their wives will help them celebrate.”
And maybe they would, if Alice was back in the country, and Inez wasn't so ready to break Harry's neck. But Alice won't be back until Saturday, when she and I are scheduled to “talk.” And I've kept Inez off balance, feeding her just enough misinformation to drive her nuts as she wonders about Harry's alleged infidelity.
Hilda arched an eyebrow and shrugged. “Okay,” she'd said cautiously. “You've known them longer than I have, so if it's okay with you it's okay with me.”
We beg off the invitation but urge Harry and Gordon to have a good time. Gordon, already eyeing the tug-of-war captain, waves a quick good-bye and scampers off to join her. Harry's telling his new best friends (and potential customers) about his rib shacks.
Hilda and I start for the parking lot and our separate vehicles. I would've ridden with her but had to be at the track several hours early to man a booth for Speed Shift Auto Parts, one of the Sports Challenge's sponsors.
We're talking and laughing when I look up and see Mason Booker standing between my Corvette and his black-on-black Cadillac CTS. I gasp and stop cold.
“Do you know him?” Hilda asks, eyeing Mason warily.
I nod. “He's a friend.”
“He doesn't look happy to see you. And you,” she looks at me, “don't look too thrilled to see him.”
“We've got business,” I state flatly.
I step off briskly for Mason. Hilda calls after me, but I'm focused on Mason. His jaw is set, and his lips are pressed into a taut thin line. He's wearing dark shades and shoes, and a dark suit, shirt, and tie. He stands tall and grim.
I take a few more long strides, and we're face to face. “Nice race,” says Mason with a slight drawl. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Do you have something for me?”
He clenches his jaw. “You ain't gonna like it.”
Powerful streams of cool air blast out the dash vents of Mason's Cadillac, but I'm burning up. Mason pulls a large brown business envelope from his door's side pocket. “ Ah've got photos of
the guys who've been with your wife,” he says.
Time slows. The world slants sideways. Everything fades to gray. Mason's talking. Nothing's coming out. He gestures at me in slow motion. Worry lines etch his forehead. “Denmark?” he shouts. “Are you okay? Ah said that ah've got…”
“I heard you!” I snap, shaking my head clear. “Are you telling me that she's been sleeping with more than one?”
“Two, to be exact,” he confirms, sighing. “Ah'm sorry, man. Ah was gonna try and break it to you easy, but this info stinks no matter how you get it.”
His hand trembles as he hands me the envelope. I stare at it for an eternal moment. Just like the night when Sierra and I fought, memories whiz through my brain, every touch we ever shared, every word we ever spoke, every smile we exchanged, every tender moment we cherished.
“It's all in there, Denmark: pictures, phone records, hotel receipts …”
I grab the envelope, tear it open, and pull out the proof. Reality smashes me in the nose. Life's steel-toed boot kicks me in the balls. I can't tear my eyes from the pictures: Sierra and Harry, hugging in a parking lot; Sierra and Gordon, kissing in a rainstorm; Sierra and Harry, staring lovingly into each others’ eyes at a restaurant; Sierra and Gordon holding hands in a park; Sierra and Harry in a cab, sitting close and snuggly; Sierra and Gordon, kissing in front of an open window; Sierra smiling softly as Harry runs his fingers through her hair.
I scan the phone records. Call after call after call. The same numbers, over and over, Harry and Sierra, Sierra and Harry, Gordon and Sierra, Sierra and Gordon.
And the hotel receipts—the Hilton, Marriott, Lake Shore Gardens, Aristocrat, Wyndham Heights, Blake-more, Stouffer's Towers, the Chester, the Ascot, and more. Room service, adult movie orders, in-room cash bars …
The evidence falls from my hands into a heap on the floor. Mason, speaking softly and tentatively, says, “Denmark …”
“Leave—me—alone!”
He gulps, opens his door, and gets out.
FORTY
It's 9:51 on Sunday morning. I'm still dressed in the sports clothing I wore during the 4×100 relay, and I'm driving back from Chicago. How did I get to Chicago? Why'd I even come here? I can't remember how long I've been, or what I've seen along the way. Mason's evidence left me shocked, numb, and vacant. I sat for a long time in his car. I sat for a long time in mine. But I don't know when I got on the road or why I came in this direction. All I know is that everyone I've trusted over the past five years has stabbed me in the back!
My cell phone beeps. The display indicates that five messages have been added to my voice mailbox. When did I get five messages?
I grab the phone and start checking them. One is from Alice. She'll be arriving in Cleveland this coming Saturday morning, but she still wants to meet with me before the victory banquet on Saturday evening.
“I'm looking forward to our … talk,” she says.
I'm looking forward to it also. After seeing what Mason collected, I've got plenty to say, and I'm going to put my message to her, over and over! Gordon will hear her thrilled screams of understanding from miles away.
Next is Harry's message, asking to camp out at my house for a few days. “Inez is goin’ crazy!” he nervously complains. “I don't know what's got into her.”
What's gotten into her is the information I've been feeding her. It's been just enough to further poison her suspicions. When she sees the pictures Mason took she'll be ready for the next thing that gets into her: me
One message is from Gordon. “That Hilda's a greyhound. Keep her happy so she'll run with us again next year.”
There'll be no next year. And speaking of Hilda, the other messages are from her: “Denmark, where are you? It's getting late.” “Denmark, what did that man say to you?”
I punch her numbers and wait. Hilda's answering machine activates, and I leave a message. “Hilda, I'm sorry about yesterday. If you feel like talking, I've got something to show you that'll fully explain. Later.”
I hang up. The phone rings. I answer fast. “Hello!”
“I'm going to recommend your case to another attorney,” Hilda declares. “His name is Belton Goodrich. He's competent and …”
“Hilda, wait! I … ”
“He'll do a good job for you.”
“Hilda, just hear me out. I … ”
“I waited for you at Lucille's family reunion for hours, worrying that something had happened to you when you met with that man after the race. I called repeatedly, and you ignored me. I can't work with someone who doesn't respect me enough to return my phone calls, Denmark, so … ”
“Hilda, please! I'm truly sorry. But I've got something that will help you understand. I promise!”
There's a slight thaw in a brief subzero silence. “I'm attending a church program with Lucille this afternoon. I'll be back by five P.M. Be here on time, or don't come at all.”
I start to assure her that I'll be there with minutes to spare, but she's hung up.
Hilda sits beside me on her couch, staring wide-eyed at the photographs. “Oh my God,” she says softly, her voice laden with shocked disbelief.
She looks at me. Her eyes are filled with utter, profound sadness. “Denmark, I'm so sorry.” She looks back at the pictures, receipts, and phone records, trying to make sense of it all. “This is simply awful.” She takes my hand. “And they were your friends.”
I glare at the evidence. “She was my wife.”
Hilda rubs my back in slow massaging circles. “With all this documentation, we shouldn't have any trouble getting an agreeable settlement.”
“That's not good enough,” I rumble.
Hilda's brow knots in confusion. “What are you saying? With what's here, all your wife's lawyer can do is ask what terms you prefer.”
“I want more.” I swallow hard, choking down the stew of emotions bubbling in my throat. “They took more than material possessions. They took my life. They robbed me of everything that meant anything to me.” I get up and start pacing. “They've got to feel pain. I want them to choke on it!”
“Denmark, calm down … ”
“Every second of every day for the rest of their miserable lives,” I fume, balling and unballing my fists. “I want them to feel what they've given me.”
“Denmark, I told you that I won't use the law as a weapon.”
“I'm not asking you to!” I snap loudly. “Besides, this is beyond the law. The law is too weak and corrupt to give me what I need.”
Hilda stands and blocks my path. “And what is it you need?” she demands to know.
“I need justice!” I boom. “I want them to suffer!”
She plants a firm palm in the center of my chest. “You're lying!” she accuses. “You're not looking for justice but for revenge. The only person who'll get hurt is you.”
“They're going to hurt more!”
“Please don't do this!”
I grab her firmly by the shoulders. “Why are you protecting them?” I blast. “You're getting paid. Just do your damn job!”
Seconds drag by as an ugly, pained silence invades the room. Hilda's eyes narrow, and she shakes herself loose from my grip. “Is that what you think?” she asks, her voice trembling. “Do you think you're just another client to me? I thought we were friends.”
My insides wilt. “Hilda, I can't let them get away with this. I can't just let them walk.”
She sits back down and exhales a deep soul-wounded sigh. “Denmark, just listen for a moment. I was still in law school,” Hilda begins. “His name was Addison Marker, and we were going to be married. Then she showed up.”
Hilda sounds remorseful. But when she said “she” her voice pulsed with a surge of anger. “Felicity Beal was her name,” Hilda continues. “She knew Addison and I were engaged, but she took him anyway.”
“Nobody could've taken your fiancé or my wife without their consent,” I interject.
Hilda cuts angry eyes at me, and I shut up. “I hate
d them,” she explains, “especially Felicity. She'd always had everything and could've had any man she wanted, but she went after mine.”
I sit down beside her and speak softly. “Then you understand why I've got to do this.”
Hilda's eyes bore into me. “Oh yes, I refused to let Felicity have Addison, and I wanted her to know my pain.”
She sobs softly but keeps talking. I try to hug her, but she pushes me away. “No, Denmark,” she admonishes.
“I need you to listen. I took out a school loan and hired a high-priced call girl to seduce Addison. She did and gave me the audio recording of them together. Months later, he and Felicity moved into an apartment and had a housewarming party. I showed up unannounced with the help of a girlfriend of mine.”
She balls her hands tight together in her lap. “I played the tape. People were horrified. Addison was busted, Felicity was shattered, and I got even.”
I suppress a smile of relief and merely say, “And that's all I want.”
She places her hand tenderly over mine. “The call girl had AIDS.”
My jaw drops.
“Addison passed it on to Felicity. He's dead. She's dying.”
I swallow a lump. “She's the one you're always visiting at that hospice?”
She nods, takes my face into both her palms, and pulls me close. “I live every day with what I did, Denmark. I've prayed to be freed of the guilt, but it stays. Don't do this to yourself, or to them.”
I gently pull Hilda's hands away from my face, hold them with tender tightness, and speak softly but emphatically. “Hilda, can't you understand? If I don't do something about this I'll be living with that every day.”
She shakes her head with slow, profound sadness. “You don't have the capacity to reap what you're about to sow.”
I'm in the Corvette and peeling out of her driveway when she rushes outside and calls after me.
FORTY-ONE
It's Wednesday, and three weeks to the day since I first saw Sierra on that DVD with Mr. X. Twenty-one days. Five hundred four hours. And now, just like Harry and Gordon have changed my world, it's time to change theirs, starting with Harry.
Other Men's Wives Page 23
