“Ooh …”
Q grabbed her hips and pumped harder, faster.
“Yes, yes!” Again, Candace’s orgasm was intense. She began to cry from the pleasure.
“Ooh, yeah, cry over this good dick, girl.” Q slowed down, pulled out to the tip, plunged in, and repeated.
“Oh, baby, there are no words …”
“We ain’t through. I’m just getting started.”
“I can’t, baby. I’ve got to go.”
“I want some more of this.” Q’s stamina was legendary, his sexual prowess hard to refuse.
Candace complied when he lifted her to a kneeling position, straddled the bench, and plunged right in. Soon she was mewling once again, in the throes of ecstasy.
After another twenty minutes, Q neared his peak. “You want me to come for you, baby?”
“Yes, oh yes!” Candace didn’t even want to think about what time it was.
“You want me to come inside you?”
Oh, hell no! Even though Q was wearing a condom and Candace felt she was practically through menopause, the thought of anyone but Adam releasing inside her almost made her go dry. “Pull out, baby,” she said at last. “Come for me.”
She took a hot shower. Candace’s legs were still a bit wobbly as she walked to her car. Q was always good, but today he’d been exceptional. He’d sexed her hard and long, just the way she liked it. If only Adam had his stamina and size. Candace felt guilty for even thinking such a thing. Adam was a caring husband. He loved her the best way he could and didn’t deserve her unfaithfulness. “I’ve got to end this,” she muttered. And I’ll end it … just not today.
Once buckled up inside the car, Candace fired up her phone. There were several missed calls, including one from Adam. I’ll see what he wants when I get home. She put on her headset, tapped Diane’s name on her cell phone, and pulled out of the parking lot as Diane answered.
“Where are you?” Diane said. “All of the women are here, and we’re ready to begin.”
“I’m on my way,” Candace said, searching her mind for a lie that might work, hoping she wouldn’t need it.
“What held you up?”
Q’s nine-inch pole. “Traffic. There was an accident. I’m only about ten minutes away and—Ow!”
“What’s wrong? “Uh, it’s nothing.”
“Let me get off the phone so you can pay attention to the road. Hurry and get over here but drive safely.”
Candace disconnected the call and gripped the wheel. She tried to dismiss what she felt, but, no, there it was again—an intense itchy feeling inside her vagina. Candace squirmed, adjusted her pants, and tried to quell the feeling. She’d meant to go to her doctor, get an antibiotic for the yeast infection but … “Oh, shit!” Candace swerved, almost hitting the car in the next lane.
Last night, she’d thought nothing of it, but now it all made sense—Adam’s burning, her itching, the discharge she’d assumed was from a yeast infection. Maybe this isn’t a yeast infection at all. Maybe it’s…. “Calm down, Candace,” she said aloud. “You always use condoms with Q.” Except for that one time, remember? Candace’s hand flew to her mouth. Oh, no, could it be? “No, it couldn’t be that. Please don’t let it be that.”
Candace tried to calm her nerves as she turned onto her sister-in-law’s street. She always praised Q on how he gave her good loving. Now she was praying that he hadn’t given her something else.
29
Adam pulled into the circular drive of their Victorian mansion, noted the immaculately landscaped lawn around him and Candace’s Mercedes parked directly ahead. He viewed these trappings of the good life dispassionately, as a myriad of thoughts whirled in his mind. He’d been conflicted since leaving the doctor’s office: anger, hurt, puzzlement warring for dominance. As with every challenge in his life, Adam decided to face this one head-on. He reached for the car door handle with a sure hand, gathered his briefcase with the other, and walked resolutely to the front door.
Candace’s heart began to pound rapidly when she heard the sounds of Adam’s hard-soled shoes clicking against the foyer’s marble floor. She’d rushed home after the meeting at Diane’s house and had been both surprised and relieved that Adam wasn’t there. She’d gone straight to the kitchen, relieved the cook, and started cooking. She’d chosen a sweet and spicy coating for the fried chicken this time, and along with navy beans, homemade coleslaw, and jalapeño corn bread, she had put together another Livingston favorite—a deep-dish apple cobbler.
She cocked her head to the side, listening for Adam’s footsteps. Noting the silence, Candace reasoned that he’d either gone up the stairs or into the den, both carpeted areas of their home. Should I call out to him? Maybe fix him a drink? Candace didn’t know what to do—whether to be proactive and go to him or feign ignorance of anything wrong and stay in the kitchen. She decided on the latter, opening the oven door and checking the food.
Her round ass bent over was the first thing Adam saw as he turned the corner. Unwanted thoughts flooded his mind as he noted its large plumpness, prominently displayed in a pair of fitted stretch pants.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked calmly from just inside the room. Just like that. Straight, no chaser. No greeting or preamble needed, and none given.
Candace whirled around. “Oh, baby, I didn’t hear you come in.” She took a step toward Adam, noted the scowl on his face and the tightness around his lips, and knew right then and there that the dinner she’d meticulously prepared would go uneaten. “What’s wrong?” It was not the question she’d planned to ask but one that came out of its own accord.
“That’s what I’m here to ask you, Candace. What’s wrong? Are you okay? Or is there something you want to tell me?” These last words were delivered even lower and more calmly than the first, as Adam walked into the room toward his wife.
Candace took a step back as her heart raced. She’d seen this demeanor from her husband before and knew what it meant—that he was highly upset and working with great effort to not go smooth off. It was a mood not often seen. The last time she had seen him like this was when a businessman had swindled Adam out of over a hundred thousand dollars.
Uh-oh. How do I handle this? What should I say? Think, Candace! She decided to play the ignorant card and not say more than she needed to, before she had to. “Adam, why are you upset? Did something happen at work?”
“No.” Adam stopped about a foot from Candace and put his hands on his hips. “Something happened after I left the office. After I stopped by James’s office and had him check out that little problem I mentioned last night.” He stopped but continued when Candace said nothing. “Are you going to stand here and act like you don’t know anything? Because as mad as I am right now, woman, you’d do well to not make me drag shit out of you.” Adam clenched and unclenched his hands.
Candace’s eyes widened as she noted the gesture. She swallowed hard but remained silent.
“Oh, cat’s got your tongue now? Nothing to say for yourself?”
“Adam, I …” Candace reached out a hand toward him. Adam flinched away. “Who have you been fucking?!” he bellowed.
Candace reared back as if struck. She may as well have been. In all the years they’d been married, Candace had never heard Adam yell the way he just did. Adam had never laid a hand on her in a violent way, but the thought that he could flitted across her mind. She took a step back, and then another. “Adam, I don’t know—”
“Don’t lie to me, Can. Don’t fuck somebody behind my back and then stand here and lie to my face. If you’re going to break our marriage vows after three muthafuckin’ decades, the least you can do is be honest about it. Who. Are. You. Fucking?”
Candace stood staring at the man who’d won her heart over thirty years ago, the father of her children, the man with whom she wanted to grow old. Adam was right. He didn’t deserve what she’d done, or her lies. Adam deserved the truth. Candace bowed her head and spoke barely above a whisper.<
br />
“Q.”
“Who?” Adam asked, taking another step toward her.
“M-my personal trainer,” Candace stuttered as she took another step back and bumped up against the large island in the middle of the kitchen. “It was only one time,” she continued in a rush. Technically, this was true. They’d only done it raw one time. “I didn’t mean to, Adam. I …”
“You didn’t mean to what, Candace? Cheat on me with some lowlife or give me the got-damn clap? Which one?”
Candace’s head shot up. “No!”
“You heard me. That diseased muthafucka you’re screwing is why my dick is itching and why it burns when I piss. You have gonorrhea, Can, and you passed it on to me!” Adam seared Candace with a scathing look, then whipped around and stormed out of the room.
“Adam, wait!” Candace began, hurrying behind him. “I can explain …”
“Don’t try and explain shit to me right now,” Adam said, quickly turning around to face her, his arm out to stop her progress. “And don’t come any closer, Candace. I mean it. I’ve passed up a boatload of pussy to stay faithful to you, and this is how you thank me? No. Don’t come to me and say another word. Matter of fact, you’d be wise to get your shit and get as far away from me as you can right now. Give me a chance to try and calm the fuck down. Because if I have to look at you a moment longer, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
30
Malcolm’s invention was still on Toussaint’s mind as he rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands. You pulled a fast one on us, brothah. Now I have to step up my game. The Livingston family competitiveness was legendary, and Toussaint now felt even more pressure to succeed on the Food Network show. Which was one of the reasons he was in his kitchen on a Thursday night.
Like most Livingston men, Toussaint loved to cook and was as at home in the kitchen as he was in the bedroom. As he placed vegetables and herbs on the prep table and set out appropriate bowls, knives, and other cooking utensils, he was reminded of how little time he’d had to cook lately, and how much he missed it. Preparing for a potential show on the Food Network gave him the perfect excuse to stand behind a stove, as did his dinner guest.
It hadn’t quite been a week since the dinner with Alexis, where she’d broken down about her father. They’d talked for two more hours—about fears, hopes, and dreams—and had had brief phone conversations during what had been a busy week for both of them. Tonight was the first chance they’d had to see each other since then, and Toussaint was preparing a small feast. He wanted everything to be perfect.
The smooth sounds of Kem blended seamlessly into those of Blu Cantrell, Corinne Bailey Rae, and other neosoul artists as Toussaint prepped his vegetables. He’d decided to try out some of the health-conscious, upscale soul food he planned to feature on the menu at the West Coast Taste location and on his network show: sautéed greens with tomato and fennel, black-eyed peas and arugula salad, wild rice, and baked mahi-mahi with a barbeque glaze. He planned to serve the entrée with spicy corn bread but would make sure that Alexis left room for dessert—maple-glazed yams in a puffed pastry.
He’d just removed the fish from the oven when the doorbell rang. He smiled, and there was a pep in his step as he walked through the dining room, quickly lit the candles in the living room, and continued to the front door.
The seductive greeting he’d planned died on his lips as he looked out the peephole. “Mama?” he asked after opening the door. “What are you doing here?” He then noted the carry-on next to her. WTH? “Mama, what’s going on?”
“I’ve messed up, son.” Candace stepped forward, and Toussaint quickly stepped aside for her to enter his home. “Your mother has screwed up royally, and I don’t know if this problem can be fixed.”
Toussaint watched, dumbfounded, as his mother passed him and walked into his living room. She plopped down on the couch and put her head in her hands. It was her first visit since he’d had the house decorated, yet she said nothing. It was as if she hadn’t noticed. Toussaint’s concern increased exponentially. Something was very, very wrong.
He walked over to the couch and sat beside her. “Mama, what is it? What’s wrong?”
When Candace looked up, her eyes shined with tears. “It’s me and your dad, son. We had a fight.”
“Daddy hit you?” Toussaint asked incredulously.
“No, but I may have felt better if he had. I deserve it.”
Toussaint’s mind raced with the possibilities of what could be wrong. He thought about Malcolm and the problems that Victoria’s pregnancy had created in their marriage. That couldn’t be the case with his mother, could it? Do women get pregnant at fifty-three? “Maybe a glass of wine will help,” Toussaint said as he rose from the couch. “Is merlot okay?”
“Thanks, Toussaint.”
Toussaint was almost to the bar area of his dining room when the doorbell rang again. Alexis. As Toussaint thought her name, he also remembered the food in the kitchen. He rushed to the kitchen and turned off the burners, and then hurried to the front door as sounds of light knocking pierced the stark quiet. Candace looked toward the door, and then around the room. Belatedly, she took in the lit candles, heard the light music playing, and noticed the huge transformation to her son’s home. Damn. I’m interrupting. She stood as Toussaint brought his guest into the living room.
“Mama, this is Alexis.” Toussaint’s introduction was perfunctory at best. He’d barely spoken to Alexis before pulling her inside the room, still reeling from the comment his mother had made.
“Hi,” Candace said dismissively. She reached for her luggage without waiting for Alexis to reply. “I shouldn’t have barged in here like this, son. I’m leaving.”
“Are you sure, Mama? You seem pretty upset.”
“I’ll be okay. Oh, and I like what you did to the house.”
“Alexis is an interior designer. This is her work.”
There was an awkward silence as Toussaint awaited his mother’s response. Since she had been a subscriber to Architectural Digest for years, he felt that even in her disheveled state, she’d be impressed with Alexis’s handiwork. If she was, she didn’t say it. Candace simply reached for her purse and walked to the door.
Toussaint followed her out. “Mama, what is this about?” he asked again after he’d shut the door. “What happened between you and Daddy?”
“Never mind, son. Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have come here and involved you in our personal affairs. Everything’s okay.” Candace said this, but she didn’t believe it.
“Is that why you’re rolling up in here with luggage, your eyes full of tears? And ignoring my guest? Because things are okay?”
Candace ignored his questions. “I’ll be staying at a hotel tonight. If you need me, call me on my cell.”
Toussaint watched his mother get in the elevator before slowly turning around and going back inside the penthouse.
Alexis still stood where he’d left her. “I’m sorry to have interrupted.”
“It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting her.”
“Is everything all right?”
That’s what Toussaint wanted to know. And after his mother had come to his home, ruined the seductive mood, and destroyed his appetite, he was determined to find out.
31
“That’s fucked up,” Ace said as he sat in his den, his expensive Cuban cigar burning unnoticed. He still couldn’t believe what his brother had just told him. “I’m sorry, man.”
Adam was in his library, nursing his third tumbler of cognac. He shifted the phone to his other ear. “I still can’t believe she cheated on me. I mean, I had no idea!” While calmer than two hours ago when he’d confronted Candace, Adam was still quite upset. “And with a nasty clap-carrying dog at that. What in the hell was she thinking?”
“She wasn’t thinking. That’s clear.” Ace paused. “Did she tell you who it was?”
“I could tell she didn’t want to, but yeah, she told me the sorry muthafucka’s name. It
’s that thug who owns the gym.”
“Her personal trainer?”
“Can you believe that shit? Here I’ve been blocking Joyce twenty ways from Sunday while that bitch has been taking her workout to a whole other level.”
Ace winced at the name Adam called his wife. He understood the anger but had never heard Adam call her that, not in over thirty years.
“I hope that muthafucka is worth what it’s getting ready to cost her.”
Ace sat up. “Now, man, I know you’re angry. This shit is beyond fucked up. But don’t do anything now that you’ll regret later, nothing that will cast a shadow on the business.”
“I don’t give a damn about the business right now!”
“Well, think about the Livingston legacy, then, about Mama and Daddy. God only knows how they’d react if they found out.”
“If? You mean when, don’t you? Man, I’m divorcing Candace as soon as my attorney can draw up the papers.”
Ace wisely held his tongue, knowing that his brother wasn’t in a place to hear reason. Ace thought about Diane and their sex life. Then he tried to imagine finding out that she’d given his good loving to someone else. He couldn’t even imagine it but felt that he’d probably feel the same way his brother did right now—ready to put her out of his house, and his life.
“Do me a favor, Adam,” he finally said. “Hold off on calling the attorney. Just for now, until after the business trip with Toussaint to LA I’m helping him prepare—the schedule is jam-packed until then. But once I get back, we’ll put our heads together and work this thing out.” Ace did have a hectic schedule, but more importantly, he wanted Adam to have a chance to calm down and think more rationally. “Twin … will you do that for me?”
Adam’s smile was bittersweet as he heard the endearment. It’s what most family members had called them and what they still called each other. “I don’t know about anything getting worked out, but yeah, I’ll wait until you get back from LA.”
32
All Up In My Business Page 13
