Afterwards

by Nia Forrester

  Just as he was about to return to her, someone touched his shoulder. A woman. Involuntarily, Robyn sat up, paying closer attention. Chris looked at the woman whose back was to Robyn, his face a mask of exasperation and then they exchanged words. Words that looked angry. Wearing a blouson-top mini-dress in fuchsia with tight skirt and sky-high heels, the woman reached out and touched his shoulder. Chris looked at her hand as though it offended him and she quickly withdrew it, saying a few more words to him before walking away.

  When he returned to Robyn, he was still scowling.

  “Everything okay?” she asked as he handed her a drink.

  “Nah. Sheryl’s here with her usual BS.”

  “Oh,” Robyn said. “Sorry.” She didn’t ask what Sheryl’s “usual BS” was because she didn’t want to know.

  Chris shook his head. “We’re not staying long anyway.”

  While Chris did his walkabout, Robyn people-watched. She was beginning to feel a little better now that she had taken a load of for a few moments, and had just turned to tell Tiny—who was next to her by the sofa like a sentry standing guard—that she was going to check out some of the appetizers that were being passed around when a shadow loomed above her. Looking up, Robyn’s face opened up into an involuntary smile.

  29

  “Curtis.”

  He smiled back, and behind the smile was a little sheepishness. And then Robyn remembered. And in remembering, she reined in the enthusiasm a little, controlling her smile so that it was not quite so wide. The last time they spoke he was accusing her of “fucking” Chris out of ambition and some kind of vendetta against him. Hardly the kind of conversation that merited her throwing her arms about him. But it was hard not to feel the tiniest of connections toward someone who’d been such an important part of her life for so long. It had taken almost a year to stop wanting to call him when she saw something that reminded her of a time they’d shared—a trip, a party, a private joke.

  “Rob,” he said, nodding. “How’re you doing?”

  Robyn stood, and Curtis’ eyes fell to her burgeoning middle. He swallowed and blinked twice, pursing his lips and nodding.

  “I heard rumors,” he said. “But I thought it was just . . . rumors. So it’s true, huh? You’re expecting.”

  Robyn nodded.

  Standing there, with the man who just two short years ago she thought she would spend her life with, whom she had known since she was a teenager, and filling him in on her new life during a party was surreal. God, how things could change in the blink of an eye.

  “You look beautiful, Rob.” He reached up as though to touch her hair and then withdrew, seemingly thinking better of it. “Really pretty.”

  “How’s Natalie? The . . . baby?”

  “Great. We’re all good.”

  “Did you do it?” she asked. “I mean, I know you two were planning to get married.”

  “No, we’re holding off for a little bit,” Curtis said shaking his head. “She wants something big and I’m . . . I already had a big wedding, y’know? So . . .”

  “But it would be her first,” Robyn pointed out, shocked to hear herself say anything whatsoever in support of the woman who had been an interloper in her marriage. But she honestly felt no animosity toward her now. Natalie had been a catalyst, that was all—setting into motion something the inevitable break-up of her already flawed marriage.

  “Yeah, I guess. And there’s the whole cost factor too, of course,” Curtis added. And then he shook his head looking down at her stomach again. “Anyway, I can’t get over . . . this.”

  He reached out and Robyn instinctively stepped back, mildly alarmed at the idea of Curtis touching her pregnant belly. Reading her expression, he lowered his hand.

  “It was a surprise,” Robyn said. “As you might imagine. Given . . .”

  “Yeah. I guessed as much.” His eyes became a little sad, almost clouded over. “So I failed you yet again, huh? I mean, someone else was able to . . .”

  Surprised, Robyn touched him on the shoulder. “Oh my god, Curtis, no. You shouldn’t think of it like that.”

  “How else should I think of it?”

  “I thought I failed you,” Robyn admitted. “And that that’s why, you . . .”

  “It was never that,” Curtis said, shaking his head, his eyes squinting as though pained. “If not being able to have a baby together was our only problem, Rob, we would have grown old and stayed together for the rest of our lives.”

  Robyn nodded. “There was a lot I didn’t see.”

  “Me too,” Curtis said.

  And for a while they just looked at each other. There was a lot more they could say, but they seemed to reach a silent agreement that it no longer mattered enough to be said. What did matter was that despite the unpleasantness that had passed between them in their last conversation, neither of them was angry anymore. It no longer seemed out of the question that one day, they might even see past everything enough to be friends again.

  “So,” Curtis said, breaking the silence. “I owe you thanks. Jamal tells me that our latest deal might never have gone through if you hadn’t called off your man.”

  But this last piece was said with amusement, as though he appreciated and respected that Chris was her man, as though he’d made his peace with it, just as she’d made her peace about him and Natalie.

  “Curtis, that’s one thing I have to clear up. I never told Chris to do anything about that first deal. I had no idea that . . .”

  Curtis put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed it. “Doesn’t matter. If I were in his position, I might have done the same thing. Look . . . my artist, the kid Jamal is working with now? She’s about to go onstage in a few minutes. You want to come have a look-see with me?”

  Robyn looked about the room, searching for Chris. “Ahm . . .”

  “It’s okay if you can’t,” Curtis said quickly. “Just thought you might.”

  “No, I do. Let’s go. But I have to . . .”

  Robyn turned to Tiny and explained that she was about to go back down to the floor to watch someone perform and he nodded. “Okay, let’s go,” he said.

  Robyn paused. “No, I meant . . . You don’t have to come with me, do you?”

  Tiny smiled. “Yes, Miss Crandall, I’m afraid I do.”

  Robyn shrugged. It was probably better that he did come, anyway, since Chris was probably not going to be too tickled by the idea of her going off alone with Curtis, even in her obviously-with-child state. Probably because of her with-child state.

  “I should probably find Chris first anyway,” Tiny added. “Just to be sure.”

  “I don’t need his permission to go down to the floor, Tiny,” Robyn said, shooting an embarrassed glance in Curtis’ direction.

  “I get that, but I couldn’t leave here, take you to another location and not let my employer know,” Tiny said, smiling at her. “I’m sure you understand.”

  Sighing, Robyn nodded. “Okay. Find him and let him know. I’ll wait here.”

  When Tiny walked away, she turned to Curtis, her face hot. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been out with Chris and the bodyguard, but I’m sure it’s no problem.”

  “So that’s how it is, huh? You were never one to let a man tell you what to do before,” Curtis observed.

  “He doesn’t tell me what to do. I tell him what I’m about to do. It’s part of being considerate of each other,” Robyn said, beginning to rethink her decision to spend any more time in Curtis’ company.

  “Sounds like the same difference to me,” Curtis mumbled.

  “So who’s the artist you and Jamal are working on together?”

  “Young girl who looks like Britney Spears but raps like Eminem.”

  Robyn laughed. “Oh . . . wow. And that would play well with which demographic?”

  Curtis laughed with her. “Hell if I know. That’s why I need someone like Jamal Turner working with her. That’s his expertise, right? Developing artists? By the time he’s done with her, she
might be singing country for all I know about this stuff.”

  “And tonight’s the first time you’re going to see her perform?”

  “In front of a live audience, yeah.” He consulted his watch. “So . . . you coming, or not?”

  “Not.”

  Robyn spun and found herself facing Chris, and behind him was Tiny, his expression both resigned and apologetic.

  “Chris,” Curtis said. He stood up a little straighter, squared his shoulders and extended a hand.

  Chris ignored it. “As much as I think Robyn wants to be supportive of your little venture with this new artist, I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to be down there in that crowd in her condition.”

  Robyn opened her mouth but found she couldn’t speak. She’d heard of women being in this position, where two men practically dueled over her. As a concept is sounded like it would be flattering. But Chris talking about her as though she wasn’t even there, was not flattering, it was humiliating.

  “From what I know—and I know her very well—Robyn could always take care of herself,” Curtis returned.

  “And take care of you too from what I hear,” Chris said. He took a step forward and Robyn stood in his path, resting a hand gently on his chest.

  “Curtis, you should go before you miss it,” she said, speaking over her ex-husband’s attempt at a retort.

  For a minute, both men stared at each other, until Curtis seemed to decide—wisely—that between them, he was the one who had more to lose by creating a conflict. But he couldn’t resist a parting shot, by leaning in and kissing the side of Robyn’s face, low on her cheek, at her jaw and near her neck. The gesture was a reminder that at one time, kissing her in that way had been his habit, and his right.

  “See you ‘round, Rob,” he said. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  When he was gone, Robyn braved a look at Chris. He didn’t look back at her. Robyn mentally prepared her talking points. But she didn’t need them.

  “Just give me another half hour,” he said. “Then I’ll be ready to go.”

  Before she could puzzle over this, Robyn’s back gave a sudden, resounding throb, like a muscle had rolled in on itself, twisting into a bunch like someone wringing out a washcloth. Gasping, she slowly lowered herself onto the sofa and sitting very still, concentrated on riding out the discomfort. It was too early in her pregnancy for Braxton-Hicks cramps, so this was something else. Dr. Shayk told her to expect twinges and sometimes stiffness as her ligaments stretched, preparing her body for the changes to come.

  Nothing to be concerned about, she’d assured her. But if you feel anything that resembles pain, you must go to the hospital at once.

  Trying to decide whether this qualified as ‘pain’, Robyn took a cleansing breath and leaned back. The slight pressure of a sofa cushion in an area just above her lower back felt good. She let herself relax into the seat, her shoulders dropping as the need to brace herself against another throb subsided. Pregnancy massage. That was all she needed. A trained and qualified masseuse who would know exactly where the pressure points were, to produce maximum relief.

  “Are you okay?”

  Robyn noticed the legs first, sleek and shapely, shiny and smooth with some kind of sparkly moisturizer on them. And then she looked up.

  Oh God, not now.

  Sheryl. But she was smiling, a sweet smile, her eyes kind. Instinctively, Robyn smiled back and Sheryl extended a hand which she took, holding and shaking it briefly. Sheryl had the long, manicured nails of a woman who had no expectation of having to do anything resembling work with her hands, not even typing on a computer keyboard.

  “Hi,” she said. “You must be . . .”

  “Robyn.” It was only once she’d said her name that it occurred to her that Sheryl might not have known it.

  “I’m Sheryl,” she said sitting. “Chris’ son’s mother?”

  “Yes, I know,” Robyn said. “I was at your wedding as a matter of fact. With Chris.”

  “You were?” Sheryl leaned her head to one side as though surprised. “That day, girl, I was so discombobulated, I bet I never noticed half of who might showed up.”

  Robyn offered a small smile, not knowing what else to do, or say. Something inside her was on alert. There was something about Sheryl’s manner, and her tone that was less than sincere. She had an agenda, and it was not that she wanted to make nice for the sake of it.

  “So I see you’re about to . . .” Sheryl looked down at Robyn’s abdomen. “. . . make Chris a daddy again.”

  Robyn gave the same smile, saying nothing.

  “I never thought he wanted more babies,” Sheryl said shaking her head. “I mean, you know how dudes don’t wan’ get snipped? I think he would do it. If he thought of it.”

  Playing with the hem of her very short dress, Sheryl surveyed her nails and then looked about the room as though searching—or on the lookout—for someone.

  “Funny thing about him,” Sheryl continued, “is that he ain’t exactly a planner. I mean, you would think he would be, right? Being all rich and successful and e’rything, but he ain’t. He just . . . react to shit.”

  And there it was—the pivot from friendly to hostile.

  “So how’d you all meet?” Sheryl asked, and her tone was like someone asking who let the dog track its muddy footprints through the house. This time she looked directly, pointedly at Robyn.

  The idle meandering comments were easy enough to ignore but it was more difficult to disregard a direct question. Giving in to her innate politeness, Robyn decided to answer.

  “We have mutual friends,” she said.

  “Oh yeah? Who?”

  And when she hesitated, Sheryl shook her head. “Don’t matter. He do get around, don’t he?”

  Robyn glanced over at Tiny who was watching her with Sheryl. Standing there with his arms folded in front of him, at first he looked like someone who might have been daydreaming, but Robyn saw that he was making very deliberate eye-contact with her, asking without words whether she wanted him to intervene. With the barest shake of the head, she looked at Sheryl again.

  “Anyway, it was great meeting you, Sheryl,” she said.

  “Was it?” Sheryl asked in that same sweet voice. “I don’t know if I would feel the same way if I was you.”

  Robyn, despite herself, looked at her curiously, waiting for her to go on. She had a feeling that this was where she would find out a little about what Chris called Sheryl’s “usual BS.”

  “See, I been knowin’ Chris for almost seventeen years,” Sheryl said, playing with her earring, ostensibly to make sure it was still fastened correctly. “And we have a very . . . intimate relationship. I might, if I was you, feel some kinda way, being as how we still have that intimate relationship?”

  This was where another woman might have gotten jealous, or suspicious, but Robyn was not. Not even a little bit. She knew Sheryl was lying, and that at least since he’d been with her, Chris had not been “intimate” with Sheryl. She didn’t know how she knew, she just did. That wasn’t what troubled her. What troubled her was that in having a baby with Chris, she was having a sibling for Deuce, Sheryl’s son. And that would involuntarily invite this kind of messy confrontation into her life. That there were women who viewed her as a rival, and who would be motivated to sow the seeds of discord between her and Chris hardly came as a surprise. Most of them would be no more than annoyances, but Sheryl could not be dismissed because as Chris’ son’s mother, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Robyn glanced over at Tiny again, of half a mind to have him come remove Sheryl. But that would be taking the coward’s way out. If she was going to have to deal with this woman again, she would have to let her know right now, Robyn Crandall was not going to roll over.

  “Chris can barely stand the sight of you, Sheryl,” she said matter-of-factly. “But I was willing to pretend otherwise for the sake of maintaining cordial relations. And now you’ve shown me that I shouldn’t bother.”

  Sher
yl looked surprised, but not displeased. In fact, the response seemed to energize her. Her eyes brightened, like a cartoon villain who is about to say something like, ah, finally, a worthy opponent! But Sheryl didn’t have that kind of finesse.

  “Oh, so it’s like that, bitch?” she asked sweetly.

  Robyn smiled. “Yeah, it’s like that.”

  Sheryl leaned back in her seat and nodded. “So you and me gon’ get into it, huh?” She chuckled, as though someone had just delivered some very exciting news. “You have a good night.”

  Standing and smoothing her skirt, she turned on her heel and left. As soon as she was gone, Robyn exhaled. Sheryl didn’t scare her. She had been a scrappy little thing herself in junior high, getting into a few fights with other girls in before her mother laid down the law and told her that was no way for a “proper young lady” to act. The Sheryls of the world loved to tussle. Be it with the men in their life, or with other women, they never felt quite right about themselves unless they were in the fray, fighting for any or no reason at all. She understood them but that didn’t mean she was equipped to accept that one of those women would be part of her life, even by distant association.

  Though it would do her well to remember that Sheryl wasn’t actually in her life; she was in Chris’ life; and the two were not one and the same.

  Robyn concentrated only on the throb at the base of her back as it waxed and waned and for the next twenty minutes. Tiny brought her another drink and she considered getting up to find Chris, or something to eat, whichever came first, but eventually decided against it, not wanting to risk someone else coming and taking her comfortable place on the sofa.

  When Chris finally resurfaced, his brow was knitted and his lips pursed. Extending a hand to her as he approached, he nodded at Tiny to let him know they were ready to leave. Too relieved to inquire after where he’d been or what took him so long, Robyn rose from her place on the sofa immediately and took his hand, following him out of the party. The route they took to leave the venue was different from the one they’d taken coming in. Apparently there was some private super-secret entrance that the really important people were privy to, because when they got to the door that led out to the street, there were other bigwigs waiting there for cars and drivers. While Tiny went to fetch theirs, neither of them spoke.