Temptation: The Aftermath

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  Inside I sighed. I needed that tsunami of good deeds.

  As the car slowed in front of the hospital, I glanced at my watch. “I’ll still be able to talk to the doctor.”

  “With time to spare,” she said as the car stopped and the driver jumped out to open the door curbside. Together, we thanked him, and I moved to the door of the hospital refreshed and with a renewed purpose. Jasmine stayed silent as we walked through the lobby into the elevator. Even though we were alone in the chamber, she still said nothing.

  When we stepped from the elevator, I almost bumped right into Dr. Reid.

  “Oh,” Jasmine and I said at the same time.

  The doctor stepped back, as if he were surprised to see me.“Mrs. Blake. I had to check on another patient and was going to come back, but if you have some time now ….”

  “Yes,” I told him. “I’m glad I caught you.”

  “Definitely perfect timing.” He led us from the elevator to the side of the nurse’s station. He looked around as if to assess if there would be listening ears. Then, he said, “I had a few questions about your husband’s medical history.” He tapped his tablet and when he looked up, his glance fell to Jasmine.

  She said, “I’ll be over there.”

  I nodded, and turned back to the doctor, but just as I did, I watched a woman ease out of one of the rooms. Was that Jefferson’s room?

  As the doctor droned on, I counted — one, two, three, four, fi e. Yes! That woman had come out of my husband’s room. I probably wouldn’t have noticed her — it was the hat that caught my attention. The big floppy hat and shades — on the fourth floor of a hospital. As if she were trying to be incognito and was too dumb to know that she drew more attention to herself.

  She took two steps our way, looked up, then, swiveled and went the other way.

  “Mrs. Blake?”

  My eyes and ears focused on the doctor. “I’m sorry, Doctor Reid.”

  But then, over his shoulder, I saw Jasmine rush behind the floppy-hatted woman, as if she were trying to catch her.

  My antenna shot straight up to ninety degrees, but I was torn — did I want to know what was going on with Jasmine and this woman — whoever she was? Or did I want to do everything I could to help my husband?

  I chose Jefferson, the way I would all day, every day.

  But as I tried to concentrate on the doctor’s words, my eyes kept wandering to that woman. And Jasmine. She’d caught up to her and now they stood at the end of the hallway, by the staircase. They knew each other, I was sure of that. It was the way they spoke. The two were too far away for me to hear anything, but I could see their gestures — familiar.

  All kinds of thoughts bombarded the walls of my mind: The police had asked me about a woman.

  Jasmine was a liar.

  A woman had been with Jefferson. Jasmine was a cheater.

  I wanted to do everything that I could to save my husband, but I was drawn to the drama playing out in front of me. It almost felt like this had something to do with saving Jefferson’s life.

  “Doctor Reid, I have to take care of something.”

  I hated that I walked away from the man who was trying to save my husband, but I felt as if this woman had something to do with all of this. I quickened my steps.

  The woman turned; her hat hung low across her face, so her eyes were hidden. But she stiffened when she saw me coming. Like before, she swiveled, pushed the door to the stairwell and disappeared.

  Jasmine stood there, but by the time I was within feet of her, she faced me.

  The look on her face made me want to do what the woman had just done. Made me want to turn and run away. But I stood my ground.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  If Jasmine wasn’t black, right now, she would have looked white. I was sure of it. Because it was like every bit of blood drained from her face. But even though she looked as if she’d just had an encounter with a ghost, her only answer to my question was, “Who?” That single word was like a punch to my gut. It was a one syllable lie and this was why our friendship could only be spoken about in past tense. “The woman who you were just speaking to.”

  “Oh … her.” A beat. “I … I don’t know.”

  “I saw her coming out of Jefferson’s room, Jasmine.” My voice had raised; my voice was tight. “Who is she?”

  Now, more than a beat passed. Jasmine’s eyes fluttered. “I don’t know.”

  My insides became a brewery for my anger. “You were talking to her. Don’t play with me.”

  “No, really, I don’t know.” She shook her head with every word that she spoke.

  For just a flicker of a second, it sounded like, it looked like she was telling the truth. Because of the way she looked right into my eyes, not flinching, just pleading.

  But since I knew her, I knew it was a performance because there was no truth within Jasmine. “You were talking to her.”

  Another beat. Another. Then, another. Then, Jasmine’s face went blank, now void of any expression. Except she had that look, that look where I could almost see the lies percolating inside of her.

  She said, “I don’t ….”

  Already I knew — that was the prologue to another lie and I held up my hand. If I wasn’t a woman of a certain age (and a certain class), I would have palmed her, smashed her face so hard that she would have been sniffing her brain.

  But really, all I wanted to do was to get away from her. I never wanted to hear another lie, never wanted to see another fake smile, never wanted to be around her again.

  I had tried to repair the irreparable and that was impossible.

  Turning, I stomped back down the hall. Dr. Reid was gone and that was fine. I’d catch up with him later. Right now, I had to protect my husband in another kind of way.

  I pushed the door to his room open and stomped inside. By the time I reached his bed side, I’d calmed down. By the time I held his hand, my heart had returned to its normal pace.

  “Hey, baby,” I said and kissed his forehead.

  But while my heart was now steady, my mind was not. I needed to get Jefferson away from here, back to Los Angeles where he would be away from all of this. Comatose patients could be transferred, I knew that. That was what I wanted to do with my husband because I had a feeling that he wouldn’t be safe until he was far away from Jasmine Cox Larson.

  After a few minutes, I walked to the door, peeked into the hallway and was relieved when there was no sign of Jasmine. Good! I’d half-expected her to follow me, but I guess even bad liars had good sense.

  I spotted the nurse who’d been taking care of Jefferson during the first shift. She smiled when I approached.

  “Good morning. I heard you got a chance to get away from here for a couple of hours.”

  “Yes,” I told her, though I didn’t return her smile. “Would you mind paging Doctor Reid? I need to speak to him.” Without waiting for a response, I half-turned to Jefferson’s room. But then, I faced her again and added, “Stat.” I paused. “Please.”

  chapter 11

  Jasmine

  A round me, Harlem sang and I cried. Tears may not have been rolling down my cheeks, but I was crying. And wondering — what had just happened?

  It was after nine now, yet New Yorkers rushed passed me, around me, dashing down the subway stairs as if somehow they could still make it to work on time. But even though I was bumped and nudged a couple of times, I kept my pace slow and steady because that was the only way I could keep my legs moving.

  Passing the Schomburg Center, I paused. Where was I going? All I knew was that I had to get away from the hospital — even for a little while. I had to get away from Kyla and that look. That look on her face that was a fusion of disbelief and disdain. That look that summarized all that Kyla thought of me. The only thing that was missing was the hate and I knew that if I’d stayed in that hospital, hate was not far away.

  I shook my head and once again, propelled forward, walking toward nowhere. I couldn’
t believe this happened. Kyla and I had made progress, but the few steps that we’d taken forward had just been washed away like footprints in the sand.

  Kyla had looked at me as if I were a liar. But how was I supposed to answer her questions? It wasn’t like I had any answers; I had far more questions now than I did before.

  The memory of my conversation with that woman made me take an extra breath, made me do more than just slow my steps. I had to stop in front of one of the stoops on 135th Street. I just stood there and remembered ….

  As I stepped away from Kyla and Dr. Reid, the door to Jefferson’s room opened and a woman eased out. She took a couple of steps toward us, then pivoted and tiptoed the other way. If she were trying not to be noticed, she had the wrong approach because it was hard to miss her. She’d stood out yesterday in the waiting room in her red hip-hugging dress and matching fascinator, and today, she did the same. Clearly, she had a penchant for those polyesterspandex blends that had been fashioned into dresses that caressed every bend and curve of a woman’s body. Because the dress she wore today was the same — same style, same fit, only blue. And today, it was accessorized with that ridiculous wide-brimmed hat that hid every part of her face, except for her lips that were painted the same shade as the dress she wore.

  It looked like she was actually trying to walk on her toes, truly tiptoe away, which had to be challenging in her stilettos. That was why once I started moving, I knew that I would catch her. Her stilettos were no match for my sneakers.

  Right before she reached the stairwell, I darted in front of her, covered the knob and blocked the door.

  Her head leaned back, so that now, in addition to her blue lips, I saw her nose and one eye. “Excuse me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Then, I asked,“ May I talk to you for a second?” The floppy hat quivered as she shook her head. “I’m really in a hurry and I don’t have anything to talk about since I have no idea who you are.”

  She tried to step around me, but I was that tree — now that she stood in front of me, I was not about to be moved.

  “Really?” She threw up her hands in exasperation. And with that gesture, her face was exposed. She was a beautiful woman … I’d noticed that yesterday, though she had caked on too much make-up, even for me.

  She was like the color yellow — not in terms of her skin-tone; clearly she was an African American woman. But it was like sun rays bounced from her. Her features looked almost sculpted, though the sculptor could have used a bit more collagen in her lips. Besides that, though, she was probably the perfect art model. Down the hall, I saw Kyla straining to look over the doctor’s shoulder, though he blocked most of her view. I wanted to drag the woman into the staircase so that Kyla wouldn’t see any of this, but I couldn’t take the chance of her getting into that space and then, getting away. Here, she couldn’t turn away from me. She couldn’t go in the other direction because if she did, she’d have to pass Kyla and I had a feeling that she didn’t want to do that.

  I angled my body just in case Kyla had taken a lip-reading class in the last twenty years and turned my attention back to the woman. “Look, I’m taking a big guess here, but I’m thinking you don’t want to make a scene. So, I’ll keep my voice down, if you tell me what I want to know.”

  She folded the brim of the hat back so that now, I could clearly see her. “What do you want?”

  A moment ago, I’d pegged her as an art model, but with her voice, I gave her a new profession. She could make major cash on one of those sex-after-dark phone lines.

  With her face in full view, I did my assessment in seconds. She was a woman who used every bit of what she had to get what she wanted. I didn’t have a single doubt — she could lure the most faithful of men.

  Is that what happened with Jefferson? Had she drawn Jefferson into her web and her bed?

  Another glance down the hall at Kyla — her eyes were still on me. My time was dwindling because I knew my friend. “How do you know Jefferson?” With my tone, I let her know that my question was a demand for answers.

  The woman folded her arms and in one second flat, she went from vamp to sistah. Her blue lips became duck lips before she said, “I have no idea who you’re talking about,” and her neck rolled with every syllable.

  “Don’t play dumb; I don’t have time to go through twenty questions with you,” I said. “This is what I know: you were here yesterday, you listened to my conversation with the doctor, and you were just coming out of Jefferson’s room. So … who are you?”

  She did those lips and rolled her neck again. “I wasn’t here yesterday and as far as coming out of the room, I was lost. I was in the right room, wrong floor.”

  My being nice, asking simple questions, expecting direct answers wasn’t working, so I stepped closer, though I made sure that my body still blocked the door. She would have to pull an all-star linebacker move to make it past me.“How do you know Jefferson?”

  She sighed, then smirked. “He’s a … friend.”

  She’d said friend, but with the way she purred, she might as well have just come on and said lover.

  “A friend?” I repeated, hoping that maybe she would correct what I was thinking.

  She shifted her small handbag from one hand to the other. “Yes.” She gave me a one-shoulder shrug. “A friend.”

  “How do you know him?” I asked again. “What kind … of friend?”

  She leaned forward. “The best kind.” She did that purring thing again. “The kind that comes … with benefits.”

  I almost collapsed with shock and disappointment. But I was the hunter, and surely, couldn’t let the hunted see my weakness.

  “I don’t believe you,” I said.

  “And I would care what you believe ….why? You’re not even his wife.” She glanced over her shoulder, letting me know that she knew some facts.

  My plan had been to confront her, to intimidate her, to get her to confess and spill everything that I needed to know. But she had taken that script and flipped it upside down and then turned it inside out and now I was the one who wanted to run away. Since yesterday, I’d wanted to figure out the mystery of this woman so that I could help Kyla. But in this instant, I was so sorry that I’d asked any questions or knew anything. Because now, what was I supposed to do with this information?

  This was between Kyla and Jefferson and I had just put myself in the middle.

  “So, now that you know, you can get the hell out of my way.” There was a part of me that wanted to step aside, let her go, pretend that I hadn’t heard a thing, and then just go home and pray that Kyla and Jefferson would work it out. But now that I knew, I wanted to know more, needed to know more, was about to ask more. Except I saw Kyla coming our way.

  “Are you going to move, or do I have to move you?”

  There were so many reasons why I wanted to take her up on that challenge. I wanted to kick her ass just because she was sleeping with my best friend’s husband. And then, I paused. Had I really just had that thought? I had been this woman — twenty years ago.

  I stepped aside and she rushed past me into the stairwell right before Kyla reached us ….

  Then, Kyla began asking me all of those questions and I had no idea how to answer. In one ear I heard Kyla, and in the other, I heard that woman. Kyla demanded the truth from me, but what was that? What did I know?

  Well first, I knew that the woman in the floppy hat knew Jefferson. That was a fact. She knew him and she knew Jefferson had a wife — and she knew Kyla was his wife. At least, that was what I assumed with the way she’d told me that I wasn’t married to Jefferson.

  And I knew the big news — that she was involved with Jefferson. Or so she said; maybe she was lying. But why would she lie? Why would she say that she was his friend … with benefits … if it weren’t true? Why would she be hanging around the hospital if she wasn’t the side chick?

  I rolled the conversation back through my mind, and the more I thought about what she’d said, the more I
doubted her. If she were Jefferson’s jump-off, then why was she so forthright about it? Why would she tell me because if she knew so much about Jefferson and Kyla, then she should know that I was a friend — at least she could assume that with the way I’d been at the hospital. So, wouldn’t she be afraid that I’d tell Kyla? She wouldn’t want Kyla to know, would she?

  Shaking my head, I thought back to my time with Jefferson — I did want Kyla to know. Because with the way my mind was set up back then, I figured that once she knew, she’d leave Jefferson and he’d be mine.

  Maybe this trick had the same plan. Maybe she wanted Kyla’s life was going to confront Kyla at some point because that was what I would’ve done.

  I moaned. The thought of that with what Kyla was already going through made me sick. It would be horrible for her to have to deal with Jefferson’s throw away while Jefferson was in a coma. There was no way that I could let that happen. First, I had to get back to the hospital and somehow keep the truth from her while at the same time, getting her to trust me. Once I did that, I’d be able to move forward with the business of taking care of business.

  Swiveling around, I turned back toward Malcolm X Boulevard and with each step, my plan became clearer in my mind.

  chapter 12

  Kyla

  “I understand you wanting to get him home,” Dr. Reid said to me, “but we only move a patient when there’s a reason and when it’s in his best interest. Truly, what’s best for your husband is to just rest now. He’s getting the best of care here and that’s what matters most.”

  For the last twenty minutes, I’d been pleading my case to take Jefferson across the country where he could be cared for by the top doctors and loved by his family and friends. But if this had been a trial, I’d just lost the case. Dr. Reid had me at ‘what’s best for your husband …’ I couldn’t make this about me — and Jasmine.

  Thanking Dr. Reid, I assured him that I understood and that from this point, I’d be the supportive wife.

  “I know you slept here last night, Mrs. Blake. Maybe what you need is to really get some rest. Is there someone you can stay with or are you going to check into a hotel?”