“Do you have Skype?”
“Why?” I raised my eyebrows and frowned.
“I want to see you. Let’s Skype. I’m at my home office today so I’ve got some time.”
I paused and then decided, Why not? It’s Friday. Within minutes I was face to face with the love of my life, who I hadn’t seen since I was twenty-one.
“You look good,” he said. “I love your hair.”
I reached up to touch my Afro and smiled. “Thanks. I’ve come a long way since my permed hair in college.”
“You would look good in any hairstyle.”
“Still Barry, I see.”
“Is that booty shake in the background? At work? Oh, I forgot you’re the boss! I haven’t heard booty shake in a minute. What station is that?”
“KISS 103. They have a special deejay on Fridays who plays straight booty shake for an hour. You can listen online on their website if you want to.”
Barry started dancing in front of his webcam, wopping and other dances from the ’90s. “Dance with me!”
I sat in my seat, just looking at him until I heard these words. “It’s time to ride out. Ride out. Party! Party! Shake it! Shake it! That booty! That booty,” blared from my system. The bass boomed behind the lyrics.
“Awww junk!” I pushed my chair away from my computer and dropped my behind low in front of my desk like it was a man. I laughed out loud at myself. For the next ten minutes, I was transported back to my college days when booty shake music dominated the Southern rap music scene. Although the music could be degrading to women, the beats forced you to move. It was one of the reasons I named my company 85 South Public Relations. I was a big fan of 95 South, a Miami bass group, in high school and thought I should honor Atlanta-bred rap music by naming my firm after a main thoroughfare in Atlanta like the group 95 South did. For ten minutes, I forgot that promoting Atlanta-bred music wasn’t as fulfilling as it once was.
“That was good,” Barry said, as he laughed. “We haven’t danced like that in a long time.”
“No, we haven’t,” I said. “I have to go now, Barry. See you on Facebook.”
I closed my laptop and sat back down in my chair. Sweat trailed down my stomach as if I had been to a party. What just happened? Was that wrong? What does this mean? Questions permeated my thoughts the rest of the weekend until I got to church on Sunday, the first Sunday in May. Pastor Kirby got in front of the altar after finishing his sermon, raised his arms and said, “Don’t let this opportunity to trust God as your personal Lord and Savior pass you by. I know we got a bunch of hypocrites in the church, but we got room for one more. You won’t be perfect this side of heaven but at least you can be saved and let God help you. If you need God’s help or even if you want to join Hidden United Methodist, we’ve got room for you.”
I don’t even remember getting up and walking down the aisle. I had the thought I should get up and then I was in front of Pastor Kirby. He reached out his arms to hug me while the church clapped behind us. When he asked me what I had come up for, instead of saying, “I need help,” like I wanted to, I said, “I’m ready to join Hidden United Methodist Church.” But when I thought about it, they were one and the same anyway.
“Praise God,” Pastor Kirby shouted. “We’re happy to have you.”
He embraced me, and I felt more optimistic than I had all weekend. It was obvious that Barry and I still had a connection, but I hoped that God and becoming a member of this church would help me leave our relationship where it ended—in the past.
Senalda
If Dexter thinks I’m going to throw the election just because we’re dating, then he doesn’t know me at all. Although I was making progress on my to-do list for the day, I felt more and more anxious every hour that went by. For the first two months Dexter and I dated, I really had nothing to complain about. Sometimes, he was a few minutes late for a date or didn’t call me back as quickly as he told me he would, but it was nothing a straight-up conversation about my expectations couldn’t fix.
And then in April, he blindsided me and told me he was running for president of our local Black MBA Association. I was furious at first and asked him why he didn’t tell me sooner. He told me that since he had just moved back to Atlanta, he wasn’t sure that with his new job he was going to have time to be president.
That calmed me down for a while, but now that it was election day, I was upset again. But not because he hadn’t told me sooner. I didn’t know what the election was going to mean for our relationship. As I was promoted from one title to another at my company, I noticed that men treated me differently. They either treated me as a colleague and not as a woman, which wasn’t entirely a bad thing most of the time, or they took the male chauvinism route: ignoring me or grumbling when I spoke in meetings.
So far, Dexter didn’t seem intimidated by me, but we had yet to compete with each other. And I intended to win the election.
I guess I will have to wait and see what happens. Since consulting with Veronique, I bought more clothes in jewel tones for my wardrobe, but tonight I reverted to one of my trusty power suits: a black pantsuit with a crisp white shirt underneath to show that I meant business. When I arrived in the SunTrust Plaza lobby, I saw association members congregating in groups. I spotted Dexter and was about to go to him when a guy I had lusted over last year got to me first. He was so fine with his bald head and dark black skin.
“Leonard! Heyyy,” I said as I hugged him. His suit stretched over his swollen muscles. In addition to being an IT professional, Leonard was a body builder in his spare time. I flirted with Leonard all last year and even asked him out, but nothing happened. Just then Dexter walked up. I turned to speak to him, but he was facing Leonard as if he was waiting to be introduced.
“Dexter, this is Leonard. Leonard, Dexter.” I looked at both of them.
“What’s up, man?” Dexter said.
I noticed Dexter’s voice was deeper than it was when we were alone. Was this some of kind of male territory thing?
“I see you are running for president too,” Leonard said.
“I am,” Dexter said with a smile. “I don’t know if I have what it takes to beat this little lady, but that’s not going to stop me from trying.”
“May the best candidate win,” I said. I laughed although there was nothing to laugh about. They kept talking as the election chair came up to me and explained how the meeting would proceed. After introducing each of the candidates, members would be instructed to go the MBA website and cast their vote.
“Did you already know Leonard or something?” I said as Leonard walked away.
“No,” Dexter said, looking down at me. “What made you ask me that?”
“The two of you were talking like you were old friends,” I said, moving closer to him.
“Oh no, but he is frat so I invited him to my weekly Men’s Night Out at J.R. Crickets.”
For the entire three months that Dexter and I had been dating, he always met up with a few of his boys on Friday nights and hung out at the Crickets on Camp Creek Parkway. One time, I even asked to join him and his friends just to see what was going on, but he said they called it “Men’s Night Out” for a reason. With my anxiety about the election specifically and being annoyed about “Men’s Night Out” in general, I was about to be pissed off. But then Dexter kissed me on the cheek and whispered into my ear.
“Hey sexy, maybe you can wear that suit when we go out this weekend. I love a woman in a power suit.”
I smiled although I tried to frown.
“Don’t tempt me,” I said with a laugh. “I love my power suits too. So how would you feel if I won and had power over you?”
“I just told you I love a woman in a power suit,” he continued to whisper in my ear, his breath tickling my ear. “If you beat me, I will surrender.”
An hour later, after the election results were calculated, Dexter wasn’t whispering in my ear or even speaking to me. When I was declared the winner, he stuck his han
d toward me stiffly like we were just colleagues, shook my hand, and barely mumbled “Congratulations.”
I said, “Thank you.” I attempted to hug him, but his arms stayed at his side.
Since it was Thursday night, I knew I wouldn’t see him the next day, and now I wondered if we were still on for the weekend. If he didn’t know before, now he knows just who I am.
Destination Wedding Meeting #5
Something was up with Jarena and Mimi, but Senalda didn’t know what. The ladies were supposed to run and walk the Active Oval at Piedmont Park for their fifth meeting. In April, Dexter convinced Senalda to start training with him for the July 4th Peachtree Road Race, the world’s largest 10K race and an Atlanta tradition, and a month later, she noticed that her stomach was starting to look as flat as it did when she was in college.
Jarena agreed to the workout because she said she had been eating too much soul food lately and not getting to the gym as often as she should. And Mimi, who sometimes went hiking with her “granola buddies” in the North Georgia mountains and didn’t like “organized exercise,” agreed to meet at Piedmont Park only since she lived practically across the street. Dexter and Senalda had been meeting on Saturday mornings for their runs, so when he told her that he was going to Miami the second weekend in May, she figured that would be the perfect day to meet her girls instead.
But by the time she parked her car at Piedmont Park, Jarena had called to tell her she couldn’t make it, and Mimi had texted her saying, “shit came up.” Senalda debated heading back to Camp Creek, but since she was already there anyway, she decided to take on the Active Oval by herself.
Since the six-month mark of the Destination Wedding project was coming, it was a good time to take inventory of their progress. She was having a good time with Dexter, but he had never said anything about where they were going. Although he had apologized for his attitude about the election, she didn’t have a clear direction for their relationship. If Senalda was going to meet her goal of being a wife by the end of the year, she needed some answers.
She wanted to stop running but forced her limbs to keep moving forward. She was ahead of the other women: Mimi still seemed like she was into Jovan even if she was never going to be his wife. And Jarena hadn’t mentioned a single man at all. If Senalda had to grade them on their progress for their project, she would have to give them a “C,” and there was nothing average about any project that Senalda had ever led.
She realized then that she was awash in sweat, even if she had only been running in circles.
CHAPTER 7
June
Whitney
AFTER TWO MORE MONTHS of trying to solve our intimacy issues on our own, Richie let me make an appointment for us with CC. Neither of us wanted to go, but it was either counseling or forego having normal intimacy altogether. We tried a few times, but he seemed like he was forcing himself to be interested. And the indignity of it all was as insulting as the rejection.
Our counseling session was scheduled for a Saturday morning. That morning, I attempted to make everything as pleasant as possible. Since we had to drive to the Perimeter Mall area from Henry County, I woke up extra early and made breakfast: scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, creamy grits, and juiced oranges. I hoped the aroma would bring Richie downstairs, but after sitting at the table by myself for twenty minutes, I went upstairs to see what was going on. He was still asleep with a blanket in between his legs. I smiled. I stood there looking at him for a few seconds, still not believing that we, the perfect couple, were going to counseling. I finally sat down on the bed next to him and caressed his shoulder.
“Good morning Richie, time to get ready.” I spoke in his ear as gently as I could. “I’ve got breakfast downstairs.”
He rolled over, rubbing his eyes before opening them. “I’m not hungry.” He rolled back over.
All the warmth I felt evaporated immediately, and something in me snapped. “You know what? I’m glad we are going to counseling today because you are getting on my nerves. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to tell it all today because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
He rolled over again and looked at me. “Are you really getting mad at me because I want to get a few more minutes of sleep after I worked a twelve-hour shift yesterday?” He walked to his bathroom and slammed the door behind him.
• • •
According to my Cartier Tank diamond-and-white-gold watch, it took us forty-five minutes of uncomfortable silence in his silver Range Rover to get to CC’s office. I used the time to obsess about what we were wearing. I had selected a Tory Burch floral-print shift dress while Richie was wearing his signature weekend attire: chino pants and a Polo shirt. The psychologist had to have a good first impression of us because I couldn’t predict what she would find out.
When we arrived, I jumped out of the Jeep ahead of him and walked into the office building. I didn’t wait for Richie to catch up with me as I got on the elevator to go to the seventh floor of the twenty-story building. I wandered down a long, ominously bland hallway, searching for CC’s office. I heard the elevator doors open behind me and waited for Richie to catch up to me.
“Found the office yet?” He frowned while removing his shades.
“I think this is it.” I pointed toward the door in front of me. “Are you ready?”
CC looked just like she sounded on the phone. Like a disheveled librarian with her wispy, shoulder-length gray hair that had been dyed brown and her matching tortoiseshell glasses. I felt myself exhaling after scanning the numerous degrees on her office walls. She directed us to a large couch while she sat down in a reclining chair.
“How are the two of you this morning?” She flipped through papers stacked on her legs. “Would you like some water or tea? This English breakfast is delicious.” She gestured toward a teacup on a table next to her.
We shook our heads from side to side in unison.
“Let’s get started then, shall we?” She looked down. “Richie, you are addicted to watching pornography, and you are no longer interested in having sex with your wife. Is that a fair assessment?”
Richie shook his head. “I don’t know if that is a fair assessment, but I have been watching porn for a few months now. Don’t most men watch porn?”
“And when was the last time you made love to Whitney?”
Neither of us answered.
“Sounds like a pretty long time ago,” she concluded, scribbling in a notebook. She put the notebook down and took off her glasses. “Well, Whitney dear, why don’t you tell me about how the two of you met and got married. I like for my couples to remember the happier times before we get into the nitty gritty.” She threw her head back and laughed.
I described how we met at a party his fraternity, Kappa Alpha Psi, had at the beginning of our senior year in college and how we became a couple almost immediately. But we had a long-distance relationship while he was away at Harvard Medical School and I was still in Atlanta at Emory Law School.
“But the distance that we had to contend with during our five-year courtship melted away like hot candle wax once we lived in the same city again. Isn’t that right, honey?” I turned to Richie and attempted to hold his hand, but he wouldn’t allow his fingers to interlock with mine. So I faced CC, put on a smile and continued.
“We got married before his first year of residency at Morehouse School of Medicine. The theme of our wedding was ‘A Royal Wedding.’ We said our vows at the St. Louis Cathedral in the French Quarter in New Orleans, where I’m from. It’s one of the oldest Roman Catholic cathedrals in the nation! I was a princess. I had sequins imported from Paris for my wedding dress. Richie was my prince in his black tailored tux! Ambassador Andrew Young, who used to be an Atlanta mayor, was one of the officiants! Everyone was there. Actor Samuel Jackson. Congressman John Lewis.”
“So you were together for five years before you got married but lived apart for years?” CC said, interrupting me.
“Yes,” I said, carefully, wondering what she was thinking.
“Before the last few months, Richie dear, did you ever dabble in pornography?”
He was quiet for a moment before replying.
“I watched some flicks with my boys in college but nothing serious.”
“Well, how do you think this all got started? You watching pornography, that is.”
He sighed and shook his head. “I had gotten off of work pretty late one night, but I wasn’t ready to go to bed yet,” Richie started. “I checked on our twins first and then I decided to go to my office in the basement. I got on my computer to just kill some time until I felt sleepy enough to go back upstairs, and then a screen popped up with a naked woman. I clicked on the site and then it went from there.”
“So in the beginning, Richie dear, did you watch pornography on your computer every night after coming home from work?”
“I’m an obstetrician so my schedule changes sometimes,” he explained, “but I usually only did it when I came home from work late at night.”
“So now you watch pornography during the day too?”
“Yes.”
“Every day?”
He sighed again. “Yes.”
“So your pornography watching has been progressive,” CC said while looking down and scribbling faster than before. “Do you only watch pornography at home?”
During CC’s line of questioning, I tried to be as quiet as possible so that Richie would feel like I wasn’t even there. I wanted him to reveal everything he refused to tell me. I almost stopped breathing. But then I leaned forward on the couch, accidently bumping into his knees.
“I’m sorry,” I said. Oh no, he’s going to stop talking now for sure.
He looked at me, inhaled and turned back toward CC.
“I’ve started watching some porn at work too when I have a little down time between patients,” he confessed.
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