Four: Stories of Marriage

by Nia Forrester

  “That’s pretty swanky for a small label, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Keeps our people happy. Makes them more productive,” Brendan said. “We subsidize meals for all our staff so it’s cheaper for them than if they left the building to eat in this neighborhood, increases productivity … It’s more a cost-saver than you would think.”

  Shawn fished the menu out of his desk drawer easily, because it was the only thing in there other than the basic supplies that HR put in every office. Even his Mac’s monitor was sitting there, unused. Some of the protective plastic was still covering parts of it.

  “You want something Kincaid?” he asked, as she was about to leave with Brendan.

  “Oh. Sure. Thanks. A salad maybe?”

  “Caesar?”

  “Yup. Protein?”

  “Shrimp if they have it,” she said. Then she shook her head. “Wait till I tell people back at my office that I had K Smooth order my lunch for me.”

  Shawn rolled his eyes as she turned to leave with Brendan, and his friend bit back a grin.

  “I’ll have her back to you in a short, K Smooth,” Brendan said.

  Shawn gave him the double-bird.

  When they were gone, he put in the lunch order, and then spent fifteen minutes trying to figure about his computer log in password before realizing he had no real reason to log in. Instead, he surfed the net, looking at music blogs, eventually finding the news site Kincaid worked for, and scrolling through some of her stories. They usually involved lots of large pictures of the people she was profiling, usually candid or posed-to-appear-candid shots of them “in their element”. Some were stylistically blurred, or vivid close-ups.

  The writing was like most entertainment journalism today—conversational and almost casual, the way one might talk to a friend about someone they happened to meet. But Kincaid was very much of the invisible-observer school. From the pieces Shawn skimmed, it was clear that she noted what she saw, but didn’t draw conclusions, instead leaving it to the reader to decide what to glean from her descriptions. But somehow, the writing led you to a conclusion nevertheless. She was good.

  Shawn wondered what she had observed about him, and how it might look in writing. The huge apartment, the basketball game, the fancy dining after the game, the crowd of fans on the street … When it was your own life, it was difficult, if not impossible, to figure out how it might be perceived by other people, at least until there were other people looking at it. Like having a cluttered foyer, and not knowing it was cluttered until you saw the raised eyebrows of a judgmental delivery-person.

  Halfway through one of Kincaid’s articles, an assistant came in and delivered a stack of file folders for him, blushing and not looking him in the eye.

  “Mr. Cole asked me to bring these by,” she said. “He told me to ask you to review the ones in the red folders here right away …” She tapped the ones on top. “And the orange ones soon. But if can’t get to them today, no later than mid next week. And then the others at your convenience.”

  Shawn shook his head. Brendan and his terminally-organized nature. It was what made him a good manager, and the perfect business partner.

  “What do you think would happen if I didn’t?” Shawn said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What do you think would happen if I just … didn’t review them on that timeline?”

  The assistant looked startled for a moment, then her face relaxed and she smiled, looking him shyly in the eye for the first time.

  “I guess you could always try and see?” she said shrugging.

  When she looked him in the eyes, it was like he was seeing her as well for the first time. Until she looked at him, she may as well have been invisible. That was how it was with fame: the more visible you became, the more invisible the rest of the world was. Not out of ego, but out of self-preservation, out of necessity.

  “Oh good, you got them.”

  Brendan had returned with Kincaid. He indicated the folders in front of Shawn on the desk.

  “After y’all are done eating, I can walk you through the red files.”

  The assistant disappeared once again, and moments later someone else entered with food on trays and began unobtrusively setting things up at the table near the door. There were real plates and cutlery, cloth napkins and placemats.

  Livia Kincaid stood aside and watched. When the servers were done, the table looked as well laid out as the table at a trendy downtown bistro.

  “Before you get too impressed, this ain’t what we do for everybody,” Brendan told her. “They’re just overdoing it for His Highness over here.”

  Shawn gave him a look and came from behind his desk to take his place at the table with Kincaid. She didn’t even seem to be listening, as she looked down at her shrimp Caesar salad topped with large, juicy prawns.

  She only looked up again when Brendan had left them alone. She smiled, looking as pleased as though the entire thing was a date, and had been arranged for her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “This is really nice.”

  Shawn shrugged. “Thank Brendan,” he said, averting his gaze from hers.

  8

  Shawn was already in bed when she got home just after ten. And he was alone. Surprised by the vast emptiness next to him, Riley smiled as she entered their bedroom suite, looking around.

  “You didn’t tie our children up in the closet to keep them out of here, did you?”

  “Nah. A little Benadryl in some warm milk, that’s all.”

  Riley gave him the side-eye as she shed her purse and jacket. “I hope you’re kidding.”

  Shrugging her cotton blouse over her head, and standing only in her bra, slacks and stockinged feet, she noticed him staring. But it wasn’t with anything like the heat that preceded him wanting to tear her clothes off. It was a searching, curious, and pensive gaze.

  “What?” She turned to look at him as she unzipped her pants and let them fall to the floor.

  Did he know? Did he sense that something had happened? Well, not happened, exactly. Lunch with Brian could scarcely be considered a “happening”. They hadn’t even gotten around to talking that much about his project, and what he was hoping she would do for him, specifically. The money she was clear on. He wanted her to entertain a proposal for funding. But he hadn’t explained to her what he meant about wanting her to get him exposure. Exposure how? And for what in particular, she had no clue.

  They had instead talked about her work, and his unexpectedly good idea for a possible merger between Literati and Polis. They talked about that until they both noticed the time and remembered that they had to run to meetings. Brian joked about that.

  We have meetings, he said with faux-pompousness. We’re so important.

  Riley laughed with him, and as she did, he grabbed for the bill.

  I may be a broke public interest lawyer, he said. But I can still buy a meal for a pretty lady.

  “You ever wish,” Shawn said, breaking through her thoughts. “You ever wish we had a different life?”

  Riley, bent over and peeling off her stockings, stood upright again.

  “What do you mean?”

  Shawn was looking away from her now, off to the corner of the room. His brow was furrowed into a deep frown.

  “I dunno,” he mumbled.

  Shoving the stockings all the way down, Riley crawled on all fours across the bed and sat back on her heels in front of him, holding his chin and turning his head so he was looking at her.

  “What d’you mean? Do you wish we had a different life?”

  He shrugged.

  “Different how?”

  It didn’t matter that lately she had been thinking something like that herself. It didn’t matter that she had been waxing nostalgic about her lean-and-hungry days of chasing stories for Power to the People. The idea that Shawn was in any way dissatisfied with their life was scary.

  “I don’t know,” he said again. But this time it was clear he was thinking about
something very specific.

  “Tell me,” she said, her tone insistent. “If there’s something that … is it because of how I reacted when you said you want to go make music again? Because …”

  “No,” he said quickly. This time his gaze was steady and certain. “It’s not that. Just … today …” He exhaled.

  “Today what, Shawn? Did something …?”

  “Nah, baby. It’s cool,” he said. “I’m cool.”

  “Are you sure? What happened?”

  He didn’t answer. Prying things out of Shawn had never worked, and there was little likelihood that it would work now. Sometimes, all she could hope to do was relax him, give him refuge from whatever thoughts troubled him, even those he could not bring himself to speak for the moment.

  They stared at each other for a few beats more, and the corners of his lips turned slightly upward. Riley could see his eyes, skipping over every detail of her face, drinking her in. He nudged her nose with his, and his mouth brushed hers. His lips felt as soft as tissue. She slung one leg over him, straddling him even though she knew where it would lead, and that it would prevent them from having the conversation they had barely started.

  Riley let just the tip of her tongue emerge from between her lips and Shawn leaned in, covering it with his lips and gently sucking. She gasped and bucked against him, because it triggered a sensation that was almost as strong as if he were sucking her elsewhere, somewhere much more intimate. His hand fell between them, and with practiced fingers, he slid aside the fabric of her underwear and played with her, circling and stroking, teasing until she was wet, and then sliding two fingers inside her.

  Exhaling sharply, Riley lifted herself up onto her knees, while Shawn’s fingers moved, and his thumb rubbed in circles where she was most sensitive. Her head fell back, but her eyes were open just enough to see him, watching her face biting down on his lip as he worked to get her to her climax. Looking down further, she saw that he was fully erect, straining against his boxer briefs.

  “Stop,” she said, breathless. “Stop …”

  “Why?” he asked, slowing his movements but not stopping.

  Rather than respond, she lifted herself off his fingers, released him through the opening in the front of his boxers and without pause or contemplation, moved her underwear aside and lowered herself completely on him. They gasped in unison and Shawn gripped her hard by the waist, holding her still with one hand while the other fidgeted with her bra until he got the clasps unfastened.

  Helping him, Riley slid it off altogether and arched her back, so he could take the tip of one breast in his mouth. Rolling her hips against him, she felt him twitch and jump inside her, touching a spot that was both sweet and a little painful. Grimacing, she held still for a few moments, letting her body acclimate to the sensation.

  “You okay?” Shawn lifted his head.

  “Okay,” she confirmed.

  But he felt the tension in her thighs and with both hands, lifted her gently off him and shoved her back against the sheets. He removed her underwear, and then his boxers, lying alongside her so they were fully naked and skin-to-skin. Riley opened her legs, captured his thigh between hers, and rubbed herself against it as he kissed her.

  Though it was obvious she was eager to have him inside her again, all he did was kiss her; her neck, her shoulders, her jaw, ears and breasts. Soon she was on her back and pulling him atop her. She was all liquid, and more than ready so that this time when he entered her, it was a smooth, effortless glide of her raw nerve endings against his, and there was no pain, only pleasure.

  “What did Tony make for you and the kids?” Riley whispered in the dark.

  It was two hours later, and they were both lazy and spent. The apartment was quiet, and all the lights—set on a timer—had long turned off. Out of their window, they could see the lights of their city.

  “Siracha flank steak for me. Chicken tenders and mashed potatoes for the kids,” Shawn recited.

  “Any leftovers?”

  “Plenty.”

  “Let’s go get some,” Riley said, nudging him in the ribs.

  “You go,” Shawn groaned. “I’m wiped out.”

  “Aw, c’mon. You can walk a hundred yards to come get some sustenance with me. C’mon.”

  “No,” he said.

  “Yes,” she whined.

  “No,” Shawn said again.

  “Remember when we used to meet up in those hotels, and sometimes after … we’d go out to those corner bodegas or Korean grocery stores for ice cream and potato chips?”

  “After what?” There was a smile in his voice.

  “After we made crazy love,” Riley said, turning toward him in the dark and snaking out her tongue along the side of his neck. He shuddered a little, which made her smile. “You never told me ‘no’ then. You always got dressed and came with me, even though you were exhausted, and had to wear a hoodie the whole time like a fugitive.”

  “That’s ‘cause I was on my best behavior.”

  “And you’re not now, huh?”

  “Nah, I’m over it,” he said, sounding like he was stifling a laugh.

  “You are?” Riley vaulted herself atop him again, and felt his hands in the dark, come up and grab ahold of her ass, and squeeze.

  “Back then? I was trying to steal you away from that other dude. I would’ve done almost anything you asked me to.”

  Riley swallowed.

  Now. Tell him now, she thought. This was the perfect time to say it. Something like: Funny you should mention that ‘other dude’ …

  But she didn’t. Instead, she swatted Shawn’s hands off her butt and dismounted him.

  “I’ll go on my own if you won’t come, I guess.”

  “Damn. Okay, I’m comin’.”

  “But be quiet,” Riley hissed. “You know your son is a light sleeper.”

  They stood in front of the Viking, naked, gathering things to nosh on—cold meat and mashed potatoes which they put in the microwave, pita chips, and to wash it all down, fizzy fruit soda. They headed, slowly, quietly back to the bedroom with everything on a tray and sat in the middle of the bed, sheets draped across them as they ate.

  “I kind of miss when we used to do this,” Riley said. “Stay up late. Eat in bed. And talk. Just because we couldn’t … Because it always felt like there was never enough time.”

  “There wasn’t,” Shawn said, shrugging. “I was traveling a lot.”

  “And if you go back into the studio, you will be again,” Riley pointed out.

  He looked at her. “I know. But it’ll be different. We’ll make it different.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll come on tour with me sometimes. Bring the kids. I kinda want my son to see me up there onstage, y’know? Now that he’s old enough to understand. And have my daughter see me doing what I do. I bet they don’t even understand what the hell their daddy does. Shit, I don’t even understand what the hell it is I do.”

  “You’re a businessman,” Riley said quietly. “A music executive, and …”

  “No, Riley, I’m not. That’s Brendan. That’s Chris, and Jamal. That’s not me.”

  He looked at her with something that resembled defeat, lowering his feet to the floor and sliding the tray toward him.

  “Lemme put this back in the kitchen.”

  Riley sat there while he was gone, stock still, legs folded beneath her. And her overwhelming emotion was … shame.

  Three years. For almost three years, while they built their family, and got used to the notion of a family, Shawn had been at home. She had too, but not in the same way that he was. Except for the weeks after both Cullen’s and Cassidy’s birth, she continued going to the office, taking meetings and even traveling on the occasional business trip.

  For Shawn though, it was different. He didn’t make music, or even talk about it as much. His public appearances petered out, and finally, he decided to call it—he would retire, and concentrate on the nightclubs, and other business int
erests he shared with Brendan.

  And he had. But Riley couldn’t pretend any longer that she didn’t see—and that she hadn’t seen all along—that part of Shawn was far removed and going through the motions. Except for family life, there was little else that lit a spark in him. He went to Lounge Two Twelve, he dutifully attended the meetings that Brendan set up, and he … performed. Except that it wasn’t a role he wanted to play. And maybe, somewhere, deep down inside she knew that he was only playing that role to prove to her that he could make a sacrifice for their family.

  When he returned to the bedroom, she shifted to one side, making room for him next to her. As he leaned over to turn out the light, Riley stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Shawn?” she said.

  He looked at her and she studied the deep chestnut of his eyes. She’d stared into these eyes so often, hundreds and hundreds of times over their life together. She knew how to read them like she could an open book. He was playing it cool, but he was hopeful. He would perform again, because he had no choice any more than she had a choice to write and think about the world’s injustices. He would do it, but he could never feel good about it unless he had her genuine blessing.

  He blinked lazily, like someone drawing a veil, preparing to retreat.

  “What’s up?” he asked, when after a moment she still hadn’t spoken.

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Do what?” He looked confused.

  “I’ve just been… I’m thinking that… I mean, if you’re getting back out there, performing again, we shouldn’t be timid about it. We should commit, y’know? Think about how you want to do it, what you’re going to want to say, how you want to be perceived. And just… go balls to the wall.”

  At that, a slow smile spread across his face.

  “Balls to the wall?”

  Riley shook her head impatiently. “You know what I mean.”

  “I know you should stop relying on Chris to keep you in touch with current slang, that’s what I know.”

  This time it was Riley who smiled. Getting up onto her knees, she straddled him again. In that position, her still-bare breasts were in his face, and her naked thighs were parted. Shawn’s gaze fell, and Riley laughed, tipping his chin upward with a forefinger.