Sinful Too

by Victor McGlothin

  “Yep, for sneaking off and chasing flea-bitten mutts,” answered Nadeen. “Come on in and lock the door.”

  Rose sat on the bed and untied the ribbon. “Think back on that women’s retreat you took me to for my birthday three years ago. You remember the one in Los Angeles? We talked about it for weeks when we got back.”

  “Oh yeah, it was so good. What was it called?”

  “Too Blessed to Be Stressed with Jewel Diamond Taylor!” A brilliant smile spread across Rose’s full lips as she handed the first book to Nadeen. “This is my favorite. It’s called Keeping the Main Thing the Main Thing.”

  “That was such a great weekend, Rose. I came home so filled with the spirit. Guess I neglected to keep up with the take-home material. We heard some powerful prayers and messages from Jewel.”

  “And the testimonies from other sisters,” Rose sighed, thinking back. “Just when I thought I’d seen it all, another strong woman would stand up and share what she was going through. Real everyday struggles.”

  “Some people’s everyday is rougher than others,” Nadeen agreed. “Real struggles with sex, drugs, alcohol, and everything else imaginable.” Rose broke out laughing when a particular thought entered her mind. “What is it, Rose?”

  “And some things unimaginable too, even for me, and I’m a freak. That lesbian from Oakland raising three sons on her own — she was up against it.”

  “She should have decided on going the other way before popping out three kids,” Nadeen joked before catching herself. “See, I’m sorry for that. I had no business talking about that poor woman.”

  “Me neither. She was just trying to find her way without losing herself in the process.” There was a moment of hesitation in the room. Both of the women were contemplating the same thing. Nadeen voiced it first. “Rose, you think she ever found a way to deal with her sexuality and explaining it to her sons?”

  “God, I sure do hope so. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. Not even the women I can’t stand the most.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Rose accomplished her good deed then dashed off to give her friend the room she needed to start over that bridge. Nadeen creased the pages of the book, reading the profound words of a woman who had to overcome a mountain of personal distress before she could help others climb theirs as well. “Keeping the main thing the main thing,” Nadeen said to herself for the umpteenth time. “My main thing is my family and keeping it together,” she’d determined. “If God says the same, I will.”

  After Nadeen filled her head with fortifying passages from the uplifting materials Rose provided, she opened the bedroom door and ventured out of her cave. It was unusually quiet throughout the house, even for a Tuesday evening. Roxy feasted on a cartoon marathon, as she did when the others were too busy to entertain her. Nadeen lent some thought to preparing dinner then remembered Richard mentioning picking up takeout earlier. “Hey, kiddo, aren’t you getting hungry?” she asked softly from the mouth of the vast family room.

  “No, ma’am, I’m just tired,” Roxanne replied despondently. Nadeen picked up the remote lying on the coffee table and then paused the program. Now, sitting on the sofa next to her pride and joy, she threw her arm around Roxanne’s shoulder.

  “I don’t like the way that sounded. Tired? What’s got my baby so worn out?” Nadeen assumed Roxanne was utilizing the opportunity to pout simply because no one had paid her the level of attention to which she was accustomed. “Your father will be home soon. Maybe we could play a board game. How about Monopoly? You could even be the thimble.”

  “The thimble?” Roxanne sneered disagreeably. “If you let me be the banker that would really be something.”

  “Okay, there’s a first time for everything. The banker it is. I’ll go up and see if Mahalia wants to help me set up the board.” Nadeen thought she would have received a round of riotous cheers but there wasn’t one ounce of elation. “Uh-oh, what is it now?”

  “Mommy, Mahalia’s not interested in playing with me or you. She’s the reason I’m so tired,” Roxanne informed her, wearing the previous sneer as before.

  “Has your sister been mean to you?”

  “No, but she did make me do something I didn’t want to.”

  “Ooh, that’s not good. Why don’t you tell me what it is and I’ll speak to Mahalia and fix it.”

  “You can’t. That’s one of the things she’s mad at me about. The other one I swore not to tell.” Roxanne wanted so desperately to blab about her conversation with Dior. But a promise was a promise. Nadeen understood that whatever she was holding inside had gotten the better of her. Pulling rank was one option of dragging the information out of her although it would bother Roxanne afterward and possibly put her at odds with Mahalia for breaking their pact. There was always a backdoor entrance to getting at the truth from stubborn little girls, and Nadeen had it down to a science.

  “Okay then, since you swore not to tell me what I can’t fix or the other thing that made your sister angry with you, the only thing you’re able to share is what you were doing before the trouble started.” Nadeen watched her child mull over the proposition carefully, not wanting to make any slipups and subsequently alienate Mahalia.

  “Before Mahalia grabbed my arm and yanked on it, I wasn’t doing anything but standing in the restroom and looking at Daddy’s friend Dior comb her hair in the mirror. She didn’t like that.”

  “Dior didn’t?”

  “Uh-uh, Mahalia. She didn’t like it that I was standing there, talking nice to her, or the question she told me to ask Daddy.”

  Nadeen’s blood turned cold. She turned her head away to shield Roxanne from her rage. Dior had to have been out of her mind involving an innocent child in the dangerous game she played with people’s lives. Nadeen couldn’t let another second pass without squeezing that question from the little girl’s grasp. “Roxy, I need you to listen very closely because this is very important. There are a few things you are not supposed to tell and I just want to be sure you didn’t forget them.”

  “No, ma’am, I didn’t forget,” she said assuredly.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you should remind yourself so that you don’t,” Nadeen pried tactfully.

  “It sounded kind of silly when Ms. Dior told me to ask Daddy why he wanted her to be his new mommy.”

  Nadeen was as much confused as she was incensed. “His new mommy? Why would she say such a thing to you?”

  “Maybe she didn’t like it when I asked her why she wanted to be my new mommy. If Daddy likes her and she likes him back, they might fall in love and get married too, then I would have a brand-new mommy like my friends at school.” Roxanne placed her tiny hands on Nadeen’s to stop them from trembling. “Don’t worry. Mahalia said you couldn’t fix it but you’ll always be the best mommy ever and my favorite one.” Nadeen pulled Roxanne closely and held her there for the longest time, fighting the urge to find Dior’s whereabouts and then see what she could break once she did. She didn’t know Mahalia had been listening from just around the corner. Tears streamed down the girl’s flat cheeks, effortlessly. She felt every damaging word carve holes in her heart.

  Near the downtown canyon, Richard milled around the pickup window at Boscoe’s, the neighborhood eatery where fried wings outsold other menu items five to one. He had purposely avoided the local greasy spoon for healthier links in the food chain. When Nadeen failed to mention dinner plans for the evening, Richard found himself groping for entrées the entire family would enjoy. Hot wings, southwestern egg rolls, and curly fries had once been a biweekly staple.

  After placing a hefty order to go, Richard shoved both hands into his front pockets. He read the stream of words floating below the sports newscast merely to pass the time. An annoying itch dug in behind his left ear. When he went to scratch it, his gaze drifted from the television that was harnessed in the upper corner of the bar area. His heart rate pounded because of what he saw. Richard wanted to discount the jolt of emotion that rocked him. It
was Dior, sharing drinks and laughs with a man, a young man closer to her age than Richard’s.

  Backing into the shadows behind a tall Boscoe’s souvenir stand, Richard sought a better vantage point where he could observe the date in progress without being detected. Dior’s tight tank top and painted on jeans offered a gratifying preview. Richard shook his head bitterly. Dior made no qualms about putting on display the resources she’d used to nab him. Her companion, a thuggish-looking wannabe gangster type in designer street denim, flirted with his urban bravado above the table and his hands beneath it. Dior seemed to rather enjoy the sleight-of-hand play. Richard assumed she had reached out for the comforts of the first unattached male who came her way. He stared at what he presumed was a likely rebound opportunity, a light-skinned hoodrat who was rocking thick, played out cornrows. Surely he couldn’t have been qualified to take care of Dior, even if the man happened to be remotely interested in the art of pleasing women past getting his own kicks. Dior’s tablemate removed his jacket to show off a detailed tattoo. Although Richard was too far away to make out the design, his swollen arms and muscular shoulders were easily detectable. Unfortunately, the unanticipated revelation produced a renegade thought that stomped on Richard’s chest and dared him to react. Suddenly, he was looking at the hip-hop homeboy with grave suspicion and mounting jealousy. For a forty-year-old minister, Richard was in great shape, but his biceps paled in comparison. In a matter of seconds, he had begun to imagine this Mandingo-built stranger imposing his physical will on Dior. To make matters worse, Richard could see her loving every minute of it and writhing passionately with every stroke.

  Rushing the table to confront Dior crossed Richard’s mind. Throwing caution to the wind didn’t appeal nearly as much when he contemplated the very likely outcome of Dior’s streetwise suitor stomping on Richard’s chest in the literal sense. He quickly cowered farther behind the plastic obstruction to pursue the path of least resistance, deciding to convey his disapproval of Dior’s date over the phone. Growing more perturbed as the cell phone rang, Richard secretly watched while she rambled through her purse to get a hold of it. With a mind to torture Dior and ultimately ruin her evening the way she’d mangled his, he grinned sadistically until she read his name on the screen then immediately tossed her phone aside. Richard was beside himself. How could she dismiss my call like I was nothing, he thought. She’d better step up, I know that much. Clearly upset by the turn of events, regardless of any authentic justification for being so, Richard mashed down on the REDIAL button and waited.

  Dior went digging into her leather handbag again. After she identified the caller, she twisted her lips then rolled her eyes to exhibit sheer displeasure. Richard blew gusts of steam from both flared nostrils at once. He’d witnessed a complete brush-off and still could not believe his eyes or her indifference. Whether it was a façade to impress her new friend or not, her actions left him feeling just about as worthless as yesterday’s news. Richard was hurt, understandably so, and very close to blasting the woman he saw tossing him over like she did to the bothersome cell phone when he called. Had it not been for the petite hostess with his take-home order in hand, Richard would have ripped the lid off of Pandora’s box.

  He thanked the woman, took his family’s meal, and headed out the door on a tear. Hating himself over the affair and how badly it affected his behavior came easily for Richard. Despising Dior for the role she played seemed to be a cinch too until his cell phone hummed two blocks from the house. Dior was summoning him now. He had been given a shot at painting her unimportant, demoting her to second-class status. If it were only that easy, he would have. “What?” he said with exasperated breathing.

  “What?” Dior echoed harshly. “I’m returning your calls and you pop off with me talking about what? I must have the wrong number.”

  “No, you got the right one this time,” Richard smarted. “Don’t tell me you’re tired of slumming already.” Dior held her hand over the phone to muffle another conversation going on from her end. Richard was highly irritated by her tacky attempt to conceal it. “Dior?” he said. “Dior!”

  “I’m — I’m here. Why are you treating me like I have two bucked teeth? Huh? What is the deal with you? Here I was thinking you wanted to see me and maybe talk things over but you’re all funny actin’.”

  “Funny actin’? Maybe you can tell me how I should be actin’ after seeing you and some rough-looking dude hemmed up at Boscoe’s.” Again, there was another stream of muffled noises on Dior’s end.

  “I told Kevlin that was you leaving the restaurant,” Dior answered distrustfully. “He said I just had too much to drink.”

  “Who’s Kevlin and was he right, about you drinking too much?” Richard asked, humiliated after having made both queries. Dior explained her association with Kevlin as one of convenience from time to time, mostly as a connection for party drugs. Dior neglected to mention how she also maintained an on-again off-again sexual relationship with the small-time dealer, however infrequent they actually hooked up. Because Richard wanted to believe Dior’s version of the truth, he pouted instead of going clean off the deep end. “I didn’t like seeing you with him. You deserve better.”

  “Like you?” she answered plainly.

  “Would that be so bad? I mean, we’ve had some good times,” Richard recounted as the garage door opened. “Real good times.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Richard, but I can’t go back to that, not like it was. I’m tired of sitting at home and thinking about you doing the husband-daddy-pastor thing, I guess. I don’t know which is worse, when you have to go or knowing that you can’t come.” Richard bit on Dior’s sweet-and-sour act, instantly wishing his car was parked at her place instead of in his garage with Nadeen standing in the doorway scoffing at him.

  “I know,” he said, ending the call abruptly.

  Nadeen weighed and measured his pitiful expression. Her conclusion was guilty as sin. It was difficult to accept what she saw, even though it was glaringly obvious. Richard was a man who could not shake free from the hold Satan used, binding him to Dior. Nadeen was reminded of similar situations, seasoned by her mother’s voice. “Some things are worth fighting for. Others are barely worth fighting over.”

  Twenty-five

  Gimme One

  Dior placed a caller on hold when interrupted. She hadn’t seen Tangerine for weeks because of all the quality time she had given to Richard. The radio diva voiced concerns regarding the last message she’d left on Dior’s phone. When she didn’t receive a response, Tangie decided to make a personal visit to Giorgio’s to see what was going on for herself. “See there, heffa, I hate it when you think you’re too grown to check in every now and then,” Tangie spat playfully. “I always said if you want to wash the weave, you got to dig way down to the glue. What’s with ducking me like you owe me money?”

  The smile on Dior’s lips glistened. “Hey, Tangie. I’ve been meaning to get back at you but I —” she started in before getting cut off abruptly.

  “I nothing! We’re supposed to be looking out for each other. What if I was duct taped, bound, and gagged?”

  “I’d wait for you to do your thing and call me when you got through,” Dior howled. “Shoot, I wouldn’t want to be running to the phone if I had it like that.”

  Tangie laughed once she imagined the scene playing out in her head. “Okay, you got me there. But that does not excuse you from hiding out.” Another telephone line lit up. Tangie glanced at it. Dior waved it off.

  “How am I going to catch up with you if I’m expected to answer the calls too?” She smacked her lips rudely then dove back into the conversation at hand. “I’m sorry and I will try to do better. Now that I have my situation under wraps, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Situation, meaning a male situation?” Tangie asked eagerly.

  “Uh-huh, a freaky situation too,” Dior added sensually.

  “Leave it to you to roll up on something good enough to drop you
r girl on her head. I won’t charge it to your heart unless he’s got a freaky friend you haven’t told me about.”

  Dior wrinkled her nose while trying to recall any discussions about Richard’s close associates. “Nah, I don’t think we’ve ever gotten around to who he runs with but I’ll check on it for you. Yeah, that would be real cool if we double-dated.”

  “Don’t play with me now. The man I’ve been schooling for a minute learned all of my tricks then up and bounced,” she admitted scornfully. “You can’t trust some brothas these days.”

  “Not with all your tricks you can’t,” Dior huffed assuredly. “Besides, you should save a few of your best stunts for your husband. That’s what I’m doing.” She realized the second her friend sampled that appetizer Tangie would be back in her mouth for the main course.

  “Wait a minute, Dior.” She leered suspiciously across the counter. “Why would you be talking about husbands unless you were in the market for one yourself?” Dior played dumb for as long as she could.

  “I was just saying, you know how some people, and some times . . . ahh, forget it. There’s been so much going on that I can barely keep track of it. I wanted to tell you about Richard but it never seemed like the right time, and now I’m thinking about kicking it with Giorgio again. I don’t know what time it is. Just last night I hung out with Kevlin.”

  “Hold up. You’re all over the place with this. First, you’re getting married to some guy named Richard, who I haven’t gotten a chance to stamp my approval on or run up under my hairdresser’s gaydar. Avanté ain’t been wrong yet. And you told me that thing with your boss was over and done with months ago. Your bed is crowded as hell, Dior. You’d better get a handle on it. And don’t let me get started on Kevlin. He beat on you once, which is plenty for me. Uhhgh, this is so mess up. You make my head hurt.”

  Dior folded her arms defensively. “Forget you, Tangie. It’s not easy being me and that’s why I wasn’t in any hurry to dump my dirt on you. I got this,” she hissed angrily. “I’m a big girl, always have been.”