If Only For One Night

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  Still, I gave him a little nod, my agreement that I was going with him.

  He breathed, then, he said, “You know, when you start out with marriage, you have all these dreams of what you think it’s going to be.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said, taking a short jaunt down my own jagged lane of memories.

  “But what's sad is that it seems like they’re just dreams that can never be achieved.” He sighed. “I’m talking about regular everyday things. Just sitting together, talking together, laughing together.” He paused and looked into my eyes so deeply that I gave him my own confession.

  “That’s all that I’d hoped for. I thought Preston was my perfect mate because there was a time when we were able to do all of those things together. But then, his business became his muse and his love and now, I can’t tell you the last time my husband and I sat down for dinner, let alone, that he did anything romantic.”

  Blu shook his head. “I find that hard to believe. A woman like you, I would shower with so much affection and attention that you wouldn’t be able to breathe.”

  Every organ inside of me flipped. He didn’t say shower me with gifts. He was talking about those things that money could never buy, those things that were most important — to me.

  His voice was so soft, I couldn’t even call it a whisper when he said, “And you know what else I would do — to a woman like you?”

  I shook my head because I didn’t want to say anything that would break this trance I was in.

  “After I made you feel good on the inside,” he pointed to my heart, “I’d spend every day trying to make you feel good on the outside.”

  His words made me shift, made me swoon.

  “I grew up dreaming about the kind of husband I would be. My father loved my mother until the day he died. And when I say love, I’m talking about the verb. Every action, he performed with my mother in mind. From working so that he could provide her with a life he believed she deserved, down to grocery shopping and always stocking the shelves with her favorite foods. Forget my brother and me, it was all about my mother.” He chuckled and sat back in his seat as if he were remembering those good times. “He always told us ‘Sons, this is how you treat a woman.’ And then, when we got old enough, when we had that birds and bees talk….”

  I nodded ‘cause this, I wanted to hear.

  “He told us to make it all about our woman and if we did that, it would always be more than good enough for us.”

  “Wow! He was some kind of dad.”

  “He was some kind of man.” Blu nodded, his countenance covered with sadness, though different, this time. It was a sadness where he could still smile. “My dad taught me well, but unfortunately, I haven’t had much need to use those how-to-please-a-woman kind of lessons…over the past few years.”

  “Years?” I whispered. I knew his wife was sick, suffering from depression, mostly. But had it been…years?

  “My wife…her illness…yes. It’s been a few years.”

  Before I could filter my thoughts or my words, I said, “So what do you do about that?” And then, I added — again, without a filter, “Do you have women on the side?” The moment those words came out of me, I wanted to take them back. I wasn’t trying to insult Blu, it was just that I was so surprised. How does a man go years? But then…except for Preston’s quickies, I’d done the same thing.

  “Actually, I don’t have any women,” he said without a tinge of indignation. “I’ve honored my vows, I’ve honored my wife. I’ve worked hard to help her become better. I want to stand by her, it’s just that…it’s becomes harder. As time passes…it becomes harder.”

  “I understand.”

  “At some point, I have to think about me, right?”

  I nodded.

  “At some point, I have to chase my own happiness, I have to find my own life.”

  I didn’t move because Blu had moved into a different space, as if he were no longer talking to me. It almost sounded as if these were his inner thoughts that had escaped into the atmosphere without his permission. These words were more for him than for me.

  Leaning closer to him, I put my hands over his, my heart saddened by his sudden change in mood.

  He moved closer to me and then suddenly, shook his head. “You know what?” His smile was all the way back. “I’m here to make you happy tonight, to celebrate Black Girls Magic. I want us to have a good time. To chat, to smile, to laugh.”

  “And I love doing all of that with you.”

  He shook his head at my words, his smile even wider now. “You know, if I’d met a woman like you back in college, there’s no telling where I’d be, where we’d be today.”

  “Seems to me, you’re in a pretty good space.”

  “Well,” he began, “I am…at least when I’m with you.”

  I inhaled.

  He said, “So, let’s get this dinner started.” He pressed something on his phone and less than a minute later, a waiter tapped on the door, then rolled in a tray filled with plates covered with silver domes.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Blu said. “I ordered dinner for us.”

  I smiled my approval. This was only our third time meeting in person, but I was sure that whatever Blu ordered would be perfect to my palate — and much more.

  As the young man laid out one tray with cheese samplers and escargot, I marveled at all that Blu had told me. It felt like he’d gone deep, sharing some of his most intimate thoughts. And then, there were his other words, that I knew I would savor long after this dinner:

  “A woman like you, I would shower with so much love and affection and attention that you wouldn’t be able to breathe.”

  “After I made you feel good on the inside…I’d spend every day trying to make you feel good on the outside.”

  “If I’d met a woman like you back in college, there’s no telling where I’d be, where we’d be today.”

  Just thinking about his words now made me weaken, made my heart want to beat to his rhythm.

  When the waiter left us alone, Blu said, “Let me bless the food,” as he reached for my hands.

  We bowed our heads and while he thanked God for the food, I thanked God for him.

  There was no way that I could prove it scientifically, but Blu’s confession about his wife, his marriage and his aspirations for marriage drew us closer. I could see it in the way our conversation shifted once we began to eat. Now, it was more personal. When the waiter returned to serve us the filet mignon, grilled shrimp, grilled lobster and asparagus spears, we talked about our families. He told me how he’d been raised by loving parents and I told him how I’d been raised by parents who loved me, but not each other, even though they stayed together till the day my mother died.

  “Wow, your parents,” Blu said as his fork cut through a slice of the molten chocolate lava cake. “It seems like…we’re both following in their footsteps.”

  Oh, my God! Were we doing that? Had I set myself up for a long-term marriage that would never fulfill me with love?

  But before I could wallow in the sadness of that thought, Blu brought the joy back by talking about Black Girls Magic.

  “Next weekend, is going to be epic,” he said. “And I can’t wait to join in with you.”

  I couldn’t wait for that either. I wanted Blu to see me in my element. And though I couldn’t explain it, I wanted him to see me with Preston. I was even hoping that he could bring his wife to the gala. Because him meeting my husband, me meeting his wife — that would ensure that we would stay what we should be. Just friends with a connection. Just friends trying to help each other navigate through this difficult period in our lives.

  By the time we finished chatting and eating and talking and laughing, the restaurant was closing.

  “I feel like someone should just roll me to my car,” I told Blu as he pulled back my chair so that I could stand.

  He laughed. “Why don’t I just walk you out?” He took my hand and helped me to stand, but then, he d
idn’t let go.

  He held onto me as he led me out of the room, through the maze of now empty tables in the restaurant and through the front door. He held my hand as we stepped silently across the parking lot because there was nothing for me to say. I would never be able to speak with Blu this close to me.

  Then, we paused at my car. Once I fished for my keys in my purse, he took the fob from me and pressed the remote.

  I opened the door, tossed my purse inside, then said, “Thank you, for everything.” By the time I turned to face Blu again, he was right there. I mean, literally — his face was so close to mine, there was nothing else for me to do.

  Leaning in, I didn’t pause at all. There was no need to hesitate when this was what I wanted. I pressed my lips to his…or maybe he pressed his to mine, I didn’t know. All I knew was that it was the greatest feeling in the world. It was so gentle, so tender, and felt…so loving.

  Loving, until our lips parted and we invited each other inside. Now, that loving feeling became passion. It was a slow grind, the dance that our tongues did together. The slowest of dances that went on forever, but not long enough.

  When we stepped back, we were both breathless, though in shock. Even with that, I wanted so much more.

  Through my heart that pounded like it was trying to get away from me and inside of him, I said, “Blu, will you….”

  He pressed his fingers against my lips and shook his head. As if he knew what I was going to say. He said, “Let’s just say good night.”

  This time when he leaned forward, he pressed his lips against my forehead, then opened the car door wider, guiding me inside.

  I did as I was told, got inside, started the ignition, then waved as I rolled my Lexus away from him. But the whole time, my heart was still pounding. Not just from that kiss, but from what I almost asked him.

  It was hard to believe those words were about to come out of me and thank God, Blu had stopped me. Still, I wondered what he would have said. What would his answer have been if he’d let me ask, “Blu, will you spend the night with me?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Blu

  I deserved some kind of prize. Because if any of my boys from college or high school — heck, if anyone from elementary or middle school — saw what I just did, they'd swear I was on some special type of drug.

  Trust, walking away like that right now had been one of the most difficult things I'd ever done. With all that we shared tonight, our connection was electric and could combust at any moment. But I respected Angelique. And even more — I respected my wife.

  That was my thought as I rounded the corner, then edged my car into our driveway. As I slid out, I tried my best to shake away all thoughts of Angelique and tonight. I was with my family now and that was where my attention needed to be.

  Inside our house, I first checked in on Tanner, knocking gently on his door. But I didn’t wait for an invitation inside. I never did, even when he used to protest. Back then, I had to school him on who was the parent and who was the child, who paid the bills and who had no money at all. We had no need for further discussion after that.

  “What’s up, Dad?” Tanner said when I stuck my head in. He was laid back on his bed, with his Beats (as always) over his ears.

  I walked over to him and bumped my fist with his. “What’s good?”

  He tapped his phone and I heard the music lower. “Everything’s straight on the home front,” Tanner said, and once again I felt that ache in my heart, for what my children had to see, for what they had to do because of Monica’s illness.

  One of the things I’d promised myself was that I wouldn’t put the responsibility of taking care of his sister on Tanner. Growing up, I’d missed school activities and events because my parents believed that I was their live-in babysitter for my five-years younger brother. I was fifteen or sixteen when I made that vow about how I would treat my children, though, clearly, I was unaware, at that time, of the woman I would marry.

  It was true, I hadn’t pushed Raven onto Tanner, always hiring a babysitter when possible. But tonight, he’d volunteered.

  I said, “Great. Raven’s good?”

  He nodded and slipped the headphones from his ears. “Yeah, she ate that nasty ravioli because she didn’t want pizza and then, I made sure she got in bed. She’s been asleep for a while now.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Tan. You always come through for me.”

  “No worries.” He nodded, then slid the headphones back into place and I guessed that was my signal that he’d given me all that I needed to know. I guessed he knew what my next question would be and Tanner hated when I asked him about his mom. I always wanted to know whether or not there’d been any incidents.

  And so knowing how much he disliked that, recently, I’d fought my urge to ask him, figuring that if there was ever anything he couldn’t handle, he’d let me know.

  Still, I hated that for him.

  Right before I stepped out of his bedroom, he shouted out, “Raven’s expecting you to take her to the movies tomorrow.”

  I paused, then remembered. “Yup,” I said to him right before I closed his bedroom door.

  Even though I knew Raven was cool because of her brother, I still peeked in, picked up her kicked-off blanket, and covered her once again. I had to chuckle as I looked around her room. To the ordinary eye, this six-years-old’s room was pretty close to being considered for one of those designer magazines. But I knew the truth and feared for what I would find when I opened her closet and checked under her bed.

  I kissed her forehead before I stepped from her room, then made my way over to our bedroom. I sighed before I stepped inside, hoping that Monica was asleep, and if she weren’t, we wouldn’t end up in a fight.

  But when I opened the door, there were a myriad of matter that challenged my senses.

  The first thing that hit me when I stepped over the threshold was that the television wasn’t on. That was strange — the TV played just about twenty-four-seven because Monica watched it during the day and slept with it on by night.

  Next, the assault was on my hearing:

  “A chair is still a chair, even when there’s no one sitting there…”

  With Luther’s voice in my ears, my eyes settled on the bed where Monica always lay. She was there, but she was a Monica that I hadn’t seen in sometime. My wife was sprawled across our bed, in a red teddy and thong. It was quite a contrast, the red she wore against the white duvet. She looked like fire.

  But it wasn’t just the lingerie. My wife looked gorgeous with her usually-in-a-ponytail hair traded in for curls that cascaded over her shoulders. And she’d taken the time to put on makeup, though not too much. I always loved that Monica wore just enough to enhance her and not hide her.

  My reaction was instant and it was real. I smiled. “Wow! What?”

  She finished my question for me. “What is this?” She sat up just a little. “This is your wife waiting for you to come home.” She paused. “You’re a little late.”

  I stiffened as she glanced at the clock. My first thought was: this had been a set-up. She’d done all of this to lash out at me because it was Friday, it was after midnight, and I was just getting home. Stepping all the way into the bedroom, I braced myself for her rant, already thinking that I was too tired to sleep on the sofa, but I would do it.

  But all Monica said was, “But I’m glad you’re home now.”

  There was more than relief in me now, I was grateful to see that my wife was really trying. I walked over, leaned onto our bed, moving to kiss her. Then, right before our lips touched — a flash.

  Angelique, turning to face me.

  I shook my head, trying to knock that vision away.

  “What’s wrong?” Monica’s eyes were filled with concern as she held the back of my neck.

  “Oh, nothing. Nothing,” I replied. But all my mind would let me manage as she pulled me to her was a peck on her lips.

  When I leaned away, her frown deepened. “What was that?”<
br />
  I stared at my wife laying there, ready and now, so willing. But before I could lean over again — a flash.

  Angelique, her lips so close.

  “Blu?” Monica called my name. “What’s wrong? I’m lying here like this, waiting for you and that’s all I can get? That’s the way you kiss now?”

  A flash — Angelique, our kiss.

  “Blu?”

  When I blinked away that memory, Monica, once again, came focused into my view.

  Her frown of concern was morphing into anger and I rushed to stop that. “I’m sorry, babe. You look amazing.” This time, when I leaned over Monica, I focused on her lips. And this time, I really kissed her. When I finally pulled away, I said, “It’s just been a long day. I need a shower.”

  “Well, hurry up. Don’t keep Mama waiting.”

  Inside our bathroom, I turned on the shower before I stripped my clothes. Not only was this not what I expected when I came home, but this wasn’t what I wanted. Within an hour, I’d kissed two women — two women that I cared for.

  That was my first dilemma — how would I stop those images of Angelique from galloping through my mind? And even if I were able to erase Angelique, I wasn’t in the mood for this perfunctory sex. Every quarter or so, Monica felt like she had to perform her wifely duties — that was what she’d called it in the past. And once she’d said that, once she’d told me that sex with me was something she was supposed to do, that part of our relationship had lost its luster.

  Under the shower’s water, though, I decided that I would wait it out. If I took a long enough shower, surely, Monica would be asleep. But that was not the case. Even though at least twenty or so minutes had passed when I finally wrapped myself in my bathrobe and returned to our bedroom, my wife’s eyes were wide open. And her eyes wasn’t the only thing that was wide awake — she was naked, perched on all fours, and ready to ride.

  A flash — Angelique, smiling. Angelique, laughing.

  “I’ve been waiting for you.” She crawled toward me and I wondered what kind of drugs had she taken? That was always my concern — was she taking her meds? Was she taking anything else?