Passion by the Book

by Pamela Yaye

Marcus grabbed his cell phone. He wanted to spend the rest of the night making love to Simone, but when he read the text message from his friend and business partner, Nate Washington, he knew his plans would have to wait.

  “What’s wrong?” Simone snuggled against his shoulder. He was frowning, and his chin hung so low it was sitting on his chest. “Is there a problem at one of the gyms?”

  “No, I have to write an article for Bodybuilder’s Magazine, and it’s due tomorrow. It’s a major promotional opportunity, the biggest I’ve had since I opened Samson’s,” he said. “Thank God Nate reminded me or I would have blown the assignment.”

  “Yeah, thank God,” Simone mumbled under her breath. She felt numb, paralyzed from the neck down, unable to move. Good thing, because she probably would have snatched Marcus’s cell phone out of his hand and chucked it out the window.

  “I better get started on it.”

  “Now? But we were about to make love.”

  “I know, but the article’s due first thing tomorrow morning.” Marcus pulled on a gray T-shirt and black sweatpants. “This is my first piece for the magazine, and if the readers like it, I could end up with my own monthly column. Cool, huh?”

  All Simone could do was nod. What else could she do? Demand he come to bed and make love to her? Oh, yeah, that’s real romantic!

  “If it’s not too much trouble could you proof it for me in the morning?”

  Simone forced a smile onto her lips. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

  “Thanks, baby. You’re a lifesaver. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “How long will it take you to write the article?”

  He shrugged. “Not long. I know what I want to write, it’s just a matter of getting my thoughts down on paper.”

  But when he pecked her cheek and told her to get some rest, Simone knew her husband had no intention of returning anytime soon. Rolling onto her side, so he wouldn’t see the pained expression on her face, she pulled the blanket up to her chin and sighed inwardly.

  “Sleep well,” he said, switching off the bedside lamp. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Simone watched him leave, watched helplessly as he took her confidence and self-esteem with him. The room was dark, the night calm, and the scent of her husband’s aftershave swirled in the air. Simone willed herself to relax, to go to bed, but her restless mind chased sleep away.

  Lying there, she studied the numbers on the digital clock, watched as the seconds slipped into minutes. Simone felt alone, unloved, like a child whose parents forgot to pick her up from school. Only she wasn’t a kid. She was a twenty-nine-year-old woman whose husband would rather work than make love to her. His rejection stung, burned like antiseptic doused on a bloody wound.

  Resting her hands on her stomach, she blinked back the tears that filled her eyes. Having twins had taken a toll on her body, and it was times like this Simone wondered if Marcus was starting to lose interest in her sexually. She didn’t have the tight, shapely figure she’d had when they first met, and nursing her sons had all but ruined her boobs. If not for her fear of going under the knife, she would have had a breast lift years ago.

  Simone stared up at the ceiling, wondering, thinking, turning questions over in her mind. What happened to the sweet, sensitive guy who used to think the world of me? she thought sadly. Marcus had been emotionally AWOL for months, and whenever they talked, she could tell his thoughts were a million miles away. He complained that she hassled him too much, said that she was unappreciative of what he did for their family. Could it be true? Had her incessant nagging killed their romance? For months she’d been telling herself that he was just stressed about work, but deep down Simone knew it was something else.

  Panting, her head spinning, her heart racing, she bolted upright. Or maybe it isn’t something else, she thought, swallowing the lump of fear in her throat, but someone else?

  Simone shook her head, booted the thought from her mind. Now she was just being silly. Marcus wasn’t the cheating type. He was a workaholic, but at least he was a loyal one. Another thought struck, this one more terrifying than the last. The truth was staring her in the face, flashing like a fifty-foot neon billboard: Marcus wasn’t in love with her. That’s why he was working around the clock and why he was in his office now instead of in their marital bed.

  Sweat drenched her skin, soaked the plush, thousand-thread-count sheets. Winded, as if she’d been kicked in the stomach, Simone struggled to breathe. As she sat there, shaking, listening to the wind whistling through the trees, the same question ran over and over again in her mind.

  Can my marriage be saved or is it too late?

  Chapter 3

  “Ma’am, would you like another dirty martini?”

  Ma’am? Simone stared openmouthed at the dark-haired waiter. But I’m only twenty-nine! Deciding he was just being polite and not trying to insult her, she nodded and rested her empty cocktail glass on his tray. “And if it’s not too much trouble, could you bring us some more of your garlic cheese biscuits? They’re so good I could eat the whole basket myself.”

  “You did!” Angela Kelly quipped, pointing a finger at her. “I only had one!”

  They laughed.

  “I can’t believe how busy it is in here.” Simone settled against the oriental-style cushions lined up along the booth. “It’s a good thing you made reservations or we’d be stuck in the waiting area like everyone else.”

  “That wouldn’t be so bad. That sexy pitcher who plays for the White Sox just swaggered in, and, girl, he’s even more gorgeous in person!”

  “Now I remember why you like it here so much. You can stuff your face and get your daily celebrity fix all at the same time!”

  Simone laughed, but she enjoyed having lunch at the Skyline Grill just as much as Angela did, and not just because it was located on a bustling, tree-lined street overrun with cafés, hotels and upscale boutiques. The crowd was chic, the service prompt and the atmosphere lively. Glass vases overflowing with marigolds brightened the tables, framed photographs of the rich and famous adorned the walls and pop music drifted in from the adjacent lounge. From her seat, Simone could see Jayden and Jordan darting around the playroom, and she smiled sympathetically at the waitress keeping watch over the roomful of rambunctious toddlers.

  “I need a massage in the worst way,” Angela said, rubbing her neck. “I interviewed a Saudi diplomat this morning, and every time I asked about the bribery charges against him, he cursed me in Arabic. I’m telling you, I earned my paycheck today and then some!”

  Fair-skinned, with hazel eyes and an abundance of naturally curly hair, Angela looked the part of a confident, tenacious news reporter in her green military-style blazer, white blouse and slim pants. Her best friend complained constantly about her long work hours, but she loved interviewing prominent people—even the obnoxious ones—and was thrilled that she’d been hired to work at the number-one TV station in Chicago.

  “Let’s go to Destination Wellness tomorrow,” she suggested, raising her cocktail glass to her glossy lips. “I’m telling you. That Euphoria Suite is calling my name!”

  “I can’t. I’m thinking of having some work done, and I have a consultation with—”

  “You’re doing more home renovations? But you just finished your deck.”

  “I’m not meeting a building contractor, silly. I’m meeting a plastic surgeon.”

  Angela’s eyes were wide, glazed over with disbelief.

  “I want to get a breast lift,” Simone announced, pinching two fingers together. “And maybe a smidge of liposuction. I did some research on it this morning, and I can have both procedures done at the same time. Isn’t that great?”

  “Simone, you don’t need a breast lift.”

  “Yes, I do! After nursing the boys my boobs became sort of, I don’t know, sq
uishy, and I even went down a cup size.” Moving aside her salad bowl, she leaned forward and stuck out her chest. “Go on—touch them. See for yourself.”

  Angela looked like her chin was about to hit the table. “I’m not going to touch your boobs,” she hissed, glancing around the dining room to see if anyone rich and fabulous was watching. “This is a classy restaurant, not some sleazy back-alley bar in the hood.”

  “Who cares? We’ve been friends forever, and besides, no one’s paying us any mind. Go on, give them a good, hard squeeze.”

  “Forget it, Simone. I’m not going to feel you up in front of all these nice people.”

  “Some friend you are.”

  “You’re insane for even considering having plastic surgery,” Angela replied. “You’re gorgeous. Stunning. Sexier than a video chick in black pleather booty shorts.”

  “I’m telling you my boobs just aren’t as perky as they used to be.”

  “So what if they aren’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

  Simone gave her the evil eye. “We’ll see if you’re still singing that tune after you’ve had a couple kids and your body doesn’t snap back like it’s supposed to.”

  “You’re starting to sound like that delusional Miami socialite I interviewed last year! What are you going to do next? Take some fat from your butt and inject it into your face to reverse the aging process?”

  Angela’s cheeky, off-the-cuff retort made Simone giggle, and when her friend threatened to send back the dirty martini the waiter brought, she laughed even harder. Simone lived for “Girls’ Day,” and she loved every minute she spent with her childhood friend. Every Tuesday, they met for lunch, and over cocktails and ridiculously expensive appetizers they talked and laughed and ogled the hunky male celebrities dining an arm’s length away.

  “Where is all this coming from?” Angela’s features were touched with concern. “You’ve never mentioned wanting to have plastic surgery before, so what’s really going on?”

  Simone fiddled with the napkins in the thin, gold holder. She’d cleaned up at the Neiman Marcus sale, scoring designer shoes and purses at fifty percent off, but she still felt miserable. Last week, she’d spent the entire lunch complaining about Marcus, but she’d promised herself she wouldn’t discuss the problems in her marriage today. A lot of exciting things were happening in Angela’s life, and she wanted to be supportive.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Simone hesitated. She didn’t want to burden Angela with her troubles, but if she didn’t tell someone about what happened last night, she was going to burst. “It’s Marcus...”

  “Oh, no, what did he do this time? Fall asleep during pillow talk or after making love?”

  “Ha, ha, you’re so funny. You should open for Steve Harvey on his next comedy tour.”

  “Don’t get mad.” Angela winked. “I’m just being honest. You want nonstop romance, and that’s just not realistic in this busy, fast-paced world we live in.”

  “Oh, shush. No one asked you.”

  Silence fell between them, but the dining room was alive with excitement and laughter.

  “You can’t expect Marcus to romance you 24/7, Simone. That stuff only happens on reality TV, and you’re not on The Bachelorette!”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re single. You don’t understand what it’s like being married to a workaholic.”

  Angela put down her fork and studied her best friend. Simone always let her look reflect her mood, and her all-black ensemble suggested she had a serious case of the blahs. She’d pulled her hair back into a silver clip, wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup or her most prized possession—her big, glitzy wedding ring.

  “I better go check on the boys. Jordan thinks he’s a wrestler, and I don’t want him trashing the playroom like the last time we were here.”

  “Sit down. The boys are fine.” Angela reached out and squeezed Simone’s hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. Tell me what’s going on. I’m listening.”

  Simone told Angela about their argument and about what didn’t happen in the bedroom. “I tossed and turned for hours, and when I finally fell asleep I dreamt that we were in divorce court and that Judge Joe Brown was presiding over our case!” Simone shivered at the memory. “We were yelling and screaming and carrying on. It was ugly, girl. Real ugly. Worse than a Real Housewives reunion show!”

  “Don’t read too much into it. Marcus was probably tired and fell asleep in his office.”

  “Tired? Puh-leeze, what about me? I’m taking care of the kids and the house, without any help whatsoever from him, but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

  Angela started to speak, but when Simone glared at her, she swallowed her retort.

  “I just want Marcus to spend more time with me. Is that too much to ask?”

  Simone sighed, shifted around in her seat. Her gaze drifted to the playroom, and when she saw Jayden waving at her, she smiled and waved back. “Life was so much easier before Marcus opened his sixth gym. All he used to care about was making me happy and being a good father, and now all he cares about is tripling his net worth.”

  “Don’t be so hard on him. At least he’s not one of those lazy-can’t-keep-a-job-can-I-hold-a-fifty-until-payday-type brothers.”

  Simone cracked up. “Don’t worry, girl. You’ll find your Prince Charming soon.”

  “Please, I’ve kissed so many frogs I’ve given up hope of ever meeting Mr. Right. Hell, at this point I’d settle for Mr. Maybe or Mr. Gainfully Employed!”

  More shrieks and laughs.

  “Angela, I’m so glad you moved back home. Now I won’t feel so lonely.”

  “Lonely? What are you talking about? You have the boys, your family and tons of decorating projects to do around the house.”

  “I know, but I still get down sometimes.” Simone shoved her fork absently around her plate of lobster pasta. “And now that Jayden and Jordan are going to the Webber Academy for Boys three days a week, I’m really climbing the wall.”

  “You should take a class or get a part-time job. That way, you have your own thing going on and you’re not waiting around all day for Marcus to get home.”

  “I haven’t worked for years, and the thought of revising my résumé makes me queasy,” she confessed, her tone tinged with apprehension. “And to be honest, I don’t know if I could juggle being a mom, a wife and a social worker all at the same time.”

  “Don’t you miss working, though? No offense, but I never pegged you as a stay-at-home mom slash trophy wife type.”

  “That makes two of us. One day I’m getting ready to start my field experience at the teen clinic, and the next thing I know I’m pregnant with twins.”

  “I know, huh? It seems like just yesterday we were hitting the hottest clubs, staying out ’til dawn and dancing until our heels broke off, but it’s been almost eight years since we graduated from U of C.”

  “We were going to travel the world after graduation, remember?” Simone wore a sad, wistful smile. “What happened to all of our plans?”

  “You met Marcus and lost your ever-loving mind, that’s what!”

  “What can I say? My man has some serious game!”

  The women giggled.

  “But Marcus isn’t romantic anymore, and the last time we went out for dinner his stupid cell phone kept ringing. I just want to hang out with my husband without anyone interrupting us.”

  “Have you told him that?”

  “Only a million times,” Simone grumbled, gripping the stem of her cocktail glass. “His favorite song used to be ‘You’re My Everything’ and now it’s ‘My Prerogative.’ Gosh, I always hated that song, and Bobby Brown, too!”

  Angela laughed and dabbed at her mouth wit
h a crisp, white napkin. “Every marriage goes through ups and downs, but that doesn’t mean you guys are headed for divorce court, Simone. Marcus loves you just the way you are, so no more plastic-surgery talk, okay?”

  Simone lowered her head and stared down at her French manicure. “I thought if I got a little work done he’d pay more attention to me.”

  “Getting a breast lift isn’t going to cure your marital problems.” Angela wore a soft smile, but her voice was stern. “Don’t go to the consultation, or mention it to the girls on Saturday night, either. You know Tameika. She’ll get loud and start talking crazy—”

  “Saturday? Do we have plans?”

  “My housewarming party’s at six-thirty, remember?”

  “With everything that’s been going on, it slipped my mind.”

  “No worries,” Angela said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You still have plenty of time to head to Nordstrom’s and buy one of the fabulous items on my gift registry.”

  “You created a gift registry for your housewarming party?”

  Angela grinned. “You bet your boots I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want my tacky relatives to buy me cheap dollar-store gifts!”

  Simone belted out a laugh. She’d never heard of anything so outrageous, but nothing her girlfriend did ever surprised her. Simone didn’t want to miss the couple’s seminar on Saturday, but she had to be at Angela’s housewarming party. Her girlfriend had been planning it for weeks, and Simone was dying to see how she’d decorated her new two-story home.

  “Mommy...”

  Simone felt a tug on her sweater and turned around. Jayden was sucking his thumb with gusto, making loud, slurping sounds that attracted the attention of everyone seated nearby. Sniffling, he bobbed his head vigorously up and down. Breaking him of the habit had proven to be such a difficult task, she’d called his pediatrician for help. Dr. Westbrook told her not to worry, said that Jayden would grow out of it soon. Simone sure hoped so because she was tired of him slobbering all over himself, other people and the living room furniture.