Un-Nappily in Love

by Trisha R. Thomas

  How to Lose Friends

  and Win Enemies

  “You look like you’ve seen the devil himself. What’s wrong with you?” Pauletta smashed the turkey burger cooking in the skillet. She shook a little salt, then came and sat at the table.

  “It’s kind of a long story. I saw Miriam’s husband at the Monarch Hotel checking in with …” I couldn’t mouth the words. “Anyway, Miriam seems to know all about it and still wants to go through with her ceremony. Wow,” was all I could finish with.

  “Ahuh.” Pauletta made sure to raise her skinny eyebrow. Not that she’d plucked them to death. The tiny hairs had thinned from her chemo. In fact, she was thin all over. It took some time getting used to. I came from a family of bountiful ass—aunts, cousins, and nieces, properly pear shaped and proud of it.

  “What?” she asked.

  “What, what?” I would not win the what battle. I got up. “Never mind. I need a shower. I feel so dirty. I should’ve told Miriam and I didn’t.”

  “She don’t want to hear nothing you have to say about her husband … kind of like somebody else I know.”

  “Got that right. Thank you, Mother. Makes perfect sense to me. Because I’d be a whole lot happier not hearing another word about Sirena Lassiter.”

  She stuck her tongue into the side of her cheek. “Well, unless you have magic skills to make somebody disappear, she’s your reality. Deal with it.”

  I lay in bed staring at the ceiling with my cell phone placed in the center of my chest. If I died now, it would be waiting for Jake’s call. Seemed that’s all I did these days, wait for Jake’s call.

  I stopped watching TV weeks ago. The trailer for True Beauty played on just about every commercial break of all my favorite shows. I could read if my eyes weren’t tight and blurry from my earlier breakdown. Surely sleep would come to save me.

  I felt a brush across my lips and imagined I was Sleeping Beauty. Those damn fairy tales were the bane of every little girl’s future existence. Waiting for the prince to arrive and save her.

  “Baby?”

  Oh God, why couldn’t we ever stop waiting for him to save us?

  I opened my eyes and threw my arms around Jake.

  He kissed me deep and wide, then held my face in his hands. “You have no idea how happy I am to be home.”

  The next morning, I woke up to voices vibrating through the house. Voices and footsteps. I thought I was dreaming that Jake actually came home. He did. I arrived downstairs in time to see Mya reenacting her recital dance for him. She was excited to show off her new shiny yellow ballet slippers. She’d grown out of the first pair. The child was cursed with long narrow feet.

  Jake clapped and cheered. When she was finished she leaped into his arms.

  “You are the best ballerina I’ve ever seen.” He kissed the top of Mya’s head where it was parted down the center. My mother had taken on the duty of combing her hair. She’d parted it down the middle and put it in two country plaits, claiming she wasn’t used to plantation hair.

  “This child needs a perm. It’s too thick. I don’t have the arm strength to wrestle with this stuff,” she exclaimed every morning.

  “Would you not say things like that over my baby’s head? I’m not getting her a relaxer. If she wants to straighten her hair, it will be when she’s grown and on her own.”

  “Lord, have mercy,” Pauletta had wailed. “Where did I go wrong?”

  Miriam would’ve seen the lunacy of the situation. She would’ve listened to me and made me laugh about the whole plantation-plaits thing. Now I was so afraid our relationship was built on a lie. Me pretending to be happy for her, smiling in her face when I should’ve been trying to talk sense into her.

  I tiptoed back to bed, not wanting to interrupt Jake and Mya’s father-daughter time.

  Not long after, the bedroom door opened and closed. I lay still and tried to steady my breathing. We still hadn’t talked.

  “You awake?” he asked.

  I had been contemplating how to escape this nightmare unscathed. How to protect myself from being hurt. How not to hear whatever he wanted to talk about.

  “I’m awake,” I confessed to the back of his head. He scooted back and laid down.

  He pulled my arm around his waist. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “You’re just trying to get into my nightie again,” I said.

  “Is it working?” His hand was groping, making direct contact. I hated to admit it, but it was. Sex seemed to be the panacea for all that ailed us in our relationship. The one time we couldn’t feel the heat for each other was right after I’d lost the baby. Months and months it took for us to find each other again, both so lost and hurt.

  He turned around and faced me. He slipped below the sheets and ducked underneath my nightie. He licked, nibbled, and sucked until I couldn’t hear the doubt and fear in my head. The chatter stopped, replaced by the guttural moan in the back of my throat. Finally, I’d found my voice. I climaxed into tears.

  When he tried to hold me I scooted, pushing him back. His eyes glistened with worry. “What’s wrong?”

  “Now I’m ready to listen.”

  “Are you? I’ve been trying to tell you the truth and you haven’t wanted to hear it. Are you ready to listen?”

  “Yes, but I’m going to do the asking. You’re not going to fit your words nice and neat into my head like some brainwashing session.” This almost made him smile. He fought it back.

  “Brainwash you? Impossible. You’re the most stubborn woman I know … well, not including your mother. But you got it honestly.” He stroked my hair spread in a halo against the pillow. He kissed me between the eyes. “Ask me anything.”

  “A journalist came to my floral shop. She said Sirena and you were in love; in fact she claimed she was your first love. I’m trying to figure out why this fact was omitted from our countless conversations.” It took every muscle in my body to sit up. I was still shivering from the orgasm. I really should’ve been in a euphoric state. Instead it was like some superorgasm that gave me superhero strength. A heightened sense of awareness. My skin tingled and my head was spinning with too much information.

  “I still didn’t hear a question.”

  “Did you sleep with her … in the past?”

  “Yes.”

  I inhaled and smiled, but there was a steady stream of tears moving down my cheeks.

  “Did you sleep with her—”

  “There’s nothing between me and Sirena. What we had was a long time ago. So long ago, I didn’t feel the need to talk about it. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. But I knew you’d be nervous. I didn’t want to give you a reason to be concerned.”

  He looked me directly in the eye and slid the moistness away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, baby. Sorry I didn’t tell you. There’s nothing between Sirena and me, do you understand?”

  My brows knitted together. “You’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?”

  I sniffed. “That brainwashing thing.” I covered my eyes with my hand.

  I could tell he was smiling. “Okay, listen without your eyes. I love you. You and Mya are my life. I wouldn’t jeopardize what we have. Whatever questions you have, I will answer.”

  I dropped my hand. “Aha. That means you won’t volunteer anything. I’ve fallen for that trick before.”

  “How is it a trick when you said you were going to do the questioning? I’m telling you … I will submit to your polygraph or whatever masterful skills you have for getting the truth.” He leaned forward. “I do know of one fail-proof way to get me to talk.”

  “Oh really.”

  He slid his soft cool hand up my thigh. “Timeless, tried and true. The oldest method on the books. Mata Hari, all the great female spies knew exactly how to get the information they wanted.”

  “You mean like this.” I pulled my nightgown up, crawled on his lap and straddled him. I yanked his head back and trailed with slow wet kisses. I
squeezed my thighs together and ground against him until he moaned.

  “Yeah, oh yeah. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He flipped me back on the bed and landed on top.

  “Oh yeah, I can see I have complete control of the situation.”

  “Yes, I’m all yours. Do with me what you will.” Only it was he sinking his mouth around my nipples. His hands pressing into my waist, pulling me down closer for easy reach.

  The bed started shaking like one of those quarter machine rides in front of the grocery store. “Either Mr. Happy grew a motor, or your phone is vibrating.”

  He flipped the phone out of his pocket, tossing it. The sound buzzed near my ear where it landed. I grabbed the little monster. “It’s Ramona.”

  His tongue was in my belly button. The vibrating stopped. He kept going. The vibrating started up again. I picked it up and tapped him lightly on the head … with the phone. “It’s Sirena.”

  He lifted up his face, let out an exhaustive sigh. “Tell her I’m busy.” He put his face back between my thighs.

  “Hello. How you doin’, Sirena? This is Venus.”

  Jake tried to grab the phone. “I was just … kidding,” he desperately whispered.

  I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. “That’s good to hear. Yes … yes, we’re just happy to have him home. He’s in the shower but I’ll tell him to call you back as soon as he’s out. It’s an emergency, right?” I was up walking by now, Jake’s eyes following me with each paced step. “I mean, you just spent the last thirty-six hours together, nonstop, so I figure it must be an emergency.”

  Jake put his head down and shook it.

  “Oh, oh, I see. Yeah. No, yeah, I’d say that was an emergency. I’m sorry to hear about that. I’ll let him know.” I pushed the end button. “Her father had a heart attack. She said you and he were close and thought you should know.”

  Jake stood up. He took the phone out of my hand, then kissed my forehead. He tilted his head, seeing a new picture altogether. He rubbed a hand across my face to try to wipe away my quivering lip of guilt. “Baby, how were you supposed to know?”

  “Have you ever felt like nothing you say or do is right?”

  He nodded. “All the time.”

  “Give her my best,” I said before slipping on my robe. I’d let him console her in private. I couldn’t bear to listen.

  He reached out and grabbed me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I thought you’d want to call her back. Her father …”

  He interrupted with a kiss. “I’ll call and check on her, but there’s really not much I can do. It’s okay. I just want to spend some time with you. Sirena’s got an arsenal of hand-holders. Today we’re going to do whatever you want. Just me and you.” He powered down his phone, then went back to lock the bedroom door. “Now where were we?”

  Collector’s Item

  Outside Sirena’s bedroom door Leshawn knocked for the third time. “Seriously, you have to eat something.”

  “Come in,” Sirena yelled with her face still smashed between the down pillows. Her bed was overflowing with multiple layers of fluff. Fit for a queen. So large she felt lost and all alone most nights. “If that means you gon’ stop talking, bring your ass in here.”

  Leshawn carried a tray on her hip and wrangled one side of the double door. “You are so wrong. People can’t be nice to you. People get their feelings hurt when they’re nice to you.”

  “The sound of your voice—”

  “Irritates you … right. I know. I think it’s a damn hangover, that’s what I think.” She popped the top of the V8 juice bottle, then poured it over ice. “Try it without the vodka, it might make you feel better.”

  “Get out.”

  “I’m going. But I’m taking this dang phone with me. You sitting up here thinking that man is gon’ leave his wife for you, or some craziness. Unh-unh, I can’t let you go down this road.”

  Sirena nearly knocked over the tray raising up to try and grab the phone before Leshawn could take it. Too late. “Give it back.”

  “Oh no, cousin dearest. You need an intervention.”

  “I have important calls coming. I’m not sitting here waiting to hear from Jay.”

  “Yes, you are. That’s why you concocted that craziness about Uncle Larry having a heart attack. Who lies like that on their own parent’s health? And guess what …” She looked at the phone. “He still ain’t called.”

  “Get out!” Sirena yelled and winced at the same time. The bottle of aspirin was nearly empty. She poured two in her hand and used the tomato juice to wash them down. Her head felt like someone was playing the drums in the center of her brain.

  “This is how you treat your cousin.” Leshawn headed out. “What if Earl calls—remember him? The man you’re engaged to be married to.”

  “Tell him I’m asleep. Tell him I’m in Egypt, I don’t really care. But if Jay calls, bring me that damn phone or you gon’ be looking for a job,” Sirena screamed before the door closed, leaving her to her misery. The frustration was what gave her the headache, not the drinks she’d consumed the night before, partying with her girls, Dawn and Gayle. They were celebrating Gayle’s part in a new movie. The girl hadn’t seen no parts of a camera for the past three years. Roles for sistas were far and few between. The very reason no one could understand her tamed mood, laughing and smiling when cued by everyone else, though she was hardly paying attention to the world around her.

  She had everything. If being fabulous had its own Wikipedia page, her mug would be sitting front and center.

  But no matter how much she shopped and filled her world with the latest bling, she still felt null and void.

  Her opportunities were running out. Getting Jake alone in a hotel room was like Mission: Impossible. Getting him in the bed right beside her had been a miracle. And still she couldn’t close the deal.

  Sirena was convinced it was more about punishing her than him actually being happily married. She wasn’t falling for that. She’d been in the room with those two—they had no chemistry, no heat.

  “There she is.” Earl barged into her room without so much as a knock. “Give me some, right here.” He pushed his large face into hers. His black horn-rimmed glasses gave him a bookish charm, but anyone who knew him was afraid, very afraid. One phone call, or at tops two, he could make you or break you.

  “Long time no see.” Sirena scooted fast out of the bed. She wasn’t in the mood for his three-minute bip-bap-boom.

  “Come on, you’re still mad?” He loosened his tie. Ever since Esquire magazine had voted him one of the best-dressed men, he felt the need to always don a suit. This one was Cavalli. She’d been with him at the fitting and begged him not to taper too close at the waistline. Especially if he refused to lay off the steaks and buttered bread.

  “Worse than mad, I’m embarrassed. I was stuck in New York watching everybody and their momma be invited to this presidential soiree except me. Why? That’s what I want to know. Here I’m engaged to one of the richest men in the world, I’m an international star, and I’m on the bottom of the list. Whatthahell good are you?” She slammed the bathroom door. She was hoping he’d be gone when she came out. He never knew how to handle her black mood, as he called it. She simply wanted him to leave.

  She peeked out. So why was he still here?

  She padded across the Persian rug. Her closet was the room next door converted to look like a high-priced boutique. Her shoe collection was ridiculously large and had been featured in at least ten magazines and television shows.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, walking past him in his thinking-man pose.

  “I’ve apologized for not being available. I am sorry for not having the jet sent to pick you up. I explained, I was in the winery fields. There is no reception there.”

  “Please, you and your li’l winery can kiss my ass. You’re supposed to be looking after me, my career. You’re supposed to be such a big hot honcho and we can’t even be
invited to a damn ballet.”

  “I know something that will make you feel better.” He stood up and slipped his hand into his suit lapel. He pulled out a slim jewelry case—unrecognizable, even to the trained eye. Earl Benning didn’t do the cliché of Tiffany’s, or even Cartier.

  He slowly pulled open the top to reveal a choker necklace with one blue stone in the center.

  Sirena was no dummy. The blue diamond was all the talk in her circle. Not the Gayle and Dawn circle; no, she was referring to the old-money families who’d taken a liking to her authenticity, her ethnicity without having to get their hands dirty. This particular piece was from the Sotheby’s in London. Rare, exclusive, probably one of its kind. His other hobby besides winemaking was buying up anything of substantial value.

  “It’s stunning.” She liked that word. Earl liked it too. His small teeth revealed a smile of satisfaction. What good was spending nearly three million dollars if it wasn’t appreciated?

  “Just promise me,” he said quietly in her ear. “The night you’re awarded your first Oscar, you’ll be wearing this necklace.”

  “Stop.” She blushed underneath the weight of his compliment. She turned and faced him. “You think that much of me, that I could win an Academy Award.”

  “I do. I think that much of you.” His spindly fingers pushed her long wavy hair past her shoulders for a better look at his investment. He then traveled down her back to the firm thickness he’d wanted to get his hands on from the first time he saw her in the magazine. The only reason he knew she existed was because she was featured three pages after him. She was voted the sexiest woman alive, and he was in the ridiculous running for best dressed. Within hours he’d picked up the phone and made one call, and she was sitting across from him at Stavio’s.

  “Knock, knock.” Leshawn came in holding Sirena’s phone like it was as precious as the stone around her neck. “Um … that important call you were waiting for, on line one.”