The Cheating Curve

by Paula T. Renfroe

  “I’m not quite sure, but I’m seeing this huge wedding at Abyssinian, tons of white and silver or white and gold; the reception at a brownstone on Strivers’ Row maybe; and all these fabulous guests decked out in winter white and red velvet, I guess. I don’t know, Lang. It all sounds very tasteless. I just know he wanted something flashy with all the A-list people there.”

  “Oh, goodness, that sounds like Imon Alstar,” Lang said. “He must be seen. He’s such a media whore. Don’t get me wrong, I love media whores, especially the ones who give me exclusive all-access to their wedding. Shit, that brother gets mad when we’re not talking about him in the magazine. I’ve met Rebekkah only a couple times, but I pictured her wanting something a bit more, I don’t know, Afrocentric, for lack of a better word. You know, more cultural.”

  “And your picture ain’t blurry,” Aminah said, laughing at her own corny joke. “She just doesn’t know how to tell Imon that.”

  “Oh, well, it doesn’t really matter to me,” Lang said, flipping her hand. “You know the deal. Urban Celebrity is only interested in her because of who she’s marrying. What is she anyway, like, a math teacher or something?”

  “No, Lang, damn. The sister is a former sociology professor and a consultant on that new black family drama coming to HBO. Oh, wait a minute,” Aminah said, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. “I finally get it now. So I’ve only been featured in Urban Celebrity because of who I’m married to. Is that how this pseudo-celebrity thing works?”

  “Yeah, girl, I thought you knew,” Lang said, smiling. “That and who you’re best friends with.”

  They both laughed loud and hard. This time the modish woman in the tortoiseshell Ferragamo eyeglasses gave Langston a disapproving look. She ignored her, too.

  “Minah, how is a sociologist-slash-consultant gonna seek advice from a mere acquaintance? That makes absolutely no sense at all.”

  “No, it sort of does,” Aminah explained. “I’ve gotten better advice in one night from a bartender whose name I never knew than from that marriage counselor we saw once a week for two years straight.” Aminah chuckled at her own admission.

  “No, thanks, then. I’ll pass on the therapist and stick with my favorite bartender up in 40/40. Hey, did I ever tell you I fucked Imon? Well, I tried to anyway.”

  The lady in pearls cleared her throat. Lang gave her a phony smile, and Aminah gagged on her mimosa. “Lang, shhhh,” Aminah managed to get out through a bit of a coughing seizure. “Wait, what do you mean tried to?”

  “Girl, his dick was so small I can’t really say if we did or didn’t. I mean, does it really count if you can’t feel a thing? No friction, no nothing, and I was doing my Kegels and everything, Minah.” Lang laughed at herself as Aminah dropped her head in her hands. “But you know what he can do, right?”

  Aminah hesitated to answer. She knew where Lang was going but was quickly trying to come up with the most tactful way of responding to her question. “Um, go downtown?” Aminah whispered.

  “Yes, girl, that flashy Negro can eat him some pussy, you hear me?”

  “Excuse me,” the dignified woman in the designer eyewear said. “We don’t care to hear about your private affairs. Would you mind lowering your voice, please?”

  “No problem,” Aminah replied, embarrassed. “Pardon us.”

  Lang rolled her eyes. “Yes, pardon us. Who knew a couple of stuck-up bitches brunching could be so—”

  “Lang!” Aminah interrupted. “Must you be so loud and crass? These tables are so tight in here. You know the entire restaurant can hear our conversation even when we’re whispering.”

  Lang rolled her eyes again and ordered a cup of coffee with cream on the side. Aminah ordered apple pie à la mode. The well-dressed female couple was done with their meal and Langston. They didn’t even bother to stay for dessert. They left abruptly, shaking their heads, disgusted and offended with Lang’s candor.

  “You think I was too harsh on Rebekkah?” Aminah asked.

  “No, I mean, if she came out her face like you said she did, you did the right thing by checking her,” Lang said, lightening her coffee to just the right hue. “She doesn’t even know you well enough to be stepping to you with what she’s heard about you. C’mon, that’s foul by anyone’s standards.”

  Aminah took a healthy bite of the delicious pie, holding the sweet filling and flaky crust in her mouth. As she savored the warm combination of nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla, she also reflected on her conversation with Rebekkah. It’d been bothering her all weekend. Bits and pieces of Rebekkah’s monologue stuck with her, like lint on her favorite cashmere sweater.

  “Lang, why didn’t you ever discourage me from marrying Fame?”

  Lang took a sip of her freshly brewed coffee before answering. She thought long and hard, though the answer was sitting right in the middle of her mouth, wedged somewhere near the base of her throat, where it’d always been.

  “Because I knew you realized what you were marrying into, and I accepted that because you were okay with it,” she said. “I knew you were in love with him then, and I know you’re still in love with that man now. Minah, you still light up when Fame walks into a room.”

  Aminah closed her eyes for a couple seconds, visualizing Fame walking through the restaurant, and she smiled. Rebekkah’s comments quickly disrupted her daydream though.

  “Yeah, but you never thought I was stupid for sticking it out with him?” Aminah asked, almost whining. “Even when I cried and complained about him? And I know I must have cried and complained to you a zillion times over the last ten years.”

  “Yeah, you have, Minah,” Lang said, grinning slightly. “And I don’t think you’re dumb for staying with Fame. But I can’t tell you to leave your husband and the father of your children either. Only you can make that decision. You’re many things, but spontaneous isn’t one of them. You’re very deliberate and intentional. Look, you knew the lifestyle—the women, the late nights, the parties, the afterparties. I mean, why ask all this now? Are you thinking of doing something about it?”

  “I dunno. You think I can at this point?” Aminah asked, taking another bite of her pie and feeling particularly vulnerable.

  “Of course, Dorothy. You’ve had the power to go home all along, you didn’t need those ruby-red slippers,” Lang said, smiling and waving her spoon like a magic wand.

  “What are you talking about, Langston?” Aminah asked, dropping her fork.

  “Seriously, Minah, it’s you who determines how good or bad Fame treats you, not Fame,” Lang said, holding Aminah’s face and looking at her squarely. “The problem is you’ve been so accepting of his trifling behavior since our high school days. Not once did you ever really threaten to leave Fame. Sure, you’ve confronted him, and I’ll give Fame extra credit for not lying to you to your face, but you never did anything afterward.”

  “Did anything like what?” Aminah asked, this time truly whining.

  Lang didn’t respond right away. Apparently, her best friend’s lunch with Rebekkah had awakened a sleeping giant, or at least she’d hoped it had. She’d silently witnessed Aminah endure the embarrassing rumors, but she’d given up on trying to get Aminah to leave Fame a long time ago. When Lang had even suggested to Aminah that she at least try to date other guys while they were away in college, Aminah had thrown a fit and accused her of not being supportive. Aminah made it blatantly clear that she was going to be the wife of Aaron “Famous” Anderson, so there was no need for her to go out with anyone else.

  “Listen, Minah,” Lang finally said. “You’ve justified and overlooked Fame’s behavior for so long that I’ve kind of grown used to it. I took your silence and inaction as acceptance. Not doing anything about it is the same as agreeing, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Aminah rubbed her temples. She knew her girlfriend was right.

  “Look, you never demanded that he treat you any better,” Lang continued. “And he basically took the Brand Nubian approach—’Y
ou gotta love me, or leave me alone’—and you said, with a smile, mind you, ‘Fine, I’ll love you whether you deserve it or not.’”

  “So you’re saying you don’t think Fame deserves my love?” Aminah asked, even more confused.

  “No, Minah, I’m not saying that. I’m saying you’ve allowed him to get away with so much without any sort of repercussions for his actions, it’s not even Fame’s fault anymore. Imagine if you raised Alia and Amir like that. They’d be spoiled-rotten brats. For those children to be blessed with so much materially, you’ve raised them to be very grounded, very level-headed children. Alia’s always telling me things like, ‘Auntie Lang, no one can treat you any worse than you allow them to.’ ‘Auntie Lang, never be afraid to shine amongst the lackluster.’”

  Aminah smiled with pride. “I got that last one from this motivational speaker at the African-American Women On Tour in Philadelphia years ago. In fact, I went with Rebekkah. Go figure.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe it’s time you shared some of those adages with yourself and whipped your husband into shape,” Lang said, finishing up her delicious cup of coffee.

  “You don’t think it’s too late?” Aminah asked, tilting her head slightly like a bewildered puppy.

  “It’s never too late, sweetie,” Lang responded, smoothing Aminah’s slicked-back ponytail.

  “Yeah, but what am I threatening him with? I’m not leaving Fame so somebody else can have him,” Aminah said firmly.

  “I never said you had to leave him, but he’s gotta relearn how to treat you. Minah, you’ve made the unwise mistake of accepting his please-forgive-me-I-been-bad gifts and trips. Shit, you should be getting those things regardless,” Langston said, waving her right hand as if she were shooing away flies.

  “You’re right, Lang, you’re so right,” Aminah admitted. “But I’m scared to change anything now. What if it doesn’t go the way I want it to? I’m not raising my children without their father in the house. Maybe I’m just better off leaving things be,” Aminah reluctantly admitted, taking the last bite of her pie.

  “Scared of what, Minah?” Lang asked, frustrated. “Fame doesn’t want to lose you any more than you want to lose him. You think he’s trying to let some other man have you? You’re a catch by any man’s standard. You’re beyond platinum, baby—you’re diamond status.”

  Aminah beamed. Lang was great for her ego. She’d championed her causes, rarely failed to be sympathetic, and for the most part withheld her judgment for the last twenty-eight years they’d been friends. It was Lang who’d made sure Aminah didn’t “let herself go” after she had her children. Her baby-shower gifts to Aminah had been beginners African dance classes at Alvin Ailey after she had Alia and a personal trainer not long after Amir was born.

  “Yeah,” Aminah agreed. “And you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.” She sighed.

  Lang paid the bill, and they strolled over to a furniture store nearby to purchase some office accessories Lang had eyed in their catalog.

  “You think I’m crazy for forgiving Fame so many times?” Aminah asked, reaching for Lang’s hand.

  “Crazy? No,” Lang replied, squeezing Aminah’s hand. “I think you forgiving him is somewhat divine. Forgiveness and childbirth, I think, are the closest we can get to God. Forget trying to be perfect and righteous. What I’m not so sure about is if forgiveness is warranted or deserved if someone’s going to take advantage of it. Like, how often are you supposed to ration that shit out? But maybe that’s just the less divine part of me talking. I mean, imagine if we all forgave as much as we wanted to be forgiven.”

  “That’s deep, my sister,” Aminah said, nudging her best friend.

  “Shhhh, don’t tell my readers,” Lang said, putting her index finger up to her lips. “They like me for my superficiality, and I’d like to keep it that way. I save the heavy shit for you and my husband.”

  Aminah laughed and held the door open for Lang. Inside the ultimate organizer’s dream store she picked up a few hardwood and chrome hangers for Fame while Lang grabbed a powder-blue leather file box with chocolate contrast stitching. They paid for their goods and walked back to the garage.

  “I remember watching this episode of Angels in America with Meryl Streep and Al Pacino,” Lang said, opening the passenger’s-side door of her car. “Jeffrey Wright—you know, the brother from that George C. Wolfe play Topdog/Underdog? He played both a black gay male nurse and an angel. I think he even won an Emmy for those roles, too. Anyway, the male nurse said something like maybe forgiveness is where justice and love meet and that it’s not supposed to be easy.”

  “Now that’s a jewel if I ever heard one,” Aminah said, fastening her seatbelt.

  Lang pressed the 2 button on her CD changer. The Clark Sisters’ “You Brought the Sunshine” played as they left Manhattan. While Lang didn’t want to come straight out and ask Aminah if she could see herself married to Sean—she was almost certain she could—she did want to play the game of “hypothetical situation” with her. They’d devised it in high school. It allowed each of them to ask any question they wanted without any judgments or repercussions under the guise or the safety net of the question being only hypothetical. The most important rule of the game was that neither one of them could hold a grudge against the other for their response, nor could they bring it up at a later date.

  “Minah, hypothetical situation—”

  “Wow, we haven’t done this in a minute,” Aminah said. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “If we were both single, and we both met Sean at the same time, would you try to bag him for yourself?”

  Aminah laughed. “Did you really need a ‘hypothetical situation’ to ask me that?”

  “You’re laughing, but I really wanna know, and I don’t wanna be mad at you for your answer.”

  “It depends, Lang, do I know Fame?”

  “I dunno. I guess.”

  “Well, you need to know because my answer depends on that,” Aminah explained. “If Fame is in the picture, then absolutely not, but if there’s no Fame, then, yes, yes, I would.”

  “Do you think you’d be better for him than me?”

  “Do I or would I?” Aminah asked.

  Do had been a slip. Lang allowed silence to take up some space. If the Clark Sisters’ “Endow Me” hadn’t been playing, the lack of conversation would’ve filled up the car for at least a good five minutes.

  “Lang, if I didn’t think you and Sean were good for each other, I would never have gone all out for your wedding,” Aminah clarified.

  “That’s not what I asked you, Minah,” Lang replied curtly.

  “Okay, fair enough,” Aminah conceded. “Yes, yes, I do.”

  “Do or would?” Lang asked

  “I said what I meant, Lang,” Aminah said. “And for the record, since this is purely hypothetical, it’s do and would.”

  “Oh, so you think Sean’s too good for me now?” Lang asked, glancing at her best friend sideways. She hadn’t expected Aminah to be so forthcoming. “What kind of shit is that?”

  “No, I never said anything about anybody being good enough,” Aminah answered. “You said that. I’m saying I think I’d be better for Sean than you, especially now that you’re letting another man lick you.”

  “Oh, here you go,” Lang said, throwing up her right hand. “I thought we had this discussion already.”

  “We started, but we didn’t finish it,” Aminah replied, pointing her finger at Lang. “If Sean were my husband, I’d damn sure appreciate him more than you do.”

  “Oh, so you really wanna get into this again?”

  “Looking at Sean walk through Bed-Stuy with his long locs, loafers, and khakis during the week and his jeans and sneakers on the weekends, no one would ever know he had the foresight to invest in Viagra when it first hit the market or Apple when they launched the iPod or JetBlue when they entered the friendly skies,” Aminah said.

  “Yeah, and I love that about him,” Lang said grinning p
roudly.

  “Not always, Lang,” Aminah said, reminding her that when Lang had first met him, though she’d loved the way his mind worked and got off on the fact that they both memorized the exact same lines from their mutually favorite movies and books, she was also slightly turned off that he could be a tad bit corny.

  Lang nodded at the fond memory of that conversation some five years ago.

  “You said you didn’t think you could even date anyone with any amount of corniness in him, never mind marry him. Remember that?” Aminah asked.

  Lang laughed. “Yeah, I sure do.”

  “No one knows Sean’s net worth,” Aminah said with obvious admiration. “He doesn’t advertise or promote it, and I love that about him, but I think that bothers you sometimes.”

  “I can’t front. It does a little bit,” Lang admitted. “Not as much as it used to. I mean, I wouldn’t want an Imon, that’s for sure. Even Fame can be a little showy, but half a step down from Fame would be just right. I mean, does Sean have to walk around looking so regular, so nine-to-five?”

  “So what, Lang?” Aminah asked, clearly agitated. “So Sean isn’t a walking billboard for consumerism. He learned to make his money work for him at a real early age so he could afford to teach. That makes him hotter than some pussy-hound record exec in a Purple Label suit.”

  Lang raised her eyebrow, thinking about the last time she’d seen Usher in a RyanKenny button-up and matching cuff links. He looked amazing. She was so distracted by the thought of him, she was missing Aminah’s point. Lang shook her head, made a left onto Fulton Street, and tuned back into Aminah.

  “But you, you like for people to know you have money.”

  “Okay. And. So do you,” Lang said defensively

  “I like well-made goods, yes,” Aminah clarified. “I like quality products. I can appreciate the craftsmanship of—”

  “Bullshit, you’re a label whore just like me,” Lang said, pointing at Aminah.

  They both laughed.

  “Okay, but you also like drama,” Aminah continued. “You thrive off it. You like tension and friction masked as excitement. That scares me about you, Lang.”