by Cydney Rax
“Hey, Dani,” I say, “come to your bedroom for a second.”
“Okay.” She shrugs. “I’m really gonna miss living here.”
“Why’s that?” I am almost in her room.
“Because so much happened here. Braxton was conceived here.”
I turn around and face her. “Oh, you remember that?”
“Of course.” She looks at me without smiling. “People never forget things like that. Making love for the first time, the first kiss, the first dinner together, first argument.”
“Why don’t you have a man, Dani?”
“Huh? Where’d that come from?”
I plop down on the floor and motion at her to join me. “You’re a true piece of work, but I still think you’re the girlfriend type. If I weren’t—”
“Don’t say it. Doesn’t even matter, because you’re never, ever leaving that woman. She has you wrapped around her fat fingers.”
“Dani.”
“Okay, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Anya is cute, actually. She can be way too bitchy, though.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“I have a right to be a bitch. I’ve been through hell in my life, and going through lots of shit sometimes makes you act a certain way, Neil, so don’t judge me. Plus, I think you’re attracted to how I am. That’s why I like you.”
“Like?”
“Ooooh, the male ego is at work. Okay, that’s why I love you, Neil. Because you put up with my mess, and I know whenever I look around you’re going to always be there. That means a lot to me. God, I wish you hadn’t imposed that get-under-control rule on us, because if I had the chance, you know what I’d do to you right now?”
I lean closer, touching her shoulder with mine.
She says in a low voice, “I’d take you by the hand.”
“Take it.”
She gently grabs my right hand.
We’re sitting on the carpeted floor of her bedroom. It’s dark in here because I flipped off the light when we first walked in, and it’s very quiet, like we’re cut off from the problems of the universe.
“And I’d—”
“What, Dani? What would you do?”
“Oh, never mind. You don’t care, you’re not interested. You’re such a Boy Scout.”
“I’ve never been in the Boy Scouts,” I say. “Now tell me what you’d do.”
She giggles, voice low. “I’d pull off your T-shirt and pull down your shorts.”
“Keep going.”
“And I’d start licking you from head to toe. I’d suck your nipples, run my tongue up and down your beautiful thighs, and place my entire mouth over your big, long weapon of mass destruction…”
I begin to lie down, still grabbing her hand, and find myself with my back on the floor but she’s still sitting up, yakking, and my dick is poking its way outside my shorts. Can’t she see this? Maybe I should turn the lights back on.
“…and we’d make love, one last time. Because once I start living next door, I know there won’t be any more making love. That pisses me the hell off.”
I hear her voice, like she’s talking to herself. She sure isn’t talking to me. Her voice is too low, and I’m alone on the floor. She untangles her hand from mine, stands up, and disappears into the other room. I hear the vacuum cleaner being turned on. And I’m amazed that an inanimate object can be turned on, but I’m abandoned on the floor of an empty apartment. I’m a few feet away from one of the most beautiful, sexy women I know, yet something that should be big and erect is shrinking on me right now.
Midweek while I am at work, Kyra forwards a call to me.
“Neil, I need to find a job…fast.”
“What happened?”
“I made the mistake of going over to your place unannounced this afternoon,” Dani explains. “One of Mrs. Wifey’s main rules is to call first, but I popped over, and I guess she didn’t like that. I get the feeling that if she had access to a gun, the woman might pop a cap in my ass.”
“Anya wouldn’t do that, Dani. Don’t be so paranoid. Stay focused.”
“Easy for you to say. If you were in my situation, you’d know what it feels like. Sometimes our interactions feel tense.”
“Well, what do you want me to say? What more can I do? I’m out of answers.”
“I’m sorry, Neil, you’ve been great, and it won’t be long before I’m far away from Anya’s comfort zone, but, uh, I just needed someone to talk to. I’ll let you go.”
She hangs up abruptly. And I get pissed. I don’t like being clowned on. I’m tempted to call her on her wireless but resist the urge. Dani has to grow up, stop dodging the fear, and do what needs to be done. Quiet as it’s kept, I don’t want her next door, either. But if it has to do with my son, I’ll do whatever I have to do. I know people at work are still giving me disgusted looks, and I sense they can’t wait to get in my business. But I wave hello and keep moving. I have to work twice as hard, making sure my position is safe. I don’t have time to socialize, to give them the dirt about my personal life. I need to be concerned about two kids, two women, plus my own damned self. And with all the power within me, this is what I plan to do.
22
* * *
Anya
Vette and I have been hitting the gym twice a week for one-hour workouts. I’m feeling good, sexier. It’s apparent that I’m losing inches. And I get excited when we go shopping and I fit into smaller-size shirts and pants.
Today is Saturday and we’re in Foley’s at Memorial Mall. I’m in the dressing room trying on summer outfits. I have on this flowery two-piece yellow-and-orange outfit with a skirt that emphasizes my legs.
“Hey, Vette!” I open the dressing room door and yell. I see her walking down the hall toward me.
“Let me see you.”
“Okay,” I say, “but will you zip me up in the back?”
“Sure.” Vette stands behind me and struggles a little to get the zipper closed. The fact that she has to work at it makes me bite my bottom lip. When she’s done and orders me to turn around, I make a slow circle.
“Oh, cheer up, it’s not so bad. You look cute.”
“Don’t lie, Vette.”
“I’m not lying. You’re losing, Anya.”
“Yep, twelve pounds, which is awesome, but I still want to lose at least another twenty.” She follows me into the dressing room and begins to unzip the top without me having to ask. “Thanks,” I say, and pull the blouse over my head and place it back on the hanger.
“Damn,” she squeals, “your boobs are as huge as pineapples.”
“Shhh, do you mind?”
Vette shrugs and giggles.
“That’s not funny. I don’t want the whole world to know about my double D’s.”
“At least you’re no Queen Latifah,” she says.
“Hey, she’s looking good these days. She got surgery.”
“Well, sister-in-law, surgery is one thing you do not need. Just keep going with me to the gym, and in four months you’ll have to replace your entire wardrobe. Wouldn’t that be awesome?” Vette says, beaming.
“What’s awesome is the fact that I’ve set a goal and I’m reaching it,” I tell her. “I feel like screaming and I don’t care if anyone hears me.”
Once I finish dressing, Vette and I leave Foley’s and wander over to the California Pizza Kitchen. We find a booth and sip on Arizona iced tea until our order arrives.
“So, how’ve you been holding up?” Vette asks with a serious look. I know what she’s referring to. I insist that Dani bring Brax over to our place instead of Neil going next door. So with Dani around so much, Vette and I lack the opportunity to talk like we used to. That’s why I’m glad she dragged me away from the house today. If she stopped doing things like this, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.
“It’s weird, Vette. I mean, it’s like the air feels and smells different. It’s a little bit awkward, and I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I’m tempted to lo
ok through the Chronicle’s employment section and help that girl find a job myself.”
“How’s Neil acting?”
“Normal, like it’s not that big a deal. I don’t understand men. They are so emotionally removed from things, it’s unreal.”
“Neil’s a trip, that’s for sure. But for what it’s worth, I haven’t noticed anything scandalous going on. It’s been three weeks now and he’s never gone over there. And when she’s over at our place they don’t even brush past each other’s shoulders. No lusty looks. Nothing.”
“You’re so silly, Vette. You don’t have to spy on them. I’ll be all right.”
“They’d be fools to act stupid now. You watch and feed her child almost every day. She owes you, sister-in-law. You’re practically doing her damn job. Trick ho!”
“Vette.” I giggle, but get a kick out of what she’s saying. “I don’t know. Neil is trying his best to treat me right, but he insists on treating her decent, too. He’s doing something unprecedented. We should be on a reality show, huh?”
“Right. Be like Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie. Get paid to look like fools.”
I wipe tears from my eyes, giggling like there’s no tomorrow.
“I guess I’m realizing I’m not totally alone,” I respond. “You know I’ve been going to Solomon’s Temple lately, right? Well, I found out there’s a woman there who has two kids by two different men, and both men attend the church. I was shocked to find out this threesome manages to get along. I guess once the members got over the scandal, they fell in love with those two adorable boys. So watching that situation makes me feel like perhaps this generation is trying to handle these kinds of things in a direct manner. It’s nothing like how things used to be when you secretly sent away a single pregnant girl. She’d quietly give her baby up for adoption and would return home, making up excuses for her absence.”
“Well, as bad as it sounds, you aren’t alone, sister-in-law. I know while you’re home all day you have to be watching Springer, Montel, or Ricki Lake. That stuff happens all the time. All kinds of twisted love triangles and dramatic baby triangles.”
“Oh, yeah?” I say.
“I saw one show where they had a man with three kids by three different women and another one on the way,” Vette says. “And the women all got pregnant at the same time, so he’s almost paying for triplets except he’s dealing with three mamas instead of one.”
I raise my hand. “My brain is getting twisted. I can’t even think now.”
“In a way you’re fortunate,” Vette replies. “Dani is a drama queen but she could be doubly worse.”
“How so?”
“Girl, she could still be having babies with him. She could act slippery and convince Neil to dump you and marry her. She could try to move inside your house, take your car, or abuse Reesy, although I’ve never seen her do that. She could—”
“Okay, okay.” I understand what Vette is saying but I still don’t feel lucky. I hardly want to break into a victory dance for being the chosen one.
“Well,” I say, “one eye-opening thing I’ve learned lately is there’s nothing new under the sun. We were in church one time and Pastor Sol preached on Genesis 30, the story of Rachel and Jacob. Rachel couldn’t bear children, so she thought she’d help out and told her husband to go have sex with Bilhah, the concubine, so they could have a child. Goofy Jacob was game. No argument whatsoever. So…” I swallow deeply, realizing how slightly parallel my situation is to a family predicament that happened thousands of years ago.
“How does it feel to know that you’re a drama queen just like Dani and Rachel?” Vette jokes. “But enough of all that. Let’s finish our pizza.”
We go home. Reesy is over at my mom’s, and Neil isn’t home either. Vette soon gets picked up by a friend who’s in the mood to ride down to Galveston. She says she’ll be gone the entire night. I tell her to have fun and I wave her off.
I am puttering around in my kitchen, feeling free and lighthearted knowing that I have my house all to myself. There’s a little room near the front of our home that’s rarely used. We refer to it as the parlor. It has French doors, a tiny desk, a chair, a two-drawer file cabinet, and some bookshelves lined along the wall. I settle in there and resume reading The True Measure of a Woman. Lisa Bevere’s book speaks to the marrow in my bone:
The past has been set up as an excuse or a justification for our present behavior. When we make excuses for ourselves by drawing from our past, it is idolatry.
I read those two sentences and burst into tears. The razor-sharp words were written just for me. And just like in a surgical operation, something must be cut out in order to be healed. Shaken, I try meditating on the book but end up falling asleep in the chair. I wake up when the phone rings.
My mother wants me to pick up Reesy, who’s crying to come home. I tell her I’ll be there soon. I grab my purse and keys and jump in my Honda.
I’m headed for the Greenspoint area of town, about thirty-five miles from here. Ten minutes after leaving my house, I get onto I-59, traveling north. I’m making good time and am approaching the West Park Curve, which is a wide arch of slanted lanes on the Southwest Freeway. Driving on this curvy stretch of road can make you feel like you’re zooming around a racetrack. But traffic is building and my speed is forty-five miles per hour. I am in the right-hand lane just past the Chimney Rock exit when I see a gold Tacoma truck on the side of the freeway with the emergency lights flashing. I manage to slow down and pull up on the shoulder. I get out the car and hike toward the front part of the truck, seeing the DANIF vanity plates. Our Ford Explorer is parked behind the truck a few yards away. Dani’s carrying Brax on her hip, and she and Neil are walking toward her vehicle. I glance at the ground near the side of her truck. Flat tire. Okay, fine. But then I look again. There’s a used condom on the ground. I smack my hand over my mouth. Dani’s clothes are wrinkled. Neil’s zipping his pants. Who were those two kidding when they claimed they don’t have sex anymore? And where was the baby while they were getting their freak on?
I turn back toward my car and start scrambling. And even when I hear Neil yelling, “Anya, wait,” my feet don’t stop moving until I reach my car. When I pull out into the traffic, my tires screech like they’re back on the racetrack.
It’s the next afternoon. I missed church altogether, and as soon as Vette returns from Galveston, I whisk her off in my car. Now we’re traveling down South Main Street near Reliant Stadium.
“Vette, there’re more than a thousand divorce attorneys, family law counselors, and arbitrators in Houston. You think I can find someone out of all of them?”
“While you’re at it, why don’t you locate a psychiatrist, too?”
“Why would you say that?”
“An attorney?” Vette says. “Isn’t this serious enough to discuss with Neil first?”
“I don’t want to hear anything he has to say.”
“But Anya, how can you witness what you described and not confront him?”
“Well, after I got home from picking up Reesy, Neil tried to talk but I stayed locked in my room all night, and I wouldn’t come out until I heard him leave. I don’t give a blankety blank anymore.”
“Oooh, I see.” Vette frowns. “But you haven’t been crying, have you?”
“Hell, no. What good will it do? Neil and Dani are not worth my tears. I just need some money, bad.” I glance at the ring Neil gave me. “Maybe I can pawn this and retain a lawyer, get Neil served on his job, and apply for alimony.”
“Anya, please slow down, damn,” she says, rubbing her temples. “You’re getting on my nerves.”
“Well, you’re getting on mine. And since I’m wearing you down, why don’t you get out and catch the bus home?”
Vette is wise enough not to respond. She lets me continue to drive and vent. “God, forgive me, but I hope Neil gets hit by a truck and dies on impact. No,” I gasp, “no, I take it back. I didn’t mean it. I wish Dani would just go away. He just lose
s his mind around her, and for what? It’s not like she’s the cutest thing in the world.”
“I would comment but won’t.”
“Vette, I don’t want to hear it,” I snap, not wanting to admit that Dani is a looker. “You don’t even have a man, so—”
“How you know what I got, huh?”
“Well, if you have one, you can never seem to bring him over to the house. Why you always gotta go meet someone somewhere, anyway?”
“I’m not the one with the relationship problems,” she remarks, sounding incredulous, “so get off me, will ya?”
I zero in on her tense expression and mumble, “Sorry for taking it out on you.”
The air swarms with friction. We ignore each other while I drive through the downtown area, observing the immaculate streets and the newly constructed Toyota Center.
I want to say more but frustration is a thief that runs away with my words. I long for Vette to side with me, or give me solid direction about what to do. But everything I want is nothing I have. And I drive back home concluding that leaving Neil is debatable, but facing Neil and Dani is inevitable.
We are having a powwow. Dani shows up in her Tacoma. I take my Accord, and Neil drives the Explorer. We decide to meet in a public place, the huge parking lot of a strip mall at the intersection of Fondren and West Bellfort. There’s a Fiesta grocery market and a Cingular store; a busy gas station occupies the corner. The air chokes with the smell of fried shrimp and egg rolls from the Timmy Chan restaurant that’s across the street. We’re standing by a U.S. mailbox that sits squarely between the parking lot and the sidewalk.
“I feel embarrassed, so violated,” I begin, “and Riley’s being here is pointless.”
“I’m here because Vette asked me to come. She thinks I’d make a good mediator. Plus, I want to be here. Regardless of your situation, God loves each and every one of you.” Riley makes an effort to look directly at all of us. I just want to get this over with.
Riley continues, “Neil, you start. Anya needs to know exactly what she saw.”
