Married on Mondays

by HoneyB

  Thursday morning, six o’clock, the parking lot was still empty. DéJà had been at the shop for an hour. Tired of preparing trays of pastries alone, she sat on a stool.

  “Let’s see what happens if I do nothing,” DéJà said, tapping her foot. Five minutes went by, DéJà called her sister’s cell. Immediately she got “Hi, this is Victoria, please leave a message.”

  The sun was rising. Soon customers would arrive. DéJà called Foxy.

  “Hey, I decided not to stop by Dallas’s this morning. I’ll be there in two minutes,” Foxy said.

  That was a first in a long time. “I’m proud of you, sis.”

  “Don’t be. Dallas is out of town on business. He’ll be home tonight.”

  “Yeah, if he doesn’t get arrested on his way home for drinking and driving,”

  Foxy exhaled heavily. “Let it go, please.”

  “Have you spoken with Victoria?” DéJà asked.

  “No, she’s not at the shop with you? I’m parking, bye.”

  DéJà heard the front door open. She was elated but hadn’t expected to see Foxy until nine or ten.

  Foxy walked in frowning. “Where do you think she’s at?”

  It was uncharacteristic of Victoria to be late two days in a row. DéJà’s universe was out of alignment. She had to regain control. “Line up the ingredients for my popovers, Victoria’s cream puffs, and your chocolate-dipped macaroons.” She went to the lobby, looked into the lot, no Victoria. She dialed Victoria’s home number, no answer.

  “I’ll call Naomi on three way,” Foxy said.

  “I’ll do it.” DéJà phoned Foxy, dialed Naomi’s direct line at work, then conferenced Foxy in.

  “Naomi Cooper speaking.”

  DéJà spoke, “Hey, Naomi. Is Victoria feeling all right?”

  Naomi’s voice trembled. “What do you mean is she feeling all right?”

  “She hasn’t arrived yet. I was wondering if she was running—”

  “Hang up. I’m here,” Victoria said, entering the kitchen.

  “Shit! Do not walk up on us like that,” DéJà said. “Naomi, never mind, she just walked in. She’s fine. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  Victoria snatched DéJà’s cell. “I had a flat tire. No worries. I’ll call you later. Bye.” She took Foxy’s phone. Looked at the caller ID, pressed the end button, then handed it back.

  DéJà snatched her phone from Victoria. “Flat tire my ass. You’ve been in a fight.”

  “A scuffle. Not a fight,” Victoria clarified.

  Foxy stared at Victoria’s arms. Red fingerprints marked her biceps like tattoos. “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it. Let’s hurry up and make these pastries so I can go home,” Victoria said.

  DéJà approached Victoria. “You’re not squashing this. Like it or not, you are going to discuss it. Did Naomi do this to you? Did she find out about your seeing Rain?”

  Foxy hugged Victoria.

  “Naomi would never do this.” Victoria cried in Foxy’s arms, pulled away, dried her tears. “Rain and I had a disagreement, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”

  “It would’ve been better if you’d said you had rough sex. I can relate to that. But this, my sister, is beyond a disagreement. I’m calling Dad.” DéJà pressed one button on her cell, placed the phone to her ear.

  Victoria snatched the phone from her hand, powered it off, then said, “I need to handle this on my own.”

  DéJà grabbed Victoria’s wrist, peeled her sister’s fingers away from her phone, went in the office, locked the door, then powered on her phone.

  Victoria banged on the window, shouting, “You have no right to do this! For once, can’t you let me be in control of my life? I’m okay!”

  DéJà turned her back to Victoria. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hey, queen in charge. How are things? I was just telling your mother I need to get by the shop and see my girls.”

  DéJà smiled. “Daddy, that’s a great idea.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Winton

  Thursday evening, alone in his office, Winton mulled over Nova’s case.

  Their best defense would be to force a mistrial, settle out of court, or find a way to make Nova’s boyfriend withdraw. His disrespecting Nova was no crime. Her hitting him with her car out of anger was vehicular assault and could get her three to five in prison. If they could prove it was an accident, her sentence would be reduced to eighteen months and parole. If they could prove she was fleeing the scene because he was trying to attack her, the fact still remained that she’d hit him with her car. Although she’d claimed he was a user, her boyfriend had no prior history of drug possession, assault, or battery, but he did have a compelling argument and witnesses willing to testify on his behalf.

  Nova had no cause that the judge would consider reasonable or any witnesses Winton could subpoena in her defense, but maybe he could make the jury doubt the credibility of her boyfriend’s witnesses. He had to call Nova and give her more bad news; her boyfriend was suing her for ten million dollars for his pain and suffering.

  Winton laughed. Was the money compensation for the accident or the relationship? He’d charge Nova a reduced retainer of fifty thousand dollars, then bill her for another fifty grand every two weeks her case was in litigation. Life was what it was but life definitely wasn’t fair. Partially billing Nova before fucking her increased his chances of having her volunteer to suck his dick. She could afford his rate, but if he were fortunate, she’d try to fuck her way into a pro bono case and he’d let her.

  Wealthy men who fucked women without offering monetary compensation were stupid. That was why he’d bought Isis a house. But he’d have to handle Nova with care so he didn’t end up being his own plaintiff.

  Women had to choose other ways to deal with cheating men. Breaking out windows, kicking in doors, assaulting the other woman wasn’t the solution. Police in Crème City were locking up all parties involved in domestic violence altercations. People should move out, temporarily leave the house, or find another mate. In most instances, men already had another woman on the side.

  All of the above were difficult to do when a person was in love, but those were smart options Winton suggested when speaking to men in prison for battering their wives or girlfriends. “I don’t care what she’s said or done, man…. Step. Get out. Do not touch her ass. She’s not worth your serving time.”

  The inmates would agree. But they’d get out, get jealous all over again, beat their women, then end up back behind bars before they found a job. Police officers weren’t much different from criminals except they could justify everything including murder. Like Rain. He was the dirtiest cop on the force. So filthy no one challenged him. That was how he’d made police chief. There were some clients Winton would not represent and that included the entire police department.

  Winton was in business because intelligence seldom overrode jealousy. From murder to pushing people out of cars on freeways to setting spouses on fire to shooting and stabbing them, people in love were insane. People were living with so much rage, they could snap at any second. Like Nova. She could’ve killed her boyfriend.

  Winton could get Nova off, but he had to have more time. His immediate action for her case was to request a continuance.

  Six o’clock. He shut down his laptop, locked his office, headed to the garage. A white envelope was tucked under his windshield wiper. It was a note from Isis: “Forgive me. I love you. Don’t leave me. I’ll listen to what you say.” She was dick-whipped. His key was inside the envelope. Winton left the key in the envelope, put the envelope in his glove compartment.

  He stopped at the flower shop, paid for two dozen roses. One red. One white. He told the florist, “Combine those in that lavender crystal heart-shaped vase for me.”

  Happy he’d made it home before Foxy, he placed the vase of flowers on her nightstand. He wasn’t the best cook but he seasoned two chicken breasts, boiled the frozen broccoli, and prepared a box of ric
e pilaf. Winton set the dinner table for two. His presentation wasn’t better than Isis’s, but it was decent, he thought. He went to Foxy’s bathroom, filled the spa tub with hot water and bubble bath. The water should be the perfect temperature by the time they were done eating and ready to get in.

  Seven o’clock, the chicken breasts sizzled as he placed them on the George Foreman Grill. It wasn’t the best combination, but he hoped Foxy would appreciate his effort. Tonight he wanted to listen to his wife and not tune her out. He wanted her to reassure him she still loved him, tell him where they went wrong, trust he was in love with her and that he’d do better.

  He waited until eight. No Foxy. Winton ate without his wife. Maybe she’d stopped by one of her sisters’ places. Nine. No Foxy. Ten o’clock. No Foxy.

  Winton phoned Acer.

  Acer answered, “Please tell me it’s not an emergency and that crazy Nova woman hasn’t done anything else stupid.”

  “No, man. That’s not why I’m calling. Is Foxy there with DéJà?”

  “Hold on.” Acer called out to DéJà, “Baby, you still on the phone with Foxy?”

  DéJà hollered back, “Just got off. Why you need me?”

  Acer yelled, “Where is Foxy?”

  “Where she’s always at this time of night, at Dallas’s house. Why?”

  “Her cousin Dallas? The guy Winton got the DUI charges dropped for?” Acer asked.

  DéJà yelled, “That would be him, handsome. He holds Foxy better than he holds his liquor. Truth is, he’s not her cousin, he’s her ex-fiancé. Why so many questions, handsome?”

  “Sorry I asked,” Acer replied. He said to Winton. “Hey, man. I don’t know—”

  Winton ended the call. “That bitch.” He washed the remaining food down the garbage disposal, took the flowers off the nightstand, then left. He headed west on Shoreline Drive, drove to Dallas’s house. The lights were on. He phoned his wife.

  “Hey, everything okay?” she answered.

  “I need you. Where are you?” What if he really did need his wife?

  She asked, “Where are you?”

  “On my way home,” he lied.

  “Then I’ll see you when you get here.” She hesitated, then asked, “You okay?”

  “I’m good,” Winton replied. “Real good.”

  He ended the call, parked his car between two trees across the street facing Dallas’s house. Twenty minutes went by before his wife opened Dallas’s front door. He could be dead by now. She kissed Dallas, got in her car, and headed out the driveway.

  Winton leaned below his dashboard. When Foxy’s car was out of view, he drove to Isis’s home and let himself in. Foxy was indebted to Isis. If he had followed Foxy home, what Nova had done to her boyfriend would be nothing compared to what he would’ve done to his cheating, conniving, low-down, despicable tramp of a wife. How dare she give his pussy to another man?

  In the midst of fucking Isis, Winton stopped, then said, “And that motherfucker was at our wedding and in my damn pictures.”

  Ain’t that a bitch. Winton sat on the side of the bed. He was pissed the fuck off. His wife had been fucking around on him longer than he’d fucked around on her.

  CHAPTER 21

  Victoria

  To what extent

  Would you go

  Out of your way

  To ruin

  To destroy

  To condemn

  A person who was once your friend

  To what extent

  Would you lie

  Create an alibi

  Deny the truth

  Say it wasn’t you… to

  A person who is your lover

  Liars cheat

  Cheaters steal

  Jealousy kills

  To what extent

  Do you care about your lover

  Remember

  Karma is a mutha

  She tossed all night wishing she had something to hold instead of her wife. Victoria wiggled to the edge of the bed, turned away from Naomi. Victoria slept with her eyes opened, fearing Rain would knock on her door for attacking his dick. She didn’t mean to hurt him.

  She flashed back to the few television shows she’d seen about women in prison. She still hadn’t told Naomi what had happened at Rain’s house. Each day she felt her wife becoming a little more insensitive toward her.

  If Victoria had honored her wedding vows, ceased communicating with Rain when she became engaged to Naomi, like DéJà had done with all her exes when Acer proposed, Victoria wouldn’t be lying awake sweating. She flipped her soaked pillow to the dry side.

  Victoria thought she could be Rain’s friend without being his lover. He was a loner. Had told her she was his only friend. When he was an officer, he rode solo, no partner. As chief of police he’d schedule meetings with the mayor and other officials, but he ate lunch by himself. On occasion he’d invite her to join him. Rain’s attachment was more than his wanting her virginity. The signs that his life was empty without her were clear.

  Minutes felt like hours. Victoria stared at the phone, expecting her BlackBerry to ring at 4:00 a.m. It was only midnight.

  CHAPTER 22

  Foxy

  Foxy rushed home to her husband. She searched the house. Good. He wasn’t there. She’d made it home before him, took a quick shower, put on a red nightgown. She peeped into the garage. His car wasn’t there.

  “Hum, why did he say he needed to see me? Maybe he’s taken care of his problem.” She called his cell.

  A woman heaved in Foxy’s ear, “Hel-lo.”

  Foxy frowned, looked at the phone, then asked, “Who is this?”

  “Isis. Who’s calling?” she asked, then laughed. “Stop it, Winton.”

  “Isis, put my husband on the phone.”

  “Can you call him later? We’re busy.” She laughed again. “Go back to Dallas’s house,” she said, not waiting for an answer before ending the call.

  A lump lodged in Foxy’s throat. What in the hell? Busy? Go back to Dallas’s. That bitch had a lot of nerve. Foxy started to call back but changed her mind. Like with the red thong, she’d act like nothing happened. Foxy gathered her clothes for the next workday, got back in her car, and returned to Dallas.

  “That was fast. Come here. Get back in bed. I keep telling you this is where you ought to be,” he said, kissing her.

  Foxy straddled Dallas. She sat on his dick and rolled her hips forward, up, back. She bounced deep in his pelvis, dug her hips into him, then rolled forward again. She bucked, then rolled some more.

  “Damn, you should get mad at him more often,” Dallas said, holding her hips.

  She stroked her pussy, put her fingers in his mouth, then put the same fingers in her mouth. She pinched her nipples trying hard to forget the sound of Isis’s voice resounding in her head, but she couldn’t. Can you call him later? We’re busy. We’re busy. Can you call him later? Foxy tried hard to cum all over Dallas’s dick. The emotional blockage suppressed her orgasm.

  “Damn you! Selfish bastard!” she screamed.

  “Stop it, Foxy. He’s not worthy of you. Lay down,” Dallas said. “Let’s talk.”

  Tears filled with anger streamed down her cheeks. “Winton’s bitch answered his cell phone.”

  Dallas sat up. Massaged, then kissed her foot. “I can’t make you divorce him, but you knew he had another woman. What, you needed confirmation? You think he’s been seeing her longer than we’ve been together?”

  Foxy hadn’t thought about that. What if Isis was a woman Winton was supposed to marry but didn’t? Softly she said, “I don’t know what I need.”

  “Yes, you do. Men don’t get rid of their exes,” he said. “At least not the good ones.”

  “How many good ones do you have?” Foxy asked. Were all of Dallas’s business trips business or pleasure?

  “You know how I feel about my girls. Getting their mothers pregnant were my mistakes. But my daughters are no mistake. Would I have preferred to have kids with you? You know I
would have. Still do. A number of women can complement my life. But Foxy you complete me. I’m patiently waiting for the day when I can complete you.”

  Maybe she completed him. Perhaps she was convenient. Who in the hell was Isis?

  Dallas took her in his arms, pressed his lips to her forehead. “Have no doubt that I love you.”

  Men could love, be in love, make love, and still fuck other women. Her mind drifted, wondering what her husband was doing to Isis.

  “Turn around.” Foxy wrapped her arm atop his waist. Pressed the front of her breasts against his back. She was tired of thinking. In four hours she’d make love to Dallas properly, shower, and go to work. From now on, Isis could suck Winton’s dick morning, noon, and night. If the roles were reversed and someone was fucking her husband, Isis would trip. Isis was probably another lonely woman so desperate she’d give all she had to get what another woman has got on lock.

  Desperate trick!

  CHAPTER 23

  DéJà

  Thank God for Fridays.

  Five o’clock, DéJà arrived at work. Victoria was sitting at her desk in the office with the lights off. They sat in silence facing one another. DéJà held Victoria’s hand. DéJà preferred her sisters to listen to her rather than be sympathetic and stuff. Dominatrices were not the caring kind, but her father taught the girls to stick together. DéJà couldn’t treat her sister like she treated her clients, but she wanted to beat sense into Foxy and Victoria.