by Curtis Bunn
“No, we need to have something else to talk about,” Toya insisted. “The last three times I saw you, all we did was talk on the subject of your cheating. I hope to God you aren’t talking about this to anyone else.”
“No. Of course not. I only talk to you about it because we’re supposed to be able to share everything with each other. But I see you’ve been holding back. I didn’t know you were bored in your marriage, bored with Terry.”
“I didn’t say that and I’m not going to talk about it. It’s my marriage. It’s sacred.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t vent or share with your sister. It helps to talk about it.”
“I’ve said enough. We’re fine. We work on our marriage. I don’t go sleeping around with men when it gets tough. That doesn’t help.”
“Don’t make me out to be some whore; it’s one guy. And now with my husband, we’re happier. He even asked me the other night: ‘What do you want?’ I asked him why he asked that. He said that because when we were first married, when I was this happy, I was setting him up to ask for a new coat or a pair of earrings. Something. We laughed about it.”
“Bet he wouldn’t be laughing if he knew you were sleeping with someone else.”
“I bet he won’t find out—unless you tell him. That’s the only way he would know.”
“You don’t get it that you could tell him without knowing you’re telling him. Your actions can be a giveaway. Don’t take for granted that he won’t notice when you’re missing in action. Willie is no brain surgeon. But he’s not a dummy.”
“I won’t be missing in action.”
“So you’re going to answer the phone when he calls, even though you’re with this other man?”
“First of all, Willie doesn’t call me much; I call him. And if he did call, yes, I’d answer.”
“I’m going to ask you this and then leave it alone,” Toya said. “What if he finds out? What then? And forget about what it would do to your marriage. What about how hurt Willie will be? You love him, right? You know he loves you. He’d be devastated. That should be enough for you to cut it out.”
Finally, Toya’s words gave Stephanie pause. She was not excited about the state of her marriage, but she loved Willie and did not want to hurt him. And she knew finding out about her infidelity would wreck him.
Willie was a strong man, but he was fragile, too. He’d cried the first time he told Rhonda about his parents’ divorce—and he was twenty-three years old. He’d talked about his disappointment in their breakup and how it changed his life.
“I’m glad we won’t have to go through that,” he’d told Stephanie at the time.
His fragility would not allow him to accept Stephanie’s reckless behavior. He would walk. Stephanie was certain of that. And as much as her fling with Charles reinvigorated her, she surmised that it was not worth losing the man she had been with for nearly thirty years.
“Willie and I have built something,” Stephanie said.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Toya chimed in.
“I’m not trying to lose that; I’m not. I’m trying to save us, really. I know Willie better than anyone. I know us. The spark is gone. I’m not sure he knows how to get it back. Shit, I’m not even sure he realizes it’s gone. I can’t do it alone. But this thing with Charles—I know it’s wrong—but it makes me go back to Willie feeling free and alive.”
“Maybe,” Toya said, “but it’s wrong. It’s wrong in your eyes. It’s wrong in my eyes. It damn sure would be wrong in Willie’s eyes. And you know it’s wrong in God’s eyes.”
Stephanie was a spiritual person but not religious. It was another point of contention between her and Toya, who was steeped in Christianity.
“Don’t start with the God stuff,” Stephanie said. “If your God was so. . . whatever. . . Mom would still be here.”
“You cannot blame physical issues on God, Steph.”
“Why not? He can do everything, right?”
“You have to have faith that God knows what’s right. That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t question Him. I know what He does for me every day.”
“And I know what He didn’t do for us—spare our mother. I was okay with God before losing Mom. I thought He was testing me at first. That was bad enough. Awful. But Grandma, too? And Aunt Mildred? That’s cruel. He didn’t have to do that to us.”
The combination of the drinks and Stephanie’s still-raw emotions converged to make her fight back tears.
“I don’t want you to get upset,” Toya jumped in. “But I do want you to be happy, and to do what’s right. That’s all.”
Toya put down her drink, slid across the couch and hugged her sister. “Don’t be all empathetic now,” Stephanie said, smiling. “You know, cheating is contagious. You don’t want to be this close to me.”
The women laughed and waved over the server for another drink. “I have a lot of thinking—and drinking—to do,” Stephanie said.
CHAPTER TEN
WHERE DID THE TIME GO?
RHONDA
When Rhonda woke up, she was disoriented, confused, scared. And she was naked.
It was like out of a movie: Women drinks away her sorrows, wakes up in an unfamiliar place in bed with a man without a clear memory of what happened. Only it was Rhonda’s real life.
Lorenzo tried to help.
“Calm down. I can see the look on your face. You’re in a panic,” he said. “I’ve been where you are. What do you remember?”
“Oh, shit. Where are we? What time is it? Where’s my phone?”
She held the bed sheet up to her neck. She struggled to get her eyes to focus.
Lorenzo, who was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, found her cell phone on the floor next to her shoes.
“It’s going on four o’clock? Oh, my God. Look, I have six missed calls and seven text messages—all from my husband. Shit. What happened? Why am I naked?”
“Calm down. It’s going to be all right. We—”
“Going to be all right? I don’t know where I am. I’m naked. And it’s almost four in the morning. And—”
“I know, but let me tell you what happened because you clearly don’t remember.”
“What can you tell me that will make this better?”
“You spoke to your husband when we were on the rooftop. You told him you weren’t coming home. You said you were hanging out with Olivia and would stay with her.”
“I did? Why would I say that?”
“That, I can’t explain. You were feeling the drinks, that’s for sure. You had about six or seven and—”
“Six or seven? Are you serious?”
“Yes. I made you two and we stayed on the rooftop—you remember going up there?—and had four or five more. I lost count.”
“Why would you keep getting me drinks?”
“Me? Twice I went to the bathroom and when I came back, you had ordered another round. You don’t remember any of this?”
“I remember being up there and seeing the skyline and the Ferris wheel. I remember dancing. Did we dance?”
“You danced almost the whole time we were there. And you kissed me.”
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I liked it.”
“So tell me about how we got here. I’m guessing this is your house. And can I have some water?”
“Right there,” Lorenzo said, pointing to a glass on the nightstand. “I brought it in before you woke up.”
Rhonda gulped the water.
“What are you laughing at?”
“I wished you remembered what happened. You were a real trip.”
“Go ahead. Tell me.”
“We closed the bar on the rooftop, and on the way to the bathroom, you took me into one of the conference rooms. It was called Risk. For some reason it was open. I’m like, ‘What are you doing?’ You started dancing like you were a stripper. And if I hadn’t stopped you, you would’ve taken off your dress.”
“S
top lying. And why don’t I have a bad hangover?”
“Could be because everything we drank was high quality. No mixes with all those chemicals. Fresh cocktails. Anyway, I found out that you parked across the street instead of through the valet. So we get to your car—which I was not going to let you drive, by the way—and it had a boot on it.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“You insisted you couldn’t leave your car there. So I called the company and the guy was on the other side of the lot. We left my car and I drove your car here, to my house.”’
“What if my husband sees my car?”
“My house is on the other side of the subdivision. He has no reason to come by here. Plus, I parked your car in my garage.”
“But he called me six times after I spoke to him. What do I tell him now?”
“Call him in the morning and tell him you went to Olivia’s house, had too much to drink and fell asleep. That’s reasonable.”
“It is reasonable. Why are you helping me? And how did I get naked, mister?”
“You took off your clothes. I was making some tea for both of us—I was pretty trashed, too—and when I came in the room, you were in my bed and your dress was on the chair.”
“And nothing happened?”
“I lot could have happened. But you wouldn’t have remembered it. I tucked you in, lit that candle over there and got some sleep, too.”
“Sorry you had to sleep on your couch.”
“Couch? That’s funny. It’s my house and I needed to stretch out. I was right beside you. We had a snoring contest.”
“Oh. I can’t believe I was so tipsy.”
“Tipsy? Come on. You can say it: You were drunk. Really drunk.”
“Wow. Can you leave the room for a minute so I can put some clothes on? And you’re telling me we didn’t do anything?”
“If we had done something, your body would tell you. You’d feel it.”
“I heard that.”
“Here.” Lorenzo handed Rhonda a toothbrush, toothpaste and washcloth. “Be right back.” Lorenzo left the room and went downstairs to the kitchen to make coffee. Rhonda slipped into her dress, but could not find her panties. Suddenly, she remembered that she had not worn any and wondered what message that sent to Lorenzo. At that point, it did not matter. She used the bathroom and brushed her teeth.
When she came out of the bathroom, Lorenzo was sitting on the bed with the coffee.
“Can you zip up my dress?” He did.
“You had a lot to drink, so hopefully this will help you come down.”
“Did I embarrass you? More importantly, did I embarrass myself?”
Lorenzo smiled. “You didn’t embarrass either of us. Considering how many drinks you had, I was impressed. But not enough to let you drive.”
“But tell me again how I got out of my clothes. I woke up naked, Lorenzo.”
“I should have recorded you so you could see for yourself.”
“Since you didn’t, will you tell me?”
“You took your clothes off yourself. You politely asked me to pull down your zipper. And then you asked me to watch. But I left the room.”
“What? Oh, my God. That’s not what you said at first. I don’t remember any of that.”
“You might not remember it, but I won’t forget it. That’s what happened.”
Rhonda looked at her cell phone and studied the messages from her husband. “I should go home. Wait. We’re at your house, around the corner from my house?”
“Calm down. Yes, but I put your car in my garage to be safe. Your husband has no reason to come down this street, but it’s in the garage. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go home. But you told him you were spending the night with Olivia. Sounded like an argument. I gave you some space so you could talk to him. When I came back, he was calling you back. You said, ‘I will deal with him tomorrow.’ Then you put your phone in your purse and finished your drink.
“I’ll be honest: I wasn’t sure what to do. Definitely wasn’t going to let you drive. You know I’m attracted to you. But I couldn’t even consider taking advantage of you.”
“I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” Lorenzo said. He slid closer on the bed to Rhonda. There was a tenderness in how he comforted her, and as Rhonda’s head began to clear, her reason for coming to the bar resurfaced.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” she said, “and not taking advantage of me. But I have to be honest with you. I wasn’t meeting a friend at the bar. I came down there to see you. I made that up when I got cold feet. Before I could leave, there you were. So I had to say something—I couldn’t tell you I was there to see you. I’m sorry I lied.”
“I’m flattered that you came. I’m glad you came.”
He slid closer to Rhonda and put his arm around her.
“You should stay. I want you to stay.”
Rhonda pondered her life for several seconds. Lorenzo had treated her with more empathy, concern and consideration than her husband had in what seemed like years. She looked around the room—it was orderly, neat. On a dresser was a photo of Lorenzo after he crossed the finish line at the Peachtree Race, Atlanta’s popular annual July 4th run. Rhonda had pleaded with Eric to train so they could run the race together. He had laughed at her.
That memory was enough for her to dismiss whatever reservations she had about sex with Lorenzo. She stood up and turned her back to him. “Can you unzip me, please?”
Lorenzo smiled and obliged her, and Rhonda let her dress fall to the floor. “You’ve already seen me naked,” she said.
“I like this better. You know what you’re doing,” he responded.
Rhonda’s mindset was clear: Take advantage of me. Her love life had diminished from good enough to not enough, with a lot of it having to do with her loss of attraction to Eric as he gained weight. Her body needed a working over.
She straighten up the ruffled bed sheets and then pulled back the covers as Lorenzo pulled his T-shirt over his head and slipped out of his shorts. Rhonda had her hand on the lamp to turn out the light, but not before inspecting Lorenzo’s body, focusing on his body part she now craved. It was already erect—full and long with a slight curve to the left. In Rhonda’s mind, inviting.
She flicked off the lamp, leaving only an illumination from another room as the sole light source in the room. Immediately, she thought: “This is romantic.”
Rhonda lay back on the bed, and Lorenzo assumed a position beside her. They turned on their sides, and he hugged her and ran his hand along her back. She closed her eyes, as she was pleased by his touch and physicality. Lorenzo was different from Eric—he was athletically built, and Rhonda explored his body eagerly, excited that there was not the excess mass that she had become used to with her husband.
Lorenzo kissed her left shoulder and she closed her eyes. As wrong as the moment was, his lips on her body felt sensual and right, and the moisture between her legs increased. She had totally submitted. In those moments, her need for passion superseded any moral obligation. I need this, she told herself, to keep my sanity.
While she talked to herself, Lorenzo was about the business of pleasing her. He did not know at the time, but his attention to detail and commitment to making sure she felt good drew Rhonda closer to him. But he was being who he was—a sexual being not only interested in what he got out of intimacy.
Lost in the passion, Rhonda did not feel Lorenzo slide down and take her breast into his mouth. His kisses went from her shoulder to neck to face to lips, to the other side of her face, neck and shoulder and down to her nipples. She panted at the pleasure she received, and admired his diligence at giving each nipple ample time.
She rubbed his strong shoulders and closely cropped head and breathed heavily as Lorenzo caressed and sucked her nipples that were nearly as big as a thimble.
The anticipation of her feeling Lorenzo inside of her was almost unbearable. “Please, put it in,” she said in a voice that surprised h
er. It was breathless and sexy, ways she had not felt in some time.
Lorenzo stopped. “What’s wrong?” Rhonda said in a desperate voice.
“Everything is right,” he said. “Just need to get something. Be right back.”
She exhaled—from the release of his weight from her body and in pleasure. Before her mind could wander too far, Lorenzo was back, with condom in hand. As if auditioning, he stood to the side of the bed—his dick erect as a spear—and methodically unwrapped the condom and eased it on as Rhonda watched with her mouth watering.
“Oh, my God,” she said.
Lorenzo leaned over and kissed her and then eased down, between her legs. “Please, put it in,” she said.
He kissed her lips again and then reached down and eased the head of his hardness into her wetness. The opening of her pussy lips with the insertion almost made Rhonda dizzy. Size mattered, and clearly Lorenzo was working with more than Eric. And she learned quickly that Lorenzo knew what to do with it. That excited her.
She braced herself as he slowly eased more of his manhood into her, and the feeling was hypnotic. The more he gave her, the more she wanted, and so she went from bracing herself to opening her legs wider and asking for more.
Lorenzo followed her directive and progressed from being careful and tender to forceful and purposeful. His thrusts were long and precise, strokes that caused splashes of Rhonda’s secretion to splatter inside his thighs.
She managed to say something amid the stroking, but it was unintelligible. Lorenzo took it to mean he was doing a good job, and so he thrust deeper and harder as Rhonda’s once sexy voice became primal screams. The longer he stroked her, the more emphatic she got.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Oh, my God. Fuck me. Please. Don’t stop.
Lorenzo smiled to himself, but kept pumping. Rhonda threw her head from side to side until he slowly eased out. She was about to ask why, but he showed her before she could inquire.
He turned her by her waist so she could get on her knees. It was a position she used to love—doggy style—but had not experienced with her husband in too long to remember. Lorenzo was not interested in her history or her reflections. Rather, he nestled between her legs, and reinserted his manhood that was wrapped in a condom covered with Rhonda’s juices.
