by Curtis Bunn
RHONDA
As Rhonda sat on the couch with her head spinning, Eric packed a second bag and stormed toward the garage. He had calmed down, but was resolute in his plans.
“I felt like I was failing you. That’s what you made me feel like with all that crap you said about me. And it turns out that you didn’t just fail me. You failed yourself. I remember you going off about marriages falling apart because of cheating. Hypocrite.”
Rhonda wanted to offer a substantive response, but all she had was: “I hope, when you calm down, you will come back home so we can talk about it.”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t bet on that.”
And then he left. Rhonda felt a confluence of emotions: She was miserable that she had hurt Eric. She was embarrassed that she had been caught cheating. She was relieved that she could do as she pleased. She was scared of being single again.
Lorenzo did not dare text her, knowing she would be under so much scrutiny from her husband. But with Eric gone, presumably to their unoccupied townhouse they owned on the other side of town, Rhonda texted Lorenzo, despite it being nearly two in the morning. She needed to let him know what had happened, just in case Eric went to see him.
Can you call me? My husband knows.
Her phone rang twenty seconds after sending the message.
“What?”
“Yes. He is the one who moved my car. He saw me coming into the subdivision when I was coming to see you, and followed me. He saw you let me into your house.”
“Oh, shit. What did you tell him?”
“He asked your name, but I wouldn’t tell him. I told him it was about us, not you. He said it was over, packed two bags and left.”
“What? He left? To go where? Here?”
“I don’t think so. He said he wasn’t. Said he has no problem with you—you were doing what a man would do. We have a townhouse in DeKalb County that he said he was going to. But he’s so angry, I don’t know.”
“Damn. This is crazy.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Not anyone’s fault. What’s up now?”
“I don’t know. I feel bad. And I feel relieved. I feel free. And I feel scared.”
“I understand. This might sound superficial, but it’s going to be all right.”
“I hope so. I have a headache. I’m going to take something, take a shower and try to get some sleep. I will call you tomorrow.”
Rhonda ingested some Tylenol, decided on a long, hot bath with a glass of wine and got into her bed alone for one of the few times in fourteen years. Her mind and heart were too torn to get much sleep. The overwhelming thought was the hurt she’d caused her husband.
She’d seen him angry at her for various reasons. She’d seen him scared early in the marriage when they both lost jobs two weeks apart and financial troubles threatened foreclosure on their home. She’d seen him regretful when he overacted and lashed out during arguments. She’s seen him empathetic and thoughtful and kind and tender.
But Rhonda had never seen the pain in Eric’s eyes during the three years they dated and fourteen they were married. Knowing she’d caused him such anguish crushed her.
She slept a few hours and woke to an empty home. It was eerie—and sad. Even as Eric had gained weight and lost interest in doing anything outside their routine, he was always there. There was comfort and security in that. Not having it left her feeling empty.
The temptation to call Eric mounted, and finally became too much.
“What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you, Eric.”
“Talk.”
“Shouldn’t we do it in person?”
“Talk.”
“Okay, well. I just want you to know I understand that you hate me and that you’re disappointed in me and don’t want anything to do with me. But I’m so sorry, Eric. I made a mistake. It wasn’t a little mistake. It was huge. I wish I could take it back. I really do because I love you. We’ve been together for seventeen years. We have a lot of memories between us. We shouldn’t throw it all away over this.”
Guilt made her take that position. Her issues with Eric were real, and they were beyond his weight. His lack of interest in doing things and going places with her—“exploring life,” is how she put it—made her angry and feel as if her life was wasting away. That bothered her and made her consider a life without him for a few years.
Encountering Lorenzo took her interest in leaving to another level. He was attractive and interesting and fun. She saw the possibilities in him. Rhonda had told Eric she wanted to work on their marriage, but the reality was that she was tired of trying to prod him to show interest in enjoying life differently from the way they had for so long.
“You threw it away, Rhonda. Not me. You think I would ever trust you again? I don’t think so.”
And then he hung up.
The abrupt end to the conversation led Rhonda to a Sunday morning in a fog, unable to focus on one thing. She did not eat. She wanted to pray, but was not sure what to call on God for; after all, her sins created her drama.
She did not think about what a divorce would feel like: the loneliness, the responsibility. The failure. What would her friends think? There were three couples they would visit or have visit them to play cards or watch sports. Rhonda didn’t like cards and wanted to go out into Atlanta to enjoy the myriad social options, but she always gave in to Eric, who argued, “What’s the point of spending money and being around strangers? We can drink as much as we want and have fun with our friends here, at home.”
After a while, she stopped fighting it and gave in. But she was not happy. She felt trapped. But while being free gave her new oxygen, she also felt embarrassment, especially if Eric was transparent to friends about why the marriage would end.
In an effort of damage control, she called her mother, who lived in Fort Pierce, Florida. She had married a retired Navy officer and fled south. Elizabeth hardly visited Atlanta. “It’s too much like New York, too much going on, too fast.”
But she and Rhonda talked regularly and often; she was her daughter’s sounding board.
“Mommy, how are you?”
“I was okay. But you call me ‘Mommy,’ so I know something’s going on. What’s wrong?”
“That’s not true. I call you ‘Mommy’ all the time.”
“You don’t even realize it. When all is good, you call me ‘Ma.’ Not ‘Mom’ and not ‘Mommy.’ I know my child. Now what’s wrong?”
“Are you sitting down?”
“I’m literally sitting on a swing at Jetty Park with David.”
“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt your day.”
“You know we walk either here or Pepper Park Beach almost every day. It’s not a big deal. What’s going on?”
“Well, I think Eric and I are getting a divorce.”
There was silence on the phone.
“Mommy. . .”
“Hold on. . . David, excuse me a minute.”
Elizabeth walked out of David’s earshot and went off.
“What are you talking about? You all got past the seven-year itch and are going on fifteen years of marriage. It should be easy now. What’s going on?”
“I haven’t been happy for a long time. Eric’s a good man, but he’s resigned to doing the same thing every day. There’s no excitement, no adventure.”
“You want an adventure? Being single in 2017 will give you an adventure you wish you didn’t have.”
“I’m not afraid to be single.”
“Well, you should be. You’re forty-one years old. You think there are men waiting around for you to be in a relationship, to build something. You’re my child and I love you, but your thinking sometimes is too extreme. You end up single now and you’ll be single the rest of your life. You think single is the greener side? Think again.”
“I’ve already met a nice man and—”
“Ah, ha. So that’s it. You think you’re hot shit because some single man was
interested in a married woman? I might be old, but I ain’t out of touch.”
“You’re not old, Mommy. What’s your point?”
“My point is even down here, where there are less distractions and people are more civil, women face the same problem: Lack of good men. Shoot, in most places it’s a lack of any man. But you think you’re such hot stuff that you’re going to get single and have this swinging lifestyle that you fantasized about?”
“I just want a life that has something interesting going on in it. That’s all. And I deserve that. That’s not asking too much.”
“Well, you already tried it and look what you got for it—you’re losing your husband and marriage.”
“You think I should stay in a marriage that is bland? Yeah, I’m forty-one. But I don’t have any kids tying me down. I have a good career. I don’t have to live the life of Laura Ingalls Wilder.”
“Who the hell is Laura Ingalls Wilder?”
“Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House on the Prairie. I live in modern times in a city with a lot going on. And yet I’m cooped up in the house with a man who’s grown so fat that he wheezes when he climbs the stairs. Doesn’t want to do anything. We hardly go to a movie. And I’m supposed to be okay with that?”
“You’re supposed to make it work, child. You don’t know what it’s like to be single.”
“Well, looks like I’m going to find out. And thanks for having the confidence in me to make it.”
“My job isn’t to disillusion you, Rhonda. My job is to tell you the truth.”
“That’s not the truth you’re talking. Excuse my language, but the truth doesn’t give a damn about your opinion. You should know me as well as anyone. You raised me. And you think I can’t make it in the world without a husband? You don’t know me at all.”
Her mom had unwittingly inspired her to find whatever she had in reserve to make it as a divorced woman, if it came to that. By the time she hung up, she was charged to make her way. There were countless areas to shore up, but her mom indirectly issued her a challenge that she would accept.
She started by texting Eric:
I’m really sorry things are like they are, Eric. It’s my fault. Totally. I accept responsibility and I understand that you don’t trust me. You’re a good man who deserved better. I’m ashamed that I have hurt you like this. Please forgive me.
She spent much of the afternoon and evening thinking and planning and worrying. She made a meal of toast and a boiled egg and texted Lorenzo. He did not respond before Rhonda decided to go on a walk around the subdivision. She needed the fresh air and to stretch her legs.
Walking also allowed her to think. In this case, she thought about Lorenzo, which made her feel good. All of her thoughts the previous eighteen hours had been difficult to digest and made her feel bad about herself. Something encouraging did come out of the madness: She could be with Lorenzo as much as she pleased, which was something she really wanted. In fact, with all the turmoil that came from cheating with him, she needed his attention, affection and presence.
She knew Lorenzo wanted the same. That was the redeeming element she was able to grasp. Rhonda felt the need to speak to Olivia about what was going on with her and Eric and her and Lorenzo. She knew that would be a tough conversation, but she was at a place that required honesty.
Olivia did not answer, so Rhonda left a message: Girl, a lot is going on. We need to talk. Call me back.
The idea of sharing her world with her closest friend put a bounce in her step. The air felt good on her body and the doldrums she had placed herself in seemed less burdensome. In fact, she picked up her pace as she got closer to Lorenzo’s. Maybe he was home and she’d get to see him. That would really make me feel better.
When she got to Lorenzo’s house, however, there was a car in the driveway. She did not want to ring his doorbell unannounced—until she noticed the car.
It was Olivia’s white Mercedes C230. She knew it was hers because the frame around her license plate read: “Hotness.” Realizing Olivia was there made her feel threatened—and she was not sure why.
Was it because Lorenzo had told her he was not interested, and yet invited her over? Was it because she had, in one sense, considered Lorenzo hers, and therefore off-limits, especially to Olivia? Was it because Olivia had told her she wanted sex with Lorenzo? Was it because she had blown up her world messing around with Lorenzo and he was entertaining someone else?
Her mind would not allow her to stop creating scenarios, so to save herself from herself, she went to his front door. She had to ring it twice—and she was willing to ring it all night until someone came to the door—before she could detect someone approaching.
Rhonda turned her back so she could not be seen through the peephole in the door. When she heard it open, she turned around to see Lorenzo, whose expression did not denote that he was happy to see her.
“Rhonda, what’s going on?”
“You tell me. I texted you a few minutes ago. You didn’t respond. What’s going on? Is that Olivia’s car?”
“Rhonda? Girl, I knew that was you,” Olivia said, as Lorenzo stepped aside. “I know your voice. What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Was about to do something before you rang the doorbell. Why are you here?”
“Can I come in, Lorenzo?”
He looked at her with a curious expression.
“Why not?” he said as he walked toward the kitchen, shaking his head.
“Girl, I was on my walk and I looked up and saw your car. I said, ‘Let me see what this diva got going on up in here.’ ”
The women, sitting at the kitchen table, laughed. Lorenzo didn’t.
“So you remember Lorenzo, right? From Suite Lounge?”
“Oh, I remember him. I’ve seen him walking in my neighborhood.”
“Our neighborhood,” he said.
“When he gave me the address, I put it in my GPS and I was like, ‘This is taking me to my girl’s house.’ I had no idea you lived in the same subdivision.”
“Surprised me, too,” Rhonda said. “But am I interrupting a date or something?”
“I’m a woman, he’s a man. We’re together at his house—I would say you’re interrupting a date, yes.”
Lorenzo tried to hold back a laugh, but couldn’t. That infuriated Rhonda.
“Oh, that’s funny?”
“Actually, it is funny. But that’s not the question. The question is: Who comes to someone’s house uninvited?”
“You all bickering like y’all a couple or something,” Olivia said.
“I’m just saying that she doesn’t know me, but she rings my doorbell because she sees your car? That’s inappropriate.”
“I apologize; you’re right. I got caught up in the moment, because I noticed Olivia’s car. I’ll leave shortly. So what’s going on, girl?”
“I just got here about thirty minutes ago. I saw you called. I called you early this morning. Do you know Eric called me?”
Rhonda glanced at Lorenzo.
“He left a message saying he wanted to talk to me, ask me a question. What’s up with that?”
“You have to ask him, Olivia.”
“Your husband called her?” Lorenzo asked.
Rhonda nodded. Lorenzo smirked and headed to the fridge. “Want something to drink? Oh, but you’re leaving, right?”
“I was walking, but I’d like something to drink, since you’re offering. Whatever you guys are having.”
“So, Lorenzo finally called me back this afternoon,” Olivia said.
“And you’re over here today? He doesn’t mess around, I see.”
She gave Lorenzo a look he hadn’t seen from her, but he knew it was hardly pleasant.
“Why were you playing hard to get with my girlfriend, Lorenzo?” Rhonda asked. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I wasn’t trying to play hard to get,” he answered. “I didn’t know she was trying to get with me. Just been bus
y. And to answer the other part, no, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Why don’t you? I don’t understand. You’re in Atlanta, home of the beautiful women. Here’s Olivia, all smart and elegant. What’s up with you? You gay?”
Olivia nearly spit out her drink.
“Well, gay technically means happy, so I’m happy to be single,” Lorenzo said. “And you’re right about Olivia; she’s a catch.”
“You’re a catch, too.”
Olivia quickly chimed in. “Yeah, but she’s married, so. . . ”
“For argument sake, why couldn’t I have a husband and a piece on the side? Y’all men do it—brag about it, the conquests. I don’t see any reason why what’s good for them ain’t good for us.”
“Maybe you should try it.”
“Rhonda? Please,” Olivia said. “She loves her husband. She ain’t on the market.”
Rhonda pondered if she should give some version of the truth, an edited version that would not include Lorenzo. She decided against it because it was not the time or place.
“So since I’m here, I’m gonna get all up in y’all’s business,” Rhonda said. “So what do you think of my girl? You must have some feelings for her since you invited her to your house.”
“I don’t think that’s something you should be concerned about—unless you’re her momma,” Lorenzo said. “Otherwise, I’ll deal with Olivia on this.”
“I don’t think I should have introduced you two. Seems like you have beef over me. You know me, Rhonda. I won’t let a man take advantage of me. But Lorenzo is a sweetheart. I think. I’m trying to find out.
“But what did you want to talk to me about? I got your message, but it would have been rude for me to call you while I’m sitting here with this fine gentleman. Plus, we were about to do something a little more fun than talking to you.”
Rhonda could not tell if Olivia was exaggerating or playing or what. But she took her seriously, which made her uneasy. Was Lorenzo going to sleep with her? And a night after sleeping with me?
“Oh, really? I interrupted your fun, Lorenzo?” Rhonda asked.
“Since nothing happened, I don’t know if it would have been fun or not.”
“Oh, baby, you can believe when I’m involved, it’s fun,” Olivia cracked.
