For a while, immediately after, it was weird between Jayon and Jordan, but they both knew the decision to mend what she and Omar had was the right thing to do. She and Omar had been together for nine years at that point—a couple of weeks of lustful fun couldn’t erase that. So, there were no hard feelings, and for the next six years, what they’d shared was just a moment in time, in the past. In less than a year, things were just as they had been before. The two of them were back to being friends, and other than an occasional joke about their time together here or there, it was in the past. There had been no temptation between the two of them since—well, nothing worth noting, at least. That’s why Jayon’s behavior in the office was so shocking to Jordan. What the hell was he doing?
Just as she went to change her gear shift to DRIVE, her cell phone rang. She glanced in the Caller ID and it read home.
“Where are you?” Omar said as soon as she answered the phone.
“I am leaving the office now—I’m on my way,” she explained.
“I called you at the office and there was no answer.”
“I was working out of Jayon’s office, but I am on my way now ... I will be there in about fifteen minutes, so I will see ya when I get there.”
Jordan heard Omar sigh, and then he hung up the phone.
Jordan’s brain was racing—she had a million thoughts running through her head. She just wanted to get off the phone before her guilt became obvious. In her work, Jordan was damn good at hiding the truth and keeping her emotions hidden, but in her home life with her husband she couldn’t lie to save her life. She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but Omar would feel justified for his occasional complaints that he thought her friendship with Jayon was inappropriate. She would always disagree and defend herself and Jayon, on the grounds that their friendship was respectful of her marriage. She knew what had just happened would change that entire theory. Trying to fathom the changes that Omar would probably request was just too much for Jordan. It wasn’t just their business relationship—since college she and Jayon had been the best of friends, and she wanted to continue that. Still, what Jayon had just done was so disrespectful—something like that can be so damaging.
As she pulled out of the parking lot, onto Sixth Avenue in midtown Manhattan, she turned her radio to Hot 97, wanting to hear some hiphop to clear her mind. Funkmaster Flex was spinning, and he was in the middle of a throwback set. Just what Jordan needed—some of her favorite old school hits. She started rapping along to Slick Rick’s “Mona Lisa,” and within minutes her mind was completely off of Jayon and Omar’s anger. As she mumbled the words, “Excuse me, dear, my god you look nice, put away your money, I’ll buy that slice,” Jordan was in her own club, Club X5. She made her way through midtown and through the midtown tunnel on Thirty-fourth Street. By the time the next song by Jay-Z came on, she had got onto the Long Island Expressway, and as soon as she reached the first exit she hit traffic.
Why in the world would there be traffic this time of night, Jordan thought to herself. “Just to make my night worse than it already is,” Jordan said, answering her own thought out loud. She knew now it was going to take forever to get home to Elmont. She decided to try not to let the delay upset her, and let Funkmaster Flex keep her entertained. He had switched up and started playing some current songs, and she just kept grooving. For the next fifteen minutes or so, she moved her foot on and off the brakes, trying to get from exit to exit. After she realized this was going to take quite some time, she decided to call Omar to let him know. She turned down the volume just as the commercials were about to come on. After the fourth ring, the answering machine answered at her house. She hung up and put her cell phone back down in her lap.
Jordan started to look for ways to maneuver through the traffic, but after a few lane changes it seemed like she would just have to wait for it to break. With the silence and traffic, her mind wandered back to what had just happened with Jayon. As she thought of it, she shook her head, still kind of in shock. For years everything had been on a platonic level, with no hint of anything like this. Of course, the inevitable attraction between man and woman had made itself known at times, but it was something these two always had control over. They had always kept their friendship, and then business relationship, a priority, so it was always natural not to feel any temptation. Another reason they had always refrained from that behavior was that Jordan had been with Omar since she and Jayon first met thirteen years ago. There were breaks and issues between Omar and Jordan, but even when spending time together during those times, Jayon had always respected her and Omar’s relationship, sometimes more than Omar deserved. It was bugging Jordan out how Jayon had just gone against everything the two of them stood for and made that attempt.
In some way, she was flattered that he was still attracted to her in that way. She wasn’t unaware of that attraction; she always found Jayon to be fine his damn self. He was five-eleven, about 190 pounds. He definitely had some meat on his bones, but with his height he appeared stocky. He was just Jordan’s type. He wasn’t fat nor was he skinny; just like the bowl of porridge, he was just right. He had a caramel complexion, with a low ceasar and two slight dimples in both of his cheeks. His brown eyes were round and distinct, almost as if he was wearing eye makeup; he even had long black eyelashes that were fit for a female. Although he had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen on a man, they didn’t subtract from his masculinity, they only added to his good looks. He had bushy, untamed eyebrows, a thin moustache, and a peach-fuzz beard. He had a very handsome face, but Jordan’s favorite feature had always been his lips. Got damn, his lips were sexy. They were perfectly defined with a plumpness that just invited sucking. If there was one thing Jordan always had to resist, it had been his lips.
Jordan had to snap out of her daydream about Jayon. She didn’t know what to think about what just happened at the office, but by that time the traffic broke and she was too busy swerving through traffic to come to a conclusion.
It was about a quarter to eleven when Jordan finally arrived home. She hurried in the house, dropped her tan leather briefcase by the door, and kicked off her tan Gucci pumps. She went through the front porch and family room—there was no sign of Omar. She walked into the dining room and found that the table was set for two, including two glasses of champagne and two lit candles. She studied the room for a minute, at the carefully decorated details, before she continued to search for Omar. He had managed to make the dining room feel like a restaurant with a romantic ambiance, right in their own home.
She headed back out of the dining room and was about to walk upstairs when she heard the TV in the living room. She walked into the living room, and there was Omar lying on the couch, fast asleep. He still had the remote in his hand and was fully dressed, with the exception of his shoes. She just stood there looking at him for about two minutes, feeling absolutely horrible and momentarily hating her career. He had done so much to make tonight special, and here he was, knocked out on the couch, because he was here all alone waiting. Instead of harping on the guilt, she headed upstairs, planning on trying to still have a romantic night the best they could.
Jordan prepared herself for the night, hoping that she hadn’t ruined it completely. She took about ten minutes to freshen up and change, and then she headed back downstairs. Omar was still fast asleep on the couch, unaware that Jordan had even come home. She quietly walked up close to him, knelt down, and gently kissed his lips. At first there was no reaction, and then she gently kissed them again. He jumped up, and after shaking off his confusion, he looked directly at the time on the satellite cable. He then looked back at Jordan, frustration all over his face.
Once she saw that he was obviously upset with her late arrival, she quickly explained, “Baby, I’m so sorry ... I hit traffic ... I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer the phone.”
Omar didn’t respond—he just got up off the couch and walked upstairs. She knew that she couldn’t get upset; she hated waiting on Omar m
ore than anything in the world, so she would be a hypocrite not to understand. Not to mention, he had given her advance notice of his special plans for the evening. This was just one incident where her demanding job caused a problem at home.
Jordan figured she’d better try to salvage what was left of the evening. She went into the kitchen and started heating up the meal that Omar had cooked at least two hours earlier. Once it was heated, she served the food and the champagne. She made sure the table was all ready before she went upstairs to get Omar. She just hoped he hadn’t gone back to sleep or had already decided to assume his stubborn mode.
When she reached the bedroom, he was just changing out of his clothes to get ready for bed. She took a few moments before she said anything, and he didn’t say anything to her, either, although he noticed her in the doorway. She watched him slip out of his pants and shirt, and was admiring him walking around in his blue-and-gray boxers and wifebeater. Omar was five-eleven, 185 pounds, and had a nice chisel to his body. He wasn’t stocky or cut up, but he had a full frame, just how Jordan liked it. He was light-skinned, with a bald head, and piercing, dark-brown eyes that always had a slight puffiness under them. He had lots of facial hair, which he kept manicured, just leaving a slight goatee. After she finished admiring her husband’s physique, she realized if she didn’t speak soon he would be under the covers.
“Sweetie ...” she called out in a light, apologetic, sweet tone. “Will you please join me at the dinner table?”
At first he just continued with what he was doing, removing his watch and bracelet. After he was done, he glanced over in Jordan’s direction, and then did a double take. He realized that Jordan was dressed in a little sheer black teddy. As much as he probably wanted to stay mad, his manhood overcame him. His facial expression changed almost instantly, but after a few seconds he still turned away, trying to keep his cool. Jordan knew the teddy would do something, if not everything, to get him back in the mood.
Making a delayed response, he said, “I will be right down.”
Without saying anything, Jordan turned away from the door and went back downstairs. She went into the living room and turned on the stereo to 98.7 Kiss FM and tuned into Kissing After Dark with Lenny Green. He was playing hits by Barry White and Luther Vandross—just the perfect music for the evening. She turned the volume to a soothing level and headed back into the dining room and waited for Omar.
She sat at the table, taking some sips of her white zinfandel champagne, and less than five minutes later he joined her at the table. She bowed her head to say a little prayer and then started digging into her meal. After the first bite, she remarked “This tastes delicious.”
Omar was a chef and had prepared the meal from scratch himself. He had made one of Jordan’s favorite dishes, his special seasoned grilled chicken breast with yellow rice and broccoli. He had done this a few times before for her birthday and Valentine’s Day—he liked to prepare this meal as a treat to Jordan on special occasions. This time, just like the other times, it tasted great.
“Thanks,” he replied.
After she realized that wasn’t enough to break the ice, she just went for it. She didn’t do all of this to have an argumentative night.
“Oh, I am so sorry about tonight. It was crazy at the office. I have been backed up with work, and Jayon has been going through a lot and he really needed my help preparing for a very important case Monday morning.”
Omar gave no reply. Jordan continued, “And listen, I don’t want you to be mad but ...”
Omar interrupted, “Honestly, Jordan, I don’t want to hear it. Let’s just enjoy what’s left of the night.”
With just that sentence, Omar made Jordan feel guilty again. Feeling terrible, she just started back eating her meal. He had actually spoken up just in time—she was just about to confide in him about what had happened at the office with Jayon. Luckily, not knowing what she was about to say, he stopped her, because it definitely was not the time or the place for that. Jordan had just gotten so caught up in her ramble, she didn’t evaluate the circumstances correctly. She was happy that she hadn’t, though. There was enough tension in the room without adding that to the equation. She decided her confession could wait.
They ate the rest of their meal in silence, other than a comment or two. As their plates started to empty, they started to chat a little bit more. Omar decided to share a story about when he picked their son Jason up earlier in the day. They were finally at ease and the tension had cleared by the time they had finished their food. With full stomachs, and finally engaging in conversation, they sat around the table for a while, talking and sipping champagne.
After discussing Jason at school, a couple of news events, and the latest gossip about Omar’s cousin, Omar remembered, “Lexia called.”
“Oh, really? What did she say?” Jordan replied.
“She will be in town on Monday. She wants to hook up with you, Chrasey, and Dakota.”
“That’s cool. It would be nice to see her. Is that all she said?”
“Pretty much ... I think she wants to stay here.”
“You think? ... Did she ask you that?”
“Not directly, but in so many words.”
“Well, what did you tell her, in so many words?”
“Nothing, really.”
Lexia was a friend of Jordan’s, but not a friend she loved and trusted enough to let her stay with her and her husband.
“Well, let me call her before she pops up over here. I will suggest to her that she stay with Dakota—she has more space at her place.”
“Whatever,” Omar said as he excused himself from the table.
“So, what’s for dessert?” Jordan asked as Omar headed in the kitchen with his plate.
After a few moments with no response, Omar walked out of the kitchen with a can of whipped cream and some strawberries, “I don’t know what you’re having, but I know what I am having for dessert!”
Jordan smiled, and gave a dirty grin. From the outside it appeared as if that was just what she had in mind. On the inside, though, Jordan was kind of hoping somehow it would have gotten too late for sex. She simply just wasn’t up for kinky, all-out performance sex. She knew her outfit said, “come get me,” so there was no way she could back out at this point. Between what had happened with Jayon, and the overall frustration from the whole night, she would have preferred a quickie. However, Omar had so much more in mind. So Jordan attended to her wifely duties and since it was their anniversary, she quickly adjusted her attitude and enjoyed every minute of dessert.
4
Here We Go Again ...
“ He was supposed to be here thirty-five minutes ago. I just can’t stand it when he does this.”
Chrasey was standing outside of her workplace at 5:35 P.M., waiting for her husband Keith to pick her up. Frustrated and downright livid, Chrasey walked down the street to the bus stop on the corner of Stewart Avenue and Mason Street, in Long Island. As she approached the stop, she reached in her bag to check her cell phone for missed calls, just to see if he had called. As she pulled it out, her wallet fell to the floor along with a piece of paper. As she kneeled down to pick it up, so did a gentleman who was standing beside her who she had been too pissed to even notice. He got to it first and picked up the wallet and piece of paper and handed it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, hardly looking at him.
Looking at her cell phone, there were no calls, just as she expected. There was no sense in calling him, because she had already done that five times since she first stood in front of the building. The last time she spoke to him was at about 4:00 P.M., and he’d said he would be there at exactly 5:00.
For the past month, Chrasey hadn’t had a car and Keith had been picking her up from work. A drunk driver had hit Chrasey’s car and practically totaled it. It would be at least another month before all the insurance stuff was handled and she could get another car. A month more seemed too long, because by then she would probably have ki
lled Keith. His running late to pick her up, just like his coming home late, had become normal behavior for him. It wasn’t worth discussing or arguing over because he would act like she was crazy, so most days she didn’t even mention it.
Keith and Chrasey had been married for eight years, and the past three had not been so good. They fought at least three times a week, and their communication was minimal and unhealthy. Keith was usually distant—she couldn’t even get him to have a full-fledged conversation with her. The only time he was sweet was when he wanted some from her. Chrasey tried to go along with the way things had become instead of fighting every day, but all the while she was feeling more resentment toward him and their marriage. Still, on days when she was going through things like this, she could just explode.
“You are too beautiful to be at bus stop—where is your chariot or limo?” said the gentleman behind her.
“Don’t even ask,” she responded.
“Well, I assume you must not have a man or he must not be handling his business.”
“A little bit of both,” she replied.
At first, Chrasey thought, what a bad pickup line—millions of New Yorkers take public transportation home every day. Why does my man have to be slacking for not picking me up? However, she did understand that most people on Long Island got a ride or drove home. Either way, he was right that Keith wasn’t handling his business.
“May I ask your name?” he said.
Chrasey had been too busy looking toward the driveway in front of her job, checking to see if Keith would pull up from another direction. To make eye contact with the young man keeping her company at the bus stop, she turned around to finally get a real look at the guy and noticed he looked at least ten years younger than she. Chrasey knew she wasn’t an old fogey, but she wasn’t a young teeny-bopper, either. Chrasey was five-seven, and had a weight problem. She weighed 210 pounds, but as her mom always told her, her face made up for it. She had the most beautiful brown eyes with long lashes and perfectly arched eyebrows. Her skin had a caramel tone, and she had high cheekbones, a button nose, and full, perfectly shaped lips, all making up a pretty, round face. Even though her body had some extra pounds on it, she still had most of it in the right places. She was a 38D, and had junk in the trunk that most men drooled over. She was always receiving compliments on her rear end, but Chrasey always felt self-conscious because she had a gut with her butt. Dakota and Jordan hated this about Chrasey—she rarely saw how beautiful she truly was, and she always focused on her flaws.
Diva Diaries Page 3
